MRod says: Is the crew ready? Like spaghetti.

This was from last Saturday (I think)–shit, the days run together now. A Monday is a Thursday and then becomes a Tuesday before reverting back to a Monday.

Cyrus finally had his housewarming party. Lauren here digs into the food in a hearty way.

Peter avoids the all-seeing (and incriminating) eye of the camera. Here’s the scoop on Pete. Amazing singer, gifted musician, friend….who I hadn’t seen, until that night at Cy’s, since graduation. For the past four years or so, he’s been in Cameroon doing “good work.”

Rather than killing his partying ways, Africa only enhanced it! For those that want to party and wild out–Go to Africa! Like Liberia, they can form their own country. Call it Alcoholeria. Or Drunkeria.

Me and Kenny (doing his best Miami Vice impression). Pete commented to me about how surprised he was by Kenny’s wardrobe choices. “The last time I remember seeing Kenny, he was sporting some baggy jeans and a baseball hat. Now look at him!” Quick, someone call the Sartorialist!

While some of us were…

smoking the hookah…

(Pass it, motherfucker!)

…some were doing shots. Anyone that knows me knows how much I hate tequila shots.

Lionel (behind mask) and his friend doing something that was hilarious at the time, but I have no recollection of exactly-what.

Kenny–no longer trapped in the closet. R.Kelly still is though.

Friends of friends and some friends of friends of friends.

Dude describing how large something is.

IN UNRELATED NEWS

I had a run in with the NYPD doing their job enforcing uh…table manners. I briefly thought about whether I could have out run them. It would have been a good foot race.

Half day tomorrow at work. I’d be stoked and looking to get hammered as quickly as possible–except I’ll be spending my weekend most likely looking at apartments.

Um, I say this as heterosexually as possible: JT’s SexyBack is the hotness. Actually, it’s not so much his singing, but rather the beat. Christ, that is a million dollar beat.

A paper came out of Northwestern University Law School succintly titled “Porn Up, Rape Down.”  The bold abstract:

The incidence of rape in the United States has declined 85% in the past 25 years while access to pornography has become freely available to teenagers and adults. The Nixon and Reagan Commissions tried to show that exposure to pornographic materials produced social violence. The reverse may be true: that pornography has reduced social violence. 

As soon as I read this, I immediately thought of my political statistics class at Brown where the professor (who shadily made us buy the course packet directly from him–cash only) drilled this refrain into my feeble mind: “A correlation is not necessarily a causal factor.”

First, for the mindless: The woman with two vaginas has a blog!  Although, who doesn’t nowadays?

Now for the cerebral: Harper’s assembled a quartet of experts to discuss the potentiality of a coup d’etat in this country (not likely is the general agreement), which evolves into a fascinating take on the military’s ever-evolving role in American society today.

KOHN: I’ve raised this point before with military audiences: Do you really think you can control New York City without the cooperation of 40,000 New York police officers? And what about Idaho, with all those militia groups? Do you think you can control Idaho? I’m not even going to talk about Texas.

BACEVICH: And this comes back to the federal system. As Edward pointed out, even if you seized Washington, Americans are willing to acknowledge that Washington is the seat of political authority only to a limited extent. The coup plotters could sit in the Capitol, but up in Boston we’re going to ask, “What’s this got to do with us?”

[...]

BACEVICH: Yes, all militaries are conservative. But since 1980 our military has become conservative in a more explicitly ideological sense. And that allegiance has been returned in spades by the conservative side in the culture war, which sees soldiers as virtuous representatives of how the country ought to be.

This final point scared the crap out of me:

KOHN: One of the great pillars in our history that has prevented military intervention in politics has been the military’s nonpartisan attitude. That’s why General George Marshall’s generation of officers essentially declined to vote at all, as did generations before them. In fact, for the first time in over a century we now have an officer corps that does identify overwhelmingly with one political party. And that is corrosive.

My boss sent out an email a few days ago saying that our company’s PR firm had some tickets available for this year’s tennis US Open launch party to be held at Crobar.

Hell yea, I want to go!

Of course when I got there around 9:30ish (the earliest I’ve ever shown up to a club), there was already a mad number of people crowding the door.

There was actually a red carpet.

Tennis fan holding a giant tennis…ball…hoping to get it signed by the pros.

Amazingly, when I told the clipboard bitch that I was on the list, she confirmed and let me in without a hitch. I only waited near the front with the rest of the mini-skirts and douchebags for about five minutes. Easy peasy.

Yea, and I got to walk the carpet. … No I didn’t. Inside Crobar, they had all sorts of visual party favors–some good and some disturbing–including this mock up, where the not-so-famous (like me) can pose in front of the red carpet backdrop.

Yes, we get it. This is a tennis party.

It took me about an hour before I realized that these four models were actually two sets of twins.

Some non-alcoholic drink that they were sampling at the party. I myself, did a lot of sampling of the Grey Goose at the open bar.

You can ask this bartender, if you don’t believe me. Thanks dude for all those sweet vodka tonics and beers–all the more sweeter because my wallet stayed in ma’ back pocket.

Finally ran into my co-workers. R getting his white boy groove ON. He also dropped his drink about ten times.

So they had all these various models in ridiculous scenarios all over the club, including this flasher.

EEEEEK.

Afterwards, we got…gift bags!! The VIP bags were amazing–I shared an elevator with a guy who was delivering three of them to a company on my floor (the VIP bags had Trivia Pursuit–The ’80s!) and he showed me the goodies in those bags.

My gift bag items:

There was a box of godiva chocolates but I ate those on the subway last night going home before passing out.

Energy bar.

Water bottle.

Sandals.

Uh, a figurine from South African Airlines.

Tanning spray.

American Apparel tank top. It’s a girl’s size large. If any large lady wants this, drop me a line.

Bottle opener.

Some gift card that’s going straight to the trash (like most of the stuff)

Christina Whorilera’s new album. It’s the ish. Pretty damn good.

Listerine.

Gym membership.

Uh, a gift certificate to a place in…Tampa. No thanks.

OH, although I did not get a picture, the only celebrity I saw was Tyrese looking ridiculous (or as ridiculous as ridiculously good looking people can look) with a PDiddy mohawk with a hair fork sticking out the back of it.

This past weekend, I saw yet another “so bad, it’s so good” movie: “Step Out,” which introduced this country to urban plight and hip hopallet (the bastard child of ballet and hip hop dancing).  I’ll spare you the plot (not much of one), but other than the synchronized dance scene at a party, I thoroughly enjoyed the plug that my alma mater (Brown) got.  Girl wants to dance.  Mom wants her to apply to Brown.

But see, in real life–the girl could do BOTH dance AND go to Brown, because that’s the kind of school Brown is, ya’ll.  I was able to pursue my love of interpretative dance while majoring in Political Science when I was a student there.  Kids, follow your dreams.

99 percent of you are either not going to have any idea who I’m talking about or care for that matter, but today when I was walking to get lunch, I walked past this guy:

Mark Hunter aka the Cobra Snake (his ingenue muse is behind him by the trash–a telling juxtaposition?) He goes to these hyper-hipster parties and takes party photos, which he posts on his website. He seemed surprise when I said as I walked by “Great photos man.” And as we paused at the stoplight, he then passed me a sticker and then I asked him if I could take a photo (result above). From Wired:

Los Angeles-based Hunter may be the first person to make a living off a photoblog. He started a year and a half ago by sneaking into clubs with his point-and-shoot digicam to document the night’s drunken festivities. Then he uploaded his photos to TheCobrasnake.com, for everyone to snicker at the next morning. It was easy to garner buzz when shooting the likes of Paris and Nicky Hilton, Beck, Johnny Knoxville, Andr� 3000, Jack Black, and Jarvis Cocker. Soon his pics were showing up in the LA Weekly, and companies showered him with schwag and party invites (”I’m a marketing genius,” he says). He has plied his trade at the South by Southwest music fest, the launch party for Sony’s PlayStation Portable, and even the NME music awards in London (with hefty stipends to cover travel, of course).

TheCobrasnake.com is as self-consciously crude as its proprietor’s fashion sense, with childish illustrations and hundreds of pictures dumped onto pages without annotation. “I don’t like futzing. If the photo doesn’t look good, I don’t mess with it in Photoshop,” Hunter tells me. The amateurish look is all part of his brand. It’s won him a book deal, and he’s taking meetings with the producers of The Real World and The Simple Life, who are planning a reality show about him. But he still hasn’t hit the big time - he can’t afford a car, and he had to go on Extreme Makeover to get the Lasik eye surgery he wanted.

I just finished reading Zadie Smith’s White Teeth. Even more astounding than the brilliance of the novel, is the fact that she wrote this when she was 26-years-old.

I find that only a few contemporary writers can tackle a story that is epic in depth, as well as tell its story in multiple narrative voices and perspectives without drowning in its own greatness or narcissism, and Zadie Smith is one of those select few authors. And I’m even more impressed with her freshman effort since it tackles issues of race, diaspora, and family without making it a Big Important Novel About Race. This book is even more impressive, again, because she published “White Teeth” when only 26.

I’m currently 26. What have I done so far?

Let’s see. Hmmm.

1. Attended two decent universities (one of them, which a drunk gal once told me and Cyrus was “one of the bestttt colleges in the….worrrld). Did not flunk out. Even got A’s in some courses.

2. Cook pretty great scrambled eggs (in my humble opinion).

3. 50 to 0 win–Correction: 50 to 0 ASS WHUPPIN provided by yours truly against Cyrus and Mike in Halo 2 multiplayer. Submit, bitches!

4. Watched 12 hours of TV in one sitting.

5. Won a camera for having the best attendance (definitely not while in college).

6. Gained two feet of air while snowboarding (unintentionally…and off trail).

7. Led a group of 15 elementary school kids up the most difficult trail on Flattop Mountain (accidentally–”we” got on the wrong trail). Only three, that I can recollect, cried during the climb.

8. Vomited three times in one flight.

Wow. I really haven’t done much with my life. Maybe one of my friends reading this will write me and tell me that a few years ago, after a great conversation with them, I somehow unknowingly stopped them from committing suicide later that same night, because they realized after talking to me that there’s still more life to experience. Actually, I think that was a story from one of those Chicken Soup (Chicken Shit?) for the Souls. Don’t lie and act like you don’t even know, ya’ll have read at least one of them.

As soon as I’m settling into the city I love, people seem to be disappearin’ on me. Exhibit A: Kzar. Actually, I’m very excited for him as he closes one door in his life and opens another.

Before he left, he and I had ourselves some fantastic food at famous–correction, world famous Peter Luger steakhouse.

Events initially seem to conspire against us as the subway we planned on taking decided to stop in the middle of a tunnel. Running late for the reservation, we jumped out at the next stop to catch a cab. And that shit wasn’t cooperating either. Every cab was taken. After walking up a couple blocks, we saw an available cab. As we ran to it, some whore jumped in and took it from us. And then we immediately saw yet another cab across the street that was open. Like idiots, we sprinted across the street towards it. And another mothafuckin’ whore took that mothafuckin’ cab as well!! We finally scored a cab and before we knew it, we were enjoying a cold one:

Beeah.

On the suggestion of a couple people, we skeptically ordered the tomatoes and onions. Um, right–it was AMAZING. As our octogenarian waiter told us, the more of the sauce you pour over the tomatoes and onions, the more delicious it is. He’s right!!

Pre-cut! My lazy self loves it!

Perfectly cooked medium rare beef.

The waiter said that to get to the meat on the bone, I had to get into it with my hands. Just following the elder’s advice, ya’ll.

Gotta pour the grease to give it that extra delicious Peter Luger flava. Flava flavvvvvv!

Chokeeeee.

Again, we followed the waiter’s advice and got with the pecan pie (seen here with their famous schlag or whatchamacallit). Soooo good.

Coins.

The subway ride home afterwards was brutal. Took me about two hours because of the shitty late night subways.

This photo was brought to you by the color yellow.

Walking man.

Good luck Kzar! See ya in a bit.

Okay, they aren’t exactly prostituting her out–the magazine is really looking for guys to go on a date with a 29 year old woman who happens also to be a virgin. I don’t know if posting that casting call on Craigslist is the best way to go.

Go on a blind date for a national women’s magazine! - 29
Reply to: pers-194468047@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-08-15, 1:30PM EDT

Hey everyone!

A national women’s magazine is looking for guys between the ages of 26 and 33 in the NYC metro area to go on a blind date with Sarah, a 29-year-old virgin. The group of potential guys will be posted on our website, and readers will choose the lucky guy Sarah goes out with.

Send me an email ASAP if interested, and I’ll send you a little questionaire about yourself to fill out.