Way, way too much death happening lately. I got word this morning that an old college radio buddy was in a car wreck and died. Less than a month ago another college radio friend died in his sleep. That guy was 25 or so...my friend this morning was maybe 30. And of course they were both a couple of the finest humans I'd ever met.

I wasn't sure if a mutual friend of ours had heard yet, so I called her at work. I couldn't locate her, so I had to leave a message. I was fine up until that point, but I lost it when I was talking to her voice mail. I just couldn't handle the idea of her finding out like that. Luckily, the widow had already called her.

So I was crying at work, which is never any fun. Everyone was really nice, though. When a friend of yours has a death to deal with, of course you offer your condolences, but you don't realize how comforting it feels to get them. Sometimes it feels like one of the last real emotional interactions we have in these cynical times.

Posting late today, but posting nonetheless. Sadly, I have nothing to say.

But that never stopped me before.

We got word of John Entwistle's death a few hours ago. Sad, yes, as every death is, but I have to admit he was my least favorite Who member. Allmusic says he was the most influential bassist in rock music. I had no idea. I just thought his songs were creepy.

I used to actively loathe the Who. Growing up in the eighties and nineties will do that to you. All you see is the crap reunion tours and the crap albums and you think, why bother? Yeah, I heard they used to be good, but they're just in it for the money now. (I am also talking to you, Mick and Keith.) Besides, I had punk. That was the real deal, not dinosaur rockers.

But eventually I got around to the real Who, and the real Stones, and the real Kinks, etc. And of course it's great. I like Sticky Fingers more every year. I'm still not really a Who fan, though. Too much of it has been spoiled by classic rock radio and commercials to make me feel a connection with the big singles, and I haven't the patience to make a real connection with the deep tracks. Plus I can only handle so much of Roger Daltrey. What a wanker.

Pete is the beginning and the end of the Who for me. (Yeah, I love Keith Moon's drumming to death, but he died when I was a baby. I don't know why that should matter, but it does.) His solo stuff is great, too. "Rough Boys" is my favorite. You can hear his lip-biting lust in it. Did you ever see the clip on VH-1 where he talked about seing Mick Jagger for the first time and just wanted to kiss him then and there? Actually, I don't think he said 'kiss.'

I believe Pete Townshend when he sings. Yeah, he gets a little artsy and showtuney, but you get the feeling he's pursuing something bigger than him, not just trying to be a big shot.

The Who were just about to do yet another tour, too. I think the classy thing to do would be to cancel, but I've been anti-Who reunion for...um, ever. I guess Roger and Pete could dedicate every show to John and that wouldn't be so crass. But it wouldn't make them any less rich.

To all my uptight teachers that gave me dirty looks when I wouldn't chant along with the Pledge of Allegiance every morning: the Ninth U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals says that I was right and you were wrong.

Cripes. I don't check Daily Candy for one day, and that's the day they post a whole bunch of sample sales.

I do not live in New York. That's why it's 'New York Dreams' and not New York Realities! DO YOU LIVE IN NEW YORK?? DO YOU?? THEN GET THE HELL OUT THERE AND START SHOPPING!!!

You don't have to buy anything. Just go and touch the pretty clothes.

Touch them.

Yes.

Ah.

Thank you.

I've been either boring or gone for the past few days. I need to try a little harder here, be a little more witty and brilliant. I'm kind of a performer as a living, though, so I use up what little clever I have by the time I get around to blogging. (That's one of my imaginary domains: alloutofclever.com. I'm trying the blogspot thing before I commit to a domain, though.) I could just talk about funny things the boyfriend does, a la Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About. Not terribly creative of me, but he is infinitely delightful.

'Cause he had a doozy last night. Both of our sleep schedules were off, and we were trying to get to sleep in order to rise at our customary early hour the next day without turning into horrible stumbling slobbery beasts. Despite both taking a little of the herbal sleep aid, we were wide awake, kissing and tickling each other, pulling the blankets off each other, and generally thrashing about. At one point we both lay still and silent for five minutes, and I think surely sleep is on its way.

Suddenly he wails, "Chocolate caaaaaake! Oh, holy Mary, is there any chocolate cake in the house?"

No, I say, but there's the ingredients.

"Will you make me a chocolate cake?"

No. You're high. Go to sleep.

"Why can't I get chocolate cake delivered?"

You know, if we lived in New York City, you could.

"Holy Father, why have you visited no chocolate cake upon me. I cry out to you for chocolate cake!"

(He really talks like that.)

"CHOCOLATE CAAAAAAAAAAAAKE!!!"

Pause.
Pause.

"Will you give me a blow job?"

No. But you know, if we lived in New York City....

So what say we share the love! I'm going to put my daily blog visits on the page. Overdone, I know, but there's a reason we do it. It's about the love, and the sharing of said love. Consider it a personal nibble on your blogging ear.

Fun timekiller that I stole from Uffish Thoughts (and stolen from many before): Google your first name and is, like "Jorge is" or "Cristina is". Then you get an often funny list of what you are.

I think I traced this meme back to notsosoft. Anyone else?

What the world needs now is love, sweet love. Listening to hours and hours of NPR and right-wing/religious talk radio on my road trip has taught me that.

Everybody! Big smoochy kisses! Hug a dog! Hug the ground! Write a love letter!

Love is pretty darn good stuff.

Off til tuesday to see my folks! yay!

Well, the internet radio thingy got decided today: Bleh. Or if you prefer it in English, here's what the webcasters think of it. I need some time to digest and find my faith in humanity again. More later, I'm sure.

I lurk. I always have. I just don't like all the responsibility that comes with being an actual member of a community, plus I'm usually intimidated by all the knowledge of the members. So I observe. I lurk on MetaFilter, I lurk on I Love Music, I lurk on Fark (hey, everyone likes boobies). I lurk on Plastic, I lurk on Slashdot, I lurk on various job-related boards and sites. I actually post on You Are Talking Too Loud, companion board to People Talk Too Loud. But that's the only one. They're really nice. Where do you lurk?

I've been forcing myself to listen to the crap rock radio station in town for the last few hours (work-related; don't ask), and finally reached overload. I've switched over to London's Purple Radio as an antidote. "The digital soundtrack to gay life in London." If that doesn't counteract Styx and Creed, nothing will. Oh, and they're playing Blur's "Girls and Boys" right now. Of course they are.

I was thinking of doing this when I started this blog...basically a fantasy life blog. It was going to be a 'what I did today if I lived in NYC' type thing. For example: "Got up late this morning, but really not so terribly late considering how crazy the party was last night. We started at Cock and ran right into Chloë Sevigny, who still hasn't forgiven Harmony for kissing me first. It was way back in our days interning at Sassy magazine together, so you would think it wouldn't matter by now. Robert and I were letting Percosets dissolve in the bottom of our vodka shots, so I was in no mood to play the social game anyhow. Robert hooked up with some incredibly hot guy who dragged all of us to one of those you-need-a-key-to-get-in clubs. It looked a little familiar, but don't even ask me to tell you where it was. They had a great DJ, though, and we danced, danced, danced. The night slipped away pretty quickly and by the end of it all, I was starving. I begged the boys to go to Tiny's with me to get a Big Mack Daddy...nothing else fills that vodka void like fakin' bacon' on a veggie burger."

Or something like that.

Discipline. Discipline. Must post every day. Trying to be superefficient at work so I can leave early on Friday and go see my parents, who haven't had a visit from me in many months. Which reminds me (and since I forgot to mention it on Fathers' Day): My dad rocks. He's one of the coolest people I know and he was a great father as well. When I see some of the crap humanity that passes for a dad these days, it makes me so glad that I had a cool, quirky, bright, fun dad. I was reading this NY Times article about how dads can really empower their daughters to be successful and confident. I guess if you look at it that way, my dad totally did that for me. (Not to overlook my mom, who is equally wonderful and fabulous and smart, etc.) One of the best compliments the boyfriend ever gave me was that I was a very capable person. I absolutely owe that to my parents. So, thanks, Dad:

For marrying Mom when she got pregnant with me, and building a strong and healthy relationship out of a mid-20s string of dates.
For giving me no time in my living memory when I didn't know how to perform an oil change.
For showing me how to live without money.
For drawing carbon chains in the dust on the dash of our pickup truck on a long drive, and teaching a primary schooler the basics of organic chemistry.
For racing me to the car everytime I wanted when I didn't know what 'polio' and 'asthma' meant.
For teaching me how to put backspin on a cueball.
For raising me in a sidecar.
For playing Stop Making Sense in your workshop until I knew all the words.
For being just cynical enough.
For taking me to the track, and the poolhall, and the motorcycle shop, and making them wondrous and educational places for a child.
For liking the good boyfriends, and not liking the bad ones.
For believing in me.

I was really, really excited to find out about Deep Throat. And now it looks like it's not going to happen. John Dean was supposed to reveal the source, but it seems that he doesn't really know, he just has a really good guess. And the named one (or ones) will sue. (from the linked story: ' "What's happened is, as the field has narrowed, the denials have become much more forceful. But there are only 'X' number of people out there who can fall into the clues and who could have been Deep Throat," Dean told The Associated Press.') Well, the truth is the ultimate defense. Maybe we'll see this all sorted out in court. Watergate is still one of the most infuriating, fascinating, tragic chapters in our history. I hope the kids know about it.

The Post's coverage of John Gotti's death and funeral has been just great. You've got to bookmark the Post so you can at least see the front page every day. Their headline for the funeral today is 'GOTTI GOES TO UNDERWORLD.' Creepy.

It's Father's Day. I'm visiting next weekend and taking Dad his present, which has yet to be purchased. Thinking about getting him a DVD player with my recent raise. A movie he loves just came out on DVD, too. He bought me my DVD player, so it's only fair.

My girl has blogged an unbelievable entry today. The Brooding Wand? Mr. Bumpy? These sound suspicously like vibrators to me, hon. All I can say is I would die if my mom said 'sperm' to me. And I am absolutely without maternal instinct or impulse. Nothing wrong with that. Have you gotten your new issue of BUST? It's the mom issue. If we were moms, we would be these kind of supercool moms.

The boyfriend and I saw Bourne Identity last night. One of the best spy/shoot-em-up movies I've seen in a while. It actually seemed real in a way that most Hollywood movies don't. I guess it helped that it was set mostly in Europe, and Franka Potente brought that European acting style in. There's an unbelievable chase scene with a Mini on the streets of Paris. The boyfriend said, "Eh, if that was Rome, nobody would look twice. They'd be passing." Didn't read the book so I can't say how that compares.

What the movie really made me want to do is go back to Europe. Okay, it made me want to live in Europe. I love America and all that, and I think this country has a lot going for it, but I'm just craving a change. A nice, safe, change of course, with good coffee, good beer, and great shoes. Rome is kind of a small city (about 3 million), but it's a Great City. Just my opinion (and I'm not the most well-traveled person) but I think New York City is the only Great City in America. They're lousy with them in Europe. We also decided we needed to brush up on our languages. We'll see how that goes.

The folks at f'd world have set up a whole new page to the Jose Padilla/John Doe 2 debate. I'm just glad there is a debate.

Elsewhere on the web, megnut writes about What We're Doing When We Blog. I thought we were eating cookie dough.

Brilliant. I hit the YACCS jackpot and got an account, and everything seems to be working okay. Hossein is letting new YACCS users sign up at the rate of 25 every six hours, and I got in first try! I've been wanting to set up commenting because I (purposely) don't have any other way to communicate on this site. Anonymity, baby. The last thing I want is for someone I know (business associate, ex, whatever) to google me and come across this drivel. If you're here by invitation, though, of course it's all different. I'm pretty confident you're my only two readers anyway. So comment away! Just don't use my real name, please. Call me teeny if you need a proper name. Gracias.

From today's Liz Smith in the Post: GOTHAM'S GLITTERATI are abuzz over the real life inspirations for the fictional characters in novelist Jane Stanton Hitchcock's latest, "Social Crimes." The riveting tale is of money, manners and murder among the haut monde. The fuss is about just who "Jo Slater" is based on. In the novel she is a gifted hostess, art collector and philanthropist. Her husband of 20 years dies suspiciously leaving his fortune to a mysterious French countess, abruptly dethroning poor Jo, who resorts to desperate measures. Hitchcock draws upon her intimate knowledge of the upper echelon to expose the dark secrets of a rarefied society whose motto is "live by money, die by money." You can see why "Social Crimes" is in its third printing and is selling out in bookstores from Manhattan to the Hamptons to D.C.

a) I admit, I've been wanting to read this book.

b) Okay, I love New York, but really. "...from Manhattan to the Hamptons to D.C." ?? For goodness' sake. I'm surprised she even included D.C.

Friday = randomness. First, catch up on the best quasi-conspiracy theory meme of the moment: Jose Padilla = John Doe #2. Via f'd world. This country scares me more every minute. Indeed, we may be well and truly f'd. Or not. Whatever. Have a beer.

More evidence: Scary Christians.

Excellent review of a Poison, Cinderella, Winger, and Faster Pussycat tour. What the hell happened to Faster Pussycat? Black vinyl Nazi uniforms? Apparently the singer did a goth band after they broke up and brought the baggage back to the reunion. Allmusic says they released their old singles remixed technostyle before this tour (as opposed to all new material or something silly like that). Oh, but my original point was that I'm a total Poison apologist. I really really loved them back in the day, and I half-ironically love them now. Which, naturally, means that I half-non-ironically love them still. "I Want Action" could seriously be a Ramones song. And they had the best makeup.

Thank you, Poison, for distracting me from the upcoming apocalypse.

I swear I'm going to be productive today. I'm trying to get all of my time-wasting out of the way early. Yes, that's logic for you.

Feeling woefully inadequate next to all the great blogs out there. All the really interesting stuff in my life has to do with my job, which I don't really want to talk about for the standard reasons. This leads to me having to confront my fear that I'm really not much more than the sum of my job. Damn work ethic, it's consumed my soul! I'll bore myself with my life soon and drive myself to talk about my job at some point, I'm sure, so just stay tuned. Then I can blog about being unemployed. Don't worry, it's not like NORAD or anything, it's just the stupid entertainment industry, which is built on lies. So maybe I'll just have to join the liar's club.

Coming soon: My tell-all interview with ?uestlove and Russell Crowe regarding their musical and romantic collaboration.

Satire. Satire! I'm such a bad liar.

For someone who's not afraid to spill their guts, check out Kate Sullivan's rockblog.

Hey, missed a day, but I've got a good excuse. Had a busy but good day at work and was planning to write when I got home, but there was a thunderstorm rolling in, so the boyfriend's computer had to be unplugged. Then - *piff* - the power goes out. And stays out. It was out for two hours and it was kind of nice. I have a gas stove, so I was able to cook dinner (otherwise I would have been in a low-blood-sugar rage). We lit candles, and there was still enough light outside to read by a window, so that's what I did. The boyfriend played computer games on his laptop. The Red Cross says I'm supposed to throw out my ice cream now, but like hell.

So I watched Sex and the City last night, and it was the one where the girls go out to that great gay club. I was quite excited because I've actually been to that club (XL Lounge in Chelsea) and was curious to see how my memories jibed with the TV version. Funny, I didn't remember that many shirtless men. But it was still fabulous, and very nice to see it again.

Made me realize, though, that if I lived in NYC, I would have a stupid job that ended at a certain time and that I could show up to late and hung over. I couldn't work 12-hour days all the damn time like I do now. I couldn't be a rising star in my field because I would just want to go out every night and not spend any effort on my job. When you're in your twenties, that sounds so cool. But part of the reason I'm a rising star or whatever is because most people in my field don't get serious about it until they've had their dumb fun. Okay, I'm not going to talk about my job.

Oh, and I'll link to Tony because he has a great blog and I'm not an L.A. hater.

I finally took the plunge and bought a digital camera. The ickiness of proprietary media aside, I really like Sony products. And now that I actually have a Memory Stick, I kinda like that too.

Loobylu is back from holiday with a great story and a great redesign. I covet her artistic ability. She got a Sony Handicam while on vacation, tee hee.

I'm glad that the nycbloggers team is excited that people created new blogs after seeing their site, 'cause that's pretty much what I did and I felt a little glommy for doing it. It was great motivation for starting a new one up, though, and I just felt like starting fresh rather than migrating bits and pieces of all my old ones. I was just telling my friend that it's so different from an actual journal, and I've got to keep reminding myself of that. Anyway. Thanks, NYC Bloggers.

Liz Smith says today: "MY MOTHER used to say to those who were generous and kind: "There'll be a lot of stars in your crown." We could say that to mogul David Geffen who has donated $200 million to the medical school at UCLA."

A very nice way of not quite saying that David Geffen is generous and kind, don't you think?

I just subscribed to New York Magazine. You can read most of it on the web, but I wasn't, so I just subscribed. It was really cheap (secure link, 1 year for $16), and it's worth it to have a physical magazine. I love the web but I am never going to fall out of love with paper. I already get the New Yorker, and I read the Post, the Times, and occasionally the Daily News online.

I do not live in New York. I live in the midwest. I feel the city calling me, though. I felt it ever since I read my first Times.

I dreamed of the city last night, of tall buildings and odd breezes and unidentifiable smells. I dreamed of my own house too, that a leak in the ceiling had brought down a mixture of water and matter from the attic that had hardened into stalagtites above my bed. I'm happy where I live, very happy, but I have no doubt that I'd be more happy in the city. But I don't consider it settling for less if I stay here.

Well, I guess I know that things could go badly if I moved, especially since it would drain my rainy-day fund. If I wasn't happy here, though, I'd do it. I've been overachieving for years and it would be interesting to be a slacker bohemian in the east village for a while. And by 'interesting,' I mean 'horrible.' And wonderful.

Can you tell I'm a little conflicted?

I've been meaning to read some of this LeRoy kid's stuff. But if you, like me, are loath to start yet another book when so many others are half-finished by your bed, then just read through the Morning News archives, especially their New York section, and especially especially their New York etiquette guide.

MSNBC.com is having all their stars do weblogs. Chris Matthews appears to need an editor. I shouldn't want to take him less seriously because he doesn't know when to capitalize 'Democrat' (here is where I would permalink to the appropriate entry if such a nutty feature existed...it's the May 31 entry). I guess there are plenty of reasons to not take Matthews seriously.

I don't like seeing anyone die, and I'm certainly not the one who gets to decide if it's justified, or for a good cause, or whatever. But I'm glad journalists are out there trying to gather the facts for the rest of us to see. Some are risking their lives. Some die. There are a lot of different ways to be a warrior.

Happy nameday Adam.

The boyfriend just looked over my shoulder and asked what I was doing. I show him the NYC Bloggers page. Look, they're all plotted out by subway stop, I said. Isn't that cool? He kissed me on the top of my head. Don't worry, he said. We'll go there.