Civic Responsibility

Playing on MoreMax (one of the extra Cinemax channels) right now is a 1998 film that is actually entitled Johnny Skidmarks. According to the Time Warner Cable guide, this is not, as intuition might suggest, the tale of a date at a Mexican restaurant, but rather: "A shady photographer (Peter Gallagher) tries to avoid being killed." It would have been irresponsible of me not to have passed this along.

Breaking News

Have you watched television news lately? You've probably been catching up on all the episodes of Rob & Big you missed. Understandable. But I, a patriotic and slothful American, have found myself periodically enthralled by sporadic segments of election coverage. Tonight, for example, as CNN has just declared John McCain the winner of the Republican primary in Florida, there is one element of the broadcast to which my attention repeatedly and inexorably returns. Anderson Cooper's inspiring silver dome? (N.B. Sleepy Pete is currently a premature salt 'n' peppa, trending toward premature gray.) No, but that was a nicely conceived guess. I can't seem to focus on anything other than the set. The futuristic graphics, the simulations, the models -- it's really just getting out of hand. Honestly it looks like they're just using the American Gladiators set, only instead of 'Wolfman' they're using 'Wolf Blitzer.'

It's just kind of insulting. This whole concept that in the 'internet age' no one can pay attention to anything for more than two minutes, while perhaps not so far from the truth, is becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy with no signs of hope for a reversal. That said, I've had to pee for forty five minutes, but the laser-light show/exit poll reporting has kept me glued to the couch.

On a different note, today could go down as one of those historically great days for Sleepy Pete, right ahead of the day I graduated from college, and right behind all the days before I graduated from college. Pending a physical and a contract extension, the New York Mets have traded for Johan Santana. Santana's being traded has been so remarkably understated this off-season; the fact that he has been the best pitcher in this decade, that he has been a Koufax-style unstoppable force in the middle of the steroid era has somehow flown under the radar. And he did it in the American League. If this deal goes through, the Mets are definitely the odds on favorites to win the National League. Plus, in a Sports Illustrated interview a few years ago, Santana said that he prepares for a game by playing as himself against the team he's facing that day...in the newest MLB game on his PSP. Fact is always funnier than fiction.

American Idle

As I laze around for yet another morning, I can't help but think of the movie Idle Hands, and how even though I never saw it, I remember the preview so well that if it comes up I sometimes say that I've seen it.  And sometimes, I even believe it myself.

I love American Idol.  This should not be considered a 'confession' or an 'admission;' rather, merely a confirmation that to be Sleepy is to be of refined tastes.  Sure, the stakes feel a touch higher because the winners now have a proven track record of achieving immediate, remarkable success (or in the case of Mr. Studdard, a remarkably long belt).  At the end of the day, though, whittling down the top 12 one by one is compelling television.  Also, it makes for a great gambling opportunity for the creative or entrepreneurial.  But I can't stand--or really, understand--the terrible performances.  Yes, it's sad that these people have issues, but what really steams my clams is the whole 'evil Simon' routine.  First, he's so annoyed, rolling his eyes at the fact that he has to be subjected to this.  Then Randy and Paula attempt to stifle their own giggling, while everyone waits for that stinging barb from the incorrigible Brit--'You are the worst singer in the American Southwest.'  And then his frustration grows and a mild argument breaks out either between Simon and the faux-contestant, or Simon and the other judges.

Well, guys, at this point we're in Season 7, and it's getting a little difficult to believe that Simon doesn't see it coming.  Come on, FOX (wink).  Grow up a bit.

P.S. Sorry for the horribly unoriginal title of this post.

I Bank on No Man

It's been quite a snooze for Sleepy Pete since we last spoke -- but what can I do about that now? It's like Ben Affleck might say: I'm sort of a douchebag.

Well, over this past business week I've learned so many things.  For one, in the same way that you should never judge a book by its cover, you should never judge a bathroom stall occupant by his shoes.  Even if they're totally distinctive shoes, like the original Air Jordan IIIs in white/fire red? Yes, gentle reader, especially then.  A few days ago, a friend of mine told me the story of a 'friend' of his (he probably either heard the story from someone else or was just making it up -- but what does that say about the story I'm telling right now?!?!) who was working for 'one of those investment banks where everyone wears Gucci loafers.'  An unbelievable comment in its own right, but let's keep our eyes on the prize here.

Anyway, as I'm sure you can see coming based on my eloquent preamble, mad shoe confusion ensues.  Two friends see some Gucci loafers under the stall door, think it's their third friend whose shoes they've been making fun of, start throwing balls of wet paper towels over the door, only to find that it is not actually their friend, but rather the boss man.  A pretty hilarious story to be sure, but a deeper message lies within: investment banking is kind of lame.  There, I said it.

On a completely different note, it seems the Giants are going to the Super Bowl, forming one half of perhaps the only possible game in which I might not be able to root against the Patriots.  If you followed that, mazel tov.

Real Action Hero

Are you like me? Do you ever walk into a bathroom or an elevator and check out the ceiling just to make sure that there's no sneak attack coming?  Have that thought like, if this were an action movie, or if I were some sort of secret agent, I would have seen it coming?  But sometimes you notice maybe 45 seconds or a minute after you walk in, and then you realize, 'they would've gotten me'? Well just now, in the trash room here on my floor, I was ready for anything.

One Incredible Turtle

Well, friends, I don't know if you've noticed it, but Election 2008 is really heating up! For me, though, the world of politics is sort of like the world of horseracing.  At different points throughout the race you might be a little bit ahead; at others, you might fall behind a surging competitor hugging the rail.  You'll fight ceaselessly, relentlessly.  But if you break your leg, they have to shoot you.

Speaking of world affairs, the most recent episode of MTV's Rob & Big contains one of the most shocking and hilarious moments shared between a professional skateboarder, a 350 pound man and a kidnapped turtle I've seen recently.  I can't understand why this show doesn't have a larger following.  Phenomenal.  Then again, maybe it does and I'm just slightly outside the prime MTV age group. If you would be a little too old to be on the Real World, are you not supposed to watch it anymore? 

Today my old friend Ballzman is coming to New York to share in the merriment here.  At the very least, this should spice up my lunch hour.

Dance Class

"I said my lip gloss is cool, my lip gloss be poppin',

I'm standin' at my locker and all the boys keep stoppin'.

What cha know 'bout me? What cha, what cha know 'bout me?

What cha know 'bout me? What cha, what cha know 'bout me?

I said my lip gloss is poppin', my lip gloss is cool,

All the boys keep jockin', they chase me after school."

There is much wisdom in this refrain. In the subtle nuances, the pauses, the poetic devices that comprise 'Lip Gloss' by Li'l Mama we find an utterly essential social message -- you can measure your social and individual worth not only by the quality and visibility of your lip gloss, but also by the amount of high school male attention it brings your way. I can't wait to have a daughter.

But why, after a brief respite from the posting world would I make my reentrance with this jam? Is it because of the nostalgia I feel whenever I hear the beat start, taking me back to a hotel in Bangkok with my summer traveling duo of Freddy and Ballz where I first heard the dulcet tones of Li'l Mama? No, it's because I'm watching 'The Making of the Knicks City Dancers' on the MSG network, and the tryout dance performance is set to this tune. This show is completely unbelievable, with hundreds of girls competing to make the 2007-2008 squad, judged by the experienced, grizzled, veteran members not subject to the tryout. As Amanda from Rutgers just reminded us all: "This is not cheerleading. This is competitive dance." And to top it off, there's a special guest celebrity judge for the final event....Li'l Mama!!!

I think today is going to be a good day.

The Steroid Era

Yesterday one of the true drawbacks of the Sleepy Pete lifestyle was in full effect.  Due to the specific time restrictions of my current profession (i.e. that I have to work around school hours, since I tutor high schoolers), I had to work all day during the Divisional Round of the NFL playoffs.  This is undoubtedly the best week of the playoffs, and probably the entire season, with two games on each weekend day, and all of the best teams in the league in action.  Resolved not to let my work obligations disrupt my enjoyment of the Sunday games, I set my DVR to record each game, as well as the hour after both broadcasts in case of overtime or an otherwise elongated game.  I avoided checking text messages on my cell phone, just to make sure that some kind soul, unknowingly and with the best of intentions, wouldn't ruin the outcomes for me.  And then, at 6:30, with my day nearly over, I ran into one of my students who had just finished taking a practice exam.  The first thing he said to me?  Hello?  Nope, how about: "Did you see the Colts lost!"  I weighed my options, considering the positives and negatives of giving him a delicious knuckle sandwich, but in the end it was clear that the boy had to die.  I'm kidding, I needed to keep the client.

I decided to watch the game anyway, thinking that perhaps he was misinformed, and it was a good time regardless of this entirely predictable mishap.  I even got to do some good thinking during the game, since I had a hunch that he was right.  And it's because of this that I realized something that I truly enjoy for no apparent reason: I genuinely like it when the commentator tries to indicate something on the screen with the yellow telecaster pen, but the director has already cut back to the live camera, so the announcer is left having drawn a random circle or squiggly arrow on the screen.  Is that weird?

And that's not even all I had a chance to consider.  For example, I'm also thinking about going on steroids.  I've never been particularly burly, and I think it's time for a change.  There are no medical or athletic influences at all, just sheer vanity.

Before I start juicing though, I'm pretty sure that I need to start running again.  I can tell because at this point in my life -- at age 23 -- I need to take a break during sex.  And given my level of, um, endurance, that's like taking a breather half-way up when you only need to climb four flights of stairs.  Fine, three flights.  One flight.  Fuck you.

Getting the Word Out

I'm not exactly fluent in html, but let me just say...THIS

I think you and I both know what you should do.

Star Wars

Is there anything crazier than the International Star Registry?  This is the organization that lets you 'name a star' for someone as a gift.  According to their web-site:

"Naming stars since 1979, [the International Star Registry's] list of satisfied customers include celebrities, dignitaries, and individuals worldwide [sic]. We have named hundreds of thousands of stars for people from all walks of life.  So, whether it be for your sweetheart or your top sales agent, a star name makes a unique and welcome gift."

I bet every single person who has either given or received a star has thought about the chances that their star will somehow become important.  Like all of a sudden, a star is hurtling at the Earth, threatening the demise of the human race! Or our planet will become uninhabitable and there is only one star, in the entire records room of the International Star Registry, that can save us!  And that star is named...'September Top Salesman Jason Blumenthal'!

What if they sell a star twice? Would anyone know? I'd like to think I would, but honestly I can't be sure.

The Passenger Seat

I have some thoughts about living life passively, which I tend to think of as sitting in the passenger seat just watching everything happen. But today I had a literal passenger seat experience that made me think twice about this analogy. On my way across town, I got into a taxi, newspaper under my arm, and told the driver my destination. Like many New Yorkers, for some reason the only time I don't even think about putting on a seatbelt is in a cab, perhaps the single most unsafe mode of transportation. When I sat down and the driver turned back to me, lit cigarette in his mouth, and asked if I minded if he smoked, I didn't think anything of it. 'Sure,' I said magnanimously, and then threw in an 'of course,' just to show him that I'm down. He smiled, dragging deeply on his cigarette, adding charmingly, 'How about if I drink?' Hilarious.  He went on: 'Oh I'm just kidding, no drinking. No drinking for me anymore. I haven't had a drink in three...no four, four hours.'

As often happens in a situation like this, I found myself trapped. Trying to buckle up as discreetly as possible, I sat quietly and pretended to be amused by the litany of drunken driving stories that followed, including a New Years' Eve 'lucky turn' as he sped directly toward the Flatiron building, and something unintelligible about David Letterman. It was at this point in his story that he intentionally cut off an Audi to our right, 'just to show her not to get too close,' shouting back at the terrified driver, 'No, no, it's you that is mother fucker!'

'Oh you know what, this corner is fine. I can just walk the rest of the way.'

I've Been Wondering...

Do people actually think that there's a banker on 'Deal or No Deal'? Like that there's a mathematician sitting behind the glass working out an algorithm?

Today I struggled for four minutes trying to shove folded-over pizza boxes down my incinerator chute. As I was hurtling myself across the trash room at the wedged in boxes, I glanced behind me to find that one of my new neighbors was taking out her recycling. 'Can you believe that someone would do this?' I asked. She did not laugh.

Fiat Lux

To be honest, I never thought that I would be writing this. I've never been much of a fan of blogs (aside from occasionally perusing some friends' blogs, and then exaggerating about how often I read them), and I've even sort of looked down on them for no easily recognizable reason. But I'm in my first year after college right now, and I've run into a few problems that it seems only a blog can truly cure. Well, recreational drugs might help, but for now let's just say the blog is the answer.

You're probably thinking, 'But Sleepy Pete, you're so handsome and muscular and you have so many widely varied intellectual interests and so much money, how could you have any problems?' Thanks reader, you're a good friend. But in truth I have found some flaws. For starters, physically. I have this freckle on the outstep of my right foot that is about a quarter of an inch in diameter. Wow, it feels good to get that off my chest. Otherwise, of course, I am an Adonis.

But professionally, and also in many respects in my personal life, I am largely in an in between state. I am in the middle of a two year deferral from law school after graduating from college last June. In the meantime, I am working as an SAT tutor in to the over-privileged in New York and doing a bit of writing. What does all this mean? Well, for one thing it means that I work remarkably few hours a week (20-25) for a terribly inflated wage, and as a result have a nice amount of time on my hands. Unfortunately, it also means that all my free time is in the middle of the day during the week, with my 'work week' coming mostly over the weekend and on afternoons and evenings. Usually I am not the type to get bored, but this schedule can leave you feeling a bit isolated. I'm so happy we found each other.

Basically my problem is that I'm just sort of swimming. It's not like I wish I was still in college, but I have no interest in being a part of the working world. I'm sort of just caught in between, but not like purgatory, or like the corned beef in a Reuben. It's more like being held in place by that huge bar that keeps you in your seat on a rollercoaster. You're not really in control and you're not entirely sure where you're going, you just know you want to get off. I can't stand rollercoasters. Anyway, it's mostly the little things that I find leave me the most uncomfortable. Things like, if I have a hundred dollars on me at any one time, I no longer feel like the richest kid in the world. Or that I always have to know what time it is.

But in this newest year I intend to embrace my situation, and at the very least understand it the only way I seem capable: as a student. This blog will be my outlet, my sketchpad...nay, my trapper keeper of life.