i hate cleaning for one reason

i know it's just going to get dirty again. i clean the toilet and then i use the toilet. is that a pubic hair already? it's like i don't want to touch a thing but i know that's not a reasonable solution. much like everything else, i clean so i don't have to clean. i shave so i don't have to shave. i cut my hair so i don't have to cut my hair. so the bathroom is clean. but is it?

the need to reference

look, i'll be the first to admit that i am always thinking of a reference, usually in the pop culture realm, for every stranger or situation i encounter(you'd be amazed at how often something fits in nicely to a brady bunch or leave it to beaver episode) but this mustache thing has gotten a lot of unnecessary attention and even more poor reference points (freddie mercury's teeth are way bigger than mine). i think people's desires to comment has betrayed their actual depth of reference points (maybe the fact that mine are a bottomless pit taints my judgement... but still). that said, of all people i think adam zunt gave quite possibly the best, deepest, and certainly most subversive of them all. at first when he said chopper i assumed, based on knowing adam zunt, he was making a really poor attempt by lumping me in with anyone that rode a motorcycle. but when he asked if i had seen that movie i was pleasntly surprised. yes, i had. and, damn, nicely done. an independent film from new zealand starring eric bana as a serial killer. adam zunt? now all y'all should be ashamed of yourselves. porn star? cop? please. you've been schooled by adam zunt. try living with that.

man, who likes music

i do. i love looking for it. i love buying it. i love listening to it. and i love loving it. i say this with a nod to permanent records whom i've come to trust. things are alright.

frye johnson: RIP

today we are a one cat house. frye has gone to that big apartment in the sky, free to chase invisible things and knock over all the nick-nacks his heart desires. i know i've said some pretty harsh things about cats but, let's be clear, i am no monster. i don't enjoy watching them suffer (i don't enjoy watching them, period). the poor guy lost his brave battle with whatever the hell was wrong with his pee hole/man made vagina. he put on a brave face day after day but became too sick to go on. frye johnson, you were a crazy fucker that for some reason felt the need to bum rush my bedroom only to get stuck in the hamper or hide in a corner. i may not have understood your needs and desires but i never wished an infected pisser on you. may your pee always run yellow in that great big litter box in the sky. that's the great big litter box in that great big apartment that i assume is in the sky. is that what you wish for a cat? dogs are easy. a field to run in. maybe a farm so he has some buddies. what does a dead cat get? a giant sofa? filled with mice? walls made of tuna? anyways, frye, god speed

a jew walks into a tent: redux

no he didn't. a jew walked into a hotel. and took all the free stuff he could find. no camping this weekend as we both felt the weather (rain) was against us. but i think getting that close proves that i am nothing if not willing. we now have sleeping bags. it's a step. but that king sized bed in the double tree was pretty fucking great. you can sleep in any manner and direction you please. now that's living. and free cookies!

bought a bike

simple. cheap. looks like this and in a week or two i'll ride it around. this is me a little excited. i know, it's hard to tell

a jew walks into a tent

rumor has it that some of you (you know who you are. well maybe not quite yet since i haven't said anything. but soon. you will know) think it funny that i might be camping with my lady friend (lady friend, you are one of those "some of you"). the thing is, i am with you. when i became the one least likely to sleep outside is unclear. i have, i am ashamed to say, a semi-hippie past which included walking and/or sleeping in nature. i don't know if my wholesale rejection of all things hippie has, by it's very nature, meant that i no longer view camping as a calming, meditative retreat. i perceive it now as an uncomfortable and uncomfortably quiet and, therefor, disquiet endeavor. i am woody allen. i need buildings and traffic noise and indoor plumbing. when i feel the need to escape the city i only think of going to another city. i don't dream of riding my bike over trails. i dream of riding over bridges. big metal bridges with cars whizzing by. i look at skyscrapers with the same wonder as some look at redwoods. so this weekend's possible camping excursion (which came about because maria and i are going to milwaukee to see the brew crew take on her hometown cardinals) has turned me into a cartoonish fool asking questions about having to shit in a hole and picturing how inept i will be in setting up the tent. if you are one of those people that i said would know who you are, you are very much right to think this is funny. at least i embrace my urban jewness and see my future bumbling for what it is: a chance for ridiculous photos and self-mockery. a good jew knows how to mine everything for humor. i am nothing if not a good jew