I'm tired.

Alright. Round 1 is over. I have three hours to kill until my last interview. The morning started with the Wall Street Journal. That went pretty good, I must say. Damn, I was kinda sweaty when I sat down and had to wipe my brow a few times during the interview. Whatever. It was kind of humid in the lecture hall so everyone was kinda sweaty. We went through the basic interview questions, yada yada, and he was pretty impressed with my experience at Wired, especially the part when I told him about coming into work at 7 every morning to write the business briefs. In fact, I think he became aroused. Sexually. And then he loved my story idea about the poker cheaters and he got another boner until I stupidly told him that Rolling Stone rejected it and so he lost it.

I was surprised that he asked me about my extracurriculars, shit about my drama experience and comedy troupe stuff. He asked me the improv process and shit which totally caught me off guard. I mentioned Whose Line is it Anyway like a fucking dummy. And he also asked me about my tutoring and mentoring shit. So I appeased him with a touching story about how I took those cambodian kids under my wing and showed them what geometry was all about. I did my Sean Connery voice and said, "You the man now, dogg!" Bah. But when he started asking me more questions, I kind of blanked out and all I could doo was stare at this little bead of sweat that trickled down from the right side of his forehead to about the level of his nose and just stopped. I was watching it slowly evaporate and I about that one scene in Total Recall when Arnold sees the bead of sweat on that guy and shoots him in the brain. When he said $30,000 I snapped out of it. That's a pretty good salary for entry-level journalism. And also the fact that he mentioned figures was a definite good sign. I talked to some of my friends who interviewed with them later and he didn't mention that shit to them. Anyway, that went well.

People, on the other hand, can lick deez nuts. First of all, I didn't even want to interview with them. I said fuck it and didn't think up story ideas. But right when I sat down, the stupid lady gave me a 10 minute speech about how great it was to have newspaper experience (and how I didnt' have enough). Then she told me to basically fuck off. The nerve of those People. So I punched her in the face (in my mind) and got outta there.

Hey, I just realized that my beard looks fucked up. Damn, I cut too much on one side, I look like a dummy. bah. anyway, all I got left is Rodale and I will tell them I want to write stories for Men's Health, starting with my male breast reduction story. Damn, you should hear the fucked up stories they talk about on this mailing list I got on. Dudes talking about going to Sears and hitting up the women's lingerie department to get custom-fitted for bras and shit, getting orgasms off rubbing their womanly breasts, being discriminated in the army for having man boobs, horror stories about their breasts flopping up and down during gym class, it's awful. I feel really sorry for these freaks. One guy even has a karyotype of 47, XXY, and says he is not 100 percent male and not female, but member of a 3rd gender, which is called "intersex." Crazy.

Took a run. Feel good. Feel motivated now. One would say that by running, I perhaps "jogged" my memory, hmmm?



Ok, fine. I hate all of you. But what sucks is now I realize I have so much to do and so little time. First and foremost, I have to prepare for the J-school job fair on saturday. My scheduled interviews are with the Wall Street Journal web site, the Detroit Free Press, Rodale publishing, and People. Entertainment Weekly was noticeably absent from the list I was given but I guess the administration figured since I already worked for them I didn't need another interview.

fuck People, by the way. We're supposed to come prepared for the People interview with knowledge of the magazine and a few story ideas. I'm gonna tell them that they took my only idea when they put a fat headline on the cover of an issue last year announcing "CURVES ARE BACK!" Yeah, I talk big now but i bet when I get in the interview i'm gonna go on and on about why Brad Pitt is, indeed, the Sexist Man Alive. I'll kill you People!

DFP sounds alright, too bad it's in Detroit. I still have beef with Eminem. Rodale sounds ok, they put out a bunch of mostly fitness-related titles including Runner's World, Bicycling, Men's Health, Prevention and OG, not a hip hop mag, mind you, but still the dopest gardening publication representing the 610. bah.



They got mad organic style. (Coincidentally, Organic Style is another magazine published by Rodale). I wouldn't mind working for Men's Health, though. I've been meaning to work on my six-pack.


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At this point I was going to talk about what's happening with ondal's love life but I have decided to discontinue this section after one reader pointed out that certain people might read certain blogs and become shocked, as well as amazed. I will continue to comment on the general female populace but will no longer talk about this particular person. peace.

Here are the answers to the cultural literacy test. I got 25/115. There were about 15 that I knew but drew a blank. Most people got less than me. My friend Rob got a 50 and he got a bunch of hard ones. Prof. Garland said that foreign students always score higher on the test, and basically told us that Americans are uncultured idiots. Ah yes.

I have an assignment: Come up with 15 of my own, creations from the last 100 years. The ones I have so far: Rapper's Delight, ArpaNet, The Godfather, Brave New World, and 1984.

I was sitting at my computer smoking and I put my cigarette in my glass ashtray to type something. In midsentence, I hear the sound of something hitting glass. I look down, and my ashtray has neatly split into two. That's odd.

In other news, I jacked two dexedrine from bill's stash. But damn, I forgot to close his door. When he came home later, i asked him if he preferred coke or pepsi cuz i had jacked all his pepsi the night before. He looked mad when he came out his room and said "it doesn't make a difference." Hmm, does he know? And should I jack more tomorrow? The answer is invariably yes. Anyway, I felt bad about it so I went out and bought us lightbulbs and a new Brita filter. That shit ain't cheap. Damn gillette sensor excel refills aren't cheap either. Neither are sonicare replacement brushes. My rite aid grand total was 70 bucks. Deezam, I could've drank 7 martinis with that money.

We were given back the results to the "cultural literacy test" in my Cultural Affairs class. See how you do. Click here for the answers and to see how well I did.

************************************
Who wrote, painted, composed, or otherwise created or devised the following?

1. The Republic
2. The Iliad
3. Measure for Measure
4. War and Peace
5. Ulysses (novel)
6. Under Milk Wood
7. The Waste Land
8. A Hard Day's Night
9. A Doll's House
10. Kubla Khan
11. Miss Lonelyhearts
12. The aeneid
13. Catcher in the Rye
14. Lord of the Rings
15. Citizen Kane
16. The Brothers Karamazov
17. Eroica Symphony
18. The Magic Flute
19. La Traviata
20. La Dolce Vita
21. The Night of the Iguana
22. The Return of the Native
23. The Decline of the West
24. The Great Gatsby
25. The Magic Mountain
26. Pride and Prejudice
27. La Mer
28. The Sound and the Fury
29. The Sun Also Rises
30. Sister Carrie
31. The Cherry Orchard
32. Candide
33. The Scarlet Letter
34. Wuthering Heights
35. The Mikado
36. Bartleby, the Scrivener
37. Winesburg, Ohio
38. Leaves of Grass
39. On the Origin of Species
40. Bleak House
41. Of Human Bondage
42. The Turn of the Screw
43. The Stranger
44. To His Coy Mistress
45. Through the Looking Glass
46. Don Quixote
47. Madame Bovary
48. Mona Lisa
49. Guernica
50. Birth of a Nation
51. Mein Kampf
52. U.S.A.
53. Ten Little Indians
54. La Belle Dame sans Merci
55. Catch-22
56. Tom Jones
57. Richard III
58. Lysistrata
59. The Emperor Jones
60. Walden
61. The Model T
62. The Interpretation of Dreams
63. The Education of Henry Adams
64. Die Mestersinger
65. Sonnets from the Portuguese
66. Faust
67. The Gettysburg Address
68. The Faerie Queene
69. Das Kapital
70. The steam engine
71. Swan Lake
72. The Metamorphosis
73. First Epistle to Corinthians
74. Symphonie Fantastique
75. Swann's Way
76. The Shame of the Cities
77. Essay Concerning Human Understanding
78. Germinal
79. The 95 Theses
80. Black Boy
81. The Trout Quintet
82. Nichomachean Ethics
83. The City of God
84. Le Sacre du Printemps
85. Discourse on Method
86. Death in the Afternoon
87. Time Magazine
88. The cotton gin
89. Pygmalion
90. Sons and Lovers
91. Point Counter Point
92. Coming of Age in Samoa
93. The Studs Lonigan Trilogy
94. The Grapes of Wrath
95. The Sermon on the Mount
96. Ivanhoe
97. The Jungle
98. Jane Eyre
99. The Wealth of Nations
100. Fidelio
101. Tao te ching
102. Invisible Man
103. Silent Spring
104. Falling Water
105. The Good Earth
106. One Hundred Years of Solitude
107. The Fire Next Time
108. The Feminine Mystique
109. Rhapsody in Blue
110. Scrapple from the Apple
111. Rashomon
112. Sophisticated Lady
113. Bachianas Brasileiras
114. The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas
115. A Raisin in the Sun

It's raining and muggy. I'm sweaty. It's the kind of weather when you don't mind when it rains. But I was wearing those pants again, the ones that always drag on the ground. By the time I got to West Broadway, they were soaked up to my calf. Especially the right pant leg. Why does that leg of whatever pair of pants i have always get worn out quicker than the left? I don't walk with a limp, maybe one leg is shorter than the other.

I had just finished having a late supper with some friends, mostly people who know Teri. Karen was in town for the week and she was leaving for Ireland tomorrow. She's an irish lass, her family is from there. She 100 percent cali, though. She went to Carondelet, the catholic girls school opposite De La Salle. There were others. Some guy named Doug that reminded me of that Dell guy. Apparently he had hooked up with Karen when she visited NYC in Sept. Teri told me during a smoke break that he said "Nice to meet you" when the evening began. He has a girlfriend now. I immediately hated him.

We had Thai food. Not authentic Thai, it was shi-shi Thai at Kin Khao on Spring St. and Thompson. I hate SoHo cuz it's so damn far. And so damn gay. Let's see, i had 3 guys check me out on the 4 block walk to the restaurant. But no, really, i'm flattered. Next time I'm gonna make eye contact, stop, and slowly nod my head up and down which I will end by saying in my deepest baritone, "Oh yeah." Then calmly walk away. Hmm, does that count as a gay fantasy? Bah.

Damn, it's hot. And muggy. Spring has begun.

Why do i insist on doing this to myself? I have 1.5 hours to pound out 500 words. That translates to roughly a little over 5 words a minute. One word every 20 seconds. Hmm, that doesn't seem so bad.

bye.

An open letter to Jean Ho

Re: Your open letter to me

Dear Jean,

I used to like "theatre" over "theater" but I switched. Seemed a bit snobbish.

Did you know that your ex-boyfriend introduced me to my ex-girlfriend? Later, he advised me to keep my distance from her because she was "wack." But then he said that if I wanted to "hit it and quit it" it wouldn't be such a bad thing. Hmm, I sort of followed his advice.

But you're wrong about it not working out between us. Korean men are the Pacific Rim's answer to the hot-blooded Puerto Rican male. Muy caliente. But rumor has it that I will beat you if we get married. Mansei.

Come visit me when you are feeling up to it. I will show you an enchanted world filled with cuban sandwiches, chicken bones, and sidewalk excrement.

Your friend,
Peter

P.S. I have an oval head? Is that a good thing?

Hmm, i never talked about the guest lecture i went to on Thursday. Anna Wintour is editor-in-chief of Vogue and one of the most powerful people in the fashion industry. I was surprised at how nervous she was. When she first started talking, there was a tremble in her British voice, everyone was aware of it. She had brought all these Vogue lackeys to assist her, one guy on the projector, one woman on the lights, one guarding the gift bag table, and one doing nothing.

Her talk was pretty bland, fashion this, photographer that...really nothing informative. The slide show was interesting, those photographers really know their shit, i must say. During the question-and-answer period i decided to get up and ask a question. So I got up and stood in line to grab the mic. Right then, the Taco Bell I had started talking to a nigga. Damn, I had to ddong bad. But i put a cork in that shit and waited out the storm. So I asked my question: "I've seen your picture in various magazines, how do you feel about celebrity editors and how do you deal with the press?"
"Not very well," she said. "I blah blah blah..." the rest of the shit I just didn't listen to b/c of my stupid stomach. When she finished, i said, "Thanks" in a low voice that sorta came off as rude, now that i think about it.

But when I sat back down at my seat, my stomach was fine. I guess it was just nerves. But i didn't feel that nervous. Odd. The lecture ended and the mob bum-rushed the gift bag table. All that was in it was the latest issue of Vogue with Angelina Jolie on the cover and a Vogue T-shirt. Oh well.

After that I went to the West End and had some drinks, and Mary Beth asked me if i was gonna eat kimchee when I went downtown later cuz i told her i was going to K-town. Stupid West Virginian hick. I said, "Actually, I'm not." and gave her a hmph look. She's cute so she can get away with that shit. Whatever.

Later, I met up with Hyung Min and my brothers at some korean bar. I asked the kinda cute barmaid with the fucked up teeth if she liked fashion. Chick's guard was up. "Why do you ask?" in broken english. I pulled out the latest issue of Vogue and said "This is a present for you." Still skeptical, she said, "why do you think I need this." Stupid suspicioso. I put her on ice and was curt with her after that. An hour later, she comes over and gushes, "Thank you for the magazine, I really like it." Yeah, that's what I thought. Hmph.