Because that is how I roll

My Favorite Time of Day is Night

Ah, Lauren. With a voice like that I would have never thought that you consumed freeze dried grounds before bed.

Finally, I have learned how flavor is really in steam, and it can be trapped with the right glassware.

The Ooog

Let it be known, fair people of Brooklyntown, I was down for the count, but I am BACK.

After spending a week supine on my chaise, sweating Ricola, and watching the likes of Cashmere Mafia, I realized it was time to get well again. I mean in the physical sense, the mental part is just too taxing. I spent ten days in and out of feverish fantasies and doomsday visions, scouring my cabinets for pharmaecopia by day, and building pillow ziggurats to prop my head up on in order to avoid choking on whatever ghastly substance was brewing in my lungs by night. It was a fight of will, a fight for life, that one battle against death that I just wasn't ready to lose yet. Not alone anyway. Images of being found by a surly landlord under a pile of used tissues adhering themselves to me like a twisted papier mache kept me going. As did the will to see the first crocus of spring, sniff the first acrid aroma of burning charcoal and the flame inducing toxin it had been doused in...visions of good times to come kept me going. That, and Cashmere Mafia.

Spring Cometh

Springtime is definitely in my top 4 favorite seasons. It means tulips, Easter egg hunts (this year I have enlisted my favorite Jewish friend to do the honors in Prospect Park), and my all time favorite: the spring clean!!! It is around now that I start to eye the furniture suspiciously, wondering if I can manage to move it myself. Suddenly, nothing has value. I would gladly rid of my painstakingly collected matchbooks from shitty pubs from New Jersey, and that sampling of exotic potato chip flavors from the South suddenly has no meaning anymore. Nothing is sacred, all sentimentality has been stripped from objects d'art. Wedding photos (eh, it turned out to be a sham anyway) can be found in the bin next to a like letter (he just wasn't that into me) and a threadbare concert t-shirt from the formative years. Everything must go! New new new. I can't help but wonder if this is a natural instinct to free myself from the shackles of "things", or if I am just making room for the next round of crap that I expect to amass in the coming year.
Either way, it feels good.