A few nights ago, I had such an incredibly explicit sex dream about a girl I did it with a few years ago that when I got into work the next day, I had to fight to resist the urge to send her flowers.  The dream itself was awesome.  I won’t get into details, because any details that involve me navigating semi-nude through the musty realm of lovemaking should never be gotten into.  Although, oops.  I just re-read that sentence and it’s already too much detail.  Sorry. 

Back when I was having trouble sleeping, I used to have extremely vivid dreams all the time that would fall into one of two camps: totally pee-your-pants scary nightmares or totally bonerizing incredibly real sex dreams (sadly, they never overlapped; i.e. I never dreamed of fucking a werewolf).  This was at the peak of my hypochondria and when I was in therapy a few years back, and I suppose they derived from some sort of subconscious stress, but any way you cut it, these dreams have since subsided.  The nightmares, I could live without; I used to wake up yelling or fighting and several times woke up to find myself ready to swing a pipe (that I keep under my bed) at something I thought was standing in my bedroom.  So, not cool.  Not too cool at all.      

But the sex dreams…goodness gracious, do I miss them.  I would wake up after having had one, lying in bed in that semi-conscious state, and be convinced that I had just had sex. (Author’s Note: These were not wet dreams; I’ve unfortunately never had a wet dream, since I discovered masturbating before my testes were even fully developed and since then have kept them on overdrive producing sperm for me to shoot into dirty boxers and/or paper towels, so I’ve sadly never developed the necessary reservoir of semen for a wet dream.)  And the best part about these dreams was that more than half the time they would not involve former lovers, for which there was obvious precedent for fantasy fodder, but attractive women I had never even seen before.  You really can’t get any better than that.

(Well, I guess you can, namely real, undreamed sex with attractive women.  Unfortunately, that is not a viable option for me at the moment.  So I gotta work with what I got.)

If we were in the same city right now, I have no doubt the lady I dreamed about would be the recipient of several drunken text messages (which she may get this weekend anyway, regardless of distance).  Instead, it’s back to my new/old friend: redtube.  Man.  I can’t express what a tremendous asset to my life this site has been. It doesn’t get old.  It just doesn’t get old.    

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A number of you chimed in on the “is there any cheese in Asia food or what?” issue.  Responses were divided into three parts:   

- I forgot to include the cream cheese in some sushi rolls.  Guilty.  I don’t eat much sushi, so there.  But like the cream cheese in crab rangoons, I’m not counting this. (Angie in San Antonio was first to point this out.)

- There is cheese in Indian food, specifically paneer.  Ok, this I may be willing to concede, because I’ve eaten paneer before and it’s definitely cheese.  However, India is the great sub-continent, so it’s not exactly the type of Asian country I was talking about; I was looking for China, Japan, Korea, Thailand, etc. (Lydia in Seattle called me out on the paneer before anyone else).

- Finally, while many pointed out that many Asians are lactose intolerant, Melissa from the Bay Area actually provided a reason for this, explaining that cows were not domesticated in Asia as they were in Europe, the Middle East and parts of Africa.  No domesticated cows, no milk, no cheese, and lactose intolerance.  There you go.

That argument holds some water, but the problem is that many foods make cross-cultural leaps, and cheese has not only been a part of but a staple in the European (and later American) diet for hundreds and hundreds of years.  As an American, I typically don’t go 40 minutes without eating something with cheese in it, and I know I’m not alone (Michael Moore, I’m looking in your direction).  So the question is almost how has cheese, which has been so prevalent in so many parts of the world for so long, not been introduced to the Asia?  I understand that because of the cows cheese is not indigenous to Asia, but is sushi indigenous to America?  Are French fries/chips/pommes frites indigenous to America/the UK/um, Belgium, I think?  And though I only went to med school for one year, I think that a slow introduction of cheese in small doses would reduce the number of lactose intolerant Asians.     

But the bottom line remains the same: except for the presence of cheese in Indian paneer and a schtikl of cream cheese in sushi and crab rangoons, there is no (significant) cheese to speak of in Asian food.

And my god, that sucks for them. 

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This is just about the saddest commercial ever.

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Seriously, it’s just not even cool.  After seeing this, there’s a 50/50 chance that this weekend I’ll get drunk, adopt a dog and name him Echo.  Jesus.  I want to call the Pedigree people and donate just so they stop showing this damn commercial – I’ll get tired of getting misty-eyed during reruns of SVU.    

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This writer’s strike is really fucking me up.  Big time.  I’m accustomed to a certain lifestyle and doing marketing/pr/advertising for a law firm is not enough to support this de-luxe lifestyle. 
And then there’s this.  And also this.  

I really picked a bad time to get into sitcom writing.  Whoops.

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This week, Tuesday morning, 2:48am, my fever was 103.1.  Why is it that I get sick every time I come to LA?  Oh, that’s right – I wake up at 5:20am every morning, stuff myself with egregious amounts of caffeine to get through the day, eat only burgers and fried food for every meal, move only to and from my rental car, live out of a suitcase, and get more bombed than usual because I have nothing to say to people in bars because I’m too ugly/out of shape/much of a fan of reading and I have no idea what to talk to them about (“So…do you girls like crushing jagerbombs too, or is that just a guy thing?”).  Yeah.  That’s probably why I get sick every time I come out here.

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Six Songs

“Angels of Destruction”  Marah
I can’t say enough about Marah – or even anything about Marah that hasn’t already been said.  They are treeeeeeemendous, arguably to some and easily to others the best rock and fucking roll band working today (I’m in the latter camp).  I admit, I can’t speak to the new album with too much authority, since I only downloaded it this week, but this song makes me alternatively boisterously happy and exuberantly proud that these guys are from Philly.  It’s catchy without losing its edge and its lyrics are rock f’ing poetry, especially little throw-away lines like “I love you so much, now let’s get something to eat” and “Go ‘round the corner/And get your pop a bottle of beer.”  This song is perfect.  That’s it.  It’s perfect.  And I’m thrilled that I now have a song to start off every “Let’s Drink” playlist that I’ve ever created or will create. 

I like a lot of modern music and a lot of things about modern music, but to me, there are two artists that are head and shoulders above the rest in terms of making music that matters: Marah and Joseph Arthur.  I know “making music that matters” is a nebulous or even hippyish catchphrase and I don’t even know if I can properly explain what I mean, but as I put down my bong I’ll tell you that these guys are making art; they take their music seriously, they know how to best apply their talents, and their end results are often, for lack of a better word, profound.  You would do yourself a great service to get very familiar with both Marah and JA if you aren’t already.  Word.     

“Made In the Dark”  Hot Chip
This week’s entrant to the “Sad As Fuck” playlist.  The only way I can describe it is that the whole thing sounds lonely, a piano chased by a slightly reverby guitar over the singer’s thin voice (it sounds like he either just finished crying before singing is about to start just after the song is over).  He honestly could have been singing either about how rainbows are awesome or about how my mom is a slut and the only thing I would have noticed is how sad the song sounds.    

(The album ain’t out yet, but you can find the song via Limewire.)       

“Grace Kelly”  Mika
My friend Nicole, bless her heart, is not exactly my go-to for new music.  It’s not that she has particularly bad taste in music, but to give you an idea, I think it’s fair to say that the Justin Timberlake concert was one of her top five highlights of 2007.  Nicole’s been telling me about Mika for months, about how I’d love his music because it’s “really gay and fun” and I’ve dismissed any and all Mika until about ten days ago.  And I have to hand it to Nicole – she’s totally right.  This is one of the gayest and most fun songs I’ve heard in a long time (I mean, it’s called “Grace Kelly” for Christ’s sake).  Everyone compares this guy to Freddie Mercury, but I’d have to see him in a wife beater and a ‘stache before I give my final ruling, but this song sounds like something Freddie would make if the rest of the guys in Queen were away on vacation.        

“Chicken Payback”  A Band of Bees
I have no idea if this was written in 1965 or 2008.  Absolutely no clue. 

“In Quintessence”  Squeeze
One of my top five favorite bands and I don’t pimp them out nearly enough on here.  The album “East Side Story” is chock full of British pop-rock three minute goodies, but this one gets the nod here, if only for the “you won’t catch it unless you listen to it and then it’s fairly obvious” masturbation reference  (“In the corner with his book and tissue/All he can do is pretend to miss you/Closes his eyes as he sees her body/Pulls funny faces and that’s his hobby”).  Sweet.  He’s talking about jerking off.  Hilarious, but sophisticated at the same time.

“Oxford Comma”  Vampire Weekend
This is, without a doubt, one of the worst band names I’ve ever heard.  Seriously.  I don’t even like to say it, because when I do, I feel like I should move back to the Lower East Side, start growing my beard out, become a graphic designer, wear sunglasses at night, shop at vintage stores, smoke long cigarettes, wear a top hat, and be a total pussy.  If I were to ask someone what band they’re into at the moment and they were to say, “Vampire Weekend,” I’d have to consider punching them in the head immediately.  “Vampire Weekend.”  Fucking terrible.  Christ.
But the good news: they don’t really look like hipsters, but rather just a bunch of nerds.  So that makes me feel better about their name.  More good news: their songs are wonderful, fun and perhaps even a little retarded.  I think this one is the most unique, but I grabbed a bunch of their stuff was there wasn’t a bad one in the bunch (“Walcott” is an interesting one about escaping Cape Cod).  I would add “dancey” into the description as well, so if you’re keeping score at home, that’s “dancey, wonderful, fun and perhaps even a little retarded,” which should be more than enough to warrant a listen.     

[Have a good weekend.]