For those of you not in the area, it’s been cold – like, really cold – in NYC for about a week.  Once again, we had no temperate season.  It was hot, then warm, then it rained for like two weeks straight, and now it’s just fucking cold.

 

And my heat hadn’t been turned on yet.  It’s been consistently in the low 40′s at night, which means that I’ve been laying in bed wrapped up in blankets, both hands down my pants, trying to keep warm (although both hands would have most likely been down my pants regardless of temperature).

 

Since it got cold, I’ve been vacillating about when I should go talk to my landlord about turning on the heat.  I know that there’s some sort of law wherein a landlord must have the heat on from October 1 to May 1 of every year (or something), so I wasn’t worried about being in the wrong by asking him to turn it on.  But the problem is that my landlord is a very macho Italian guy (remember, I live in Little Italy above an Italian restaurant, which he runs and owns).  He’s a nice guy and all, but he definitely exudes that alpha male/Italiano b.s. that frightens a mezzofinook like me.  I didn’t want to go down to the restaurant to interrupt him to complain about being cold at night, since he most likely would then slap me and say something about me being a sissy.

 

But – hallelujah – in the middle of the night last night, the radiator in my room kicked on with a squeal and the heat was on.  At first I wasn’t concerned about the loud squealing, since every time a radiator kicks on for the first time there’s bound to be some noise.  Even though the noise woke me from my sleep, I was just glad to be warm.       

 

That was about twelve hours ago, and this radiator is still squealing like a puppy being stepped on.  Good lord.  I’ve been looking at it a lot, turning the knob and such, trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with it, but it still keeps screaming.  Great.

 

So if this keeps up, I’m going to have to talk to my Ital landlord and meekly ask him why the radiator in my room is hissing and crying.  Why not ask the super, you ask?  Because the super is not really a super in the traditional sense (i.e. an immigrant who lives in the building and fixes stuff when it needs fixing).  True, our super is an immigrant, but he doesn’t live in the building.  Hell, I don’t know where he lives.  From what I can tell, all he does is sit in the Italian restaurant below my apartment, drinking wine and verbally sexually assaulting women in Italian.  So I’m not sure I feel so comfortable approaching him, as at least my landlord speaks English and most likely wouldn’t try to kiss me in my hallway with his nasty wine breath.

 

[I know I just wrote about an old Italian guy trying to kiss me with his wine breath, but I like getting kissed – by women – with wine breath.  Something about tasteful drunk making out is really nice (by "tasteful" l mean not trying to eat each other's faces).  If you like poems or are gay, there is a poem by Catullus (or maybe it's Horace) about drunk making out that has the line "To kiss your inebriated eyes".  I couldn't find it from a quick Google search, but if you know it, email it to me.] 

 

[And yes, I know – I really have to stop smoking pot before writing these posts.  I'm working on it.]

 

So let’s all collectively hope that my radiator shuts the fuck up.  Not turns off, but shuts up.  Is this too much to ask?  Probably. 

 

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It’s official: more people emailed me about this than anything else I’ve ever discussed or written about before.

 

I don’t know what to say, other than if you get one upped by Tom Sizemore or make Tom Sizemore look good, you’re in trouble.  It’s getting to the point that Paris Hilton is just a complete fucking joke (um, more so than before).  And I saw an ad for her new perfume, “Paris Hilton for Men”, in my latest issue of Men’s Health.  I can’t imagine what this smells like, but I’d imagine it’d be a delicate mix of cigarettes, dick, and cosmopolitans.  If so, sign me up.      

 

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Instant feedback from Mark in Boston about yesterday’s post:

 

You have just described the perfect situation. You answered your own problem but just don’t realize it because either you are too wrapped up in the fact that you are fat and can’t get laid or you can’t see the forest through the trees.

 

You still have the “cool older brother” factor going for you. These kids looked up to you, I know it is a scary thought, but they did. And in a way they still do. This is evident from the fact that your sibling’s friend came up to you. When was the last time an attractive girl apporached you. Never!! Forget the fact that she is hot and doesn’t want to be seen conversing with some fat middle aged guy. But it isn’t some middle aged guy, this is “Jay, remember [insert little brothers name]‘s older brother.” Then the “Oh my God I remember when” stories start to fly, as long as they aren’t “When I woke up and you were standing over me naked” type of stories, you’re all set.

 

Then comes the kicker which you already discovered, you live in NYC. You just say to the girls and play it ultra smooth, “Hey, if you guys ever want to come to the city and need a place to stay, by all means here is my cell phone number you could totally stay at my place.” Or if they are in need of a place to stay when interviewing for your bosses’ job they can stay at Palace de Mulgrew. That is when the magic happens. You can take them to any bar you want – as long as there are people there you can tell them it is coolest place in NYC and they will think you are God. Then the best part is when they get hammered they have to go home with you. It is there that they thank you for being such a wonderful host and tell you about the crush they had on you when they kids. Then you are money.

 

If the “cool older brother” thing doesn’t work for you, i don’t know what will. And if the whole thing blows up in your face, who cares.  They aren’t your friends, they are your brother’s, and he will just tell them what a dick you are and no big deal.

 

Some valid points here, but:

 

1)     No girls, even if they were younger than I, had a crush on me when I was younger.  None.  There is not a hint of exaggeration in that sentence.  I’m not looking for pity, but rather stating a fact.  So I would never here that “I had a crush on you when I was younger” story.  Maybe the “I remember when you lost the Geography Bee and started crying on stage” story, but not the “I had a crush on you” story.

2)     No girls, knowing my reputation, would ever agree to stay at my place in NYC without some sort of weapon or personal bodyguard.  Hell, my guy friends are sometimes reluctant to crash at my place, knowing full well that odds are I’m going to have too much to drink and crawl onto the couch with them.  So that ain’t happening.

3)     If any girls did come up to NYC to stay in my apartment, I don’t think we’d make it out to any bars.  I’m sure that as soon as they got to my place, they’d think something was up, as I’d have all sorts of penis-shaped candles lit and porno magazines lying around.  So it would be a very short visit.

 

But thank you, Mark, for the email.  It helped by self-esteem, albeit briefly.

 

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Speaking of emails, the following email exchange is floating around the internet.  To date, I have received it from six different people, one friend and five readers, each one claiming a connection to “Brad”.  I’m not saying this isn’t real or didn’t happen, but it’s funny that six people from across the country are somehow connected to Brad (“my co-worker’s cousin’s buddy” or “some dude of my girlfriend’s brother’s softball team knows him”).  Either way, it’s funny, so enjoy.

 

Brad,

 

It would be difficult for me to be any more miserable right now, I feel like the worst person ever. First, let me start by saying that I am truly truly sorry, and I hate myself for hurting you. Of all the people in the whole entire world, you were honestly the last person that I would ever want to wrong in any way. There is no excuse at all for anything that happened, so I won’t even try other than to say that all of us had WAY too much to drink, and I did a stupid thing.

 

I can handle you being pissed at me, I absolutely deserve it, I can even handle the ugly words that were exchanged between us, what I can’t handle is thinking that you see me as a different person. It is weird, I feel like I just went through a horrible break up or something. The world looked funny yesterday, I couldn’t crack a smile if you paid me, there are songs I can’t listen to, and I just feel beyond crushed. I

don’t know if you meant everything you said to me, and I am hoping that you didn’t.

 

I know that I was wrong on many levels, but I am also hoping that this is something that we can deal with. I know it sounds totally crazy and stupid, but you have come to play such a significant role in my life, I can’t imagine my days without you. It is totally strange and weird to say that, and you could say that my behavior didn’t reflect that, and you would be correct. I hate feeling like you

hate me, and I hate feeling like all of your friends think I am a terrible person, because I am not.

 

I know there is nothing I can say or do to take back what happened, but I just want you to know that fighting with you was just about the worst thing I could have ever imagined. It was right up there with one of the ugliest nights of my life, and I would give anything in the world to rewind and fix it.

 

I am not sure if you will respond to this, part of me thinks that you won’t. If not today, then maybe some other time. Also, thanks for getting my stuff together, although I think my sunglasses are still at your house, if you could keep your eyes peeled for them that would be great. I can’t even focus or work today, I can’t eat, I seriously feel like it was an ugly break up, and I am hoping against hopes that it

was not that and you are not done with me. Please don’t cut me off, I really don’t think I can handle that.

 

I am so sorry.

 

Elizabeth

 

And now the reply…

 

Dear Elizabeth,

 

Thank you for your concern. I’ll be sure to file it away under “L” for “Long-winded diatribes from drunken whores I couldn’t care less about”.

 

You did a stupid thing huh? No…doing long division and forgetting to carry the one is “a stupid thing”; Mixing in a red sock with a load of whites is “a stupid thing”; Blowing some guy in a bathroom for 45 minutes while I sit at the bar wondering if you’re taking so long because you ate too much bran that morning isn’t as much a “Stupid thing” as it is grounds for permanent removal from my social calendar.

 

To be honest, I’m not sure if it was more amusing that you went and degraded yourself in a public toilet not once but twice in a 2 hour span, or that you seemed to think that by saying “Well, I didn’t Fuck

him” somehow gave you a clean slate.

 

So forgive me if I couldn’t care less if the world “looked funny” to you yesterday. Since your world revolves around blow dryers, golden retrievers, Prada Bags and Jelly Beans, I’m sure it must have been

most unsettling to actually have to consider someone else’s feelings for 24 hours straight. The good news for you is that my friends don’t think you’re a terrible person, they just think you’re the average run

of the mill cum-guzzling blond who commands about as much respect as your average child porn collector. I could be wrong but, it’s pretty hard to respect some B&T chick who comes out to spend the night at my place even though she’s seeing someone else in New jersey and winds up tongue-bathing the taint of anyone who decides 30 minutes of droning commentary on Colin Farrell’s new haircut is worth putting up with for a hand and b-job in the men’s room. The good thing about being a guy is

that when I eventually bump into the young lad who finger-blasted you on top of a towel dispenser last Saturday, we’ll have a shot and laugh our heads off about the time it happened.

 

By the way, for the amount of time you claim to spend in spin class you really must be doing something wrong to sport the thunder thighs you do. Watching you parade around my bedroom in a thong was a little like watching sea lions mate. Thought you might like to know.

 

PS. I BCC’d about 100 people on this email.

 

Talk to you never,

Brad

 

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Six Songs:

 

(To listen to these songs, go to iD1G1T.com)

 

“Pretending”  Eric Clapton

This song, as cheesy as it is, makes me cry a little bit.  It reminds me of a line in “The Misanthrope” that goes “Pretend, pretend that you are just and true/And I will make myself believe in you”.  When I first read that line, I was very under the influence and I nearly had an emotional breakdown.  I won’t allow myself to read the play or the line anymore, so this Clapton song is the closest I can come to it.

 

“Memo From Turner”  Rolling Stones

Another dirty rock song.  They just don’t make ‘em like this one anymore.

 

“Gett Off”  Prince

So I’ve pretty much spent all day getting high, drinking hot chocolate, and listening to Prince so loudly that I’m certain the tourist and Chinese people below can hear it.  Not to brag here, but not working is HIGHLY underrated.  The good news is that though you may be jealous of me now, in a matter of months I will be sued by a major network for failure to deliver, up to my neck in legal fees, and possibly in debtor’s prison (if debtor’s prisons still exist).  So for now, let me relax and listen to my Prince.  What time is “Cops” on again? 

 

“Freedom”  Wham

Just because it’s Halloween.

 

“Ain’t No Problem”  Snoop Dog

“Guess who’s back in the mother fucking house/With a fat dick for your mother fucking mouth”.   A better epitaph, I can think of none.  Should I just order my gravestone with that on it now, just to save time later?

 

“Belle”  Al Greene

Two questions: 1) Who is the “he” that Al Greene is singing to?  Is it the Lord?  I hope so.  2) Is it “Greene” or “Green”?  I always add the extra “e”, but have no idea if this is correct or not. 

 

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Happy Halloween weekend everyone.  My buddies Bill and Joe are coming down from Boston and they and Brian and I are going out as a group.  I won’t reveal our costume (I’ll tell you about it on Monday), but it will either be a fabulous success or a spectacular failure. 

 

And just in time for Halloween, this might be the funniest thing you’ll ever see (safe for work and listen with sound).

 

(Thanks to my buddy Chris for passing it on)