The Dromomaniac

Homeward Bound (I Wish I Was)

Despite my earlier attempts to get down to NYC and LI and all of the other acronyms outside of BUF, I am DETERMINED to get there afore this year be out. Hence, plans for the holidays.

See, now that I'm schoolin' again, I have two fully glorious and delicious weeks off around Christmas during which I plan to do nothing other than revel in my atheism and thank God that people believe in Him enough to create federal holidays around Him. Faith rocks.

Paul and I will be going downstate following Christmas, and antics will include (but will in no way be limited to):

-New Year's Eve, Crooklyn-style

-Dodging bullets in Washington Heights

-Forcing sing-a-longs at 55 Bar

-Gorging on veg fare

-Kazoo serenades

Sure, I'll have to visit family members on LI and all, but SHIZZLE, ma nizzles: this will be the first non-work-extended NYC trip in a loung time. 

For now, I'm going to shake off the 20F weather by taking my umpteenth hot bath of the day and pouring (yet another) glass o' red.

What Happens When Your Mother Joins Facebook (Part I)

Mom: Will you be my friend ???
           -Mom

Jay:     YOU HAVE TO ADD ME AS A FRIEND

Mom: Alright already ! I think that I did.

           -M

Jay: Finafuckingly

The Duderinos

Well, since my mom keeps checking this blog and I haven't updated, I'll do my lil' tribute to Men I Inexplicably Love. I've given props to the chicas before, so it's time for the chicos. Some are eye candy, most are not, and for one reason or another, I just dig 'em.

George Clooney. Ah, Mr. Clooney. He's a looker, most certainly, but he looks a little too much for my brother to have me diggin on his looks. I think he's so deliciously sarcastic that I can't help but love him. Sigh.

John Turturro. He's pretty amazingly awesome in a really awesome way. He goes from playing The Jesus to a Hogwhollop with ease and grace. And him and Clooney together and I'm good for any Coen bros film.

Chris Martin. See, now this one baffles me. I don't find him the least bit attractive, but I do so love Coldplay that I guess it spills over to him. He's also quite a douche in  interviews, but I respect their music since they don't crank out shit often. So Chris Martin? Keep you mouth shut and keep penning music and we'll be good.

Timbaland. I know, I know, I've paid tribute to Timbo before, but c'MON! It's love. 

Stephen Colbert. Paul made the mistake of turning me on to "The Colbert Report" and now I swoon over Stephen Colbert.  It cannot be helped.

Barack Obama. Yes, it's true: I have a crush on the President-elect. Looks count. Fact. I do wish he'd grow out his 'fro, though. His 1970s pics were the shiz. 

Sucky Suckiness

Today	Tomorrow	Sat	Sun	Mon
Rain	Showers	Showers	Rain/Snow Showers	Snow Showers
High: 50° Low: 48°	High: 55° Low: 45°	High: 50° Low: 35°	High: 39°        Low: 31°	High: 36° Low: 27°

Bahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Idle

With my day off, a doctor told me my skin isn't totally fucked, I saw a film with my friend, and I had drinks with other friends. Good stuff.

I met Ann for "Rachel Getting Married." I'd heard mixed reviews, but I like Demme's work and wanted to see this badly. I don't think Ann liked it as much as I did. Anne Hathway brilliantly portrayed the spoiled former junkie Kim, who was not completely liekable but infinitely sympathetic. Although some of the party scenes dragged on far too long, I thought the film was a good depiction of the fishbowl that families become during weddings and funerals.

As far as drinks? Shango, once again.

I need to sleep.

Service by Civilians

I once again thank all you taxpayers out there for letting me sleep until 9:30 this morning. Y'all rock out. Fer reals.

I do so sincerely thank all veterans who have served in all the corps possible. Read last year's post for that shout.

I'd planned on catching up on home shtuff today but managed to book myself up with social silliness so now? Not gonna happen.

Rolling on Shabbas

Fun verdict? Bowling. It was one of those kismet-ish decisions; last weekend, after the Halloween mayhem, we went to an estate sale and bought two bowling balls, complete with awesome 1960s bags and shoes. The wife's name was Dot, which was my grandmother's name, too, so Dotsy became my bowling name. Paul and I began to fantasize about bowling, even though I haven't bowled since I was about 12. HOWEVER, I sent out an email to a bunch of friends asking what, in god's name, should I do? last night and two responded "how about bowling?" within two minutes of each other. AND SO, I went on line to check out what was going on at Voelker's and they were having a Lebowski Fest! Ho Lee Smoke! So we had to go, since this was all clearly pre-ordained. We did not go in costume because I can't imagine rolling with styrofoam boobs, but we should've because we easily would've walked away the the first prize of Labatt's party pack. Harumph.

Winona & Me

These people are dromomaniacs, hooked on travelling. They suffer from an impulse-control disorder. No sooner is one trip over than they are planning the next. They fantasise about exotic locations, which hold out promise of change, adventure and excitement.

The Houldsworth Gallery in Cork Street, London, is now showing recent paintings by G-Brecht, a Dutch artist. They could have been painted for dromomaniacs. Mysterious jungles and still woods are juxtaposed alongside the detailed portrayal of an aircraft’s cockpit.

The tendency for doctors who observe and attempt to treat aberrant human quirks and idiosyncrasies by categorising similar ones together as a personality disorder has recently been attacked. But this practice can be useful.

Dromomania is included under the general category of impulse-control disorders. The impact of the impulse-control disorders was illustrated by the shoplifting (kleptomania) of Winona Ryder, and the account in the courts of the shopaholic spending of a senior Oxford University official, which resulted in a considerable loss for the university. Compared with these aberrations, dromomania — the obsession with travel and its paraphernalia — is comparatively trivial.

Dromomaniacs are always planning the next journey. Once this is planned they become increasingly tense, the tension reaching a peak at the airport lest the flight is cancelled. They are overwhelmed by a huge sense of relief once their jet is airborne and they are heading for their destination.

Just like the shoplifter or the arsonist, the dromomaniac’s impulse-control disorder results in a build-up of pressure which can be released only when their appetite has been satisfied. Once home again, they can face the tedium of traffic jams or cancelled trains. Sooner or later, though, their eye will be caught by a gaudy travel poster, and the cycle will be repeated.

Lost

I'm at a loss for things to do today and tonight. There's tons of shit I need to do, but the lazy hath taken over and I know most of it won't happen. And for tonight, I already whined to Paul that I want to do something different but I have no clue what that means. I know it does mean that I don't want to go to a crappy bar and drink bad beer because, sadly, that doesn't really qualify as "different." 

Gimme

Now that the election's over and my benevolence for America is rapidly receding, I can go back to being the self-absorbed git we've all come to know and love. Today's topic: "Things I Want."

Basically, after Yules dumped Tilly and The Wall on me, I'm now obsessed with Iron & Wine, Fleet Foxes, and The Hold Steady. So they're on their way momentarily.

I've also just finished the Miranda July book and am halfway through "Under the Banner of Heaven" by Jon Krakauer. So now what? Joshua Ferris, Ambrose Bierce, more Miranda, and Milan. *Swoon* 

Clothing provides ample opps to be shallow. Etsy's got this shirt that I'm debating, and REI's got this sweater that I'm not. I needs to find me some new boots, so I assume that'll happen tomorrow on my break.

 

Economy, schmeconomy. Spend like you're terminal.