2002-03-14 - 4:56 p.m.
�He's a real cool guy and he's a hero of mine, Travis, Rinehart rolled into one cute son, Less than zero, a grotesque nightmare, Subtly disturbing like normal behaviour�
My current favourite word is: Milquetoast, n : a timid man or boy considered childish or unassertive [syn: sissy, pantywaist, pansy, milksop]
Your print out and keep guide to basic etiquette when being mugged in London:
1. Try to be walking up a deserted street at around 3am, in the opposite direction to two young drugged-up males.
2. On passing the young males, avoid eye contact, and try to look suitably perturbed when they start asking you for money. They may employ the phrase �motherfucker� as a term of address.
3. Denying that you actually have any of said money on you will result in your being pushed up against the nearest wall. A change of strategy is probably politic at this juncture.
4. Acknowledge the balance of power by suddenly finding a token amount of coins (�1 is ideal I find) and proffering to the young males, who are no doubt becoming rapidly impatient with �your shit�.
5. Let yourself be roughly pushed back against the wall whilst being orally prompted to ask yourself if you�re �fucking with them�. This likely means they�re convinced that you have more money than you�re letting on.
6. Resign yourself to the harsh realities of this awful fucking city and delve sheepishly into your pocket in the hope that something else is in there. Give up the rest of your change in such a manner that suggests you really can�t afford to be handing it over, and in no way should they pursue the theoretically paper contents of your wallet.
7. Take a parting blow to the shoulder and feel free to show physical signs of relief as they depart, apparently satisfied with how the transaction went for them. Curse the day you ever moved here.
8. Proceed home, feeling like a complete milquetoast.
�Genesis, Huey Lewis, filofax, CD five, A backdrop to discuss over expensive wine, Didn't even know when or why I should stop, I feel so stupid like a joke that belongs�
More Noo Yawk:
The Punk Rock karaoke I went to in the East village is ace because it has a live band and gives a creative outlet to people who took Further Maths and Computer Science at college. Gingi gave good Kiss. Someone tried to sing The Clash through a rubber tiger mask, which was only slightly less surreal than it sounds.
A loft party in Williamsburg � the geographical equivalent of the home of London�s Shoreditch (or insert newly trendy, overpriced and pretentious neighbourhood of your choice) Twat. As we entered, an androgynous waif was passed out on the stairs, which was perhaps the most Emo � thing I�ve seen all year. There was some spastic dancing to bad retro electro by someone who may or may not have been Spike Jonez, and annoyingly, some hot girls apparently enjoy going out with men who dress like under-secretaries for the Communist Worker�s Party. Nice beard, comrade.
Our Patrick Bateman day went quite well, spotting as we did not only the easy ones like Trump Tower and Bergdorf Goodman�s, but also Harry�s. We were disappointed that we couldn�t try to make reservations at Dorsia (�You didn�t give a name.� �They, uh, know me��) and we said the following phrase A LOT: �I don�t know. Maybe. Not really.� Yes, I am a dork.
My (enforced) feature on the most romantic hotels in New York suffered a fatal flaw in that I suffered a singular lack of romance, despite having 5 D�landers in one bed (is this a record?).
Last night I met Grim and he�s as cool as you all suspect.
I heard George W Bush today saying that the �elections� in Zimbabwe are �flawed�. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. It�s irony. On a base level. God bless that weaselly-eyed motherfucking little cracker.
�Patrick Bateman, we are babies crippled in Christ, Patrick Bateman, therefore I must be God, I must, I must be God�Patrick Bateman, we are babies crippled in Christ, Patrick Bateman, I fucked God up the ass��
