Mile High Message

The name of the song is "Laid" and was originally perfomed by the band James. Matt Nathanson did a cover of the song for American Pie 3: American Wedding.

This Just In

According to Page Six, I escorted the future Mrs. Brett Ratner to his table at the We Are Family Gala.

NOW that his romance with Serena Williams has gone south, randy director Brett Ratner seems to be settling down with his former gal pal. Model Alina Pascau has been flashing a massive canary-yellow diamond engagement ring Ratner recently gave her, we're told. Pascau, a Romanian stunner, used to date reclusive billionaire Jeffrey Epstein. Epstein, who handles Leslie Wexner's fortune, helped land her a gig modeling for Wexner's Victoria's Secret brand, we hear, and paid for her to live in high style. After they broke up she and Ratner dated for a while before his fling with Williams. "She's beautiful, but dumb as paint," one pal of Pascau told us. "She never washes her hair and she always has a cellphone glued to her ear. Without Jeffrey she would never have gotten the Victoria's Secret job." Pascau, who likes high-profile men, also used to bed down with Formula I driver Eddie Irvine. Ratner's rep did not return calls.

How about that. I really spelled her name wrong. She was fucking stunning, but as reported not that bright. Maybe I can score an invite to that wedding.

Bio

Our next reader has been involved in the media/entertainment business since childhood. He got his start as “the” Gerber baby from 1981-83 until it was outsourced to a younger baby willing to work for less money in India. He continued modeling for the next few years, but his big break came when he played a Tree/Doc Understudy in Mrs. Pauker’s 2nd grade production of Snow White & the Seven Dwarfs. Modeling agents took note of his innate ability to stand silently in a given place and smile. He went on to model in Jordache Jeans ads and a few Citibank brochures as well as being cast as Ike in the theatrical performance of Oklahoma. However, he grew disillusioned with the industry and began to focus on academics. After graduating from Lehigh University and working at some dead end jobs he was diagnosed with A.O.I. (Acute Onset Insomnia). As a condition to receiving a prescription for Ambien his doctor required that he find a creative outlet for the thoughts constantly running through his mind and preferably one that would get him laid while simultaneously thrusting him back into the C-List celebrity flashlight. Unfortunately, he chose blogging.

[Editor's Note: I will be performing at the next Inner Monologues reading hosted by Lex on June 13th at Apocalypse Lounge (189 E. 3rd Street, between Ave. A and B)]

Consumerism

In case everyone isn't as good a customer as me and my American Express, I thought I'd share the information on the private sale of the Summer.

The Barney's Summer Sale.

Begins Tuesday May 24th
30%-50% off regular prices.

I'll be manning the refreshment station on the 5th floor. So stop by get a lollipop, some bottled water, a pair of dress socks or athletic socks for shoe try ons and a Snapple cap.

The Tear

It was late and I was tired. With my head gently laid to rest on one of my pillows I was face up looking at my ceiling. Only moments later I felt its coolness running down my cheek. I rubbed my eyes. Was I so tired that I was tearing? Did I have a sudden allergy attack sans any allergies? Or was that a tear? It couldn't have been, yet I'm certain it was. Why would a single tear have been emitted from my tired eyes I wondered. By all acounts yesterday was an enjoyable day. So I laid awake wondering what caused this solitary tear.

In what seemed like forever but was actually 10 minutes it came to me. In that precise moment the realization what caused my eye to well up with emotion scared me. Something I had read scared me. It shook me deep to the core. I could not believe words could have such a profound effect on me. I had long since figured out how to internalize my emotions. To never let other people see even a single tear. Tears are a sign of weakness and I could never let people know that what they had said or done had gotten to me. The title of what I read was called The Waiting. I wrote it last night. The inspiration for the post was supposed to be the nervousness before a date, or interview, or important talk. To compare the feelings of having a nervous but predominantly exciting moment while waiting versus the feelings of nervousness that was all nerves while waiting for news.

As I started writing though about an experience that at best could be described as anticlimatic and at worst sad, the words just came pouring out. The Waiting essentially wrote itself. Something so sad just came so naturally. That scares the shit out of me. That writing about hardships and tribulations was just second nature. As though I've had so much practice it has become a rote exercise. Lately I have been moving away from chronocling my everyday and present activity to focus more on memories and fictionalizations of my life. I knew why I was scared, but what caused the tear?

Being scared isn't what caused the tear. I was looking for what caused me to be sad. Why sadness? Why then? That's when I realized that my most vivid memories weren't shrouded in happiness. The stories were inherently sad and it blew my mind. Why couldn't I think of one story where I was undeniably happy? What was wrong with me? With my life? The sum total of almost 25 years and I couldn't distinctly remember a happy memory to write about. I could tell you about learning of my grandfather's death, or the day I left Lehigh after a final and drove straight to the hospital where I was admitted before being taken into surgery, or finding out I was downsized. These are some of the worst events in my life, in anyone's life, but when my brain hits the equivalent of the last channel button one of them is always playing. It's like tuning into MTV and yet another episode of Real World/Road Rules Challenge is on and thinking, "this sucks."

Well guess what? This sucks.

The Waiting

I was dressed casually in jeans and t-shirt, not one to where my finest when taking a test. I wanted to be comfortable, not buttoned up. The woman called my name, "Jxxxxx Bxxxxx." I stood up and followed her in. She explained what would happen next and to just try and relax. It was simple test called a sweat test. I was 20. An adult who had over come many any obstacle and who had mentally matured years before I would physically. My closest confidantes and trusted professionals all indicated the test was just routine and nothing to be alarmed about. All I had to do was sweat, probably the easiest test I had ever taken. I sweat all the time. Place me in front of an interviewer and I'm drenched. On chaise lounge beside the pool, the towel will be soaked without me having even tested the water temperature. Give me two Tylenol call me in the morning and I will be changing my sheets which show a clear outline of my sleeping body. Eerily similar to the chalk outlines on Law & Order. So when I entered the testing room which was set to a balmy sweat my balls off, I knew I'd pass right away. The woman ran some gauze in the crevices of my elbow and behind my knees. They were sufficiently damp. In all of five minutes I was done. One Pepsi and t-shirt later and I was back to normal body temperature.

A couple of days later the tests came back negative. I had failed. Yet again failing was a positive. I was emotionless. I assumed this minor inconvenience of an extra article of clothing in laundry was indicative of the minor outcome it would reveal. How wrong I was. The look of relief was instantly recognizable. This wasn't an ordinary test. The implications for which this test was sold to me were falsehoods. When the words were too difficult to be vocalized I knew I wouldn't like what I was preparing to hear. The sweat test doesn't test vitamin levels, or oxygenation or any other simple deficiency. The Sweat Test has been the "gold standard" for the last 40 years in diagnosing CF. For you non-doctors out there, unabbreviated CF stands for Cystic Fibrosis.

I went numb. To this day I can't remember what I was feeling. I know my emotions were so varied as if I had taken every drug (pharmaceutical or otherwise) in rapid succession with each drug kicking in at different times for minutes at a time before losing its effect. I had limited knowledge of what CF actually is and that knowledge has not grown in the years since. I am too afraid even now to fully explore the magnitude of what that test revealed. As sick as this may seem I feel deprived of my emotions. The waiting is always the worst after a medical procedure. It's a time when "what if" isn't an unrealistic outcome. When you have the best doctors and they order a test, "what if" is a distinct possibility or it wouldn't have been ordered. In some strange conspiracy everyone witheld the true purpose of that test. It was the first and last time I will likely ever accept anything on face value. Skepticism isn't an innate trait. It's learned and not easily unlearned. I learned that day and since then I've realized one thing... we are our own best advocates. You can go through life with your head forever buried in the sand or you can decide here and now to be informed about any and everything as it pertains to you.

Ignorance is a dish best served cold, not hot and sweaty.

Devoid

It started out light heartedly, just some casual banter, but I was beyond casual. I wanted more. I wanted the layer after you scrape your knee and fresh skin is exposed. It burns and with opening yourself up your liable to get burned too. I said you were devoid of emotions. Had erected walls so sturdy not even the love of freedom could have knocked them down. I looked into your eyes and wished you told me something real. Something only an intimate friend may know. Something that would leave you vulnerable. Sure I knew you liked sushi, and the color blue, but I didn't know you.

What was it in your past that cemented your stone expressions? What could I do to show you I wouldn't hurt you? All I wanted was to be there for you. More importanly for you to let me. Was it you I knew or the idea of you? Was I projecting my hopes onto you or was there a real connection between two people. Not just me and the person I imagined you to be.

For too long I had been going through the motions. Alive but never living. When it came to being intimate in relationships I checked out before ever checking in. I was perpetually closed for track repairs. The track from brain to heart was never operational. Now I was ready though. This train was leaving and making all stops. I was on that train. I'm persistent to a fault. Not one to go quietly into the night. Except when nightfall provided cover so people wouldn't see I was scared too. I was afraid to get hurt. I've lived with physical pain. No punch or cut or bruise could ever be so bad. I knew what it meant to be wounded. My scars are a constant reminder of the pain I withstood. Yet the scars were only superficial. Never below the surface. I thought I knew pain, but no surgery or broken bone can prepare you for a broken heart. It's the strongest muscle, the most forgiving, but the hardest to nurse back to health. Emotional scars are always the worst.

I knew the risks. I knew the road back wouldn't be easy. It would be a difficult prognosis. Knowing all that I wouldn't let the fear of what could be, keep me from, being me.

On and I Think

For the better part of the last three weeks something has been off, but I'm happy to report thanks to the drug maker Centocor and its miracle drug Remicade I am happily back ON.

So I have been doing some thinking about why I started this weblog and why I should continue to write here. While I have met a lot of interesting people because I started blogging, AristocraCity has also introduced more and more drama into my life as well. Since I'm not a thespian, starring in a drama is not desirable. I also think people assume they know who I am because of my writing or are exposed to a side of me they never saw. Much of this blog is a caricaturization of me. My personality traits both good and bad magnified to varying degrees in many posts. Here is how I would accurately and honestly describe myself:

1. I will do just about anything for my friends or family. Seeing them happy and healthy is probably the most important thing to me.
   
2. Conversely, I don't forget anything so I can be a far worse enemy you believe is your friend when you cross me.
   
3. I'm overly sarcastic and enjoy being a ball buster.
4. You will laugh in my company, at somepoint though you will be the punchline.
5. I will certainly rub many people the wrong way and I'm likely an acquired taste.
6. I am shy initially and do not naturally dominate a conversation or room.
   
7. I am harsh, make inflaming comments, judgemental and will often say what people are thinking but wouldn't dare point out.
   
8. Despite #7 I am not heartless. People's feelings are very important to me and I actually have feelings too.
   
9. I have a very tough skin for ridicule so while you may have hurt my feelings you won't know it.
   
10. I internalize everything despite putting many of my thoughts and feelings on this blog.
11. If you need someone to listen, a shoulder to cry on, a problem solver then most likely you already know this about me.
12. I rarely yell or get visibly mad. If I do you really must have pissed me off.
    
13. Minutiae should have been my major. I am detail oriented to point of remembering what outfit one was wearing when we talk in person.
    
14. I view myself as ordinary and not special nor the least bit heroic.
    
15. With #14 in mind I can't believe people care what I write here, but with realization that people do, some changes will have to be made here.
16. I ramble.
17. I ask multiple questions about people I meet.
18. I can talk about anything.
19. I consider myself to be intelligent and don't like people who aren't. Have a point of view and be able to express it.
    
20. I don't remember the point of starting this list, but if I would love to hear how other people would describe me. Do I have any other personality traits both good or bad that I forgot. Is there anything about me you wish you could say to me anonymously, if so this post will be your chance. I am changing the settings on this post only to allow anonymous comments. Say anything and everything, and I promise not to use editorial privilege so all comments will remain on the site. Everyone who hasn't had a voice for whatever reason this your opportunity to speak up about anything with regards to me. I will leave this post for the remainder of the work week to allow enough time for everyone to comment before commenters must identify themselves again. So be nasty or be nice, comment away.
    

New Rules

So far the past New Rules have led to 10 people cursing, 9 ladies weeping, 8 New Rules, 7 lost readers, 6 blind mice, 5 shirts needing dry cleaning, 4 sure going to keep writing them, 3 30+ year olds getting an apology letter, 2 past posts and 1 undeniable fact that I like pushing the envelope.

New Rule: Unless you're a latin hearthrob with a conspiciously missing mole, it isn't appropriate to wear a cotton ski cap when it's 70 degrees and sunny. Come to think of it he was smart enough to lose the mole than it's damn well time he lost the beanie look too.

New Rule: Being overly sanctiminious is not an attractive quality. It is inherently ironic to call someone judgemental yet simulateously judging that person for that quality. Yeah, occasionally I will voice my opinions on a number of things including peoples outfits. So when a guy wears a turtleneck sweater that wasn't popular since Michael Keaton was Batman then I will say so. I mean it's fucking May, see the previous New Rule.

New Rule: When four girls come to a preparty and none of the guys in attendance have ever met them and only roundaboutly know one of them through another friend these girls are indeed random. Love or hate the word, the fact is all four of those ladies upon walking through the door are random. Eventually everyone loses the random status within 10 minutes because if they are Jewish, from the East Coast and attended college then we will know someone in common. Most likely the guys will know some hot chick from another school and the girls will sigh, admit to knowing her too while simultaneously cursing both hot chick and shallow guys.

New Rule: The safest form of communication is the telephone, except when you call tech support in India and are informed this call may be recorded for customer service purposes. In those cases by all means say stupid ass shit, make some fart jokes, ask the incomprehensible support person to repeat themselves over and over and then ask for a copy. However, in today's world a good deal of communication involves email and IM which can be permanent. Email and IM are incriminating. Last week I emailed my doctor asking him to order some extra blood tests when I see him tomorrow. In my best ER/Grey's Anatomy impersonation I asked my doctor to order a full STD workup. Naturally he asked why, to which I coyly replied I had been active. He then replied Will Do! and cc four nurses, a parking attendant and the lunch lady to coordinate the ordering of the tests. Naturally I was like fuck me, actually wait a couple of days, I won't have results till Friday. The Family motto is safe sex is good sex and I'm nothing if not responsible. So now there will forever on some server be a string of emails about my desire to make sure I'm clean, but these people don't have a blog. It ceases to amaze me how come somepeople will bitch me out about what I write in this blog and do it via IM which I naturally save to refer to later when writing a New Rule. Here is a section of my IM convo:

Female: I mean that some people dont want to have their discussions in public
Female: Thats all
Female: They did not desire to air it out
Me: what discussion
Female: Or to respond to your comments in public
Female: Thats what I mean
Me: oh come on, like A telling B telling you wasnt meant to find its way back to me
Female: I have no clue
Female: But, that is not online for the world to see
MtnHawk11: not yet
Female: great

Well now it is, but not all of it. I'm not naive to the fact that this will further get me in trouble (thankfully I've become a pro at the apology letter) but I feel the need to use these 2 examples to educate the kids.

Don't be fools email, IM and voicemail aren't secure communication tools. Pick up the fucking phone and leave no messages.

This public service announcement has been paid for by Verizon and E.T.F. (Ethical Treament of Fools).

Pat, I'd Like To Buy A Vowel, "R"

Such are the words that would likely be uttered by my cousin Mark. You may remember him from such memorable quotes as, "Did you say turkey sausage? They make that? Isn't sausage supposed to be pig. Turkey sausage is like (pause to collect thought) grape ginger ale. Weird." Well Mark has found a way to out do himself, but first the backstory.

So it was Passover a couple of weekends ago, may still be going on I wouldn't have a clue, which means a family getogether. For the most part this family meal was unremarkable, save for a few memorable one liners by myself and J.'s father. Only two of the sisters were in attendance which means drama free. Anything over two, as was the case last Thanksgiving, and well tears. Lots of tears, some mud slinging, the occasional duel and maybe a gunfight Deadwood style.

I was about to discuss the one liners but since it's my blog I will digress to some pent up anger that has been simmering 11 years and 5 years respectively. One of my aunts never gave me a Bar-Mitzvah gift. The cheap old hag wonders to this day why everytime she says something remotely stupid I look at her and either make it known through facial expressions how much I loathe her or I overtly say something sarcastic and biting. Either way she stiffed me and J.'s brother. Unfortunately, I grew up to be a sharp tongued, sarcastic asshole who holds grudges. My other anger stems from a pilferring of the baby name I had planned on using for the unborn baby girl I plan on having at somepoint in my life (no this is not reaching). That's right I called it and she broke the rules of the playground. You call it, it's yours. Well in 1997 I called it. My grandfather passed away and I said at that moment my future daughter's name will by Sydney. This was known amongst the family. Yet cousin Stacey (Mark's brother) decided to use it for her daughter who was born 3 years after I called it. To make matters worse she broke the unwritten Jewish rule that says you name your child (first name, not middle) with the initial of a deceased family member. She didn't like the names she had to choose from so she used the initial in the middle name and stole mine after hearing it. Guess what, at somepoint the family will have two girls named Sydney in it cause I ain't backing down.

So during Passover my nuclear family (minus Matthew who was too busy getting so much ass he might as well have been a tube of Preparation H) and J.'s nuclear family (minus Michael who was sticking his Medong in too many Vietnamese Deltas) were naturally laughing our asses off. After I speed read 90% of the Seder we got to eat. Now not one to brag but it is tough as hell to read from the those books backwards and not fuck up. Try speed reading Shakespeare but with character names like Eliezar not to be confused with Elazar ben Azaryah or Yehoshua. Either way I perservered; guess that's how the Jew's felt in the desert for 40 years wondering when the fuck they too could eat bread again.

In between courses someone asked where Jason (14 year old cousin) and Mark were. To which I replied, "I think Jason is giving Mark a reading lesson." Laughter ensued until Aunt Sandy got offended. She protested that wasn't funny and praised Mark for being intelligent. She asked if I thought he was stupid. I replied, "I didn't say that exactly but, yeah it was implied." She took offense while we continued laughing. Well I am happy to report I was right. Mark is stupid and here is how I know. He called my apartment the other day to ask a favor. I told him to email me his address and I would mail him what he had asked for. Naturally, he did ask the proper follow up question, "What is your email address?" Not wanting to be difficult and give him my work email, I mean VitruvianMen.com has every vowel in it an more than 2 syllables I gave him the easiest one, my first.last at gmail. Granted my first name can be tricky to people I just met but not to family and everybody can spell my last name. So when he asked, "How do you spell your last name?" I had to contain myself. B-E-R-*-A-N. [Editor's Note: Due to privacy concerns I had to remove my full name from this blog as someone from Lehman Brothers Yahoo searched my name to find this. Hey Lehman worker you know my name and my email. Drop me a line since you continue to read I'd love to know how you know me. Thanks.] After I spelled it Mark replied, "So there aren't two r's." No, Mark there isn't but thanks for making my joke mean spirited now because you really do need reading lessons from a 14 year old.

Off

Not sure what it is, but something is off. You know when you're about to get a cold you get a sore throat first or your eyes get watery warning of the impending allergy season. Does that actually happen? I don't have allergies but it fit so I went with it. Either way I have been noticing this intangible incorrectness for the better part of two weeks. My apetite has slowly been diminishing, I'm more lethargic, and my workouts not as great.

So I did what any person in my shoes would have done, I called and had my doctor's appointment moved up a week so I could have some strangely powerful yet miracle inducing drug pumped directly into my veins for 4 hours. It works for athletes so I figured hey why not me.

Apparently my social schedule is also in the "off" position. I had a couple of super busy weeks met by utter dullness this past week. I have yet to go out one night during the week. As such my life isn't as exciting or blog worthy. I have however been writing. I began my performace piece for Inner Monologues V: Travel hosted by Lex. I have traveled extensively so I had plenty of material. However, I have never actually performed a piece of writing so I am having to remind myself that I don't need to write "sigh" and can just actually do it. Hopefully it will be funny and I won't be booed of the stage.

**Inner Monologues V: Travel - will be on June 13th at 8pm at Apocalypse Lounge on East 3rd btw A and B. Come meet some very attractive bloggers and the company they keep while being entertained by people far funnier than myself.**

So I decided to start carrying a mini-notebook with me to jot ideas down, because I forget shit too lately. Ok I'm done with woe is me for now. Hopefully, someone or myself will do something very stupid that will be cause for ridicule during my foray to the gym 50 blocks from my apt despite having an identical gym less the Murray Hill hotties across the street from my apt. How about that for long ass run on sentence. Such are the peculiarities that make me so damn peculiar.

New Rules

It's time for New Rules.

New Rule: No one wants to be friends with a question mark or smiley face. If you took the time to post a profile on Friendster post a fucking picture too. Frankly now that Friendster has become the stalker tool du jour, having overtaken Google, you faceless people really ruin my fun. It's also shady as hell. Same goes for the people who put up fake pics, cartoons, or anything else you find amusing. If you aren't naturally funny to begin with posting a picture you think is funny probably isn't. The only thing shadier than not having a photo is using the reason, "I don't have any." Bullshit, you are a liar.

New Rule: It's called personal hygiene for a reason. The keyword being "personal" as in kept to oneself. Now I understand we live in busy times and our lives are hectic, but what I saw on the subway today crossed the line. Sure women will file nails and the occassional toothpick will be required, but today some guy pulled out a tongue scraper and began using it in plain sight of everyone. He repeatedly stuck his tongue out and then slowly scraped his germs before wiping on a tissue. I was so repulsed had I not been cleaning my ears with a Q-tip I likely would have hurled.

New Rule: I hate people who use the phrase, "well imitation is highest form of flattery." Wrong flattery is the highest form of flattery. Imitation is the cock blocking of flattery.

New Rule: Insulting someone based off their TiVo recordings is only slightly funnier than when TiVo does it by recommending other shows I have no interest in based off my solitary enjoyment of dancing for 1 minute in the morning with Ellen. Yep, I TiVo Ellen Degeneres because she is funny and her guests are funnier on her show than other talk shows. Would anyone blink if Ellen was on at 11 pm instead of 11 am. No, because than it would acceptable cause it would be late night. So as we move into May and begin shedding the winter clothes in a desire to be free from bulky sweaters. Consider shedding some preconceived notions about male and female roles in the workplace, at home and in life. Working at home in my underwear isn't such a bad gig. I'm confident enough that if the futre wifey wants to wear suits she can go right ahead, I'm content waking up at noon and watching Ellen.