I promised myself that I wouldn’t complain about it until the end of the week, but I’ve never been very good with the whole “keeping promises“ thing.  Nor have I ever been very good with the whole “not committing hate crimes“ thing, but that’s another story for another day.

 

You and I both know where this is going, so let’s just get there already: donations.

 

I don’t like asking for money.  Seriously.  I grew up poor and I know the value of a hard earned dollar.  When I was a kid, I worked hard to earn money.  It wasn’t easy to steal hackey-sacks from the hippy store on South Street, surreptitiously slipping them into the pouch of my 49ers Starter jacket while my friends distracted the store employees, to sell to our friends.  Likewise, it was equally difficult to pound the pavement every day selling fireworks to younger kids, marking them up by 300% so that I could make a quick buck off a six year-old (god, junior year was my favorite year of college).  So I’ll tell you first-hand that money must be earned.

 

That being said, I mean, fuck. 

 

First, to those who have donated: thank you.  I really appreciate it.  I’m not sure how I can repay you, but I am thinking of having a dinner party at my apartment and I will surely invite you guys if I do.  I should warn you that the dinner party will not be a very classy affair and would most likely end in my roommate Brian and I getting in a fist-fight.  But the good news is that you all would be able to fit comfortably in my “cozy“ Manhattan apartment, because there are so few of you.

 

I posted the “birthday/keep the site“ going donation link on Monday.  We started off pretty hot, having gotten a whopping five donations (two of which were from my parents, who decided to donate online rather than mail me a birthday card).  Sweet! [sarcasm]

 

But I was undaunted; I assumed that many of you were digging in couch cushions, going to the bank, getting your proverbial house in order so that you might give me a pittance for my trouble over the past seventeen months.  Sadly, this was only the case with three of you, which is how many people donated on Tuesday.

 

But if you know anything about me, you know that I believe in the inherent goodness in people.  That, and one time I fucked a St. Bernard.  But I believed, way deep down in my heart, past all the layers of nutella and mozzarella sticks and beat rags, that in the end you all would start giving.  I confess that I was joking when I said I aimed for a 100% donation rate.  I understood that that wasn’t possible.  But I certainly hoped that we would improve on the 0.01% that gave last time. 

 

Yesterday, one person donated. 

 

[sigh]

 

Friends, friends, friends.  I don’t even know what to do anymore.  When I first started writing this, I thought it’d come out angry.  You know, “You assholes!  (Almost) every day for a year and a half, and seven fucking people donate!  300,000 words of entertaining you every day at work and you can’t give me a fucking dollar!“  But I don’t have the energy.

 

Then I thought it might come out sad.  You know, “Why do you guys do this to me?  All I do for you and this is what I get in return?  I’m asking for five bucks to help me out for helping you get through work and you don’t give a damn?  After all this time?“  But I still have a little pride. 

 

Instead, I’m just resigned.  Yeah, I’d like more than seven people to give, but fuck it.  You guys suck.  I hope you realize:

 

• If all of you gave $5 (or even if most of you gave $5), the price of a Big Mac meal, I could quit my job today and do this full-time.

That is not a joke in the least.  For the price of a fucking sandwich, you could give me the gift of early retirement.  I could spend my days exploring NYC, meeting new people, sleeping in, and most importantly, destroying my body with drugs and alcohol.  And you’d have a front row seat.  But instead, seven fucking people gave me something.  Fuck and fuck again. 

 

So this is my last plea.  Remember, it’s my birthday and the site costs several hundred dollars a year to run.  Even a dollar helps (though if you give $1, Paypal keeps 1/3 of it).  So give if you can.  But I have to think of something here; one million hits a month and still several hundred bucks in the hole for this.  I am an awesome businessman.

 

So please donate. 

 

Now let’s just move on before we start saying things we don’t mean.

 

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Outside my apartment, there are two shells of buildings with construction equipment all around (forklifts, orange tape, portapotties, the works).  I remember when I first moved in I was very concerned about this.  I thought there was going to be construction going on at all hours, keeping me up at night and waking me up in the morning. 

 

This never happened.  I was never bothered by it, because there was no construction going on.  As far as I could tell, the only purpose of the mess was to clog the already WAY overcrowded streets.  The forklifts sat there collecting dust and the portapotties went unpooed in.  It was kinda sad. 

 

Well, it’s not sad anymore.  This morning, not one but TWO jackhammers started pounding away at 7:15am.  7:15!  What the fuck is that all about!  Isn’t there some kind of time restriction about when loud-ass construction can start in residential areas?  The problem is that I don’t wake up until 8:06, so for almost an hour I sat there cursing, falling in and out of sleep, shifting my tiny erect penis around, thinking, “This weekend, I’m getting a prostitute.  I just have to.  It’s my birthday and enough is enough.  I was in People fucking magazine for Christ’s sake.”

 

And it was really, really loud.  Much like the motorcycles I wrote about a few weeks ago, the windows were shaking and I was worried that my air conditioner was going to drop right out of the fucking window.  But the true indicator of how loud it was is that when my alarm went off at 8:06, I didn’t hear it.  I was in and out of sleep and I didn’t hear it until 8:11, when the jackhammers momentarily stopped.  I didn’t hear any alarm going off that was six inches away from my face because of jackhammers blasting away outside my apartment.  Now that is loud.

 

So I apologize in advance if I’m in an ornery mood over the next few days (weeks? months?) because of lack of sleep.  I don’t know if they ran out of funds or the workers were on strike before, but it’s on now.  And it’s only a matter of time before someone gets hurt.  Most likely me, for trying to confront a construction worker at 7:30 in the morning and getting hit with a wrench.

 

(No idea why this font is huge.  Just roll with it.)

 

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In this week’s issue of People, dated June 18 (“Angelina adopts a baby girl!”), there is the most wonderful letter in all the world:

 

Thumbs up for choosing Jason Mulgrew as “Bachelor Blogger”.  I’ve been reading his blog for months and find him to be a great writer with an awesome sense of humor.  I’m happy he’s getting some recognition for his efforts.

 

The best part?  I didn’t write it!  Not only that, but I don’t know the person that wrote it!  Fucking sweet!

 

Lauren Van Pelt of Clovis, California, if you’re reading this, thank you and god bless you.  I definitely owe you a beer if you ever make it to NYC.

 

And to People, I promise this is the last time I use your copyrighted material on my site.  Probably.

 

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If I ever started a dating site, like eharmony.com or match.com, I’d call it www.settling.com. 

 

I mean, isn’t that really what you’re doing?  Saying, “You know what?  Fuck it.  This being single thing is too hard, so I’m gonna go on the internet to meet some other nerds.  I just don’t have the energy for this whole ‘face to face‘ meeting thing.“

 

Hey, don’t get me wrong.  I’m sure people find true love from these sites.  At the very least, I’m sure a lot of people get together and have sex (lord knows I’ve met up with a lot of you all and had some really strange and forgettable sexual escapades).  But I haven’t been able to take the plunge with these sites.  I don’t know…maybe it’s because I’m old-fashioned.  I think a first kiss shouldn’t be arranged over the internet, but instead should happen the natural way: like in a bar, or a bar bathroom, or in the parking lot of a bar.

 

You know what?  I’m gonna stop here.  I just realized that a lot of you reading this are probably involved in these sites and I get enough hate mail as it is, what with all the “you are homophobic“ and “you should invite Jesus into your life“ (seriously) emails.  I don’t need ‘smore from people defending internet dating.  Whatever works for you, work it.  Because I ain’t got much working for me in that department (have I mentioned that I have trouble meeting women?)

 

(And besides, the joke doesn’t have legs anyway.  I just thought it’d be cool to start a dating site and name is www.settling.com.   Maybe I should think more about this…)

 

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Speaking of women, I realized last night while on my computer that I haven’t downloaded any new porn in over a month, since June 12. 

 

Forget the constant chest pains, the stress, the lightheadedness and the general malaise: this, more than anything, is the strongest sign that I am indeed dying. 

 

At the very least, I had a good run.  Remember me as an internet pioneer, an egotist, a terrible lover and an even worse father.  Thank you and god bless.

 

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Six Songs:

 

“Burn In My Skin”  Ray Lamontagne

I’ve pimped Ray about a million times on this site, but I’m recommending this song now as it’s the lead song on my new “Sad As Fuck” playlist.  If you don’t collapse in sadness after he sings, “So kiss him again/Just to prove to me that you can”, then you have no feeling and should be beaten with lamps and other living room objects.  The last time I saw Ray live three people actually died from heartache after hearing him do this song.  Of course, that is a lie, but I hope that you understand that what I’m trying to say is that this song is sad. 

 

“Minneapolis“  That Dog

I don’t know anything about this band and you probably don’t either.  But I like their stuff.  This is a song about a girl who develops a crush about a guy in a band who comes through her hometown of Minneapolis.  So I can totally relate to it. 

 

“High and Dry”  Jaime Cullum

Recommended to me by a reader a while ago (we’re talking probably six months ago), this is a smooth, jazzy cover of the Radiohead song.  I kinda want to listen to it in the rain.  Not standing the rain, but sitting and watching the rain.  But that’s just me. 

 

“New Amsterdam”  Elvis Costello

Everyone should listen to Elvis Costello.  This is a good start.  If you like this, we can get into so more stuff, but let’s take it slowly. 

 

“Tough Love”  Squeeze

Like Elvis Costello, everyone should listen to Squeeze.  This is a sad little ditty.  Again, if you like this, we can move forward. 

 

“Tonight I’ll Be Staying Here With You”  Bob Dylan

(Please note that when discussing this song I’m speaking about the live version from the accessible “Rolling Thunder Review”, not the studio version recorded when Dylan was in his nasal phase.  There is a HUGE difference and the live version is much, much better.)

This is one of the most kick-ass songs of all time.  Just because it’s just so cocky, because it’s not a question, it’s a command: tonight I’ll be staying here with you.  I wish I had the balls to say something like that to a woman.  Instead, I’ll just stand in the corner with my friends, drinking Guinness and talking about fantasy baseball.  Oh well.