ethical dilemma
If you really, really have to pee, and your roommate is taking an exceedingly extended shower in your apartment’s only bathroom, how unacceptable is it for you to pee in the sink?
busy playing
“What work I have done I have done because it has been play. If it had been work I shouldn’t have done it.” – Mark Twain
no. time. to. blog.
The regularly scheduled narcissistic yet oddly sage programming will return shortly.
horsing around
Seabiscuit is the first big-budget studio film in a long time that I’ve seen and subsequently thought: “I really wish I had made that myself.”
blogging while intoxicated
Just in case you were wondering why I don’t normally return home Thursday nights, three sheets to the wind, and comment on friends’ blogs:
– Her entry;
– My (inexplicably pseudonymized) comment.
inside scoop
Also earlier this evening, I headed to The Living Room on the Lower East Side to catch a number of unsigned music acts, some of which were remarkably, surprisingly good. The experience solidified an ambition brewing in my mind for some time: a Cyan-affiliated music label, one wise to the current tech-affected state of the music world and ready to put that understanding to musician- and fan-friendly use.
As ever, developments posted here as they emerge.
(Seriously, though: if I don’t shoot for combined Tech/Film/Movie mogul status, who else is going to give Steve Jobs a run for his money?)
winded
Had you asked me this morning, I’d have said I thought I was in fairly good shape; a few hours a week at the gym had, I assumed, paid off. Yet this evening, at the end of two hours of training mixed martial arts (a.k.a. “no holds barred fighting”) with the New York branch of the Straight Blast Gym, I was lying on the mat, covered in bruises and gasping for air. Even now, some three and a half hours later, I’m still sweating profusely.
So, glutton for punishment that I am, I’ve signed on to train with them several times a week. And I’ll be headed back to the gym with a keen understanding of the form vs. function distinction. That six pack alone, I’ve realized, doesn’t necessarily mean you’re anywhere near peak.
i should have rode the short bus
Earlier this evening, having dinner with an about-to-be-wed friend, I repeated a scene that’s become distressingly common over the last twelve months:
Her: You know, back in high school, I totally had a crush on you.
Me: Wait, really? In high school I totally had a crush on you.
I mean, what the hell, fifteen-year old me? How were you so entirely clueless? How did you possibly drop the ball on so many prime booty opportunities?
also, consider keeping a book handy
Yesterday evening, in an attempt to stay on the cutting edge of New York dining trends, I headed to Quintessence, one of the handful of “raw food” restaurants popping up around the city. Though I was fascinated by the CitySearch review, which proclaimed it “a menu with a mission–to lift you up and clean you out,” I apparently mistook for praise what the reviewer likely meant as cryptic yet rather dire warning. Therefore, allow me to translate by appending this advice:
If you’ve booked a reservation, consider also clearing frequent bathroom breaks in your schedule for the following day; the laxative punch packed by the super-fiberized dishes cannot possibly be overestimated.
halfway
From the consensus of both digital and analog friends, I realized unequivocally that the beard had to go – at least temporarily.
Still, fearing withdrawal pains, I decided I’d best ease my way out of the world of facial hair. Hence shaving partially, yet leaving something so horrendous that after a couple of days I’d be rarin’ for the chance to hack off the rest.
The resulting final product combines the Fu Manchu of Ben Stiller’s nursing home orderly in Happy Gilmore with a standard beret-and-bongos soul patch. Like, dig, man:
On my way to lunch, sporting the new look, I’m pretty sure I saw at least one person point and laugh.
Update
According to several sources, the Fu Manchu / soul patch combo was treading too close to goatee territory, clearly the nadir of cool (hipster or otherwise). Therefore, I have reductively switched to child molester mustache, leaving me looking like (by varying accounts) either the policeman from the Village People or the lost Mario Brother:
Update 2
Sooner than expected, I’m back to clean-shaven, as my Cyan colleagues Yoav and Colin refused to hold this afternoon’s budget and casting meeting with me still sporting the thoroughly ridiculous mustache.
Completely hairless, my face feels oddly naked.