As a purveyor of murder shows and all things criminal on television (and, increasingly, in books), I thoroughly enjoy that dashing Chris Hansen and his "To Catch A Predator" series on Dateline NBC.  I try to watch it whenever I’m home on a weeknight (which is to say, five nights a week) and if for some reason I’m at work or have scheduled a full night of masturbating in the shower, I tivo it.  Few shows on television make me happier than "To Catch A Predator."

That is because few things make me happier than busting pedophiles.  Please don’t mistake me; I do not mean this because I *heart* justice or anything.  As a matter of fact, I am quite opposed to justice.  I had a run in with The Man just yesterday (apparently in NYC it’s illegal to walk along Broadway in Soho screaming, "Dick sucking!  Get your dick sucking here!  Uncle Jason needs a pair of new shoes and he’s got a monkey to feed!  Diiiiiick sucking!  Hey-yo!").

Busting pedophiles makes me happy because it shows me that no matter how down I am or how bad I think my life is, it’s not even close to the level of these guys.  Sure, I may be so in debt that I will have to fake my own death sometime in the next fiscal year and the most successful relationships I’ve had in the past four years have with a television channel and a cheap beer, but at least I’m not getting caught on national TV trying to fuck a kid.  Talk about the worst predicament possible, with no possible way of talking about it.  Not only is your pedophilia discovered, but 20 million people know about it.  So yeah, so what if sometimes I like to tell people I’m an ex-Marine who lost his family in a camping disaster – at least I’m not diddling kids.

(I don’t think – I don’t check for ID.)

(Usually.)

Anyway, the most recent "To Catch A Predator" was a sort of behind-the-scenes clip show, which followed some of the predators through the court system after they were caught.  This episode taught me something very important: Los Angeles County is a pedophile’s heaven.  Of the 20 or so guys who got busted in the "Predator" sting there, the majority got 30 days probation.  Compare that to those who got busted in Georgia, where the minimum sentence was two years in jail with eight years probation and upwards to six years with 25 years probation (!). 

To recap: sending pictures of your genitals to a minor, talking dirty to the minor, and then meeting that minor with intent to fuck him/her will get you 30 days probation in LA.  You’re free to do as you please, but basically have a babysitter for a month.  In Georgia, the same crimes mean you’re going to jail for at least two years, where you will be alternatively fucked and beaten by giant black men and/or angry white supremacists and more than likely will get shivved at some point.

So go West, pederasts – LA is calling you.  No wonder Jesus Quintana lived there.  

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I think it’s safe to say that my new Mac is changing my life. 

I could list the ways it’s superior to my old PC, but the Mac ads have done a pretty good job of that.  So I’ll let you in on a lesser-known reason why Macs (or at least, my type of Mac – the black Macbook) are superior.

iChat. 

iChat is basically IM with a camera.  See, my laptop has a lil’ camera on the top pane of the screen.  My old roommate Ben, now in Seattle, has a Mac laptop with the camera, too.  So when I sign on to IM and I see Ben, instead of just writing words back and forth to each other, we have actual video conversations.  One click, and there’s Ben, right on my screen from his living room in Seattle.

Admittedly, I’m both slow and dumb when it comes to technology, but I cannot stress enough that this blows my fucking mind.  Last week when I got home from work on Friday, I logged in about 8pm and saw Ben on and we spent the next two hours drinking together.  Just sitting there, having drinks, 2400 miles apart, but like we were in the same apartment.   I mean, holy crap.

(I don’t know if you guys are impressed by this or not, but my brains are all over the floor right now just talking about iChat.  It’s just awesome, and I don’t mean that in the "cool" way, but as in the "I am filled with awe because of it" way.  Just so you know.)

My buddy Joe in Boston has Mac with a camera as well, but hadn’t set up his iChat.  He did so once he got back to Boston after visiting me this past weekend, now he and I have video talks all the time.  My buddy Bill was so impressed with this feature that he is now buying a Mac (my buddy Kyle is not far behind).  This thing is blowing minds, everywhere.

But what bums me out about the Mac, specifically the iChat, is that I wish I had access to this sooner – for, of course, entirely sexual purposes.  My romantic history is a messy litany of drunken making out, premature ejaculation, unfilled sexual desires, and, for our purposes, long distance relationships.  Though I’ve spent 26.5 of my 27 years in the Northeast, I’ve dated women who’ve lived (at least part of the time) in Denver, Los Angeles, London, and Sydney.  If there’s anything I realize about myself and women, it’s that the further away the woman I’m seeing lives, the more I care about her.  I have always mistaken "inconvenience" for "fate" in this regard.      

(I’ve also had trouble differentiating between "indifference" and "passion."  So if you care about me and live next door to me, we are not going to get along.  At all.) 

(Have I mentioned that my parents got divorced during my formative years?  Yes?  Ok.  Just checking.) 

Back in the days when I was "into" long distance relationships, the iChat/Macbook would have been perfect.  My biggest problem with being in a long distance relationship was that I missed just seeing the person.  I am like a sexual camel and could do without the regular sex – I will take a long weekend of fucking like pheromone-injected apes every five weeks over "God, we’ve been dating for two months and I’m already sick of doing you" sex any day of the week – but it was most difficult to just not see the other person (or persons – long story).

(Also, I cheated a bunch, so saying I could do without regular sex is not entirely true.  Don’t judge.) 

But with the video chat – good god, I almost want to search a Minsk dating site to find a nice girlfriend who can teach me about her culture and enjoy me and my American money every two months but not make me have lunch with her parents when I have a fantasy baseball draft or get pissed when I have "boys’ night" three nights a week.  We are opening a pandora’s box here, ladies and gentlemen.  And in truth, I am afraid.

(I really didn’t actually "cheat" but this is not the time nor the place.)

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On a serious note, kinda disturbing that my friends Jeremy and Meredith live on the street where this went down, and I spent a good portion of my time at their place (you can actually see Jeremy and Meredith’s stoop in one of the photos).  I was just there Sunday evening, watching "Borat."  First, their/my local Taco Bell goes down.  Now there are gunfights on the street. 

I may have to move back to Philly.

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My favorite Mexican place in NYC is Festival Mexicano.  It’s a dive, and you have to practically bring a toilet with you when you eat there (or at least, carry one around with you after leaving), but it’s fucking dynamite. 

When I used to live in the Lower East Side, my old roommate Ben and I would order there all the time.  As two "big" guys, we’d get a fairly large amount of food, and would take great delight when the food was delivered with four or five sets of forks and knives, even though only Ben and I were eating.  It was almost as if the Mexicans in the kitchen preparing the food said to themselves, "Dios mio!  This must be for a large family, ese!"

I hadn’t eaten there in months, but I went there this week to grab some take-out.  It had been an especially stressful day at work (as it has been for some time: see, lack of posting) and I had only eaten a bowl of cereal in the morning and a granola bar.  Naturally, when I got there at 8pm, I unleashed a reign of terror on that menu the likes of which haven’t been seen since Cinco de Mayo 2000.  I ordered, waited, got the food, and headed home, dying to get down to business.  

And what did I find in the bag?  Three sets of forks and knives.      

…

You know what?  I was originally pissed off at them for putting three sets of silverware in my takeout bag, but after reading over what I’ve written and knowing that I ate all the food I ordered and almost threw up in bed later that night, I deserve the three sets of silverware.  I am a fat bastard, and it’s time for me to accept that.

Speaking of being a fat bastard…   

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Ice cream review: Haagen Dazs Banana Split.

Oh, chocolate.  You bring so much into our lives, but sometimes you step out of bounds.  Maybe you don’t mean to, or maybe you’re just a cocky asshole, but you can occasionally really fuck things up.  There is no better example of this then in Haagen Dazs’ Banana Split ice cream.

Simply put, if you take the thick swirls of fudge out of this mix, you have an A or even A+ ice cream.  The base ice creams – banana and whip cream (!) – complement each other very well, as do the chunks of cherries and strawberries.  But between the soft creaminess of the ice cream and the sweetness of the fruit runs this thick skid-mark of fudge, smeared down and throughout the ice cream.  I tried to eat around it, but that proved useless.  So I accepted it and went on eating away, but by the end was so offended by the presence of the fudge that I was indignant.

(I think this is the appropriate time to mention that that weed I picked up in Greenpoint last weekend is pretty good.)

So though while it has lots of potential, the swirl of chocolate fudge hurts the overall rating of the Banana Split ice cream.  Grade: B.

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Six Songs

"Echo Park"  Joseph Arthur
I know I’ve recommended this song before, but it’s gotta be said: this is about the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard.  No exaggeration.  Go ahead – I dare you to find a more beautiful song.  I’m pretty sure that this is going to be my wedding song, regardless of what my bride thinks (traditional Laotian music be damned!).   Just as while doing dishes I heard this song for the first time and it stopped me in my tracks, every time this song randomly comes on my iPod, it’s a moment – "Everybody shut up, close your eyes, and listen!"  Spectacular, almost literally breathtaking. 

"Sooner or Later"  Marah
If this song doesn’t make you stand up, swill your beer, and stomp your feet, you and I can’t be friends.  I don’t think I know of another modern band capable of writing such catchy music while not compromising their rock-ness in the least.  And they’re from Philly!  Fucking A.  

"Because the Night"  10,000 Maniacs (mp3 not available)
Something seriously stirred in my pants when I first heard Natalie’s voice crack in the bridge (or whatever – a little over two minutes in) when she sings "Take me now" the second time.  I mean, we can all agree that she’s hot in this video, right?  Or is it just me? 

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"Tomboy"  Bettie Serveert (mp3 not available)
I feel both cooler and more sexually charged when I listen to this song.  So there’s that.  

"Glad and Sorry"  The Faces
Ever since seeing their BBC Crown Jewels special, I’ve been getting back into this band.  This is a nice little ditty with a catchy piano riff that makes me want to smoke cigarettes on a porch to a house in the suburbs in May.  Straight up.  

"Bertha"  The Grateful Dead 
Probably my favorite Grateful Dead song – at least right now it is.  Back in the days when I was hippie and could name (at the time) all 28 non-bootleg GD albums (this ’91-’92, before Dick’s Picks and the like), this song never failed to get me pumped up and was a big reason I begged my mom for a guitar for Christmas.  It still gets me pumped up, but more so it fills me with nostalgia for those days when I didn’t have problems like rent, bills, unwanted pregnancies, and tons and tons of body hair.  

Sigh.  Those were some good times.  

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Off to Boston until Monday to enjoy the St. Patty’s Day parade in Southie.  Wish me luck and have a good, safe weekend.