I'm A Believer

Everyone's talking about Dave, also known as Dave Diamond, also known as former T-Bird catcher extraordinaire, also known as the winner of the "closest to the camera" award from the most recent Catholic School Party.



Drunk or sober, I always enjoy his Neil Diamond tribute, and so should you. If you're not at the Jazzhaus Saturday night, I pity you. You'll have to settle for this:

The Careful People

The careful people are always careful. They do not drive drunk. They wear a helmet. The careful people have never spilled their drink - not on a person and not on a person's furniture. The careful people do not use the armrest when sitting in the window seat, the middle seat, or the aisle seat; when it's time to de-board, they retrieve their luggage without hitting anyone, without slowing the pace. The careful people see you coming on the sidewalk, and give you lots of room. They check their blind spot before changing lanes. They value their possessions. The careful people always return your calls. The careful people do not track mud into the house. They do not smoke, but if they did, they would always dispose of the butts properly. The careful people rarely have sex, and if they do, they always use a condom. They ask permission. They say please and thank you. The careful people offer you a drink, and are careful not to mention anything about your coaster use, or non-use. The careful people don't speak until they are certain. The careful people don't make a move until it is sure. They get the insurance. They use two coats of paint. They have emergency kits - a blanket in the trunk. Their CDs are not scratched. Their shirts are not wrinkled. The careful people keep the receipts. The careful people break for yellow, as you drive through. You get there first. You get there fashionably late. You leave first. You have the benefit of the doubt. The careful people are just happy to have you.

Blaine Buzz

The thing about publicity stunts is the publicity:



For the record, David Blaine isn't married. I mean, duh - if you were David Blaine, and could do whatever or whomever you want, would you really get hitched? Don't be an idiot. And moreover, don't be a Google idiot - use quotes to Google "David Blaine's girlfriend" and find what you're looking for.

Funereal

This idea has been saved as a draft since October 26, 2005. It's one sentence long:

jerk songs to play at funeral: Everybody Hurts

I thought of one more tonight, James Taylor's Fire and Rain.

But that's it. And now I'm going to go upstairs and read. David Blaine, I still believe in you, and still think that your magic is real.

The Other Archives - My Beard

[Written in the early fall of 2002. Posted because, a.) Some people still haven't seen my legendary beard, and b.) I told Heather I had written reasons for the beard, and she asked me to share.]

I haven't seen Dana since I left Manhattan. It was strange, then, to see her waiting for my bus on the first week of school.

I was downtown, next to the library, waiting for a 50 or 16 to take me to campus. The girl looked very much like Dana - especially the lips - and I found myself staring at her a little too much.

She sat one seat in front of me on the bus, an opportunity I took to stare at her a lot more. I miss Dana. I should talk to Dana sometime. I need to get her number in Dallas.

The bus stopped at the west bank and continued over the Washington Ave. Bridge. "Dana" laughed when she saw the shoe tree to our right. (The shoe tree is a tree that has a lot of shoes in it. The shoes' laces are tied to one another, and then they are draped like ornaments in the tree. I have no idea who does this and why it is done.) She turned her neck, allowing herself to see the tree for the maximum amount of time, and our eyes met while she was smiling, mouth slightly open. After making eye contact she stopped smiling and faced forward.

I was probably frowning. I'm always frowning. Mom used to always say I frown while I read - it probably applies to when I'm staring at chicks, too. Or buying groceries. Or whatever. I'm such a sour little fucker. Why can't I just have a slight smile on my face when it's apparent the girl I'm staring at on the bus is going to see me?

Maybe it wasn't the frowning. Maybe it was my beard.

* * *

If I were to guess what the most commonly asked question is, I'd say, "What's up?" Lately, however, it has been, "What's up with the beard?" Below are my reasons for growing a beard.

In the movie (presumably the book) Fight Club, there's a line: "How much can you know about yourself if you've never been in a fight? I don't want to die without any scars." I don't want to die without having grown a beard. Why not grow a beard?

After all, that scene in The Royal Tenenbaums with Richie cutting off his huge beard is a pretty neat one, set to Elliott Smith music, and Richie is a pretty cool character...

I've always wanted to come home after an absence changed. I really wanted to experience coming home to friend and family and hearing them say how much muscle I've gained. "You look a lot bigger," they'd say. "Wow. You look hot," the ladies would say. I've accepted the fact that I don't have the drive, and possibly don't have the metabolism, to gain a lot of muscle through weightlifting. So, instead of the bodybuilding thing, I'm accomplishing the dream with a beard. It will not be nearly as cool, and people will just say, "A beard? Why?" but whatever.

Finally, I was pretty sure that I shouldn't date anyone for a while. It seems like I don't know exactly what I want, and until I figure out what to go after I should have some sort of assurance that I can't hook up with a lady that isn't the best lady around. A wild, unruly beard was just the thing.



[Thanks to Pick for the hardware to scan this photo. Note the sliding door in the background - you might remember that door and that apartment from last summer in Oklahoma.]

A Trick Is Something A Whore Does For Money

Pop Candy wrote last week:

David Copperfield recently fooled a criminal by using magic. Jealous, David Blaine?

Let me fill you in, Whitney Matheson. First, David Copperfield did not use magic. He used an illusion. He is an illusionist.


Second, David Blaine does not get "jealous". David Blaine lives on a higher plane than we mortals. (And, occasionally, he lives underwater.)

David Blaine is not an illusionist. David Blaine is not a magician. David Blaine IS magic.

Do you know what David Blaine would have done in that situation? I'll tell you what David Blaine would have done in that situation. First, David Blaine would have advised his female companions (David Blaine needs no assistants, male or female, and rarely interacts with other humans for whimsical purposes, but I will assume in this hypothetical situation that two women were near him, and were being taught how to suspend their impish perspective of reality) to remain calm. David Blaine would have insisted they did not hand over any belongings or money, with the possible exception of a quarter, which David Blaine would have bitten in half, then reconstituted via magic. Next, David Blaine would have faced the would-be criminal, and asked him if he wanted to see a trick. Avoiding David Blaine's piercing eyes, the youth would have responded affirmatively. David Blaine would have presented him with a deck of cards, and instructed him to remove one card, and forbade him from revealing the card's value. David Blaine would then have asked the assailant to look down. Horrible screams would have echoed through the West Palm Beach streets (not that David Blaine would dare trespass in such vapid territory, preferring instead the only city large enough to manage his worldly vessel, New York City) as the thief saw his legs had morphed into snakes, which were slithering away, across the street, down the sidewalk, and into a Cheesecake Factory. As the man succumbed to shock, David Blaine would have calmly and clearly uttered the last words he would ever hear: Eight of Diamonds.

I trust I don't have to tell you that David Blaine would have been absolutely correct.

Bonertime!

The wedding photos are up on my Flickr account.


Enjoy!