Why You're Here:

You've said to yourself, "beauty walks a razor's edge, someday I'll make it mine."

You've often thought about what it would have been like to drop acid with Groucho Marx.

You know that until you measure it, an electron is everywhere, and your mind reels at the implications.

You'd like to get drunk on the wine from my sweet, sweet mind grapes.

Thursday, April 30, 2009

As Planned


Spring '09 facial hair strikes fear and awe into the minds of Williamsburg denizens. I'd also attribute some of the fear and awe to the fact that my bulk cannot be squeezed into comically skinny jeans.

The pizza dude at Vinny's reminisced about his own similar tonsorial forays and my waitress this morning at Egg looked at me and said "Fuck! You look just like my uncle did when he was younger."

An 18 year old film student in the pizza place worried I was a bouncer when we were talking about his fake id (given to him by George Roy Hill IV, grandson of the director of Butch Cassidy & the Sundance Kid, The Sting, Slapshot & The World According to Garp).

It won't be long before I've got Williamsburg on lockdown.

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