Internet Dating

So, a couple months ago I decided it was time to try internet dating. It seemed to work so well for some of my friends.

Matt Lancit was getting friendster messages from hot russian heiresses about how cool his taste in movies is. It's Del's bread and butter re: dating. And last summer, Stephen Boatright all but drowned in Brooklyn's hush-hush shadow-world of Albanian luxury escorts.

I knew I had to find the right site. And I did.




Dear LyorCohen6634,

I wanted to make you aware of some new members who recently joined REPUBLICANPeopleMeet.com.

To be automatically logged in and view their pictures, click here.

COOLGRANDMA is 65 and lives in Houston, TX USA. She is 5' 5" tall, Average build and considers herself Good looking. COOLGRANDMA wants to meet men on REPUBLICANPeopleMeet.com.

"Average build?" yeah, for a grandma! but hey, i'm glad she considers herself good looking.

FLEVOE is 76 and lives in Fort Myers, FL USA. She is 5' 7" tall, Average build and considers herself Good looking. FLEVOE wants to meet men on REPUBLICANPeopleMeet.com.

NEWSFLASH: Flevoe, the petty car theif turned murderer from blaxploiation movie "Panhandle Jones" escaped a Fort Myers jail this morning. She is 5'7" tall, and considers herself good looking


JUSTICEALEXANDRI is 45 and lives in Newport Beach, CA USA. She is 5' 3" tall, Average build and considers herself Stunning looking. JUSTICEALEXANDRI wants to meet men on REPUBLICANPeopleMeet.com.

THis bitch is 45, 5'3" and stunning! that's all you have to say to describe her!

JESSYPARKER is 30 and lives in New Castle, PA USA. She is 5' 6" tall, Slender build and considers herself Good looking. JESSYPARKER wants to meet men on REPUBLICANPeopleMeet.com.

The only one I can realistically say is date-ably old. But she's not stunning. And her name sounds like sarah jessica parker.

CAFESOPHFUN05 is 38 and lives in Brooklyn, NY USA. She is 5' 11" tall, Slender build and considers herself Very good looking. CAFESOPHFUN05 wants to meet men on REPUBLICANPeopleMeet.com.

WINNER!? She's tall and from BK, big points. And, what's this? She considers herself "VERY good looking." that's the breakdown. You're Good Looking, Very Good Looking, or Stunning

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Thank you for being part of REPUBLICANPeopleMeet.com - The Republican People Network

How you know a date is effectively over

I think you know a date is effectively over (and you're not taking this person out on another one) when you come to the point where you say, in your heart of hearts, "I'm going to stop holding this in and just fart already."

This actually only applies to an outdoor rezendevous. If you do this indoors, you're disturbed. Or very self-possesed.

Expensive Babies

There are babies richer than you and I, my friend. These scions of hedge-fund managers, these mini-heirs to some shipping dynasty, these expensive babies. They have more assets than most section 8 landlords.

These expensive babies.

Magic Ladies

There are magic ladies all over New York. When you work in the right neighborhoods, you see the magic ladies all the time.

When you work in the wrong neighborhoods, you see Tan-orexic, bleach-blond Crystals with bad T-shirts and belly/muffin-top action.

The Magic Ladies have good jobs at nice offices. Any office with an espresso machine and mid- to high-end design that was renovated in the last seven years will contain one magic lady per 75 square feet. Magic ladies also tend to work at offices with big windows and open spaces. Magic ladies need light.

Some magic ladies do not work in offices. They are called "models".

==========Some Magic Lady Spots for your Ass==============

+601 West 26th Street. Starrett-Lehigh Building.

When I was 16, my cousin took me to a rave at the Tunnel. I did crazy shit and had a great time and stayed up super late. Walking toward the club, on the last block before the Hudson River, I looked at the warehouses around me. I didn't know which one was the club, but I liked the vibe. I actually thought the Starrett-Lehigh building was the Tunnel. I was dissapointed to find out it wasn't. Everytime I drove by that building I thought it was uber-cool.

The Starrett-Lehigh building is a massive slice of Manhattan commercial real-estate. It occupies an entire block. It used to be a serious part of the pier system on the West side. Barges would bring rail cars accross the Hudson and they'd go into special frieght lifts in the Starrett-Lehigh building. Homeland Security and the FBI have offices there, and there is freight lift in there that can lift a cube truck 19 stories.

It's now home to a shitload of production companies, photo-studios, art studios and galleries, and machine shops. With the exception of machine shops, these are all classic magic lady hang-outs.

Round about six pm, magic ladies pour out of the building. Tall euros, short pixies, all kinds. Jet-set ladies.


+Swath of land bounded by Seventh Ave and Broadway, from 35th St to 41st St.

Okay, sorry, not gonna get that in depth again. My experiences in this neighborhood were at the Seventeen Magazine offices, and the Phat Farm/Baby Phat offices.

I worked on a show that featured Atoosa Rubenstein. She is an exemplary magic lady. She's tall, she has stunning chesnut-color eyes, gorgeous breasts, and she calls everyone "pumpkin." She also magically makes gobs of money being a tastemaker for adolescent girls. (And, despite the risk of sounding Humbertian, some of these adolescents will go on to be magic ladies.)

The Seventeen office contains a mix of ML's and annoying mavens. You peer into offices where some 26 year-old toils 55-hours a week for 30k, and at the end of the day, Tampax's account was maintained. The girls sorting clothes were really hot, and some were even Bedford slutz!

Google's offices are in the same building, and you kind of wish that Google asked Seventeen out to the Conspicuous Media Companies' Formal. Or that Google dudes bang seventeen-year-olds, exclusively.

While strolling up Broadway, I kept running into an apparition. It was this magic lady, blonde and sweet looking. She was kind of young-hot-mother-ly, and she obviously played a passionate and compassionate role in some creative office nearby. This chick moved to Willamsburg in 1999, when I was still in school. On her 20th birthday she saw the Pumpkins at Radio City. And the two or three times I saw her, we made eye-contact and she smiled at me. Oh, how I wanted to dive into her arms and say, "take care of me!"

+Jamaica Station. End of the "E" train. Jamaica, Queens.

Not the spot if you're looking to get your Aryan Freuline on, but home to numerous magic ladies nontheless. Go there around eight am, when all the magic ladies are straight outta the house and looking amazing. You'll fall in love four times in six minutes. At eight am, most train cars have the subdued smell of, like, a Duane Reade hair aisle. If you didn't shower, you will actually smell better after being on the train.

so bored, so gross

The other day I was "standing-by" in a cast vehicle on Bleeker St, near what used to be that theatre where they did Inside the Actors Studio. For the laymen out there, "Standing-by" is sitting in a car so you can move it if po-po's tryin to write a ticket-stein.

Inside the van, there was an old, half drunk bottle of water in console. And in the dashboard, there was a thumb-tack. I did what any exhausted and childish 20-something would do. I poked a hole in the cap and made a bootleg water gun that only worked at angles south of the horizontal. In other words, it worked when you aimed it down.

I put my arm out the window and sprayed the side of the van, then what I could get of the windshield. In a daze, I sprayed the plastic-bag-covered seat of a Chinese-food delivery guy's parked bicycle. Then I spotted the next and final step in the ritual.

A stone of dried-up dog poop left near the curb spoke to me. It said, "I need water. I seek saturation." I shot at the thing, and the water just kind of ran off brown. Then I stopped because it was the most disgusting thing ever.

Then a colleague came over and we chatted. Both of us being exhausted and distracted, we spent chunks of the conversation looking away from each other. As he kept looking across the street to see if his help was needed, I kept looking down on the floor and spraying the poop until it stopped absorbing water. I'm no chemist, but I love the idea of saturation. (From dictionary dot cam:

1. To imbue or impregnate thoroughly: “The recollection was saturated with sunshine” (Vladimir Nabokov). See Synonyms at charge.
2. To soak, fill, or load to capacity.
3. Chemistry. To cause (a substance) to unite with the greatest possible amount of another substance.

Props on the Nabokov usage thingee.

And from another def

Physics. A state of a ferromagnetic substance in which an increase in applied magnetic field strength does not produce an increase in magnetization.

Either the guy didn't notice what I was doing, or he was too disgusted to ask me why I was spraying a dry dog turd with abandoned Poland Spring. Anyway, he walked away, and I stopped my play. I mean, spraying poop gets old. But Rhyming never does

Peace,
Your Mom.

I am my own worst enemy (hail dark leader)

I bounce between two opposing worlds. I dance with the devil by day, and I chill with the cherubs by ch-night. If I could be in two very specific places at once, I might find myself hurling epiphets at myself. What is the nature of this dark dichotomy, you ask? Well, child let me spare the fancy talk and get down to business.

I am an avid cyclist. In the beer-drinking sense. I don't really wear tights, and my bike is worth One-thousand dollars, not Five-thousand dollars.

I am also an overworked driver in NYC. I drive large vehicles with large blindspots made even larger by camera operators and their gear. I also drive (gasp!) box-trucks. Box-trucks are biker-killers.

Between January and May 2005, box-trucks wasted about 4 cyclists in New York City. These trucks are usually manned by underpaid, overworked immigrants who are on unrealistic timelines, under the chance of getting fired. Driving these trucks routinely (like: route) drivers rip down streets and make hairy lane changes.

Garbage trucks are just as bad, if not worse. The only difference is the drivers are mostly union. Watch these guys do 40 on a side street as they race through their route. If a kid ran out on the street, you might as well call the mortician...

Because these vehicles are so big and loud, the drivers often miss out on the fact that they just crushed somebody. The drivers sometimes drag the person for a while, and they are usually flagged down by pedestrians to learn they've comitted vehicular manslaughter.

When I'm driving a truck and I see a cyclists, I feel the true discomfort of the Incohesive Self (little Psych 101 fo yo ass). I wish the truck had a little PA system so I could say, "I'm one of you. Don't judge me! I need money!" Also, I want to quit my stupid job and use my college education to get an hourly rate in the upper two-figures to lower three figures. (PS my friend from way back is now a lawyer and HOLY SHIT! What an hourly...)

In fact, I just want to USE MY COLLEGE EDUCATION, which did not include mopping, shopping, or flopping. But it did include bopping. I'm like, the next Big Bopper.

So may I now arrive at my brilliant connecting point. This point is like the ribbon on the proverbial gift. the gift is proverbial, but the ribbon is not. The elegence of which I hope the comittee recognizes. I type in green to highlight this.

Fuck people when they're like "Critical Mass if wrong/dangerous" What drivers have to learn is that it doesn't fucking matter if you have to wait two more minutes. Unless you're rushing to, or returning from an emergency, the consequences of two extra mins in the old auto sholdn't be too much. The culture of "Life is Work and vice versa" coupled with the culture of poor fucks who aren't getting paid ANYTHING for all the pressure they have creates a toxic mix of psyches with their Nikes on the gas pedal.

Fuck your mom and dad.
Mr Fuckfish.

yay

So I have a blog now. I'm soo behind on the times. Anyway, allow me to blow your mind out of your ass. I shall now outline the overarching themes for this "Web Log". This Blog is a collection of my experiences working as a production assistant in the fabulous world of reality TV. I will relay stories about driving cast members and doing silly things to kill the time. hopefully i'll remember my log-in info and actually post on a regular basis. PEACE BITCHES