who dat? contest.

(yo stee. i know
who dat?)

last game:

actress/playwright anna deavere smith.

first correct answer:

jen wade

left column so happy... but would be happier with pretty ladies to kiss and talk nice.

advice from stee

Allow me to lecture you all for a second here. Now, I'm a pretty lazy guy. I have lists all over my desk of shit to do. Some of these things have been written down for about a year now, and are still undone. It took me 3 years to buy a vacuum cleaner. I have four new mugs I got at Christmas I've yet to unwrap. I have needed new shoelaces for a year. Instead, I make do or don't wear the shoes. Right now I'm wearing a shirt that needs a button on the sleeve. Do I mend it? No. I just roll up the sleeve. Voila! Je suis tres motherfucking lazy.

However, there is something I do, which I hereby urge everyone to do. It's one of those things the majority of you probably do not do and most likely, in the back of your mind, feel guilty about it. Or maybe you do it every once in a while, but not as often as you should. I'm not talking calling your mom, or balancing your checkbook, or buying stee xmas gifts. No, I'm talking flossing your teeth. (Or tooth, for y'all reading up in the Appalachians).

I'm thinking about this because I have a dental appointment very early tomorrow morning. I hate going to the dentist. Hate it. I have a lot of fillings. Probably genetics, yes, but also probably partially mediocre childhood brushing habits combined with massive amounts of candy. My teeth were straight come college, due to senior year braces (they were clear, so it didn't mess with my social life too much), but I kept getting cavities. So M. and I, about 5 years ago, decided to make a pact - to floss every day. At the time I was flossing when I thought of it (read: once a month), and it always hurt, my gums bled, and was just generally a very unpleasant experience. It was just an ugly, low-level, nagging guilt in my life. Well, it took a while, but after a bit, flossing became a habit. Now, I rarely miss a night. (Unless I'm particularly fucked up, or I just fall asleep, or I'm out of floss). And as a result, I rarely have a cavity. (Watch, now that I'm saying this, I'm sure tomorrow I'll have one.)

But you. What's your excuse? There is none. I know you didn't come here to get lectured, but since this is one good habit I've actively developed, I feel a bit proud. Go buy some Glide floss (thin, easy to get through your teeth), and make a pact to do it every night. While you're looking at online porn. While you cry into that last shot of Chivas. While you beg your partner for sex. Whatever you do last, somehow add flossing to the equation.

And here's all the motivation you need. If you ever find yourself slacking, just say this to yourself: "if stupid-ass stee can do it, I can certainly do it." Trust me, you don't want to prove to yourself that you're lazier than stee. Seriously.


...This is very random, but for the 5 years I lived in New York, I rode a lot of elevators. Since there's not much to do in elevators, I started reading the inspection certificates. And I noticed something: an inspector by the name of "CRESPO" seemed to keep coming up. No matter where in the city I was, uptown, downtown, midtown, the village, SoHo, wherever, Crespo had already been. And believe it or not, I still occasionally think of that unknown Crespo, the Godfather of Manhattan elevator inspectors. Anyone in NYC, start reading those cards, and keep an eye out for the Amazing Crespo. And if you see that name, know you're safe, because you are riding with the best. You are riding with Crespo. (And let me know if you find him. We'll start a Crespo Fan Club.)


...Entries might be sporadic over the next few days since I won't be at work much. Most of my time, instead, will be taken up with two things.

1) I'm either going to be on set shooting the film. Or...

2) ...I'll be showing Pamie around town. It is a challenge to show someone a good time in a city you don't like very much, but I think I'm up for it.

ONE YEAR AGO TODAY: I sunk into a deep depression when Suddenly Susan was done for the summer. Didn't leave the house for weeks.

The Larry King Happy Song Corner

Broke into the old apartment. This is where we used to live. Broken glass, broke and hungry, broken hearts and broken bones. This is where we used to live. Why did you paint the walls? Why did you clean the floor? Why did you plaster over the hole I punched in the door? This is where we used to live. Why did you keep the mousetrap? Why did you keep the dishrack? These things used to be mine. I guess they still are, I want them back. Broke into the old apartment. Forty-two stairs from the street. Crooked landing, crooked landlord, narrow laneway filled with crooks. This is where we used to live. Why did they pave the lawn? Why did they change to locks? Why did I have to break in, I only came here to talk. This is where we used to live. How is the neighbor downstairs? How is her temper this year? I turned up your TV and stomped on the floor just for fun. I know we don't live here anymore. We bought an old house on the Danforth. She loves me and her body keeps me warm. I'm happy there. But this is where we used to live. Broke into the old apartment. Tore the phone out of the wall. Only memories, fading memories, blending into dull tableaux. I want them back. I want them back... speaking of which. The other night Jerry Orbach and I had put down quite a few at this mick joint somewhere in the twenties and we had the limo stop on 58th near Lex, which was where I used to live. We got out and Jerry boosted me up to the first floor window to see what they had done with the place. Well, Jerry, the old lush, dropped me right on my bad hip - well, the most bad of the two. We laughed until the door opened and out walked the sexiest little filly wearing a black teddy right out of the Sears Catalogs of my youth. Well, instead of being flattered that Larry (and some TV actor) were sprawled out drunk on her front stoop, she told us she was going to call the Senior Center and let them know a couple of their clients had gotten scared and confused and had wandered off. I started to protest, but then realized I was a little scared and confused.
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