blue basilica

~ as if truth were a secret in such low solution that only immensity can give us a sensible taste ~

Name:
Location: Brooklyn, NY, United States

Friday, November 30, 2007

colboy's complaint. or, eff you, 'wamu!'

(with apologies to philip roth...)

his blog could have been called 'turquoise tangent' b/c a) i like alliterations in titles (and names) and b) i have come to realize the posts i most enjoy writing are the ones that connect one topic to another which is tangential at best. to wit:

when i was like ten or eleven or a similarly tiny might age, before we even had cable, i somehow learned about this thing called channel j. in those days in the apple, the cable channels were so few that they all fit on a dial that had the letters of the alphabet on it! there were cable boxes, but they just had that dial on it. can you imagine children?

channel j was and forever will be one of those magical phrases for me. you know, a phrase that always conjures up some special feeling, like 'third base' or 'chocolate fudge' or 'briss.' channel j was public access, which meant that late at night, it became the naked channel. i dont even know if i ever saw channel j, per se, but i knew about it, and at that age, that was like a young muslim boy knowing that if he blows himself up in a pizzeria, he'll be transported to a heaven filled with suddenly promiscuous virgins. i mean, it sounds pretty classy.

anyway, like i said, i never saw channel j, but somewhere around that time, when i was eleven or twelve let's say (to be consistent), the letters switched to numbers and channel j became channel 23, and brother, i did see that - prolly at a friend's house - and it was good.

the first naked show i ever saw, almost certainly the first live-action 'porn' i ever saw, was the robin byrd show. most of the show seemed to consist of an over-the-hill byrd talking about godknowswhat or just staring into the camera for inordinate amounts of time. but (what seemed like) every twenty minutes of the hour-long 'show,' an exotic dancer would come on and, accompanied by some terrible song, would strip for like two minutes. looking back, it was the lamest excuse for a strip since marmaduke, but at the time, it was amazing. breasts! nipples! pubic hair! (it was the early nineties, keep in mind.)

oh, one more thing. about half the time, the strippers would be men, but you never knew if a man or woman was coming up until byrd said their name. so youd sit there watching her talk about nothing for ten minutes, like a dog watching you slowly open the purina, then youd get anxious when shed say, 'so tonite, all the way from the magic club in boca raton-' then youd be thrilled when she said, 'jenny johnson!' - and crestfallen when shed say, 'bruce brown!'

i could go on about robin byrd for a long time, but i shant.

the thing im getting to is the second naked channel show i got into, not long after: midnight blue. by this time - im 13 or 14 by now - we had cable, and public access had been moved to channel 35. also by this time, i had my own tv at my mom's house, so i could scour the public access wonderland with reckless abandon.

somewhere in that scouring, in between countless commercials for sex chat lines, more robin byrd show, and the absolutely tragic robin byrd's men for men show (figure it out), i discovered midnight blue. it was on every monday and friday night at 11. j/k, it was on at midnight.

midnight blue was hosted by the founder and editor-in-chief of screw magazine, al goldstein - a fat-as-hell, very raspy-voiced jewba the hut. much like byrd, i could go on about blue and goldstein forever (my dad once worked for him[!]), but i want to relate only two things here.

first of all, for a budding master of my own domain, midnight blue was even more consternating than byrd. you see, while there was that moment of trepidation while byrd announced the next strippy (will it be a man or a woman?), at least your stomach would settle after you finally knew who was coming on (and you could just change the channel if the person had a penis). but midnight blue was an even more schizophrenic mindf*ck.

one segment of the show was always goldstein, looking like a beached whale in a director's chair, interviewing a comely porn star. and during the interview, the show would present clips of said star's films. so, one moment youre getting your first taste of real porn - men and women actually copulating on screen(!) - and the next moment, you're looking at this big fat mound of man. then back to the effing, then back to the kool-aid man:


do you have any idea what this ping-pong match can do the fragile psyche of a 13-year old male who's just 'discovering' stuff? it was like eating the greatest brownie in the world, knowing that every third bite would be pure feces. it was worth it, to be sure, but there was a lot of frustration involved.

the other noteworthy part of midnight blue was the 'fuck you' segment. goldstein would rant about some person or company or other entity, then at the end, he'd stare into the camera and give his target a glorious middle-finger salute.

one example i seem to remember was delta airlines. goldstein had flown them to l.a. or something, and his voyage resulted in this rant:
'so, delta airlines. for your retarded skycaps, your braindead ticket agents, your terrible in-flight meals, your rude stewardesses, and your overall apathy towards your customers, F*CK YOU!' it was great.

and here's where the tangent comes in. the other day, i was taking money out of an atm at washington mutual, or wamu, as it ridiculously likes to be known. then later that day, i realized i didnt have my atm card, and i quickly realized why. wamu is one of the few banks in nyc whose atms actually swallow your card, as opposed to the machines at my shylock, citibank, which let you dip the card, the card never leaving your hand. conditioned by the more forward-thinking citi, i had plum forgotten to take my card back at the end of my wamu transaction. as soon as i realized this, i ran to wamu, hoping the machine had re-swallowed my card after first spitting it out, and that the powers that be over there would have my card waiting for me.

alas, they did not. they were all, 'sorry, we dont have it. you gotta cancel your card.'

at first i thought, well, it's my own fault. but then i thought, 'hey, why blame myself? hasnt my life been hard enough? let me blame someone else for a change.' so i thought, 'for having the only atms that still take your card, F*CK YOU, WAMU!' and then, naturally, i thought of midnight blue. and then robin byrd. etc. etc. etc.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

new post sometime tomorrow.

Monday, November 19, 2007

quote 24.

never forget that the human race with technology is just like an alcoholic with a barrel of wine.

-theodore kaczynski, the unabomber manifesto

(i found a published copy of it on the street today. along with a book that teaches bridge within the context of a thinly-constructed novel.)

Friday, November 16, 2007

love child, never meant to be. love child, woulda paid homage to pointy.

Needless to say, i love the painter georges-pierre seurat. (this should be needless to say b/c my friggin profile pic is a seurat, and my last one was too.)

anyway, some time ago, when j.go and i were 'together,' we fantasized about naming our firstborn son 'seurat.' this was one of my favorite parts of our relationship, b/c besides j.go, anyone ive ever told that i want to name my son seurat, to a man, has balked at the idea, and here i was, dating someone who not only didnt balk, but liked the moniker for the fruit of her own loins as well!

needless to say part deux, it looks like j.go and i are never gonna hatch a seurat together. but i at least still plan to bestow the name upon my male scion, and seurat the painter has remained a happy memento for both of us.

along those lines, yesterday j.go called my attention to the following rendering, made of soda cans, of a sunday afternoon on the island of la grande jatte, the pointillism master's signature work - which happened to be featured in ferris bueller's day off, i might add. (it's the one cameron stares at when they go to the museum.)

this reproduction of the painting is dear to me b/c it combines my love of seurat -


with my love of soda cans (this is a detail) -


the piece uses 106,000 aluminum cans, which apparently is the number used in the US every thirty seconds.

it's called Cans Seurat, and it's by Chris Jordan at the Von Lintel Gallery. j.go found it at bored&beautiful.

have a good kend!

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

untitled.

more from my sis. i think she's converting to hinduism. spumonapeemapetilon.





another scene.

EXT. - OUTSIDE OF COFFEESHOP - NIGHT

Lina is smoking a cigarette. Thomas is keeping her company.


LINA
I know. I shouldn't smoke. I promised myself I'd quit after graduation. It's terrible.

THOMAS
No, I like how you look when you smoke.

LINA
You like how I look?

THOMAS
I mean, I think it's okay to smoke. You're young.

LINA
Yeah, I guess you're right.

THOMAS
So you got your hair cut?

LINA
Yeah, do you like it?

THOMAS
Yeah, I like it a lot.
(a beat)
Most guys don't like short hair on girls. But I do.

Lina is visibly weirded out by this statement.

LINA
Well, thanks. I guess.

Thomas starts to turn red.

THOMAS
I just mean, most guys have more traditional views of beauty.

Lina gawks; Thomas is crimson.

THOMAS
No, that came out wrong. What I mean to say is, with most dudes--

LINA
You don't deal with silence well, do you?

THOMAS
I guess not.

LINA
Maybe you should embrace it a bit more. Silence is your friend, Thomas.

Thursday, November 08, 2007

scene 1.

INT. RIVER’S APARTMENT - HALLWAY - MORNING

THOMAS SCOTT, early twenties and brown haired, dressed immaculately in a dark Armani suit, but with disheveled appearance highlighted by a sloppily loosened tie, carries a sleek black bag around his shoulder. He pounds on the bedroom door of RIVER GOLDBERG.

THOMAS
Open the goddamn door, River. Wake the fuck up!

Hissing sound from within.

THOMAS (CONT’D)
Open...the...fucking...door!

More hissing.

THOMAS (CONT’D)
Holy fucking shit, what are you doing in there?

A deep inhalation is heard from within. Thomas slowly opens the door and peers in. After he sees what River is doing, Thomas busts in the room.

CUT TO:

INT. RIVER’S ROOM - MORNING

Thomas enters. River, early twenties, blond, in t-shirt and boxers, sits on his bed and inhales nitrus out of a pink balloon that says GAY MEN’S HEALTH CRISIS in large black letters on the side. After inhalation, he immediately flops on his back and closes his eyes, as the whip-it and balloon fall out of his hand, onto the bed. Whip-it canisters lie by the bed.

THOMAS
Holy fucking shit. You disgust me.

RIVER
(eyes closed, dreamily)
Is it the whip-it, or the balloon?

THOMAS
You idiot. Do you know what you did?

RIVER
(opens his eyes)
Oh shit! I forgot to mail back the Netflix.

THOMAS
No, you ididot. Do you think I’d be here at ten AM, on my first day of work at Goldman Sachs, because you didnt return the godddamn Netflix?

RIVER
(closes his eyes again)
Is today your first day? I thought it was tomorrow.

THOMAS
Don’t you remember last night, at the dinner? How everyone toasted me, and said ‘Good luck tommorrow’?

RIVER
I thought they were talking about the drug test.

THOMAS
I was never gonna have a drug test!

RIVER
(opens his eyes, smiles)
That’s sweet, man.

Abrubtly, but in a methodical manner, Thomas bends down and slaps River across the face. River bolts upright in bed.

RIVER (CONT’D)
What the fuck, man? Are you out of your mind?

THOMAS
I should beat the shit out of you right now. I should beat you to death. Beat you to death in the bed you never even gotten out of today, you son of a bitch.

RIVER
What the fuck are you talking about?

Thomas pulls a piece of paper out of his bag and puts it right in front of River’s face.

THOMAS
Look at this.

RIVER
(looking intently)
That’s the picture of you taking a giant hit from our old five foot bong, in Ann Arbor. Old Binger Crosby, we called him. I do believe.

THOMAS
Exactly.

RIVER
Why’d you bring that into work on your first day?

Thomas suddenly back-hand slaps River across the face. River falls back to the bed like a fighter falling to the canvass.

THOMAS
I didn’t bring it into work, you, you - they fucking found this on your blog!

RIVER
(still on the canvass)
Who, Goldman?

THOMAS
No, your mom. Of course, Goldman! They fired me. They did a background check, the picture on your blog was one of the first things to pop up on Google.

RIVER
Oh, shit. I should have erased that.

THOMAS
I told you to erase it!

RIVER
You did?

THOMAS
Yes, I did. As soon as I got the job. And at least ten other times. And anyway, why'd you have to label it?

RIVER
Oh, the label is negligible. There are probably hundreds of Thomas Scotts in the world.

THOMAS
But you can see my face!

RIVER
It's blurry, though.

THOMAS
But you included my social security number! Why? Why would you do that?

RIVER
Oh, that’s right. I did. It seemed funny at the time. I’m sorry, Thomas. I mean, fuck.

THOMAS
Sorry? Sorry? You ruined my life. I have no job now. Therefore, I have no salary. Therefore, I can’t pay rent in my new place. Therefore, I’m homeless.

RIVER
Well, they do say it can happen to anyone.

Monday, November 05, 2007

and i want you to bathe him thoroughly.

tonite i went down to the store and on my way out of my building, i saw rose petals strewn all over the first floor hallway. would've been more perfect if i lived in queens but still, isnt that fabulous?

foyer

hallway





doormat of apartment on first floor

Friday, November 02, 2007

joan cusack in broadcast news.