True Enough For You

Check your thighs in the mirror, ma. I'm done.

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

Best Christmas Song Ever

There are some questions which require an opinion as an answer. To those questions, often one of several opinions will suffice. However, some opinion questions have a correct answer. This is one of those questions.

What is the best modern Christmas Song?

Answer: "Christmas Wrapping" by the Waitresses.

Some of you might have said, "All I Want For Christmas Is You" by Mariah Carey or "Last Christmas" by Wham. And you would have been close. However, "Christmas Wrapping" has no parallel. There are countless reasons why, but let's just concentrate on a few.

1. Baddest bass line ever to appear in a Christmas song. Right after the initial build up of sleigh bells and guitar licks, the bass player's fingers freak out and rip into the song. If you're not animatronic, your head will begin to move forward and backward, pivotting at the neck.

2. The drama! This is not just a Christmas song extolling the virtues of the holiday. This is a dramatic retelling of the annus horribilus of our heroine as she tries to get a damn date to work out. Every time she and mystery man make plans, something happens. His car won't start! She has sunburn! (In the third degree!) It's such a bad year that our girl decides to not celebrate Christmas. Can you imagine a worse end of the year? (Jews, please skip this question.) It takes Christmas magic and a coincidental shopping mishap to bring these star-crossed lovers together. Christmas is back on! Turkey dinner for everyone! Sigh....

3. It's the only Christmas song that it's appropriate to listen to all year round. Period.

4. A coworker and I discussed how we woke up to it the other morning, and we were both so happy to start the day. There are not many songs, Yuletide or otherwise, that can do that with such universal appeal. Sure, my sample audience is two people. But that's all it takes to make a thing go right according to Rob Base. Thus, I am right.

I need to go to bed now, and I can't come up with any more reasons beyond these. But if everyone could be as happy as I am during the holidays when I hear this song, then there would be peace on Earth. And that's what this time of year is all about.

Monday, December 11, 2006

Park Place, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Marilinda

This just in! After living in Philadelphia or its environs for the greater part of the last decade, I am thrilled to say that I have had my first ever positive experience with a city governmental agency. And to boot, it’s the Philadelphia Parking Authority. (Yay, puns!) I am as shocked as you are.

It all started because I moved to a different part of town to a sweet little house nowhere near the garage where I used to park my hoopty. In case you’re keeping track, this is the car that had been running on 2 cylinders and had a melted ignition coil. This is the car that I was too inept to understand that something was way wrong even though it wouldn’t drive uphill for 6 months or so. Oops. It was time to move the car to the streets, outside of the garage where many Nigerians dreaded the sight of me. Mohammed (Momo), God love him, and his crew would have to move my car for me, jump it when the battery died and accept my late payment every single month. Love you, Momo!

As an aside, he would call around midmonth, every month, and say, “Is this the Zachary? This is Mohammed. Do you know why I call you? I call because you are late with payment. I don’t know why you forget, but you do. I am not mad.” And I think it’s true. If he did get mad, he never showed it. Would that we all had the patience of Momo.

So, I had an hour to get a parking permit for my car and get back to work. Chances of this happening were slim to none. And Slim just left town. I cabbed my ass over to near 30th Street Station to the Parking Authority Headquarters. My cab was driven by a pleasant man named Mohammed. For real, am I in the wrong religion, or what? Granted, he almost killed us twice, but he had a way of prioritizing efficiency that made my heart beat a little faster than usual on a Monday.

I enter a pleasant little office that looked more like a Doctor’s office than a bureaucratic claptrap. I was immediately waited on. There was no queue! (This is the word I use for “line” now that I am a Netflix user.) Her name was Marilinda. Ok, it wasn’t. I made that up because I never got her name, but trust me: she was totally a Marilinda. She was a squat little Latina, as wide as she was tall. She might have been my age or 50; she was ageless. Her plump head was home to a crazy mole on her left cheek and hair slicked back into a ponytail.

“Whatchu want?” she scowled. “I need a parking permit,” I cowered. We were going to make this happen. I was totally her bitch.

“You got 2 tickets outstanding” “I know, sorry.” “Don’t sorry me; pay them now.”

And then I did!

Blah blah, red tape, blah for about 10 minutes. She bossed me around, raised her voice when I got out of line, sneered when I got confused, but then we were done. At the end of our hasty interaction, while I was signing paperwork, she tapped her long press-on fingernail to the counter then brought it up to her eyes, and said, “Pay attention. I am still talkin’ to ya.”

And then I did!

She was forceful, efficient and not at all elegant about it. Marilinda was my kind of woman. I would have bottomed for her right there. Or not. I don’t know; I was very caught up in the moment. (note: Kidding. I would only bottom for Nancy Pelosi.)

I do a lot of bitching about Philadelphia here, but this was so quick and easy that I have to give credit where credit is due. Congrats, Philadelphia! And thank you!

Marilinda for Mayor!!!

Tuesday, December 05, 2006


Happy Birthday, Little Richard!

Monday, December 04, 2006

Today in Craig News

It’s kind of my not so secret dream to meet my soulmate on craigslist’s Missed Connections page. Everyone knows that, and I think more than a few of you share this sentiment. However, it’s difficult to go through all the ads, sorting through the crazies to find your one true love. So, I will make your life easier and find some crazies for you. Beware. Hairy forearms, medically threatening erections and a Buddhist with nice nips follow, to wit:

Dominatrix in the window of the CC Marriott 12/02, 1pm

I don't know if you check this sort of thing, maybe you do, since you are obviously in the adult industry

Anyway I saw you through the window at my office on Market Street (directly across from the Marriott) on Saturday- you were wearing a black corset and black underwear and black stockings and looked so good. I hope that you don't find this too sleazey, but I have had the hardest erection ever since I laid eyes on you. It won't go down, I had to call out of work today- I am not joking.

I hope you see this and contact me, I really want to meet you and see if you can cure me before I have to seek out a doctor.

You guys! There is a man running around the business district of Philadelphia with an insatiable boner, stalking an exhibitionist dominatrix. He also doesn’t have spell check. Let’s examine the many, many layers of awesomeness in this bloomin’ onion of a craigspost. Some woman is trying to drive men who work on Saturdays crazy with her dominant sexuality. He questions whether someone this classy would even check craigslist. But the best part is that this guy called. out. of. work. because of an erection. I hope he has a lot of vacation days and a good HMO. I would be broke if I solved my problems that way.

Lost Cardigan at Nodding Head

To my dear poor lost cardigan, you were my favorite. Now you are gone. Hopefully one day you will find your back to me.

(Plan black button up cardigan, with the top button having cherries on it.)

Again, with the spelling! But we are going to forgive her because this is an adorable ad. It could only be better if a man had a super, constant erection because of the cardigan sweater. I hope it gets returned to her because there’s something desperate and poetic about writing a Missed Connection to an inanimate object. I appreciate that.

Indian guy about 3 weeks ago on Fri. night in scrubs. - w4m

You were in scrubs with 2 sandwiches/ 2 drinks. It looked like you were on call and had run out get you and a buddy something to eat. You looked most likely of North Indian descent with fairly hairy forearms. I think you're about 5'6 (?!) and very thin, but I like that. :)

I was the cute blond in a black coat trying to think of anything to say without either sounding like a pervert or socially maladjusted. "Come here often?" "So you like the red Gatorade... oh wait that's for your friend?" "I like your hairy forearms?" Uh, yeah.

Me? I come to Penn's campus often. I'm successful in biz field and well educated with my own degree from Penn among others. So if you remember someone "breathing heavy" when you tried to pay for your food order... it was probably me.

So if you're single, drop me a line. :)

This is awesome. There is a little Wharton, blonde cutie running around Phialdephia with a hairy forearms fetish, down with the brown. Girlfriend was heavy breathing at Club Wa for Vishnu's sake. She tries to claim that she is not a socially maladjusted pervert, which she automatically is for preemptively denying it. She imagines a conversation wherein her fetish is revealed. And then she almost trips over the many academic degrees she subtly dropped into the conversation like an Acme anvil. She ends it with a smile. Psycho. Skinny, hairy Indians, watch your skinny, hairy backs.

mad hot sex in northeast.... best booth sex ever

..wo... totally hot man.. made passionate hot love for about 5 dollars worth of our timen friday night... u were amazing.. and cute.. and fuk.. it was just incredible.. cum everywhere.... it was porn hot ... chemistry rules.

all in a booth.. fuk man.. what a world...

anyway.. it took me a day to get that smirk off my face

Besides the tenuous grasp on anything resembling the English language (it's from the Northeast; it's all good), this post is notable for the fact that he measured the time they made love in dollars. How?! Simple micoreconomics dictates, after all, that money is exchanged for goods and services. Also, if you sing this post in a falsetto and change the word “man” to “girl,” it becomes a Prince song circa 1986.

And now I will leave you with what happens when a big sexy, nipple-bearing monk strolls through the gayborhood. As you might imagine, it’s not exactly nirvana.

Raised Consciousness - m4m - 28

You were walking up 13th St. this afternoon practically bare-chested, wearing nothing but an unzipped hoodie over red Buddhist (or... Hare Krishna?) robes with sandals. You stopped me dead in my tracks as I exited a restaurant and I'm sure you noticed my dumb-struck reaction (partially to your exposed nipple but also because you were so damn sexy). I guess a guy as smokin' hot as you are isn't bothered by the cold weather. You certainly made me feel warm inside. I want to meditate upon your beauty, and I would gladly give up my leather for you...

Clever. What are the gay men's chorus members wearing these days? I love that last bit about the leather. Hey! I know someone who loves leather (see above), and he’s experiencing the worst part of tantric sex as we speak. Maybe you can contact him?

(Shout out to all y'all who helped make my birthday fun. I probably don’t remember seeing you, so just tell me you were there. I felt very loved.)