A kiss is just a kiss...

... unless it's these two faux lesbians on www.ksquaredphotos.blogspot.com (no link, cut and paste you lazy fucks), then a kiss is just one of a hundred pictures of two girl friends living it up in New York.

This will forever be the archetype of all blogs dedicated to girls who like to kiss for fun and take 50 versions of the same picture at cool-sounding bars in the city.

Someone get Jasmin Rosemberg on the case to check these broads out.

Other funny moments from the weekend that just occurred to me:
At Steelers games, home first downs and sacks are accompanied by scoreboard graphics of a large, ripped, shirtless black man. He carries the first "dahn" chains and flexes for sacks. Quite honestly it's one of the most homoerotic images in sports since Isiah and Magic used to kiss before tipoff. I have no idea why they have this up there if it's not an homage to Kordell Stewart ...

I returned my rental car to the airport at 6 a.m. today. I filled up the car last night, knowing I wouldn't stop this morning. Well, I only had 3/4 of a tank after the drive to the airport so I was charged $12 for 2 gallons of gas. Just imagine how much that would've cost me if we hadn't invaded Iraq.

A trip to a Pittsburgh mall is a must for any visitor to the Steel City. If you see an ugly Steelers shirt, like say one with a giant Roethlis-burger on it, and say to yourself, "Now, no one would buy that seriously," you are guaranteed to see someone wearing it, tucked into khakis, immediately after leaving the store. You will also see trashy girls wearing Steelers jerseys on Saturday for no apparent reason. I'd guess half the girls at the mall, ages 17 to 30, would blow you in the bathroom for a Terrible Towel, a Roethlisberger hat and some face decals.

I need a nap and a hooker, in that order

I'm writing with heavy eyelids after a 5 a.m. (East Coast) wakeup and flight from Pittsburgh to Chicago, where the Garden Apartment was just as I left it - though my computer was still on, no doubt overheated from Rob's Sunday Fantasy orgy (in case you're wondering, Andre's Dirty Sanchez team of Rob and Epstein bested Phil Schwartz's Segway Armada in the battle of the two highest scoring fantasy teams).

It was a long week, mostly spent in crappy bars with my alcoholic friends. I managed to drink every day from Tuesday to Sunday, though yesterday all I could manage with half an Amstel at the Steelers game.

Friday I hung out with my ex-girlfriend a bit. A lovely girl, she's still my archetypal girlfriend even though we haven't dated since my freshman year in college. She's one of the top 5 funniest people I know.

Two years younger than me, she's engaged to another guy named Jo(h)n, who is, in fact, not only the fourth Jo(h)n she's dated, but also the fourth that she's been the "first." The first John was a typical band geek. He thought he was really smart and a great musician, but really he was more like a C student who played the trumpet and worked at McDonald's. I was next, always the pinnacle of coolness.

Then game John No. 3, a nice enough guy three years my junior who was a great athlete and one of like a dozen kids who were serious Catholics. I kissed his sister once and she started at me in Chem class for like a month. She's now married with at least two kids and I saw him in Steubenville singing karoake in a girl's voice.

John No. 4 has the personality of a Geo Metro, but he's a nice guy, makes good money and treats her well. Plus he has to deal with her for the rest of his life, qualifying him for sainthood sometime around 2040.

We spent the night at the aforementioned Bar 909 and went to a late night dinner at Eat 'N Park, which no matter what John Shear says, is always a great idea. Our waitress was completely clueless, the perfect foil to seven drunks. I'd repeat some of the jokes, most at her expense, but they're really not funny unless your 12 beers in the tank at 3 a.m. Though when she asked us at the end if she could get us anything I summed up the evening by saying, "You've given us so much already."

I went out a little on Thanksgiving,a low-key night highlighted by a ride home in our friend Dobson's tricked-out Suburban which has two TVs and a PS2 in the back. I beat Wiz, who's unbeatable in Madden, 7-6 from the bar to my house, which was only one possession, but it's a win in my book. I truly understand rappers and athletes now.

Saturday was a trip to the Burgh, rolling from suburban Bethel Park to a bar in Shadyside, where I ran into: my college booty call (I threw some game around until I found out she wasn't drinking. Though she was wearing body glitter in her cleavage, a classy look), my earliest best friend from growing up (who also went to college with me), his brother and sister, and my mom's best friend's daughter who I haven't seen in probably 15 years and who is much bustier than I remember.

Sunday I lived it up in the Genco box at Heinz Field, drinking wine and eating gourmet cheeses. The highlight was meeting two girl friends of mine at halftime. They were shivering cold while I moseyed down with a cup of coffee and no hat or gloves. The best part of the game was scanning the crowd for funny clothing choices, like leather Penguin jackets and zubaz pants. I would estimate 40-45 percent of all Pittsburghers own a Steelers jersey, and probably 80 percent of the crowd at the game. Best jersey (tie): Roethlisberger Miami jersey and a guy wearing an 82 jersey that said Z-Man on the back.

At least 1 in 3 people at the airport this morning had some Steelers paraphenalia on. The best dressed award had to go to the woman who got off the plane in Chicago still wearing her black and gold jester's cap. Second place goes to Johnny's child's large "City of Champions" T-shirt.

Thanks for ... mutton

STEUBENVILLE, Ohio - Yes, the subject is a gratuitous Seinfeld reference, and no I haven't bought the DVDs yet. Well, if you're reading this today, Thanksgiving, you're probably hungover.

I got up at noon today after an underwhelming night out in the "Ville." Not much of a headache, which is nice as my hangovers don't tend to relate directly to how much I drank. I was really worried about that I.C. Light my friends bought me, as that stuff tends to bowl me over like the Bus on 3rd and 1.

Here's a little diary of my two days home thus far. Times may vary.

6:45 p.m.: I walk toward my rental car. All I know is that it's a Cavalier and the parking space number. I see a red car in the distance and I pray it's mine. Landing a red Cavalier would rival the time I rented a Dodge Stratus in college. If you're confused, Mikey drove a red Cavalier in Swingers, and this nasty chick at the model party mocked him for it as he tried to recover.

"It's red...It's a red Cavalier."

6:50 p.m.: For some reason I take the exit going north to Beaver.

7:00 p.m: Back on the straight and narrow, heading home.

10 p.m.: I get to my friend J.J.'s house. His grandma lets me and gives me a smile. While she's always the picture of grandmotherly kindess, J.J. has admitted that she probably thinks I'm going to hell because I'm Jewish.

10:30 p.m.: J.J. and our friend Wiz both declare they would never go to a movie with just another guy in Columbus, because people might think that they're gay.

10:45 p.m.: Wiz reminisces on a 52-point spread Duke was giving in 1988. Seriously. He also checks 2004 spreads on his "phone." I use quotation marks because most phones don't include a stylus and an eight-inch screen. I have no idea what he does, besides gambling, but he owns a $750 phone.

11:15 p.m.: We're at Club 909, whose name is slightly misleading as it is a small sports-themed bar inside a bowling alley. I guess "Small Bar near Lane 20" didn't have the same panache. (Note from Thanksgiving. It's actually called Bar 909. People just call it Club 909. Perhaps as a joke. Carry on.)

11:25 p.m.: A local idiot, also named J.J., tells me my brother "fucked him over." When I was home last month, several people came up to me and said "I heard J.J. is living with your brother in Vegas." Confused, I said I didn't think so, but who knows. When I asked Josh, he said that wasn't the case and wondered how that rumor started.

Knowing my brother and his indifference to details, I imagine J.J. asked him to stay out there and Josh either thought he meant stay for a weekend, or that Josh didn't listen to him altogether and just nodded his head affirmatively.

So, J.J. went out there and Josh never returned his calls. "You shouldn't have listened to him," I replied.

11:30 p.m.: Immediately my friends start doing shots. Shaun, my good friend and roommate of 2 weeks, ends up spending $80 at a bar where beers cost $2. He once spend $175 in Athens, where beers were $1.65. He's an amazing spender. It's quite a gift.

11:45 p.m.: Shaun tells us his "new" car costs just twice as much as Wiz's phone.

WEDNESDAY

Afternoon: I get about 6 calls from my dad in Vegas, about how Josh's place is a mess and he's out buying cleaning supplies, and blahblahblah.

Josh tells me he's had his iPod on all day and isn't even listening to him.

I drive down to a local backdoor gaming establishment and place a few parlay bets. When you're in Steubenville, specifically if you're a guy, gambling and point spreads take up approximately 85 percent of the conversation. I still a two-teamer alive, Colts -9 and Bears game under 36 1/2. I only bet a small amount, just to "make it interesting."

9 p.m.: I make it over to J.J.'s again and a small green car with a W sticker blocks the driveway. It's our friend Paul Marker, who's on town from Middle Tennessee State University. He's finishing up there after starting at Minnesota and dropping out to work for country music star Brad Paisley.

He gets an immense amount of shit from us, all registered Democrats. "Paul's got a mandate from G-d, he can park wherever he wants." That type of stuff.

10:40 p.m.: You know you're important when you can get in the backdoor of your local homecoming bar. We know the owner very well, and he likes my group of friends tremendously as we've spent an inordinate amount of time there since turning 21. The bar, which is really a family-style restaurant, is packed as usual. One of three or four nights a year where they make serious ching. So we roll through the kitchen, like Swingers or Goodfellas, if you like, and get into the bar.

I don't have as many random conversations as I wanted to, and found that generally I didn't want to approach anyone. Few people, if anyone, is doing anything exciting and I learned the night before not to blindly ask, "So what are you up to now?"

12:30 a.m.: My boy Chris informs me our friends have just left for 909, and I say I'll follow him. But I'm talking to my friend's younger sister, who's the pinnacle of 22-year old hotness. I'm feeling buzzed and 15 minutes later, decide to stay put as I live 2 minutes from this bar and 909's on the other side of town. I sit with Jen (or Best-Friend Jen as she was known when she visited OU) and the Indian section of town, where we talk about saris and Ganesh. OK, not really. We talk about the Steelers and other important issues of the day.

1:45 a.m.: I run into a friend from high school who had moved to Chicago and we make plans to hang out. The lights are on and all of the young girls are exposed in their heavy makeup and bad clothes. I walk to my white Cavalier, thankful I don't have to do this every day.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Minor celebrities, major holidays

Well, this is probably my last pre-Thanksgiving post, unless I write drunk on Wednesday, though 9 out of 10 bloggers say it's dangerous to drink and rant.

I will update on Thanksgiving morning, or afternoon, for your holiday pleasure, to give the recap of the always fun reunion with rubes from home...

Back my regularly scheduled point...

Chicago is truly the Second City, or actually the third, when it comes to celebrity sightings. Our New York and LA friends see famous people on a daily basis, while a David Schwimmer sighting at Rockit is enough to cream a girl's pants here. John Cusack can be spotted from time to time, with Joan chatting on her U.S. Cellular phone not far behind.

A girl who worked at my Subway saw David from Real World New Orleans and R Kelly in the same day. "Lucky for me I bring my camera to work," she told me.

Meathead Brad from Real World San Diego works out at my gym and myself and/or co-workers have spotted him at lunch downtown twice - at Chipotle and a deli, so I guess stars are just like us, especially when their income derives from eating gross food and hanging from things.

Jen Schefft, the erstwhile Bachelor winner and newest Bachelorette, lives somewhat close by and a guy I know claims to have dated her.

That muscular "woman" who was on two really bad reality shows, Love Cruise and Heartbreak Island or Romance Hotel or something, used to train people at the Multiplex and once made us do shots with her at Hogs and Honeys.

A cab I was in once almost hit Horatio Sanz on Wells, a few blocks from where I saw Jeff Garlin filming some indie movie outside of the original Second City.

We saw Ice Cube downtown during the filming of Barbershop II. And yes, he was wearing a Raiders jersey. I kind of thought that was just for videos and concerts.

Michael Jordan and various other athletes are fairly easy to spot. I saw Moises Alou at Stanley's last Sunday, chatting with the beer tub girls and local yokels.

Quite honestly, none of these sightings excite me. Today, however, I had the ultimate brief celebrity glance. William Gates, from Hoop Dreams. Now this means nothing to most people, but I love Hoop Dreams. I watched it just two nights on cable. My all-time favorite sports movie.

Gates is a real reality star. He didn't get cast because he looked like an Abercrombie model and could drink like Bressler at an open bar. You'll never hear him say things like, "Man I hope I get cast in Battle of the Sexes." (Randy from San Diego was heard issuing this non-sequitor at a Boston gym). Gates' story was real and ugly and beautiful all at the same time, and we got to share in it, the highs and the lows.

Hoop Dreams is about three hours long, but almost impossible to turn off. I knew he lived somewhat close, and still worked in Cabrini as an outreach pastor. He's far from financially successful, he has like 5 or 6 kids with his high school girlfriend whom he married in college, but lives a good, clean life. His friend in the movie Arthur Agee is doing OK too, judging by the reports this year that came on the heels of the movie's 10th anniversary. Neither have accomplished their lofty dreams, but they're much more famous because of the movie, and their impact on society is far greater as well.

I was thinking about him after I saw him walk by. In the movie, not being from Chicago and having no clue of its geography when I saw it, I never would've guess how close Cabrini was to the wealthier parts of the city. I never would've thought, for instance, my friends would be buying apartments nearby, gentrifying the neighborhood.

If you haven't seen it, and I don't know how many people who read this haven't, rent it today, and be thankful (there's the plug) for what you have.

OK, I flew through this one. Time to do some last-minute work before I take off for the Ville...Safe travels to everyone.

TV time

Match the quote with the show or person...

1. Dick Vitale on ESPN College Basketball
2. HBO's Pornucopia

A. Get your clothes off and get your cock out

B. ...All night long, like the Lionel Richie song. You ever listen to Lionel Richie? I went to his concert before!

C. All she did was suck a dick!

D. Are you serious?! Are you serious?!

E. I never thought I'd win an award for fucking. But it's really exciting!

F. I get a lot of mail from prison and correctional facilities...But I also get mail from Harvard.

1. A., C., E., F.
2. B., D.

Here's one to ponder, which TV station had worse programming at 9 p.m. Thursday, Comcast Sportsnet's old Chicago Blackhawks rerun game or Bravo's poker showdown between Kevin Nealon and Doogie Howser?

Over/under on number of girls who saw the tatooed girl on the OC and said, "Seth Cohen better NOT start dating her. She's so trashy! ...

This is for the hardcore n*ggas...

...who love them some NBA and some Dikembe Mutumbo. Essentially Johnny, Ben, Rob and 'Stein. So I guess n*ggas should be replaced by "goofy Jews."

Maybe the funniest interview of the year, outside of The Ali G Show.

At the very end of an insidehoops.com interview with Maurice Taylor of the Houston Rockets:

Maurice Taylor: I just always shot. I just always was able to shoot the ball. When I was at University of Michigan, the big guys always shot with the guards. Coach has us shooting a lot. It's just repetition, just getting them up. And it's confidence, too. Because I feel like when I'm open, I'm going to knock them down.

Dikembe Mutombo: (From about eight feet away, speaking directly at Taylor) BRING MY LOTION TO THE BUS!

Maurice Taylor: (Speaking to Mutombo in a high-pitched, mock-outraged tone) Hey man, you take your lotion on the bus. You got your toiletries bag right there! The hell is going on here, Deke?!?

Mutombo looks at Taylor with a wide-eyed combination of amusement and confusion, and says nothing.

InsideHoops.com: (Laughing) Does he often ask you to bring his lotion onto the bus?

Maurice Taylor: Man, Deke will ask you any damn thing. He's by far one of my favorite guys that I've met in the league. I love Deke, I love being around him, on and off the court. He's a funny guy, you know. We have a lot of fun together.

http://insidehoops.com/taylor-interview-111604.shtml

This is what happens...

...when people stop being polite and stop inviting you to the Real World/Road Rules Challenge/Battle of the Sexes/Race Against Dignity...

http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&category=60&item=4051267885&rd=1

(found on defamer.com)

Pretty soon, she's going to be on the side of the highway with a sign, "Will climb rope ladders or eat garbage for food and shots."

Whisper sweet nothings in my ear...

...or comment on my blog. Either way, I'll get off. I fixed the comment feature so everyone can comment. I have no idea why it would be set for "members only." So let's hear it from the peanut gallery...

Taking them to shul

Being that is was Tuesday, Rob and I went to the Ida Crown-St. Gregory's girls basketball game in West Rogers Park.

Our co-worker coaches the latter team and Rob and I wanted to support him (and get to a game early in case we don't make another one). St Greg's is mostly Hispanic and black, while Ida Crown is a Jewish private school.

I must mention, Rob is obsessed with Jewish day and high schools, going back to his glory days at Solomon Schechter, when he was considered semi-cool. (Not surprisingly most Schechter grads remember him, but no one at New Trier knew who he was)

The basketball was less than stellar (these girls are in a small school league, the kind that shouldn't be covered by the press), and we could only stay a little over a half. Here's some quick highlights:

Co-worker's hot Latina assistant coach, who's probably about 19. I tried not to stare, but not too hard.

A really cute Orthodox girl, probably about 20, with at least two kids. She could've had three or four, but I didn't check her purse or under her skirt.

One of Co-worker's players, a wing, probably dribbled herself into the right corner at least 10 times in the first half, with every possession ending in a turnover of some sort.

Then with 10 seconds left she's calmly dribbling up the court as the crowd counts down the seconds. With about four seconds left, she understands what we're doing, takes a few quick steps and calmly drops an NBA three. And if you think that was planned, it was only the team's 9th point of the half, so I'm guessing she doesn't end every practice like that.

It didn't take long for some smart-ass to crack, "I mean, I can hit threes, but I need to work on dribbling into a corner, so that's what I was doing..." I didn't catch his name, but he was damn handsome and funny to boot (and single).

OVERHEARD at the game:
"If Shaq shot free throws like that girl, I'd be winning my fantasy league."
Rob (of course), just before said girl bricked one

Closing thought:
Perhaps I shouldn't be so self-deprecating about my romantic and sex life. Today one of my girlfriends seriously suggested I try this site ... http://www.adultfriendfinder.com/go/p80913

Overheard...

...Funny things I've heard recently. Well, at least they're funny to me.

Rob's answering machine. Sunday morning. From his co-fantasy GM, the estimable Adam Epstein.

(A little back story, first. Epstein is completely insane, but in a good way. And he and Rob are the two biggest fantasy geeks I know. And I'm friends with a lot of geeks. They talk for hours at a time about their team, saying things like, "We're smarter than everyone in our league." Every injury is followed with Rob saying seriously, "This has major fantasy implications."

Epstein actually called me at 11 p.m. Saturday to find out where Rob was (not the first time he's done this either) and if I was near a computer. Rob was at a very close friend's bachelor party and was out of commission until Sunday afternoon.)

So back to the actual message, which is serious as a heart attack. Or a torn patellar tendon to a nickelback, in this case.

EPSTEIN: We’ve got like a thousand dollars at stake and this guy, gets crazy, goes to a bachelor party, apparently, and totally forgets about everything we’ve worked for the entire season. I mean this is unbelievable. This is fucking unbelievable.

We’ve got Seattle playing the Rams. We should probably not play Seattle this week and probably pick up another defense, and I don’t’ have anybody to make a decision with me. And there’s a Lot of stuff to talk about in a short period of time, and you’re fucking MIA. I mean that is unbelievable.

Click.

My apartment. Sunday night.
ROB: I'm going out with this girl. Show Lori her picture (from jdate).
LORI: She's cute. (Pause) Has she seen your picture yet?

Later Lori's talking to a friend, trying to set me up.
LORI: Is he a womanizer? No.
ROB: (to me, with killer Ray Romano-like timing) Only when he doesn't like girls.

Undisclosed location. A different friend's date. Monday evening.
(Back story. Every (Jewish) girl in Chicago is either a teacher, or in PR or Marketing. Or if they went to Arizona, in retail. I have the highest respect for teachers, because G-d knows I can't be "on" all day, but let's face it no one wants to hear about their stories all the time, especially if there's no sex involved.)
GIRL: Everyone wants to hear about my job, because everyone went to school. So they can relate.
FRIEND: (completely disinterested) Yeah, yeah...

Jay's on Erie. I just left with two girls to go to Coyote Ugly.
GIRL NAMED JEN: Yeah, that other girl loves Coyote Ugly.
JOHNNY: Why?
GNJ: Because she likes to dance on bars and throw her bra at people.

YAHOO! HEADLINE OF THE DAY: One person stabbed at Vibe Awards taping
Just one? Two people usually get stabbed just talking about The Source awards.

Dear Lord...

...My faith in you was renewed when the Red Sox beat the Yankees. It faltered when Bush won. Again. But then, as Harry said to Lloyd in Dumb and Dumber, you do something like this and totally redeem yourself!

This:
http://www.big-boys.com/articles/lboob.html

Our motto is...

Now that my readership has reached double digits, just shy of my sexual partners totals (OK, girls I've kissed total...OK, girls I've thought about kissing totals), I figured Garden Apartment needed a new motto. Here's some choices, feel free to vote amongst yourselves.

GARDEN APARTMENT: It's better than work.

GARDEN APARTMENT: Like sniffing glue...for your soul

GARDEN APARTMENT: Hey, Peska likes it

GARDEN APARTMENT: Who's Peska?

GARDEN APARTMENT: Kind of like the Drudge Report, with a smidgen more Bressler highlights

GARDEN APARTMENT: Not like those blogs you hear about on TV. No, this one's useless.

GARDEN APARTMENT: We believe moral values equate to remembering her name the next morning

GARDEN APARTMENT: I live in a basement

In a blue state (update!)

(An aside, or simply an update, I can't create links from my computer at work. It's a shoddy iMac. The links/editing feature for this site doesn't even show up. So I'll try harder to fix them on my laptop so my equally lazy readers don't have to cut and paste. I know it bothers all five of you. Carry on.)

Great column by Frank Rich in the NY Times on Sunday. But I've never heard of this red state-blue state thing? Is this new?

http://www.nytimes.com/2004/11/14/arts/14rich.html?8hpib

I loved this graph. Tom Coburn is the new "morally strong" Oklahoma senator who said that lesbianism is so rife in local schools that girls can only go to the bathroom one at a time. Where is this school and when can I join the faculty?

"But the distance between this hard-core red culture and the majority blue culture is perhaps best captured by Tom Coburn, the newly elected Republican senator from Oklahoma, lately famous for discovering "rampant" lesbianism in that state's schools. As a congressman in 1997, Mr. Coburn attacked NBC for encouraging "irresponsible sexual behavior" and taking "network TV to an all-time low with full frontal nudity, violence and profanity being shown in our homes." The broadcast that prompted his outrage on behalf of "parents and decent-minded individuals everywhere" was the network's prime-time showing of Steven Spielberg's "Schindler's List." "

Another link, though to a site slightly less austere than the Times, http://www.jasminrosemberg.com, found through the magic of friendster.

Pretty good writer, though I'm guessing, just guessing, she's been slightly influenced by Sex and the City. I don't know why. Read her upcoming projects link. Very impressive to be writing a book at 24, though the subject matter just might have been covered before (missing sarcasm font here). Then again, I'm still working on that TV pilot about the sassy robot, so what do I know?

Ms. Rosemberg (I love the m taking the n's place. This is like a girl renaming herself Sharyn or Katerzyna) did a somewhat interesting diary for the NY Post about living in a shared house in the Hamptons (p.s. I lived in a basement apartment this summer. my journal is actually going straight to the cinema). I'm sure it was well-read by her core demographic of 20-something girls working in PR.

Really funny line here, basically encapsulates every Jewish girl in Chicago, and I'm guessing NYC.

"Sitting and scrutinizing the other females, Jessica and Karen were the girls wearing identical Seven jeans, Gucci purses and scowls."

I could link the excellent Thomas Friedman and Maureen Dowd columns from Sunday, but I'm sure you guys can do the leg work if you want to read it. That's right, I'm the laziest blogger ...

On a personal side, I broke through this Saturday with not one, but two threesomes. Yes, the first occurred around 2 a.m., when I got in a cab with two girls and one said, "three stops." The fun continued when three friends called me from New York a few minutes later, so technically, that was a four-way.

So there you go. Garden Apartment, a one-stop shop for Frank Rich, Jasmin Rosemberg and self-deprecation.

This just in...

... The United States has narrowed its search for a US emissary to Arafat's funeral to two men.

In the Bush administration's finest moment, they've chosen Garden Apartment to pick. So I opened up my palm pilot, or iPod, got the numbers and called 'em up for an interview and asked what they'd say at the ceremony.

Here's Alan Keyes' prospective speech:

"Well, I'm glad to be here. By G-d's grace, we are in Egypt to eulogize Yasser Arafat. But first let me talk about the biggest obstacle the Palestinians have in their way to eternal freedom, abortion. If they want Jesus as their lord and savior, they have to realize that abortion is murder. Also, income tax is slavery. What they have no income? ... You know what I like it so much here in the Middle East, I think I might stay. Maybe I'll run for Prime Minister of the Palestinian Authority. Jesus wouldn't vote for Abu Mazen. Call me Abu Crazypants..."

And now, Chicago mayor Richard Daley:

"What's the hold-up here? Let's get this show on this road! Hey, youse guys want to invest in my casino? Why not?"

Also Garden Apartment came into some tapes of French "leader" Jacques Chirac and his "dear friend" Arafat. Another coup for the bloggers!

CHIRAC: So the Jews...what do you think about their
horns?

ARAFAT: Well, they are easy to aim at when I shoot at
them. Especially the children.

CHIRAC: More brie?

ARAFAT: Please.

Arafat: Murderer or just murderous thug?

I can honestly say I've never been this happy to see someone die. Yasser Arafat was a murderous thug (answering my own question) who mis-represented a "nation" of people.

Some point to his legacy as being the leader of a lost group of people, the Palestinians, who gave them hope and a sense of national pride after being displaced geographically and ignored and bullied by their own Arab "brothers."

As Bill Murray would say, He's got that going for him, which is nice.

Truth be told Arafat went from worldwide terrorist to would-be statesman to international joke. He spent the last few years of his life trapped in his Ramallah compound, a prisoner of the Israelis and of his own ineptitude.

It is unknown if peace would have flourished had he accepted Ehud Barak's generous offer in 2000. It is unknown whether the Knesset and the Israeli voters would have even recognized that deal. What is known is that Arafat didn't want peace, not on anyone's terms but his own.

He wasn't brave enough to be a real leader. He was a figurehead leader, good enough to make speeches and flash a dirty smile and inspire scores of Palestinians to blow themselves up for their cause.

His Nobel Prize was a ghastly abberation. Had he actually been honest in 1993 and truly wanted peace and given everything to obtain, then sure some reward and additional accolades would have been forthcoming. But it was all a lie. He didn't want peace with Israelis.

How could he have sold that to his people when he fed his reputation on a steady diet of Jew-hating and homicide on a national scale.

It is good he died on his own terms and not by an Israeli bomb. No need to martyr-ize him further.

Now the hard part begins. Will the Palestinian Authority take control of their fragmented populace? Can they? Will the Israelis be able to bring forth proper negotiations, for they must be held to a much higher standard than their disorganized peers in the PA?

Arafat's death could be the only noble deed he's done for his people, as now, perhaps, they will have a chance for a normal life.

Read Hugh Delios' obit in the Trib, good take. Very even handed. And here's a good column from the Boston Globe:

www.boston.com/news/globe/editorial_opinion/oped/articles/2004/11/11/arafat_the_monster/

He's a funny guy!

What can I say, I have funny friends...

"The Store? Isn't that for Beaumont rejects?"
Eli to Jodi, minutes after she whispered to me, "I don't like your friend."
(For non-Chicagoans, Beaumont's is a cheesy, after-hours dance club. The Store, where Jodi recommended going, is a small after-hours bar nearby. They both suck. All the bars and all the parties, they all suck. I spend half my time talking to some girl that's looking around the room for someone better she should be talking to, and I'm supposed to be excited because she's wearing a backpack.)

"I didn't think that Subliminal guy was Jewish."
Rob after watching a documentary on Israeli rap group Subliminal. The guy in question wore a fist-sized star of David around his neck, referred to himself as the Light of Zion and was seen, not once but twice, hanging Israeli flags outside of his house.

"Listen Crowley, I'm sick of you not knowing who I am. You had sex in my bed!"
"I know who you are and I never had sex in your bed."
"Yes you did!"
Farbman to Crowley at my birthday party. Crowley has trouble remembering names, and sometimes faces and past events. And yes he did.

"I figured it is a good flick to take a girl. lots of muff. s*xually explicit."
Quote from Johnny, via e-mail, completely out of context, yet speaks for itself. And yes ladies, I don't know how he's still single.

The Truf

While I complain (and whine) often about not getting "any" (any being defined as: ass, play, foreplay, sex, affection, necking, heavy petting, light petting, or touching of any kind), I must disclose something I've hid from even my closest friends.

This drought, this famine, this plague on my promiscuity, is actually planned as I decided to recover my virginity lost lo those many years ago as a fresh-faced 18-year-old in Steubenville, Ohio.

I want to experience it all again with fresh eyes. I want to be touched for the very first time, like a virgin some would say.

So I've covered my tracks my constant complaining and poor game. I mean, I'm surprised everyone believed it. C'mon, going out on Halloween and not even talking to girls, with my ex-girlfriend not 40 feet away. I'm a good actor, like the Dave Coulier of 327 Armitage.

But now at 26, I think it's time to lose my virginity (for the 15th time). So I'm out there ladies, ready and willing for some NSA (or SA) fun...

...Wait a sec, this isn't Craigslist.

Ah fuck.

Broken Promises and parve hors d'ouvres

I hit the Israel Jewish Film Festival last night - What didn't you? - as an escort for my friend John Shear. He bought two tickets to the "gala opening" to be used as a nice, and expensive, date with a girl he had recently been seeing. Unfortunately his last contact with her went like this:

JOHN: So I'll call you next week.
GIRL: No, that's OK. Don't worry about it.

So that's how I came about a free, overpriced ticket to the Israel Film Fest.

Some highlights from the night:

Sitting alone in his seat before the movie began, Johnny was tapped on his back by a girl roughly our age.

"Are you Israeli or just a patron of the arts?" she asked.

Now there's a question you don't hear often at the cinema.

Before the movie began (we'll get to the movie in a sec), we were all instructed to rise for the playing of the national anthem and Hatikvah, the Israeli national anthem. Puzzled, we stood up and some woman sang the finest rendition of the Star Spangled Banner that Theater 5 has ever heard. During the national anthem, John's phone buzzed in his fashionable jeans.

I told him to pick up and say, "Hey Miller, I can't talk. I'm in the theater and they're playing the national anthem. Let me call you back after Hatikvah." Miller, if you know him, would have set a new level for confusion.

The movie, Turn Left at the End of the World (a catchy title, for sure), is about a small desert town in Israel and the assimilation of Moroccan and Indian Jews. While they were falsely promised good jobs and a new life in bustling Israeli cities, I was falsely promised hot lesbian action. We were both disappointed.

As a whole though the movie was good, though Tribune film critic Michael Wilmington said he wanted to see more bush.

OK, that's a blatant lie. He never said that. But that's what we wanted to see and we hoped he felt the same way. But since he's presumably older than 15, I'm sure he's not going to write that in his review.

Wilmington was there to receive a liftetime achievement award from the festival. This honor apparently goes to every film critic in the city. Next year I believe Johnny wins it because he's gone to this festival for five straight years.

There was significant nudity though, which made the all 65 and over crowd even more peculiar. I guess they were Israelis...or patrons of the arts.

Seinfeld note: Former ABC Entertainment TV Group Chair LLOYD BRAUN has been named head of Yahoo’s entertainment & media division. Yes, that Lloyd Braun. If you watch the credits, many of the characters on Seinfeld were named after writers and assorted Hollywood people. Alec Berg was a big writer on the show. He has a great John Houseman name.

Rock the vote

One day later, I still blame Puffy.

Well, at least we're safe...

... Exit polling showed 76 pct of Bush voters were scared Dick Cheney would bomb their houses if Kerry won. (As I was writing this, we had a building evacuation test, which made us wonder if Cheney and Rumsfeld just said "Fuck it, let's kill 'em all and let Bush's G-d sort 'em out.")

I had a seat at the edge of the apocalypse last night next to a screaming, bespectacled Democrat (my roommate Rob) who was waving maniacally and snapping his large hands at the footage of voters in Cleveland, while urging them on by yelling, "C'mon!" He has a similar routine for Cubs games.

Unfortunately both Kerry and the Cubs were undone this year, victims of poor management and a lack of a cohesive plan to win. While the Cubs couldn't move runners over, Kerry couldn't appeal to common voters.

It wasn't a good year for Rob, who also got fired from his job for failing to cure muscular dystrophy. Or something like that.

He almost didn't have the energy today to eat a large sandwich for lunch and wash it down with a 48 ounce jamba juice. This after eating $14 worth of Chipotle last evening and possibly 2 pounds of sturgeon this morning.

I for one have given up my political activism and am now living solely on the words of American philosopher Rasheed Wallace. I don't worry anymore about the fate of our country because I am just KIM (Keepin' It Movin'). And as long as someone's CTC (Cuttin' the Check), it's all gravy.

Anyway, if you're still upset about Kerry's loss, or you're gay and always dreamed of getting married in Oklahoma and see no reason to live here otherwise, check this out:
http://www.harpers.org/

Meanwhile, I'm stocking up on canned goods and erasing all anti-Bush writing here, as from what I've heard, Bush's G-d is a vengeful one.

Final Word

Well, today's the day. Yes, the day we at Team Marketing Report put

out our annual NBA Fan Cost Index.

And oh yeah, that election that may decide the fate of the free world.



This is also the day we Illinoisians (is that a word?) vote Alan Keyes into the Senate.



I know Keyes is not a popular choice, but I mean who else would Jesus vote for

if he lived in a garden apartment in Chicago?



And who's this Obama guy they keep talking about?

Sounds like a terrorist to me.

That should've been Keyes' campaign slogan:

Barack Obama. Sounds like a terrorist to me.

Vote Alan Keyes. He sounds American.



I won't ramble on about my choice for President (Ben

Roethlisberger) and my vision of the future of this

country (Steelers' Super Bowl titles for all, Pirates'

World Series championships for some), but instead pass

along these words from Wonkette's Ana Marie Cox:



I was all set to vote for George Bush even after

finding out that he wouldn't let me marry Mary Cheney

if I wanted to. And when he made the pronunciation of

"Lambeau Field" a campaign issue? It seemed fair.

After all, he's proved that not knowing the names of

foreign leaders is much less important than correctly

pronouncing the homes of popular sports teams. Of

course, he totally sold me with the debates: any man

who explains a mystery bulge as bad tailoring is more

than confident enough to take on the Euroweenies. But

in the end, with the fate of the free world at stake

and all, I've got to go with the guy who would admit

that sending thousands of American soldiers and Iraqi

civilians to their deaths to protect us from imaginary

weapons was, in fact, a mistake.