I have to be honest - it doesn’t feel right posting today.  I contemplated a moratorium on posting out of respect for the loss that I - that we, that humanity - is feeling right now.  But I know that thousands of you (ok, six of you) are counting on me to be a beacon of strength in this difficult time.  Typically, I handle death well, as my Irish Catholic upbringing has taught me that when someone special dies, it is the responsibility of those who cared for that person not to mourn a death, but to celebrate a life. 

But in this case, I’m afraid that I’m just too sad.  We have lost an icon and there must be time to grieve.  I can not write any more on the subject, for fear that I will lose control.  My sadness is too great and the hole in my soul too deep.  I can only muster a goodbye to someone who has touched so many of our lives in such important ways.

Farewell, Grey Poupon Man.  May you have all the dijon mustard that your heart desires in the Rolls-Royce that is heaven.  We shall miss you, Sweet Prince.  We…shall…miss you.

***********

There was lots of hubbub in my inbox about the my recent posts about condoms vs. the pill.  Then, last night, there was this email from a man who asked only to be identified as "a fellow Eagles fan in Florida":

Jason,

Long time, first time, big fan, Go Birds.

After your last couple of posts on the benefits of the Pill, I had to tell you my story about love and sacrifice.  I was dating a girl a few years ago and after a couple of months I told her that condoms were really a shitty thing and she should go on the pill.  She did and we began some very happy latexless humping for the next three months or so.  Then one day she woke up and couldn’t feel half of her face.  She went to the hospital, where the thought she had a Bells Palsy and gave her all kinds of steroids and shit.  it went away, but a week or two later she realized that she was having difficulty writing.  Well, long story short, apparently one of the dangers of going on the pill and being a smoker (did I mention that she smoked a pack a day?) is that you can have a stroke. 

Things worked out well for this girl, though, because I was getting sick of her shit by this point.  But even I wasn’t a big enough douche to break up with a girl who just had a stroke for me, so I stayed with her for another 6 months.  So maybe she had a stroke, but she got an extra 6 months of my man meat, so it had to be worth it.

I hope you can someday feel the love that clogs a girls brain.

…

…

…

…

That’s really all I can say about that.  Aside from: I hope so too, my friend.  I hope so too.

…

(I think.  I’m not even sure what I think anymore.)

***********

My apartment is falling apart.  I have not turned on the radiator in my front room, formerly my bedroom but now my "office" (read: room where I keep shit and boxes), since mid-December, because when I do so water starts pouring out of it.  The radiator in my kitchen/living room was also spewing water, but it suddenly and abruptly stopped (I did not ask why, nor do I intend to).  And now the ceiling in my living room is leaking.  I have pots and towels under the leaks, but any day now the brown and soggy tiles should fall onto my floor and couch.  I’m really, really looking forward to that. 

As I have written before, my "Super" is an Italian guy who hangs out all day in and around the Italian restaurant I live above drinking wine and hitting on Chinese women.  He is outside and drunk when I leave for work in the morning.  He is outside and drunk when I get home from work in the evening.  He is outside and drunk (usually by himself) at 4am when I get home from the bars.  So in many ways, he’s pretty awesome.

One way in which he is not awesome is in the "speaking English" way.  I have told him at least a half dozen times that my ceiling and my radiators are leaking.  The first few times I told him in English, but each time that only elicited a stream of gibberish and a burp.  Then I started using a mix of English and some form of bastardized sign language ("ceiling" was easy enough to convey, as was "water", but try signing out "radiator").  That seemed more successful, because at the end of my explanation I got "Whatta apartamento you in?"  But still, it has not been fixed.     

So with no where else to turn, I turn to my Italian-speaking friends who read this site.  If you have the time, please translate the following into Italian, so that I may print it out and hand it to my "Super." 

Friend,

I hate to bother you as I know you have much wine to drink.  But the radiator in my front room leaks and so I can not turn it on – I have not had heat in the room since mid-December and am cold.  The kitchen radiator also leaks as well, but only sometimes.  And the living room ceiling is leaking.  I am concerned that the ceiling will soon fall from the water.

Again, I understand you have your hands full with yelling and drinking and fondling Chinese women who pass you on the street, but if you have the time to fix these things – preferably when I am not home – it would be most appreciated.  And please, do not go through my things.  You will only regret it if you do.

Best,
Jason (from Apartment 2)

Thank you in advance for all your help.

[Author's Note: I have received this translation.  Thank you for the help.]

***********

Thank you in advance for all your help.[Author's Note: I have received this translation.  Thank you for the help.]***********

Two things that are awesome:

1) I could get really used to hot hipster girls approaching me in the bathroom lines at bars asking, "Are you Jason Mulgrew?"  Really.  That is totally fucking cool with me.  Thank god I grew back my beard.

2) New obsession: girls whose boobs and hair bounce when they walk.  I was walking home along Prince Street and passed this girl who couldn’t have been taller than 5’3".  It was freezing out, but she was only mildly bundled up and had the most gorgeous hair I had ever seen; it was dark and it shone and it was so thick that it looked deep.  She was talking on her cell phone and walking quickly down the street, almost marching or even strutting, like she was on a catwalk.  As she did so, I could see her ample bosom bouncing inside her coat, flipping her hair lightly off her shoulders and chest, her boobs and her hair keeping time with each step she took, heels clicking loudly on the frozen pavement.  As we passed each other, we made eye contact for slightly longer than we should have.  Even though she was probably thinking, "Geez, that guy could really use a tissue," it made my whole evening. 

God, I love women.  If I were an artist, I would paint them; if I were a sculptor, I would sculpt them; if I were a writer, I would write them.  Instead, I’ll continue to write about my own sexual misgivings and take thinly veiled cheap shots at ex’s on my internet diary.  Sigh.     

(And yes, I am drinking right now.  Screw you for judging me.)

***********

Just as I did not let you down when I recommended Honey Bunches of Oats with Cinnamon Clusters and got dozens of emails thanking me for the recommendation, I will now blow your mind with two recommendations about an equally delicious foodstuff: ice cream.

There’s no artful way to get this out, so I’ll get right to it: EDY’S MAKES A SAMOAS ICE CREAM.  Yes, Samoas, the delicious caramel, chocolate and coconut Girl Scout cookie which I eat so many of in such a short amount of time once a year that I nearly fall into a diabetic coma.  The best part is that the ice cream is simple in its charms.  It’s not chocolate ice cream with caramel swirls and chunks of coconut or anything like that, but rather plain old vanilla ice cream with hunks of the cookie in there.  And the result is divine.  If you see this in your grocer’s freezer, you are a fool not to buy it.     

Also good but not quite as lovely as the Edy’s Samoas ice cream is a new flavor from the good people at Haagen Dazs called Sticky Toffee Pudding.  I won’t be able to describe it better than the people who make it, so I’ll leave it to them: "a tribute to the popular English dessert, our rich vanilla ice cream is swirled with a sticky toffee sauce and morsels of moist, brown sugar cake."  Um, yeah.  As I usually do with my ice cream, I popped this pint in the microwave for 30 seconds and it is arguably the best-heated ice cream I’ve ever had, because the toffee and the cake get slightly warmer in the ice cream and halfway through you just want to fuck it.  Phenomenal. 

You’re welcome. 

***********

Six Songs

"If Not For You"  Bob Dylan
I have a playlist titled "I Love You Because I’m Drunk" and it’s filled with whiskey-inspired songs of love (think: a lot of George Jones and Ryan Adams).  One of last week’s songs, "Wagon Wheel," inspired another playlist "I Love You Because We’re Dancing In A Field And I Really Do Love You."  "Wagon Wheel" is on there, as well as this lil’ ditty from Bobby D.  Both are simple exclamations of love and make me want to make love.  Not f, not have sex, but make love.  Preferably outside.  Because I’ve never done that (not even in a car). 

I’m kind of afraid where this is going, so let’s just move on.  

"Kiss and Say Goodbye"  The Manhattans
This song also inspired a new playlist: "I Am A Middle-Aged Black Man."  If I had enough money, I would make a music video to this song, in the mid-70′s retro style, starring me, as singer and main character, a black woman with a huge afro as my love interest, and my old roommate Brian doing the spoken-word intro.  As a matter of fact, if you are a film student, or even a drunk with a camera and a little ambition, let’s make this happen. 

(If you have any suggestions for this playlist, let me know.  If you actually are a middle-aged black man, I’m especially interested in hearing from you.  I’m thinking this playlist will feature everything from Sam Cooke and Solomon Burke to the soulful stuff of the 70′s, like lesser-known Marvin Gaye to Gladys Knight.  So if you have any suggestions for the "I Am A Middle-Aged Black Man" playlist, email me.)

"Can’t Let Go"  Anthony Hamilton
…Because now I’m in a soulful mood.  I’m convinced that if a man and a woman are standing together in a room and this song comes on, they will be grinding before the song is over.  I’d love to try this, but I don’t know any women (instead, what usually happens with me is that I close my eyes, rock gently back and forth in my desk chair, and snap my fingers).  However, I encourage you all at home to try.  If you and your man/woman friend are not grinding all up on each other by the time this song ends, I’ll give you your money back.  Seriously. 

"I Need You Back"  Ben Kweller
…And we’re back to being as white as possible.  Ben Kweller is fun.  I wonder if he gets fucked up.  If he does, I think we’d get along pretty well.  Bonus points for him because this is a great song to play and sing when you and your friends are sitting around, because they have no idea the loud "HEY!" is coming and you can really yell it and scare the crap out of them.

"God Shuffled His Feet"  Crash Test Dummies
I like this song because it is philosophical and has beautiful harmonies.  Sometimes all you need is a little philosophy and harmony to make a good song.  It can be that simple.

"Underneath Your Clothes"  Shakira
My sister loves – and possibly wants to be – Shakira.  My friend Corinne thinks Shakira sounds like a bird.  I think Shakira made 2001 one of the greatest years of my life when she released this song.  Once I was lying in bed with an ex-girlfriend and this song came on and she said, thoughtfully, "You know, this song kinda reminds me of you."  Flattered, I said, "Really?"  She then said, "No," and added, "That would be, like, the gayest shit ever." 

I think of her often.

[Have a good weekend.]