May
Posted on 31st May 2005
I have noticed an alarming number of dead baby birds on the sidewalks of my otherwise death-free Brooklyn neighborhood lately- at least five in the past week. Of course you will not read anything about this in the press as the media usually chooses to turn its collective head whenever this sort of thing happens. And naturally there has been a lot of finger pointing (and beak pointing, one can only imagine) around the neighborhood ever since all these baby birds started showing up dead all over the place (though admittedly it has pretty much all been coming from me). Who wants these baby birds dead? And why do they keep leaving their damp, lifeless bodies in the middle of the sidewalk where I almost step on them? Dammit- I’m gonna get to the bottom of this.
In other news, yesterday I spotted Adam Yauch a/k/a MCA from the Beastie Boys walking down my otherwise Beastie-free Brooklyn street. He was wearing shorts and a large yellow backpack and appeared to be with his family. At this point I think he had little or nothing to do with the deaths of all those baby birds. But I’m not ruling it out. Watch your ass, Yauch- I’ve got my eye on you.
Dave Hill
May
Posted on 26th May 2005
Last night on cable, I watched a show about the history of pornography. It was a show full of surprises because up until that point I- just like you perhaps- had been under the impression that pornography was not invented until some time in the mid-1970’s. As it turns out however, pornography has been around for hundreds, perhaps even thousands of years. The only problem was that nobody had DVD players back then, so their only options were to enjoy pornography in the form of sculptures, paintings, and cave drawings instead of the more convenient movie format we have come to enjoy so much in modern times. The good thing about the pornographic sculptures, paintings, and cave drawings however is that it allowed people to make the penis pretty much as big as they felt like instead of being limited to the just ten or twelve inches at best that we tend to see in most of today’s popular adult films. There was even one sculpture where the guy’s penis was so big, it looked like some sort of kickstand or something. Take it away and he would have fallen over. And if- God forbid- he were to break off his penis and stand it up next to himself, it probably would have come up to his eyebrows at least. Anyway you slice it, that’s one hell of a dong. However, I imagine walking around with a penis that big would not only be difficult, but there would also be a fair amount of namecalling involved. “Rod” comes to mind.
Another surprising thing about the show about the history of pornography that I watched on cable last night was that most of the porn experts being interviewed on the show were from England and generally didn’t seem like the kind of people who would be into pornography of any era, much less ancient pornography featuring some of the largest johnsons I have ever seen. Most of these experts sounded like scholars who might be more at home talking about Shakespeare or the finer points of gothic architecture instead of cave drawings depicting full-on butt sex. One guy even had a full beard. As any reasonable person will tell you, the mustache is pretty much the only way to go when it comes to porn, no matter what the era. And it doesn’t matter whether you’re actually making porn or if you’re just talking about porn- generally speaking, you should lose the beard, unless of course you’re talking about gay porn of the bear variety, in which case not only is the beard encouraged, it is pretty much mandatory. If you are confused at this point, please do not blame me- the rules of porn were invented long ago. And while I myself am often confused by their many layers and complexities, I’m just telling you the facts as I know them.
As long as we’re on the topic of porn, I should probably point out that I personally have never purchased pornography of any sort. I have rented it a bunch of times however, and I have to say that it does have its moments. And while I like to pretend that I only enjoy it on a strictly ironic level, beneath it all I am genuinely excited to see two (or three or four) people totally naked and going at it on camera. What can I say? God made me this way. And it’s exactly this sort of caveman-like urge that led to most of us being born in the first place. That and the occasional need for a tax write-off.
Ultimately however, I have to admit that watching porn is not unlike eating a McDonald’s value meal- it seems like a really good idea at the time, but when it’s all over you feel pretty unsatisfied and sometimes even disgusting. Still, there is something about it that keeps you coming back. Especially late at night, when you are really, really drunk. What the hell is wrong with you anyway?
Dave Hill
May
Posted on 24th May 2005
Here is something I did for fun and then a friend built this website for it. Apparently it’s catching on with the young people. It will also most likely lead to my death in the very near future. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it: The Black Metal Dialogues.
Dave Hill
May
Posted on 17th May 2005
Last night, after a long day of this and that (mostly this), I stepped out into the night to do a little grocery shopping at my neighborhood Met Food store, which stays open late for people like me whose on-the-go lifestyles prevent them from shopping at the same time as completely normal and average people. At my neighborhood Met Food store, I bought carrots, celery, apples, blueberry yogurt, jalapeno peppers, serrano chile peppers, some other kind of peppers, Monterey Jack cheese (I’m not sure if Monterey Jack has to be capitalized, but- for now- I’m going with it. You never can be too careful.), crushed red pepper, Newman-O’s, tortillas, and something called “aloe vera drink.” It’s not too hard to spot the adventure picks on this list, though I suppose the fact that I’ve included them at the end helps a little as far as that sort of thing goes.
As my late-night grocery list might suggest, I try to eat healthy (within reason) whenever possible, at least around the house anyway. But I do love candy and cookies as much as the next perennial eight year-old, thus the Newman-O’s. I’ve had Newman-O’s a couple times before and it cannot be debated- they are not nearly as good as the more popular Oreo cookie, made for as long as I can remember by the Nab
isco people. I doubt even the popular actor Paul Newman himself- maker of these half-assed Oreo knockoffs- would debate this. But I figured by buying a cookie that is merely good instead of great, it might keep me from eating the whole bag in one sitting. I can eat about four Newman-O’s before I am reminded of how much better Oreos are, start getting depressed, and set the bag down. Plus, on the Newman-O’s packaging, Paul Newman and his wife are dressed up as farmers- not unlike that guy and the lady in the popular “American Gothic” painting. As anyone with a taste for denim will tell you, overalls = fun. It’s that kind of spirit I like to take with me when eating a light and sugary snack.
The second adventure pick on my list is the tortillas. My cousin Kieran mentioned something to me the other day about melting cheese between tortillas and I felt like I just had to try it. However, I usually hate buying anything remotely Mexican at the grocery store other than chips and salsa. This is not because I hate Mexicans. Sure, I get tired of all the crazy dancing every once in a while, but for the most part I have a very real fondness for the people of Mexico. I just don’t like buying Mexican food at the grocery store because I fear it might give other people at the grocery store the impression that I’m planning to throw a fiesta in my apartment or- at the very least- something that is just plain “Mexcellent.” Don’t get me wrong- I like good times as much as the next guy and I’ve even been known to mutter the phrase “I could really go for a margarita” at least a couple times in my life, but for some reason I don’t want to be known as the kind of guy that makes his own guacamole (or even worse, refers to the popular green dip as “guac”) or encourages people to “make a run for the border” at any point in the evening. It’s just not me. To that end, I even found it difficult to finally break down and ask the cashier at the grocery store where they kept the tortillas after I searched in vain for them for what felt like hours. I’m sure everyone at the grocery store last night thinks I’m sort of party guy now, but I have to admit my cousin Kieran was really onto something with that melted cheese and tortillas thing.
The third and final adventure pick on my list is the aloe vera drink, which- as it turns out- tastes almost nothing like the popular face cream of the same name. The aloe vera drink is a murky light yellow in color and has what I’m guessing are shards of actual aloe vera plant floating around in it. The beverage is sweet and vaguely pear-like in flavor and comes in a large green bottle of seemingly Asian design. I say “seemingly Asian design” not so much because I know much about such things however. It’s just because there was Asian writing on the bottle (I am like a detective when it comes to these matters). I am taking sips from the aloe vera drink as I type this and I am happy to report that it’s actually pretty good. I had originally assumed it would be rather nasty, what with it being made out of the same ingredient that goes into face cream and all, but it’s actually rather light, refreshing, and- perhaps most importantly- not “Mexcellent” in the least. With any luck, my skin should start getting a little softer a few gallons from now too.
Dave Hill
May
Posted on 5th May 2005
It’s not easy for me to admit this, but last night I dreamt that Jennifer Aniston and I were totally in love. I swear that I almost never think about the former star of the popular but recently cancelled TV series “Friends” in my waking hours. And I generally like to think of myself as someone who has slightly better things do in my sleep than dream about celebrities, but still there is no denying it- sometime after 1 a.m. last night, as I soaked my pillow with drool and my boxers lay in a twisted mess around my ankles, Jennifer Aniston and I were completely obsessed with each other.
As is often the case with dreams, I can’t remember all the details of mine and Jennifer Aniston’s whirlwind romance too clearly, but I do remember that it was really, really awesome. We had somehow met on the set of some new TV show she was working on. She, of course, was the star. I’m not exactly sure what my job on the show was though- a camera man, a best boy, or maybe even the guy who makes sure there are fresh bagels for everyone on the set, no matter what time of day it is. Either way, it didn’t matter- Jen loved me for me and couldn’t be bothered with such details as whether or not I had money or even any visible means of employment for that matter. Ours was a love based on a very real and explosive chemistry and also the fact that in my dream state, Jennifer Aniston almost never wore a bra.
Given her recent separation from the popular movie star Brad Pitt and all, everyone on the set of Jennifer Aniston’s new TV show was extra careful to stay out of her way as much as possible. Not me though. From what I can remember, Jen and I were pretty much inseparable from the first second we met. During breaks from taping her new show, we’d sneak off and lie in the grass under a nearby tree, where we’d stare longingly into each others eyes, give each other baby kisses, and tickle each other for hours at a time. She’d whisper something into my ear and I’d giggle uncontrollably and then I’d whisper something into her ear and she’d giggle uncontrollably right back. That’s just how it was with me and Jen. It was like a scene from the best after-school special ever. Only with a lot more tongue. And better outfits. Occasionally, we’d let people join us under the tree, but soon enough they’d tire of how obsessed we were with each other and get back to eating all those delicious bagels that I very well might have been responsible for.
It is at this point that you’re probably wondering whether or not my serious girlfriend Jennifer Aniston and I ever got around to doing it. Believe me, I would like to know the answer to that question just as much you would, maybe even more, but unfortunately I just don’t know. Just as my relationship with Jennifer Aniston was getting to the point where even I wasn’t sure if I could handle it anymore, I was woken up by people talking loudly in the podiatrist’s office located on the ground floor directly beneath my apartment. I tried really hard to fall back asleep and see what happens next between me and Jen but the people in the podiatrist’s office downstairs just wouldn’t shut up. It was seriously pissing me off but since it was already past noon and all, I felt like I didn’t have much of a right to complain. After all, these people had lives to save. I decided to get out of bed and eat some lunch while checking my e-mail. “Cum guzzling sluts just can’t get enough,” the subject line of the first one in the inbox read.
Don’t let that be us, Jen. Don’t let that be us.
Dave Hill
