Picture of a Chicken Leg

Thursday, January 23rd: During a recent search on Celebrity birthdays, i discovered that Josh has the same birthday as Cher. He already knew this of course, and mentioned Socrates shared his birthday as well. He added that it made sense because his outlook of life is very "Socra-Cher."

Monday, January 20th: The lengths i'll go to to make some cheap joke. I'm working on a piece for Dave Lipp's upstart Twenty-Four Seven music magazine, and my piece involves a picture of a chicken leg . This first involved me searching for over a half-hour, in futility, for a picture of a chicken leg on the Internet. Realizing this was not the way to go, i got all geared up in my winter wear to brave the January cold (it's about 20 degrees today) to go to Popeye's to buy a chicken leg to take a photo of it. So, out i go, realizing right when i get to my destination that the Popeye's in my neighborhood has been out of business for about 6 months. Dejectedly, i walk home in the cold wind. I tell this story to Josh, and he mentions i should go to PFC (Palace Fried Chicken), even further away in my neighborhood. So, back out in the cold, freezing wind, only this time i take a bus. Success!! I bought a chicken leg ($1) and sat at the hard plastic booth by the window, and took that picture of a chicken leg in the bright winter sun, all while an old Polish family looked at me kinda puzzled. The worst part being, of course, i decided to eat the chicken leg afterward, even though i wasn't hungry, and now i don't feel so good. All this to make fun of Christina Aguilera. Anyway, maybe someone in my position in the future will enter "picture of a chicken leg" in Google and come across this page and that picture. Then it will have all been worth it.

I now congratulate myself on what might have been the most boring entry ever.

Sunday, January 19th: There are very few things i put more effort into than putting off work i should be doing. There will come the day when my almost super-human ability to procrastinate will finally rise up to bite me in the ass, but at no point in my life thusfar have i ever really had to deal with the consequences, in school, professionally, never really. So, i continue to push my luck. I'm supposed to be writing stuff for various people all weekend. Instead, i've been rereading old private journal entries, getting misty-eyed at my previous willingness (and amount of spare time) to write paragraphs about the most superfluous thoughts or mundane events. In fact, if this was then, i could've spent at least a page talking about the Baby Dayliner show last nite, and the subsequent dance party at BQE Lounge. But, now, i'd probably just write something weak like "it was pretty fun" (which it was), limply assuming that anyone who reads this was probably there anyway.

To prove my point, here is a journal entry from August 9th of last year, with one name being removed to protect the innocent, or more importantly, myself.

8-9

I decided today that if i’m still unemployed when winter rolls around, i’m going to take up painting. Maybe sooner? It’s been so nice out this week that the thought of doing anything indoors seems like a waste of precious niceness. I haven’t been as paralyzed by that thought as last summer, when i woke up at 7 am every morning (now i’m usually waking up at 12:15). But still, i should be outside right now, really, and i’ve been out twice today already. And seen some splendid looking women. But, yes, painting. I want to paint. I want to have Margarita model for me. And i want to have ******* model for me, in a frilly shirt and a tight skirt, on the couch talking on my pink telephone. Actually, i want that even if i’m not painting. Maybe i’ll listen to jazz when i paint, or if i’m painting ******, i’ll listen to the Pretty in Pink soundtrack (Jeff has it). Maybe i’ll listen to hockey on the radio while i paint. Maybe i’ll listen to the Ventures. Who knows? But yes, painting. All i need is an easel and a bunch of painting stuff – everything i guess – and i can clear out space in the old computer room. And i’ll wear the same trashy t-shirt each week, and it’ll be a little too cold in the room, and i’ll drink ze wine and paint. Girls can model for me. It’ll be fun and dress-up and pretend, but real at the same time. I can hardly wait.

Last night i went to visit Josh and Mishka at Luxx, and see some crappy Brit-poop bands. Me and Josh decided Pelliton, our band, is going to be a Brit-pop band, so i came up with music to two tunes last night, both in A. They’re all going to be in A. We've also decided we are going to be Guy and Sean-Jean Pelliton. And we’re gonna dress in black and wear sunglasses, like those douches in Interpol. Anyway, maybe Lisa Klimkiewicz will drum for us, and we’ll advertise and have some cute NYU girl play boring bass lines for us, and we’ll play at Tiswas, and pretty girls will like us. Maybe we’ll get signed after our third show, even though we hate all of our songs. I was bicycling around last night, thinking of words, like "Hurt me like i hurt you, i dare you" and "oh, station wagon, evoking my dreams, dreams of scheming with you." It’s almost too easy.

Can you tell i can use some direction in my life right now?

I recently looked into flights to London. I found you can fly for $220 – round trip – on Air India. So, i excitedly told Jeff, and he said "so what’s wrong with Air India? Is it gonna be you and a bunch of chickens?"

To which i countered "Maybe since i’ll be the only white guy on the plane, they’ll think i’m the terrorist."

To which he responded "Wait, i thought you wanted to go to France."

And i said "Well, i’d like to see London, then see France. Then see ******’s underpants."

And so on.

I should mention i ran into Damien today, while walking around on Manhattan Ave. He’d just gotten back from the DA’s office and was going to meet up with the new Giraffes bassist, whoever he is. D spend about 5 minutes venting about his trip to the court, getting pretty angry, while dressed up in a white button down and nice pants, complaining he looked like a "Mormon." Then, after a short silence, he said, in reference to the 2 nursing home occupants who recently got arrested for selling their medication, "the good part is i got to meet those drug dealing grannies!"

Ah, those were carefree times. Except for all that not having any money. Welp, back to "work." *Sigh*

Friday, January 17th: ... as promised ...

Plus, not to jinx things or nothin', but i think i have a girlfriend again.

I left practice last night a coupla minutes after my bandmates. When i exited, it was snowing and there was a fine layer of snow on the van. On the windshield, in the snow, someone wrote in big letters "The Bronx." So, i met up with the guys a few minutes later and asked which one of them did it. None of them knew what i was talking about. Mysterious ...

Wednesday, January 15th: For a while now, i've had a fascination with The Bronx. The "Boogie-Down Bronx", if you will. Perhaps, this helps to explain why i agreed to help Margarita move from her place on E. 205th at the Grand Concourse (right next to the D train!) to her new pad on Grand St. (B'lyn) in the middle of the nite last nite. Driving around on the empty highways was quite fun, actually, even though it was very cold out, and our radio-less van is missing the driver's side window, due to some nefarious Greenpoint vandals. When i wasn't busy getting lost or taking bumpy, 270-degree exit ramps way too fast, we chatted ceaselessly about all kinds of stuff. It reminded me a lot of when i was younger, and me and my friend Jer Hudson would hop in my car in the middle of the night and drive a big loop around Denver, for no real reason, just listening to the radio faintly and talking about life. Of course, i didn't have a job back then. The Bronx, at least the section where Margarita lived until last nite, is hilly and Boston-innavigable, but seemingly charming or at least compelling, in ways i can't quite describe. While she was still living there, i was constantly bugging her about inviting me up so she could show me around her neighborhood. Alas, it never happened, and now it probably won't. Ah well.

This has really gone undocumented for too long, but i have some pictures on my computer at home of Josh's very short-lived mohawk. You can imagine my surprise when i came home last Friday nite, around midnite, and there was Josh, talking on my pink phone, his teeth wine-stained, wearing a mohawk. It was actually more like a "brohawk", as his sides weren't shaved clean. He was a good sport and kept it until i could get some pictures, but he had to wear a wool hat to the diner the next morning, in fear he wasn't going to get served. I'll post some pics very soon.

Look for Jens "cracking wise" in next week's US Magazine "Fashion Police" column ...

Monday, January 13th: I wasn't good for much of anything yesterday. Breakfast at a restaurant that shall remain nameless (to protect the otherwise delicious) gave me food poisoning. So, it was a day of lying on the "soul couch" underneath blankets, drinking Gatorade and watching the Jets march to defeat, followed by as much of The People's Choice Awards as mine and Josh's irony capacitors could possibly stomach. Then i went to bed.

I feel much better now (although meat still doesn't sound very appetizing), but now, i'm back at the office, and the "shitload of work" phase has begun in earnest. Not only that, but my horoscope in the Daily News says my "power time" today is from 11:10 to 11:50, which means it started 5 minutes ago. Time to get cracking.

So, instead of any more writing, here's some photos. If pictures do indeed say 1000 words, here's about 5000 words (not including captions) about mine and Kevin's BIG Thursday nite of GIRAFFES, VITAMEN and New Jersey NETS basketball. Talk to you tomorrow.

A toast to the N.J. Nets, down 61-33 in the 2nd

Self-annointed "N.J. Nets Cameraman for a Day" winner Kevin Dailey

The GIRAFFES first "post-probation" show was a rousing success.

Oh, boy ...

Anyone wanting a VITAMEN photo from this show, look for their feature article in this month's upcoming Twenty-Four Seven magazine, at a hip club near you.

Friday, January 10th: Tonight, COVER ME BADD has a practice in my old boss Tad Low's office on 29th St., of all places. He came to the last show and excitedly told us he set up a stage, has a drum set, amps, the whole bit. And, he insisted it was free, that all we have to do is bring beer. Of course, we're all worried that he's going to turn around and heckle us, surreptitiously film us, make us dress in bear costumes, make us make out with strangers, something. Those of you familiar with Mr. Low's work will probably realize these fears aren't completely unfounded. But, maybe those things won't happen, and you can't really beat the price.

Anyway, this necessitated a lunch-time ride on the L train into Brooklyn, to the GIRL HARBOR practice space to pick up the Rickenbacker. On the ride back into the city, i over heard two teen-aged Puerto Rican girls talking to one another. I especially started to take notice when one of them said - loudly - "She has to wipe her mother's ass, like literally! Like her mom is so obese, that she has to wipe her ass for her, and i'm just like ..." at which point i couldn't repress giggling in disbelief. The two noticed me, then promptly stopped talking.

Wednesday, January 8th: I don't really feel like updating the website today. I don't really feel like doing anything today. Good thing i have a show tonite, eh? Anyway, instead of the usual update, here's a link to the lyrics the new Snoop Dogg tune. Hopefully that'll tide you over until tomorrow.

Tuesday, January 7th, 2:17 am: More proof that drinx = photos ...

The distinguished beer drinker

Jeff is a monkey.

Thee legendary Zack

Jeff took this one.

Ooooooo!!!

Zack intrudes on my photo of the ceiling.

SPRING BREAK!!!!

The classic Jeff pose

Our hero waits for the L train.

Our hero continues to wait for the L train.

Okay, i should really go to bed ...

Monday, January 6th: Today just isn't going to be my day, i think. Tell me why i don't like Mondays! Hang in there! I just got a sandwich from MANHATTAN HEROES, like i always do, but the hero bread is different today. Usually they use a sublime, yet subtle, sesame seeded bread, but today it's the standard-issue, puffy, slightly too hard plain hero bread, they kind every other deli uses (and the reason i order sandwiches on rolls everywhere else i go). Let's hope they rectify this situation by tomorrow, or i'll have to start getting sandwiches at the Hot N' Crusty at Penn Station like i used to.

Not only that, but today, April and i have had to start making changes to the Divas Las Vegas show we popped last summer, that never aired. It never aired becuase, among other things, VH1 decided we made too many fat jokes about the Dixie Chicks. Frankly, i feel like we didn't make enough, but my opinion doesn't matter a whole hell of a lot here. So, when you inevitably watch it and tape it (if it ever airs), you should probably adjust your laff-ratio about 22% to compensate. But, i think we can work through this, and it does mean more $$$, so who am i to complain.

Sunday, January 5th: My camera is completely fucked, at least until i can get a very small phillips-head screw driver and take it apart. The camera is very old, and still saves onto floppy discs. Anyway, one of the little metal sleeves on floppys, that protect the disc itself, came off inside the drive and after picking around inside of it for a half-hour with a steak knife, i couldn't get it out. I know, a bad carpenter blames his tools. Anyway, i wish i had it just so i could've gotten a photo of Josh pushing Jeff's disgusting rolled-up carpet out of the 3rd floor window of our apartment building. Although, it ended up being less exciting looking than i anticipated, but still ...

Anyway, the apartment looks just swell, especially once we got Josh's leather couch (i call it the "soul couch") into the re-arranged living room. Josh is setting up his turn-tables as we speak. The plan - for our Super Bowl Party - is to get Baby Dayliner to perform in our living room during half-time, w/ guest DJ Josh Johnson. That'd be hot. Alas, Baby Dayliner played last night, but we were too tired from moving heavy furniture around the apartment (and too full from the sandwiches and famous potato salad Kevin brought from Hoboken) to make it to the show. So, instead we watched cartoons on Homestar Runner for about 2 hours. That was fun. Then i went to bed.

I sold Stewart, my old drumset, to Lisa Klimkiewicz last nite. I therefore declare my drumming career officially over. And it doesn't sadden me in the least. Bass is much more my thing, as you might have guessed. Anyway, does anyone want to buy a student alto saxophone?

Friday, January 3rd, 6:52pm: I'm at work right now, doing voice-overs for one of the US Magazine interstitial pieces were working on. I'm reading in the voice of a cop on the radio, sort of half Durante, half Regis Philbin. I think i finally found my calling.

A few photos have recently trickled in from the New Year's Eve party. One i posted on GIRL HARBOR website, the other one is below ...

Our hero, with his hair combed in "school picture day" formation,
chats with Caroline, new GIRL HARBOR convert and
one of the many photo takers of the evening,
while an unidentified disembodied hand toasts the proceedings.

Thursday, January 2nd: Today for lunch, i went to All-American Burger on 31st and 6th, right by the Mall of Manhattan (not this one). I got the #7, the "New York" burger, which is merely your garden variety bacon cheese-burger. And, it was delicious, but the "New York" burger? What kind of claim does NYC hold to the bacon cheese-burger? This reminds me of how pissed off my old writing partner Alan Cross (of Ft. Worth, TX) used to get at the concept of a "Texas Burger", which in most diners is a burger with an egg on it. He said he never met anyone in Texas who ever tried a "Texas Burger."

Today, another old co-writer Mikki Halpin is coming by the office, to make fun of pictures in US magazine. It's for a series of minute-long pieces were doing for the ABC Family channel, in some sort of weird cross-promotional, synergistic rigamaroll that's too complicated and uninteresting to bother explaining. I wonder if i should even be talking about it publicly. Probably not. Anyway, last time i saw Mikki, we had an hour long conversation that was alternately her defending Justin Timberlake's status as "hot," and her being offended because i had the audacity to say The RAMONES were better than BLACK FLAG. Which they were, obviously. But still, who else could i really have such a protracted conversation with? The first part particularly. I've still never met anyone else who actually admits they think Justin Timberlake is hot.

As you may know, me and Josh are planning a Super Bowl party at our place. Not that i give two fucks about the Super Bowl (although it was pretty great last year). No, mostly we're doing it so i finally, after all these years away from Denver, can make GREEN CHILE (or chile verde, if you want to sound like a snot). I recently acquired the family recipe from "Big" Dave. Howmever, it may be harder to pull off than i thought. Me and Josh stopped into a local Mexican market on Manhattan Ave. (one of the very few things we did yesterday at all), and i asked the guy at the counter - presumably an authentic Mexican - if they sold green chiles. And so he pointed to the big cans of pickeled jalapeños. "No ..." i said, then quickly looked around on my own, in vain. Canned cactus, sure, but no green chile strips. Christ, even Mexicans in New York don't know what green chiles are.

My grandfather recently e-mailed (!!!!) me, and so i think i should write him back now ...

Wednesday, January 1st: Oof.