Mon Frère, L'Artiste

Waiting to sign papers with mom and dad at the bank, Adam excercises his creativity in a loving portrait of his oldest sister:

Welcome, Miss Stacia

Attention Faithful Readers:

I have recently undergone a name change, anticipating a future career in pornography in which the name "Dominique Dero" might be quite useful. So say "sayonara" to Miss Dero for now. You shall meet her again on her rise to lovemaking fame.

Sincerely yours,
Stacia Jones

The College Man: Heartfelt Birthday Wishes

Left on my Voicemail (very sleepily) at 4:09pm:

Adam: Heeeey Stacey………. I just woke up……..happy fucking birthday.

Birthday Transit Playlist

Crafted to induce ecstasy on the short trip from my cupcake-laden office to my much-anticipated dinner at The Red Cat.

“These are the Fables” – The New Pornographers
“Reno Dakota” – The Magnetic Fields
“Touch The Sky” – Kanye West
“Extraordinary Machine” – Fiona Apple
“Chicago” – Sufjan Stevens
“The Denial Twist” – The White Stripes
“Good Day” – The Dresden Dolls

You Live in a Zoo

My afternoon phone conversation with the lovely lady who birthed me:

Mom: What was I doing seventeen years ago today?

Me: Tell me…

Mom: Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! (grunting labor noises)

Me: That’s nice mom. Except I’m twenty-three.

Photo of Coworker Flashing Devil Horns at Wedding Party Instantly Validates Onion Article Addressing "Metal Hand Sign Abuse"

"If your head is neither banging nor thrashing, you should not be throwing the sign..."

Weddings are stupid.

Unless you’re my little sister and you want one (Rachel, we’ll discuss this later.).

Personally, I’d rather take the money that would have been spent on an excruciatingly frilly, impractical, one-time-wear-only dress, food that looks better than it tastes, thousand dollar flower arrangements that die the next day and a DJ who will inevitably play Gloria Estefan’s version of “Turn the Beat Around,” and take a month-long vacation somewhere fucking awesome. Like Greece. Yeah.

To seal the legality of the affair, the fiancée and I will pull together a jolly quorum – the fam, good friends, and maybe a cute pet or two (I can’t deny my mother the joy of dressing Shayna for the occasion) – and saunter over to Town Hall to sign some papers. When I push through the doors of the building (in a white mini-dress?) I hope to exclaim something along the lines of, “Let’s do this!” The whole thing will take ten minutes. Then everyone will head over to the bar for pitchers. No vino allowed. It’s my wedding and everyone will drink Black and Tans.

Oh, and absolutely no little kids. At all. Not at the ceremony, not at the party. Sorry, but you’re gonna have to leave the criers at home. You popped ‘em out, so now you’re responsible for figuring out what to do with ‘em while the rest of us have a good time.


N.B. I am fully aware of the possibility that in the future, love will dilute my cynicism. But it's highly unlikely.

The Halloweenies

Sort of Awards. Sort of Not. I use colons. You’ll get the idea.


Courtesy of your favorite 80's redhead.

Best Male Costume: Richard Simmons. The Tae Bo tape looped at the party and Mr. Simmons' real curly fro lent this masterpiece its authenticity.

Best Female Costume: Ummm, Peggy Bundy.

Best Duo Costume Idea: Double Dare Contestants. Complete with “DD” t-shirts, elbow and kneepads, helmets with cups on top (for catching random slimy objects), little red flags and homemade GAK.

Best Lesbian Couple Costume: Martha and Ellen. Daytime TV, back-to-back! Ellen sported a suit with white sneakers and Martha passed out “prison bars” (carefully plated mini Snickers on toothpicks).

Best Non-Gay, Gay Couple Costume: Cop and Jailbird. Two random guys (both) named Dan show up at the same party, one dressed as the punished, the other as the punisher. Sheer coincidence? Or a hot "chase" waiting to unfold?

Most High-Maintenance Couple Costume: Bacon and Egg. Costumes made out of foam with hole cut-outs for the head, arms and legs are hilarious to look at. And SUCK to wear.

Best Group Costume: The Nina, the Pinta, The Santa Maria. Traveled with a spandex-sporting Christopher Columbus.

Most Creative Homage: Hunter S. Thompson, post-suicide. Hunter and I probably passed about 4,000 “Fear and Loathing" fans over the course of the night and only the homeless guy in front of the deli on St. Marks and A called out in recognition. “Hunter S. Thompson with a bullet in his head! Genius, man!”

Predicted Costume Hit of the Year: Napoleon Dynamite. Vote for Pedro.

Actual Costume Hit of the Year: Hasidic Jew. Vote For Schlomo.

Ratio of Hasidic Jews to Napoleon Dynamites spotted over three-day period: 4:1. If men use the same costume choice logic as the majority of women in this city (dress to get laid), this means New Yorkers assumed your average rabbi gets laid more than the freakishly charming, monotone high school nerd.

Most obvious reaction to the Peggy Bundy Costume: Putting your hand in your pants. Hint to the men of New York City - try harder.

What to call Peggy when you can’t quite put your finger on it:
“Jersey!” (Not far off.)
“Long Island!” (On any other day, so very true.)
“The Nanny!” (Most embarrassing to hear screamed at you from across Avenue A.)
“Marge!” (Too much weed dude.)