The daily loopage...

I have been wanting to do this for a while as well: documenting my commute.

I leave my room and my apartment, and enter the elevator, then head on out to the street

Then i take a left on 98th, right onto broadway, and down into the seventh avenue line

If i stand right here, the door opens right in front of me, and i get out right at my staircase at the other end at the crammed Times Square Station.

Down into the N, R, Q, W (where the N express likes to stop on the local side and fuck with people) and right to the spot which drops me off right at the station exit at 28th street (notice the train door closing in on me as i tried to capture the train and the exit with little time to get out)

Up out of the station and eastways on 28th

I always like to take a look at myself at the Broadway national bank mirror. Then i turn left on 5th.

Thus i arrive at 260, and my excitement starts to bubble over becaue i am finally at work

Up the elevator and into the lobby

Really, quite a majestic space

Through the side door, into my editor's office, where i must turn on my Avid so we can cut cut all day long

And of course, at night, i throw down flip it and reverse it back to the upper west. Wake up, and repeat. wake up and repeat...

Why bother with logic…

Sometimes I like to ask random questions, because certain conversaions need a lot of stimulation to keep the thread going. Mingling at a party with people you hardly know leads to strained and overtaxed subjects (which is why what’s your major and what do you do always come up (I switched it up and asked people to tell me two majors they could have been but were not and to give me three chances to guess, and then vice versa for them. You should try it, it’s a load more fun than just saying, Philosophy, that’s great)).

Really easy ones in a party situation relate to sex. How many people will have sex because of this party? Usually under 10%. What about hook up (a much looser def.)? id say at most 20%.

But shit can always get crazy. Who has had the most sex ever, a man or a woman? I think a woman. And how much sex was it? Like a couple times everyday for years. Probably a prostitute. How many people are having sex right now, in new york city, usa, or the world? 438, 2,000, 350,000.

And then you can just go for current events with a bizarre tie in. Most recently I used if you could right in any televisions character ever for president who would it be? Oprah won with 4 votes. Homer and Lisa simpson both had 2. Maguyver got one. Bill Cosby. Abe Vegodah. Both characters from scrubs. Agent Cooper. It was a great run. And I am forgetting many good calls.

I just want to engage, to get both people talking. I can always think of one more thing to ask. And its fun to muse about curious subjects that really have no answer (which means any answer is as good as the next), getting people to warm out of their shell.

Because anytime you are not hanging out with just yourself, it’s a performance. So it can be hard, to try to seem charming and amusing all the time, on cue. Just ask questions, I say.

But more on the stage that is social interaction. The self you are in front of your parents differs greatly from the self in front of your friends. They way you speak, your entire mien (another favorite word) changes in a group of people who are all of your sex compared to a mixed scene. And I feel that holds true with any generalizing division: race, religion, sexual orientation, class, work rank. We are a self cultivated to fit in many facets, easily permeating into each other, a chameleon trick, protean, dare I say, infinite?

Who are you really? The person you are in front of your boss, your significant other, your best friend, your family? All of the above, really, but I wonder how telling the slight differences between all those ‘roles’ are. What won’t you say to your friends, but will easily share with your sister?

And how does each performance reflect the stamp that living in society has placed upon you. When I act like a ‘man’ is it specifically male, or what this society has engrained me to thick as traits a ‘man’ should have. How much of me is me because I speak English (or Spanish too in my case).

Life can seem so simple one minute. Hungry? Eat. Horny? Fuck. Tired? Sleep. Money? Work.

And yet it can seem never endingly complicated as well, every little nuance an encyclopedia of its own.

And i forgot to mention...

It has been Wu Tan all day all the time on my ipod since sunday. Ol' Dirty, we love you. The world shall never be the same. Baby, i got your money.

Subject matters…

I have been meaning to do this for a while. I had a four year kick where I loved to write lewd subject lines. So now I have compiled most of them (theres about two years on an ibm computer that im still trying to get to) here in chronological order, whith actual typos attached. I go through themes, and if I repeat similar ones back to back, know that they went to different people. And yes, these are all real subjects that someone recieved. Enjoy!

pornographic buffaloes in heat. Re: n. y. dick. vagina licking good. whore-ow-itz. hey dick sucker. Pus EE. pencil earaser nipples. 64 ways to kick ass. my cock is lonely. pussy licking good. chicks who dig cunnulingus. sacking the pig. my pubic hair will always be shorter than my hair. sophocles blows goats. naked in the snow. touched byan angel. laugh dicking midgets. swallowing yuppies. Bitchin Areonautics. life and sex offenders. yeah, i be talkin bout yo sistah. bars in mars have ugly chix. big package. reggae love. horny sex fiend addict. zen touching zit. dumbfucking an open giraffe from behind. ha ha, i dont use birthcontrol. dripping wet clams. horny frolicking oriental rugs. sanctimounios hyperbolies. luscious sanctimonious titties. aching open chestnuts. jesuit nuns in heat. clapridden horny nuns. puerto rican virgins in heat. devils with hot vagias. horny jesuit nuns who give bad felatio. sexy ants in swimsuits. mistaken truths inside a vulva. urgent news on concupiscent housing. Necrophilic in repose. vulvas on smack. sex deprivation makes my forearm bigger. mountain sized cutips up my Johnson. Digwads. Fuckers to Victory!. Japanica fills me up so much is sexual. destruction of frosh meat. women waxing wantonly. home and horny. escapade to house of debauchery. all im doing is my hand. horny nuns without dildos. dancing bears with boners. concupicsent nuns without vibrators. whaever you do take care of your balls. pete salsbury's schlong aint long. necrophilia is all right, right?. doggie style. if icant stop, when will i come?. fat milk cows with large udders. coming back, not coming in the back. gizzing giraffes. labia and other pink parts. sloppy wet vaginal stringers. upenn up the ass cavity. noreaster in the bunghole. bungholes in my bunghole. dicks like holes. teletubbies in red hot heat. furry spanish beaver. if god has a vagina, how wet is it?. insertable openings. inopportune moments of vulgar touching. product hungry vagina fillers. could i be up an erogenous zone?. virginal organs in a dark room together. ramsey in the city (not sex). sensually charged knobs spurting wisdom. the loss of sexual body parts. un fair back hitting. hitting the back door surprise. sexy hidden dangers in a condensed personal historic epoch epic. three extra breasts in a fountain. you left your dick in chicago?. are you or are you not horny for virgin nuns?. and a very sexy kwanzaa to you. sex sweedish style ww/ a side of thai. Nuns with bloody vaginal leakage. nuns w/ estatic sensual smiles not thinking anything sexual at all. Spurting titles. why did the sexy subject cross the road?. scared of ASSinine subjects?. is god's vagina omnipotently wet?. paraqueets playing w/ their pink parts. indian choke hold on your titties. How horny was moses really. Cock-a-do-did-you. salacious salamanders ovulating. succulent ass cheeks. tasty, like pink parts. Holistic sexual tendencies. hollow hollows. Open. Poker? I hardly know her. insertion for the masses. girl with pearl necklace (yeah that kind). prick the ring hole. suc-u-lent. in like flynn having sex. untouchable bulging blue blocks. Use me for my hardware. you are coming. tally whacker. monday w/ happy ending. penetration times. Will you starsky my hutch?. Salacious twins on a bicycle. lewd acts of kindness. (hitting) back(s) from the best cyde. {insert sexual subject here}. euretha: commin out of narrow places. a-part-ment-tofuck. come on hussies. he comes too soon but never finishes. Your testies.

There. I feel better.

Poker, Gourmands, and Paintings, oh my…

Well, in a hard fought battle, Althea, on her actual birthday, pulled it out against Matty to take it all.

She said after winning, that her insides hurt. Yeah, like 160 dollars in your pocket, and the adrenaline pumping you queasy.

Dejected for being the first out in just one hour, John and I started a side cash game with a 5 dollar buy in, we kicked everyone out for a pot of 40 bucks. I could have walked out with 20 there, but I got greedy and kept playing. I took the lead and felt good about my decision, until my top pair fell to john’s two pair in an all in. Basically over, and I walk away in the red, while John survives in the black.

But its all good because we went back to his place where his girl Mary

Had a delicious fucking meal waiting for us. Look!

Butter breaded chicken, caramelized onions (one of my very favorite dishes), baked sliced potatoes, and cornbread, even cornbread. My compliments to the chef.

After simpsons (good but weird: “Blood for cream”) and an excellently tied together Arrested Develpoment, we critiqued some of his art, even my birthday present portrait.

Cool.

More scorpios than you can throw a stick at…

It was Althea’s birthday. I took a picture with said birthday girl to commemorate, and she complained that she had so many like that, me and her at arms length. I just checked the archive, and this is what I came up with:

Not so many, I know, but a few analog pictures are also missing. One of them we took in the classroom of our econ class. I took one regular, but I knew that it might need a flash, so I waited until the Prof.’s back was turned and snapped it, and everyone turned around and looked at us except the P so we got away with it. Point, is, just a handful of picts, really. (except al just emailed me saying that more pictures exist in her camera, and in her analog file, so maybe it is too many).

Her party went down Nancy Whiskey style, in tribeca, and the bar tender was a drunk ass who liked to offend you in heavy Scottish as he splashed your drink together. But the peeps came out in good numbers

Even some kids from way back Clark 1 style, like Zaki here, now a Wesleyan sellout working for Lehman Bros (before hos).

At one point I went to France

And there was yet another birthday party happening at the table near by, continuing this sex nine months ago theorem previously presented here at S. T. F. U., D.

Look, its my shoes:

Stressing the title…

Well, its been a bit crazy. Veteran’s day happened, and you know what that means:

Old school police cars parked outside your office. There was also this big flatbed truck with three tri-podded guns which I did not picture because I am a wuss and thought the soldiers operating said guns would not appreciate. In hindsight, that’s why they were there, to be seen and commemorated. They probably would have modeled.

And then, the reasons I love nueva york:

I mean really. What other place offers you the entertainment on its mass transit system that this city purveys? Four women all in red with red umbrellas moving in a slow motion dance, it just doesn’t get better.

Until you move a few feet ahead and check out the dyonetics people with their crazy stress machines and L. Ron Hubbard books trying to get you to convert like Travolta or the chick from Cheers.

Anyways, Friday john came into the office to play some pool and ping-pong again before we headed out on the town. Look, here is the table:

You know you are living large when you can take a break from working and kick everybody’s ass at ping pong. (I am still winning at work. Only john has been able to get about equal games off me).

Then we headed to charlotte’s place, the C spot. Oh, check out here site, C Spot, her clothes rock some hard core shit, like this T-skirt which gives you oral pleasure for hours.

Which reminds me, Johnny has a site too, showing off his artwork, and you should check check it as well, Johnny's Art. And, my biggest reader, Cielo, also has a blog and I have not even linked to it, so read that shit up too. But be warned, she crazy. Crazy like a fox. She might even name a shoe after you. Cielo's Blog.

Upon arriving C spot side, John modeled this very aptly worn shirt:

And I put forth my theory of co-opting art: If I take a picture of someone next to a piece of art, can I then call that picture art? Even if I am basically just mimicking the previous piece? Yes. I can. Which leads to

THE DUSTIN ORIGINAL DISCUSSION OF ART
You see, being an artist is all about originality. Trying to make something new or distinctive or your own. And yet, in certain spheres of art (mostly movies and music, but all of them really) you cannot do completely new, you are always standing on the shoulders of giants that came before you. You can tweak it to become yours, but its all been done. So art fits in this paradox dichotomy, being both about originality and theft. I thought that was cool.

Here is Diana’s awesome photo/poetry coopted by yours truly to make his own art by adding in Brook.

John then kept modeling, showing off his pimping side with severe and brando-esque leers off camera.

Avatar was also there

And he convinced us to go to back to his place, the current locale of the Brooklyn Media Lab to record some promos for his web radio project. CEO Radio, baby. Chronic, electronic, online. Basically, he’s taking all the music he (and his friends) has made and is trying to make a 24 hour radio show that will keep repeating web-style. Cool, huh? I thought so. So he needed fake commercials and song introductions and just whatever. I started riffing away doing several different crazy intros, my actor side coming out, and I fucking loved it. John was on for a bit, but he clammed up, not having much to say. I could have kept going for a while, but the vibe went down a bit. I love shit like that, though, tapping into that part of my creativity where I just have to talk and be entertaining.

Fianly, I crashed at the C Spot, and we had bagels for breakfast.

Yummy, right?

Digitelle (this is one of two of her blogs, and i am not sure which to link to) came by, another of those social spherical encounters where two great shinning stars finally collide after hearing about each other.

Now the night begins again as I go off to Al-thug-leas birth day remembrance.

Worry not, this too shall blog.

A day without a shooter...

It was wedenesday, and i did not feel like taking my camera with me. And then an impromtu poker sess happened and i could not photograph at my leisure. But maybe that was a harbringer of things to come, for i lost huge. My pocket kings got broken twice. And i just kept buying back, because i love to play. [Picture a picture of a smiling Derek, with eighty dollars in hand, and John, with another Eighty, and Dave with 25 here]

And yet, my ping pong days have been unstoppable at work. Somehow, i have come into the center of my chi, reaching the calmness to sense things at accelerated rates and be able to make a very light sphereical projectile land exactly where i need it to land without really thinking about it. Concentration, letting your hyperactive reasoning mind disconecct a bit to let the spine driven reflex zone come out, this is all you need. maybe some touch and read on the ball too, understanding spin and rotation. It's absurd how beautiful such a wussy sport like ping pong can be.

Think about direction, wonder why you hadn't before.

Blood and touching…

In the coming home commute, eating tacos from the cart on 96th, Super Tacos Sobre Ruedas, I noticed a bumper sticker on the semi parked in front of the Gristedes.

We hold the trucker pledge, keeping things moving 24 – 7 – 365.

And its true, truckers keep this fucking society moving. How does fish get inland? Truckers. How does every stocked good at a supermarket get stocked? Truckers. How does weed get over the boarder? Truckers.

That’s what im saying, yo. Keep on trucking.

Even when the world hits you up a nice sucker punch to the balls, or slips it in balls deep with no lube, you just gotta keep rollin’ like the G you know you are.

This is advice I must remember.

Which obviously brings me to touching. This oft forgotten (until its NOT forgotten) sense drives me crazy. It has this wacked out power over me that I have to keep batting with a stick. Yes, I beat down my stick with a stick.

(And here, because I have had this conversation with other people, some might say there’s good touching and bad touching. And yes that’s very true, so let’s say for sake of argument that we are only going to focus on good touching here).

Why does hugging someone, having physical contact please me? Why am I a slave to this weird living breathing sweating thing that encompasses me.

Because I am incredibly touchy feely. I love touching skin. I am man enough to say it. That’s why cuddling’s so hot. That connection that you can’t quite verbilize, that eerie in between ‘thing’ that makes massages sexual and yet not. (god its all been done. How can I write a line like that and not mention pulp fiction with its wonderful deconstruction of foot massages and why you just can’t go there with marselis wallace’s wife).

Sometimes (mostly these recent days) I have gone through touching withdrawl. With no girlfriend, and witth no easy social scene that surrounds me with girls that are my friends I find that I can go through large stretches of time without touching anyone. Then I find myself pinching people at work, having the urge to put my hand on someone’s shoulder, just to get that physical sense something to run on.

Touching is just weird.

Fuck people who steal your mom, go blogging…

I had an entry all planned out and then I got the email from the post below. My plan was to postpone the entry, but fuck that, if I do that, the sequesterers win. So here it is…

Poker heartbreak and why i cant blog about certain aspects of life…

So last email I read, Aaron expresses anger at a low turn out. I email him I am in, and, with a newly set paradigm of him calling when things are on because he’s so agro like that and he must verify, I planned to use him as my alarm clock. I went to bed at 4 in the morning two days in a row, so I needed as much sleep as I could. And then rutkoff never calls and I wake up at four thirty, and poker was on at 4:00.

I call john to tell him its on and that we are late. We set up a plan to meet at the C train on Central park West. (sometimes I wish John would new york himself up a bit more and realize Brooklyn is not the far coast of china and get himself some train knowledge so we could just meet at places) I only say this because we were even later because I missed two trains I could have gotten waiting for him. Whatevs, company is usually better than being all alone. I think its his fault, and he vice a versas it.

Good news is we got there. I did well early on and made it to the final three only to be taken out by the steamrollin’ Holly Ecker, using an I-don’t-know-how-to-play-routine jazzed up with amazing cards. She couldn’t hold it, because as you can see, Ethan red soxed (ha! it is official, red sox as a verb) it back to win it all…

Althea also returned to new york, but i didn't get to hang with her because i was late and then i took her out on a lucky grab and she left. She had been working to get Kerry reelcted. She helped get us Pensylvania, and yet she still failed us. But its good to get her back.

So that was poker. Now on to a sad day here at Shut The Fuck Up, Donny: I might have to stop blogging about actual hook ups and the such. It just ends up getting me into trouble if I make certain events, like I don’t know, a topless cuddle party, and/or phones sex, public knowledge. This will be the last time you hear of mein exploits and forays into the carnal leisure’s of my leisures. The truth IS out there, and it hurts, like a cat out of his pesky bag or two worthless ones in the bush.

Oh, btw, I have this vision for an entry into the nerve photo contest involving chess. Unfortunately, for it to come alive I also need a naked vagina, and I just plain don’t have one. If any one knows of willingone, I sure would appreciate it.