The Paris I Saw Was Not The Same As The One In “Midnight in Paris”

Last week, I went to the Vinegar Hill Theater in Charlottesville to see Woody Allen’s new movie, “Midnight in Paris.”  I know the movie came out in late May, but it’s better late then never!  Okay, so I loved it, but probably for the wrong reasons because for me, it was more about seeing Paris and less about the story that Woody Allen created around what is probably the most beautiful city on earth.

In case y’all have been in the Sahara for the last year,”Midnight in Paris” follows Hollywood writer Gil (Owen Wilson) and his new money fiancée, Inez (Rachel McAdams), on their freeloading trip to Paris with Inez’s parents (Mimi Kennedy and Kurt Fuller).  Inez and her parents remind me of the cast of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.  I say this because only people from Beverly Hills would check Goyard luggage and bring multiple Birkin bags on one trip.

Gil goes out for a walk and ends up going back in time to the Paris of the 1920s, meeting Hemingway, Picasso, the Fitzgeralds, Gertrude Stein, and Dalí.  It’s an era that Gil feels was Paris at its best.  It’s at this point in the movie when I began to question why he was engaged to Inez, a Malibu-loving label whore whose mother is one of those women who thinks she has great taste and has turned herself into a decorator because she hast too much free time and nothing to do!  Inez is the exact opposite of Gil and it becomes quite clear that they have little in common and she really just with him because he’s rich.

All of that said, I loved the movie!  I thought it was Woody Allen at his best.  No, it wasn’t “Manhattan” or “Annie Hall,” which will forever be his greatest movies, but it was really quite amazing.  The way Allen shows Paris is just as magical as the way he shows New York in “Manhattan” as a character on its own, and it was just so enchanting that I’m ready to go back tonight (no really, instead of driving back to Virginia Beach for the 4th, I can just go straight to Dulles to catch the 21h50 flight to De Gaulle)!

Now, in my last note about the movie, I have to say that I read last year in the Daily Mail that Mme. Carla Bruni-Sarkozy, the prettiest spouse of a Head of State anywhere in the world, required thirty-five retakes before finally getting her scene right.  I thought she did a great job playing a tour guide at the Rodin Museum, regardless of the number of takes that were required.

Moving back to reality, the pair of J Brand raw denim jeans I bought finally made it up here to Charlottesville, courtesy of Annie, just in time for Grace’s birthday bash.  Now, maybe it was the heat that was messing with my brain, maybe it was the fact that I bought them very quickly (I tried them on because they had to be shortened), maybe it was because I had just had an interview, or because I had eight blisters with two more on the way because I was wearing my new pair of Tod’s, but these jeans are very slim-fitting!

Now, I’m not complaining because I love them and I wanted a pair of jeans that doesn’t have a label on my tuchus!  I’ve gone nearly seven years with everyone knowing that I wear 7 for all Mankind or AG Jeans because you can tell by the logo.  Even though my new jeans have a leather label on the back, my belt will hide the J Brand logo (I always wear a belt and I don’t understand why people don’t wear belts, especially if there are belt loops on their pants), so I have nothing to worry about now!  Plus, I was talking with my favorite Rollins graduate/fellow French class survivor, Tasleem, and she said that she only wears J Brand because they’re “The only brand that fits me well.”  That’s all I needed to hear, because as much as I loved that first pair of 7’s, these feel right.

Now, everyone who knows me now knows that I’m obsessed beyond all belief with Twitter after a few years of me refusing to accept Twitter as a normal social media tool.  Now, I think it’s brilliant!  Well, among the now seventy-five Twitter accounts I follow as of right now is Joshua Kushner, the younger brother of Ivanka Trump‘s husband, soon to be father and owner of the New York Observer Jared Kushner.  Unlike Jared, Joshua Kushner actually tweets things and on June 28th, he tweeted this video, which I watched at about 3h30 because I couldn’t sleep and it rocked my world:

This has to be the neatest thing I’ve EVER seen in my life!  I just can’t get over how amazing this is and I have to try this “liquid mountaineering.”  Thank you, Joshua Kushner, and Twitter for this amazing moment that has captivated me for the last few days!

Finally today, I have a major announcement to make.  After years of refusing to visit, I’m finally going to go somewhere I’ve never been before, even though I’ve had the chance to go so many times!  That’s right, 2011 is the year that both the New York Times and I discover BROOKLYN!  Andrew used to live and go to school in Brooklyn Heights, but I still never saw a reason to go across that bridge to see it.  Well, that changes this summer because this time next week, I’ll be back in Virginia Beach packing to spend the last six weeks of this summer, my last as an undergraduate, in New York, interning at Departures Magazine, the American Express Platinum and Centurion card member only magazine!  I’m so excited because it’s a magazine that I love to read and find to be not just entertaining, but interesting(Andrew says it’s his favorite magazine), and I just can’t wait to get there to start because all of the people there seem to actually enjoy their jobs!  And as an added bonus, Andrew is working two blocks from where I’m working, so we can get lunch on a regular basis!  Last summer, my lunch consisted of me in a Starbucks for thirty minutes.  This summer, I have so many options that I won’t know where to begin!  This might actually be the first time in my life that I genuinely love Midtown Manhattan, even though it’s full of tourists who walk at a glacial pace!

Getting back to talking about Brooklyn, I figured that with this being a year of trying new things (after all, I stood on an active volcano on the island of Sicily, toured vineyards in Bordeaux, went to a museum dedicated solely to medals given to the Republic of France, and managed to get wine back from Italy without changing the color of my clothing in the process), so I figured that if Brooklyn is good enough for the Times to re-discover, then it’s sure as hell good enough for me to see for the first time!

I’m going to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge, see where Andrew went to school (oh yeah, Andrew, you’re going with me on this little journey to Brooklyn) and then that’s all I’ve got so far, but I am going to visit the Brooklyn Slate Company because I think their slate place mates are kind of neat (and can double as great shields during food fights).  Well, that’s all for now, but I wish y’all a Happy Fourth of July and until next time…

-JD

Is Karma Also a Bitch in China Because It is in “The West”

Oh Tiger Mamma, to quote Annie, “BURN!”  Finally, the perfect plan for raising children came to a halt and the thing that brought it to a halt wasn’t even one of her children.  No, instead it was Coco, the Samoyed (some type of dog I’ve never heard of) who refused to follow the Chinese way.  Aside from being house-broken, Coco refused to do anything for Tiger Mamma, but the things she expected this dog to do seem to make Coco’s diva attitude toward her perfectly acceptable.  I mean, if I were a dog (in which case I would probably be my dog, because he just relaxes all day), I would NEVER in a million years bother to learn such things as the Heimlich maneuver and counting or agree to go to a doggy kindergarten that has more advanced courses after it.  Poor Coco, this is what Tiger Mamma planned to with Coco, “Nevertheless, not knowing a thing about raising dogs, my first instinct was to apply Chinese parenting to Coco” (Chua, 78).  This is just not okay under any circumstance whatsoever.

Thankfully, Coco knew that shit wasn’t right and responded in kind by being as divalicious and as in-obedient as possible.  This dog chewed everything in sight, stole food off of tables after pretending to be asleep, turned every walk into a speed race, chased squirrels nonstop leading Tiger Mamma to run into trees and garage doors frequently, and ignored all commands.

The only thing that made this whole experience better for me, and worse for TM, was that her own little “Chinese” girls, who are supposed to basically work to serve their parents, and not-a-real-Jew husband disregarded all of her complaints about Coco and just told her that it’s what is expected of his breed.  This lead TM to do something she seemed to be doing more often by this point, bribing Coco with pieces of chopped steak before finally getting in a fight with her not-a-real-Jew husband over her obsession with Coco being intelligent and learning to do tricks even most men can’t do, like pee into a toilet and not get any on the rim/floor area, and says the single most farkakted line I have ever read, “What dreams do you have for Sophia and Lulu?  What are your dreams for Coco?” (83).  If I had been not-a-real-Jew husband, I would have filed for divorce that same day!  It’s a pet lady; it doesn’t have the ability to play the piano or violin so just accept the fact that it’s cute, cuddly, seems to give you a workout, and not some freak parenting project.

I read a few pages of the next chapter which deals with racism (oh no, her kids are racists; I guess it runs in the family) and I have to say, Part Two is MUCH BETTER than Part One of this book because her once brilliant parenting method is clearly falling apart.  It’s okay, Tiger Mamma, all evil dictatorships fail for this reason; see: Hitler, Adolf Elizabeth and Palpatine, Emperor of Galactic Empire.  Anyway, I can’t wait to see how Chua deals with her “racist” children, but until tomorrow…

-JD

To the People of Los Angeles: GET OFF THE ROAD!

I’m sure the lovely three million, plus legal (and countless more illegal) citizens of Los Angeles would like to know why I’m suggesting they stop driving altogether so suddenly.  Well, it’s because Andrew, someone who has said on countless occasions that driving is for other people to do for him while he sits in the back, is driving between the University of Spoiled Children and the land of the purse dog, expressionless faces and people made famous from sex scandals multiple times each week from now until May.  This is also scary for another reason: Andrew has only driven a few times (if y’all recall, I have let him drive my car on more than one occasion, but there were barely any other cars on the road and he didn’t drive on heavily trafficked roads).  To comply with that stupid hands-free law in Califronia (I’m sorry, but it makes us all look like we’re mentally unstable if we appear to all be talking aimlessly to no one), I’ve sent him my BlueTooth headset since I never use the thing and clearly won’t need it in Italy.  While in LA for the semester, Andrew is interning for ICM, a talent agency that represents such stars as Frank Langella, Beyoncé and Woody Allen.  The only problem I have with Andrew spending the semester in LA is that instead of being six hours ahead of him, which is what I would be if he were back in Durham, I’m now going to be nine hours ahead of the only person I know who actually gets eight hours of sleep at night.  Therefore, the only time we can talk is at the end of the day, which has already been an adjustment since he’s been in LA for two weeks.

Since our last “chat,” (I feel like that’s the write word to call these posts, since I do know most of the people reading them) I have left Florida, but not after some final moments of fun!  I made it down to Miami (yes Will Smith, in the city where the heat is on, all night on the beach till the break of dawn) to see my friend, Monique, after only three and a half years since last seeing each other, in Coconut Grove, where we had a great French lunch.  From there, it was off to the Bal Harbour Shops to pick up a little something “special” for Grace and a birthday present for Dr. No (of all the evil villain/Soviet Premier/Dictator names I have given him, that one is the most fitting I think).  Y’all, that place is just scary because while Palm Beach is just the land of the WASPS where Worth Avenue has all the glitz and glam of yesteryear with old money, Bal Harbour Shops screams “I just sold a kilo of coke and have to get the money out somehow so what better way than through Dolce & Gabbanna underwear and Prada suits.”  The people there don’t buy one thing at a time; instead, they take my grandmother’s rule of buying in bulk, which is done exclusively at Costco, to a level that is simply obscene.  Though the absolute highlight of the trip to Bal Harbour was when a five-year-old kid looked at my watch and went, “oh, that’s so cheap.”  It was a low point in my life knowing that a child sixteen years younger than I had a watch that was probably three times as expensive as mine, which was not cheap I might add.

Following that little arrogant child’s remark, I drove down to South Beach to spend the evening my Rachel, who was in town for the weekend with her dad and brothers.  While I already knew that one never has a dull moment when going out with Rachel, little did I know what would be in store for me.  First, we headed to the South Beach outpost of Danny Myer’s hugely successful Shake Shack.  We sat outside in the cool evening eating burgers and fries while I introduced Rachel to my love, Loni Love, on my iPod.  From there, we strolled up and down the always-exciting Lincoln Road and wandered into a rather eclectic vintage shop.  While there, Rachel tried on a very revealing (not sure if that’s the word that properly describes it, but that’s the word I’m sticking with) corset, while I tried on an old Burberry’s rain hat.  Then things got kinky when Rachel tried to get me to try on this:

In case you’re not sure as to what it is, let me fill you in: it’s a pair of leather shorts with zippers on either side of the crotch for “easy access.”  While the thought of wearing leather shorts was an immediate turn off, what really grossed me out was the fact that someone’s gentiles had touched that entire thing and that’s not exactly something I would want to put on, while still wearing my pants, and maybe a hazmat suit.

As the day in Miami came to a close, I was then faced with the realization that my stay in Florida was also coming to an end and the arduous task of returning to Virginia was fast approaching.  The question was how to get home because Dr. No was saying hell no to driving, mother was not prepared mentally to do the trip again and neither would allow me to do it alone, which is perfectly understandable.  So, my options were as follows: leave the Audi and everything that couldn’t fit into my suitcases and do the drive back to Virginia in May, convince mother that the Audi had to come home immediately and force her to take the drive with me or the hail marry pass: let me take the Auto Train (LINK) home.  Amazingly, she gave in and let me do the Auto Train, but only after going through a list of about two-hundred reasons as to why it’s not safe/why I’ll get shot onboard.  The list was so long that my initial departure date of Tuesday, the 10^th of January, was pushed back to Wednesday because a certain someone was going absolutely insane over the fact that I would even consider this option.  Yet, on Wednesday, the trip was approved and after a brief stop in Winter Park to see Justin and my friend, Jackie, it was a twenty-minute drive up to Sanford to board the train to Virginia.

Unlike traditional Amtrak trains, which could use a huge revamp in order to better compete with the great railways of Europe, the Auto Train is essentially its own separate railroad within the mighty Amtrak.  The people who work on the train only work on the Auto Train, the stations are exclusively for the Auto Train and the entire experience is one that can only be found on the Auto Train.  Despite being located in a rather grimy, somewhat dilapidated area, the Sanford departure point is actually very convenient because of its close proximity to Orlando.  Once you arrive, you’re car is issued a number which is used to identify it upon arrival in Lorton.  From there, it’s straight to the valet who takes your car from that point on while you and the two bags per person that you’re allowed to take with you head inside the recently renovated terminal for check-in.  They’re very strict about time and anyone not checked-in for the train by 15h0 is not allowed to board because they have to position the auto cars onto the track and connect them to the passenger cars for an on time departure.  I booked a roomette, which seats two people without a bathroom, but offers the privacy that an ordinary seat doesn’t offer.  Plus, with the roomette and cabins, you get a real bed at night to sleep in, which I was told means you actually get to sleep by my fellow passengers at the pre-departure wine and cheese tasting in the lounge car.  My sleeping car attendant, David, welcomed me aboard and showed me to my upper roomette and told me when dinner would be served.  Then, about ten minutes ahead of schedule, we pulled out of a nippy Florida and began our sixteen-hour, thirty-minute journey to Lorton, which is located in Northern Virginia.

About two hours into the ride, dinner was served in the dining car on china and white linen tablecloths.  I was seated with two other passengers in my car who were also traveling alone in roomettes and were much more experienced in traveling aboard the Auto Train than I was.  For dinner, I had the Beef Tenderloin with a baked potato and steamed vegetables followed by a massive chocolate cake with the biggest scoop of vanilla ice cream I have ever seen in my life.  While the food well exceeded all my expectations, the wine wasn’t exactly the greatest on earth.  In fact, I opted out of having any at dinner because I was so disappointed from the wine in the pre-departure wine and cheese tasting.  By the time I returned to my cabin, the sun had set and so I changed into my pajamas (yes, I wear pajamas) as we zipped through Georgia.  Unaware of the movie being shown on the train, I rented Annie Hall on iTunes, which was good because the projector wasn’t working that night.  Around 21h30, David came to make up my bed for the evening.  Just before closing my eyes, I remember peeking out of my curtain to see a sign that said Charleston, South Carolina on it.

Despite being a very smooth ride, I ironically woke up three times during the night because we had stopped moving; once because by law, the engineers can only work twelve hour shifts and had to be changed out in Florence, South Carolina of all places (so ironic because that’s where we usually stay when making the drive down), and the other two times because we had to let a CSX train pass (CSX owns the rail lines on which Amtrak operates in the South and therefore they have seniority).  At 6h15 and somewhere just outside of Richmond, the conductor made his first announcement saying that breakfast was being served on a first-come, first-serve basis and that we were an hour ahead of schedule.  The mood in the dining car was a bit more subdued than at dinner as not everyone was fully awake.

When I returned from my continental breakfast that included juice, coffee, assorted muffins/bagels, and cereal, my roomette was already made up for seating again.  I opted out of taking a shower as I didn’t have any shower sandals to wear, but someone with whom I sat at breakfast said it was very relaxing and kind of neat, which I imagine it is.  Then, at 8h30 on the dot, our journey came to an end as we pulled into the Lorton station.  Within a matter of minutes, the journey ended and I was faced with the fact that it was no longer 57 and sunny outside.  Instead, it was more like 29 and cloudy; I immediately considered just taking the train back to Florida and not leaving for another week.  But just as I thought of doing that, my car’s number was called and two minutes later, I was on I-95 South headed for home.

Despite costing around $400 with the emergency insurance, which mother insisted I have in case the people at the station seemed “sketchy,” the trip wasn’t that much more expensive than driving once you factor in the stops for food, gas and the hotel.  Plus, there’s much less wear-and-tear on your car and your body.  Looking back on the experience, there were a few things I will be doing differently this coming December when I take the train south this time.  For starters, I’ll pack much less food because Grace saw the wrong menu online and feared for the worst.  Next, I’ll have my bed made up earlier so I can get to sleep sooner because the train does lull you to sleep quite easily.  Next time, I’ll definitely bring my own travel pillow because the one provided by Amtrak was a bit too hard for my liking, and finally, I will definitely bring shower sandals so I can bathe while onboard a train

On the whole, the trip exceeded all my wildest expectations and was one of the most amazing experiences I have ever had in my life.  Everyone from David, my cabin attendant, to the server in the dining car who told a man at breakfast to eat more than a muffin because she was going to have to drive on I-95 as well and didn’t want him on that road without a real meal made the trip so memorable, as did the people I met along the way.  The conversations with these fellow passengers, despite their vagueness in order to not give too much of one’s personal life away to complete strangers, was genuinely interesting.  One of the two people with whom I had dinner told us about the log cabin he had built for his now late-wife and of the experience he had building it.  The other person at the table started us on a twenty-minute chat about our dogs and how we love them so.  Sure it was fluff, but it was interesting nonetheless.  I highly recommend the Auto Train to anyone who doesn’t feel like driving to Florida, being raped by the TSA or to anyone who wants to experience a way of travel that to many has long since been forgotten.

My time home was spent visiting my grandmother, seeing Grace and Annie before they left to return back to UVa, resting, and preparing myself for the upcoming semester in Italy.  I did finally get to see The Social Network, and I must say that I was not impressed at all with the movie.  Yes, the writing is exceptional and Aaron Sorkin is a fantastic writer, but the movie just didn’t do anything for me.  I don’t know if it was the built-up hype or what, but I was not impressed at all, which I’ll admit was a bit disappointing.  Grace, meanwhile, has been faced with a bit of a dilemma as her Hitler for a landlord is not thrilled with Henry Flagler’s ever-increasing size and is now on the hunt for a new residence in Charlottesville.  Justin has returned to the daily grind of homework, paper and parties at Rollins, even misleading campus security into thinking he was on acid because he was running outside nearly naked looking for his phone at 4 in the morning last week.  Ah, to be young and carefree…

Last night, I landed in New York and had an absolutely amazing dinner at Pastis, which even made Andrew jealous because he can’t get that delicious burger in LA!  The mousse au chocolat was so rich that even I, someone who has never before not finished a desert in my life, couldn’t finish the whole thing.  Plus, for wine lovers, I recommend a carafe of the pinot noir that they have by the glass because it was beyond words.  This morning, I braved the below 0 with the wind chill weather for a four-mile run in the park, which was BEYOND exhilarating, despite wearing seven layers!  Then I spent some time getting last minute items before heading of to MoMa for an hour where I saw this really great exhibit on kitchens from the 1940s and 1950s.  It was so neat seeing the “kitchens of tomorrow” and all the very interesting innovations they had.  There was also a Warhol film exhibit, but seeing a guy’s facial expressions while receiving a blow job didn’t really do a lot to get me to stay for very long.

So now, as I come to the end of this conversation while seated at Newark waiting for my flight for Rome,  it has just dawned on me that the next time I sit down for one of our conversations, I’ll be in the land of wine women and song, with an emphasis on the first two, regaling y’all with tales of my journey to Italy and the start of my semester in Siena.  Fino alla prossima volta…

Ciao,

-JD

PS: Congratulations to Annie and Sarah on being made members of the Tri Delta sorority at UVa!

Well Chat Roulette is the Place to See Lots of “Peacocks”

So Annie and Grace sent me the following video and while I really don’t have a whole lot to say about this, I hope this guy gets help because there is something wrong with his cross-dressing, unless he’s gay, in which case it’s perfectly fine because who doesn’t love the gays:

That’s all.

-JD

And the Holidays are Officially Here Which Means I Can Finally Blast Christmas Music Nonstop!

Did I mention I was Jewish?  Anyway, Happy Belated Thanksgiving!  I know mine was just a tad bit more of a fuck-up than usual, so hopefully it was the same for y’all.  So Justin decided that since he couldn’t kiss-ass his way into the Kennedy Compound at Hyannis Port this year, he’d travel to the “Real South” for the first time (yes, Florida is the southern-most state in the Nation, but with everyone’s bubbe and zayde on the Sunshine Shuttle between Zabar’s and Boca, combined with the extreme insanity of the state:

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and

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Florida is basically the Northern-most State in Union, while Maine, with its lobsters (they have them in Florida too), basically hillbilly-esque residents (not all, but most) and the Bush Family Compound in Kennbunkport (Florida, Florida, Florida), basically should be below Georgia (which would make more sense since both states are a little… special:

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I rest my case.)

As I was saying, Justin made his first venture into the South this past week.  Since there was obscene traffic getting home, we stopped in Williamsburg so Justin could play hopscotch around horse manure in the dark while strolling down Duke of Gloucester Street.  We then had an absolutely fantastic dinner at the Fat Canary, which The New York Times said was the place to eat when it did its “36 Hours in Williamsburg” article in June of 2009.  It has to be one of the best restaurants in the state of Virginia and has turned the once unrivaled Trellis into a tourist-only freak-show complete with a kid’s menu and food not worth its price.

Following dinner and our stroll along Duke of Gloucester Street, Justin and I climbed back into Old Faithful and drove home to Virginia Beach.  On Wednesday, I took Justin to see all of the historic sites of Norfolk including the Battleship Wisconsin (from the stoplight), the Moses Myers House, my grandparents, the Chrysler Museum, ODU, their house, our Temple, the original Norfolk Academy, Ghent, the Virginia Zoo, they have original Westinghouse appliances that still work, the Hunter House, Scope, Chrysler Hall, the Harrison Opera House, and because the MacArthur Memorial was closed, I took Justin to see MacArthur Center.  In addition, I took Justin to Doumar’s, the Norfolk institution that is more important than just about every other site in the city.  By judging the small stain on his jacket after lunch, it’s clear to say that Justin was more than satisfied by his visit.

Then came Thanksgiving, which started off alright, but then it became painfully obvious that Al Roker had taken too many crazy pills and that should have been a sign right there that I should have just gone back to bed and slept through the day.

So mother imprisoned Justin in the kitchen and basically chained him to the counter so he could peal vegetables for her and help with the sweet potato pies.  I, in addition to making desert, was forced into slave labor so we could have the haricots verts with crispy fried shallots and whatever else needed to be done.  Justin got to see a side of me he never thought he would ever be fortunate to witness: me being domesticated, cleaning dishes, cooking, screaming at people for being incompetent (okay, so he’s seen that before).  The table was even a diva experience as mother was unable to find the right table cloth she wanted to use and, as usual, made it my fault somehow.  She looked like she was on the verge of tears when the turkey came out a tad bit overdone, but I reminded her that the only thing people remember is desert and that it doesn’t matter how the turkey tastes.  This year, I made three deserts: a French chocolate bark, an apple crisp and a vanilla armagnac ice cream (yes, all three are Ina Garten recipes; I love her because her recipes are designed for humans, unlike a particular nutcase:

Prison did wonders for her!).  Sadly, due to technical difficulties with ice cream maker, which was acting like an incompetent fool, it wasn’t done in time.  Twice during the course of dinner, we seemed to lose my Uncle, who lives for his sports and just went away unnoticed for a good ten-fifteen minutes.  Grace, as usual, came over, having spent part of her day out hunting for ducks.  She was kind enough to send a photo:

My cousin Kevin, crazy person, informed us that he had been online from 23h0 the night before until 7h0 Thursday morning shopping the sales before sleeping until 16h0.  After dinner, he went to Wal-Mart and Radio Shack before collapsing in a bed.  Black Friday was spent showing Justin the oceanfront’s sites: the boardwalk, the Dairy Queen that puts on a firework display for the 4th of July it’s so popular and many other touristy areas before getting dinner at Mizuno.  We then joined Grace and my cousin Holly to see the film Love and Other Drugs, which was a huge letdown.  Let me break it down: two hours of random, pointless sex (not that there’s anything wrong with it), a rich people pajama/sex party, a great plug for Viagra, and then trying to find a plot in the final ten minutes of the film.  This was a huge letdown for all of us, who were all expecting so much more from Jake Gyllenhaal and Anne Hathaway (Grace was sad that Anne Hathaway wasn’t as bitchy as usual).  The film just lacked any sort of direction, it was pointless, boring, made no sense whatsoever, and as a classmate of mine said this morning when agreeing that the film was bad, «At least someone else paid for my ticket or else I would have demanded a refund.»

Saturday morning began with brunch with Grace and Annie at Mary’s, a «favorite» local diner before going back to their house to watch Virginia Tech destroy UVa.  Justin got to meet  Walter, which was purely wonderful.  Meanwhile, I took this photo of Annie, to which she responded, «That’s why the boys like me!»

Following this, Justin got to go walk on the beach, which was FREEZING, but nice:

After this, it was time to head to Richmond so Justin could go where no sane person has ever gone before: a Greyhound bus station.  It turns out that he has completely lost all sense of sanity since he’s been out of school and didn’t understand why I was yelling at him for even considering taking a bus to Manhattan in the first place.  He wanted to get some reading done and thought this would be the only way possible.  IT’S CALLED AMTRAK YOU INCOMPETENT FOOL!  There aren’t fights that break out on a train, you don’t have to sit in fear the whole time worrying that you might get shot and there are no changes in DC.  Instead, you get two power outlets, a café car, a footrest, and a pillow/blanket!

Grace spent her Saturday night in a deer stand, but sadly turned up with no venison for me to cook.  I returned to Charlottesville to find my basil basically dead:

I’ve brought them back to life though:

And yes, I’m reading «True Prep,» which Justin, it mentions my beloved Tiffany & Co. monogramed belt buckle that you said was hideous as being very preppy, so as Jim Cramer would say, BOOYAH!

Finally this evening,  Andrew spent his Thanksgiving with his family (<3 them) in BOCA and he sent me fifteen photos from inside Donald Trump’s Florida club/private hair plug treatment center, Mar-a-Lago in Palm Beach.  I thought I’d pass a few on:

Ladies, if that pose doesn’t make y’all swoon, frankly I won’t blame you because that is kind of a scary sight.  And yes Grace, I can see he has a large bulge; they’re called socks.

I wasn’t aware that you could earn Six Stars, especially since the American Academy of Hospitality Sciences only has Five Stars on its logo.  I’m looking into this and will report back later.

So, clearly it’s been a freak week, but as Cyber Monday turns into the Tuesday after Cyber Monday, and Hanukkah is now less than twenty-four hours away (seriously, it’s starting this early?  I mean if we had moved it up a week, we could have done latkes and turkey on the same day (and I bet that would go well with the apple sauce and Costco caviar)!  Andrew and I wish to inform whatever idiot that decided Hanukkah could start this early in the season that we’re not prepared!  I’m not supposed to buy Wikileaks his annual Brooks Brothers tie with his Brooks Brothers MasterCard (which is only used when making purchases at Brooks Brothers I might add) until after New Years, when I get it for over 60% and am fighting little old ladies on Worth Avenue who tell me that I’m too young to need a tie and then I have to remind them that they’ll probably be dead before they get home!  What?  It’s part of the tradition.  Besides, I don’t even know what I want for my four gifts.  All our goyim friends get an extra month practically to pick out their thirty-six presents, decorate their trees, bake the cookies for the pedophile, and listen to Christmas music while we’re stuck watching oil burn in a candle for eight nights (and they say it’s wrong to stereotype)!  Anyway, until next time…

-JD

PS: Congratulations to Jean and Lily for managing to avoid their government-mandated fondle at Newark and for both making it to France safely!  Justin, on the other hand, experienced something like this when flying to Richmond last Tuesday:

My Coco Has Returned to Me

That’s right folks, as I begin to write this, Conan O’Brien’s new show, CONAN, is about ten minutes from premiering after nine months, sixteen days, and let’s go with 23 hours (math is not a strong suit) of being off the air.  In response to Coco’s sacking from The Tonight Show, I have since boycotted the jealous crybaby Jay Leno and have had to fill the void for my nightly comedy fix with something else, Chelsea Lately, which is okay, because that is where I found my love, Loni Love!  However, Coco’s hair color seems to have changed from his reddish/orange to nearly a dirty blonde.  As Grace would probably ask, does this mean he had his downstairs dyed as well?

Moving on, it was parents’s weekend this past weekend here at UVa and people who know me know that weekends like this are the weekends that give me more stress than anyone can imagine.  I say this because they just like to ask too many questions and you can’t hang up on them when they start to annoy you.  Fortunately, Friday was Annie’s birthday so on Saturday, Grace had a party at her apartment for Annie’s friends.  I lent Grace my juicer (which she has agreed to never again refer to as a sex toy) for who knows what and as my gift to Annie, I sabered a bottle of champagne for her.  Sadly, no one bothered to capture it on film, but it was fun regardless.  Grace is now using the bottle to try and hide the hideous paper towels she bought that have animal prints on them.  It was a lot of fun, expect for seeing this guy from one of my discussion groups relieving himself on the side of Grace’s apartment building.  Apparently, he can’t use a lavatory.  He also said the same thing to me every time he saw me that night, which was, «DUUUUUUDE! YOU’RE IN MY DISCUSSION GROUP!  DISCUSSION GROUP DUDE!» in his very fratty voice.  After the fifth time, I finally just told him that he had to come up with something better to talk to me about because the last thing I want to think about on a Saturday night at 23h30 is homework.  It was a really fun night and I hope Annie had a good birthday in general and that she gets over her strep throat by Wednesday so that I can buy the Munchkins I told her I’d get her to eat in class (with me).

Before mother and Yuri Andropov arrived on Saturday, Andrew helped me buy the website domain www.theyapper.com.  I haven’t had time to get it set up yet, but it will be the new domain for this blog soon.  Thank you, Andrew for all your help!  Andrew has been prepping for his Thanksgiving that will be once again in Boca!  Honestly, I have no recollection of what we talked about this past week.  Usually I keep my notes from the week on my BlackBerry, but this week, I just have nothing because it was a busy week school-wise.  Plus, I didn’t finally post last week’s post until Thursday, so most of week was already finished.  Additionally, I haven’t forgotten about last week’s Saturday Night Out With…, I just haven’t written it in a way that pleases me.  Hopefully, I’ll write it in a way that please me by Thursday.

Justin and I have spent much of the week arguing about politics and discussing politicians and their sex lives (basically a continuation of last week).  Someone gave Justin a computer game recently, so he’s been occupied with that as well.  My cousin, Kevin, sold my old iPod Touch recently for $125 on eBay, so thank you to Kevin for that.  Because I’ve got a few papers and projects coming up, I’m going to call it a night, so until next time…

-JD

PS: In Basil Watch, they’re really growing now and I’m hoping that I’ll be able to cook with the basil I’m growing before I leave for Italy.  Also, while I didn’t get to meet her parents, I was able to meet Sarah’s sister, who is basically an identical twin who just happens to be shorter and older.

Justin Shaved Off His Beard and is Currently Sporting an 80’s Porn Star Mustache

For this reason alone, he’s not providing me with a photo.  However, in positive Justin news, he has thankfully decided to no longer pursue his weeklong interest in architecture, meaning he once again plans to go into the legal profession, as planned.

So this past week was dominated by exams and doing homework so that I could continue my annual tradition of spending the final weekend of October visiting friends at other universities.  Following two years of traveling here to Charlottesville, it seemed kind of pointless to just drive to Grace’s and stay the night on her sofa, so instead, I decided to drive down to Durham to pay a surprise visit to Andrew, who thought I was at the March to Keep Fear Alive in DC.  So let’s discuss how I got to Durham.

It all really began Friday night when I purchased my costume for my Saturday Night Out With… outing at Duke which I’ll get to later.  I was told I had to have a costume and due to the fact that it was FREEZING this weekend, I decided that the pantless-Risky Business costume may not have been the best idea and with very little time to come up with anything new, I decided to just go as Andrew.  The costume wasn’t too hard, since it really only required me to buy a plaid shirt, but it was the wig that proved to be a problem for me.  My Cary Grnat-esque hair looks nothing like Andrew’s perfectly coiffed hair, so a wig was required in order to get the full effect of going dressed as Andrew.  Unfortunately, the only thing remotely close to Andrew’ hair color was that of a Hippie’s hair, which is much too long for it to be Andrew’s, but it worked.  I headed straight for Old Navy to get the check shirt, which was not as easy as it should have been.  Apparently, they had had some sale earlier in the month sold most of their Small and Medium-sized shirts so I had to strip the mannequin in order to get the one I wanted.  So I asked one of the sales ladies if she could help me take the shirt off the mannequin, and while we’re in the process of stripping the mannequin, she begins to have a full conversation with the mannequin!  Y’all, I laugh at just about anything, but I somehow managed to not say anything for the first time in my life; instead, I just watched as the saleslady apologized to the mannequin for having to remove its shirt, promising that she would get it a new one before the night was over.  The fact that I made it about five more minutes without laughing was a miracle (my eyes were watering as I tried to contain my laughter though by the end).  After I regained composure, I headed to Grace’s apartment because the wig had to be styled properly so it more accurately portrayed Andrew’s hair.  Plus, anyone who has ever watched The Real Housewives of HOTlanta knows that «musical sensation» and super diva Kim Zolciak, whose hit single, Tardy for the Party is still absolutely hysterical in my opinion (and so much better than COUNTESS LuAnn‘s Money Can’t Buy You Class), never just puts the wig on and goes out.  No, instead she has her high-heel wearing stylist come over to style the wig first.  So Grace managed to turn this fine diva wig:

into this:

So on Saturday afternoon, I climbed into my car and headed off for Durham.  So, Google Maps and my BlackBerry’s map both told me that the shortest way to get there was by driving down Route 29 and then getting on Route 501, which seemed easy enough.  So, let’s describe what the Audi and I saw.  Immediately, there are nothing but beautiful, foliage-covered mountains/hills (whatever y’all want to call them is fine with me) and I’m on a winding road in the middle of them.  As we approach the end of hour one of the projected three hour, thirty-two minute drive, things began to get a little bit funky.  First, the Audi and I pass a diner called «Kuntry Kitchen» which just looked so appetizing.  Two miles down the road on the opposite side of the street is what really did it for me though: a Jehovah’s Witness place of worship? (Sorry, I’m Jewish and I’m writing this while seated at a table with an Episcopal (Grace) and a hybrid (Rachel is part Jewish, part Gentile so she’s a hybrid).  I had never seen one of these places before so that was a bit of a culture shock to say the least.  At roughly the same time though, something else happened that was really kind of scary, because just as we’re approaching «Kuntry Kitchen,» all the foreign cars begin to disappear and it’s now just me and the Audi versus the big three, plus some tractors on the road, which by the way has now a one-lane in each direction legit country road, for the next hour and fifteen minutes.  During this time, I’ll admit that I was afraid to play my Kanye music altogether for fear that I would somehow attract even more attention than I’m sure I already was for not being inside a car that was built here in America.  I passed through a few little towns with old-fashioned ice-cream stands and grocery stores that probably make the Piggly Wiggly look nice.  As I approached Lynchburg, I began to see cars from the Asian brands popping up here and there, but this was still very much so Ford and Chevy country.  Then, about forty-five minutes later, I saw my first German car since some place called North Garden.  It was  navy blue BMW 550i heading in the opposite direction.  From there, things began to get a bit more… suburban and by the time I crossed into the state of North Carolina, I felt as though I was on some quiet road in middle America.

I pulled onto the grounds of Duke at approximately 18h15 and found myself outside the door to Andrew’s dorm just ten minutes later.  After being friends with Andrew for nearly five and a half years now, I had begun to figure out that he usually heads off for dinner at around 18h30, so I figured I’d be there just in time.  On Saturday, he decided to order in and had just gotten back to his dorm when I called!  This would happen to me.  To say that Andrew was surprised is probably an understatement.  It was really more of a cross between excited, horrified, shock, disbelief by the fact that I would drive three and a half hours to get there, and anger because I didn’t tell him.  So, after he finished his dinner, we drove (because I have a car and Andrew doesn’t, although his reason for why is rather genius.  When asked why he won’t get a car, Andrew says, «That’s for a driver to do, not me.»  We’ll get to his driving skills later) to a lovely French restaurant called Vin Rouge, which was about as close to a parisian bistro as one can get in Durham, North Carolina, which is actually known for its restaurants.  Andrew treated me to my glass of Bordeaux, Croque-Madame (I’ll be honest, I enjoy eating the egg; plus, mother has some diva complex with eggs so it keeps her from eating my meal when I order it with her) and my just okay apple bread pudding.  He just got dessert, which was the chocolate mousse; they deliver it in a large bowl and then scoop out four large balls of the mousse and place them in a bowl.  It could have used some creme-fraiche if you asked me, but it was still really good (I had a bite).

After dinner, we then drove to Whole Foods where we purchased a bottle of Veuve because Andrew wanted me to saber the bottle before I headed out on my Saturday Night Out With… for the evening.  We bought the bottle and on our way back to Andrew’s dorm, I let him drive my car around campus (TO THOSE OF MY READERS WHO HAPPEN TO KNOW MOTHER OR MY LITTLE LENNIE BREZHNEV, PLEASE DO NOT LET THEM KNOW THAT SOMEONE NOT INSURED WAS DRIVING MY CAR!).  Even though Andrew rarely, if ever, drives, he’s a good little driver and I’m not worried at all having him in the driver’s seat of my car.  So after we returned to his dorm, Andrew realizes that he doesn’t have a knife, so now we have to go find a damn knife at 21h30 on a Saturday night… not a whole lot of places to look.

Eventually, we give up and find ourselves in the library because I just want to see what type of people hang out in the library at close to 22h0 on the Saturday before Halloween.  While we didn’t find the knife, we did come across this green dude on the second floor.  I immediately had the church giggles when I saw this guy.  Also, I blame my use of the word dude on the amount of time I’ve been spending with Annie recently because that’s one of her favorite words.

So we departed the library after this lovely experience and returned to Andrew’s dorm still knifeless.  So Andrew came up with the brilliant idea that we’re going to saber the bottle with a pair of scissors.  As y’all can imagine, this didn’t exactly work.  So instead, I opened it the old-fashioned way and saw a life goal of mine be fulfilled: Andrew drank his first carbonated beverage!  This is not a joke either; until Saturday night, Andrew had never consumed any form of a carbonated beverage, which is in stark contrast to some people I know who are capable of consuming entire cases of carbonated beverages in one day.  Andrew, I speak for everyone who knows you, when I say that I’m very proud of you and I promise you that we will saber a bottle of champagne next time we see each other in person.

On Sunday morning, Andrew and I had brunch at Rue Clair, where we started with beignets before moving on to an omelette for Andrew and the french toast with a side of bacon for me.  Andrew and i are a rare breed in college as we both refuse to drink coffee, so our drink du jour was freshly-squezzed orange juice.  After brunch, we journeyed to Super Target for an hour-long shopping experience.  We basically went up and down most of the aisles in the store looking at some of the dumbest things imaginable.  While going down the alcohol aisle, I noticed this:

Last I checked, grape juice doesn’t count as an alcoholic beverage.

Following the trip to Target, I dropped Andrew off at his dorm and took off on my way back to Charlottesville.  This time, I took the interstate all the way back.  Before continuing, I want to thank Andrew for letting me stay with him on Saturday night and for the wonderful birthday present.  Next time though, you’re visiting me!

This week’s Saturday Night Out With… will be posted later today, but let me just say that I had experience that I will never forget (this is  good thing).

So on Tuesday, Mario Cuomo was elected the new Governor to the State of New York, but my man, Jimmy McMillian, won 39,939 votes, or 1% of the vote, according to the New York Times.  Following him was former New York City Madam, Kristin Davis who only won 22,879 votes, or 0.6% of the votes.  If Eliot Spitzer had endorsed her, I bet she could have done better.  But I’m okay with this because on Tuesday, Jimmy McMillian released an album entitled, what else, «The Rent Is Too Damn High, Volume 1.»  I bought the whole thing and to be honest, I kind of like a few songs a lot, especially the song entitled My Place, in which JM basically talks about wanting to have sex with women at his place.  While ordinarily I would find this sort of behavior from someone running for a political office outside of the House of Representatives to be horrifying, at least we know going into this that he’s a horny guy and we don’t end up having incidents like these:

Though this last one doesn’t really count because come on, he’s Italian so can you really blame him for being a horny man?

Here’s the song so y’all can hear how wonderful it is:

Finally, I’d like to first wish a belated Happy Twenty-First Birthday to Nathaniel and an early Happy Nineteenth Birthday to Annie!  Next, I’d like to apologize for not posting this until today.  I started writing this Monday night but didn’t finish, had a paper to write Tuesday and I got really close to finishing this last night, but I just fell asleep.  It’s been a busy week.  I’m gonna wrap up now so I can start working on this week’s Saturday Night Out With… The Birthday Boy Who Gets All the Girls… and Guys.  Until next time…

-JD

PS: In basil watch, they’re actually growing and getting big, which is amazing if you asked me because I never thought they’d last this long.

If Someone Ever Asks Why, Simply Respond Saying, “Why? Because the Rent is too Damn High!”

If y’all haven’t seen the footage from the New York Gubernatorial Debate that took place last week, watch the video below and amazingly, this is not a joke:

Jimmy McMillan, who really reminds me of a black Colonel Sanders, is the Vietnam War Vet-turned-lunatic representing all three registered voters of The Rent is too Damn High party.  However, he does raise a serious issue and that is that the rent is in fact too damn high, even though he himself doesn’t pay rent for his own apartment.  Better yet, the Observer reports that McMillan isn’t even a member of his own party, but rather a Democrat!  I’m sorry, but first of all, you can’t run on the basis that the rent is too damn high if you do maintenance work in your building in exchange for NO RENT and if you aren’t even a member of your own party!  Unfortunately, you’re quasi legitimate argument, combined with the AMAZING song on your website (which so needs to be on iTunes ASAP), basically makes you my favorite candidate for Governor.

Here’s why Andrew Cuomo doesn’t do it for me: he kind of looks like he’s had some botched plastic surgery on his face and then his girlfriend, Sandra Lee, is a complete wackjob and hypocrite.  Case in point, the goal of Miss Lee’s show is that everything is done in order to save the viewer money, yet at the same time, the viewer then has to go out and buy dishes, cutlery, table-scape items, new drapes to go above the kitchen window, and every color KitchenAid mixer, which isn’t cheap at all!  Also, instead of trying to theme the entire home every time the viewer cooks, perhaps Miss Lee could encourage her viewers to get jobs and do something with their lives other than go to the infamous «craft store» every day of the week!

As for the Republican candidate for Governor, Carl Paladino is um… crazy, but not really in a Jimmy McMillan kind of fun way.  Instead, M. Paladino reminds me of the playground bully you see in the movies; he’s very mafia looking and it’s not like Albany really needs the mob up there.  I’m able to back this up by the simple fact that he was in the construction business and we all know what that means.  I mean, if y’all want to see a bunch of gun-crazed buffoons, they can just take a drive down I-95 to visit the Manzo Family in Franklin Heights, New Jersey!  Plus, in all seriousness, the man is kind of a homophobe and while I’m not gay, let’s be honest here y’all: the man is running for Governor of New York State, which is one of the most gay-friendly states in the country.  I mean do straight people even go to Fire Island?  Plus, the gays do quite a bit of damage each month on clothes, grooming, food, drinks, hotel rooms, etc… and that all means one thing: tax revenue!  So at the end of the day, you can be opposed to same-sex marriage, but you can’t be afraid of the gays.  They don’t bite… just don’t put any handkerchiefs in your pockets, Carl!

So in my first political endorsement, I would like to officially throw my support behind the man who will make sure that rent goes down, Jimmy McMillan.  While my reasons for supporting Mr. McMillan may seem to go against my capitalist opinions, I’m supporting him for the most important reason of them all and that is that when Governor Patterson leaves office in just a few months, we’re going to need to continue the recent wave of mental patients posing as Governor of New York.  Plus, he seems like the one who will be satirized the most on SNL.  Oh how Justin and I will miss them!

Moving on to more serious news, I have an announcement to make.  So next semester, we  (y’all and I) will be seeing Europe because I’m packing my twenty or so suitcases and flying to Siena, Italy for the Spring.  They told me on Monday that I should only pack one suitcase to have checked which will never work because everyone who knows me knows that when I go to Palm Beach for Winter Break, I take four suitcases, and that’s only for a month at most!  This is about five months.  I’ve always wanted to wear pants with an elastic waistband and figured now is about as good a time as ever to start.  I say this because I plan to eat nothing but gelato, pasta, pizza, Prosciutto di Parma, Mozzarella di Buffalo, and washing it all down with lots of Italian wine!  My Italian partner in crime, Sydney, and I will also be visiting some of Europe’s finest cities and Countries, so long as we manage to not wind up in jail because of having problems with our Visas.  I’m not even kidding y’all, these people legitimately got drunk and then wrote this thing because the regulations for traveling within the Schengen countries is obscene.  Also, WHO THE HELL PICKED THE CITY OF SCHENGEN FOR THE SITE OF THE SIGNING OF THE SCHENGEN AGREEMENT?  Couldn’t y’all have done this in a city that doesn’t remind me of China?  I’m just sayin’.  I’m looking forward to going to Siena, especially since I’m the only guy from UVa going (more for me!).

Speaking of situations with lots of pretty ladies, on Saturday night, Grace and I accompanied Rachel to her sorority house to help her make a Skippy, which is basically vodka, ice, a ton of beer, concentrate, and Sprite; I didn’t drink it.  First of all, having been inside some of the fraternity houses here at UVa and seeing how «well-maintained» they are, my bar for the cleanliness/stable condition for the foundation of Rachel’s sorority house wasn’t exactly all that high.  Then we went inside and that changed quickly.  Instead of another horrific sight of booze puddles, booze-covered pool tables, crumbling foundations, and shear chaos, the Rachel’s sorority house was absolutely lovely.  They had nice furniture, only one case of «Natty Lights» in the living room, no puddles of booze, and I’m told they have a chef.  Plus, I’ll be perfectly honest and just admit that as a guy, the site of so many gorgeous girls in one room wasn’t too bad either.  As I later told Grace, there is a heaven on earth after all.  Then we saw Rachel’s room, which has a closet half the size of mine with four times as much clothing in it, must be in violation of so many codes that it’s not even funny and has no central air conditioning, something few buildings at UVa seem to have.  Regardless, it was probably the highlight of the weekend.

Before this happened, I attempted to see The Social Network with the one person who for years scared me, my friend Jacquie (if your family owned funeral homes, you’d be scared too).  She was visiting Annie for the night from JMU, where she’s thankfully leaving after this semester for Sweet Briar.  However, when we got to the theatre, we learned that it was sold out on week three at the box office!  I’m still pissed.  So to drink away the sadness of not being able to see the movie, we joined that gang at Coupes and had a rather fun evening that ended somewhere around 4 after we saw Sarah finish off a massive plate of macaroni and cheese as well as some six-layer salsa at some random guy’s apartment while Annie and Grace… actually, I don’t know where they were or what they were doing because Jacquie and I were just mesmerized at the amount of food that Sarah is capable of inhaling despite maintaing her perfect figure.

While at Coupes, Sarah decided to get her dance on as well as attempt to perform a strip tease, but without actually taking any clothes off while Annie had to listen to some random drunk guy continue to mumble and slur his words while attempting to have a conversation with her.  She still doesn’t know who this young gentleman was.  Grace on the other hand, is one of the loudest drunks I’ve ever met.  Her already loud presence seems louder, plus she was really trying to get with the bartender.  Poor guy.  Then some idiot who is married pulled the «my wife is nine months pregnant» line when asking Grace if she had seen the girl who had his blazer that had his phone in it.  Of course, Grace went off looking for it.  He was there for three more hours because I saw him while walking home later that evening.

On Wednesday, Annie admitted that the only reason she came to the class we have together was because I got her a doughnut at the newly opened Dunkin’ Donuts.  Her iPhone wasn’t working for some reason so I assumed she was still asleep and about to eat that doughnut when she slid into her seat about ten minutes late.  Better late than never though!  She did, however, miss our professor proclaim his love to Beatrice, his Schwinn bicycle.  I don’t think anyone will disagree with me when I say that there is something wrong when you name your bicycle.

On Wednesday of last week, Sydney and I went to this amazing tapas restaurant, MAS, to celebrate our acceptance into the Siena program.  Our reasoning for not getting Italian was that we’ll have five months to eat Italian food in Italy.  While it was beyond amazing food and sangria, the location is a little bizarre, but completely worth the visit if in Charlottesville.

Andrew has been accepted to the Duke in LA program for next semester and while I’m so happy for him and I encourage him to go, it will be interesting to see how much communicating we have because there will be a nine-hour time difference between Siena and LA.  Oh well, maybe Andrew can stay up past 22h30 to chat!  Justin has been preoccupied all week with some extremely dense book that would put me to sleep in about ten minutes.  I’m loving my book, How to Become a Scandal: Adventures in Bad Behavior by Laura Kipnis and hope to be finished with it by some time next week so that I might be able to move on to True Prep.

Finally tonight, we need to talk about Risky Business.  I briefly mentioned it on Thursday, but I’m not finished discussing this softcore porno.  That’s what it is, plain and simple.  After that amazing scene that Tom Cruise does in the living room, the movie just goes straight down hill and gets borderline X-rated in my opinion.  Furthermore, I NEVER WANTED TO SEE TOM CRUISE STHUPPING SOMEONE, LET ALONE ON A FLIGHT OF STAIRS (that sounds painful too) OR ON GYM EQUIPMENT!  I’m shocked Cruise agreed to do anything like that, especially since this is what Dana Carvey says his religion believes:

Plus now, I can never look at Tom Cruise the same away ever again.  I’m going to end here tonight because if I have to have nightmares about this nut, then I think it’s only fair that y’all have to as well.  Until then…

-JD

PS:  The basil is actually beginning to grow and by the time I leave for Siena, I bet I’ll be able to actually eat some of it, which is great because by the time I get back, they will have been tossed out by my mother, who will inevitably forget they exist and let them die.  This happens more often that y’all might think.

So the ONE Thing Keeping Me From Going Skydiving Actually Happened to Someone

That’s right, someone was sexually assaulted somewhere between the jumping out of the plane part and the landing on the ground part.  Now granted, the guy just grabbed the woman’s breast by accident (since he’s gay and doesn’t really find the breast to be all that exciting), and while my fear has nothing to do with my tandem grabbing my man-breast, it has to do with being um… assaulted from behind at 10,000ft in the air over wherever I plan to go skydiving someday.  I know that is disturbingly gross and  very wrong , but I’m sorry, I just have bizarre fear that this may happen.  If there was a way that could go go skydiving without this issue (say perhaps if I had a woman for a tandem), then I definitely would.  Also, getting Grace, Justin and Andrew to go with me would also make it more fun, but I’m well aware that all three of them would rather drop dead than go skydiving with me.

Moving on, so I saw a ±250 lb man Monday in Harris Teeter buying Activia, that yogurt that helps correct your digestive system.  Personally, I would never buy that stuff, especially after seeing this parody from Saturday Night Live:

In continuing with this theme, Annie’s roommate, Sarah (my new favorite person), decided that she should go around to every person at the party we attended (along with my first Saturday Night Out With… guest) who was smoking and proceed to tell the mostly intoxicated crowd that they need to make the current cigarette he/she was smoking the LAST ONE EVER, NO EXCUSES!  The girl can deliver a Public Service Announcement while slightly intoxicated; can you get any better than that?

So in the early moments of Thursday morning last week, while attempting to study for my Psychology exam (a class I absolutely hate, in case anyone cares) at around 1h0, the power to a majority of Charlottesville went out amidst a lovely thunderstorm which lowered the temperature quite a bit.  It couldn’t have come at a worse time because I wasn’t completely finished studying for my exam, but I managed to finish studying by flashlight.  It was a rather interesting night to say the least.  Later that day, I then saw a girl walking in the middle of the rain wondering why her UGG Boots were getting ruined.  Really, you don’t know why because even a three-year-old could tell you why that is!  On Friday, I spent the majority of the day with Sydney.  We went to lunch at Feast before getting gelato with the Italian Club at Splendora’s.  It was a lot of fun and I learned that I can still understand Italian, even if I continue to intertwine Spanish and Italian when trying to speak either one.  They have a great sign when you walk in that I just had to take a photo of:

We wanted to originally see The Social Network, but due to a few issues, we just ended up seeing Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps.  To be honest, it was just as good the second time around.  Sydney also enjoyed the film, as this was her first time seeing it.  Now, I used the lavatory before the movie and so there’s always that stupid vending machine for medicine and cough medicine, well this theatre had one for some weird things, as y’all can see below.  I’m just glad they didn’t sell condoms.

On Saturday, it was so cold in the morning that I went outside for my run, saw how cold it was and went back to bed.  I later met up with Grace, Annie, Sarah, Emma, and Walt Dog, Mr. Wilkins during halftime at the game.  While there, a praying mantis began to get rather close to our tailgate area, which lead to quite a unique few moments that I photographed for y’all to see:

Isn’t it just precious?

Well then it got too close for comfort so Walt Dog decided move it for us because apparently, I’m not allowed to step on it:

He then took across the parking lot to keep it away from us:

Amazingly, this was highlight of the game because it was just pitiful to watch.  Before leaving, I got two great photos of the gang.  I prefer the first one because Annie looks so «hood» as the kids would say.

HOW YOU DOIN,’ Annie?

That’s much better.

I’m not going to mention Saturday night because that will be coming out on Thursday in the first edition of Saturday Night Out With…

On Sunday after my run, I ended up stumbling upon an infomercial about Holy Land Amusement Park, which I just found to be hysterical because I used to see it so often.  I was scared by the end because it lasted an hour long.

Andrew got to escape to Manhattan this past weekend (lucky) after convincing the fine folks at Delta that he absolutely had to get on a flight Thursday to New York.  Only Andrew.  I hope he finished editing his film by the time he reads this because I want to see it!  Justin sold $400 worth of jewelry Monday and also received the delivery of his newest fashion accessory, a very cool safari jacket.  I said that it was very Bond to which Justin responded by saying «yes, it is. Especially since I drink martinis, and do a countless number of other things like Bond. Hehehe!»  He also said something about him wearing the safari jacket with an ascot, which is one of the few things mother refuses to let me buy.  I’m hoping that by showing her a photo of Justin wearing an ascot that perhaps she’ll let me finally fulfill my dream and buy one as well.

Finally tonight, I would like to remind all of y’all who somehow forgot this, but next Friday, the 15th of October, is the single most important day of the year, the Twenty-First anniversary of my birth.  I’m registered at all my favorite places, Magnolia Bakery, Bombolini, Hermès (specifically the grey tie that Shia la Boeuf  wore in his first work scene of Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps), Ralph Lauren (where I am a Slim-Fit, Custom-Fit Medium; yes, that is a real size), Krug or one of the vineyards of Bordeaux, and most importantly, Nutella.  Thanks in advance!

Expect the first edition of Saturday Night Out With… to be posted on Thursday evening.  I will say that I had a great experience, though all I’ll say for now is that I have a serious issue with the obscene amount of flannel that I saw during the course of the fours hours in which I followed «The Unobtainable One They All Wish They Could Get.»  Until then…

-JD

PS: The basil have grown a little bit I guess, but y’all can make that determination on your own.

Also, I’ve recently become a fan of Kanye’s new single, Power.  Now, I can’t tell if it’s me or if he’s singing «Meryl Streep» in the chorus.  Grace can’t decide what she thinks about this theory, so I’m leaving it up to y’all, my «loyal» readers to decide.

Justin Turned Twenty-One, I Went to a Bull Riding Competition and Andrew Admitted to Enjoying Boston Market… At Least We Get a Fresh Start with Fall

So this week has been very busy.  To begin, I saw Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps, and while it’s not the same as the original, I personally enjoyed it.  Yes, Uncle Gordie isn’t as fantastic as he was in the original (I do see him as role model), but the story of Jacob Moore, played by Shia «le Bœuf Bourguignon,» actually showed that there is still loyalty left on Wall Street.  This «let’s root for the optimist who wants to save the world with some new energy solution» idea ended though as soon as Uncle Gordie came back into action.  Oh this man is good!  Anyone who steals $100 million that was left to their daughter in order to get back to the top of the financial ladder is a winner in my book.  I would use this opportunity now to post Grace’s reaction to the movie, but someone got out of going.  It was her loss because the theatre was all conservative white guys who were well-dressed.  In other words, Grace missed meeting husbands two, three, four, five, and six.  Husband number one wasn’t there because well, it was past his bedtime since he’s got to be at least 80 and on oxygen to even be considered.  Interestingly, when alcoholic, drug-addict Charlie Sheen reprised his role of Bud Fox during a cameo appearance at a charity event at the Met, my fellow theatre goers booed Sheen’s character for sending a truly great man to prison for eight years.

By the way, in case anyone is looking for birthday presents for me, the grey check tie that «le Bœuf Bourguignon» wore in one scene; I have to have that tie.  I’m assuming (I may be wrong, but I hope I’m not) that it’s from Hermès, but it’s just so nice.  Also, I know that while no one actually has pocket squares these days, I feel that it’s time to bring them back (hence, I bought one this summer at Century 21) .  In my final summary of Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps, I’d like to reiterate what A.O. Scott wrote in his review of the movie for the Times with regard to how Stone portrays Manhattan.  Scott writes that «Manhattan has rarely looked so persuasively gorgeous. Mr. Stone and the director of photography, Rodrigo Prieto, turn the city into a dazzling jewel box — sometimes literally, as when the camera, gliding through a gala soiree, surveys the sparkly, dangly earrings of the women in attendance, alighting finally on the plain and tasteful pearl studs Ms. Mulligan is wearing.»  Personally, I have to agree; the city was shown so beautifully (they even showed a great shot of my favorite building on the park, The St. Urban on 89th and CPW) and did anyone else find it interesting that the office where Jake Moore works is across the street from the infamous Lipstick building; you know, the same building where Bernie had his offices?

Moving along, so as y’all know, Grace, Annie and I saw Easy A on Thursday.  It was strange.  Personally, I thought it was too over-the-top fictional.  I mean, let’s be honest, no one is going to pick a girl up for a date in a John Deer.  Everyone else with whom I’ve spoken regarding this film had nothing but praise for it, and while it was funny, I just got bored pretty quickly.  Interesting note, this was the first movie in a while in which Stanley Tucci did not sport the turquoise ring he usually does in his movies.  I actually found the scenes with Tucci and Patricia Clarkson were the most entertaining people in the movie because of their great chemistry and hysterical lines.

On Saturday, Grace, Annie, Sarah, and I tailgated before and during the UVa-VMI game, which we won, with fried chicken, ham biscuits, and a wedge of brie, because that’s Grace’s new cheese apparently.  It was so hot hat I had to keep my linen blazer on simply to hide the sweat on my back (lovely mental image, I know).  Meanwhile, Grace and I are standing there watching the game and two rednecks ask what is with the formal dress.  Now, having been brought up/self-taught to NEVER acknowledge crazy people simply because there’s a good chance they will either kill you, rape you, hold you for ransom, or ask you twenty questions in hick.  We got stuck with the hick questions.  Grace, who was raised the opposite way and ALWAYS opens up to anyone within earshot, begins explaining the traditions of UVa to which hick one responds «so it’s the corperations takin’ over the sckool.»  Well Grace then continues when this clearly 35 and ready to get with a college girl moron asks where the action is going to be later in the evening before eventually offering him a sip of whiskey from her flask.  THEN and ONLY THEN does she realize that hick one and hick two are psychopaths and that we need to get the hell out of there.  I meanwhile, am just trying to not get shot.  Worse, they had chewing tobacco, which is probably the lowest one can get.  After we bid adieu to hicks from Texas, by way of Virginia Beach, Grace then claims she talked to the hillbillies and offered them some of her Jack Daniels because she thought it would make them a bit more normal.  Yeah, I’m never taking her on a subway.  Grace, the lesson I hope you learned from this experience is that if someone looks a bit awkward, avoid eye contact, feign deafness, give a one-word response and then burry your head in your iPhone/BlackBerry, or simply walk away.

That evening, the four of us then headed to the Professional Bull Riders Charlottesville Invitational.  This is not a joke, and I have photos and a video to prove that I was there.  But, before we get inside, the cheap seats are gone so while deciding if it’s worth paying $40 a ticket to see some morons ride a bull, this soldier just walks up to us and gives us three tickets and won’t even let us pay him for them.  It was one of the nicest things anyone had ever done.  We don’t know who you were, but thank you.  This place was such a freakshow that I took quite a few photos, and two videos, which I’ll post later this week (as soon as I figure out how iMovie on my iPod Touch works).

So following the bull riding competition, the girls decided that we should go to a bar.  It was unlike any bar I’ve ever been to before.  Instead of civilized behavior, it was a sea of alcoholics, which is always nice until some idiot decides to knock over a pitcher of beer (which I don’t drink because I find the taste revolting) and have it land close to you so that it spills all over you.  It was a lovely end to the day.

So Andrew finally wore his Hunter boots for the first time, despite buying them months ago.  I wore mine as well today because of the rain.  Even more interesting than that is that Andrew, who has eaten some of the finest food in the world, actually loves the fine cuisine of Boston Market.  Personally, I like my rotisserie chickens to come from Costco.  Andrew and I also realized something today as we walked the grounds of our respective schools: people wear sandals, particularly Rainbows (which I own a pair) during the rain.  Why would someone in their right mind wear a pair of sandals in the rain?  He can’t answer this, I can’t answer this; we’re completely at a loss for an explanation.  Here’s my real question: who wants to have brown feet?

Going back to the Hunter boots for a second, I have to just say that whenever I wear them, people look at me as though I’m diseased; what, it’s okay for women to wear boots in the rain but if a guy does it, I’m being looked at as if I committed some sort of crime?  Here’s the deal, I payed more than I probably should have for my shoes and since they have no insulation whatsoever and are made of leather, there is no way in hell that I’m going to wear them in the rain because not only do I want them to get one step closer to being ruined partly because they don’t currently produce the style of shoe I have, but because I don’t want my foot to get soaking wet and turn brown.  So if anyone throws me one of those damn   looks again for wearing boots, let’s just say that bad things might happen.

So Justin finally turned twenty-one on Sunday.  Since I can’t legally buy him alcohol, I instead sent him  a check so that he could buy himself the bottle of Hendrick’s Gin that he wanted for himself.  Justin also mentioned to me that he has peppermint soap.  Don’t ask how this was brought up, but he added that it has a numbing effect on certain areas (I wasn’t supposed to write that, but I couldn’t help myself).

Interestingly, did anyone know that in France, the two animals that are considered to be emotional support animals are a dog and a monkey.  That’s right, a monkey is an emotional support animal.  Jean told me this because Lily, her emotional support animal, is to travel to France with her in November, however she must first obtain approval because a cat has been replaced by a monkey on the list of what is an approved animal by the French government.  Honestly, this is absurd even for the French.  In  a semi-related story, I was informed this weekend that Annie’s new favorite obsession, Sasquatch porn, has been added to Urbandictionary.com by Annie herself.  If you too fear that your computer will attract this fetish by simply clicking the above link, here is the definition she posted:

Kinky pornographic material that involves a girl (or boy) venturing into the forest in search of the mysterious hair covered mongoloid, and they do it in the forest.

Isn’t that just lovely?

In addition to everything else bizarre that happened this past week, I had to venture into uncharted territory in my grocery store as well when I had to purchase a Swiffer.  I should have taken a photo to explain why I had such an issue with buying this thing because they give you so many choices and accessories that you simply don’t know what it is you need to buy.  Even better, I’m standing there with about four other guys I’ve never met, but in the same predicament as I was, just staring at this section of the cleaning aisle with no clue in hell.  No one knew what to do and for about twenty minutes, we just stood in silence staring until one guy cracked and called his girlfriend for help; she was no help to us because she told her boyfriend to forget about it and that she’d do it for him.  Thanks a lot!  Finally, I gave in and called my mother to see what I needed to buy.  In my defense, I’ve never purchased one of these before and I almost never go down the cleaning aisle in a grocery store.

On Monday evening, I went to see my friend, Sydney, at her dorm, which is the Italian House on grounds to make pasta, hence I didn’t get to post last night.  It was fun and I cooked the pasta last night as well and while it didn’t taste as good as the stuff in the box does, it wasn’t half bad.  Then the building’s fire alarm went off and I was stuck outside in a drizzle for twenty minutes while the fire department took forever to get here and then search the building.  On a positive note, I met my neighbors and they seem nice!  Unfortunately, I didn’t have a chance to meet the sex maniac who lives above me.  Last week, Cialis, as I call him/her, got it own four times in less than six hours.  I know this because the bed makes noises every time.  I’ve decided that the next time Cialis decides to «get it on» with four different people (you can hear the door open and close), I’m going to knock on Cialis’s door with a borrowed copy of the Bible and a rosary and just say that Jesus is watching.  I’m also going to suggest that Cialis take his/her anger out in a way that doesn’t involve him/her banging on the floor when walking, because it’s getting beyond annoying.

Well, as y’all can see, it’s been a busy week and while this one is going to be busy as well, it’s going to be mostly academics, so until next time…

-JD