Viewing entries in
Personal
This recent conversation with a friend was funny to me.
SL: Did you sign on facebook?Me: Yes, just now. Why?
SL: You kicked me off!
[Background: I forget sometimes that SL knows my Facebook login information]
SL: I was snoopin! Haaha.
Me: Hah. Sorry.
Me: Who were you snooping?
SL: T****
SL: Sometimes I peep SK...
SL: and A***
Me: WHY?? Lol.
SL: I dunno. Sometimes I like to look at pretty girls.
Don't we all. Don't we all.
Getting work related phone calls all weekend long. NOT sweet. Getting work related phone calls at 4 AM today, Monday. NOT sweet.
Cell phones are evil. And to think I considered willingly getting a Blackberry.
There's a small town in Ohio called Neville. They should add "Aaron" in front of it, so it's Aaron Neville. Aaron Neville, Ohio. I should get out more...
Had a relatively uneventful weekend, other than the realization that my friend Lauren is an addict for Billy Joel.
Enough so that it compels her to dance...
Uptown girl loves to dance.
Saturday, I scored me some sweet (and cheap!) art books at the Taschen bookstore in Soho. I've decided to teach myself and become the world's foremost authority on Caravaggio.
Sunday was brunch with the Cy for yet another weekly life strategizing session over omelets, mimosas, and endless cups of coffee.
On Monday, I went to the Knicks game, which was a great time right until the part where the Knicks fucked up and lost (again). Motherfuckers. At least the popcorn was good.
Today, Tuesday, to celebrate such a beautiful day, I threw a model airplane off the 14 floor of my office building in Soho! It was SO FUCKING SWEET. The three of us guys followed its meandering flight and gleefully laughed and giggled like we were 9 year olds in a playground on recess again.
Haha. My imitation of the projected flight of our plane.
The anticipation!
And away it goes! Unfortunately we couldn't track it with the camera, but it was really quite a sight as it dived between rooftops only to rise again with the soft and warm wind currents--circling in a random mesmerizing pattern--before it finally came to a gentle thud on the street below, Lafayette Street, in front of surprised pedestrians headed home for the day.
Usual Thursday Babelness (But many of the photos were taken by people other than yours truly):
The shirt theme for the night was apparently the color, gray.
The lawyer-cum-"party advocate" with Chloe and Cristina.
I call these next series of photos: "Henry with Cristina."
Henry with Cristina.
Henry with Cristina.
Henry with Cristina.
Cristina giving the camera the ol' hands to the paparazzi face style.
I don't think Cristina enjoyed dancing with this guy--even though he's the fat guy from Lost. I'm a big fan of the middle finger photo sabotaging going on here.
Doppelganger, no?
Haha.
Erica returns from Lebanon.
Chloe hiding from something behind me.
In some cultures, showing the sole of your shoes is considered an affront and insult. So basically, we're insulting you right now.
Forgot their names! Sorry!!
Chris using his new snazzy phone.
Rupa and Chloe.
Haha. I look so ridiculous in the background.
Peaceeee.
This is my favorite picture from the night I think. Very...party apropos. I think I'm going to wear ties more often when I go out JUST so I can take it off. Do chicks dig that?
Doing the two-step.
A little dance circle, er, triangle...
The hat style at work here.
Trying to hide my face. "It's hideous! Hideous I tell you!"
I just feel dirty looking at this.
Ha ha ha.
Well this is a career first: Nothing like a phone call wake up at 7 am from a coworker asking me about something work related. And to think Cy got mad at me once for calling him at 10:30 am.
Saturday brunch at the nearby diner. This might've been my fourth cup of coffee. I'm amazed that by this point I could keep the camera steady enough to take this photo.
Saturday night was library action.
Psyche! Bar action!
The natural way to keep a beer chill.
I heard that Bozo the Clown wears the same pair of boots.
Of course Chris ruined what was a perfect symmetry of crappy beers by buying a bottle of fancy. Fancypants.
Along with darts, balancing a beer can is one of my formidable bar skills.
Ta-da!
Also: if Texas Girl, Lauren sees this entry randomly, please send me that photo you took with us (and sorry we didn't have the ganja for you). And good luck when you move back to New York City to start your magazine career at High Times.
"Whores need good loving too."
MK: Lets see the Namesake sometime. MR: I dunno...
MK: I'm going to Barnes and Nobles tonight for the Jhumpa Lahiri/Mira Nair talk at 7. Come and scope out the girls. I'm sure there'll be a 9:1 ratio.
MR: Which Barnes and Nobles?
MK: Union Square...
MR: Shoot, I want to go, but I have to go to the gym.
MK: Well, I'll be there if you wanna join. And I'm telling you, there will be lots of chicks hoping to meet a nice guy. That's what we do...We go to bookstores hoping to meet cute intellectual types.
MK: It'll be girls night for everyone in the room, and whatever available boys that ask interesting questions to the author make prime targets.
MR: I go to bookstores to try and meet sluts.
Hey caffeineaholics: Just today from 10 am - noon, drop by your local nearest Starbucks for some free coffee. I'll be at the one on Crosby and Spring at 10 on the dot for my daily morning coffee, so come by then if you want to keep me company while waiting in queue.
I used to be such a Starbucks whore in college--by my senior year I don't think I paid for a single coffee at the one on Thayer Street thanks to the dope baristas there (most of whom I'm convinced were highhhhh during most of their shifts). I think one of the greatest things to hear in the world--after "Do you want to come up?" and "We're giving you a raise."--is a bartender or a barista saying "Don't worry about it" when you try to pay for your drink.
Rumor has it that the Coffee Shop in Union Square is currently closed down on account of the DOH? Can anyone confirm?? Yes, the place is cheesy with over priced drinks, a forgettable menu (although their burger always hits the spot, but then again ANY restaurant should be able to nail down a burger), unnecessarily too many bouncers with their 'game face' on, and only passasbly hot waitresses. And yet, I love it, because of all the good memories that place holds for me and my friends:
It's our diner as Tom's was to Jerry, George, Elaine and Racist Kramer.
UPDATE: Coffee Shop has reopened.
If working extremely late in an empty office on a very tedious project, do not listen to bleak and somber music because such a combination will make you want to follow Franz Reichelt's plummeting footsteps.
Who is Franz Ferdinand Reichelt? Or rather, who was Franz Reichelt?
Franz belongs to that rara avis of brotherhoods in human history, who like Icarus dare to fly as high into the heavens as possible--not metaphorically, poetically or symbolically--but actually, literally. These men don't just dream. They act and do with a temerity you and I dream of, yet fear. Unlike men like Icarus, Charles Elwood "Chuck" Yeager, and R. Kelly, who were obsessed with believing they can fly, touching the sky, and thinking about it every night and day, Franz on the other hand, was preoccupied with teasing gravity and floating gently down from the sky (or from the top of the Eiffel Tower...) like the very first snowflake of a winter.
Ignoring the naysayers and their vociferous doubts, with their heads looking forward and up (into the future?), these demi-gods strap on their proverbial wings or in Franz's case, looking forward and down to walk the proverbial plank.
On February 4, 1912, Franz climbed to the top of the Eiffel Tower and looked calmly out into the cool Paris cityscape. He wore an overcoat, but it was no ordinary overcoat. It also doubled as a parachute. Ingenuity! Passion! Art! Function! Fashion!
Did he test this jacket on a dummy to ensure that it worked properly as you or I would have done? No. When you want to climb Mt. Olympus to look Zeus in the eye, you don't send a sherpa up there first.
And so we go back to Franz, the humble tailor with a big dream, standing atop the world. Just him and his parachute-overcoat. A paracoat, if you will.
And then?
Icarus flew too close to the sun and plunged back to where the meek and mortals dwell. Chuck Yeager found that his ceiling was the sky and the great black space beyond was forever closed to him. R Kelly pissed on underage girls.
Moral of this story: Kids, keep those dreams of grandeur locked up as just that, dreams. Martin Luther King had a dream and look what happened to him. Wow, that was terrible. I can't believe I just wrote that (although will that dream ever come true?).
Actually, the moral of the story is this: Kids, dream and follow those dreams. Just don't follow a crazy man with a parachute-jacket over the edge. Let him test it out while you take the stairs down. Yea, that's the message of this entry: Kids, take the stairs...and avoid R. Kelly. Always.
Recently, I had the opportunity to ride the new N Train. This baby is a sweet ride, let me tell ya'. This baby is a sweet ride. Its aesthetics reminds me of the silver bullets that dash around the 4,5,6 track, but it's clearly a better and improved version.
I'm particularly loving the digitalized LED signs (similar to the L train) that lets you know what the next stop is without having to decipher the muffled and distorted 'wa-wa' announcements of the MTA driver. This might not seem like a big deal to those of you who live on Union Square or whatever, but sometimes the N runs randomly local and other times express, and that's a pretty important distinction--whether the N is local or express--if I want to get home in a timely manner.
These new trains also have a handlebar that runs along the middle of the car, which is convenient for those rush hour crowds. That feature means I no longer have to "hold onto" the ceiling (difficult considering its flat surface...) when I find myself unfortunate enough to be stuck in the middle of the car with seemingly nothing else to latch onto.
The roommate, Chris, wasn't so into the harsh and unforgiving fluorescent lighting, but I sort of like it. It gives the trains a certain sterile ambience that, in some way, assures me that I'm in safe hands as I hurtle through the deep tunnels and over the East River.
I can't wait until these trains are added to the D line.
This entry might possibly be one of the least sexiest topics I've ever written about. Again, this ought to be added evidence of my extreme dorkism and nerdocidity.
Pretty much my favorite thing to do around the apartment is to sit around and invent new nicknames and different ways to address the resident monster-slash-dog, Luca.
There's the simple yet effective: "Luccccaaaaaaa."
My favorite way of greeting him however is (and in my best James Earl Jones impression, which would actually make it possibly the WORST impression of him in the entire world): "Luca...I am your fathaaa."
Seriously, this is so fun to say. Try it.
"LUCA..I AM YOUR FATHA."
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO."
The other derivative to this is to say, "Luke...[pause]-a, I am your fatha."
The other day though, I came up with a new variation: Luca Fiasco. Gangsta, right?
I'm not too inspired tonight to write anything, but I do have a question for all ya'll. I noticed recently that the song on my MySpace profile was removed by Wilco. I'm in need of a new song to put up on there. So, any suggestions?
Luca's ass. And Luca likes it.
But Kristin sniffs his ass because he has a medical condition.
Correction: Kristin likes to sniff Luca's mouth AFTER he's licked his own anus.
She has to smell his mouth after he's licked his own anus to check to see if his ass arthritis is acting up.
THAT is love.
Thursday was--no big surprise here--Babel. It IS really tough to turn down a free bottle of Goose and hookah action especially after a brutal week.
Chloe trying to convince her BFF Cristina to inhale. "Everyone's doing it."
Take two. What's with girls insisting on editorial control with deletion powers over photographs taken?
Chris agrees: "Yea, what's up wit' dat?"
Belly dancer appearance. Cue rhythmic clapping.
I applaud her balancing ability.
Henry helps the dancer.
"Come closer."
Cy looks so happy to be in the middle of this sandwich.
"ARRRGHHHHH!!!!"
"Why Chloe? Why?"
Two thumbs up for Babel thursdays!
Beautiful girls make Chris act the foolishness.
Couple of Henry's friends (forgot your names though: sorry!!).
"It's okay, Matt."
White smoke of the legal variety. Stay clean, kids.
"Hmmm."
Getting their their dance on.
I kind of like this photo, because of its uh, composition.
"Gimme your money BITCH!" Haha.
More foolishness. Haha.
Friday night was 'stay in and drink wine with roommates' night.
Chris entertaining us with some sweet depressing music.
Kristin avoiding the paparazzi style.
Luca thinks he's a cat. He loves sitting on laps.
I am Korean after all...although the Mexican in me would wrap him up in a tortilla.
Collectively can we all say, "awwww."
Saturday, we went to Cherry Tree on Bergen and 4th Ave. Cool place.
Grrrr.
"It's the hat, dude. Chicks DIG the hat."
Chris ruining a perfectly nice moment with a bit of vulgarity. (High five, bro!)
Condoms!
I've never seen Chris so happy!
An effective way of letting the bartender know that you aren't finished with your drink. OH, speaking of: The bartenders at Cherry Tree kept taking my beer and throwing it out before I had finished it. It happened twice. Fucking pissed me off.
The Roommates of President Street. This time it's my turn to ruin a photo. "ARRRRGHHHH!"
Haha. Ass cleavage!
My favorite thing about the bar was BUCK HUNTERRRRR:
GANGSTA.
I call this the "Dick Cheney." BAM! BUCK SHOT TO YO FACE, PUNK!
GANGSTA.
Yea, you.
Hmmm, some unknown klepto of the bunch with the strainer...
Haha. This is a brilliant jumping photo.
The wind up...
Unsuccessful take two.
Chloe brought over her pup Taytay to play with Luca. They trekked through that Sunday night snow this past weekend like true troopers.
Luca doing what he likes doing most: sniffing private areas.
"Helloooo."
Kristin and Ayesha
LUCA YOU SOOO CUTEEEE
Even though Luca has like 20 pounds on Taytay, he was definitely not being the alpha dog. If they were in prison, Luca would be Taytay's bitch.
Okay, I'm too tired to write captions (gym and work kicked my ass today)...
I wanna play says Luca.
JUMP!!!
Don't have many photos for this one on account of the camera battery (and sometimes it's good to just put the camera down).
Saturday morning, got up and met up with the Cy for brunch at B and 12th Street. I got out of Union Square to find myself in the midst of a massive pillow fight taking place there.
Cy solemnly awaiting his 10 dollar plate of eggs, toast, potatoes, coffee, and mimosa. (Seriously, the best brunch deal I've come across in the City.)
Right, so on top of the brunch being tasty and easy on the wallet, there were these two smoking hot lesbians all over one another who were sitting directly next to us. It was very welcoming-ly distracting.
So after we finished our food, drinks, and lesbian making out gazing, we decided to leave. Outside the restaurant, I noticed it had a street placard advertising 2 for 1 drinks from 4 to 8 pm. I took out my cell phone and checked the time (I don't wear a watch) and turned to Cy. "It's 4:18 right now. Should we...?" When we went back in, the couple saw us and laughed. We explained the happy hour special to them.
Party picture taken at....
4:34 pm! Haha.
