apologia, halloween, beard, strollers and subways, dad and cnn, music
2 November 2006
My apologies a thousand times over for my lack of good posting over the last week or whatever. There’s a fundamental problem we have here: I’m busy on stuff that you don’t want to hear about and I don’t want to talk about. I try, as much as possible, not to talk about working on the book or tv show (at least, I think I try), because I feel like a douche. However, sometimes this is unavoidable, as a blog is supposed to be a diary of daily events and I work on the book/tv show on a daily basis. It’s just a big part of my life right now, taking up much time.
But I know that you don’t want to hear about this. And I know that I don’t want to talk about it. So, things suffer.
That’s all I’ll say about it, but at least you know where I’m coming from. And sure, my next post will probably be titled "Jason Mulgrew: Author, Writer, Memoirist, Television Champion and Writer (Seriously, I’m a Fucking Writer)" and be a 4,000 word expose about the dangers of TV writing, book editing, anorexia, and cocaine. But hey – at least it’ll help you kill time at work. And that’s what we’re going for here, right?
*************
My Halloween blew, thank you for asking (see above "work"). But I’m ok with this, because I think Halloween sucks. Especially Halloween in New York City. You see, there’s a big parade on 6th Avenue in the Village, where all sorts of freaks dress up, party, and prance around (though there is drinking involved, police fairly strictly interpret the no open container law and issue tickets). And that’s about it, aside from all the hubbub. I think it all sucks. Suckiest bunch of sucks who ever sucked.
Why do I feel that Halloween sucks? Because I think it’s just so damn…nerdy. Halloween was cool when you were a kid, when you got to dress up like Captain America and get lots of candy. But now, as an adult, what purpose does it serve? I no longer have the desire to dress like Captain America (not in the fall, at least) and since I’m anorexic I don’t eat candy.
(Have I mentioned I’ve kept the weight off? Have I also mentioned that my teeth are falling out and sometimes it’s hard for me to hold a pen?)
But there’s the whole fantasy element of Halloween, people might argue. Guys and gals get to act out their deep-seated fantasies and pretend they’re someone else. They put on a wig and a costume and get a rush from getting out of their work clothes and being unknown. They get to act out and carry on in ways that they normally wouldn’t.
F that. That sounds like theater, and we all know that theater is gay [spits dip into solo cup]. I feel like I should stop this rant now before completely turning into a frat boy or pulling the "What kind of grown man gets dressed up like a tomato?" card, so I’ll just move on.
[Another reason I hate Halloween - if you'll allow me to be even more egotistical for a moment - is the air of expectation. Because I make fun of myself all the time, my friends automatically think that my Halloween costume will be better than that time Jesus walked on water, when really all I want to do is grab something from my closet, throw it on, hide in a corner, and drink so much punch I get heartburn. Fucking asshole friends.]
I went out with some friends to "celebrate" Halloween on Saturday night. My costume was one that several of you recommended, but one of two ideas I was batting around: I was Gene Frankle, Will Ferrell’s cowbell playing character in the "Behind the Music: Blue Oyster Cult" skit. To complement the costume, my old roommate Brian was the Bruce Dickinson, Christopher Walken’s character in the skit. I bought a cowbell (which, by the way, is a really fucking loud instrument) and some tight jeans and rocked the top of my leisure suit (no shirt underneath, of course) and my sunglasses. Brian slicked his hair, but on some purple shades, a leather jacket, and all black. We may not have looked like the characters, but at least we looked sexy. And at least we were recognized; at the bar we were at, people kept calling for more cowbell. Naturally, I didn’t oblige and retreated into my beer.
[And no, I don't have any pictures because I'm a moron. I sent an email around to friends who were out that night asking for a picture, but all I got was the picture below with the dog. Oh well.]
The night was nothing spectacular, just some friends standing in a bar getting rocked. That’s really all I have to say about that.
But thank you much to all of you who wrote in suggesting beard-friendly costumes. The other idea I was thinking about was going out as a rapist: black shoes, sweatpants, sweater and cap, and generally acting creepy. But, for some reason, I think that might have led to bad karma. Several of you suggested James Lipton, which I thought was a good idea until I realized I’d only be in a suit with glasses and slicked hair (as opposed to last year as Daniel Baldwin, when I, uh, forget it). The most popular other suggestions were a fat Chuck Norris, an Amish guy, a Jew, and a lumberjack (in that order, I think). So thank you again for the suggestions. I owe you one.
*************
Speaking of beards (and you guys helping me), I’m growing my beard out and I turn to my bearded readers for some help.
Is there anything I can do to tame the wild animal growing out of my face? Perhaps I should be clearer – as it gets longer, my beard is getting awfully scraggly-looking, even though I trim it. Is there any beard mousse or something that I can put it in so that it doesn’t look like a used brillo pad? I brush it, shampoo it, and trim it, but it still looks like roadkill.
I’ve had a beard for years, but it’s always been very short and existent only to cover up my double chin and fleshy jowls. Now it looks as though I’m keeping it for warmth, as rough as it is (not that you can really tell in the picture below, but trust me).
So to those of you out there with long beards, have you any tips on keeping it tame or grooming? I do have a beard trimmer but like I said, it’s too long for it and doesn’t make it look too much better after I’m through trimming. I’m tired of my female friends being disgusted by my face, as it’s starting to hurt my feelings. Any attempt to help salvage my self-esteem would be most appreciated.
*************
Moving on, once a week, when I either go up or down the stairs in my subways stations, I see a woman carrying a stroller with a baby in it by herself up or down these stairs. And I never help her.
This isn’t because I’m not a nice guy, since that’s not the case at all. The other day I gave a homeless guy a high-five – just for kicks. I think it made his day. I also think he had cholera, but I only went to med school for one year and am unqualified to make this diagnosis.
But I don’t help the women with the strollers because I’m afraid, afraid that I will somehow mess up and drop the stroller causing the baby to fall out and roll down the metal and concrete stairs in the subway station while people near me scream in horror and look at me like I’m a murderer, which I may be, because there’s no way that baby survived that fall.
I mean, I’m not the most coordinated guy to begin with. And I don’t think I should test how coordinated I am by helping a stranger carry her child up or down stairs first thing in the morning or after a long day at the office. (And anyway, have you ever lifted a stroller? They are very cumbersome and heavy.)
So I explain this to you in order to absolve myself of the guilt I feel whenever I see and ignore a woman, typically Mexican, struggling to carry a stroller up or down stairs. I feel terrible about turning up my iPod so that I don’t hear her pleas of "¡Ayudarme! ¡Ayudarme!" but I do it for her own sake, and the sake of her child’s.
Now that this has been cleared up, we can move on.
*************
My dad watches CNN all day long. Or at least, CNN is on his television all day long. Which is kinda weird, because I wouldn’t describe my dad as a news junkie, nor is he very political (though he did tell me at a young age that we were too poor to be Republican). Still, it’s CNN all day, before giving way to murder and/or science shows in the evenings, except of course when the Eagles or Flyers are playing.
But I realized why my dad watches CNN all day long – for stories like this one. While I have faith in your ability to read on your own, I’ll summarize: a guy killed a little girl. The murderer was in the same prison as the victim’s cousin. The victim’s cousin attacked the murderer, saying, "I’m going to kill you or tattoo you." So the murderer got "Katie’s revenge" tattooed across his forehead.
Stories like this one also work out well because they give my dad and I a topic to discuss other than "So what’s going on in Philly?" and "The Eagles stink" and "For the last time Dad, I like girls." So my dad and I were talking about this particular story:
Me: "Did you see on CNN the guy who got ‘Katie’s revenge’ tattooed on his head?"
Dad: "Yeah." [smoking cigarette] "Oh yeah. That’s a good one."
Me: "I mean, that’s pretty good revenge, but the girl is still dead. That guy can easily get that tattoo removed."
Dad: "Uh uh. Those prison tattoos – they’re hard to get off."
Me: [silence for three seconds] "Really?"
Dad: "Yeah." [smoking cigarette] "Oh yeah."
Me: [silence for three seconds] "So what’s going on in Philly?"
Good talk, Dad.
(I bet your dad doesn’t know how difficult it is to get prison tattoos removed. I win. In this category, at least.)
*************
Six Songs
"Please Call Me Baby" Tom Waits
There is a touch of romance in insanity. This applies especially to relationships – men and women are drawn to "crazy" members of the opposite sex. I am personally guilty of this, in love as I am with Fiona Apple and forever searching for my Zelda, who I am certain I will marry in under three months after finding her. And then she’ll divorce me, leaving me penniless and impotent. But, as an old Jansenist who looked kinda like my buddy Conor once said, the heart has its reasons the mind cannot know.
Tom Waits is a genius. It took me 26 years to agree with this, but this song proves it. If you like your loves crazy, you’ll like this song. I’m tempted to quote some lyrics here, but you’ll have to find them on your own. I’m just really tired right now.
[Also, I'm kinda learning that craziness in women sounds great in theory, but in practice is decidedly not awesome. Really, I just want a girl who likes me and will make me chicken parm. I don't think this is asking too much. But more on this some other time...]
"One Rainy Wish" Jimi Hendrix
This is not my favorite Hendrix song (that honor probably goes to "Bold As Love," though "Remember" is up there), but the 47 seconds from 1:13 to 2:00 minutes into the song might the finest goddamn 47 seconds in the history of recorded music. Take it to the bank, muthas.
"I Want a New Drug" Huey Lewis and the News
I am only mildly ashamed to admit that the other night this song came on my iTunes while I was sitting at my desk and it so moved me that I dug out my ol’ electric guitar, plugged it in, and basically went the fuck off. Not so much with my playing, but more so with my dancing and harmonizing. If someone had managed to videotape me during this little "show", I’d have to kill him or her. Because it surely would destroy me. But that’s just what Huey Lewis does to me.
(Did you know that Huey got a perfect score on his math SAT and went to Cornell to study engineering? So he’s not your average sexy rock hunk. Not that he was average to begin with, but you get what I’m saying.)
"Midnight Moon" Smoking Popes
Such a lovely band. Such a lovely song, which reminds me of my junior year of college. What an awesome time. But let’s not dwell on that, lest I get too sad and nostalgic. I want to go into the weekend with a head of steam, not feeling down. Thanks for understanding.
"Love Foolsophy" Jamiroquai
Allllrrrriiiiight! Everybody get up and let’s start movin’, baby! I’ve been listening to this song in the mornings recently and have practically danced my way to work.
Also, I love the line, "She shivers like a California suntan." Which makes me want to stress how incredibly sexy it is when a girl can dance. I remember being a teenager and watching girls from the neighborhood dance at dollar nights in Philly and being blown away at how incredibly sexy they were. Then I went to BC and most girls danced like a live-feed was being beamed into their parents’ bedroom. And I don’t go to clubs in NYC because with my nasty beard, I’m not the type of guy that girls who know how to sexy-dance are attracted to or even like to walk by, so I miss sexy-dancing women.
Though some of my ex’s might disagree, I have never dated a girl who can dance sexy-like. My promise to you is that I will. Mark it down. And please help me attain this goal. Because I have no other recourse. Thank you.
[Well, the sexy-dance girl and I don't have to start dating, but we have to sleep together a bunch. Because I'm not really looking for a relationship right now. As a matter of fact, I'm not sure if I'll ever be looking for a relationship again, but maybe I'm just saying this right now because I'm crying. Whatever.]
"Post-War" M. Ward
If you have a make out mix like I do, this song needs to be on it. However, you should not call your mix "The Make Out Mix" or "The Ultimate P-ssy Crushing Mix" or "If You’re Hearing This, I’m Inside You." Because if the intended target of your making out discovers this, she may be offended. Therefore, I call mine "Mood" and say that I often fall asleep to it, which is not true. Of course, by this point in the night, I’ve usually already told the woman about a million other lies, like "My great-great grandfather was Franklin Roosevelt" or "The most important things in my life are tolerance, safe sex, and family – in that order" or "I usually never met women on craigslist – I’m sorry, is it ‘woman’ or ‘she-male’ or ‘shim’ – which do you prefer?", so a lie about whether I fall asleep to a playlist does not bother me.
[It's a shame I was such a dick because this song is really lovely. And great for both making out and/or sleeping. Honest.]
But I know that you don’t want to hear about this. And I know that I don’t want to talk about it. So, things suffer.
That’s all I’ll say about it, but at least you know where I’m coming from. And sure, my next post will probably be titled "Jason Mulgrew: Author, Writer, Memoirist, Television Champion and Writer (Seriously, I’m a Fucking Writer)" and be a 4,000 word expose about the dangers of TV writing, book editing, anorexia, and cocaine. But hey – at least it’ll help you kill time at work. And that’s what we’re going for here, right?
*************
My Halloween blew, thank you for asking (see above "work"). But I’m ok with this, because I think Halloween sucks. Especially Halloween in New York City. You see, there’s a big parade on 6th Avenue in the Village, where all sorts of freaks dress up, party, and prance around (though there is drinking involved, police fairly strictly interpret the no open container law and issue tickets). And that’s about it, aside from all the hubbub. I think it all sucks. Suckiest bunch of sucks who ever sucked.
Why do I feel that Halloween sucks? Because I think it’s just so damn…nerdy. Halloween was cool when you were a kid, when you got to dress up like Captain America and get lots of candy. But now, as an adult, what purpose does it serve? I no longer have the desire to dress like Captain America (not in the fall, at least) and since I’m anorexic I don’t eat candy.
(Have I mentioned I’ve kept the weight off? Have I also mentioned that my teeth are falling out and sometimes it’s hard for me to hold a pen?)
But there’s the whole fantasy element of Halloween, people might argue. Guys and gals get to act out their deep-seated fantasies and pretend they’re someone else. They put on a wig and a costume and get a rush from getting out of their work clothes and being unknown. They get to act out and carry on in ways that they normally wouldn’t.
F that. That sounds like theater, and we all know that theater is gay [spits dip into solo cup]. I feel like I should stop this rant now before completely turning into a frat boy or pulling the "What kind of grown man gets dressed up like a tomato?" card, so I’ll just move on.
[Another reason I hate Halloween - if you'll allow me to be even more egotistical for a moment - is the air of expectation. Because I make fun of myself all the time, my friends automatically think that my Halloween costume will be better than that time Jesus walked on water, when really all I want to do is grab something from my closet, throw it on, hide in a corner, and drink so much punch I get heartburn. Fucking asshole friends.]
I went out with some friends to "celebrate" Halloween on Saturday night. My costume was one that several of you recommended, but one of two ideas I was batting around: I was Gene Frankle, Will Ferrell’s cowbell playing character in the "Behind the Music: Blue Oyster Cult" skit. To complement the costume, my old roommate Brian was the Bruce Dickinson, Christopher Walken’s character in the skit. I bought a cowbell (which, by the way, is a really fucking loud instrument) and some tight jeans and rocked the top of my leisure suit (no shirt underneath, of course) and my sunglasses. Brian slicked his hair, but on some purple shades, a leather jacket, and all black. We may not have looked like the characters, but at least we looked sexy. And at least we were recognized; at the bar we were at, people kept calling for more cowbell. Naturally, I didn’t oblige and retreated into my beer.
[And no, I don't have any pictures because I'm a moron. I sent an email around to friends who were out that night asking for a picture, but all I got was the picture below with the dog. Oh well.]
The night was nothing spectacular, just some friends standing in a bar getting rocked. That’s really all I have to say about that.
But thank you much to all of you who wrote in suggesting beard-friendly costumes. The other idea I was thinking about was going out as a rapist: black shoes, sweatpants, sweater and cap, and generally acting creepy. But, for some reason, I think that might have led to bad karma. Several of you suggested James Lipton, which I thought was a good idea until I realized I’d only be in a suit with glasses and slicked hair (as opposed to last year as Daniel Baldwin, when I, uh, forget it). The most popular other suggestions were a fat Chuck Norris, an Amish guy, a Jew, and a lumberjack (in that order, I think). So thank you again for the suggestions. I owe you one.
*************
Speaking of beards (and you guys helping me), I’m growing my beard out and I turn to my bearded readers for some help.
Is there anything I can do to tame the wild animal growing out of my face? Perhaps I should be clearer – as it gets longer, my beard is getting awfully scraggly-looking, even though I trim it. Is there any beard mousse or something that I can put it in so that it doesn’t look like a used brillo pad? I brush it, shampoo it, and trim it, but it still looks like roadkill.
I’ve had a beard for years, but it’s always been very short and existent only to cover up my double chin and fleshy jowls. Now it looks as though I’m keeping it for warmth, as rough as it is (not that you can really tell in the picture below, but trust me).
So to those of you out there with long beards, have you any tips on keeping it tame or grooming? I do have a beard trimmer but like I said, it’s too long for it and doesn’t make it look too much better after I’m through trimming. I’m tired of my female friends being disgusted by my face, as it’s starting to hurt my feelings. Any attempt to help salvage my self-esteem would be most appreciated.
*************
Moving on, once a week, when I either go up or down the stairs in my subways stations, I see a woman carrying a stroller with a baby in it by herself up or down these stairs. And I never help her.
This isn’t because I’m not a nice guy, since that’s not the case at all. The other day I gave a homeless guy a high-five – just for kicks. I think it made his day. I also think he had cholera, but I only went to med school for one year and am unqualified to make this diagnosis.
But I don’t help the women with the strollers because I’m afraid, afraid that I will somehow mess up and drop the stroller causing the baby to fall out and roll down the metal and concrete stairs in the subway station while people near me scream in horror and look at me like I’m a murderer, which I may be, because there’s no way that baby survived that fall.
I mean, I’m not the most coordinated guy to begin with. And I don’t think I should test how coordinated I am by helping a stranger carry her child up or down stairs first thing in the morning or after a long day at the office. (And anyway, have you ever lifted a stroller? They are very cumbersome and heavy.)
So I explain this to you in order to absolve myself of the guilt I feel whenever I see and ignore a woman, typically Mexican, struggling to carry a stroller up or down stairs. I feel terrible about turning up my iPod so that I don’t hear her pleas of "¡Ayudarme! ¡Ayudarme!" but I do it for her own sake, and the sake of her child’s.
Now that this has been cleared up, we can move on.
*************
My dad watches CNN all day long. Or at least, CNN is on his television all day long. Which is kinda weird, because I wouldn’t describe my dad as a news junkie, nor is he very political (though he did tell me at a young age that we were too poor to be Republican). Still, it’s CNN all day, before giving way to murder and/or science shows in the evenings, except of course when the Eagles or Flyers are playing.
But I realized why my dad watches CNN all day long – for stories like this one. While I have faith in your ability to read on your own, I’ll summarize: a guy killed a little girl. The murderer was in the same prison as the victim’s cousin. The victim’s cousin attacked the murderer, saying, "I’m going to kill you or tattoo you." So the murderer got "Katie’s revenge" tattooed across his forehead.
Stories like this one also work out well because they give my dad and I a topic to discuss other than "So what’s going on in Philly?" and "The Eagles stink" and "For the last time Dad, I like girls." So my dad and I were talking about this particular story:
Me: "Did you see on CNN the guy who got ‘Katie’s revenge’ tattooed on his head?"
Dad: "Yeah." [smoking cigarette] "Oh yeah. That’s a good one."
Me: "I mean, that’s pretty good revenge, but the girl is still dead. That guy can easily get that tattoo removed."
Dad: "Uh uh. Those prison tattoos – they’re hard to get off."
Me: [silence for three seconds] "Really?"
Dad: "Yeah." [smoking cigarette] "Oh yeah."
Me: [silence for three seconds] "So what’s going on in Philly?"
Good talk, Dad.
(I bet your dad doesn’t know how difficult it is to get prison tattoos removed. I win. In this category, at least.)
*************
Six Songs
"Please Call Me Baby" Tom Waits
There is a touch of romance in insanity. This applies especially to relationships – men and women are drawn to "crazy" members of the opposite sex. I am personally guilty of this, in love as I am with Fiona Apple and forever searching for my Zelda, who I am certain I will marry in under three months after finding her. And then she’ll divorce me, leaving me penniless and impotent. But, as an old Jansenist who looked kinda like my buddy Conor once said, the heart has its reasons the mind cannot know.
Tom Waits is a genius. It took me 26 years to agree with this, but this song proves it. If you like your loves crazy, you’ll like this song. I’m tempted to quote some lyrics here, but you’ll have to find them on your own. I’m just really tired right now.
[Also, I'm kinda learning that craziness in women sounds great in theory, but in practice is decidedly not awesome. Really, I just want a girl who likes me and will make me chicken parm. I don't think this is asking too much. But more on this some other time...]
"One Rainy Wish" Jimi Hendrix
This is not my favorite Hendrix song (that honor probably goes to "Bold As Love," though "Remember" is up there), but the 47 seconds from 1:13 to 2:00 minutes into the song might the finest goddamn 47 seconds in the history of recorded music. Take it to the bank, muthas.
"I Want a New Drug" Huey Lewis and the News
I am only mildly ashamed to admit that the other night this song came on my iTunes while I was sitting at my desk and it so moved me that I dug out my ol’ electric guitar, plugged it in, and basically went the fuck off. Not so much with my playing, but more so with my dancing and harmonizing. If someone had managed to videotape me during this little "show", I’d have to kill him or her. Because it surely would destroy me. But that’s just what Huey Lewis does to me.
(Did you know that Huey got a perfect score on his math SAT and went to Cornell to study engineering? So he’s not your average sexy rock hunk. Not that he was average to begin with, but you get what I’m saying.)
"Midnight Moon" Smoking Popes
Such a lovely band. Such a lovely song, which reminds me of my junior year of college. What an awesome time. But let’s not dwell on that, lest I get too sad and nostalgic. I want to go into the weekend with a head of steam, not feeling down. Thanks for understanding.
"Love Foolsophy" Jamiroquai
Allllrrrriiiiight! Everybody get up and let’s start movin’, baby! I’ve been listening to this song in the mornings recently and have practically danced my way to work.
Also, I love the line, "She shivers like a California suntan." Which makes me want to stress how incredibly sexy it is when a girl can dance. I remember being a teenager and watching girls from the neighborhood dance at dollar nights in Philly and being blown away at how incredibly sexy they were. Then I went to BC and most girls danced like a live-feed was being beamed into their parents’ bedroom. And I don’t go to clubs in NYC because with my nasty beard, I’m not the type of guy that girls who know how to sexy-dance are attracted to or even like to walk by, so I miss sexy-dancing women.
Though some of my ex’s might disagree, I have never dated a girl who can dance sexy-like. My promise to you is that I will. Mark it down. And please help me attain this goal. Because I have no other recourse. Thank you.
[Well, the sexy-dance girl and I don't have to start dating, but we have to sleep together a bunch. Because I'm not really looking for a relationship right now. As a matter of fact, I'm not sure if I'll ever be looking for a relationship again, but maybe I'm just saying this right now because I'm crying. Whatever.]
"Post-War" M. Ward
If you have a make out mix like I do, this song needs to be on it. However, you should not call your mix "The Make Out Mix" or "The Ultimate P-ssy Crushing Mix" or "If You’re Hearing This, I’m Inside You." Because if the intended target of your making out discovers this, she may be offended. Therefore, I call mine "Mood" and say that I often fall asleep to it, which is not true. Of course, by this point in the night, I’ve usually already told the woman about a million other lies, like "My great-great grandfather was Franklin Roosevelt" or "The most important things in my life are tolerance, safe sex, and family – in that order" or "I usually never met women on craigslist – I’m sorry, is it ‘woman’ or ‘she-male’ or ‘shim’ – which do you prefer?", so a lie about whether I fall asleep to a playlist does not bother me.
[It's a shame I was such a dick because this song is really lovely. And great for both making out and/or sleeping. Honest.]
