Joe Gibbs Gets It Right

"Sometimes in life, maybe some of the best things happen to you after you have been kind of crushed..."

I Need an Etiquette Check

OK, I need some input here. I meet a girl, we go out on 3.5 dates (I'm giving the first afternoon coffee only half-a-date) over two weeks. There is some heavy petting (both sides receive pleasure) and fooling around. Today, I send said girl an email saying maybe we can grab coffee Tuesday or something. I then get an email response saying we'd be better suited as friends, yada yada yada.

Now, I have no issues with this, really. She was nice and all, but honestly I'm not so sure there was a long-term future or even a short-term one. While I am curious as to why the sudden turn of events, what I'm really wondering is that after two rather intense grope sessions, is an email appropriate or should I have gotten a phone call or even been told in person?

Truth is, email is better, but it doesn't seem right. I've checked in with one female friend who says the email was a "pussy move." I tend to agree, but am willing to hear other views.

Anybody?

Dragging Ass To The Finish Line

Ya know, 2007 went pretty damn fast except for the past three days. I just have not been feeling part of lately (which explains posting the barroom ramblings of my past). Last night I felt like a 19th wheel. Since I was out with so many people it seems silly to say a third wheel or a fifth wheel. No, it was more like a 19th wheel.

Now this afternoon I felt like a third wheel. Went to brunch with two girls, one of whom I've had a few dates with and a friend of hers. I haven't had enough dates with this person to feel comfortable or even know if this is headed anywhere (or if I even want it to head somewhere) and the friend, who seemed very down-to-earth earlier when I heard her speak, seemed a little crazy in reality. Funny how that works.

Anyway, I just need to get through the next few weeks. Get the trip to Los Angeles over with (and no kiddies, I won't take a nostalgia trip to the Burgundy Room) and decide if my future lies in my past or not. Wow, I can pull a phrase out of my ass every now and then can't I?

I always wanted to be one of those guys who could play pool, bowl a little, walk into a room with a piano and play a little. But I'm not. I'm the guy in the shadows who looks like he might scratch you if you approach him. It's not who I am on the inside, but I know it's what gets sent to the outside world. Probably why I spend so much time trying to woo the stray cats I see in Riverside Park. I know where they're coming from.

OK, time for the Redskins to give me a heart attack.

Rambler--The LA Years

Cleaning through some old wreckage and thought I'd post some of barroom babble from my LA haze...Probably scribbled at The Burgundy Room, which I believe was on Cahuenga near Hollywood. Darkest bar you'll ever go to.

You can sit in the dark
for only so long
sooner or later
some fuck turns on the lights

Now I got nothing against seeing
but there ain't a lot to see
so keep me in the dark
and just let me be

You say that's no way to live
but really, what difference does it make?
just because you're in the light
doesn't mean you can see

I'll take my darkness
over your light
take what I can't see
over your sight
can you blame me?

----------------

Sitting in black
Smoking cigarettes
Looking cynical and deep
but I'm just a cliche

I make $80 grand a year
But you wouldn't know it to see me here
Sitting in the dark with my beer
I'm just a cliche

I can act deep
I can look sad
If it'll get me in your pants
Beacause I'm a cliche

Take me home and I'll make you moan
but don't ask too much
Because I'm just a cliche

Listen to my blues
Swig down my brew
pass out at three
I'm just a cliche

Won't you talk to me
I'll be what you want me to be
Tell you what you want to hear
I'm just a cliche

Bleeding from the wrist
tub full of blood
now I'm drained
and I was nothing but a cliche.

----

here's another cheery one...

She's a vision of light
In this darkness of hell
Raven black hair

It's not my fault
It was destiny
You are my fate
So don't put up a fight

Now your mine
It couldn't be helped
Wrong place, wrong time
You got yours
I'll get mine

---------------

Yes, I'm in therapy.

Faking It

Back from bowling with a group of people. Should have had a good time but didn't really. Not because I can't bowl, just not there right now. Something is eating at me. Of course, seeing a girl I have a crush on with someone else doesn't help, but truth is that's just bullshit. I am just using that to escape what's really going on.

I don't know what the fuck is really going on. I know I'd like a smoke, but won't. Lately I have been having shortness of breath and I'm beginning to wonder if maybe I am at risk for emphysema. I'd like to think that's crap and maybe it's just the cold weather but my stamina is definitely a little off these days. Of course, I over do it, so that might be it too.

Anyway, I'm dodging the elephant in the room. On the one hand, I'm making all these efforts to get out--fellowship, bowling, even a few dates--and yet at times I still feel completely alone and really want to shut down, lock in, grab an eight ball and a case and go to town. Now those feelings don't stick around and really I don't want to go there. But shit, it's normal that I want to do that sometime. I just have to remember where it takes me. That it's not fun anymore. And that it is not an answer. Even writing it out lessens the appeal.

I get weird sometimes putting shit out there but screw it. How am I ever going to put anything on the page if I can't even put myself out there in this empty universe known as the blogosphere.

I don't like faking it, but sometimes it is required. This is one of those times.

And if one more motherfucker asks me what I'm doing for new years! Jeez, it's a Monday for crying out loud. You'll find me on Perry Street where I belong. Not cool enough for Soho. Not my scene.

Acting As If

Been almost a week. I wish I had something to say other than I have been acting out in the only ways I have left these days. It's Friday night, plans fell through. I'm cool with that. Got the Laundry done. But today and yesterday was just a waste in my head. Went to the office but didn't work. Well, did some work but not enough. It's tough to motivate when you're so unmotivated.

I try to act as if, as in act as if I like my job. It's hard. It's harder because I don't hate it, I just don't have any interest in what I do or what my place of business does.

A semi-big TV exec died the other day from cancer. About a month ago he participated in one of my events even though he was sick. He even brought someone with him to administer chemo during a break. I knew he was sick but didn't know the end was that near. I hope he didn't know either. While I'm very grateful that he came and participated, I find it a little sad that a dying man spent five hours at one of my events. Didn't he have anywhere better to be?

Of course, he was acting as if. As if he wasn't dying from cancer. Who am I to judge how he decided to spend his last weeks? Ultimately, we all end up in the same place. That's why I should really stop the obsessing over the career. When I'm in the ground it won't be my work world that will remember or care, it'll be those in my personal life. So I guess I better get a personal life, otherwise it'll just be the cats visiting me in the ground.

Now I'm going to act as if I'm going to bed. Eyes are soar, as are other parts.

Mr. December

Say what you will about Joe Gibbs. He's lost it. He's not as sharp. He should retire before he does further damage to his legacy. All that may have some validity. But he's still Mr. December. The Redskins have no reason to be one game away from the playoffs with destiny in their hands. Their QB is hurt, their best defensive player was murdered. They lost four in a row and heartbreaker after heartbreaker. Those are backbreakers and spirit breakers, but somehow Gibbs has rallied the team and right now they're hot. Dallas has nothing to play for this Sunday while the Redskins have everything at stake. Hopefully, they'll continue to play like that and take it to the Cowboys.

And how about Todd Collins? Makes you wonder how many guys there are like him who never really get a shot and can clearly play and compete at the top levels. The good thing is that while Collins may be 36, he's like a 16 year-old car that's never been driven. He's got no dents, no rust, no long-term damage. Look, Jason Campbell is the future, but watching Collins play mistake-free football these past three games makes one realize that maybe Campbell was being a little rushed this year.

Anyway, that is getting way ahead of ourselves. It's one game at a time. Just beat Dallas that's all that matters and everything else will take care of itself.

Rambler is off to D.C. Happy holidays to all.

Juno

Watched Juno. While it is funny, her dialogue is not the dialogue of a 16 year-old, but rather the dialogue that a 30 year-old screenwriter wishes she spoke when she was 16.

It is also the dialogue of a 30 year-old who wishes she was that witty when she was 16. In other words, other than the references to Ipods and blogs, the musical references and tastes of Juno are possibly (and even this is a stretch) those of a 16 year-old in 1994 (when screenwriter Diablo Cody was born) longing to be in a different era, not a 16 year-old in 2007. This also explains why 40 year-old movie critics are raving. It's like a young girl into the same music they're into and on top of it, she puts out. How else to explain the NY Times saying "at last a movie about a real down-to-earth teenager." Puhleeze. The boyfriend is a real down-to-earth teenager and her father and step-mother are believable, as are Bateman and Garner. In fact, everyone is believable except Juno.

I know, Rambler you're nitpicking. Am I? Much of the "charm" of Juno's character is her retro tastes and her wit and neither ring true in my book. She has a copy of Patti Smith's "Horses" in her bedroom. Now I grew up in the 70s and 80s and listened to cool music. But that was because I had older brothers who listened to cool music. If not for my brothers, I would not have been listening to Lou Reed, The Dictators, New York Dolls, etc. I'd been listening to Kansas, Boston, and all the other late 70s mainstream crap that was coming on then...and I didn't mind Boston, btw. Point being, most of us pick up our musical tastes from someone else, at least initially. Juno certainly didn't get her tastes from her parents or her friends. She'd more likely be listening to Green Day and Smashing Pumpkins, thinking they were original. Unless, it was 1990, then maybe one would regress to 1980.

A friend recently asked, when I was picking apart another movie, what was the last movie I liked. Besides the Nicky Barnes documentary, that would have been "Super Bad." One reason I steer clear of a lot of movies is because I do have a tendency to never be able to shut off my inner critic. Also, if I don't see it right away, literally the day a movie comes out, the backlash in my mind begins. That said, so much of this movie is about the quirks and wit of Juno and if I don't buy it, how am I supposed to buy the rest of the movie. I guess I waited too long on this one. But hey, I didn't pay for it so who cares?

JK Simmons is great.

That's Not What I Meant!!!

Just because the last post began with a Carrie Bradshaw-like intro doesn't mean I was talking about a skirt. I was talking about a job! A trip into my professional past (and no, that doesn't mean a night with professionals for everyone out there who wanted to make that crack) is a possibility. I don't have to decide anything right now. Just exploring. I can't decide if I'm moving towards something or retreating back into something. But sometimes one needs to take two steps back just to take one forward. At least I hope so.

Can You Go Forward By Going Back?

No, I'm not turning into Carrie Bradshaw. But it may be a question I will be facing. A potential chance to get some ink back in my blood. Is it right? I don't know. I'm familiar with the place and they're saying all the right things. Of course, don't we all say the right things just before we fuck someone?

Sorry, it just seemed like the perfect set up for that line. Anyway, now I'll be in limbo for the next few weeks. But at least it's nice to be wanted.

Update--No Gin

Dad's wife's cousin died (Irish Catholic family so that's the equvialent of a twin sister) so no gin this week.

Bummer.

Gin With Dad

Supposed to play gin with my dad on Wednesday. I did this a few weeks ago and we actually had a good time. Don't know how to explain it, but playing gin with my dad is one of my few good memories as a kid (see the gym shorts story somewhere on this damn blog). Most of the time, I hid from the old man and when I didn't, I regretted it.

But the gin thing seems to work. Who knows, maybe if it becomes habit we can try to build a relationship. I don't want to say rebuild, because honestly, it was never really there in the first place. That doesn't mean it can't happen now. I have to remember that.

Checking In

I still pay my bills by check. i don't know why. Everyone else does Internet bills or online banking. I guess I could. It would certainly reduce the paper trail.

But for some reason I like writing checks and sticking them in envelopes, buying stamps and dropping them in the mailbox. I get a sense of accomplishment out of it.

I do think one reason I still do it is that it is a relic from the days when I had to be absolutely sure the checks would clear and that the money would be there and hence I didn't want it automatically deducted. Not really an issue now but the memories live on.

I also figure if I keep paying by mail, I'm helping keep a few jobs that will eventually fade away alive.

Still, it's kind of a pain in the ass.

It's Moving And Touching, Even The DP And The A2M

Walking down Sixth Avenue after my workout I decided to support a local business still standing despite all the banks, Duane Reeds and other chain stores that are closing in. I went to the dirty video place.

There I saw what I suspect may be the adult industry's reaction to the amateur and pirated porn clips on those sites we all know we go to when we just need 30 seconds of action and aren't really interested in learning about the characters.

I may be late to this (I don't really go ti those sorts of stores much anymore), but I guess Wicked Pictures is going a little deeper in its plots and themes to fight the free porn racket. Here is the description from the box of one of their latest releases--Coming Home.

When Brian Parsons (Brad Armstrong), receives a letter calling him to duty in Iraq, his life in a sleepy little town is shaken when the unthinkable becomes reality. Girlfriend Sarah (Kirsten Price), is distraught when she hears the news. In an effort to soothe her, Brian enlists the help of his best friend Jimmy (Barrett Blade) to keep an eye on her while he’s away. Multi-award winning writer/director Brad Armstrong brings you this year’s most anticipated adult drama. An unforgettable 3-hour epic ripped from today’s headlines, COMING HOME is extraordinary moviemaking.

Wow! Even "coming" is spelled correctly! Truthfully, I'm not sure there is a market for a three-hour porn flick that uses the Iraq war as a jumping off point. After all, Hollywood's own efforts to probe the war has posted mixed results.

The packaging on Coming Home is very elaborate as our several other new Wicked Releases. It looks like the Oscar and Emmy screener kits I used to get in a previous life. This could not have been cheap.

These are tough times for the adult industry. They have always been the first to jump on a new technology and exploit it for financial gain. Before anyone knew if beta and VHS were for real, the porn biz was going full force into it. They showed you can make money on the Internet.

But now there is so much amateur stuff out there and a lot of ripped off stuff as well the industry is going through the same bad cycle as their mainstream competitors. Perhaps Wicked thinks now is the time to return to the big plot-driven Dirk Diggler flicks of yesteryear. I'm not so sure. Unfortunately, I'm guessing that very few consumers of this stuff have the patience or inclination to watch something that's as heavy on story as it is on sex. They once put up with a plot to get to what they wanted, but now they can get all that without having to see Ron Jeramy show off his acting chops.

BTW, I was just browsing and came away empty handed. I did pass on my observations to one of those mainstream media reporters so we'll see if some ink gets spilled on this. If nothing else, he can call the distributor and say he's interested in doing a story and they'll send him a free copy. Hmmm, wait a minute.

Lust

So last night I was at a Christmas party and this hot girl who I've wanted to bang ever since I met her was there. As usual, she was a little too drunk, a little too flirty, and a little too annoying. But I didn't care. Part of my brain wanted to take her into a bathroom down the hall and fuck the shit out of her on the sink. Actually, that wasn't part of my brain thinking that, but anyway.

Bottom line though is my brain (the real one) also can smell trouble and this broad is trouble. Yes, I'm practicing my noir skills. This broad is trouble, Johnny thought to himself as he fired up a Marlboro...

She started babbling about her ex, whom I know professionally. She's got enough baggage to open a Samson store (I'm here all week folks). She's rushing to the bar to get a little more vodka. And she's in a nice black skirt with a tight top, black heels that would look great over my shoulders. She also has that annoying touchy-feely way of talking and a kind of squeaky voice. Whatever.

I found myself in that dangerous place of hanging around with her even though my stomach was telling me get the fuck out of there. I felt myself slipping back into old habits, trying to figure out whether if I get her into a cab, what are the odds of getting into the apartment and would it be worth the aggravation. We've all been in those situations. Someone is there with a car and you sure do want a ride, but you know if they drive there is a good chance you could end up wrapped around a tree.

I managed to exit the party yet found myself loitering outside the building for a few minutes just on the off chance she would come out and I could bump into her and hopefully end up back at her place and bump into her in a more meaningful way.

Now I know some folks would say so, what's the big deal? You saw a hot chick you want to fuck, big news flash go do it champ. But trust me. I know me and I know this type and it is not the situation I can put myself in anymore. Unfortunately a part of me wants to go there but that dude has fucked me up every time I've listened to him.

I'm sure this morning said girl is nursing hangover on her way into work and either not remembering much of what she said or did or remembering all too much. I'm glad that's not me. Of course, that didn't stop me from sending an email saying `hey, it was nice seeing you last night.' Progress, not perfection.

Why Not Marvin Harrison?

My nephew wants a Randy Moss jersey. Guy lives in Maryland. Doesn't like the Redskins, likes the Ravens, wants a Randy Moss jersey. Randy Moss is a tremendous talent, no doubt. But couldn't my nephew want Marvin Harrison instead?

Marvin Harrison is the Art Monk of this century. While Harrison is probably a little more talented than Monk was, like Monk he does not seek out the spotlight. He does not get mentioned in the same breath as Moss or Owens. He does not make a jackass out of himself on ESPN. He does his job. He is breaking records left and right (I know, he's hurt right now), and yet he toils in anonymity.

Unfortunately, people who just do their jobs don't always get the props.
Now, I know Harrison likes keeping a low-profile. He doesn't talk a lot. He doesn't play that game. And that's cool. But that doesn't mean that when the writers and broadcasters are talking about who's the best and picking what highlights to show, they should give the shaft to Harrison just because he doesn't dance around. So while I get my nephew a number 81, I think I'll tell him abuot number 88.

Am I Looking For More Meaning?

Oh say it isn't so.

Extras

So tomorrow I have an event that if I'm lucky will get 45 people to show up. Without going into to much detail, I'll just say that figure is not very good. Ideally, I'd want twice that. At one point, I had 80 RSVPs, which is still not great but would've been acceptable. Now it's down to 60 and that means that if I'm lucky, only 15 will be no shows.

Admittedly, this event is not exactly featuring someone who has bettered mankind, the human race, or even our culture. It's just made a lot of money making entertainment. Lots of people do that. Unfortunately this person was stuck with the burden of supposedly needing to uplift people, rather than just make money.

I am tempted to hire extras to fill the seats. I need 30 people, ranging in age from 30 to 60 in business attire. It's very tempting. Probably wouldn't cost that much and would work.

But instead I'm hoping that the folks I work for will see the piss-poor turnout and decide we need to rethink what we're doing.

That said, I do want to start a company that sends out extras for both personal and corporate events. Want to show diversity at a corporate event or even your wedding, we'll take care of it. Need some gays to show potential dates you're an open-minded cool guy, we'll handle your needs.

Now don't go stealing this.

Just Friends

An underrated movie. I know the posters looked stupid and perhaps it's only because it's been on HBO like a thousand times over the last two years, but I actually enjoy this flick.

Maybe it's because I like the idea of leaving my hometown for ten years, coming back a completely different person (yet, still the same). Maybe it's because it's set in Jersey and I always wonder what it'd be like to see everyone I knew in eighth grade before I moved to DC.

Or hell maybe it's because Anna Ferris is really funny in this, as is Ryan Reynolds and even in Chris Klein in a part that would've been played by Owen Wilson if it'd been twenty years after high school.

I'm allowed to like a sappy romantic comedy. Especially on a rainy Sunday.

The Back Story

On Friday I stopped by my hair salon and got my free clean up. I also, apparently for being a longtime customer, was offered a free massage. Since I can't turn down anything that is free, I said sure. Plus, it was a girl, not a guy so I didn't have to worry about anything moving.

Unfortunately, massages are wasted on me (especially the ones without the happy ending). I have a very sensitive back. Other than my shoulders and my lower back, I pretty much can't be touched. I don't know what that is about. There is no physical trauma back story there. It has been like that as long as I remember. I have always thought that when I find the woman that can touch my back, I've found my match.

And since most massage therapists spent the bulk of their time on the middle of the back (despite my initial warning and clear squeamishness when she did go there), I spent most of the time being uncomfortable. However, when she did my arms and hands, that was great. She had all this lotion on my hands and her hands were sliding around my hands and it was all I could do to not squeeze her hands a little bit while she was rubbing mind.

It didn't matter that the therapist was not my type. It did not matter that I wasn't attracted to her, or even that nothing was stirring below the waistline. I was being touched and wanted it to mean something.

But alas, she soon went back to my back and I went back to clenching.

Buddy Ate My Sandwich

OK, found some inspiration.

About twelve years ago when I was living in Los Angeles I finally broke up with my longtime girlfriend who moved with me out there from D.C. I know. I brought sand to the beach, what was I thinking?

Being something of a chicken shit in those days, I started flirting with another girl before officially breaking up with my GF. Look, not proud of that but it's how I did things in those days.

Anyway, L, the girl I started dating worked at the same place I did but in a different department. She was very cute and we started going out. I guess in hindsight we were more of f-buddies. She drove a VW bug and took her white dog buddy with her everywhere.

A friend of mine suggested that I be upfront with L about my GF. Tell her that I'd just gotten out of a relationship, etc. It made sense. I wouldn't want her to hear through the grapevine that the guy she was dating (screwing) had just ended a long-term relationship etc.

Now, L was a little spacey. There are some people who kind of have a revolving door on their brains and if you get something in there while it's spinning, great and if not, well you tried. She fit that category.

So I called her one night and said I wanted to tell her something. I then went through the whole thing about how my live-in GF and I were breaking up I just wanted get that out there, etc. There was a pause and then: "Oh, Buddy ate my sandwich." That was it. No thanks for being upfront. No I appreciate your honesty. Just Buddy ate my sandwich.

Then I paused. Rolled my eyes and wanted to punch my genius friend who suggested being upfront with her. I actually think L, who was always kind of happy on the surface, had some sort of very dark past and she just blocked out anything and everything that was beneath the surface.

Or perhaps Buddy eating the sandwich was more interesting then me, it's entirely possible. I never did find out what was on that sandwich.

Anything Can Happen Day

In the old Mickey Mouse Club, Wednesday was anything can happen day. I'm pretty sure nothing is going to happen today, but I always liked the idea that anything could.

Also just wanted to check in. Like going to the gym, this thing is easy to forget about if I don't make the effort. Haven't posted since Sunday which is a long time for me. That's in part because nothing has happened that I felt was worth posting.

But if I think about it, that's not really true. I may have some meetings soon on the career front. I may be playing gin with my Dad tonight. He's been on me about getting together and we know how much I love that. But a few weeks ago I flashed back to when we used to play gin and I did enjoy that. It was one of the few activities we did together that was enjoyable. The other activity would be his attempts at teaching me math which consisted of yelling loudly because somehow that would make be understand fractions better.

I may be making moves to up my social life too although I'm a little gun shy. I guess I'm the maybe man. Everything is I may do this, I may do that.

For now this is what I got.

What Do You Mean I Have To Look At Myself???

I don't know who to be more jealous of, the stripper turned screenwriter or the journalist profiler. Why them, why not me? Oh yeah, they actually pursued dreams instead of just living them in their heads. Shit, you mean I can't just sit here and be bitter and wonder why other people have all the luck? You mean I might have to actually decide at some point that if I want my life to have meaning--or at least have meaning to me--I'll need to take some actions and do some work? Crap, that doesn't sound fun. It's lot easier just to be hating on everyone else's good fortune.

Of course, it was also a lot easier to be a completely miserable fuck who blew all his money (not that it was much, but that's not the point) on excess living. It was easier being the guy determined to do the same thing over and over again expecting the results to be different.

But eventually I was given the gift of desperation and started to stop digging and start climbing. Might be time to do that again soon. I just need to pound this out here so I can remember that eating poison and waiting for someone else to die is a fool's game.

What Would Freud Say?

So doing my usual Saturday morning routine of getting up early and gathering my laundry. I always order my heart attack on a role (sausage, egg, and cheese) before I leave. This morning though, instead of dialing the deli, I dial my Dad. The numbers are not even remotely similar except that they both start with one number three times in a row (but not the same number). Anyway, I got the voicemail and hung up. Then I redialed, ordered the food and off I went.

As a onetime fling used to remark, "weird, huh?"