December 20, 2006

update

I received an urgent message from The Old Self this afternoon. He said only an asshole would devote an entire blog to queer beer and not include the following YouTube clip. Once again, Old Self, I don't know what I'd do without you:

December 19, 2006

salad days are here again

Way back in 1999, a small brewery in Northampton, Massachusetts announced it was producing a limited run micro brew called Gay Pride Beer. Being nineteen and easily amused, I thought it might be nice to have some around. And as luck had it, my girlfriend was a sophomore at nearby Mount Holyoke College, and she grudgingly agreed to hook me up.

The old gal had a friend who worked at the liquor barn, so one Friday night she set out to score me some gay booze. "Karen!" she announced as she stormed through the door. "Gimme the queerest beer you got!"

Unfortunately, her request had come a little prematurely-- the beer hadn't been distributed yet. So poor Karen, eager to please but at a total loss for what this lunatic wanted, had to think on her feet.

"Well...we...um..." she stammered. "We got Amstel Light!"

December 18, 2006

free advice

if you're ever at the office looking online for a christmas gift for your sister and you think she said you can find northface rain jackets at dick's sporting goods, don't go to www.dicks.com.

trust me on this.

December 17, 2006

you know what?

i was just listening to bob dylan's song "million dollar bash". it's originally from a 1975 record called The Basement Tapes but I know it from disc 2 of a retrospective called Biograph that an old sublessee left in my apartment when she moved out. nice girl, maybe she was french. suspected eating disorder. caroline or theresa or melanie. anyway there's a lyric in the song where mr. dylan sings "well i looked at my watch, i looked at my wrist, punched myself in the face with my fist."

now i've always admired bob, not only for his songwriting and iconclasm and sacks full of cash, but also because he looks, in his old age, a great deal like my dead grandmother. and like any reasonable person, i try to emulate people i admire: bill clinton, pedro martinez, this guy i saw on the subway with a fearless haircut, to name a few more. but the thing is-- christ-- what the hell are you supposed to do if you want to be more like bob dylan and you don't own a watch? i won't bore you with the details, but i eventually settled on punching myself in the face with my fist.

it wasn't great.

December 16, 2006

comment

Below is a good example of what I wanted to happen when I started displaying the name of the book I am currently reading (or, um, baldly neglecting). Unfortunately, my nameless friend emailed me instead of posting a comment here. Way to go, nameless friend! I've decided to post her email here, for the entire world wide web to enjoy, and I've decided to do so without asking for her permission:


By the way, I see you're reading Bronte.

Just make sure you never ever read it on the subway because if you do
you might get so deep into the last chapter that you forget where and who
you are and you might forget to look up as the train keeps going and you
might miss your stop and you will wind up in the middle of France on a train
platform that is not yours and you will have finished the book (because
only then did you finally look up) and you will have to take a taxi back to
your village in the dark.

I'm just sayin'.

December 4, 2006

Mailbag, part II

Loyal reader and longtime Certain Blogs apologist Blogadier General dropped me a line this weekend. And while it's always nice to hear from the old self, I'm afraid he wasn't in the best of moods:

Dear Blogadier General,

Write something. Anything. Jesus.

Warmest Regards,
The Old Self

Thanks for writing, TOS! As you probably know, things have been pretty hectic lately, what with the holiday and things starting to heat up at work. In fact, I've been so busy I decided to farm out this week's reply to an old friend by the name of My Flagging Integrity:

Dear TOS,

You know how you'll meet a friend for dinner and you'll suggest some type of food, let's say Chinese, but your friend says "eh, I had Chinese last night." And so end of discussion: Chinese is out. This happens to me all the time.

But what the fuck? Why can't you eat the same type of food two days in a row? You know what? Everyone eats the exact same thing for breakfast every day and no one gives a shit. It's like,

"Self, it's time for breakfast. How do you feel about eating cold cereal in your underwear?"

"Well, to be honest, I've eaten cold cereal in my underwear every morning since I grew teeth, but fuck it! Why not?"
And Christ, it's not like Chinese or Italian doesn't offer an enormous array of choices. And don't 700 billion Chinese people eat Chinese food every god damned day?

The next time you really want enchiladas but your dumbshit roommate says he had Mexican food yesterday, tell him to go to hell.

See you next week!