Weird things

What is this?

Okay, so it's been a while since you've heard from me. I'm not going to get into detail as to why I've been sort of quiet lately, but you guys deserve to know the truth.

I was trapped under a very heavy piece of furniture.

Now, with that said, let's get started, shall we?

I've been carefully following the Diallo Shooting trial, or, as Miss Hillary refers to it, The Diallo MURDER trial, and up until this point, I was certain that the four officers acted hastily and without regard to human life. I mean, I was one of those wacky people who couldn't validate the officers actions, or lack of action, however you want to look at it. It wasn't until I read the news today (Oh boy) that I figured out what REALLY happened that night, February 4, 1999.

Officer Sean Carroll took the stand yesterday. If you don't have a point of reference, he was the fathead blubbering idiot who should get an Academy Award for his performance in the courtroom yesterday. Anyway, sure, he was one of 4 officers from the street crimes unit who decided that it would be a swell idea to shoot a man 41 times who happened to be standing in the doorway of his apartment building. But it wasn't until this morning, when I learned WHY they shot him, that I decided that this whole case should be thrown out of court immediately.

Officer Carroll explained to the jury why he used deadly force on that particular evening. He thought, and I quote, "he believed Diallo might have had a wallet until he examined it".

Yup. A wallet.

See, now it all makes sense. You can't discount that the 4 officers, who slowly drove by Amadou Diallo's building (where he was trying to use his KEY to enter) in their unmarked Ford Taurus not only stopped and stared at Mr. Diallo, but also threw the car in reverse in an effort to stare him down a bit longer. I can see why the cops thought that he was a criminal, using his key to enter his apartment.

ey, they thought he had a wallet.

When the officers approached Mr. Diallo and asked to see his hands, Amadou obviously didn't respond quickly enough, so they began shooting him. 41 times.

Don't want to take any chances and have him pull out his wallet.

What about the fact that Amadou Diallo could've been hearing impared, or how about the fact that he simply didn't understand what was being asked of him? In a case like this, you don't want to take your chances or go through the hassle of having to show your badge a little higher, maybe speak a bit more clearly. Or get caught in the crossfire of one of those apparently VERY dangerous wallets.

But can I ask one simple question? Just one?

What is a wallet?!

I've looked on the internet, I've called a few gun shops, (which was really freaky, but I'll save that story for another time) and even bothered to show the article from where this information was extracted to one of the MTA cops, hoping that I could perhaps get an answer to this question. (sidenote: if you run up to a cop on the subway platform, waving the Daily News and ask repeatedly "what's a wallet?! Hey, what's a wallet?!" they tend to get a LITTLE freaked out.) No one had an answer for me. Do you think that MAYBE, just MAYBE, there's no such thing as a (say it with me now) wallet?

I propose this. Write me. Fax me. Email me. If one person can help support the 4 officers in the Diallo trial by showing me or explaining to me what this weapon is, I'll take you out to dinner at the restaurant of YOUR choice. No kidding. I'm certain that this weapon must exist because how else would you explain 41 bullets shot at an innocent man while he was trying to enter his home? It doesn't make sense. There has to be some reasonable explanation to clear up any confusion that may be surrounding this case, right?

So get to work. Let me know of any/all information you come up with, and like I said, if your facts pan out, dinner is on me. But I have to warn you. I'm really hesitant to meet a stranger in a restaurant or anywhere, for that matter. So just to be on the safe side, I'll have to bring along a little protection.

What a night

Like I said earlier, there is this friend of Chris' staying at our house. So before she got here, Chris was like, žAdam, she's really cute, but please don't hit on her like you did with my jasmin live friend Mia (the girl who stuck her finger up my butt) because I still like her.Ó So I was like, žNo problem.Ó If a girl I liked was staying with me I sure wouldn't want Chris dry humping her. So anyway, I hadn't said 5 words to this girl in the 3 days that she'd been here, and then last night Dan came home from Lisa's and then Mariana showed up and I guess those two had a lot to talk about because they are both actors or whatever. Then Chris got home with a bunch of beers and we started drinking this rum that I had. I drank out of this new clown glass that I got at a New Jersey antique store so I was pretty psyched. Oh, but before all this Dan and I started a heavy metal band in our basement . We have songs called žWildcat PussyÓ and žHeavy Metal GlowÓ. There is another song called žSpread the VaginaÓ but I'm not sure if that one is going to make the cut. Our heavy metal band has very high standards. So, Chris also brought home žMetal of Honor 2Ó so I was playing that while Chris and Mariana drank. Then we all danced around to KTU and and Dan did an Improv Harold with the inflatable Darth Maul chair as his partner. That was pretty funny. Dan was a Buddhist monk shoveling snow and saying, žLife is suffering, Pain is SufferingÓ or something like that and, man, that was the greatest. I can't exactly put my finger on when the evening went wrong. Chris and Mariana got to talking and I went upstairs to sort of let them be alone if the situation called for that, and that's when Dan and I jammed out to funky beats on the computer as the žDan the Man Genius Plan.Ó But we both agreed that our heavy metal band was better. I went to rock out in the basement and I noticed that Chris and Mariana seemed to be in a bit of a fight. While I was rocking out I could sort of hear fighting voices coming from upstairs. Then, after a while, Chris came downstairs and told me that he was in the doghouse because of some stuff he was talking to Mariana about. I don't know exactly if what he was saying to her was the truth or not, I mean, I don't even know that girl, but I doubt that she wanted to hear it, I mean, she doesn't even have a home right now. I had just watched stagecoach so I was feeling pretty much like John Wayne and all gentlemanly, but everyone knows that no one can be like that all the time in real life. Well, I feel kinda bad because now that we just started to have a little fun with the new roommate, she's probably going to leave.

ot many shopping days at all.

Man. What a bummer. Its been three days since I emailed Old-School-Suicidal-Tendencies-girl and she hasn't replied. Before our date she used to always reply the same day that I sent her email. I mean, I thought that I was in great form on the evening of our hang-out date, and that surely Suicidal would want to talk to me again. The thing that is the most troublesome is not so much that she is rejecting me, I mean, BFD (her loss), but rather that I thought the hang-out date went so well. I never felt awkward or said anything freaky...at least I thought I didn't. So am I just warped or something? What hope in dating is there if I thought the date was great but in reality it was a suck fest? Oh well, hopefully there will be some pu-tang at this party on Friday night.

Yesterday Chris' friend, Mariana, moved in to stay with us for a few days while she looked for a new apartment. I met her twice before and both times I got the impression that she was a major douche bag, but last night she seemed pretty nice. She brought this catalog of baked goods with her from her parents store and said that we could pick something out from it because we were helping her out till she moves into her new place. I dreamed last night that this guy I know named Mark, who used to play in this band called žSound AdviceÓ was working at a tattoo parlor in a national park. He said that he would give me a really good deal if I got something, but I just couldn't decide on something that I would want permanently on my body. I sort of thought that a cute cartoon bat-girl would be cool, but I didn't like any of the styles of drawings that were in the tattoo catalogs. Kind of a bummer since it was only a dream it would have been cool to get a tattoo. Then I ended up working in this art school and had telekinetic powers like Tatsuro from the movie Akira (which I saw last night) and had to constantly battle kinetically with the other student teacher in the art class. While I was trying to leave the art building (after the fight), I lost my bike and book bag because I went through the wrong door and woke up in a panic because of the lost book bag, but my bag was where it usually is on my bedroom floor.

I just got back from moving my car to the other side of the street. It seems like parking spots are starting to get harder and harder to find, but then maybe that is because I'm always moving my car an hour before the street cleaners come through...I need a new schedule. Last night I saw žHands on a HardbodyÓ again. That is such a cool movie. I wonder how many days I would last with my hand on a new Nissan Hardbody truck. I'd have to want it really bad. Maybe I'd last longer with my hand on a Les Paul Standard than a pick-up truck actually. Joe and I ran through Jean Leavitt's house naked last night. I forget exactly why. All I remember is not liking the conversation that was happening in the kitchen, so I thought that some nudity would lighten things up a bit. And it did. There's also a žnaked in publicÓ Christmas movie that I want to make, so I guess I wanted to practice a little for that, too. What's the big deal about naked anyway? Well, actually I don't want to be naked all the time...but its just so funny when someone is naked. naked naked naked.

December 10th...oh man, life sure seems dumb right now. and I don't even care enough to spell check.

Oh wow...what a night. Anyway. The first thing I did was see the Feature Feature show which was actually pretty good. I mean, I don't know, but the last few shows I saw at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater were not so hot, so like, my expectations going in were not so much as high as I wish I was right now. Anyway, these folks really put on a hell of a show. I mean, they just really knew what they had to do to make it happen. No one really felt like an important member or anything. Everyone in Feature Feature seemed like a somebody that was part of a really good little league team. Fuck. Afterward, Enoch returned to the theater and his car had been stolen. So at this point I had a major date with the cutie That i met at the Suicidal Tendencies show. So when we met, her friend was like, žExcuse me, could you please tell me who this band is that is playing?Ó And I was like, žLady, every kid in this show is wearing an insane Clown Posse shirt and the band that is currently playing has clown make-up on and have clowns on the stage with them.Ó Well, the Suicidal Tendencies girl wanted to allow me to hang out with her friends in a bar on fourteenth Street this Saturday night. Well, after the big Improv show, Enoch's car appeared to have gotten jacked. So Dirty (my wing man) and I went to the Impound lot and got Enoch's car out of dodge. Then Mark drove Dirty and me down to 14th and žBÓ and we met up with out friend from college named žLaura KangÓ and I thought that it wasn't Laura because I was taught that all Asian girls don't look alike...or really, white-E doesn't look alike either. Anyway, Kang happened to know the girl from the Suicidal show (who was friends with the lady who asked who the Insane Clown Posse was) so I seemed more like a regular person rather than a guy who was hanging out by himself at the Suicidal Tendencies concert (which was awesome). Ok....Raybuck has been drinking...after me and Suicidal girl had met, the cops busted into the bar for an east village raid. So that was a major buzz kill. Ok. I am totally out of it. I was naked earlier tonight with Joe running around Jean's apartment. I really don't care whet makes continuital sense anymore. Fuck you, please. So, back to the night in question...I hadn't been to the bar where I was supposed to meet Suicidal Allison for a few long automotive impound hours...so I was a little antsy. But the major deal is that Enoch is a good friend of mine so I followed him to the Impound Lot (where his car got towed to (thank god it didn't get stolen)). So after the very exciting Impound Lot where me and Dirty got to follow a yellow line, Enoch drove us to the bar where Suicidal Girl was hanging out. And she was totally hanging out and was more than nice and she also laughed a lot (which goes a long way in my book). But the bottom line was that when push came to shove I was on the dance floor with Dirty-D and we were ripping things up with a college friend of ours (who happened to know Suicidal Allison) and Allison, too, seemed to be able to hang with my crazy style of party city. Oh man, I just realized that I am drunk. The night turned out great. Suicidal lady was a lot of laughs and smiles. Then the next thing I knew, cops were all over the bar. Apparently there was a raid. Wow. I had never been in a police raid before. Well, Suicidal and her lady friends wanted to leave because of the buzz kill. Well, I was like, žOk, well meet you at the next bar.Ó Then Laura got me and Dirty very high on Avenue A and wow. We met the ladies at some bar, but who knows how things went really, I mean, they seemed ok, but in reality, I can't really say. Dirty-D got sicked on those ladies. It was funny. Oh god, is there much more to this evening? Suicidal had some friends who Dirty thought were duds. I sort of thought that they might have just been freaked out by us, but who knows. Oh man. So Dirty, if I'm correct, freaked out the ladies and then me and Dirty and Laura went to drink across the street. Blah blah blah. Nothing really cool happened. So I'm at Laura's house and me and Dirty-D do some improv stand-up comedy. I know we weren't as funny as Feature Feature, but fuck, man, I really cracked up at the moment. I just proof read this journal entry and it really makes no sense. I don't even care because it is the emotion that counts. Also, Jeanie taught me not to be such a wuss about who I am anymore.

Lower East Side Bar

Last night Dirty-D and I went out to meet a friend of Dan's at this bar in the Lower East Side. Its funny, Lower East SideÓ sounds like a tough guy punk place, but its full of cell phones and palm pilots. There was so much indi-glow at the bar, I felt blotchy like "Joe versus the Volcano" under the fluorescent lights. Anyway, Dirty-D's friends are nice and all, but they are real LOW TALKERS and I can't ever understand a goddamn word anyone is saying, and being in a noisy cell phone bar doesn't help any. So basically I felt all out of the loop and all so I started drinking to take the edge off the situation. Then this little Peppercorn of a cheerleader shows up and is all like žHi, you're hot,Ó to me and I'm like ž...Ó I had no response to that (another Joe vs. the Volcano reference). No witty comeback. I was caught off guard because I wasn't feeling much like I was hot. I was feeling more like a free sex cams third eye. So then Peppercorn is like, žOh, there's this party where they have enough booze for 900 people and its all free and the hostess said I could bring anyone, so let's go!Ó Dirty-D and I wanted to hit the hot spot, so we split and picked up Chris O'Donnell (COD) and Headed for the party. COD is an old friend of ours from college and although he is like 4 years younger than us, he seems like he's at least two years older than me, but not in a mature way, more like in the guy who's got dirty magazines on the school bus way. Right then, Dirty-D realized that he didn't have the address to the 900 people booze party. He had lost it somewhere in the East Village. Peppercorn wasn't answering her cell phone so we went to the street where we thought the party was and buzzed a few #2s but we could find no party. So we hit a few more noisy bars (this time with fewer cell phones and palm pilots) and bought each other rounds and Dirty-D became the freak magnet. All of the really drunk guys were coming up to him. this one guy who was trying to start fights with everyone goes to Dirty-D, žHey, man, are you an outlaw?Ó I guess he was a biker or something. Dirty-D goes, žNo, I'm a punk rockerÓ and in my mind, Dirty-D air guitared a power chord, but I'm not so sure if that actually happened. In the end, we got some Gray's Papaya hot dogs and nobody puked. I hoe we see COD again soon. He's fun.

Wow. I just woke up and realized that the morning is the absolute best time to write in the Journal, so that's what I'm going to try to do from here on out. I mean its the best because its the only time I actually feel like doing it. I guess there are other reasons that I haven't written in here, too, though. Things got kind of hairy with Pauline and now we aren't even on speaking terms. There's no way to make it sound nice. There was a party, things got out of hand, I told her I wouldn't drive her and Nina to the vet that week. Click. In happier news, Dan, Jeanie and I had one of those talks about life that I hadn't had in a long time. It was one of those žHow do we fit into this crazy world?Ó kind of talks that I hadn't really had since college. At one point, Jeanie was like, žOK, I want you guys to tell me what you don't like about me.Ó I thought that things had a potential to get REAL ugly at that point, but they didn't. Each one of us asked that question to each other and the final result was that Dan is spacey, I'm insecure, and Jeanie is umm...fuck, what was Jeanie? Oh right...Ha ha ha, she has poor execution of her constructive criticism. I guess she's lacking tact. It was a fun night. All aboard the gossip train. Jeanie set me up on a blind date on Monday. The deal was Jeanie, the date and I were to meet for drinks and then go and see Chris do a Harold Improvisation act at the UCB theater. Leavitt showed up at Kettle of fish and all I could think was that I must be the only guy in the world who brings two chicks out on a date with him. Clair seemed nice. She's a talker which is good. She doesn't drink Bud, which is...eh. But she has an interesting life story which is cool. Clair has this list of things she wants to do before she dies and basically does them. That's pretty cool, I think. The Improv show was semi-good. Chris was really funny, but the rest of the class...not so much. Maybe the show was just a little too long (hour and a half and we sat in the front row). I didn't have a watch on, so I didn't really know how much time was passing. I'm starting to get used to not wearing a watch, but then things like this happen: After the Improv post party, Clair and I went out for more drinks (like I needed more to drink). We hung out at this pretty cool bar on 14th street that reminded me on Rolon's in Jersey City except that it was bigger and cleaner. Well, we talked one on one for a while which was pretty cool, too. We had those first time meeting people conversations where you talk about what you want out of life and the other person usually responds with, žWow, that's really cool, man.Ó But seriously, it was pretty fun. Then she walked me to the path and gave me 2 kisses good-bye, both on the mouth...closed. Or maybe I kissed her (I did have a few). Well, the path train entrance was actually closed on 14th street, so I headed up to 18th to see if Chris was still at the Post-Improv party because maybe I could jump in his cab, but he was gone. So I walked up to 23rd and caught a Journal Square Train. Right after the stop that is right before mine, I fell asleep. I remember seeing žPavonia/NewportÓ and thinking žAlmost home!Ó Then I woke up in Journal Square. But in ten minutes I was at Grove Street and walking home. When I got to bed it was past 4 in the morning and I thought, žDamn, that girl has to go to work tomorrow?

Answers from Blonde Ambition Bill

I appologize. I believed that pizza delivery boys were for everyone, but I will concede since you seem so vehemently knowledgable on the subject.

Also, I guess it's OK since we have most of the models, tennis players, and Ricky Martin.

I'm looking for love and decided to give the internet personals approach a try. It's all fine and good and I've actually gotten responces from interesting people. There's one guy in particular that I would like to meet. What is the best way to go about this? Is a phone call better first? Where do we meet? Is there an etiquette to follow for this?

Get in line

Internet personals have gotten pretty popular lately, and have become an easy forum to meet live jasmin people. I wanted to start off with that sentence so that you don't feel like a freak. Now I will attempt to answer you question:

Depending on your situation, the way you go about meeting a stranger will always vary. A phone call is always imperative. Sometimes you can tell by a person's voice if they're crazy or not. Also, if after you speak to them and realize that they sound like a Munchkin from The Wizard of OZ, you may not want to meet with them at all. (Or you may, but I know that I wouldn't be able to listen to them without hearing "We represent the lollipop guild" over and over in my head)

You should always meet at a cafe or restaurant that you know and will be comfortable at. DO NOT MEET HIM AT HIS HOUSE OR INVITE HIM OVER TO YOURS. It's always better if you pick the place because then you have the upper hand. As far as etiquette goes, your asking the wrong person, I tend to make up rules as I go along. An important one that I've learned is to think of a surefire excuse to leave if he's heinous or a total freak.

Good luck!

So, where do you live?

t comes up in conversation, inevitably. You meet someone, you start to chat, and then they ask the dreaded question: "So, where do you live?"

I live in Jersey City.

There are a couple basic responses to this.

"Where's Jersey City?" (and variations- "you live where?")

The blank face, the muddled expressions, the scorn. Say it with me. That bad, bad, word. Jersey. That's right, Jersey. People cringe from that word. And I live in Jersey City. On Jersey Avenue. In New Jersey.

"That sounds so far."

So, where exactly is Jersey City?

Well, I'll tell you.

Jersey City lies on a peninsula between the Hudson and Hackensack rivers in northeastern New Jersey, Latitude 40.44 N, Longitude 74.04 W. Seven miles to the west is Newark, New Jersey; across the Hudson River to the east is New York City's Manhattan Island.

Let me translate that for those of you who don't have a globe handy. If I put on my wings and jumped from my office building (that would be at the World Trade Center) I could glide gently across the river and land on my roof. It takes me seven minutes on the train to get into the city, a half-hour to forty-five minutes door to door basically anywhere in the city I need to go. I have friends in the "respectable" addresses of Brooklyn and Queens who commute an hour to get where they need to go. Jersey City is right across the Hudson River. (That would be the one on the west side.)

Yet, while I live closer to the city and pay less rent than my compatriots on the other side of Manhattan, I live with the shame, the disgrace, the stigmata that the name Jersey implies. "I just couldn't live in New Jersey."

Why not? According to the 1990 Census, Jersey City had close to 300,000 souls living in its boundaries, making it New Jersey's second-largest city. In the 2000 census, Jersey City is expected to surpass Newark as the largest city. And it's no wonder- the cost of living in Jersey City is almost half that of New York City's.

And Jersey City has a diverse and colorful history. For those of you who are interested in all of it, you can access it at the official website of Jersey City. Otherwise, I have put together everything you really need to know about Jersey City.

So, in 1609, Henry Hudson (he for whom the river is named) anchored the "Half Moon" in New York Harbor. Then, apparently, nothing happened until 1630, when a man by the name of Michael Pauw bought the land and named it Pavonia. (He must have been gay, cause that's a pretty flowery name, if you ask me.) Some other stuff happened and then, in 1643, the Pavonia settlement was completely destroyed by Indians. But the settlers were made of stronger stuff than that, so they spent twelve years rebuilding and expanding the community. (I guess- I wasn't there or anything.) Then, in 1655, the Pavonia settlement was completely destroyed by Indians. Again. Well, since we're here now, I guess we took care of that problem. But anyway, nothing of any interest (to me at least) happened until 1917, when Frank Hague became Mayor. According to the Official Jersey City Website, "his name is synonymous with that early 20th century urban American blend of political favoritism and social welfare known as bossism." Translation: Until he retired in 1947 (that's thirty years, sportsfans), Jersey City essentially had a Mafia Don as it's mayor. He was succeeded by his nephew, and then by John V. Kenny.

For the next twenty-four years, through a number of puppets, John V. Kenny wielded a political machine of -and I quote- "unprecedented venality and corruption." Organized crime figures, growing ever stronger, became the shadow government in Jersey City. John V. Kenny and his cronies were finally ousted in 1971 by convictions in a federal court.

The only other really good thing that happened was in 1924, when that huge obnoxious Colgate clock was put up at the ferry dock near Exchange Place. Brrrrrr. Tacky.

So what else do you need to know? If you want to get married, go to the City Clerk's Office on Grove Street to get the license.