Wow, what a weekend. We had a couple kegs, had some people over, saw some fireworks. It was everything the 4th weekend should be. Probably most importantly, Fahrenheit 9/11 surpassed $60 million in ticket sales. Sure it only did $21 million this weekend, but it can be difficult when Spiderman II grabs some $105 million.
It’s just nice to have Michael Moore out there so I have proof to show my conservative roommates when they start that whole “Bush is doing a pretty good job” spiel. I didn’t think a victory could mean as much to me as when the Marlins beat the evil Yankees last fall, but I think Kerry/Edwards over Junior will top it.
Speaking of the Marlins, what a fucking slide they are on. We’ve managed to get 4 fish on the All-Star team (Jack might have something to do with it, but they’ve earned their births) and yet we are in a terrible falloff that has left us 3 games (at press time) behind the Phils – those rat bastards. The wild card is going to be very tightly contested this year, so the Marlins need to get their heads out of the fishing-holes and win the East.
Anyway, who cares about the Marlins besides me? No one? I thought not. Lets talk about my wardrobe.
Right now I’m wearing an orange shirt my mother purchased for me at Express for Men. In the store, amongst shirts of its ilk, it looked very nice. Now, far away from Crossgates, on me, it just looks gay. This shirt is all sorts of questionable. Also, while shopping at Express, one of the sales guys kind of tried to sell me underwear. I’m not positive, but I think I was being hit on. Either way it was a bit creepy. My mother sort of gave me the “a friend of yours?” look.
An interesting twist at the internship today. I came in and the Art Director’s desk was cleared off. An odd thing to see in the middle of putting an issue together don’t you think? Apparently she found another job. I hope it’s at the Metroland, they don’t have enough flowers in that magazine if you ask me. Everyone at the Metroland is way too busy shoving their maybe-maybe not-a-gay-hippie-with-a-typewriter opinions down your throat without so much as on iota of regard for whether or not you give a fuck about some former wannabe Vietnam vet street poet on the corner of Clinton and Lark who thinks it’s Jerry Jennings fault that he doesn’t have a job. Go down to Lark, listen to the Burners U.K. and fuck off you insufferable jack-offs. P.s. your calendar of events rocks!
If you want to get my attention with an article, give me two-thousand words on the guy that invented the 10 cent wings or why the fuck Paesan’s is so popular. All the great and cheap pizza in this city and we’re all addicted to the only pizza that makes you sick after 2 slices? Almost 2 bucks for a slice? What, are we at the mall or something?
I have to go do some actual work now. Not that anyone is reading this shit.