Friday, September 29, 2006

Hangover Olympics

Since I am destructively hung over this morning (seems everyone I know works at bars and drinks on school nights) all I can think about is ways to get rid of this fucker. So I made a list. This could be helpful to you, as I have kind of become an expert on hangovers and getting rid of them.

Going to work: This is a terrible cure for a hangover. Worst idea ever, punch whoever suggests it squarely in the junk.

Ibuprofen. Little. Brown. Completely indistinguishable from anything else.

Ibuprofen: God's gift to drunks, take A LOT more than is recommended. Not to be confused with aspirin, which will eat your stomach and then kill you.

Sex: Kind of helps, this is just because sex is awesome anyway. It gets the blood flowing though, which is a bad thing for a drunk with too much thin blood pounding through his eyeballs. Actually, yeah this is a beautiful cure, but only if she is on top and you lay there doing nothing (the way god intended).

I don't know how this is relevant.

Bloody Marys: Genius. Best idea ever. Salt, booze, the ultimate combo. Gets you right back on the job. Unless you are in New York, this city cant make a bloody that doesn't taste like match heads dissolved in asswater for some reason. Trust me, I've looked everywhere.

Greasy food: Helps, but don't eat too much. A hangover'd persons natural inclination is to eat a lot, but the problem is that your stomach cant handle it, its already trying to figure out it's ass from it's elbow, so don't make it work too hard.

Green tea: Not a bad idea because of the antioxidants...but keep in will be "that guy" who drinks green tea. Do it, but don't tell anyone.

Sleep: Always the best way to get rid of the fucker, but not always possible.

Driving: nope.

Drinking more: Genius. Go for it.

Mimosa: Primarily drunk by chicks and assholes on yachts, but sometimes they are plum necessary.

See??? Assholes.

Coffee: I've never been a fan, but it works for some folks.

Smoking pot: Again, I know people who swear by it, but for me, I will still be hungover, the only difference is that "Anchorman" will seem funnier than it actually is.

Swimming: there's nothing like waking up saturated with beer and stripper goo, walking outside, and falling face first into a pool. Usually this is only possible if you are in Mexico, a hotel, or own a kiddie pool.

Going to church: If your friends kicked your sloppy ass out of their house this morning, God isn't going to want you in his either. Do not go, but if you have to, go through the communion line at least six times.

Yup, that's about it....
So I am going to a quincenera (spelling?) party tonight for my roommate's little sister. Its a sweet 15 party, but these bolivians take that shit seriously, shit is going to be like a wedding reception. There will also be booze, which will give me a chance to get oiled up and work on my Spanish.

Have a bad ass weekend. Especially on Sunday, when you can try the ultimate hangover cure: Watching football.

Thursday, September 28, 2006

Moving up


Just got a promotion. Im moving on up to the embattled position of "assistant" or "assistant assface" according to Ogre.

I will be working for the advertising director of an entirely different set of labels under our massive umbrella. More music, more money, hopefully more crazy shit. This is happening extremely fast. I was not supposed to move up for at least 8 months, and after only 3, I am on my way up.

Fuck, I get brief flashes of crisis as I feel I am growing up too fast, but Ive done the young guy shit. I went to college, drank my nuts off, got laid, duct taped 40's to my hands, tea-bagged people, got tea-bagged, disregarded my responsibilities, all that shit. For five years. I would be stupid to not keep pushing as a "grown up", and obviously I am doing something right.

So now, I am going to throw myself in even further, hustle even harder, thats what people do out here, hustle, look out for themselves, get theirs, make friends (or whatever "networking" is conisdered) get fucked up, and avoid burning bridges. This might turn me into more of an asshole, or less. Who knows. My stories might start to suck, or they might get better, who knows. I might meet more women, or less. Who knows.

HOWEVER, I have not had a night out to celebrate this new job shit, which is bugging me. This weekend im going for it. Hard.

I also fell in love the other day. My train was fucked up and it turned out i couldn't get a train home, so this absolutely beautiful woman and I agreed to split a cab since we were going towards the same area. She had to have been about 36, and fucking gorgeous...foreign, spanish maybe. Anyway, this girl was older, mature, so my normal "buy shots and say offensive things" routine was not going to work. So I dusted off the ol' charm. Turns out she worked in the media biz, made a shit ton of money, and retired early. Fuck. Now she just hangs out.

Ah fuck, i walked away with an email address. WHICH is better than nothing. I will keep you posted. Even if its five years from now, I will shower with this woman.

Ok, another shitty post. I am sorry, but hey.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006


Shit I need to get better at:

1. Remembering Names
2. High Fives
3. Updating This Thing
4. Fantasy football

Shit I dont need to get better at but want to practice anyway:

1. Cunnilingus

...thats it really

Shit I dont need to get better at:

1. Drinking
2. Obscure black metal
3. Big Lebowski References

My uncle and Dad were in town this weekend, and I have to tell you, if you ever want attention from women, bring your Dad and your loud ass uncle with you to the bar. It worked for me, I got my balls grabbed and made out with a girl based strictly on the fact that my family was in the room. I didn't even do anything. I'll take it.

"Yes sir, I will pass along the message that Madonna has stolen your songs and that anyone purporting to be her songwriter is a fraud."

What else...
Go see the flaming lips live before you die.
I have word that there will be a full on kevlar vest rap feud one floor above my office in the near future.
My ex is a psycho hose beast.

Listen to more Devin the Dude.

Thursday, September 21, 2006

"I can't all be blow and strippers"

They fired an entire label yesterday.

Straight up walked in, and massacred everyone who worked there.

It looked something like this:

Serious. It was so brutal that I found myself in fear for my job, scalp, and balls.

It was odd, I half expected to see grown men crying, or swan diving out of their floor to ceiling windows, but no, all I kept hearing was "welcome to the music business". People were pissed, but they had much better attitudes about it than I would have ever expected.

Anyway, heres the semi-boring post I started to write before I heard about that shit...

Lil' Scrappy was in here yesterday. Nothing major happened, he was cool as hell. I have posters of him right in front of my desk that are cut to be a silhouette of him standing there mugging the shit out of me all day long while I drink coffee and try to look tough. Seriously, these things freak me out to the point that at least 6 times a day I look up convinced that an angry rapper is standing at my desk waiting to talk to me.

I let him know his posters were freaking me out. He thought this was funny.

Thats about it....lame I know, but you dont have anything better.

I finally found a place to live, we moved most of our shit in yesterday and went out to celebrate. The highlight of the night was meeting the shadiest coke dealer ever.

Coke Dealer "You guys screechin' or cruisin"
Cliff "What?"
Coke Dealer "Tryin to get flyin??"
Me "What the fuck? Speak English"
Coke Dealer "You boys wanna get sky high?"
Me "what the hell is going on?"
Coke Dealer "A little sniffy sniff"
Cliff [points at me and laughs] "this is your guy right here."

I dont know how I became "the coke guy" among my friends, I can count the number of times Ive done it on both hands, but I take the opportunity to talk far too loudly about how this guy is the "coolest coke dealer ever!". Coke dealers dont like that kind of recognition. I think when I started shouting about cooking up crack was when he bolted the fuck out of the bar.

Thats it, its fucking thursday. This should be the only music you ever listen to.

Friday, September 15, 2006

Fashion Weak

Its raining and that Criss Angel Mindfreak guy is signing autographs in the record store in our building. Meaning a mob of goth-y 15 year olds are outside getting fucking wet.

I worked at a fashion show last night...
It was for a line of jewelry created by an incredibly hot girl with an even hotter twin. I worked the door in the rain, half the people who showed up bitched at me about the X I had to put on their hands to get them in.

It was pretty easy, low-key, working the door was almost boring. The place was full of gorgeous REAL women, but I wasn't paying attention because I was given one of those pens you get at truck stops with a hot girl on it who takes off her clothes when you turn it upside down. I giggled like an 11 year old. It was awesome.

I worked for awhile and then hit up the free booze, had my second ever shot of Patron with my cool ass boss, drank a Stella, and stepped outside to the realization that I am legitimately homeless.

By definition, without a home. So I crashed on my future roommate's girlfriend's couch in Biggie's old neighborhood, to wear the same clothes today.

This post sucks. Have a good weekend. Fuck!

Thursday, September 14, 2006

"I got the dick, so I make the rules" --DJ Paul

They're doing a photo shoot for some artist at my desk right now, so I'm going to sit here and idly type and pretend nothing is going on. I cant wait for some "who the fuck is that guy comments" from publicists when they see these pictures. ME MOTHER FUCKER. That's who.

Sorry about the lack of updates, I've been slipping into madness. You want to drive someone completely fucking crazy?? Take them out of their Midwest beer-bred home, throw them into the middle of New York, give them a low man job shoveling shit on the way up for one of the hugest record labels in the country, make them live with randoms, including gay drama types, bitchy Asian girls, and a nice Bolivian family. Throw in numerous loveless encounters with hot women, some poorly timed supreme drinking powers, and a penchant for dick swingin name-droppery and they MIGHT survive. I have, barely, at the risk of my sanity, I am having an amazing time, but DAMN.

"No sir, we are not accepting unsolicited material, yes sir I believe you that your music is 'the next shit' but there's really nothing I can do at this point."

So, I owe you guys a lot (by "you guys" I mean Joey and Ogren) but not much has happened lately, so I will pull some old shit out of my ass like a colonic.

A few months ago, I dragged my friends to a weirdo dub electronic show (Deadbeat) that was in this place called "The Bunker". It looked like an Eau Claire, Wisconsin house party basement and smelled worse because it was packed with sweaty dudes who like drum and bass (possibly the smelliest dudes on the planet), that was it, except for two girls, the only two there for a few hours. I rabidly hit on them to impress my friends, at the same time vying for some gross club make-outs. They were Australian, meaning they were pretty cool, but they wouldn't do shots with me and since that's the only way I know how to get anything done, I gave up.

I wandered over to my friends, to find them fighting about whether or not "It was him" or not. I looked at who they were arguing about, he looked like Michael Stipe holding hands with some guy. My friend Jay walked up and said, "are you him?" He confirmed. After this we all turned into giggling idiots, even though I barely like R.E.M. I still made it all too clear to my friends that Stipe's presence meant that I was cool for bringing them to this unbelievably hip place.

I don't remember how many drinks I had at this point, but if I had to guess, I would place it somewhere between "numerous" and "many". Anyway, somehow this happened...

The flash from that picture was like a neuralyzer from Men In Black (GEEK TEST!) because I don't remember SHIT after that.

I woke up butt naked in the middle of Brooklyn to a very disappointed looking blonde girl whose name I DID NOT remember, not even an initial's worth.

Her "You don't know where you are and you don't know my name, do you?"
Me "Nope! Morning sex?"

She declined and hustled my confused ass out the door, refused to tell me her name, told me I was "mad entertaining" and pointed me in the direction of the train. I was an absolute wreck and almost died three times in the summer sun, dehydrated, and utterly confused, shit...still drunk. This was a weekday.

Later, I remembered one thing, this girl would not give me water when we got home, she would only let me drink sangria...cruel. Whatever, its because of that move that I probably passed out, unable to fulfill her.

So there you have it, the story has all the typical Name Drop Acid elements: Drinking, celebrity sightings, and a loveless encounter with a hot female. This kind of shit is why I am going crazy.

Friday, September 08, 2006

3rd Reich

The experimental music nerd in me got stroked today...
Steve Reich, one of the pioneers of process music and minimalism (HA, bet you didn't know i was a wanky asshole) came in today and I got to meet him, I also scored a copy of his new box set. If you get a chance, check out "Come Out" a track from 1966..its nuts.

Im working a fashion show next week. Might be going to a Mastodon show tonight. Steelers defense fucking rules.

I hope the training on the Cappuccino machine was helpful. Just wanted to let everyone know that we will keep the large pantry stocked full of milk, sugar, sweet & low etc. I will also order a metal pitcher for the milk, a thermometer (for milk heating), sponges to clean the steam wand off with after each use, and paper towels to line the tray. Ooops I almost forgot to mention the shot glasses (thanks Jimmy!)

I hope you all enjoy the machine.

Have a good weekend.

Thursday, September 07, 2006

Diddy, Mimosa shortage, etc

Actual email I received...

Attn: [My floor] employees:

There will be a training session on the new cappuccino machine on Friday, September 8, 2006 at 11:15am. If you would like to learn how to use it, please come to the kitchen at that time.

That's basically all I got. Friday I dragged my hungover ass to a Diddy listening party. The Mimosas and chicken wings were gone, so I chilled in the back and watched Diddy introduce his album to a bunch of fired up industry folks and some press. At 3pm on a Friday, it made me glad to be doing what I'm doing, despite the fact that I wasn't slugging mimosas and eating fried food.

Friday, September 01, 2006

VMA dispatch from the low man on the totem pole.

You want to see the work of a true name dropping fuck??!!
I Worked a VMA afterparty last night.

E-40 called me pimpin' again, my cock grew another 10 inches. Ladies (over 33 only) get at me about an appointment. Paul Wall might be the coolest guy ever. Got bumrushed by Diddy's army-sized entourage. Paris Hilton danced her bony ass around on stage and still managed to be hot. Scott Storch brought his yacht. Danity Kane chicks were around...which is never a bad thing. I tripped my clumsy ass upstairs and almost stepped right on Lil Wayne and Juelz Santana. I said "holy shit", surprised the hell out of Wayne and shook his hand. The best part though was Ron Jeremy, who showed up looking like he rented surf boards in jersey, he was hanging out with a guy who I swear works at Southtown Bowl in Richfield. I shook his hand and told him I was a huge fan (Ron Jeremy, not the bowling alley guy). He didn't care. I wouldn't either.

Fuck me thats a lot of name dropping. T.I., Tom Brokaw, Robert Goulet, the ugly Hilton, Gary Busey, AFI, Tresemme Tresemme Loreal Paris, T-Mobile Sidekick. That's the point, fuckers.

My job was complete bullshit, in a good way. I was supposed to keep people off of reserved tables, so our artists and execs would have somewhere to chill. This basically meant i got to get dressed up, stand around, talk to people, and enjoy all the scattered ass running around the place. It also meant I had an excuse to introduce myself as "a label guy" to artists. Which is fun until they send you on runs for sugar free redbull and pot stickers.

I was pretty "on" until my job was over around 1:30 and I got a hold of some free black label. Then the pain in my legs and my empty stomach took over. I alienated a lot of my uptight co-workers, drank my first ever shot of patron, and bowed out gracefully to pass out on the train at 4 am.

I will have a deeper analysis later, complete with a discussion of social standards, class warfare, and the deeper meaning of all this glitzy open bar horseshit. Now, I am sleepy and bored and truly dont give a fuck because I had fun last night.