I'll be back here in a couple of days, theres a bunch of shit that I got to do. Don't want to leave you guys hanging, all two of you.
Well I guess my plan to produce a day-by-day play-by-play of my stay-train-stay Skullfuck tour was foolish like the dog. How am I going to update this blog frequently- while out of town, at that- if I can't make videotape copies that were ordered eight months ago? Anyway. I'll do a day's summary here in a brief, easy to chew entry. It'll be the taquito of weblog entries.
I left NYU with good impressions... I certainly wouldn't mind treading the squeaky wooden floors of their film school for the next four years. Fuck the naysayers who complain about the lack of a campus. It's school, not summer camp. Plus there's Washington Square Park, and that city block has more culture than 10,000 Palo Altos. Of course, by culture, I mean bisexuals. I trained it up to Harlem to check out the haughtier of my two NYC destinations. Fortunately I wasn't the only one carrying two bags, so I didn't get all those "He's the only one carrying two bags!" looks. When I was waiting for the train, two undercover cops were accosting any foreigners in the station; they would literally push them up against the wall and demand ID. Thats the price we pay for a terrorism-free nation, I suppose.
Anyway, I got up to the Columbia campus, where your Alex Baumel was waiting for me. I hung around with his crew, grabbed some dinner at his posh dining hall (motherfucking wood paneling), sat around in his dorm room. Things didn't really pick up for a while... he hit on a British girl, I watched. He made some suave hand motion, I watched and tried to remember it. He turned on the TV, I sat down. At least they still watch the Simpsons at college. I figured they would listen to it on some huge gothic radio, or something like that. Or just read the scripts in the form of some huge dusty tome. You know the channel number assignments in New York are almost identical to the DC ones? It felt like home, except for the really shitty room I was in. Student lounge my ass. Two couches (cushions unremovable) and a TV stand. Where was the squash court? Where was the gothic computer lab? Or the huge pipe organ? I'm not sure whether I expected a college or a big haunted house. I wish it was haunted though, shit. Any haunted college would get my 40,000 in an instant. Everybody would get flashlights and a notepad. The classes could be like "Finding Ghosts 101" or "Introduction to Opening Creaky Doors" or "Seeing a live fruit bat and shitting myself."
At any rate, the cushions were unremovable. That's what really matters. But even though Baumel had completely forgotten I was coming up, he managed to scrounge up an air mattress from his friend. Good thing he had friends, Lichman. I couldn't count on the ambiguous roommate this time, he had a single room. I kind of hope I don't wind up in a single room next year. I've really gotta kick this habit. Nothing collapses a tent like men walking around near it, if you know what I mean. The room was small but comfortable. I had this great idea of putting up a big DC flag on the wall- something about this town makes me love to be from there when I am somewhere else. One day later I would find out I was not the first person to think of that. Fucking Yalies. Bested again. But I think I'll quote Zack De La Rocha on my DC flag in big block letters, "Riot: motherfucking DC!" Hell of a show that was. Well, I spent the rest of the night watching the Yankees/Red Sox game (which gives you an idea of how late I am in posting this entry) with Alex and his stoned-out RA, and the heads that would drop in and out to say clever things like "This game reminds me of [intelligent phrase]," or "I'll see you in the quad." I thought they were coming onto me but it turns out they were talking to Alex. Also, the quad is an outdoor field, so you could imagine how heartbroken I was. We slipped out after the game to pick up some bagels and legendary three dollar hyperslice pizza. The pizza, for its size, was remarkably crispy, and you already heard me talk about the bagels. Ran into an interesting homeless guy--- my theories have been made clear, but this is just more evidence, the more refined the area, the more refined the hobo. He was a crazy fucker though. Asked us for "food." We call it crack in DC.
Again, I'll have to say, fuck the naysayers. If I can spend my weekends on U Street, I can spend my year on the outskirts of Harlem. Though I was disappointed not to see any of the intense rich-kid drug consumption of lore, I enjoyed myself. There was an Indian guy and a guy with a yellow shirt, it was all good. I slept well on my air-bed. Man, technology is great. That unabomber didn't know what he was missing. In the morning I toured, which was good. Probably the best tour I would take all week. A frail jew led it, so I felt like I was in control. Subterranean health facility and gym? See you in the fall.
As I trained it out of that big city towards the craggy mountaintops of New Haven CT, I couldn't help but gaze in astonishment at the splendor of New York and wonder what it would look like if a nuclear bomb went off in that motherfucker. Shit would go down, Roy. Shit would go down.
So, the word on everybody's lips is "carnivalofcarn/skullfucktour2k3."
And it would be rude of me not to drop some summary on your asseoz. So I guess this thing will be tainted by my heart-shattering realization that the bagels I bought in New York were left there. Along with the delicious scallion cream cheese. Now, the good news is that these are not HOT JUMBO BAGELS, i.e. the 2nd ave. specialty of Queerben's Straightpad. These were Columbia bagels. These bagels are more pretentious than HOT JUMBO BAGELS, but the neighborhood ain't as good. Columbia bagels are well reputed in the NYC bagel scene, and one of the few remaining 24 hour bagel shops, according to Baumel's stoned-out RA. Must be this economy.
And to make it sting even more, I had left myself a note, which read,
Don't forget the skullfucking cream cheese.Not to worry. I didn't forget the skullfucking cream cheese. I forgot the cuntjostling bagels and the skullfucking cream cheese. Ah whatever. It just meant that I had to memorize my lines for this play while I was on the train (no pun intended) from New York to New Haven. So, I'm miles away from my sweet, sweet bagels, and all that I can say to Baumel is enjoy them. I would have wanted it that way...
So NYU was a surprisingly enticing slab of higher education. The whole experience was a loud, festive blurring of the boundaries of sexuality. I tell you, Ted, everybody there could be of any sexual orientation and the only asshole is the guy who asks them what they are.The dorms were nice, except that whole guard-at-the-door thing is a bitch. A necessary bitch, I suppose. I had the unfortunate experience of arriving after a suicide and a near-death alcohol overdose. Good fodder for humor though. When I took the NYU tour, they walked us into the library where the kid plummetted to his death just days earlier. The library contains more than a million books, we were told by our tour guide... another boundary-blurrer. It took all my restraint not to ask, "Yeah, but where do they keep the chalk outlines?"
The information session was really good, though. The guy who delivered the Q+A participatory speech looked like a Stroke, as does everybody in that neighborhood. Boundary-blurrers all. Lichman presented me with the welcome gift of a flask of spiced liquor, as you can read in his blog. We went to the mung store from CiM NYC Dildofest 2k3, but the picture was unavailable. Looks like they did some remodeling... the only thing that stayed the same was their REDICULOUS PRICES. Though the campus was dead, and Ma$e's boundary-blurring roommate helped keep things awkward for a while, the rum conquered all, and it coaxed me into accepting our trite situation... we spent the night hanging around the dorm. I wasn't even fazed when it was revealed that the futon I had been promised was not gonna show. Must have been "caught in traffic" like that swindler Silkk the Shockker. Fucking club FIVE. I slept on the floor with some sheets donated by the gruesome twosome.
Well the NYU humor magazine isn't that humorous... good lists in the back, though. I nearly got a badass hip leather jacket for 15 bucks, but the bitch at the register tried to make me pay 40 for it. Accuse me of changing the sticker, do you? SHAZAM! I kill her where she stand. Well, I tend to embellish. I'll get back to ye later with some stories about my second day in the big city, as the Carnival of Carn/Skullfuck tour 2k3 rages forward. You know, I had two great titles for this thing, and I forgot them both? Blame the Captain. That mischevious Captain. Where will he pop up next?
"Surely I wouldn't know...!"
(gasp)...THE CAPTAIN!!!!
All I have are a couple of amusing links. No time for hilarious summary or self-examination... the more I bother with self-examination, the more stressed out I get. So gimme a couple of days, then will begin the NORTHEAST INVASION and hilarity will ensue.
1) An AFRICAN man has bitten the duST... why? Because he stole another AFRICAN's dong. Or so it would seem...! When can we put an end to all of this black on black violence? This whole thing reminds me of that time when I stole somebody's cock through sorcery. So kids, what do we do in Africa when we aren't starving or dying of AIDS? We kill each other over our cocks.
2) Back home in the good old USA, things aren't much better. We don't resort to violence over dong concern (that is so 1993), but we convert our Down's-syndrome-afflicted children into janitors. It makes sense, right? They all look the same, so they should have a common profession. And we certainly can't build an army out of them. This theorem is tried and true. Ever seen a hispanic hockey player?
And... well, I was gonna make a joke about the photo, but its really one of those fill-in-the-blank kinds of things. Heh heh. Poor exploited tards. (AP)
3) I conclude with a hilarious caper. Seems a clever gentleman robbed someone. I know, you've heard this one before... but its the story of this one that really does it for me.
``He was out in the driveway carrying something to the car and he was approached by a Hispanic male who asked for a drink of water. He went inside to get a drink of water and the man followed him inside and displayed a machete,'' he said.And thats not all...
Witnesses told police the suspect ran down Francis Road and Route 9 westbound to the Newton and Wellesley Alzheimer's Center parking lot, where investigators believe he took off in a vehicle.ALZHEIMER's CENTER! Brilliant. They would never have even known he was there. (link via FARK)
So he got away with a few items. But the victim should be happy... at least his cock wasn't stolen! There we are. I've come full circle. I've wrapped it up now.
Quit while you're ahead...
Tired of recall coverage? Need a break from such tough and sterile news?
Here's your top story.
Yeah I was being sarcastic. Lique m'baullse!
So we've all heard this torrid rumor that our friend Chipotle is some sort of haven for LARD grilling tactics and SATURATED FAT. While I have long doubted that the burritos can possibly as healthy [or at least not threateningly unhealthy] as the ingredient list would suggest, I was wary of these pessimists who were ready to denounce our beloved institution at the drop of a hat- or, as it were, at the drop of a fucking network news report. So I set out to find the exact news report that aired and prompted Lauren Miller to declare in spanish class-
"I heard that.... that burritos, chipotle burritos: they are bad for you, like really bad for you."Anyway, I'm not going to stand up here on the intro-net soap box like some fucking Klaus Neu--- oh fuck! I'm sorry, Lukas Manneun, so I'll let you make the decision for yourself. Some sites that may capture your interest...
Here is the ABC news report.
Google has a surprisingly good Q and A service/forum where people have posted some interesting thoughts.
A source from Denver admits that details are vague, but suggests that Chipotle isn't so healthy.
I'll look on the bright side of things and agree with one of the posting fellows on google--- the possible permutations of burrito recipe make it extremely difficult to pin a statistic on an entire genre of burrito the way WJLA does. They throw up the statistic-
CHIPOTLE'S BARBACOA BURRITO HAS 1,270 CALORIES, 45 GRAMS OF FAT AND ALMOST 3,000 MILIGRAMS OF SODIUM.Well sure, we know the fucker is saltier than the chicken burrito, but what is inside your statistic burrito? Sour cream and cheese? Hot salsa? What fucking kind of salsa?! I'm just saying, kids. Don't be won over by the network news, as they may oversimplify things. A 'typical' burrito is a philosophical fantasy that is impossible to quantify in the real world. Get your head out of the clouds. You don't stand up there and say "I would like a barbacoa burrito," then immediately go pay $6.05 and sit down. They don't take the fucker off of a heated shelf. They prepare it in front of you, and there is a different concentration of ingredients each time. We should rejoice in the fact that there is no definitive calorie count for the burrito: it is a testament to its versatility and adaptability. I would rather eat a delicious, nutritionally nebulous food-brick made in front of me than count calories with canned chocolate meal-drinks. But, maybe thats why I'm overweight. Excuse me for living my life! You are dingoes, all of you. Ah fuck, I'm out of meal-drink. I'll go get a burrito.
