The Illuminated Donkey

NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ah well, it was fun while it lasted. Godspeed D'Lish, and thanks for closing it down before mentioning the latest horrible sabotage I pulled on ya. I'll see you in hell.

Studies I'm hoping to run as soon as those research grants come through:

• Was there an exact moment when absolutely nothing could be considered truly "uncool" since the very act of publicly espousing said apparently uncool thing showed that the person was above such judgments and, hence, even cooler (study tentatively titled "Hey, Laugh at My Mullet: the Birth of Noncool")?
  
  
• How long do the marriages last where the man felt compelled to propose to his wife on some sort of stadium Jumbotron DiamondVision or on an airplane or similarly public venue, as opposed to those where the man didn't feel the need to have the whole world watching?
  
  
• Given that the price of a movie ticket keeps going up while the price of DVD's and videos generally keep going down, at what date and price point will the two intersect?
  
  
• Why do some people — people who are apparently not hurting for moolah or cultivating a deathwish — choose to live in shoddy buildings that fall apart in the face of a stiff breeze?

Wheee! Does it make me a bad person if the fact that not everybody has off tomorrow has me feeling even better about my own day off? Yeah, yeah...don't answer that. Anyway, the Metropolitan Museum will be having a special Monday opening for the holiday, and I plan to take advantage of it.

Notes on Week Six (of Eight) of the Improv Class. It was a strange class, with the instructor and just about everybody in the class feeling like they just wanted to pass out and die. I was actually feeling pretty focused and happy (carryover from last night), but there was a definite lack of energy in the room, like everybody wanted to just go home and take a nap and try again later.

The other thing is that we've reached a point where we've accumulated a reasonably sizable number of hints, lessons, attitudes, procedures, etc. that we're supposed to use, and a lot of times there's a bit of a bottleneck in the act of trying to do so while actually performing the scene. A classmate likened it to coaching sports, where when we first started we were just going up to the plate and swinging wildly, whereas now we're standing there thinking "okay, right elbow up, knees slightly bent, lift that shoulder, step in a bit..." all while a fastball's coming in at 90-mph. Basically, we haven't absorbed it all so that it's a natural, fluid process.

As for me, I thought I did fairly okay tonight, though I had my own problems with the bottleneck, as well as a specific difficulty at being able to disregard the suggestions as opposed to the actual path of the scene. Another negative was that in the one scene where I was best received, I was a bit selfish, in that I didn't really leave a lot of space open to my partner, though it still all worked. Oh well, just yet another thing to think about when I'm making up a story and a bunch of people are staring at me. If nothing else, the drinks and conversation after class were a lot of fun.

Hmmm...how cold does it have to be and how drunk do I have to be to not feel guilty about taking a cab from the PATH station to my ten-minute-walk-away building? Apparently about one degree colder and one drink drunker...and now I am still all chilly and tired and sore-eared. Actually, now that I think about, that always-too-long train ride from Manhattan via Hoboken (to drop off all the drunk frat guys singing Neil Diamond tunes) to Journal Square always seems to sober me right up.

If Bitterness Is So Wrong Why Does It Feel So Right? There are some nights where everything just seems right with the whole damn world. Amazing party, terrific company, wonderful people, delicious drinks, hours flying by, the adventures of official FoD Keith, watching hard work come to a glorious result, finding a Truman Capote novel on the street to read on the ride home but not even needing it since I met up with a really interesting guy from Iowa on the platform...

But now I definitely need to collapse. So that is what I'll do.

Update: Dear Lord...it was all...just a dream.

Y

Greetings from Cave City, Kentucky! The meeting is going really well, thanks for asking; in fact, we've been slightly ahead of schedule (the decision to invalidate all absentee and proxy votes saved a couple of hours right there), so I decided to take advantage of my hotel room's high-speed web access to post a few notes.

• Everybody can stop e-mailing, IMing, and accosting me on the street: I had absolutely nothing to do with this:

  The Storybook Romance Comes To An End For Barbie And Ken
  
  MALIBU, Calif. (February 12, 2004) - After more than 43 years together, Hollywood's quintessential "doll" of a couple, Barbie and Ken, have decided to spend some time apart. Although Barbie® has befriended some of the world's most famous celebrities, from popular boy bands to super secret agent spies, Ken® always remained her #1 sweetheart. After all, Ken has been Barbie doll's biggest supporter for more than four decades, by her side from her early career as a teen fashion model to her recent turn as movie starlet. Their relationship was so revered that other successful celebrity pairings were often dubbed "Barbie and Ken."

  I mean, who the hell decided that it would be a good idea to announce this couple two freaking days before Valentine's Day?! Makes me think somebody at Mattel has been checking out a certain site.
• I need some help completing this list:

  1970's: John Oates.
  1980's: Andrew Ridgely.
  1990's: ?
  2000's: Meg White.

  Were the 1990's woefully short on talent-lopsided duos or am I missing somebody obvious?
• And no, D'Lish, I had nothing to do with this either. I mean, seriously, a pool cue? You know I prefer shovels for my road-rage incidents.

A Brief Respite. This blog will not be updated for a few days, as the whole IllDonk Industries team is heading down to Cave City, Kentucky for our annual stockholders meeting and shoo-fly pie bakeoff (don't think you're gonna make it a threepeat, Katie!). If you have any questions during our absence, please leave a voicemail message and our customer service team will get back to you ASAP.

Oh, and try not to do anything stupid again this Valentine's Day.

Those much-appreciated folks who pay the extremely reasonable $9.95/month subscription rate for the Illuminated Donkey Premium Gold Membership can switch on their DonkCams right now to witness the sight of me with a huge grin on my face. And why is that grin so huge? Because Bill Barol and his beloved Blather Blog has returned after a months-long hiatus, including a few weeks there when he was obviously just sort of phoning it in, not that we don't all do that on occasion, of course. Anyway, Bill has a new site design, a new URL, and a backlog of practically-writing-itself horrificness from the likes of Janet and Justin and David and Liza to catch up on. It's snarklarious!

Help a Brother Out! Can you take a few seconds out of your busy schedules to help wish my old Seattle roommate Murph, who was the best damn roommate a guy could have had and who I'm still stealing bits from, a happy birthday? Thanks a million.

Only Five Shopping Days Left Until Valentine's Day, which means there's still plenty of time left to visit the Black Hearts Party Crapeteria! Looking for that special something for that special someone? Why not send him or her a lovely "Thinking of You" dead-rat greeting card, an "Emotionally Unavailable" or "Needy and Clingy" t-shirt, or a teddy bear with a filthy word on it? In fact, why not stock up now for your next few failed relationships?

Notes on Week Five (of Eight) of the Improv Class. Bleh. Well, I guess that would only be one note, so I better amend it: Bleh Bleh. After what I thought was a step forward for me last week, tonight was a whole lot of nothing much, which is strange, since I came to the class really jacked up after an afternoon of creative activity. Last week I had to down a Red Bull right before class and still almost collapsed, yet I had a couple of really good moments; tonight I went to class feeling really awake and focused (and slightly buzzed), yet nothing. Strange and slightly disconcerting. A few people did some terrific work this week, and that was actually really good to see. They're some damn fine people.

It was an opposites kinda night for me in a few ways, since before one of my scenes I went up there with the idea of being really proactive and showing a lot of energy, yet ended up trying to focus more on reacting to my partner and being real, then the next time up I tried to focus more on the reality/reaction, when it turned into a (pretty much successful) free-for-all with a lot of energy and laughs. One breakthrough for me was that after my first scene, which didn't go well, my first reaction wasn't to grab my bag and coat and run out of the class forever, forfeiting my tuition.

We're also supposed to now be thinking about signing up for Level 2 classes, and as of this moment I have no idea if I'm going to. We'll see what happens next week, I guess. Gulp.

A Few Quick Notes on a Fine Jersey Evening.

• If you're going to drive out to the Meadowlands (and how the hell can the Blogger spellcheck be missing Meadowlands?!?!) to watch your alma mater for the first time in ten or so years, and if that alma mater is going to lose the game, then I suppose they might as well play so horribly that the game is pretty much decided midway through the first half and the taunts of the opposing team's students don't really sting since they're we're all pretty much in agreement that, at least for this one night, we pretty much do suck.
• If that opposing team is celebrating its 100th anniversary with a half-time old-timers game featuring alumni from over various eras, then perhaps somebody could tell the 6'6" recent graduate that it's perhaps not in keeping with the spirit of the event to swat a massive power rejection into the face of the poor 70-year-old guy who's just trying to put up a set shot or two without getting injured.
• Mapquest directions seem to be more suggestions than hard-and-fast rules.
• It's great to see good people that you haven't seen in easily a decade and everybody's doing well. It makes you feel like maybe we all did something right at some point.
• Oh, and in case any of you out there were wondering if the term "Cock-block" had yet entered the general vernacular to the point where it can just be dropped into a conversation at a party without bringing said conversation and the surrounding area to a screeching, needle-sliding-off-the-45 halt: that's still a big negative on that one.

Hey, Buddies and Buddettes! Still dateless for that little holiday coming up on February 14? Well, you still have one last chance to find somebody, though that somebody happens to be in St. Louis. Presenting...the Win a Date with Mr. Happy Crack Contest! Just answer the seven simple questions and you can be on your way to true crack-filled love!

Severe Weather Alert from the National Weather Service in effect from 12 AM to 1 PM Friday. Damned wintry mixes...every other freaking day it's another freaking wintry mix...seriously, is there anybody out there who isn't in one of those I-should-be-out-doing-things-and-expanding-my-horizons-and-maybe-meeting-new-and-exciting-people-but-hope-only-leads-to-disappointment-and-it's-easier-to-just-sit-here-and-play-that-smack-a-penguin-caveman-game kinda moods? And if there is, can you please bring some snacks to my apartment?

Oh yeah, there's also a Flood Watch in effect.

Look, I don't think it was too much to ask that one of the three clerks who watched me wander around the discount shoe store and try on various pairs of shoes for a good 20 minutes tell me that it was exclusively a women's shoe store (because with a lot of the styles it was hard to tell!), rather than let me figure out for myself when a snot-nosed teenager pointed at me and began laughing. Stupid clerks.

Recess Is Over. Okay, so we all saw a boob for half a second. I think we can all move on with our lives now.

Oh, and I know that I'm supposed to disguise my posted e-mail address with an -at- instead of the @ so that Spam-scoopers or whatever they're called can't pick it up, but if I did that there's a good chance I would never have received the following request from the webmaster of "a spiritual web directory:"

Hello, I am creating a web directory and would like to include your website Bleak.blogspot.com under the "health/massage therapy and bodywork" category.

I mean, it's about time that somebody's recognized what I'm really trying to do with this site!

Just When You Thought It Was Over. The recap has been posted, the worst bar in New York has shut down, so what else can be left to say about the Big Apple Blogger Bash?

Well, Belle has just one more thing to say about it: ASS! Or actually: ASS ASS ASS!

I wonder where I'll be in five years.

One part of the other night's class that I forgot to mention was experiencing the ultimate reward of comedic performing: getting back at somebody in my life by ridiculing him/her while strangers laugh viciously. One of the exercises was to perform a suggested scene as a character who we knew personally (as opposed to an earlier exercise where we did scenes as a famous real-life or fictional character). After considering a few family members and friends, the obvious choice sprung to mind. I'm not going to get specific about who this person is and why their every utterance and mannerism makes me cringe and gnash my teeth and pray for a just deity to crack open the ground beneath this person's feet so that they fall down to the fiery pits of the earth's core, but I can say that it felt incredibly fulfilling to stand up in front of the class and recreate those cringe-worthy traits, and the laughter assured me that everybody else would feel exactly the same way were they ever unfortunate enough to have to spend time with this particular person whose name I am still not mentioning. So that felt good.

Thank God I Don't Bet on Sports. Because of the unfortunate and unswitchable meeting time of my improv class (which again went fairly well after an extremely rocky beginning; I obviously need to start doing something to prepare for class earlier, so that I'm not completely off-kilter and blank-minded for the first hour), I was only able to catch the last eight or so minutes of the game (we got into the bar right after the Brady interception deep in Carolina territory), but all I can possibly say is Sweet Holy Mother of Pearl! Touchdown after touchdown after touchdown, with a half-dozen great catches and non-stop excitement.

Of course, I had been telling everybody around me that it would be a rather low-scoring, low-key game, with New England taking an early lead and shutting down the Panthers the rest of the way. And while I guess it was low- (actually, no-) scoring for about 25 minutes, after that both offenses just went completely ape-shit and reminded me why I should never, never, never bet sports, including maybe even grid pools. I just apparently don't know nothing, not that I could beat the vig even if I did. Which I don't.

And can somebody tell me just what the heck happened at halftime that the NFL had a statement out within minutes?

Statement by NFL Executive Vice President Joe Browne regarding the Super Bowl halftime show:

"We were extremely disappointed by elements of the MTV-produced halftime show. They were totally inconsistent with assurances our office was given about the show. It's unlikely that MTV will produce another Super Bowl halftime."

An all-star musical recreation of the Paris Hilton video? Folk music? Cannibalism? Now I'm sorry I missed it.

Update: I shoulda known...the Gigglechick has the straight dope on the disturbance, complete with close-ups! Oh dear.

Wouldn't it be great if the military had all the money it needed and schools had to hold a bake sale to buy a textbook? Maybe some day that dream will be a reality, but for now, they have to rely on ArmyBakeSale.com: Exporting Democracy and Delicious Baked Goods since 2003. And remember, a new Patriot Anti-Missile Battery is only 300,000 cookies away!

Courtesy of the obviously brilliant Luna, The Terror Alert Banana, featuring the current Department of Homeland Security color-coded threat level in handy and convenient Dancing Banana form.

Yeah, this is more like it: short posts mostly consisting of stuff other people wrote or did. That is so much easier than long posts I write myself! It's not like I'm getting paid for this or anything!

Announcing an Incredible New Contest!

Have you always wanted to attend New York's own legendary Black Hearts Party but you're either not acquainted with any of the organizers or don't want to pretend to be going out with me? Well, for the first time ever, the hosts are holding a contest to give a few lucky (or not-so-lucky) strangers the chance to attend.

The Black Hearts Party Essay Writing Contest lets you vent your frustration in 250-750 words in any of three categories: My Worst Breakup, Why I Hate Valentine's Day, and Why I Deserve to Attend. An indeterminate number of winners will be selected on a completely arbitrary basis and given a ticket for BHP XIV. The deadline is February 7, so get on it!

I received my 1000th comment today, on the Big Apple Blogger Bash post below. I was going to give a prize to whoever left the 1000th comment, without announcing that in advance to avoid lots of pointless comments, but the person who left comment #1000 did so anonymously. So I bet that person feels pretty dumb now, huh?

To: Ashley Charleston
From: Guy Sterling IV, EVP Marketing
Re: Marketing/Distribution Plan for Independent Feature: "AshleyHotSex.wmv"

Ashley: Received the final cut of "AshleyHotSex" and we're all incredibly thrilled with it. It definitely avoids the grainy, disjointed quality that we were worried about, and it's a terrific showcase for a breakthrough performance. I'm sure we won't be hearing any more talk about any "wooden performances" or "lack of emotion" after they see the bit with the nightstand and the candles. And be sure to pass along to Jake how much I liked his cinematography/co-starring, and mention that bananas can help prevent leg cramps.

Now, there is a legitimate worry that the whole category may be growing too crowded — I mean, Dr. J for crissakes — so I suggest we move quickly. I've already taken the liberty of initiating several lawsuits and pre-issuing our angry denials. In addition, we set up four press meetings for next week and then immediately canceled them citing your emotional precariousness and a refusal to discuss "AshleyHotSex," which prompted a new round of interviews and at least two calls from the major networks. We'll discuss on a case-by-case basis on Friday morning.

Now, w/r/t your short-term actions, we've found that a three-day no-comment/denial cycle usually works the best: two days and you seem a little eager, four and you look a little delusional. In fact, we might even cut that denial time since Jake was good enough to mention your website address twice (though in the future, while the framed posters from your last film may have seemed like a good idea — and of course I loved you as Dancer's Friend in "Talk to the Hand" — we should probably avoid giving free publicity to past projects that you don't get points from, though I imagine that won't be an ongoing concern.

As for the distribution strategy, I've just sent the file to my 15-year-old nephew with the Subject Line "I CAN'T BELIEVE ITS REALLY HER!!!!!!" It should be forwarded to everybody else in the world's Inbox in about 45 minutes. Watch for it. We'll see you on Friday.

Best,

Guy

This Week's Political Note: Vote Early, Vote Often, Vote for Vermin Supreme! During my regular perusal of Ryan Lizza's excellent Campaign Journal Blog on The New Republic Online, I immediately noticed the headline "Howard Dean is face to face with Vermin..." and quickly clicked to check the story out. What I saw:

REVOLUTION POSTPONED: Howard Dean is face to face with Vermin. [...] Dean is scrounging for some last minute independent votes on a talk radio show, but Vermin, a presidential candidate wearing a rubber boot on his head and an enormous goat belt buckle--"a goat cod piece with chaps I would call it," he says--is waiting for him. The two candidates have a short exchange. "I asked him if he supported mandatory tooth-brushing and he claimed never to have heard of the issue, if you can believe that," says Vermin.

led me to believe that it could only be one person: perennial Mayoral/Emperorial/Presidential candidate Vermin Supreme.

A quick search helped me discover this recent profile of Mr. Supreme which confirmed my hope that he was still stalking the campaign trail, with a boot on his head and brandishing a megaphone with "THIS MACHINE ANNOYS FASCISTS" printed on it, and throwing a monkey wrench into even the slickest political machines. Vermin is a man who is willing to do anything to get his message across, and if he doesn't happen to have a message at any particular time, he's not above biting his opponent.

You see, Vermin Supreme and I have a bit of a history. Way way way back in the dark days of the early 1990's, Vermin Supreme was briefly running for the office of Mayor of New Brunswick. Now, it turns out that there was no Mayoral race in New Brunswick that particular year, but he was hoping to start gathering votes well in advance so he'd have plenty by the time November 1994 rolled around. Keith and I, who were writing a weekly section for the Rutgers Review at the time, admired that kind of forward thinking and immediately arranged plans to interview him.

Now, unfortunately, we never got the opportunity to meet Vermin. The time for the interview came and went, and he simply never showed up in our offices. We assumed that he was off on official campaign business, but it turns out that the Student Center security simply refused to either let him upstairs or call us. By the time it was all cleared up he had left town and we never got to meet him, not that it stopped us from writing the article as if we had.

In any event, since I completely dropped the ball regarding yesterday's primary, annoying the man who designed that fancy Donk-Cision 2004 logo up there, I figured I'd dig out that old issue and reprint some of Vermin Supreme's most trenchant political positions.

Vermin Supreme Promises:

• To do something about the weather. "Too damn hot" in the summer, "Too damn cold" in the winter. Possibilities under study include a) a weather dome over the entire city for climate control; b) physical relocation of the entire city to a more hospitable climate; or c) simply throwing out anybody who complains.
• To pave over everything that hasn't been paved over yet.
• To make the homeless disappear. Poof! As if by magic, presto chango. Out of sight, out of mind. Where did they go? Oh, well, you don't really want to know now, do you? Didn't think so.
• To achieve nuclear capability for little towns, taking no more gruff from neighboring municipalities over contaminating "their" groundwater and other such "sour grapes."
• To tax the bejeezus out of everything.
• To make crime against the law! Combat illiterates! Fight the unemployed! And stop pregnant teenagers! These statistics can easily be lowered by manipulating the figures on which they're based.
• To appoint lots of committees to look into all sorts of things.
• And, of course, no comment on disarmament through deployment.

Yep. More snow. Let's see what else is going on...Oscar nominations? Don't really care. Super Bowl? Care about as much as Paul Katcher. New Hampshire primary? I was playing tennis and missed pretty much everything; hopefully I'll have something next Tuesday to justify Whybark's fancy logo.

But wait! Here's something that piques my interest! Following up on my Big Apple Blogger Bash report on Saturday, we are oh so sorry about having to take you down...deeks!

AZ, the elaborate multilevel Asian restaurant at 21 West 17th Street, has closed. The original chef, PATRICIA YEO, left last summer, and the owner, JIMMY HABER, plans to renovate the place and reopen it with a different focus.

I guess now it's only the former worst bar in New York, huh? And here's an idea for a new focus, Jimmy: maybe you and your staff can not act like douchebags! Focus on that! (Thanks to Josh of the Food Section, a very cool site about local culinary goings-on, for spreading this fine news.)

Sometimes when I write a long piece that I'm not very sure about I immediately follow it up with a short link-post so that the long piece isn't right there on top like King Kong attacking the Empire State Building.

Um...well...let's see what we have cluttering up Donk HQ...oh, yeah! It's been far too long! Once again...IT'S PEANUT BUTTER JELLY TIME!!!

Thoughts Following Week Three of My Improv Class. (And no, I never wrote anything about Weeks One or Two just in case the whole thing turned out to be a horrible mistake and I abandoned the whole project like an unwanted Christmas-present-kitten left by the side of the road.)

I left class last night definitely feeling a little better than I did after the first two. There were a moments in front of the group when I felt like I had some control over the scene I was helping to create, rather than just floundering about desperately trying to think of something, anything to say or do. It wasn't a great work of theater for the ages or anything, but it was a logical scene with characters and a relationship and even one or two laughs, a scene where I wasn't praying for someone to end it, and it felt like something I could build on. Of course, there were several less successful moments, but the class ended on the high note and overall I'm beginning to feel a little less lost.

Now, as for why I'm doing this: I've been thinking about taking this class or something similar for a few years now. First off, I have practically zero experience in any sort of performing art. In fact, since my supporting role as Sohovik in the Jonas Salk Middle School Production of Damn Yankees, my lifetime performing resume consists of: 1) being called onto a Seattle stage during a performance of Fool Moon for some audience-participating clownery, and 2) dressing up as a cat down in Wildwood, NJ and performing some cat-themed observational humor for 60 seconds. Basically, two spur-of-the-moment events, although I guess we can also count officiating my friends' wedding.

Anyway, despite this lack of experience, or more likely because of it, I have always just assumed that my writing style would translate really well and I would be naturally good at whatever comedic performing art I attempted. One of my 2003 resolutions was to try stand-up comedy, and while the aforementioned Meow Mix thing probably would technically qualify, late in the year I decided that I'd rather not regret never having done it, amended that resolution to include a more group-oriented activity, and signed up for the class.

Of course, so far it's turned out to be a bit tougher than my idealizations. I'm pretty well trained in choosing words carefully and rearranging and editing extensively, and an on-the-fly form of performance such as long-form improv has much less, if not no, use for those skills (not that after three classes I can claim to be an expert on what sorts of skills it would have use for). Once an idea or movement is expressed, well, there at is, out there in the world, and there's no going back. A few times so far I've said or done something and immediately wanted to take it back, but that just isn't an option. You have to move forward and try to make it work; it's like driving too fast and getting off the wrong exit: you can try driving in reverse back onto the highway, but more likely than not it's gonna get ugly real quick.

In any event, I'm finding the whole experience to be fascinating, if a bit scary, with lots of unexpected insights and lessons about humor and what makes a piece work. I hadn't even planned to write about it on this site, but It's a great subject worth exploring, and I'll hopefully be able to convey a bit more about the class and the theory behind it as I go along.

In other exciting news, Mike Whybark sometimes takes the transcripts of our IM exchanges and posts them, yet when I try to do the same he sics a team of big-buck white-collar lawyers on me. Anyway, he's stolen my idea again and posted a little role-playing game of ours called "Has Anybody Talked to Spirit Lately?" on his site. We like it.

Meanwhile, the occasionally intriguing Aaron Haspel was nice enough to throw me a bone and list The Donk among other fine sites which "are sometimes funny." This slightly makes up for his previous comparison of me to Herbert Leonard "Wing-Ding" Weisenheimer of the National Lampoon 1964 High School Yearbook, though if he thinks it's gonna keep me from check-raising him every single hand next time we play hold `em, well, he's sadly mistaken.

By the way, if you have any 1976 Bicentennial calendars up in your attic, feel free to put them on your wall, since 1976 and 2004 have the same day/date pattern! It's another money-saving hint from The Donk!

Sorry, Everybody. False Alarm. It turns out that what I was doing wasn't actually a felony in Hudson County, the three personal checks I wrote did clear (thanks, Mom!), the particular witness in question did not wish to give a statement to the controlling authorities at that point in time, and Jahna D'Lish is willing to say that I was actually in Point Pleasant with her at the time.

And since that's out of the way, let's get to the big goings-on around town! As some of you may already know (given that 98% of the readers of this here blog were in attendance), there was yet another Big Apple Blogger Bash last night, organized by the always-helpful Z-list bloggers P-Frank and M-Dub. The event was scheduled for some fancy-pants Chelsea joint, and I had planned to arrive fashionably late after dinner, with the smokin'-and-Fun-Dip-snackin' Jahna D'Lish on one arm and the exactly-equally-smokin'-yet-slightly-more-health-conscious Juliette Aiyana on the other.

Well, by the time the three of us showed up it turns out that the bar had thrown the party out! Yes, this fine bunch of bloggers were made to feel as welcome as a gang of Harley-riding lepers at a Shreveport quilting bee, with proprietor Richie Von Richierich and head bartender Snooty McShunnyshun essentially saying "Dozens of heavy drinkers throwing their money around like shore-leave sailors the day before the invasion? For heaven's sake, why would we want that?" "We'll see you in hell...deeks!" was collectively bellowed by us as we headed 25 or so blocks north for a return trip to the far-more inviting Siberia Bar, which we cannot recommend highly enough. And let us never speak of the (let the Googlebomb commence!) worst bar in New York again!

Unfortunately I wasn't able to get the names of everybody I met last night as there was trouble with the nametag technology, if by "nametag technology" I mean "lots of people, including myself, refusing to wear them." Anyway, among the people whose personalities broke through my whiskey-fueled haze were the lovely Caren Lissner, who it turns out not only puts on clothes pretty much every day but also actually attended the other, rival high school in my hometown at the same time, and who went to college with several friends from my youth. Unfortunately, Caren left the party before I had a chance to say goodbye or she was able to hear Duran Duran's "Rio," both minor tragedies. I didn't really talk too long with HipHop Libertarian Cal Ullmann, since I was pretty busy with Mike Wolf talking shit about the other attendees, but he seemed really nice and I'm sure we would have had a fine conversation if I wasn't an asshole. It's always a little thrill to stand near Belle of No Apologies, who I think was making her BABB-debut. I will say that if you're not familiar with Maker's Mark I wouldn't necessarily recommend ordering a shot just because you don't want to hang with Belle looking like a wuss. That is some throat-scraping harshness, lemme tell you. Fortunately, I then tricked Mike Wolf into drinking a shot as well, and boy, did we all have a good laugh over that one! I helped Stephanie Klein remember Tim Teufel's name, which I certainly wasn't expecting to do. And...um...the other nice people whose names I didn't get. I could describe them physically, but I don't see how that would really help anybody. They were all nice.

As for the BABB regulars, the orbital center of the party was, of course, Brian the 646 Guy, who, just to get the quote right, is dancing even when he's standing still, and when he's actually dancing, it's like he's dancing twice. His cock-blocking tendencies aside, Brian is about as fine a guy as you'd ever hope to meet. I was glad to spend some time with Paul Katcher, if only to have the chance to explain that I wasn't a Mets fan. I mean, for Pete's sake, a Mets fan? Sheesh. Meanwhile, there's no better hat/grin combination in all of blogging than the still-angry Nick Marsala and if there's a better hugger in the NYC area than Ravenwolf, please send her over to Jersey City. It's great to hear that Allan Baruz was able to pay off his gambling debts and that his thumbs have healed. Zeebah is always a bright ray of sunshine in the middle of a dive bar, and it's always a delight to see the woman behind this fine new blog.

And speaking of two of the finest people on the planet, Jim and Jane Galt, the evening ended as it usually does, with my being accused by a woman at the bar of staring at her cleavage. She wasn't particularly angry about it, just curious, and I explained that I wasn't actually staring at her cleavage but was rather struck by the odd stance she had taken, it turns out to get a better view of Jane Galt. And to me, that's what the BABB is all about, since honestly who among us hasn't at one point been in one of those three situations: either being a woman standing in an awkward position while staring at Jane Galt, being accused of staring at a woman's cleavage when you're actually just struck by her awkward stance, or actually being Jane Galt?

See you all next time.

I am so very, very sorry. Listen. Over the next few days you're going to be hearing a lot of different things about me, and some of those are going to be true and some of them probably aren't. I wish that I had the chance right now to discuss them in detail, but understand that I'm not proud of what I did, but sometimes there are things a person simply has to do. But please don't judge me until I have the time to explain. And I pray with all my soul that the time comes soon.

Speaking of the Long Hard Lonely Slog of Winter...

LOVE SUCKS!

BLACKHEARTSPARTY.COM SERVES UP 'TODAY IN BLACK HEARTS HISTORY' AND ONLINE STORE, JUST IN TIME FOR VALENTINE'S DAY

January 20, 2004 — NEW YORK CITY — The romantically challenged will find relief this Valentine's Day with two new features on the Website designed for casualties of Cupid's arrow. The site is BlackHeartsParty.com, the online lifestyle zine that celebrates the dark side of love and wages war on candy hearts, fluffy teddy bears, sappy love songs and sugarcoated greeting cards.

The first of the two new features is "Today in Black Hearts History," a morbid look at broken-hearted events in history from the worlds of entertainment, politics, sports, and culture. "Why wait for the anniversary of your break-up to celebrate your misery?" said BlackHeartsParty.com co-founder Marc Y. Leonard. "We now offer great moments in Black Hearts History 365 days a year; and that's 366 days this year."

The second new feature is the online store, titled "Black Hearts Crapeteria." Here victims of Cupid can purchase insult gifts for exes, sympathy gifts for dumped friends, or items from "All About You," which includes t-shirts that read "Fragile" and "Emotionally unavailable."

Regular features of the site include original essays, poetry, and fiction on the Tree of Despondency; advice from relationship "expert" dog columnist Ethel; restaurant reviews in categories such as "Places to Take Someone to Dump," "Places to Cheat on Someone," and "Places to Make A Scene."

BlackHeartsParty.com was inspired by The Black Hearts Party, New York's longest-running anti-Valentine's Day event. The first annual Black Hearts Party was thrown in 1990 in New Brunswick, New Jersey. Last year's Black Hearts Party took place in Manhattan and was attended by over 400 unloved people.

Just in case you needed a little more Ken Goldstein in your life, you can find plenty of it and lots-lots more over at the aforementioned Black Hearts Party site, and since I remain single as February 14 approaches, all of the bitterness still stands. I spent a lot of time working on the Today in Black Hearts History part of the site, along with many other fine people, and I'm pretty darn proud of it. Please go and enjoy our pain.

Caucus Follow-Up. I'm pretty surprised that no major political pundits have discussed my theory that Dean's poor showing in Iowa was due in large part to the "American Idol" premier keeping a lot of his young supporters at home rather than slogging it out in the caucuses. The scheduling conflict may not have cost Dean the win, but it almost certainly cost him a delegate or two plus a level of momentum.

It all becomes a little more interesting when we take into account the fact that the new "American Idol" season was originally scheduled to air last night as a two-hour special. However, Fox split the show in half and bumped the debut back a night to Monday when the Bush administration scheduled the State of the Union address to also air last night.

With this information in hand, it seems blaringly obvious that the evil mastermind Karl Rove — privately frightened of the prospect of Bush having to campaign against the volatile Dean — scheduled the SOTU speech for last night fully expecting the domino effect that has ultimately led to the sudden slowdown of the previously seemingly unstoppable Dean Express.

If the major news organizations don't follow up on this they're a bunch of pussies.

It's Wednesday evening all across this wonderful country of ours more or less, and that can mean only one thing: it's time for another startling edition of Nancy Goldstein's Monkeys, Donkeys, and Junkies: a regular foray into the latest headlines concerning three of our favorite things!

If you thought that you smelled a little monkey in the air, you're probably right!

All Set in Chinatown for Countdown to Lunar New Year of the Monkey.

SINGAPORE: It's the eve of the Lunar New Year and all the action is at Chinatown. Thousands of Singaporeans have been gathering there all evening to witness a countdown to the Year of the Monkey. And for the first time in some 30 years, firecrackers will be set off at the stroke of midnight.

Monkeys and fireworks? This sounds like the best prom ever! And simply by turning that little "m" to a "d" we're off to explore the world of donkeys, taking special care to focus on those beasts of burden with extra-special skills!

Sleep Well, All's Well: 'Watchdonkey' Is Guarding the Sheep.

Her assignment? To defend and protect a flock of 21 sheep.

Her skills? A powerful jaw capable of picking up anything that weighs 60 pounds or less, an on target forceful kick and a ferocious-sounding bray. A general distaste for canines and coyotes also helped Bonnie, a 7-year-old donkey specifically trained to ward off predators, land the new guardian post. [...]

In the event of an attack, Bonnie will point her ears forward and bray. She will kick with her hooves or bite the dog or coyote with enough force that could maim or kill it. (Under state law, it is legal to kill an animal that is attacking livestock.)

And for the final stop on the MD&J tour we head to the streets of Manhattan to check in with one of our favorite actors, Mr. Rip Torn, who's found himself in a spot of trouble:

Rip Torn Arrested for Drunk Driving.

Men In Black actor Rip Torn has been charged with drunk driving after he crashed into the rear of a New York taxicab in the early hours of Tuesday morning.

According to a police report posted on the Smoking Gun website, the 72-year-old veteran star was "incoherent" when approached by a police officer following the 12:40 AM crash in Greenwich Village, and was found to have "watery and bloodshot eyes, had slurred speech, had the odor of alcohol on his breath, was unsteady on his feet and had a flushed face."

Torn - real name Elmore Rual Torn - also reportedly answered the officer's questions by repeatedly saying, "What. Huh."

I'm guessing that "What. Huh." was not the correct answer to the officer's questions.

Be sure to check back soon for another globe-spanning edition of Nancy Goldstein's Monkeys, Donkeys, and Junkies!

You know we're really into the long hard slog of winter when the calendar kiosk in the mall is blowing out everything for $3. That's like saying "Hell, we thought 2004 was gonna be sweet, but now it just looks like another 12-month crapfest."

Raucous Caucus: Liveish Coverage. I've been watching CSpan2 for the last hour, and this Iowa caucus might be the most messed-up thing I've ever seen. You've got dozens of white people crammed into somebody's house, not a single one of them under 60, it looks like bridge night at my grandmother's development's clubhouse. You've got people out on the porch, in the kitchen, up on the roof, they go around asking who's for Dean, for Edwards, for everybody else (not a whole lot of Sharpton or Lieberman supporters in that crowd), some guy raised his hand for Gephardt and then his wife shot him a look and then he quickly took it down. If their guy doesn't have enough support they run across the room to hang out with the more popular kids, and on it continues until the music stops.

For one month or so every four years these folks are the most important people in America, and they're all looking into the camera like they know it. Seriously, any night this month, any person in that state can get any of the candidates on the phone in five minutes. "Hey, Lieberman, I've got six people in my apartment and we were all wondering about the prospects for single-payer health care reform. Oh, and we're kinda hungry." Ten minutes later Joe's at the door with a stack of pamphlets and a bag of Chinese food, looking for babies to kiss. Me, I'm heating up yet another can of soup. It's just not fair.

Okay, I just switched over to coverage of the larger Dubuque caucus (well, one of the Dubuque districts), where they're focusing on the supporters of the non-viable candidates running around trying to get the other supporters of the different NVC's to join them for a while. I was really enjoying watching some old coot reminisce about selling sweetcorn as a boy, until I realized that he had about 1000 times more say in the democratic process than me. Then there's this one young woman with a Gephardt shirt though apparently no knowledge of the man or his policies who is desperately cajoling folks with no interest whatsoever in joining her. She's all like "No, you come over here so Gephardt will be viable" and they're all like "well...no...maybe you should come over here instead." Really, the question "Why should I support Gephardt?" shouldn't flummox her like it appears to be doing.

It doesn't seem to be occurring to the Gephardt Gal that if these people wanted to make Gephardt a viable candidate they would have maybe gone over there in the first place. (My favorite is the one lonely Lieberman supporter who told her "Um...I think I'll just stand here by myself instead.") And, of course, there's the age-old political debate: could I pretend to be a Kucinich supporter for one night in order to stand next to that really adorable woman holding his sign? Not to mention whether the intense-looking guy in the Edwards shirt can really be counted on to do an unbiased headcount of the Edwards supporters. At one point I think I saw him counting chairs and a coatrack.

I'm just guessing that the caucus chairman shouldn't necessarily be announcing over the airwaves the 800-number used for calling in the results. In case you were curious, the recording asks you to enter your access code (which the chairman also announced, but I figured we were heading into voter fraud felony territory). Anyway, Dubuque District 20 went six delegates for Kerry, three for Edwards, and two for Dean; none of the other candidates were viable. That appears to be how the evening is going, with Edwards running closely behind Kerry, Dean pretty far behind (though that might be because apparently less than 1% of Iowans are under 50 years old; seriously, it's like that Soviet town they used to show in the yogurt commercials), and Gephardt in his hotel room crafting his withdrawal speech. From this point on, you should probably check in with more respected news organizations.

You know how you can tell things haven't gone well during your dental checkup? When your next appointment is solely a "Consultation Meeting" in order to give the dentist time to organize the info and explain in detail all of the procedures he thinks you need to have done. Can you say "multiple root canals," folks? In other exciting news, in case anybody was wondering whether there are still rats in the subway the answer is yes, and you can all stop wondering because I've finally found the perfect woman for me.

Holy crap, there's like eleventy-jillion people coming to this thing! I hope it doesn't turn into another Bear Mountain Picnic Massacre.



Somebody there should buy me a drink, doncha think?

Some Notes on an Afternoon with D'Lish.

First of all, I need to make a late, completely unexpected addition to my list of My Favorite Films of 2003. I'm not a particularly big fan of Tim Burton, though I did love "Ed Wood" and "Beetlejuice," and almost definitely wouldn't have gone to see "Big Fish" unless D'Lish wanted to (and unless my brother could get us in for free). Which means that I never would have even known that I missed one of the most wonderful, magical films of the year.

It does drag a touch in spots and there is a little too much Billy "Spoilsport" Crudup (though he eventually makes up for it), keeping it from true greatness, but I can't remember the last film that I enjoyed so much, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I even got a little misty-eyed towards the end (though maybe it helps if you grew up with a father who constantly told stories that you assumed to be b.s. but which turned out, in an even more disturbing way, to be true). A great performance by Ewan McGregor, owner of the brightest smile in the business. Obviously highly recommended.

And then things started to get a little weird... After the movie, Jahna and I were hoping for a nice relaxing dinner involving huge piles of meat, so we headed across the parking lot to Famous Dave's BBQ. Little did we know that our meals would be in the hands of Fernando, the world's neediest waiter.

Now, do get me wrong: he was a really nice guy and a good waiter. It's just that having him serve us was like going back in time to spend an hour with my most-clingy girlfriend, but with upsell. Jahna later surmised that the fault was entirely mine, as I shattered the barriers of our waiter/waited-upon relationship when I let him sit down next to me in the booth while taking our appetizer order (hey, he said he was tired!). This was some sort of signal to him, as he seriously must have made anywhere in the range of 15-20 visits during the course of our meal.

Which is all well and good, and he was trying to be helpful, but there was actually a point where I was unable to eat because of the endless visits. There was a problem with the appetizer and the entree; no big deal, and it was quickly straightened out (and the app cost taken off the bill), but the way Fernando and his manager kept coming over and carrying on about it, you'd have thought they ran over my baby with a truck. I mean, it's okay, just let me eat my frigging ribs! And if you are coming over to apologize, it would be a lot more sincere-sounding if you didn't end every sentence with an upsell exhorting me to try the Long Island Ice Tea or some Kickin Chicken Fritters. Between the apologies and the serialized version of his life story, I thought we had gone to some crappy dinner theater. Normally I feel bad about stiffing a waiter as nice as Fernando on the tip, but this time was different.

And finally from the conversation: three extremely odd yet effective vocal decisions: Prince singing "Kiss" in a super-falsetto; Mick Jagger's strange off-the-beat timing in "Shattered;" Roger Daltrey's "My G-G-Generation" stutter.

How can it be snowing again? Dammit.