"I Hate Your Answering Machine"

I'm kind of crushing on comedienne, Jamie Lee. I caught her hosting The Girly Girl Burleskapades at The PIT a while back (which, if you were there, you'd agree was a bit of a forward way to meet someone for the first time) and have been making mixtapes for her ever since. She did a pretty funny video with Sean Patton recently called "Junkie Boyfriend". Between her and Molly Crabapple, I think I have enough would-be romantic foils for the next year.


I fall in love in this city on a fairly frequent basis. On average, I'd say it's anywhere from four to six times in one day. In warm weather, six to eight. As you get older, it seems that your range of attraction either decreases or increases based on several factors. One, how disillusioned are you with life? Most women like a guy with confidence; I don't remember nihilists getting laid all that often. However, if you can confidently sell being a nihilist, you'll be fine. Two, how much of an asshole are you? It appears to me that the assholes hook up all the time. Especially if there's expensive drinks and an Ashlee Simpson clone to be had. Of course, being an asshole, you have to fit quaintly into a diverse cross-section of personalities, which can range from holding a Ph.D to being a fan of Dave Matthews. Third, how much does sex mean to you nowadays? Some of us (by "us," I mean quirky men who live in Brooklyn with an agenda) are at a point where sex really is only a small piece of the puzzle. It's not that we don't enjoy waking up the next morning, making the girl some breakfast, and then writing a confessional blog about the experience; but we've been listening to enough Leonard Cohen to know that we'd rather fuck our lives up over someone we can meet eye-to-eye.

The rest of us are either dead inside, or sadomasochists.

But all testing aside, falling in love in New York really is something best left to fate. Though it is my unfortunate task to inform everyone that When Harry Met Sally is a dirty lie. So, in effect, when I say "fate," I really mean seeming less than creepy during the evening commute on the N train.

Right now, I can't stop listening to Reality Check by The Teenagers. "The Streets of Paris" reminds me of my own days in the City of Lights, being twenty-one and pensive. "Homecoming" is one of the most hilarious, devastating tracks I've ever heard since Eminem. Except, of course, no one's being tongue-in-cheek this time around. For every John Cusack who hated the hot chick who ignored him, The Teenagers wrote this for you.

It's raining in Brooklyn today. I have a show tonight at Hugs Bar (108 North 6th Street) in Williamburg at 7:00 p.m. It's free and there are some awesome happy hour specials. If you love comedy, you should be there. If you want to break my heart, you shouldn't be there. If you really don't care either way, but cheap drinks sounds pretty cool - you should definitely be there.