Juice with Junior

Kim Lenox's "Darker Than Night: A Novel of the Shadow Guard" (above)

I have so many questions, I don't even know where to begin.

First of all, why are the romance cover guys always holding swords of some kind? I never see any with swooning women or heaving bosoms, but I found like four covers of guys holding big, long, thick swords... Oh, I get it. Secondly, can I ask what the hell is going on on these "dangerous streets" and can I stand out on them like a dime store hooker and wait for this man to come rescue me? Thirdly, is that a bed and breakfast over yonder because I am beat and would love a nap and some grits? Lastly, what's up crow?

This is what happens when you need to get a book on how to teach you Excel for a temping job and get distracted. By the way, I took like 10 pictures of book covers so this has now become a feature...

p.s. my blog is slowly turning into a tome of how I encounter attractive men in my everyday life. Anyone have a problem with this? Anyone else think I'm in heat?

Guess what I forgot today, people, aside from forgetting how to say "no" to my mother which is why I'm stuck in Pennsylvania driving my sister to a court-ordered meeting called "How Not to Be Crazy"? Oh, sorry, that may not be what the meeting's called. Anyway, I forgot that today was the annual Naval Academy Climb of Herndon Monument in Annapolis, Maryland. Do you know why I forgot today was The Climb?

Because it lasted 2 minutes and five seconds and looked like this (below)...

What's the problem, you ask?

The problem is that the climb is supposed to take forever and it's supposed to look like this (below) from 2007...


Yeah, I know. One of these things is not like the other, one of these things is not the same, one of these things is not like the other... How am I supposed to be sexually gratified by this now?! If you're new to the party, let me break down exactly what the Monument Climb is supposed to look like in a perfect world... Oh, and if you actually want to get all technical and find out what the hell the monument is and why the Naval cadets... Are they called "cadets"?

...Are climbing it, you can click here. For those who don't care, like the rest of the world, keep reading. The climb is supposed to start with a bunch of male cadets (women do it too, I think) standing around in skimpy tees and short shorts who gather together to climb to the top of this phallic-shaped monument (left) to take a cap off and replace... yawn, snoozefest...

The good part is that the monument itself has been previously greased with lard making it really slippery so it's difficult for the agile young men to climb it. I mean they really have to flex and stretch to get it up, I mean up it. Anyway, then during the climb, other naval people would spray the cadets with water to make it even harder, I mean, more difficult for the cadets to reach the top. In the meantime, shirts would get lost, body parts would get exposed, it was disgusting/amazing. It was the single gayest event the entire United States military, even if you factored in that secret Marine circle jerk club that everyone knows about. Seriously, the climb was the best...

Okay, so apparently, this year, the Navy muckety-mucks said that it was too "dangerous" for the monument to be greased AND it was not in the interest of safety for the cadets to be hosed down like Hawaiian Tropics girls, which turned the event from something fun into something that sounds like the end of a really bad date. No one took any clothes off and he finished in 2 minutes. Eww. I know, right? Where's the fun in that?

Here's what I think really went down, and of course, this is all my opinion.

I don't have any military connections who gave me the inside scoop, but if there are any Marines or Navy officers or Air Force pilots who would like to make a military connection with me, just email me your details and I'll get back to you right away as in immediately. You Do Ask, But I Won't Tell...


Anyway, so after years of doing this thing and no one really caring, the Interwebs takes off making it really easy for people to take pictures of greasy, wet proto-sailors and post them on blogs all around the world. Worse yet, these were GAY blogs these photos were being posted on!

I know the Navy officials got together and said that they cannot condone gay men ogling their cadets (they prolly threw in "eye molesting" for good measure) and that they would have to clean up the event, ensure that everyone wear shirts, and turn it into an overall PC bore.

Now, I don't begrudge the officials the right to make sure that all their students are safe during the climb, although I don't ever remember hearing of a student falling to their death during the climb, but I do think it's ridiculous that they let something like this go on for as long as it did, and the moment people start paying attention to it for the OBVIOUS SEXUAL CONNOTATION THAT IT HAS you get upset.

Here's my argument...

SO THE F#CK WHAT?!

Seriously, is it really so bad if safely, once-a-year, people gawk at your young charges taking their clothes off and hosed down with water while doing something that they want to do anyway. Like you'd have to be some kind of serious moron not to be able to see the sexual essence that is surrounding the whole event. You'd have to be doubly stupid to not see the mass of photographers that come out for the event every single year and how pictures may end up on websites aside from those sanctioned by the Navy. Clearly, no one has a problem with this, just you, Navy people.

The kids think it is the funnest thing in the world and it's an important ritual for them and many of their parents, and we think it's nice to look at the hot young wet bodies created by the Academy. Damn, as I type this I realize that they should be thanking us! We're admiring the bodies that the Academy helped craft for the protection of the country! We're doing our civic duty! That's why I say Boo, Navy! For cleaning up the climb. Instead of doing what I would do which is sell gay men and single women tickets to the darn thing with premium seating of course ("Wow, you can smell the sweat from these seats!"), you guys are running away from Teh Ghey and making everything less fun.


Next year, if that thing isn't covered in Astroglide and everyone around it wearing thongs, I will be mightily upset!

What do you think? Are you hating the changes to the climb as much as I am? Do you also think of that stupid song every time I type "The Climb"?

Yeah, me too... Oh, for more pictures, because I know you want more pictures, click here.

I was watching TV today... One day, my posts are gonna begin like "I was reading Proust today..." but until then... I was watching TV today when I saw the above ad for one of the many antidepressant drugs on the market today, Abilify. As I was watching, I realized that, yeah, this lady has nothing to be depressed* about. Look at this town she lives in. It's beautiful!

All these pretty docks along the water (below)...


Chic movie theatres (below)...


A face like Jodie Foster...


I mean seriously, this place is crazy nice. Every time I opened my window, I'd completely forget all about that pesky depression and go out an take a walk. Or I'd go f#ck my husband. I mean seriously, look at this place...


It's amazing...


* p.s. to anyone offended by the premise of this post, understand that I was depressed from the age of 9 to about 19 when I was in college and had an acute depressive episode and emailed all my friends and told them to forget about me, so I understand depression very, very well although I can't take drugs for it because I'm tough (and scared)! I also understand that if you can't make fun of depression, then the depression has won.

Now, what part of the Abilify town do you love the most? I love that both the lady and her friend clearly did not like the movie they saw.

"MacGruber" perhaps?

Sunglasses: Target; $12.99
Out with my bestie at our favorite place in the whole wide world that isn't Carvel... Target yesterday, when I spotted these frames and just had to have them. I think they'll be perfect when I'm lounging poolside at my Boca retirement community reminding Ethel about how my Morty worked as a dentist at the same office building in Flushing where her husband, Irv, worked as a CPA for 20 years. Would you believe?! Would you believe?! And I don't look a day over 60! Oh, stawp it Ethel, you look fantastic! Oy, this sun is so hot today, I can't... Where's Mavis? I thought we were playing canasta...

Okay, just kidding. Click here to see the sunglasses I actually bought. Same price. Are we loving?

My goal was to try and get one step closer to looking like Tom Ford. I already have the tan.

(p.s. I know I need a haircut, just try to ignore it. I'm getting one next week).

Dear Stevie Wonder (left),

Hi. Hello. How are you? It's so wonderful having this chance to talk to you and tell you what's on my mind about you today. Note: to whomever is reading this letter to Mr. Wonder, please place strong emphasis any time I use italics because those are the parts of the letter I really want to stress, and thank you for reading him the letter. It means a lot to me.

Did you just stress that, the "a lot" in the last sentence? Because if you didn't, this arrangement isn't gonna work. I need all italicized words stressed. If you did stress it, then you can continue to read the letter. Great. Mr. Wonder, I, like the rest of the world, love you. You are a true visionary. An inspiration, not only as a musician, but also as a person and humanitarian. I'm sure that whomever plays you in the movie of your life will win an Oscar and you'll be in the audience and that actor will hold up their award and you'll stand up and everyone else will stand up because you stood up and they will so replay the moment back on "Access Hollywood" and Shaun Robinson will be crying... like a baby. But that's not what this letter is about. I'll give you the back story.

I was recently out with a group of people I know. They weren't really "friends," they were friends of someone I know and they were just driving me home. Anyway, there were like four of us in the car and there was no music on. The driver of the car who as I said, I didn't really know that well, said that we should play some music to liven the drive up a little. Then, he presses 'Play' on his in stereo CD player and out comes "Superstition," your song. Now, clearly these weren't friends of mine because any friend of mine would know that your music is not the way I would choose to liven anything up. All my friends know that this will get me jazzed up faster than anything. It's not to say that I don't love your music. I do! "Uptight (Everything's Alright)" is my "American Idol" song. You know, the song I would sing if I was ever auditioning for "American Idol." And "Ngiculela-Es Una Historia-I Am Singing" can reduce me to tears. That being said, something happened to me when I was sitting in that car: I realized that you need to make more music. Do you want to know how I came to that realization? It happened because while I was sitting in that car, I thought to myself...

If I have to freakin' listen to "Superstition" one more time, I'm gonna lose my freakin' mind!

Reader, did you place strong emphasis on the above sentence? Did you? I'm trusting you here. I apologize in advance, Mr. Wonder, for the things I am about to say. See, people love you and they love that song, but I can't. Stevie Wonder, I am a black man whose parents grew up in the 1970s. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY TIMES I'VE HAD TO LISTEN TO "SUPERSTITION"?! DO YOU?! Family gatherings, long car trips with my father, birthday parties, holidays, every single time it comes on the radio... I have had to listen to "Superstition," conservatively, several hundred times. Do you know what happens when you have to listen to the same song for several hundred times and you hear it... again?

You freak the f#ck out, which is what I did.

As soon as I heard "bum dum bum pum dummm, dun dun dun dunnnn, dunnn, dunn, dunnnn, dun dun dun dunnn, very superstitious, writing on the waaaalll..."

I yelled out to the driver "Oh, f#ck no!" and made him change the CD. I then tried to explain as best I could that I could not bear to listen to Stevie right now, and he agreed, although I think it is now safe to say that those people will never be my friends. I wondered why I had such a visceral reaction to hearing your song.

I realized it's not because the songs are bad, it's because they're overplayed because it's all we have. People love you, and they want to play your music because it's so good, but because you haven't released as nearly as many albums now as you did in the 70s, people just play your old stuff... over and over and over and over and over and... you get the idea. When I hear "Boogie On Reggae Woman" at the supermarket, my left eye starts to twitch. I once lost bladder control after hearing "I Just Called to Say I Love You" for the 10,000th time at the mall. Not because these songs are bad, it's because I've heard them so many times! We need to give the masses something new to consume, which is why you have to start releasing more new albums with great songs. You can do it! I have faith in you. You're still a music genius, despite what 2005's "A Time to Love" would have us believe!

And you're only 60 years old! My dad's 60 and he still gets up every morning to work construction... in the Bronx! So don't tell me you can march yourself down to that recording studio and think of something even halfway decent that people can fall in love with and play over and over again instead of "Living for the City" (seriously, how many times do I have to suffer through hearing that interlude? I get it!)

As I mentioned, your last album was five years ago, and your last one before that was ten years prior. Who do you think you are, Sade? You were cranking those albums out in the 70s like Oprah gives out cars! What happened? Let's discuss this, because I need you back on the hooch so we can get some material out of you, before, you know... you're, um, no longer with us... Reader, you don't have to read that last part if you don't want to.

Anyway, your Wikipedia page says that...

"By June 2008 Wonder was working on two projects simultaneously: a new album titled The Gospel Inspired By Lula which will deal with the various spiritual and cultural crises facing the world, and Through The Eyes Of Wonder, an album which Wonder has described as a performance piece that will reflect his experience as a blind man. Wonder was also keeping the door open for a collaboration with Tony Bennett and Quincy Jones concerning a rumoured (sic) jazz album."

That all sounds crazy interesting, seriously, but um, nary a word has been spoken on any of these possible albums and it has been two years already. I heard that you just coughed and "Talking Book" was created, so what gives? Then, today, just today, I was doing research for my letter to you, just to make sure you hadn't released any albums when I wasn't looking and I saw you released a DVD called "Stevie Wonder: Live at Last, A Wonder Summer's Night" (left) and even the heartless, greedy b!tch in me was like "Oh, Junior, calm yourself. The man is working. I shouldn't be so hard on him. Let me just see this tracklist (below)..."

Are you f#cking kidding me?!

Mr. Wonder, excuse my language, but c'mon, you're killing me here! Are you even sick of performing these songs after almost in some cases 40 years?! That's it! I want that first album mentioned above delivered by the end of June, the next one by the end of September, and that jazz album by the end of the year with a couple of videos each and maybe a performance or two on all the talk shows to get the pub out there! No Excuses Will Be Tolerated!

Now, because while this is a letter to you, I am posting on my blog, I have to ask other people for their opinions. Reader to Mr. Wonder, you can stop and take a beverage break if you'd like. Everyone, am I being too hard on Mr. Wonder or do you agree that these songs have been performed into the ground and that it's time for something new? And what Stevie Wonder song have you heard 18,000 times in your own life?

I saw this commercial for the Colgate Wisp just a few minutes ago and thought some things needed to be said. First of all, the Colgate Wisp is a mini, disposable, water-less toothbrush that you can use to freshen up during the day. I agree with the commercial's contention that they should be used before making out with someone you don't know. In fact, I may begin handing them out to complete strangers just to freshen up the mouths of the world.

Sorry, that's my own personal mission.

Anyway, when I saw the commercial, my main objective was placing a disclaimer on it because well it kinda looks like a condom ad... AND COLGATE WISP WILL NOT PROTECT YOU FROM UNWANTED PREGNANCY OR STDs! Okay, there, hopefully people will see this and not get the wrong idea... What do you think?

Doesn't this commercial look like it's all you need to keep you from ending up on a new episode of "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant"?

Then again, it could just be the whore in me...

I've made it pretty clear that we here at the blog love us some "Law and Order: SVU." We love it like Elliot Stabler loves having kids. And now that season 11 is winding down... I think the season finale is next week... I have decided to catch up on a few episodes I missed thanks to the fact that they repeat episodes of this show every four minutes on about a dozen channels. As I was watching one of these episodes, particularly watching the opening montage, I was struck by a couple of things. Not big things, these were just things that I wasn't sure about, things that needed some clarification. They were observations, and these are those observations in the order I made them as the opening played.

You can watch the opening in the video above for reference.

Let's begin...


Now, Mariska Hargitay's (above) a naturally very beautiful woman. Her mother's Jane Mansfield for chrissakes. Which is why I wonder why someone felt the need to run Photoshop over her entire face. What? Because she's 40, she needs to be airbrushed to death. And we haven't even started talking about the enhancement they gave her below the chin...


Somebody grab me a basket. I got a couple of melons that are ripe for the pickin'! Seriously.

Either it's Photoshop or she was lactating for a looong time after giving birth. Like three years after. Moving on...


Where exactly is Richard Belzer (above) standing?

It looks like the Air & Space Museum, but that can't be right. That's in Washington, D.C. and the show is based in New York. But wait, maybe it is and that's why he only shows up in like 5 episodes a season. I figured it out! Next...


Is it just me or did the shot of the prosties (above) get shorter and shorter as the series got older? We know what the show's about. Prosties are the least controversial thing in any given episode, trust me... Anyway, I also noticed...


...That Tamara Tunie is Fabulous! Sorry, it was less of an observation and more just something I wanted to say... Lastly...


Is it just me or is b.d. wong like really far away from everyone else in the new group shot (above)... You can hardly see his little head. We love you, b.d. We will never forget! We see you back there covered in darkness...

Oh, can you also bring up that picture again, there's something else I noticed...


Chris (above center) is still hot! Do you have a permit, because you're carrying two massive gunz!


Is there anything else you noticed in this most recent update of the "SVU" opening?

I just noticed something else myself actually... It's that Dick Wolf is an amazing gay porn name! Someone should really... What was that? Oh, somebody already has it...

Thought so...

A few weekends ago, I was on the phone with my bestie and we were both bemoaning the fact that it was so cold out although it's supposed to be Spring. I had the extra complaint of the fact that there was no food in my house to eat. For a few minutes, my bestie and I tried to compile a suitable meal out of the few sundries I did have in my cupboards. We settled on green peas and pasta cooked in a little butter. At the moment she made this proclamation, that sound you heard was disappointment. As much as I love pasta, I didn't have any olive oil (still don't) and the thought of dry pasta and some naturally bland peas, another food I do love, didn't really light my fire. The more I hemmed and hawed, the more my bestie tried to put new dinner combinations together by asking me over and over "Do you have this? Well, do you have this?" I could tell her exasperation level was on the rise and because I didn't feel like being silently judged by her any longer, I agreed that pasta and peas it was and hung up the phone.

I think you and I both know by the nature of this post's title that pasta and peas it wasn't. Before I continue, I have to add that I have tried very hard to stick to my healthy eating habits that led to my weight loss throughout last year. The problem is that the main cause of that weight loss was not healthy eating but the fact that I wasn't eating at all due to the gargantuan levels of stress I was dealing with at the time. Thus, now that much of that stress has been replaced by monetary stress which we discussed and I won't go back to, I find myself having time to eat along with this ravenous appetite.

Seriously, I could eat a house some days. Like the whole house, the foundation, the plumbing, the vinyl siding, the husband... I could eat the whole house, and unforts, some days I have, which has led to the weight creeping back on (about 12 pounds back in total, hi pounds! I missed you!) and my blood pressure creeping back up (hi high blood pressure! I missed you! What's that? You're gonna silently kill me. Good to know!). Anyway, the whole point is now that I'm inside a lot, I crave food to fill the deafening emptiness that my once-promising life has succumbed to... I mean because I'm hungry.

So after I hung up with my bestie, I decided that pasta and peas wasn't gonna do and that I would need food... NOW! But it was Sunday, and it was like 9 PM. Where am I gonna get a fully prepared meal at 9 PM on Sunday outside of the island of Manhattan and parts of Brooklyn? I know, the obvious response from a normal person would be to just go out and find a place that's open and get some food. I agree with that response, but what you have to understand is that plan involves two things I didn't feel like doing: moving and talking to people. Are you understanding the chronic level of my lethargy now? Yeah, that Sunday I was all tucked in for "Desperate Housewives" -- some lady got killed, news at 11 -- and I didn't particularly want to have to get up, wash my face, get dressed... Ugh! It's already too much! Then, walk down my apartment's staircase, go outside... I have to sit down just thinking about it... And then walk... Seriously, are you kidding me? ...To a place open also serving food and then talk to someone and tell them what I wanted... No, now you've gone too far... And that was the other thing. I didn't want to have to talk to anyone unless I was talking at them and they were trapped in the TV. I love people, but after a certain time of day, I just have to get away from them and be by myself. I didn't even want to talk to my bestie anymore after the phone call and she's my bestie.

See, we used to live in a world where you would have to A) move or B) talk to someone if it meant you wanted to get food at a later time (ie, 9 PM) on an inconvenient day (ie, Sunday). I thought we still lived in this world. Then, as I'm watching the TV, I see one of those Domino's Pizza ads on about how they improved the pizza and whatnot, but what struck me were three words plastered at the end of the ad: online food ordering. Whaa! Whatever does that mean? You can't order food online! You can order shoes online! You can order hookers online! But food! No, silly, food you have to have a menu to a place already at the ready, know what you want, be within the place's delivery area, be before the time they stop delivering, call some guy who doesn't get your order right, and you have to have cash and a tip, then you have to wait, and pay the delivery guy. No, no, no, that's how you order food...

So that's when I decided to pull up the site. People, it was not good. The full menu was right there. Delivery until 1 AM. Add a drink for $2.99, sir. No cash, no problem! Enter your credit card information here! Would you like us to save this information for your next visit? Here's a coupon... Seriously, no talking to anyone, no moving (except my fingers), and food. Sweet, sweet, glorious food. The only time I actually had to interact with a human is when the delivery guy showed up. As I had already paid for the meal with my credit card (love how I'm still using it when I don't have any money to pay the balance off! Huzzah!), I wordlessly handed him a $5 bill, he silently judged my matted hair/pajamas stained with ice cream droplets ensemble, and left.

And I proceeded to eat like I was on Death Row and they were warming up the electric chair. Buzz buzz spark spark.

The verdict? While much better than their old pizza "recipe," Domino's still doesn't taste like actual pizza. It tastes like, it tastes like when I tell people I hung out with Kiefer Sutherland. Was I in the same room with Kiefer Sutherland? Yes, and we did meet and interact very briefly, but to say I "hung out" with him would be a stretch. That's what Domino's pizza tastes like now. Is it pizza? Yes. Does it taste good like pizza? It's a stretch.

Anyway, that's not the point of this little screed. The next day, I became so fascinated by the events of the night before, that I looked up every single restaurant around me until I found another with online food ordering. This place is literally three steps from my apartment which is why I'd prefer not to name them because it wouldn't take a genius to do a little googling and come and rape me in the middle of the night. And we didn't even get to go to the movie first or nothing. But I found another place and, while they don't deliver or allow you to pay with a card online, they do allow you to place an order. I was already out, so I made the short walk over there and grunted at the lady at the counter like I was Jodie Foster in "Nell," made it rain several $5 bills (no tip for delivery necessary) and was on my way, ready to sit and gorge while watching "Knit and Crochet Now!" and ignoring the world outside my window... Which brings me to my point... Online food ordering... No! It should not exist! The preparation and consumption of food is communal.

It's a way of bringing people together. And even if you're alone... Single! I meant single. Even if you're single, going out to get a bite to eat used to be a way to get you mixed into the community. You'd go down to the local diner and Marjorie would know you wanted the roast beef on rye with a side of cole slaw or whatever and you'd be a part of... wait, I'm crying a little... the fabric of America. Now, all you have to do is click a few buttons and grunt at an unsuspecting delivery driver and get all the food you want!

No! Not in my America... You do realize that I'm saying all this to convince myself not to do it again, right? Like seriously, if I didn't have a part-time job every weekend, I would literally order as much food as my credit limit would hold, not shower or comb my hair for days, and eat so much I fell into a diabetic coma and traveled on aural planes like an astronaut. An attractive, slender mind astronaut. The only time they'd find me is when my landlord would bust the door down because I hadn't paid my rent (hello, I'm in a diabetic coma and my mind has wondered to Pandora) and find me on the ground half naked (not telling which half) twitching with a mozzarella stick stuck in my mouth. He'd say only one thing...

"Good God, he's fat."

Virgina Henley's "The Irish Duke" (above)

Is it just me of is The Irish Duke looking a little Italian?

Oh, this is not a new feature unless you call me taking a picture with my cell phone camera of the hottest romance novel cover guy I see whenever I'm in a bookstore a feature. I just call it a productive afternoon... Kisses.

Hey everyone! Okay, so I discovered this new web service that I think you're gonna be hearing more about really soon. I'm one of the first in the door so I'm like a pioneer in a way, but I want more people to know about it that's why I decided to tell you guys today. The service is called "Twitter"... I know, it's a dumb name, they'll probably change it... and what it is is a service that allows you to write little updates and/or messages to people that they can read on the computer or their phones. I know! What a neat thing.

Anyway, I decided to join it and I'm really excited and hope that you'll join me on this strange and new journey I'm taking. Let's see how it goes! You can find me on this "Twitter"... Sorry, don't know if I'll ever get used to that name, so goofy... You can find me on Twitter by going to twitter.com/juicewithjunior. I know! It's super easy to remember, just like the name of the blog! Well, so you go there and you can read all my little notes that, like the blog, are focused on entertainment and my life plus other kooky stuff. Yeah!

Okay, enough with the jokes, let's break it down. I have resisted joining these social media websites for longer than any person I know, and I still will not join Facebook although I will spend hours trying to track people I used to know down on Facebook to see if they got fat and laugh and laugh. I will not join MySpace. Who am I kidding, no one joins MySpace anymore. Anyway, I have no interest in the "reconnecting" aspect of any of these type of sites. If I wanted to talk to you, I'd talk to you. But Twitter is and has always been different. Basically, the social aspect is involved but you can utilize that as much or as little as you'd like. Basically, Twitter is just another blog where the posts are just really short. Because I obviously like to blog, I've decided to join the masses and create my very own Twitter account and start Tweeting! But I wanted to give you a little more explanation why because I think it's important for you guys to know why I decided to join and what it means for the blog faithful. The main reason I decided to join Twitter is that I often have thoughts and ideas that never make it to the blog.

You guys know that my blog is like "American Idol." Many will try out, few will make it. I have tons of ideas for blog posts but if, as I'm working through what the post will be, I don't think it's funny or interesting or is a part of a feature, it gets vetoed. Then sometimes I just don't have time to write a post about something and would like to comment on it but can't get to a computer or can't think of a good angle fast enough. Thus, when these instances occur, I will turn to Twitter to speak my mind and hopefully make you chuckle. Also, I don't have to be at my computer to do it! I can Twitter from my phone, which means I can provide you content during my whole day, not just when I'm at my computer! Are you ready for that much Junior in your life?

The other thing I like about Twitter is how you can access it. Let me just first state that I'm not gonna be a Tweeter that constantly tweets about there being a new blog post just to advertise the blog. Basically, Twitter and the blog will be fairly independent. I'll rarely, if ever, talk about Twitter on the blog and vice versa. There both there.

Consume one or the other or both! It's up to you!

The thing I really like is that if you want to read my tweets but don't want to join Twitter, you can! Just go to my Twitter homepage and read away. If you want to comment on something I said on Twitter, all you have to do is return to the blog, scroll down to the Red box, and use the chatbox to make a comment, which I will still also use. If you are on Twitter, than you know the deal, you can follow me and reply to a tweet or do all the other Twitter things that I still have to learn how to do. I'll learn. I'm reading a book.

I am now freshly in the haze of trying to find any and everyone I've ever met, seen on TV, or watched in a movie on Twitter, but once that dies down, I'll maintain an active relationship with the site and I hope you guys follow me and let me know if the experience is worthwhile. And if you're on Twitter and want me to follow you, just tell me here or there. I can't believe I wrote this long post on what is generally a simple concept. Alright everyone, Twitter me, on the site. And gentlemen, you can twitter me, but not on the website...

(p.s. the Twitter button will also always be at the top of the blog so you don't have to do any work to remember this! Is that it? Okay, I will now never talk about Twitter again! Back to your regularly scheduled nonsense!)

I enjoy watching television. I watch way too much of it.

I should be off having a life or being productive or, um, helping people. Instead, I choose to grab a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos out of my Cool Ranch Dorito dispenser... Gotcha! I don't have a Cool Ranch Dorito dispenser because if I did, I'd truly never leave my house... But I grab a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos, park my fat bootaytay in front of the box and choose to live vicariously through it. My latest TV obsession is a little show on HGTV called "House Hunters"...

You've prolly seen it, but if you haven't, I'll explain. "House Hunters" is a show where a person or a couple or family, it doesn't matter, looks at three houses or condos, the show describes everything about the properties including taking viewers on a little tour, and by the end of the show the people pick which house they want to buy.

Every once in awhile, the show will do a fake-out where the person DOESN'T buy a house at the end, but such instances are rare. It's a pretty simple concept, but I have been glued to my TV every time it, or its companion "International," olé, show come on because it's the perfect show for me. I get to exacerbate the bedsores probably slowly growing on my a$$ while the show takes me around the country and the world and lets me into homes I would have otherwise never have had access to! I love it! I love seeing all the different places of the world, learning about what areas are nice, and learning how prices differ depending on where you are.

For those unfamiliar, I've included an episode above (Canadian viewers can click here to watch a clip from an episode.) However, there is a problem I encounter almost every single time I watch "House Hunters"... I can't stand the people looking at the homes! I believe that when you're buying a home, it is impossible to look sympathetic because these people on this show are some of the most annoying people on the face of the earth. They love to complain! They never heard a complaint they didn't like! This bedroom is too small, we wouldn't be able to get our furniture in here. I thought this unit came with a pool. I don't like the tile in this kitchen. I don't like being so far the city here... Whine! Whine! Whine!

The thing I hate the most is when people whine about sh!t they can easily change when they buy the property. There was one episode where this girl complained about not liking the carpet in a house the whole time! The poor real estate agent had to keep reminding the girl that carpets can be easily changed, but she kept harping on it. I wanted to jump through the TV and shake some sense into her! And you're getting an idea of what the other problem I have with this show...

I get into it.

I scream back at the TV. I just get so frustrated at some of these dumb dumbs that I have to let it out or I'll explode and I have to watch an episode of "Law and Order: SVU" to calm down. And my screams usually have nothing to do with which house gets chosen at the end of the episode. Normally, it's about what stupid thing these people are doing on the TV in front of me. Because I figured I couldn't be the only person yelling at the TV during this show, I thought I'd share some things I have actually screamed at the TV while watching.

See if you can recognize yourself in my crazy:

I have yelled...

-- "I have to leave New York! Homes cost so much less like everywhere else!"

-- "Your real estate agent hates you!"

-- "What do you mean it's not close enough to the beach! From the looks of you two, a little walk to the beach would do a world of good!"

-- "Okay, you're not gonna get four bedrooms and an attached garage for $200,000! Be realistic, people!"

-- "Hey lady, your husband's hot! Where are you guys moving to again!"

-- "No, you don't need more space! You want more space! My grandmother raised nine children in a one-bedroom in the South Bronx! You want more space! The house you have is big enough for a family, greedy guts!"

-- "There's nothing wrong with that kitchen! Stainless steel appliances will not hold you in the middle of the night! Also, they do in fact stain, contrary to what you might think!"

-- "I'm convinced women like granite kitchen countertops so much because when their husbands fall asleep, they rub their vajays all over them... Okay, then, why else would they all want granite so much!" (This was less a scream and more of an inner dialogue.)

-- "This house is ugly. For shame, real estate agent! ... For shame!"

-- "For the last time, you can replace the carpet! Stop f#cking complaining about the carpet!"

-- "White people will literally move anywhere."

-- "What's the problem?! The house costs $125,000! Buy it already! Do you people realize that there are some parking spaces in Manhattan that cost more than the entire house you're waffling about?!"

-- "Are all real estate agent incredibly hot, or is it just you?!"

-- "No! Open! Floor! Plans! Ever!"

-- "I want a washer/dryer in my apartment! Why do I have to go all the way downstairs!"

-- "Why is a hot tub a selling point? I don't want to wade around in the previous owner's bodily fluids. Eww." (Again, less a scream. More an observation.)

-- "A pool is not a safety hazard. Parents who refuse to be bothered to teach their children pool safety is a safety hazard!"

-- "No! The house is a foreclosure! Don't you know the past owners are gonna come back and kill you in your sleep! Run for your lives!" (p.s. why hasn't someone made this concept into a horror movie yet?)

-- "Again, for the last time, wall colors can be changed! Ooh boy, you're looking like you don't like what you see, why don't you come over here and put some paint up on it!"

-- "I like this house!"

-- "I love when people say they need more space for their growing family, when what they mean is that they need more space to get away from their growing family..." (Another observation, I guess.)

-- "Stop saying you want an Old-World European apartment and complain about the bathroom drain being in the middle of the room! That's European! What you really want is an American apartment in Europe!"

-- "Okay, you know and I know that this person cannot afford this house so why are you showing it to them real estate agent! ... For shame!"

-- "At this point, I don't give a sh!t what house you choose!"

-- "The only way I'd live in a ground-floor apartment is if I was in a Hazmat suit! Bugs need to do absolutely no work to get inside!"

-- "Condo Number 2! Condo Number 2! Condo Number 2! Condo... Oh, you chose Condo Number 1. ... F#ck you!"

-- "I can smell that house through the TV and the aroma, well, it's not pleasant."

-- "I could never move to the islands! Those houses all have sliding glass doors! How's a sliding glass door supposed to stop someone from stealing my sh!t in the middle of the night! Security please!"

-- "I really like this house!"

-- "Seriously, you people are getting on my last nerve! You want all this stuff! Your budget is like $100,000. The agent has actually found you three homes in your price range that are surprisingly nice. Pick a muthaf#cking house! And no you can't have a pool! Pick a house!"


Now, I'd love to know, have you seen "House Hunters" and if so, what have you yelled at the screen while watching?

I know you yelled something. We all do!

Courtesy of Allamericanguys.com.

I love anything created for the sole purpose of showing off shirtless men. More things should be like that. There should be a storefront called "Shirtless Men" that didn't sell anything but just featured a bunch of shirtless men standing around. You wouldn't be allowed to touch the men (or yourself) but you could just walk around and take a casual look. Forget 5-Hour Energy, a shirtless man is the only perk-me-up I need, which is why I bring you the new feature "Gratuitous Shirtlessness." By the way, this is what it looks like every time I walk in the store to go to work. With less cop cars, of course...

(p.s. I know some may say that ogling teenage boys is in somewhat poor taste, but their ages added together add up to about 55, so it's fine!)

At left is a picture of which I am not terribly proud. It's an actual photo of all the lottery tickets I have purchased in recent years. It probably adds up to about $150, which is not a crazy amount of money, but I would have $150 in my hand right now if I didn't buy these tickets. Of course, it can be said that the $150 would have been recouped had I won the jackpot prizes offered. But there's a little problem with that logic. No, its not choosing the lump sum cash payout versus the installment payments... It's the fact THAT I HAVEN'T WON THE LOTTERY YET! I don't know if you can tell that I'm a little annoyed by that fact. My annoyance stems from two places. First, you have to understand that I'm a competitive person. I like to win at things. Well, I like to win at everything and the fact that I keep putting my name in for something and not winning it is annoying to me, as if I'm not doing something right. Of course, this is a ridiculous thought as the lottery is random and any one person's odds of winning are so crazy bad that the fact that anyone does win is what should be shocking to me.

But darn it, I want to win the lottery! This brings me to my second point and I do have one. Second, I think I've made it clear that I need money. But the thing that annoys me is that I don't need a lot of money. I certainly don't need or even want one of those crazy lottery jackpots like $250 million or anything. I don't think you understand how much I wouldn't welcome that much money. It sounds like a blessing but I have so many ghetto relatives who I don't speak to whom upon discovering I had won the lottery would literally start following me everywhere I went like zombies. I'm quite sure a couple of cousins would break into my newly purchased home, steal my sh!t, and then call me the next day to make sure I was alright. No joke. So no, I do not want to be Mr. Monopoly (right).

But I do have these recurring dreams of winning a modest amount of money, less than half a million, by lottery standards, being able to pay off my loans, get a studio apartment in a nice area and have time to write that novel I keep talking about. See, my goals are far from ostentatious. Yes, I would update my wardrobe and by a new car but those are pretty much the only indulgences I would splurge on, and I don't believe in spending more than $30,000 on a car. Anything more and you're just being an assh@le. I would of course put some away for retirement and some for possibly getting my master's degree. If I had any money left over, and I'm being perfectly serious, I would just give it to my parents. I wouldn't need it, and I'm sure there are things they could do with it. All of these rational ideas keep propelling me to the convenience store to plunk down $2, $5, $10 at the most on lottery tickets. And the most I've won is like $2... However, I have another layer of irresponsibility to add to this story:

I have no luck. Whatsoever. Let's discuss.

Ever since I was a child, my mother and I, who if you haven't discovered from reading the blog, are very much alike, have complained about having terrible luck. It's a running joke that continues to this day in our family. Unlike my sister and my father who regularly win lottery money (not big amounts but more than $2) or contests, my mother and I couldn't win a contest chosen based on random luck if we tried. Neither of us has ever won anything that wasn't merit-based in some way. We both want to, but know in the back of our heads that it's probably never gonna happen. We will have to work our fingers to the bone for anything we get. We have the opposite of luck, we have f#ck. But we both keep dipping our hands in the well. Lottery tickets, store contests, sweepstakes, anything we can find really, all with this dream that just a little bit of money. Well, actually my mother dreams of having so much money she can actually purchase a factory that can make suits out of animal fur, preferably mink.

All of this led me to think of today's Question to the World and it's relatively simple:

Do you have luck?

Have you ever won the lottery? Are you like one of those people on the "Lottery Changed My Life"? For the record, I hate all those people. Have you ever won a car or a free trip or were you ever a contestant on "The Price Is Right" and won a dinette set and a free feel-up from Bob Barker!? I want to know about it. Or maybe you're just one of those people who always get a cab when they want one or always finds a $20 on the ground or always gets the good table at the restaurant... Or maybe you're like me.


Lastly, I wanted to play a game with you guys and thought this would be the perfect place to do it. In addition to commenting on your experiences with or without luck, I would ask that you do something else for me. In the comments, volunteer a lucky number or two that has served you well in the past. As I have terrible luck, it shouldn't be up to me to choose my own lottery numbers and we all know that the automatic picking machines are rigged (how, I don't know, but I know that they are), so I thought I would compile the numbers YOU give me and play those.

If I win the big prize, I'll be sure to send you your cut!

So once again, do you have luck? And what numbers should I play in the lottery next week!? I promise, after next week, I'm not playing again! Promise!

New York City Boys
Chapter Five - For the Ones We Love

(Revisit Chapters One, Two, Three, and Four)

Macks opened his apartment's front door without thinking of who could be on the other side. It was quite early for him, especially after a night of furious sketching, nonstop drinking, and listening to inappropriately loud, moody, blue jazz that went well with a bottle of red wine. Looking at his sketches in daylight distressed Macks to the core. He hoped he could repair the jagged figures he created in the night with professional, classic looks now that the sun was shining. He would have to read the paper first and sit down with some coffee and NY1 before any work could begin naturally. However, the knock at his front door was not the newspaper delivery as he had suspected. Instead, it was Diego, who greeted Macks with a hand on his crotch. Wordlessly, every single promise Macks made to himself about remaining faithful to Dominick flew out of the window.

He latched onto Diego like a koala bear and let Diego guide him to his bedroom. They didn't quite make it that far. They landed on the floor in the hallway and let clothes fall to the wayside like wrapping paper. After some time pinned under Diego, Macks picked himself up off the ground, stretched his back, and cracked his knuckles. He slid his sweat pants back up onto his waist and tightened the drawstring. Diego was a couple of paces ahead of him picking up his shirt off the ground.

Macks leaned against the wall.

"You wanted to do this," he laughed.

Diego had started to put his shirt over his head but stopped upon hearing Macks' voice. He tucked his shirt into his back pocket and sauntered over to Macks, making sure every step accentuated his flexed abdominal muscles and punctuated the roll of his rounded shoulders. Diego took Macks' hands and spread them against the wall over his head until the two men were nose to nose, hands locked above. Macks could feel Diego's leg separate his own legs. Diego's breath smelled like peppermint candy, Macks noted to himself silently.

Diego smiled with one side of his mouth, "Maybe I did."

"You know, no matter what I say to anyone, no one is going to give you a job, a modeling job that is. You'd maybe have luck overseas, far overseas. Or at the Home Depot," Macks reported, fighting several urges all at once.

Diego wouldn't let go, "Who says I did this to get a job? What if it was just fun?"

"Then why didn't we do it before, you know, back when we were both on drugs," wondered Macks. "Wouldn't it have been more fun on drugs?"

"You sounded like you enjoyed yourself."

"I did," Macks said before hearing his front door bell rang. "But next time we have to make it to the bed. I'm too old for the floor."

In the middle of a laugh, Macks walked toward his front door while Diego headed to the bathroom to wash up.

Front door opens. "Can I... Dominick?" Macks said, startled.

Dominick chuckled, pushing the front door back with his foot as his hands were filled with bags. Macks lost all color and instinctively pushed the door back, but Dominick's leg was already completely inside. Still Macks didn't move out of fear that he would fully enter the apartment. Macks also chuckled but was visibly shaken.

"Wha, wha, what are you doing here?" stumbled Macks.

Dominick would have noticed Macks' odd behavior if he wasn't preoccupied with placing the bags he was carrying on Macks' kitchen counter and telling the story he had worked up in his head.

"My apologies for just stopping by. Edgar, my boss, is in Paris for the week so I had some time to get away," Dominick explained. "I thought about you here hunched over your fabric samples and whatever else it is you do all day and thought you could use a little break. I carried burgers and fries from the Shake Shack. You are eating meat, right?"

Macks wasn't listening. He had been looking around his apartment for evidence of Diego and found a pair of underwear lying in his hallway, and Macks didn't wear thongs. He was growing increasingly mortified.

Macks stammered again, "I love meat. I mean, it's fine."

As Dominick began pulling foil wrapped burgers from the bags, his eye caught some of Macks' drawings from the night before. He walked over to them.

"Are these new sketches? Macks?"

"Sorry, yes. I felt inspired last night."

"They're wonderful," Dominick said, his voice barely interrupting a thud in the background. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

Dominick's brow tightened, "I thought I heard something."