Like A Cholo.

Marty Rule: Don't trust anyone whose clothes fit perfectly. Never, ever. The reason I firmly believe this rule is because a person who spends all of their time and money on "fashion," probably doesn't invest much time in themselves. I really find it laughable when people think their latest outfit is some sort of crown that should be bowed down to. Read a goddamn book. And Vogue doesn't count. Not even as a picture book.

"Check out my hat yo, peep the way I wear it." I should let it be known that I was wearing big glasses before Jay-Z was cool e

nough to marry Beyo

nce

. On the real.

Anyways, I'm also a firm believer it's not always the clothes you wear, it's how you wear them. Now I'm not saying that everyone can get away with wearing R. Kelly's wardrobe. Shit, I don't think anyone but him can get away with some of the stuff he wears. But I am saying that confidence trumps all. Look at Larry David. The guy has a great sense of personal style, no matter how lame you think his clothes are. Also, he probably doesn't really care. Either way, if I want to wear my shirt like a Cholo, let me. I'm just doin' Marty right now. You just do you.

Amazing. Formula for success = Black+Handsome+Sings+Rich. Formula for working retail = Yellow/Brown+Little+Complains+Pretty Poor.

"I just really had to go."

Some model dick (male version of "model chick") was peepin' the way I rock my corduroy button-up. He'll be on board in no time. And that will be just another reason for me to hate him.

Da Art Of Storytellin'

I waited in line for an hour today to go to a storytelling event called The Moth just to see what sort of stories people think are awesome enough to tell to a room of complete strangers. I've always had this arrogant mindset that my friends are the true storytellers in most social situations. They are the ones that people huddle around at different parties while they share their wisdom and bits and pieces of their ridiculous lives. So I've often wondered, "Are they really that good? Or am I just a biased little kinda Asian man who really likes his friends stories? Do all people think their own friends are the coolest?" I assume so. But I'd take my team over yours any day of the week. Unless your team has Cedric the Entertainer or Shaq on it, then you win (and let's hang out).

Most of the stories were pretty entertaining. Every week there is a theme and this week's was Disaster. So of course I expected there to be a lot of diarrhea or puke stories (there were) or marriage/divorce/date stories (there were) and maybe a heartfelt emotional story (there was). The story-telling varied but for the most part people were a lot better than I thought they were going to be. I think the first step to winning over an audience is learning who your audience is and then catering to their interests. Since there were a lot of boring looking white people (I mean a lot, think Wilco concert audience members) you should first figure out what these people like. I just so happen to be an expert on boring white people. So here are a few quick topics that will automatically win most of the crowd over.

1) Anything that involves saving something from disaster, usually a colored (everything browner than white) person's life. Whether it's voting Democrat or volunteering your time at the homeless shelter, it'll win you some Good ol' White American points.

2) Anything that involves smoking weed (with other white people). C'mon. Boring white people either really like smoking weed or at least really liked smoking weed that one time in college. Either way, they love hearing and talking about it.

3) Anything that references old cheesy stereotypical white people movies. Think Audrey Hepburn. Talking about how you broke your VHS tape that had your copy of Friday on it which resulted in spending the rest of your summer listening to 2 Live Crew songs is going to fall on deaf ears. (This would be my story of choice.)

4) Anything Don Jovi. Trust me. They ate that shit up like it was a locally grown organic butternut squash. (Do you think a brown person in the whole wide world even knows such a thing exists? Well, if they do I'm sure they're buttering and mayonnaise-ing and cheesing that shit up so it's delicious!)

5) Use the word "fiancé."

Just think about all of the movies these people like. Start with The Blind Side.

The girl who won told a story I had no interest in. Here were her first two sentences: 1) I like to smoke weed. 2) And I love to ride bicycles.

She won before she even started.

- Marty

I typed in "fiancé" and this picture came up. This picture should be the theme for next week's storytelling event. My story: "Why we got sued when we had to use the girl from the catering company as a model because the actual model we were going to use in the photo shoot couldn't make it."

Bad Broads Networking.

I know I probably shouldn't listen to other people's conversations. Actually, why shouldn't I? Why shouldn't any of us? I hope the meaning of life is to continuously prove that you are better than everyone around you. Right? I sure hope so. A few days ago I overheard two model chicks talking. Now I should let you know that the extent of any conversation I've had with girls that are good looking enough to get paid for it, has been somewhat brief. Actually, it's not even a conversation. It's not even a sentence. It's not even a glance. It's not even...a thing that exists. So please understand my fascination with listening to what supermodels talk about. Oh yea, I should mention I'm talking about female supermodels. I just assume male models talk about hair gel and boning other male models.

So I was standing outside of a restaurant waiting for a friend when two models (very tall, very thin, and very pretty) came up and stood right next to me. They must have thought I was a bike stand or something. Anyways, I started to listen to their conversation. The first thing I heard was, "Well after dinner I have to go to the Upper East Side for a networking thing I'm..." That's the last thing I heard. A "networking thing." What the hell is going on in this world? When the hell does a supermodel have to network? Well I'm sure people say, "It's still hard work." Take my advice. If you really think modeling is HARD WORK. Take the business end of a dildo and pound it over your skull as many times as physically possible. Why a dildo? Because it's more degrading. Now I'm not saying it's easy to become a super successful model whose picture is all over billboards and magazines. Sure that is difficult. But the work involved, the actual modeling part, give me a goddamn dilly dang break.

Olivia Wilde is married to the son of a prince. How did you get there Mrs. Wilde? Was it at a speed-dating networking function? No. It's because you bad. You real bad.

Models networking. I thought the only networking models had to do was shut the fuck up and look real good. Seriously if models need to network what the hell kind of chance does a guy that looks and acts like me have? I can be as charming and witty (and bitter) as humanly possible but in the end, the really hot girl is always going to beat me. At just about everything besides a donut eating contest and an "I hate the world" contest. It'd be a photo finish in an "I have daddy issues" contest.

Bar Refaeli has got the hottest dude in the game wearin' her chain. That's right. Was Leo really captivated by the way you put sentences together? Did you have to talk a lot of bullshit about yourself to get him to notice you and give you his card? No. Look at that pose. When you got that pose in your repertoire...fuck a network.

So I think the only thing I've learned about supermodel conversation: They talk about a fantasy world.

That sounds about right.

I'm sure this little dude is going to help move this girl's life and career forward. Well, at least I know she's moving his life forward. Godspeed to puberty and lots of balled up Kleenxes!

P.S.

There are plenty more where that came from.

Vegetarian. Why?

I mu-fucked my face up. I've played prettier, let me tell ya.

I hope everyone is enjoying their holiday with people they like. I'm going to a "Vegetarian" Thanksgiving. We'll see how this goes. (Well of course I made sure Checkers and McDonalds are open tonight! You nuts?)

Valentino. Question Mark.

Fake tans have always confused me. I'm never really sure what the purpose is. What is the point of looking like you've been body painted as an Oompa Loompa in the middle of the winter in New York City or any other depressingly gray city? (I almost just spelled "gray" with an "e." Like some sort of self-loathing pretentious American. What is happening to me?! If that would have happened I think I would have shut up shop and deleted myself, from life.) I guess if it makes people feel better about themselves, no matter how superficial the motivations behind it, I should just let them be and carry on with my business. Not.

I don't really know too much about Valentino. I'm sure he is/was super talented and influential and many people adore him. I just don't understand what could possibly be going through his mind when he looks in the mirror. 1) Perfect hair. Check. (Kind of.) 2) Perfect teeth. Check. 3) Perfect Boy Toy. Check. (I agree.) 4) That Killa Illa Scrilla. Check. ("Phat money.") 5) Perfect suit. Check. 6) And now look at that skin. Orange? Yessir. Check.

Delusional? Check. This newer race of people who are more directly related to Chia Pets than humans will always baffle me. Will there one day be KKK members burning crosses in front of Orange People's homes? Will there be awesome stereotypes about them? Like, "Hey look at that Orange motherfucker, I bet he's ignorant as hell because his only interests are Pop music and 'having a good time.' " Actually what am I thinking, that's already the stereotype.

When I saw Valentino the other day he glanced over at me. My plan, when seeing famous people, is to do something I normally wouldn't do. I was originally going to yell, "Keep keepin' shit gangster Mr. Valentino!" followed by a thumbs up. Instead, I just gave him the thumbs up. His baffled expression was indeed inspirational. He looked at me as if I just caught the 150th Pokey Man. That might not be a good analogy. How about this? Picture an indigenous tribe watching a video of that Justin Bieber thing singing songs. Better yet, imagine me seeing that Justin Bieber thing for the first time. Could you imagine the amount of confusion?

So my brief encounter with Valentino proves that he is indeed influential. We should all aspire to be so rich that we forget (or probably never learned) what a "thumbs up" is. Thumbs up Valentino, you are truly an inspiration.

"Why did that peasant show me his upward pointing thumb? What does it mean? What does all of this mean?" - Valentino. Who am i kidding? He probably couldn't see through his tan.

Imagine the confusion if I would have actually said, "Keep keepin' shit gangster." Does he know what a High-5 is?

Looking forward to this. Big time.

I love all of these people. Seriously if I had to pick between Zooey Deschanel, Natalie Portman, and James Franco. And I could only choose 1. I'd pick Danny McBride. Without. A. Doubt.

Nov. 22nd.

"You took yo pussy game up a whole nother level." - Chris Rock. Two thumbs way up.

So sick with it.

What Dancing Can Lead To.

Overpopulation:

What a mess. These kids obviously didn't get the birds and the bees talk. Gotta love that Chicago Juke though.

A Pacific Island covered with She-Males:

I've heard that there are boy-girls all over the place back home in the islands. That's why I have no desire to visit, I have enough confusion in my life. (That's me in the little orange shorts, I still wear them when I hit the club.)

Don't Ask, Don't Tell:

I must admit this guy can really cut a rug.

An afternoon of pure joy!

Don't act like you didn't know.

An Idiot Abroad.

If you're as big of a fan of Karl Pilkington (which might not be possible unless you're Ricky Gervais) as I am, then you've already seen it. An Idiot Abroad is amazing. It is the Holy Grail for those obsessed with the minutiae of life and all of the strange things people find important. If you don't want to see a religious figure twist his penis around a stick, or watch Karl question how someone can get fat from eating bee larvae, then this isn't the show for you. Karl has an uncanny ability to put really strange things into a crystal clear perspective, all while bitching and moaning like a champion. Hack the internet and download it. Incredible.

At around 2:00 minutes, I really started to lose it.

No Idea.

There should be no surprise of my obsession with homeless people. And I'm not talking about those "homeless" people who are usually young and dirty (and white) and for some reason have dogs, and always have a backpack as if they're traveling further than a block down and aren't really homeless because they are poor and crazy but because they have a hard time dealing with their daddy issues and think that leaving their parents' townhouses in San Francisco is a real "Fuck You" to the "establishment" and corporate America. WHY DO YOU HAVE DOGS?

This picture took about two seconds to find.

Look at the state of that dog.

While most people do everything in their power to avoid the actual crazy homeless people, I often find myself completely entranced by them. Most people are disgusted and afraid but I think my childlike curiosity always distracts me with so many questions that I don't have time to judge. I spend countless hours imagining the storylines of these people's lives. How did they get to this point?

Here is my latest tale/mystery. Yesterday I was coming home from work and there was a homeless guy sitting on a bench in one of the subway stations. I noticed him as soon as I walked in and when I was about twenty feet away he got up and began to walk towards me. I patted down my pockets to see if I had anything to give. Nothing. As he walked past me I got a better look at him and although it was apparent that he had missed a baker's dozen showers, he was doing alright (as far as homeless people standards go). He had on a warm-looking jacket, his beard seemed to be trimmed within the last 2 years, his shoes didn't have any holes in them, and his jeans were still sort of blue (that's a Crayola Color that needs to be released, "Hobo's Blue" or better yet "Hobo Blues"). He didn't ask me or anyone around me for anything. He just carried on with his day. When I swiped my card and made the U-turn to go down the stairs to the platform I got a last-second glimpse of him. His back was now towards me and he was standing in front of the oversized subway map. I'm surprised I noticed any of these details because the only thing my eyes were focused on was the back of his jeans. Or actually the lack of the back of his jeans. I stopped on the stairs and stared. I couldn't believe it. I had so many questions!

You lettin' your ass breathe?

My immediate thought was, "Well how did they get to that point?" Was it a gradual thing? Did he just sit down so much that eventually his ass began to wear away the denim threads until there was none left? Did he cut it out so he wouldn't have to pull them down to go to the bathroom? Since the backs of the legs were still intact, I began to believe that it was a conscious decision. If he cut it, how did he do it? Did he leave them on while he cut? That seems dangerous, he could have cut his asshole off. Or was he standing around completely naked at one point holding his pants in one hand and scissors (or homemade shank) with the other? Is that going to be a new trend, capes and bare assholes? Does it make farting easier? A homeless fart, jesus I couldn't even begin to imagine what that would smell/taste like. How did he escape harassment from the police? Was he just a really big fan of Prince?

There is so much "awesome" going on in this picture.

These are just a few of the question I've had. "How did it get to this point?" I'm sure at some point in that guys life he was riding bikes and playing sports with his buddies. He probably went to school and had some friends that he shared innocent laughs with. He probably liked a girl but was too nervous to talk to her. He probably had a specific favorite food (do homeless people have a "favorite" food? or is it all just totally amazing? or is it all just totally disgusting unless it's gin-flavored?). He probably had jeans with backs to them.

I'll never know the answer to any of these questions but I can't help but wonder how life spirals out of control so drastically. I'm not disgusted. I'm just curious. How have we gotten to a point where we're walking around without the backs of our pants?

WHY DO THEY ALL HAVE DOGS???

I Have So Many Questions.

This is the stencil the police departments have to save time when they are starting to sketch a kiddie fiddler suspect.

Today on the train I saw a priest mouthing passages from the Good Book, no not a Stieg Larsson "The Girl Who Got Back At Her Father By Writing Haiku In Her LiveJournal" title, but from the Word of the Lord. (By the way, I know I say this a lot but that title could very well be the title of my autobiography...so many to choose from). Even though I usually despise people who show off their religious beliefs, I found myself unusually charmed by this Man of the Cloth. He seemed very passionate about his beliefs and even though he wasn't very subtle with his gestures, he wasn't over the top and wasn't making any audible noises that would disturb anyone's day. It really was as if a stronger force had completely engulfed him and he was completely lost within it. In many ways it was mystifying and beautiful.

I wish it would have ended there. It would have made for a lovely afternoon.

After watching the entranced priest I found myself looking around the train to see if anyone else was as captivated by this man as I was. No one. I then started to question if this was what people were talking about when they say, "God spoke to me and he speaks in mysterious ways." Was God actually talking to this guy? More importantly was God talking to me through this guy? I pondered the possibilities for a few minutes. I found myself thinking, "Man God really does speak to people in mysterious ways. This was such a hassle to get me to believe his Word. I have to respect the creativity." I can't say that I had made the decision to go to Confession and tell a priest about all of the weird stuff I've done in the comfort of my own home late at night when it's hard to sleep and I have a good internet connection. But I was beginning to question, "Am I about to start a personal relationship with God?"

As I sat there nervously questioning my core beliefs I felt unbelievably vulnerable. My eyes slowly fell from the priest's mimicking lips right towards his belt...buckle.

Do they have some sort of priest-wear catalogue that shows all the newest trends in Chruch attire? GQ. But that G stands for the Big G.

As I looked at that belt buckle all of my profound existential questions and religious virtues were completely thrown out the window. Are priests allowed to make fashion statements? How much did that belt buckle cost? Priests are supposed to live a frugal lifestyle, one that is free of materialism. Is this where the "Church Fund" is going? When buying the buckle did he first consider getting the one with the fake diamonds in it? Or did he first consider getting one with a Harley-Davidson on it? These are the answers to the questions I truly need, not those useless ones like, "What is the point of my life?"

So as I exited the train I found myself even more confused. Even more questions. If God wants to talk to me he can stop with the accessories. Belt buckles? Not cool. Unless...

This is beyond strange. Is this supposed to be some Pro-Life propaganda? If so maybe this is what the priest should have been wearing.

Actually thought about posting a "missed connection" on craigslist. "Hey, You were on the Brooklyn bound M train at about 2:15pm today. I'm not sure if You were trying to talk to me but You definitely made me think. Is it true? Are You really mysterious? Stop playing games. I want to feel Your warm whispers on my cheek." Then leaving one of those weird smileys that no one understands. I was going to post it, but then I didn't know if it'd be appropriate under the "m4m" category. God isn't a man...and a post like that might just sound a tad bit gay. :\

- Marty

Potty Mouth.

This guy is lucky he's a prince because with a weak ass head of hair like that he would never have been able to mack a top notch breezy like Kate.

A while ago when the news was all over Michelle Obama's "inappropriate" behavior for putting her arm around the Queen of England, I almost had a heart attack. Not because of the shock of the queen's disgusting face and her unbelievable uselessness or for the fact that Michelle didn't seem to care about tradition, but because this was one of the top stories on AMERICAN news. Last I checked, we won the Revolutionary War and therefore got the honor of ridding ourselves of the pointless royal family. OK, I'm sure many Americans watched the whole Princess Di thing unfold but let's get real, most people thought it was a special edition of "Most Insanely Awesome Car Chases!" And it was awesome indeed. We've also rocked Europe in a couple World Wars (Back to Back World War Champs!) while the Royal Family did what..? Nothing.

Get it Michelle.

When living in Scotland I always thought it was entertaining how much the Scottish hated the royal family. They were right on. America's equivalent would be like West Virginia paying for all of the Governor of Virginia's vacations and mansions. (I use West Virginia because it's the most like Scotland (toothless hillbillies) and Virginia because it's a lot like England (rich and racist)). The Scottish were really bothered that most of their news coverage had to do with the Prince's breakup. Now that Prince Billy Bob and his lady are back together and decided to get married, we all have the pleasure of hearing about the "juicy" wedding details in the months to come.

Best hire Jenny from the block if they want things to go smoothly. Don't be surprised if Daddy Yankee is the wedding singer.

By the way the hell is "Miss" Middleton thinking?

"William and Miss Middleton split for several months in 2007, and there was speculation in the British tabloids (always denied) that the royal family was dismayed by the supposedly déclassé behavior of the Middletons. Miss Middleton’s mother, Carole, was said to have chewed gum and used unaristocratic words like “toilet” and “pardon” in front of the queen..." - NYTimes

First of all I thought "pardon" was a polite, respectable word. And "toilet?" Somebody string this nappy headed ho up by her dentures and chop her in half. Just to put it into perspective, 20,000 people die each DAY from malnutrition and somewhere in the world you can't use the word "toilet" in front of the queen who offers absolutely nothing to society. Say "Pardon me but can you point me in the direction of one of your 347 toilets in this palace, I really have to drop a deuce?" after tapping the queen on the shoulder and her head might explode.

For some reason the only thing I can think of is this. Scenario: The queen needs an upgrade for her bathroom and needs a plumber. This guy (pictured below) is called up and told that he can't use the word "toilet" when talking to the queen. What I would give to listen to that conversation!

Topsy Turvy.

The job interview process is something that I've always thought I was really good at but I have no track record to prove it. I have failed miserably at several job interviews and I could never figure out why. Sometimes I leave the office thinking, "Wow did I totally biff that?" Other times I think, "Add one more to the list." The list being, "The Main Man Marty Fan Club." Recently, with a few exceptions, I've felt like I've done really well. And it's all because I've topsy-turvied it on them M F'r's.

The X-Factor.

Today I was looking into good places to buy Broadway tickets for cheap. Or at least less expensive, nothing is cheap in this city. After reading many informational websites and reviews, I noticed that a lot of people use the shorthand "Tix" when talking about "Tickets." When the hell did people just decide to throw an "x" wherever they felt like and then say, "Yea that means "Christmas." Or, "That there 'x' means a kiss." By the way I totally don't understand how the "x" in "xoxo" is the kiss. Is it the kiss? It's gotta be the hug. If each person was a slash it would be two people bent over giving one of those awkward hugs where you stick your ass out so your pee-pee doesn't rub up on the other people's shit. And the "o" looks like puckered lips ready to get in there. Anyways back to the topic at hand. I think the "x" really just promotes laziness and that's why I'm going to campaign and lobby against "x." I'm really not sure how I'm going to go about doing this yet but would life really be different? It might even make it easier because when people type in a website on my computer, if it starts with an "x," it is surely going to show what I've been spending my weekday nights and weekend days doing.

The "x" doesn't have a universal meaning. In "tix" the "x" is the "-ckets." So does "fax" really mean "fackets?" Well that sounds terrible! Or is it "Fa-Christ?" I'm pretty sure Jesus would be pretty upset if he knew his surname was shortened to "x." He'd probably take back all of those wonderful things he did. "X-rated" = "Christ-rated." Was Mr. Jesus into that sort of stuff? I sure hope not!

In conclusion, there is only one "x" that is really important. Let me show you.

It looks like I'm not the only one that has all sorts of free time.

Breaking News!

What did I say a few days ago about The Onion going out of business because of the "real" news? And what sort of gear did I dress Gucci Mane and Rick Ross in? This is unbelievable: Rapper Finds Order in Orthodox Judaism in Israel

Well, at least we know Israelis have a shit load of street cred. I might be able to predict the future. Word to yo mutha-land.


Image from NYTimes

Ideal Job.

These past few weeks I've been slaving away applying for jobs. Craigslist has got me going nuts. (Like Paul Wall has the internetz. Actually, you think he's still got that going on? My suspicion is that it's probably died down and is relatively calm now.) My favorite job posts are the ones that are really obvious ploys to get girls to come over and hang out. I'm not sure they work but I have to respect these pathetic dudes for trying. It's like asking only "fun girls" to reply to an ad for a vacant room in your apartment, then asking for their measurements.

Recently, I've been wondering what the ideal job would be. I've never really figured it out until today. Listen to this song:

I used to think I wanted to be the Ying Yang Twin's long lost Triplet. And maybe at one time in my adolescence I did, but this is the future for me. I've been practicing screaming crazy shit like, "WACKA" and making machine gun noises, and asking general questions like, "WHAT?!?!?! WHAT?!?!?!?! I SAID WHAT?!?!?!?!"

Most kids want to be astronauts, or neurosurgeons, or famous athletes, I just want to yell random crazy shit. Is that too much to ask for? I really hope Mr. Wacka Flocka Flame is familiar with craigslist because I'll be forever checking.

Kingz With Crownz.

Since fashion is so important in this city it's hard not to pay attention to the way everyone is dressed. The all black errr-thang gets old quick, mostly because the only way people rock it here is with shit-house looks on their faces as if they are changing lives with their presence. I went to an open-call a few weeks ago to see what it would be like. I was one of the only people (out of probably 50) that wasn't wearing predominantly black. Two more reasons I hate it: 1) Because most of these geeks who think they're cool can't pull it off. 2) Because I hate being reminded of funerals especially by people who are deathly skinny. Get those damn cloves/cigarettes out of my face and eat a burger you punk bitches.

I've never witnessed so many black outfits in my life. But I've also never witnessed so many Hasids either. And they are the Kings and Queens of all black errr-thang. I don't place them in the same group as the previously mentioned schmucks (that's not to say I don't place them into another group) because of one thing: Shtreimels. When I first saw one I couldn't take my eyes off of it. It was almost as shocking as that one time I saw that black dude that had no rhythm. Almost. I am/was amazed.

I did more research into shtreimels than I did in all of my classes in college combined. After finding dozens of postings of Hasidic Jew Halloween costumes (offensive!) I finally found a blog that said these hats can cost up to $5000. BALLA!!! Now I don't know why they settled on this design way back in the day. I can't imagine somebody said, "Well if we made it look like a furry tire we could flip it over and use it as a doggy or kitty bed, or we could use it as a nice comfortable seat on picnics!" Either way, I've noticed that all kinds of ladies have started wearing them as an accessory. But if these things cost G's shouldn't G'z be rocking them? I think I know of a few Kings that need crowns.

This that New Gucci.

With a little touching up, this could be his next album cover.

And guess who needs one too...

RICK RAWSE THE BAWSE!

I have way too much time on my hands.

Incredible Headlines.

I really think The Onion might go out of business if this is what they're up against.

Cops: Mom endangered baby while celebrating dropped DCFS case

M. Night Shama-lama-ding-dong's Next Movie (below)

Click on this picture and direct your attention to #2 in the lower right hand corner. How the hell is that headline not #1? I also think that in some ways, it might be the title of my autobiography.

They Run New York.

I might have been the first idiot at the NYC Marathon. Not because I'm a punctual guy but because I'm the only fool that thought it started at 7:30AM. The real action started a few hours later and I got to witness it. Originally my only intention was to see how fast the elite men and women were. They flew. It was absolutely incredible. But the thing that impressed me the most was how many people came out to cheer on ALL of the marathon runners/wheelchair racers/weirdos that wore costumes. There were all sorts of people partaking in the festivities, bands at every corner, and an overwhelming amount of screaming support. At times it was a lot to take in. but it was all very worth it. "I'm definitely doing this next year," was the statement of the day. Although I'm not signing up just yet, it was all very inspiring and fun. It was great to see people support each other even if it was just for a few hours. They are undoubtedly back to hating.

The one thing that I will never forget...the really flamboyant gay guy trying to cross the street when the marathon was in full motion. Sorry I couldn't pull out the camera fast enough. It was a sight to see.

I was standing right next to the "Mile 11" marker. They flew by at around the 53rd minute. I found myself wondering what I could accomplish in 53 minutes. You know what I thought of? Absolutely nothing.

These ladies were sculptures. Just skin over pure steel. Get it girls.

Some "regular" runners. I did a poor job capturing the band in the background that had all the runner's pumped. (And the 50 year-old cheerleaders that danced and yelled the entire time I stood across from them.)

This wasn't the band I liked the most. That award goes to 7 Billion Units. But these guys rocked their dicks off just as well.

A few days ago I said that watching the marathon was like watching evolution of modern humans in real time: The pure specimens at the front (comparable to gazelles and other fast-as-shit animals) and the fatso Americans in the back (Fast Food Nation). But I was wrong, we didn't even get the full spectrum of human body types. The big people in the back are probably closer to the "Superhuman" side of the spectrum because they were actually participating in a 26.2 mile race. While I was busy prematurely judging all of the participants I failed to realize that the people on the other side of the spectrum weren't anywhere near the marathon. They were "busy" sitting at home eating Doritos and watching football. Or they were "busy" talking about their high school football days. Or they were "busy" saying, "Why would anyone ever want to run that far and for that long?" They were "busy" being "busy." You know what? They were "busy"...and apparently so was I.

Just jump already.

Today I had to turn in a few job applications. A process which should have taken a half hour ended up taking almost two because some boners decided to film what's sure to be a great straight-to-DVD classic. I asked a few people what the movie was going to be hoping that it would star a few people that I respect. Instead they told me they had no idea but knew the name was "Man On A Ledge." When I got home and discovered the lead was Sam Worthington of "Avatar" I quickly became disgusted. I don't really know anything about the guy but if someone is going to make my day a hassle, their name better be James Franco or Derrick Rose and they better be giving me tips on how to pick up hardbodiez. I would have been far less bothered if there was actually a man on a ledge. That would surely be far more entertaining than what this movie is going to be. Somewhere there is a man on a ledge because his day got ruined by a "Man On A Ledge." Look at that. In a matter of 5 minutes I've already thought of a plot to a movie that would be way more interesting and a hell of a lot more entertaining. You can have that one Hollywood. The next one is going to cost you.

And why were so many of the gathered audience so Polish-looking? I was unaware of that stereotype. Ya learn something new every single day.


I can tell Sam is a fan of New Kids On The Block. And I can tell his buddy dreams of giving them reach-arounds. Is "reach-around" hyphenated? Or is it reach-a-round? Actually I like that better, it makes it sounds like a carnival ride. And maybe sometimes it is.

Play by Play.

Depression - 1 Cold shower- 0

One more time.

This is what I've been up to.