I have no idea what happened yesterday.

I have no idea how I got home.

And in spite of all that, I actually managed to GET shit DONE!

Inside my laptop's disc drive was a properly burned DVD with Season 2 of Dexter in its innards. I was doing this because I'm making a mad dash to download as much shit as possible while I have the chance, and in order to maximize my productivity, I have to burn and erase pretty much as it comes in.

Look at me, I'm ramblin' again. And I woke up at 4:30am, red-eyed and bushy-tailed.

So much beer. SO MUCH BEER.

And steak. Sandwich. No mushrooms.

Do you realize I've lived 20-some-odd years of my life and I've never ONCE seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show? Something about that has to be criminal; the authorities are on their way; but Shirley I'll watch it soon since I have it on disc and all.

And Kindergarten Cop. Yer not so tough without yer car, are ya?

And don't call me Surely.

I MAY, in fact, still be am is a little drunk. Don't mind me.

Who knew masturbating WITH lotion could be so ... AMAZING?

I'm going to walk across (or rather the length of) the Brooklyn Bridge today. The Donald said he read in a book somewhere that it's one of the 100 things you MUST do before you die. And I get to do it. And you don't. Unless you get your asses over here before you die. Die.

Let's play Twister, Let's play Risk.

Yeah yeah Yeah yeah.

I'm listening to R.E.M. The rock band, not the eye-movement.

I'm not really going to discontinue the LiveJournal. Its functions are just going to shift is all.

My favorite bartender gave me her e-mail address. I guess she'll be in Seattle sometime by next summer, visiting or acting in a play or something. That's hot.

Crave Case today. I'm gonna remember this day until the day I die. I guess there's supposed to be some supermarket in Seattle that sells frozen White Castles, but I'll believe it until I see it. I hope they're not just cheeseburgers, but if they are, you bet your ASS that I'll find a way to dismember the cheese from the burger.

COME ON POOKIE, LET'S BURN THIS MOTHERFUCKER DOWN!!!

I'll tell you what I'm gonna give you, Snakes. I'm gonna give you to the count of 10 to get yer ugly, yellow, no-good kiester off my property, before I pump your guts fulla lead! 1, 2, 10!!! .... Keep the change, ya filthy animal.

That was gonna be my mass-text yesterday, but my phone only allows 160 characters. So I didn't sent it. It's from Home Alone. Awesome movie, still.

Maybe he committed suicide.

Way more awesome than Jingle All The Way.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go download the Extras series finale special. It's supposed to be the greatest thing Ricky Gervais has ever done.

And people say he's just a big pair of tits.

By 4 o'clock the sun is already blocked by the numerous Donald Trump monstrocities lining the southern edge of Central Park, leaving it shrouded in freezing wonder. Snow from the weekend storm has frozen on the hills underneath the leaf-less trees and the tourists wrapped in woolen jackets and fluffy scarves hold each other for warmth and stability. Without my misplaced gloves, my hands invade my pockets every second they're not snapping photos as I reflect every few blocks on that Starbucks I recently passed.

The soundtrack for the day looks like this: Nine Inch Nails - "Year Zero" followed by Beck - "The Information" followed by Ben Folds - "Songs For Silverman" followed by 23 select ditties from one Elliot Smith I have in a special playlist.

To start things off, I down two piping hot White Castle hamburgers, followed by 12 more lukewarm dandies between the hours of 7am and noon. With my innards properly ravaged, I bundle up with my leather jacket, grey knit cap, and my only pair of jeans that haven't been washed in over three months. To complete the ensemble: old man running shoes from New Balance. Then, I catch the R, transfer to the E at Queens Station, transfer to the A in Manhattan, and ride that baby one stop into Brooklyn, High Street. There, I follow the signs that lead me to the pedestrian walkway portion of the Brooklyn Bridge.

Constructed in the 1800s, it was at one time the longest suspension bridge in the world. 20-something people died in its construction. The pedestrian walkway is paved in wooden planks and it gives great view of lower Manhattan, the Manhattan Bridge, the Statue of Liberty, Governors Island, the Empire State Building, and another bulky portion of midtown Manhattan. It crosses the East River and in the winter, in 35 degree weather with blustery winds, walking the Brooklyn Bridge is an exhilarating experience.

From there, once inside the borough of Manhattan, I circle around the court house in the Wall Street area and head over to Chinatown. That takes me up Bowery and then back over on Canal until I hit Broadway, which takes me north to Union Square where they're having a Christmastime Arts & Crafts Fair. I peruse the wares, then continue north on Fifth Avenue stopping briefly at a Vintage Shirts store and completely ignoring the Empire State Building, which I've seen every work day for the past month or so. After buying a shirt for $14 (60% off its regularly scheduled price), I continue up Fifth, stopping to snap a photo of the New York Public Library facade, then I head east to the Avenue of the Americas (also known as Sixth Avenue) to check out the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree once more as well as the Radio City Music Hall facade. My final destination - completely bypassing Times Square - is Central Park just in time for the sun to go down on my Walking Tour of New York City.

I retreat to the warmer confines of the subway and am one R-train away from home.



You should live in New York City twice before you die. Once on the cheap, living in semi-squalor in one of the outer-boroughs (not the Bronx or East Brooklyn though, unless you want your ass capped); once when you can afford to do all the things you want to do while living comfortably. Maybe somewhere in Park Slope or the Village if you're a loony. But, never in luxury, surrounded by high society. You wouldn't like that, nor would you respect yourself when you're going to a new Broadway opening every weekend while the hobos sleep curled up on a subway train.

When you're living in New York City, you won't be able to help noticing all the stark juxtapositions, seemingly flying in the face of reason. The limitless, bountiful wealth right alongside dirty, stinking, raving poverty. Fur coats on the same train as Duct Tape & Newspaper Boots. People sleeping in doorways to billion-dollar corporate offices. Eight dollars for a pack of cigarettes, ten dollars for a six-pack of beer, two vices consumed primarily by those not rich enough to afford Nicorette and Rehab.

You're also not going to believe the mingling of the peoples from different origins. The Greeks, the Russians, the Middle Easterners, the Eastern and Western Europeans, Latinos from all over, Blacks and Asians from every walk of life, all dumped into this tie-dyed burg. You're almost guaranteed to walk down any given street and hear a language you won't understand. And yet, somehow you'll make it work. Everyone makes it work. The Puerto Rican buys chicken wings from the Chinese man, then stops in to buy some smokes from the Turkish bodega owner before dropping his laundry off at the Polish Laundromat. You'll notice early on that living in New York is unlike any other city in the United States; indeed, it's like living in another country. Or, rather, a country within a country.

You'll adapt to the quicker pace of things. You'll embrace the throngs of people while simultaneously feeling more alone than you ever have before. In a city pushing 9 million, you're never alone, but making friends isn't easy, so whenever you're not working, you'll most likely find yourself in your apartment. In your room. On the computer. Connecting that way. Picking up and moving on in a new town is always difficult, but you won't have it any easier here. But, for the most part, the natives aren't as bad as advertised. You'll find they can be brusk at times, but that beats the passive aggression you'll find in other cities. Blunt, to the point, assertive. To some, this translates to being bitchy, being an asshole, and they'll return to whatever midwestern fantasyland they visited from and tell all their friends that New Yorkers Are Crazy. You'll find them refreshing, hoping that some of their cavalier qualities rub off on you. For instance, New York men almost always hold the jacket for a lady to put on; then again New York men almost always turn around and check out a lady's ass when she walks past and has an ass worth looking at. Men are men in New York, even when they're not.

You'll find the weather a continuous mound of extremes, interrupted four days a year by calm, balmy weather. Too hot in the summer, too cold in the winter, rains like a monsoon, winds like a hurricane. Of course, nobody moves to New York for the Great Outdoors experience, so this will only affect you to and from the subway and in your apartment if you don't have air conditioning and/or proper heating. Buy a fan and embrace the act of sweating. Invest in bulk deodorant and a warm jacket. And an umbrella if you're a pussy.

If you're poor, be willing to go into debt, because you're not going to want to stay indoors all the time. You'll want to expose yourself to as much live music as possible. Find a tavern and make it your own, befriend a bartender and bask in the perks that come with. Be available in an instant to take advantage of any of the numerous free activities as well as any of those that make themselves exclusive to the city. Movie premiers, book readings, museum exhibitions, festivals, trade shows, fairs, bonanzas. Join a gym because you'll want to be in shape when you try to meet people and running in the winter is more trouble than it's worth.

If you're comfortable financially, be willing to donate to the homeless and subway musicians alike. People gotta eat.

Don't bother buying a car or trying to bring one here. It's too expensive, there's no parking, and they're going to charge you to drive in Manhattan during peak times. Plus, there's just no damned point when New York has the best public transportation in the known world. The only city with 24-hour subway service. Buses running on the quarter hour. Taxis mowing people down to get to their destinations. There's no reason why you should ever have to fill another tank with gas as long as you're here. Nor should you have to worry about going to jail for driving while drunk, nor should your friends have to worry about that late-night "Can You Pick Us Up, We're So Wasted" call. And eventually you'll build up a tolerance to meet those 4am last-calls at bars. As for the 10am last-calls, that's going to take some work. BYO-Ecstasy.

Make no mistake, New York City is no paradise. You'll find plenty to bitch about amidst many a day where you'll want five seconds alone with The Button. So, why am I extolling all the virtues of a city being strangled by corporate growth pushing out the Mom & Pops, by a corrupt government with incompetent officials, where you can't swing your dick without hitting another fucking tourist, where the snow freezes in brown lumps, the cold makes your chapped lips crack bleeding, and the heat kills hundreds of elderly citizens every August? Because. Because you'll know when you get here, there's no such thing as apathy. It's the one city where you care. Where it's not just nice. New York is a place where things are amazing, things are shitty, and you'll have an opinion about it all. And, most likely, you'll voice that opinion and hear those from strangers around you. You have to care because it's all around you and everything's amplified. It's the center of the known universe, New York is where everything happens. There's a reason the ball doesn't drop in Chicago on New Years.