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It amazes me just how many people - attractive, intelligent, successful people - have trouble finding their mate here in New York City and in other metropolises (or is it Metropoli?) such as LA, Chicago, Detroit, Atlanta, Boston, Baghdad and Kabul. Somehow the intellectually, cosmetically, and financially challenged folk seem to have no trouble at all finding love. Maybe they're just not as picky. Or maybe they can't afford to be picky. Whatever the case I felt a need to comment on this dyer situation. Ok, we acknowledged there is a problem. So maybe we can find the root of the problem, and then perhaps together we or maybe just I can come up with a possible solution.

It is very tough to be single in such hugely advanced cities like New York and Kabul.

You know what? Allow me to rephrase. It's actually quite easy being single. Back when I was single I certainly had a very easy time being single. The problem was finding a girl that would stick for a lengthy period of time – like months. Believe it or not I was one of those guys that was rarely ever single by choice. I was a nice guy always on the prowl for a nice girl to have a relationship with. But I was simply forced to be single for various chunks of time by all you crazy superpicky psychotic New York women…

Now hold on! Hold on! Before you get your panties all caught up in your crotch – and start slingin' your dirty tampons at me, I will also bring to light the shit stinking fuckchops we men are today. But understand, that it is my opinion that crappy men are more global where as a majority of the crappy women might be a little more contained here in the U.S. I don't know, I am just basing this on personal experience and stories from men and women both here and a[broad] (pun intended)When I said "crappy" in reference to some men and women– I just simply mean, unreliable, inconsiderate, ungrateful, and selfish. Cities like NYC and LA are simply Petri dishes infested with viruses like narcissism, materialism, impatience - a little bug that feeds this constant need in us to upgrade!

For Example:
Technology is increasing exponentially. As soon as you settle down with one gadget a year later what happens? Something better comes along. A better model, (or "supermodel"), a better monthly plan, one that's faster, cheaper, sturdier, crashes less, lasts longer, more free minutes, more durable, more memory, longer battery life, better colors, sleeker looking – and in case you think I am talking about the latest technological gizmos, I'm not. I am talking about people. Relationships. Everyone seems more reluctant to commit out of fear that something better might be coming around the corner - maybe even at a lower cost, hassle free with more run time!

Am I right?

Fuck you, you know I'm right.

And by the way, I am still talking about people.

That's why when you upgrade on anything (or anyone) you have to sign a 2 year contract saying that you'll commit to a particular service provider. Companies know how commitment phobic and impatient our society has become. So they make you sign something to ensure you won't leave them.

The same applies to relationships. It's called "marriage."

When the contract/commitment is broken you are expected to pay penalties – alimony, child support, and maybe half of everything you own. We all know the name of this broken contract – divorce.

Which is why I am sticking with Verizon. The cost of separating is just too great.

Unfortunately there are too many poor souls who will never be happy no matter who they're with. They simply look for the tiniest flaws in a person. It's a form of self-protection and it saves time and energy in committing to someone that may (or may not) work out. This is their shield from getting hurt. It also acts as a shield from finding happiness and balance in a loving relationship.

Example 1:

JANE:"Oooh, Todd, I had such a good time on the date. He's funny, he's charming, he lives an active life and has a great career. He's sweet, honest, and very fashionable! I mean I kinda like him… but…."

TODD:"Oh no. 'But'"…?

JANE:"Well, he doesn't seem to know how to eat pasta…"

TODD:"Huh?"

JANE:"He sort of slurps it up and then bites it and lets the extras fall back onto the plate"

TODD:"So…who cares? You gonna see him again, right?"

JANE: "Naaah, I don't think so. My mom always said that if I marry someone I should make sure they have impeccable table manners – because afterall I will have to sit across from this person the rest of my life."

TODD: "I pity you."

JANE: "Besides I hooked up with him last night and he has really hairy balls."

You see!? The poor schnook didn't stand a chance with this girl. She immediately dismissed a funny, charming, intelligent, successful bachelor because he didn't know how to twirl spaghetti. An easily correctable habit. And excessive ball hair can simply be trimmed…carefully.

Example 2:

JOHN: "Todd – this chick was awesome! Hot. For the most part. Sophisticated! Great smile, great teeth. I even made out with her at the end of the date."

TODD:"That's awesome! When you gonna see her again?"

JOHN: "See that's just the thing. I don't think I will."

TODD: "Why?"

JOHN: "Well, I she had kind of a noticeable black wart on her tit."

TODD: "Asshole, it's called a beauty mark…a birthmark."

JOHN: "Yeah. Well there is nothing beautiful about this mark and I can't date a chick that's been marked since birth!!"

TODD: "You're a schmuck!"

JOHN: "O.k. fine. She has hairy nipples."

TODD: "OOoof. That's rough."

JOHN: "And a hairy bush."

TODD: "How hairy."

JOHN: "It would take something massive to trim it – like a helicopter blade...or an airplane propeller."

And so Jane & John like many others continue their futile search for love.

Yes I know not everyone is like John & Jane. But we've all pulled a "John & Jane" in the past to convince ourselves NOT to get involved with a particular person for whatever reason.

Dating is even tougher now in 2008 than it ever was in the history of…history.

I attribute this to a number of things. For one thing. In a big city there are so many options it becomes quite confusing, overwhelming even, and we simply shut down. Crash. Each person seems to be more beautiful (and more successful) than the next. We are always looking to upgrade when living in cities such as New York or Baghdad. Wherever you turn your head there is a beautiful person. It's like buying the latest computer, cell phone, smartphone, PDA, flat screen plasma TV, blackberry, sidekick, iPod. What happens? 3 months haven't gone by before a newer version emerges into mainstream. Ahhhhh!!!

We now live in a world where we have become so accustomed to instant gratification – where nothing can get to us fast enough – from IMing, texting, instant wireless telepathic satellite web access so we can email our companions vacationing in Estonia just by thinking about it. Movies are now coming to DVD before they're even filmed. We no longer possess any patience to let things grow, blossom, flourish, and flow. Nobody wants to wait. Fuck, we get upset if we don't get a response back from our text message or email BEFORE we even hit "send!'

And because of our lack of patience we expect a raise without doing the work. The meal without having to prepare it. The body tone without having to workout. And the perfect relationship without putting in the effort, the time, and compromise. And so we expect a human relationship built on trust, love, and compromise to evolve as fast as we can compose and fire off a text message to an email which will be relayed instantaneously to the recipient's blackberry while vacationing in Yemen.

So now - men and women go out - and on the first date they are looking for explosive fireworks. A cinematic orchestra of romantic music playing in the iTunes section of their brains signifying that this person that now sits before them is their long awaited soul mate. Amen! Hallelujah!

But if you go out with someone, have a pretty good time and you find the person relatively attractive even though they are not quite as hot as Brad & Angelina give the person a second chance. Brad got Angelina because he's Brad and Angelina got Brad because she's Angelina. Be hopeful but be realistic. Nobody, not even the aforementioned celebrities, is perfect. We ALL have flaws. And no relationship is problem free and perfect. If you don't experience exploding fireworks of romantic and sexual chemistry right off the bat – snap out of it. Give this shit time! A 2nd date perhaps could be used to go on an 8 day Artic cruise.

But in all seriousness, do you really think you can size up a person on one date?! Yet we all try. Granted, if there is absolutely NOTHING there and you are absolutely repulsed to the point where you'd rather jab a rusty nail in your eye than spend another waking moment with the person - well then fine. Call it a night… or… well, be sure to sterilize that nail.

Unfortunately the odds of finding a mate in 2008 are stacked against us. With everyone's severe lack of patience and "stick-to-it-iveness" we have to now be more conscious of how we can increase our own stock value by creating a newer, sleeker, and better version of ourselves to stay one step ahead of our competition, and increase the odds of our consumer's commitment to us in an ever increasing volatile market such as 21st century dating.

Just when I thought no one could look any more defeated, I noticed steam started to mist out from everyone’s ears, little nubby horns started to protrude from everyone’s head, and I think I saw one girl’s head spin all the way around.

I must confess, I cranked my iPod up full blast to try and drown out this annoyance. But the fucker was loud and I couldn’t concentrate on the classic song I was listening to (Mm Bop by Hanson). We were underground but I bet all of Time Square was able to hear him. This was a time when I wished my iPod volume went up to 11. So now I was forced to listen as was everyone else in Manhattan.

“Is there anybody in this car hungry!? I have free sandwiches in my bag…”

Just to let you know, I was very hungry because I hadn’t eaten breakfast and I am on a pretty strict budget so I really wanted to raise my hand. But I remembered back when I was 5 ½ years old my mom warned me never to take sandwiches from strangers because you never know how old the cold cuts are and you may get worms, and they’ll multiply in your belly and eat you from the inside out.

I know what you’re thinking and don’t worry, we put my mom on some medication years later. (I love you mom, and I am glad you are doing better and I DIDN’T take the sandwiches)

I digress.

Announcement continued: “If you need a place to stay because you are homeless, I have a listing of several housing facilities! If your hygiene is questionable and you need a shower, I have a list of 3 facilities with free amenities so you can clean yourself! I know many of you have been on a subway car where there was a homeless person whose hygiene was highly questionable and forced you to move to a different subway car!”

Again, I must confess that I was tempted to move to a different subway car just to avoid this nuisance. But I was lazy and begrudgingly listened to his “sales” pitch.

Announcement continuing: “To keep this free program for homeless running we need your donations. Even if it’s JUST a penny! Pennies add up! Anything helps!”
And you know what? I had .30 cents in my pocket (and two 20 dollar bills in my wallet). I couldn’t give him a 20 because, as I said before I really am on a tight budget and I didn’t want to be weird and ask for change. And not to sound all high and mighty but I did notice I was the first one to reach into my pocket. He saw me and came over and said in a priestly manner, “God Bless You!” – I didn’t sneeze but thank you.

And right when I dropped my measly .30 cents in his can I noticed a physiological chemical change in my body. I felt a bit tingly. It was an overall feeling of goodness. Even if it was for a brief moment, it made me feel quite happy. Then I looked around and I swear this was the first time I witnessed this: Everybody, and I mean everybody reached into their pockets, purses, wallets, bras and g-strings for change and bills and started to drop money in the man’s collection can. Here’s the cool thing. After each person dropped their money in, I observed a positive physiological change with them too. A smile overcame each of their faces. Everyone’s eyes started to gleam. Life started to blossom. There was now an exciting spark that filled the subway car. It was a feeling of pure goodness. I was now officially in a good mood and I think everyone else was too. I have never seen such an obvious change in vibe from a collective group of people in such a short span of time.

Maybe, now just maybe this could be the simple key to making yourself smile and feel good. Do something nice, do something selfless and notice the change in your body chemistry. It is something we all innately know but often forget to do because we are so wrapped up in our own technological bubble of cell phones, iPods, Blackberry’s, hand held video games, palm pilots, battery operated nose hair trimmers and any other technological crap that keeps us from noticing the physical world around us.

Because of what I witnessed first hand not only within myself but the people around me this morning on a New York City subway, I now truly believe that all normal thinking human beings are innately good and all it takes is for something such as a good deed or a simple compliment to remind us of that.

Try it! If it doesn’t bring an immediate smile to your face and a feeling of goodness to your heart then I may suggest some Lexipro, Paxil, Lithium, Prozac, Effexor, Vicodin, Percocet, Morphine, or Demerol. One or all should do the trick.

So on we press to Bryant Park for a few drinks before the show. She had a great sense of humor. And with a little bit of alcohol we both loosened up a bit more. We were a few blocks and a few avenues away from the show. A good 15 minute Manhattan walk and because it was chilly the walk could have seemed a bit longer so I offered a cab ride to the theater. She opted for the walk. Another 15 points earned.

The show: While the play was going on I kept glancing at her to see how she was enjoying the show. I have to say, she had the cutest smile and laugh. She looked like a kid in a toy store. So excited. Her eyes wide open and a smile so wide her teeth added extra light for the actors. A good 5 points. (I’d give more but the show was really good and you’d have to be completely comatose not to enjoy such a show).

I have a small confession to make…when we got up from our seats I took a gander at her ass. That’s right. A gander. A very quick glance at her ass.

Ok. Ok. I gawked. I stared. I fixated. And now MY face had the big smile like a kid in a toy store. Or more like a grown man in the porn section of a video store.

Now before you start calling me shallow. She later admitted to me that she checked out my ass when I went up to the bar to get our drinks at Bryant Park grill. You see? She checked out MY ass even before I checked out hers. How rude of her! I feel so objectified! She said she was pleased but I highly doubt her smile was as big as mine.

So there you have it, each of us, on our way to dinner after the show secretly thrilled about each other’s ass. How romantic.

Dinner: We ate at a cute little Italian place on West 44th street. Conversation flowed. Still wasn’t quite sure what vibe was being thrown at me. Was it the, friend vibe? Or was it the “I hope he kisses me vibe?” Just so you know. The first kiss on any date can be a bit nerve racking for any guy. After all he is the one that generally has to make the move. It’s gotta be perfect timing, the perfect moment or you might just get the last second head turn and connect with her cheek. And then maybe even a pat on the back. If that happens, consider yourself fucked! And not in the good way.

I decided to still keep it cool and not make a move. I had to slap the mental hand cuffs on myself. Very hard to do being as attractive as she was.

The Final Moments - Penn Station: Being a true gentleman. I waited with her at Penn Station until her train came. One could say I was also buying time to figure out if this was a kissable opportunity or not. It should have been obvious to me that when we were walking she asked to lock her arm in mine. Not to mention that when we were waiting she leaned into me to rest her head on my chest. Hmm. Ok, feel free to slap me upside the head. Believe me – I heard that sergeant’s voice in my head again (the one from “The Actress That Got Away” blog). The voice was screaming, “Kiss her you pussy!” But instead we talked some more while I stroked her hair. The moment wasn’t right. It just wasn’t right. Then, they announce her train. FUCK! She stands up to gather her things. I stand up and now the sergeant’s voice was screaming again, “Wake up!! WAKE UP YOU FUCKCHOP!"

Continuing: "You got 30 seconds to produce a kiss or you will be DIShonorably discharged – you got that!?!"

Then out of nowhere, she lifts up her shirt a little to show me her cute little navel ring.

Sergeant: “IF YOU DON’T KISS HER RIGHT N—"

And just then, I woke up out of my daze. I hooked my index finger into the loop of her jeans and pulled her in toward me and we kissed. A sweet, sweet kiss. I cupped her face while our lips met and it was nice. Very nice. I walked her to her train. A final kiss. She thanked me again for a lovely evening.

Sergeant: “You done good kid. You done good.”

The Day After: The next afternoon, I got a phone call from her to thank me again. Another 20 points. How could a girl this hot be this cool? It defied logic.

DATE 2
The following weekend we went to the Bodies exhibit at the South Street Seaport. Then a boat ride around lower Manhattan. Yes, I know, a bit touristy…but who cares. The day was beautiful and we were having a great time. After the boat ride we get a bite to eat. I slip away to the restroom for a minute to do my thing and then arrived right before our meal.

Why is this important information you may ask.

Well. I’ll tell ya. At the end of our meal, I ask the waiter for the check. He brings the check WITH her credit card already in the brown booklet thingy (what the hell is that thing called?). You see. When I was in the restroom she slipped the waiter her card so she could take ME out. What can I say…but…30 points. The most earned so far.

We also hung out in Central Park and she suggested I get a cigar to smoke there.

Don’t worry. There is a catch. A small one. She did admit that she can be a bit stubborn and brutally honest. And to a degree - pushy. If one let’s her. Something that didn’t come out until Date 3.

DATE 3
She took a cab from Penn Station to my apartment. I waited on the stoop for her. The cab pulls up. She steps out, and I literally had the breath sucked out of my lungs. She looked like a supermodel. Seriously. Long beautiful blonde hair, a cool funky tight dress. Nice elegant high healed shoes. Actually that was the perfect way to describe her in that moment. Elegant. The plan was to go to The Met. Yes, I know. More touristy stuff. But again. So fucking what. It was a cool activity.

I must admit I felt the slightest bit insecure with her in the high heals because she was taller than me. Stupid. But it’s the truth. She immediately said she didn’t like the shirt I was wearing. MINUS 20 points!

I gave her a look and she laughed and said that there has to be something better in my closet as she generally likes my style of dress. I pulled out a few things that she didn’t like. I threatened that I was going to wear my tank top and Speedos with my 8 inch 1970’s platform clogs if she didn’t stop making fun of my outfit choices. Finally, we agreed upon a cool outfit. It does sound pushy doesn’t it. But I guess her point was that she got herself primped up nice for me and that I should wear something nice too. Alright. I’ll give her that. Just as a guy wants his woman to look hot when they are out, a girl wants her guy to look hot as well. Or at least presentable. And by the way I made her change her shoes so I would be taller than her.

The Met: We get to The Met. First thing she does. This gorgeous, elegant, fashionably dressed, sexy woman - buys a hot dog! 53 points!!!

We walked through the museum and I was so impressed with her knowledge of art. Unbelievable actually. Before we left the museum, she went to the ladies room and I waited near the gift shop and my eyes locked onto a book about surrealism and art and it featured a bunch of her favorite artists including Escher and Dali. I bought it for her and surprised her when she got out of the bathroom. 47 points for me. She loved it and was so appreciative.

We went for coffee and then to one of my favorite little places. A cute Peruvian restaurant on the Upper East Side. Great Sangrias. We ate hearty. Got a bit looped, and came back to my place. She stayed the night.

5000 points! : )

For both of us! : )

I am not sure what else to say. I am living in the moment. And I am enjoying my time getting to know this girl who seems to be very bright and very beautiful, inside and out. I am not some kook who thinks she is perfect. Nor am I. If we continue to date I am sure we will get to know each others imperfections soon enough. But for now…this girl is up 5128 points!

What a score!

Anyway - I just simply couldn't find inspiration to write. Or maybe I was just lazy.

Back in early October I hit a wall. To say the least. I slipped into a very brief yet very deep and very dark and seemingly unrelenting depression.

Probably for a number of reasons and won’t go into detail about it. I will say this though. I have been living in my apartment for nearly 10 years and have not changed it around much. It basically looked like a kid fresh out of college still lived there and not a young man in his 30's. But not because it wasn’t kept clean. I just didn’t pay much attention to décor. I mean – it’s not that inviting to walk in and see a poster of Robert DeNiro (my idol) pointing a gun in your face. After realizing that living here while witnessing friends buying homes, making over the 6 figure mark, and some even getting cast in TV shows and movies it dawned on me how stagnant my life was. I needed change. Something. Anything.

It's funny. Most would say change needs to come from within first. I disagree. You need to start making physical changes on the outside. To your environment (home) or your look (gym, exercise, clothes, hair etc.) and from there change will start to happen. It starts from the outside which will yield change from within. Do you know what I am talking about? 'Cause I sure as hell don't.

And by the way, I want to take this space, the very words you are reading right now and thank Ariana Meyerson and Neva Meritt for their open ears, warm hearts, and very sound and loving womanly advice that I sincerely took to heart and sprang into action. I love you both. During those few dark days I felt paralzyed. Physically immobile. As I lied in bed being swallowed up by the darkness, I spoke to Ariana first. She has either been my wife in a past life or will be my wife in an another life. Or is actually my wife in a parallel life. She gave me tough love over the phone.

ARIANA: "You have so much going for you. You are so talented in so many different ways. The world is at your fingertips. I understand what you're going through but you have to stop feeling sorry for yourself. Get out of bed. Write. Redo your apartment. Just focus on you and get off your ass and make shit happen. I love you."

Unfortunately right before we spoke I washed down an ambien and a vicodin with a double shot of whisky so taking action would have to wait until the next day.

The next night I went out with Neva. Who had a different softer zen-like approach.

Neva speaks in a very soft free your mind, body, and spirit, soothing hippie like tone (which can be very sexy)

NEVA: “This depression needs to happen. It’s part of your journey. Open yourself up to whatever reason this may be…follow your heart and – [tone changes] get off your ass and make a change! Change your apartment. Go to the gym. Treat yourself to something nice. And be glad this is happening because it means something big is around the corner!”

Then I grabbed her and planted a great big kiss. If only I was Mormon, I would kidnap Neva and Ariana (with their permission), stuff them in a rented buick (with their permission) and drive out to Utah and have ourselves a wedding manage (with or without their permission).

So after my lovely Friday night with Neva I went home a bit happier. Excited to start making shit happen.

The first thing I did was buy a very nice, semi-new, thin-bodied acoustic/electric guitar. It was a great deal I found on Craigslist. The look and sound is beautiful and I can't stop playing. Something I haven't done in quite some time. The second was rejoining the gym. And finally, the biggest change I have made in the past few months was to my apartment. My home. And that’s something that I have not said with pride…until now. "My home."

It was time for the landlord to repaint my apartment (required by law in New York every 3 years) but this time I decided to go with color rather than the standard Mental Hospital White. After lengthy consideration, I finally chose Toasty Gray (a light cocoa) for my bedroom and for the living room I went with a color called: Cappuccino Latte Half and Half Creamy Native American Hebrew National Flat Gold (with a hint of Muave). It's a very subtle beige. I kept all the trim stark white for contrast. Beautiful.

The day I came home after they finished the paint job I wanted to cry. Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING in that apartment was piled in the middle of the living room. It reminded me of the mock Devil’s Tower Richard Dreyfus built in his living room in Spielberg’s Close Encounters of The Third Kind. I spent the next 9 hours (till 4am) putting the apartment back together.

I had a few of my lady “friends” and more over to help with suggestions. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with my bedroom. Neva was over and she was trying to help me come up with my own ideas rather than simply give me hers. So she asked - "What do you want your bedroom to say? What kind of feel do you want for your bedroom? Festive? Mellow? What kind of reaction are you looking to have?"

And so I thought for a while. Both of us standing at the doorway to my bedroom looking in.

Then it hit me. I said, “This is what I want to happen. When I have a girl over (such as yourself), and when she first walks into my room and takes it all in, I want this type of effect…”

[Picture this] I sprinted to my bed, leapt into the air, did a double flip, morphing into a quarter twist and then opened up into a half gainer and landed on my back smack dab in the middle of my bed with my legs spread up in the air and yelled, “Fuck me, Todd! NOW!” Then I sheepishly looked over at Neva standing in the doorway and said, “You think this is possible?”

Neva laughed hysterically! And said, “Let’s get to work.”

And now it was time to go nuts! And that’s what I did. I went fucking nuts! Buying shit up everywhere I went. I have become my own "Queer Eye" redecorating freak! Buying furniture, plants, home accents and decore, etc. etc. etc. I spent lots of time, days even, at stores like Pier 1 Imports, Bed Bath & Beyond, Target, Pottery Barn, Century 21, Home Depot, Wal-mart, K-Mart, Duane Reade, Food Emporium, Toys R Us, Build-A-Bear, and The American Girl Doll Store. I am changing.

The most evil of the stores though is Bed Bath & Beyond. Those mother fuckers! This store can be so intoxicating. That is the only way to describe it. Intoxicating. Why? Because they have everything there. Nearly everything you want, need or think you want or need. And so many li’l nooks, crannies, trinkets, and snigletons.

In case you are wondering, snigletons – a word I made up – are simply the pointless but have-to-have-items that you would ONLY see at a Bed Bath & Beyond store. They are cool fucking shit that make you say, “Oooh, I want that!! I NEED that! We NEED that for our apartment!!” And these snigletons are EVERYWHERE in the store. In all shapes and sizes throughout the 3 level store. You can’t escape the Bed Bath & Beyond snigletons. They caaaall for you with their telepathic voices. They serenade you with angelic music like the mythological Greek sirons. They can be very manipulative to the weak minded shopper. So be on guard! You need to have the mental strength of a Jedi Knight to walk into that store, get exactly and ONLY exactly what you came for and get out – withstanding all such temptations from these snigletons. As I said they are everywhere. In your face at ALL corners of the store, stacked on pallets in the center isles, the registers, near the security guards at the exit, and even at the “Return Items” counter.

Specifically for situations like the following:

CUSTOMER: Yes, I’d like return this $150.00 Deluxe Clothing Steamer.

EMPLOYEE: Sure. Was there anything wrong with it?

CUSTOMER: Umm…Yeah – It doesn’t take the wrinkles out of my clothes so I’ll just stick to my $10.00 iron. It works pretty good for me.

EMPLOYEE: O.k. Sir. I am glad to return it.

[She has a smug li’l grin on her face. She is delighted with anticipation. She knows what will happen next for she has played this scene out many times]

[Customer looks around at all the little trinkets and snigletons surrounding the “Return Items” area and suddenly]:

CUSTOMER: Oh – LOOK!! Sheet Snugglers!!!

EMPLOYEE: [As if on cue] Yup – those are great! They keep all your sheets straight. Just like a hotel bed.

CUSTOMER: Yes! I need a bunch of these!

EMPLOYEE: Ok – sir, give me a sec and I’ll ring those Sheet Snugglers up for you.

[Customer looking around more as employee starts the return transaction]

CUSTOMER: Wow!!! LOOK AT THAT! Bamboo Lattice Remote Control Organizers! [To the employee] I have 3 remotes that I just can’t seem to keep organized!

EMPLOYEE: Yeah? Then these would be perfect for your living room entertainment center.

CUSTOMER: Ma’am, I’ll take two.

EMPLOYEE: Sure thing. And have you seen these Santa Clause and Elf Draft Stoppers!?

CUSTOMER: Oh wow! Yes! These would be great! [customer turns sad] But I’m Jewish.

EMPLOYEE: Oh no! [thinks for a second and then]: That’s o.k.! Look right behind you and you’ll see we have non-denominational Draft Stoppers!

CUSTOMER: GEE! Well…[in deep thought out loud but to himself] it can get cold in some areas of my apartment. [to the employee as he slaps his hand on the counter in joy] You know what!? Let me have all 12 of them!

EMPLOYEE: No problem. [typing ferociously] $150.00 steamer has been credited back to your account and [more ferocious typing] $295.00 has been deducted back out of your account. Have a good day sir!

Customer leaves store in total shock, disorientation, and bewilderment. Says to himself – “What the fuck just happened!?” Then shrugs and walks home with his new purchases of pointless shit from Bed Bath & Beyond.

Mom, Dad – this really happened...to me. Can you send me more money for my birthday?

As you can all see, I am loosing control continuing on my neverending shopping spree. Buying up Bamboo shades, wall sconces, picture frames with Chinese writing - which by the way I really like Chinese writing. All of it seem to symbolize peace and tranquility – even if the writing translates to: “I will slaughter you with a goat’s horn.”

Hebrew writing doesn’t cut it. I mean, am I going to buy a large picture frame with the Hebrew writing showing the "Three Principles of Jewish Guilt" or a small picture frame showing the Hebrew word for “Oy”? No. I will buy Chinese and ONLY Chinese symbols for the walls. I am zen, Chinese writing is zen and by God my apartment will be zen-like.

I also bought lots of shelving from Home Depot to build my dream 2 square foot library in the corner of my living room. I even got a sign that says “Whispering only” and “No cell phones in library.” I bought those little water fountains (I even got one that actually has lights!!), a new dresser, and matching computer desk with hutch (both with a beautiful pine wood finish), lamps, and lots and lots of candles and candle holders.

Now before you start thinking that I am turning into a bit of a decorating fruit cake let me just say that the candles I got are not wussy foofy girly candles. Nope. These are big, bulky (but graceful looking) candles. Practically in the shape of Tikki Barber (Running Back for the New York Giants). They are MAN candles. Mandles if you will.

Everytime Ariana seemed to call and check up on me (bless her sweet heart) she would ask where I was. Of course I always seemed to be at Bed Bath. She commented that I now have a new sickness and I am in need of an intervention. But I said, “No way, Jose. I just need to get these 800 thread-count Egyptian Cotton sheets!” Very important not to chince out on your bed.

On cell:

TODD: Oh Look!

ARIANA: What!?

TODD: They have these Goose down pillows with Peruvian Ostrich feathers!!

ARIANA: Todd – you don’t need that.

TODD: What about a nice night stand?

ARIANA: Maybe.

TODD: Here’s one that has a Nigerian Platypus Bill finish! OH Look, Ariana, it comes with a Yeminese Olive Oil Lamp!! I’m getting it!!

My depression has lifted…for now. I am starting to feel good. Sexy even. My apartment really is coming along nicely. And the energy is warm, and inviting.

I have rejoined the gym. I have been playing more guitar. I am writing more. And great things are now happening at MTV and even with my acting career but that's for another blog...maybe.

Anyway - another 40grams of Lexipro and one more trip to Bed Bath & Beyond to purchase a few final items I saw last week will solidify my inner peace. Just three more items (besides a wall mounted plasma TV) that I definitely definitely need – They are calling for me and I am calling for them. Tomorrow, afterwork I will purchase a Digital/Programmable Ultrasonic Jewelry Cleaner, LumTweeze’s Professional Lighted Tweezers, and an Oregon Scientific Public Alert Radio/Wireless Weather Station Combo Set. Ahhhh…Happiness. Goodnight.

**SPECIAL THANKS TO ARIANA AND NEVA. YOU HAVE BOTH AWAKENED NEW INSPIRATION IN ME.**

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Regarding my father's outpatient operation:

hi:

aunt marilyn e-mailed me and said helaine [cousin] was listening to Howard Stern yesterday on 9/11 and they replayed your 9/11 interview from 02. did you know they were doing that????

can you check it out or get a replay of his show.

we got home from hospital at 3:30. dad was in and out of surgery in 1 hr by 9:30am but he could not pee so they would not discharge. we sat there till 2pm and have about 10cups of ice water and ice chips - RESULTS. imagine what we take for granted. Urinating - we all applauded him!!!! like a baby's first POOP in the toilet!!!! HA - now he hasn't stopped pissing. oh well. at least it's over and all went well.

gotta go. call later

luv mom.

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To the whole family regarding Labor Day Weekend:

hi all:

this weekend doesn't look too promising weather wise - unless we get awfully lucky and you know how optimistic i am always about the weather - the only thing I'm optimistic about.

so - be prepared - for a nice long weekend of family bonding. bring books, magazines, games, DVD's, CD's etc. to provide entertainment for our stay indoors. however, there are plenty of sales going on to motivate us to SHOP - snacks for all day eating will be had. however, i think drugs/alcohol would probably be better. NO SUGAR for kids - we don't want them hyped up indoors. Our goal anyway is to have fun, treasure our time together!!! and make the best of our last weekend of the season inspite of the weather.

luv mom

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Regarding a bad cough I had:

hi:

don't forget to make an appt and get that cough checked out. it sounds bronchial and if it's not taken care of you will wind up with pneumonia cause you sound run down.

luv mom xoxoxox

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Regarding my Las Vegas Blog:

hi:

that was quite a readfull. thank you for sharing so much with your public - maybe a little too much - looking at the clock - now took me 20mins to read and had to catch up on the Crispy Noodle blog. - at this point dad - is screaming for me to join him on the patio for dinner and just couldn't tear myself away from your infamous BLOGS.

KEEP ON BLOGGING they're terrific.

luv MOM

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Regarding pics I sent from a girl I "reconnected" with:

hi:

got the pics. she looks adorable. is she a redhead???

luv mom

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Regarding Courage & Stupidity (film I did where I played young Steven Spielberg) website:

hi:

great website - actually was able to download it and go thru each category. very good. nice photoshoots.

was at shore for weekend. the Salernos invited us for dinner and we watched the Jets/Pittsburgh game w/them. she made a lasagna w/homemade gravy - and baked an excellent cake - it was all delicious and we had a great time.

we rented 3 movies.

OPEN WATER - disturbing -
DODGE BALL - funny
DOOR IN THE FLOOR - depressing but excellent acting Jeff Bridges and Kim Bassinger

hope you & [ex] had a good weekend - bet you were watching football games and getting ready for Golden Globes - too bad COURAGE & STUPIDITY is not up for a Documentary award.

luv MOM
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hi:

not sure which is your e-mail address anymore so sent to all.

did you forget about dad's b-day -???? gift??? or are you waiting to send his & mine together???? mine is next SUN. MAKE A NOTE!

if you get HBO on demand - catch the Louis Black special. it's hysterical.

snowing here hard & heavy now. we're going to hunker down

luv ya MOM

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Regarding my parents trip to the city and plans to stay at my place:

Hi:

we are planning to come into the city tomorrow - later in the afternoon about 4:00pm is maybe a bit earlier - let's do dinner tomorrow night for your b-day - make a reservation - near your house maybe IL Pomedoro on 73'rd street - near aunt Marilyn - we ate there before w/you unless you have another suggestion nearby locally. not too expensive - or NINO's. or the one next door to Nino's. something close by we could walk to. clean your apt. good - and fresh bedding & towels - please. like we provide for you. Haha.

we'll bring in some bagels from NJ - make sure you have coffee and OJ. some cereal too.

luv MOM

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Hi:

to let you know we will be staying by Lauren & Andrew [sister and brother-in-law]. Fri - Sun. I will probably need an IV drip of high energy like glucose by Sun. night. the girls are high maintenance!!! will keep them away from sugar all weekend.

follow up with your flu shot. being you have a chronic condition you might be eligible to get one.

too bad about Elizabeth Edwards. hope it's in early stage. girls check your breasts.
she now has to undergo 16 weeks of chemo and radiation. see how things work out. could you imagine if Kerry/Edwards were elected and they had to go thru running the country with the stress of battling cancer. Kerry also had prostate cancer.a few years ago.

well have a happy yo all.

luv MOM

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After hearing the news DreamWorks received a copy of Courage & Stupidity:

Hi:

we'll keep our fingers crossed. unlike you, Spielberg is probably heading for Temple tonight for Kol Nidre and fasting his 24hrs. he's very observant of the holidays if I remember correctly. reading it in one of the trash tabloids.

I'm sure you'll get good feedback. perhaps a sign on bonus to one of his projects for a cool $2million and then you can pay off our mortgage at the shore house. thx.!!!! so we'll certainly be praying for you among other things. Health, safety well-being happiness success financial security & stablilty - marriage, babies.

anyway going to yoga and now I take pilates. (that's a hard one) lots of stress on lower back.

dad printed out the photos on the set. great!!!

Third Watch and CSI: NY and Rescue Me all filmed in NYC. maybe you'll land another part after your Law & Order debut.

see you tomorrow. will need your help in helping dad carry out some stuff to the street for discard. like my exercise machines which are outdated.

luv MOM

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After hearing the news I won't be home for the Jewish holiday and giving her thoughts on relationships (sent in 2004):

Hi:

[Ex] is welcome in your place. we'll make her fast for Yom Kippur.. have her take some classes on Judiasm. she probably knows more than us.

her job sounds great - expecially the dress code. new jobs are always overwhelming for the first 6 months. then it's home free. she's smart and will do great. too bad about her cold. have her diss on Emily.

glad she takes good care of you. love the massage bit. can she do me???? I pay $40/month for mine. quite a saving to you

don't care so much about losing the job - just want to be able to collect over the next few months and then I'm eligible for my SS and will remain retired. have had it in the work world for now. but we'll see what happens tomorrow. preparing for warfare.

I know she loves the kids - she's so good w/them and sounds like she wants one of her own. better check your sperm count out. and effects if any on meds you are taking

also remember no one is perfect and the longer you stay single the harder it is to compromise and share. most important things in relationships aside from love/sex are mutual respect, friendship, common likes, interests & dislikes. if you have that you're 99% there.

luv MOM

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Regarding my trip to Utah to film Courage & Stupidity - thinking Salt Lake is a dangerous city:

hi:

hope you had a good flight out to Salt Lake. what did you take to calm yourself?

e-mail us and let me know how it all went. we'll be home this weekend.

good luck out there and enjoy. be vigilant, aware, safe, and keep your head & wits about. keep wallet and ID's protected.

luv MOM

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After hearing the news the folks at DreamWorks loved the film:

Hi:

So very exciting. perhaps this will be your big break but Steven S may be the one to do it for you. hope soon. we'd like our mortgage on the shore house paid off. maybe like a $5,000,000 windfall.

started out for the gym then turned around and came home. is so beautiful out will just go out walking. won't be too many days of this left so want to enjoy.

luv MOM

My last girlfriend helped bridge the gap between me and my family. To my family, she represented stability in my “unstable existence.” I was the “nomadic” artist that roamed from temp job to temp job, woman to woman, relationship to relationship while pursuing and booking acting work. My last girlfriend was an accountant. (Still is – passed her CPA on her first try). She came from a wonderful family and a network of friends that are still in tact. A rarity these days. And most of all, she wasn’t an actress. She had conventional dreams. Dreams that with a little hard work can definitely be realized where as my dreams were quite different. My dream based a little more luck than merit.

During our relationship I have booked some great acting jobs and I even landed a full time job at Lehman Brothers. Things were looking up. Sort of. I was becoming more “stabilized.” And my family loved it. I was growing up. Sort of.

This summer was the first in 4 years hangin’ at the shore house without my ex. It was a bit difficult. The kids loved her. They had even asked about her several times and asked why we broke up. That was a tough one. As I struggled to answer the 9 and 11 year old, their father (my brother in-law) simply said, “She was a chapter in Uncle Todd’s life and now they are both onto another chapter.” I think they asked if we will see each other again and I just said we’ll have to keep reading to find out what happens. Hey, it is at the beach where people do most of their reading hence all the book analogies.

The question my nieces asked me made me think. Hard. Why did I end it? Fear? Depression? Or was it just simply the lack of that “something” in my heart that I desperately needed to feel if we were to continue down the path of “forever after.”

Her birthday was July 28th and I even contemplated sending her a “Happy Birthday” email but knew it was not the right thing to do. Ultimately. And that’s the key word. Living life for the greater good means having to make difficult decisions in the present.

Since I first entered the dating scene back in High School I have had my heart crushed. Blown to smithereens. I have also done my share of heart breaking as well. I must say both sides suck. Hard. Whether you are the “dumper” or the “dumpee.” We all know how hard it is when your heart gets crushed. It is something that all of us have experienced at least once in our lives. We have had to not only nurse our own heartbreaks but also nurse a friend’s as well. The other side of the coin is rarely mentioned. Mainly because the “Dumper” is always looked at as the evil one. The Asshole or bitch who should rot in hell for all of eternity.

It was not an easy decision. In fact, sometimes ending a relationship can be quite agonizing. Especially, if you are a decent person, with a good heart, a strong conscience, and a bit of Jewish guilt thrown into the mix. Ending this relationship was especially hard. I am well aware of the absolutely crushing, sinking feeling when you lose a lover. It is not that much different from finding out someone you know has passed away. Your chest sort of caves in, there is a deep drop in the pit of your stomach (similar to a freefall) which is kind of what happens I guess. When you are being “Let go” you feel like you are in a freefall. A nose dive into a bottomless pit. Your world spins out of control and you just want to absolutely throw up.

I experienced so much mental anguish about ending the relationship mainly because our relationship was relatively good. She was an incredible person. Why or how could I possibly bring myself to hurt such a person?

There was really nothing wrong with her. She was beautiful, intelligent, fantastic body, ambitious and she loved me almost - but not quite - unconditionally. Definitely the most stable girl I think I have met. Stable is a harsh term. No offense to the girls I have dated since her. Some were great and some not so. I would say a more accurate phrase would be that she was just simply the most reliable. Grounded. Alright, fuck it. She was the most stable girl I have dated.

She will make a great mother someday too. My family loved her. And I loved her family. And probably until the end her family loved me. She has always loved my ambition, my passion for acting and always felt even if I didn’t make a great living as an actor I would find my niche within the business and make my mark. That is actually happening here at MTV Networks.

Even though I was nearly 10 years her senior I felt her maturity level and my immaturity level made us around the same age. But, what woman out there doesn’t try to “mother” her boyfriend. And what guy out there isn’t a child at heart. So why did I end it?

For one thing I know I was going through a difficult time. I was very unsure of myself and my career choices. I started to feel the pressure that any couple would feel after being together for any length of time. Everyone was asking when we were getting married. Will we move in together? And people even asked, “So – is she the “one?” When I got a question like that I would hesitate. Everyone who is happily married has told me, there shouldn’t be any hesitation. You simply know when you know. I didn’t have that. And I knew after 3 ½ years of dating that I had to either shit or get off the pot.

So rather than waste her time with my “constipation,” I simply got off the pot. And in the long run, well that would mean nowadays, she is probably much happier.

I cursed God, the universe and every other intangible energy I could think of that I didn’t feel that this was “it”. I also knew it would be quite some time before I met a gem like her.

I always believed because of all her tremendous qualities that she would move on pretty soon after our breakup. And guess what? She did. I dated, but that’s all I really wanted for the time being. I just was at a point in my life where I didn’t want to be so settled. I guess I kind of still am.

Being a bachelor has really allowed me to see just how fucked up this whole world really is. Well not the world, but its inhabitants. Mainly the humans. We suck.

O.k. I am just trying to be funny.

Well, not really.

The breakup not only caused me and her great pain, but my family as well. Maybe the word “pain” for them is a bit strong and melodramatic. But I will say - they were all affected. It was sad and I felt I caused it. I probably felt it most when I visited my family at our shore house. I miss when we used to go down there together. She was wonderful with the kids. When I went down there for the first time this summer on Memorial Day Weekend - without her - it was a bit of a bummer. For me mostly. But also for my mother. She still hadn’t taken down the pictures of us.

Do I regret my decision? Sometimes. There are some real FUCKED up women out there. No need to go into detail about this. I made my bed. And I will lie in it and hope for the best. I still enjoy meeting and dating women. The more fucked up they are I guess the funnier my stories become.

I did make the most of my summer though. Splitting my time between living the life of an irresponsible bachelor (remember Las Vegas?) and the life of a responsible Uncle. The summer at the shore house was definitely not the same without her. Aside from the obvious reasons, we also had a bedroom which is now designated for the kids. And the punishment for exiting the domestic life of coupledom and re-entering the life of bachelorhood – Uncle Todd has been re-assigned new sleeping quarters. The living room couch. God I miss my ex. Goodnight.

I woke up on the most beautiful Tuesday morning ever! Surprising since the night before was a very intense thunder storm that nearly kept me up all night. Which sucked because I had to be up a little earlier than usual to make up for the fact that I left work early the day before to go to an audition. My plan was to work from 8:30am to 6:30pm. Where was work? Marsh & McLennan. The 96th floor of the north tower at the World Trade Center.

6:30am. Alarm goes off. I curse. I hit snooze.
6:45am. Alarm goes off and snooze again.
7:00am. Alarm goes off and I curse and shut the alarm off and went about my daily morning routine: Shit, showered, shaved, brushed my teeth and clicked on the Howard Stern show while I was getting dressed.

7:15am and my mood starts to change and I am feeling a little extra happy. Life is beautiful. I am dating a beautiful girl. I have a great temp job which pays well enough and is flexible enough to allow me to audition for acting work whenever such an opportunity arose. For once, I am up early enough where I don’t have to rush. In fact, at the rate I was going I was probably going to get to my desk by a little after 8am.

7:30am and I am dressed and ready to leave my apartment. It takes exactly 45minutes from my apartment to my desk. All I have to do is turn off the radio, leave and I will get there by 8:15am. But instead I fucking get caught up in Howard’s Radio Show. Fuck me. O.k. I’ll just wait for him to cut to commercial. Which should be any second because he kept saying how he was going to take a break. But his sidekick Robin Quivers interrupted him and they don’t break.

7:45am and they haven’t broke for commercial. FUCK!. I have to leave now if I want to get there at exactly 8:30am. I don’t. I stick it out.

7:50am FINALLY they cut to commercial and now I am going to be late. Cursing myself, Howard Stern, and God for making me so irresponsible, (You’d figure I’d hold myself responsible for my irresponsibility but like many of us – I don’t)

I click off the radio and as I pass through my kitchen to my front door my roommate and childhood friend, Alex is just heading into the shower. He made a groggy, pasty mouthed early morning comment – about me leaving early. He was a bit surprised since he is almost always out the door before me. We exchanged grunts:

Alex: Uh.
Todd: Uh.

Translation:

Alex: See ya later.
Todd: Later.

I nearly ran all the way from my apartment on 70th and 1st Ave all the way to the 6 Train on 68th and Lex.

8:00am I arrive at the subway station I see the subway pulling away. Naturally I curse myself out again. At first I was going to be extra early, then on time and now I will actually be late. The next train pulls in a couple of minutes later and I am off. Afraid to look at my watch. I didn’t want to be reminded of how late I am running. Luckily at 42nd street the number 5 express train is there at the station waiting to take me (and thousands of others). I rode the subway to the Fulton/Dey Street stop. Right by the front of the Towers. As I start walking up the steps I hear the loudest explosion and screams from the street. The sound was dull – like car accident. I thought maybe a truck just drove over a loose iron grate but the moment I emerged onto the street, not really thinking, I started to make way toward Church Street and to the plaza in front of the towers. Quickly a MASSIVE crowd of tear filled, terrified pedestrians started to form. I hear a barrage of “Holy Shits!" Everyone looking up and pointing.

I look up and see the upper floors of Tower 1 on fire. Debris falling. What the FUCK just happened? 1st thought, as stupid as it sounds, but I thought it was a massive kitchen fire? Then I thought maybe suicide bomber.

I hear the crowd which started to amass quickly scream in unison, “NOOOooo!”

And that’s when I see the first body falling. The debris I saw moments before was not debris. They were people. The first that I saw was a heavy set man. I was fixated on his flailing body. Watching him - all the way down until he hit the plaza in the sickest loudest thud.

Actually, it didn’t sound like a thud at all. In the movies it sounds like a thud, in real life, the sound was that of a car crash. A loud, dull pop. After slamming into the concrete - what was once the form of a human being – is now a pinkish red blotch on the ground.

I was now jolted into a reality I never knew existed. My heart is pounding so hard. The fright of seeing a human being fall to their death is so inexplicable. So horrifying.

Like the rest of the crowd I am fixated on the upper floors - where I work. I see a body hanging out, of the upper floors, and again, the crowd screams “No! Nooo!” I want to shut my eyes but I can’t. My eyes do the opposite. They widen. I am paralyzed. In absolute awe. Horror. My breath is being sucked out of me. Another body, and another, then two together. All like falling debris crashing into the pavement. Pop after pop.

No real way to describe the sickening sight. The heat I can feel on the ground. The sound of the screaming and crying horrified people around me. A burning metallic scent fills the air.

As the crowd and I watch on in horror the upper floors of Tower I from across the street, a rolling/rumbling sound is heard over in tower II. A second or two later, just as a sea of heads turn in unison towards tower II - the upper floors blow out – an actual explosion. A huge fireball. Glass and steel raining down. The sound again was dull, no echo, no reverb, not like the movies. It sounded like two 18 wheelers hitting head on. A loud, dull, metallic, crash. My first thought is a suicide bomber. We are under attack.

I still had no idea that two commercial jets had slammed into the towers. In a matter of seconds what runs through my mind is that I am going to get crushed. Either by the top part of Tower II which looked like it was about to topple over on me, or I would get trampled to death by the sea of screaming, terrified people running toward me.

Again, I was paralyzed (good to know my fucking fight or flight senses are in check – must be from all the pot I smoked in college.)

I then feel a tug on my arm and I turn to run with the crowd. I duck around the corner and into City Hall Park. I sit on a bench. Shocked. Totally bewildered. Frightened. Alone. “What is going on?!?” I do not cry yet. I couldn’t. Still can’t process what is going on. Too much confusion. Then I run into a fellow employee. She had a blackberry. She is hysterical. She says she is getting pages from our fellow employees that were trapped up there.

Most I assume were killed on impact. But some survived the initial impact of the jet. They are in untouched pockets of the building. The texts were so sad, so scary and so desperate,

“Send help!”
“Where are they”
“Walls are collapsing”
“Ceilings are falling”
“We’re trapped”
“Gotta go, fire’s…”
“Tell family I love them.”

Then I hear the loudest, roaring, rolling sound. Like 20 subway trains speeding by a station. Thunderous. Utterly deafening screams. I look up and I see the top part of tower II fall out of site from behind the building now obstructing my view.

We all ran and I get separated from my fellow employee. I don’t know where to go. I tried frantically to contact friends, family. All phones are down. No cell signal. I walk to my friend Ariana’s apartment on Elizabeth Street. I buzz. No answer. I sit on her stoop wondering what to do next. Still no tears. Just shock. Complete and utter shock.

After about 5 minutes or so I start my trek back to the Upper East Side. No way to get up there but to walk.
Seeing my fellow New Yorkers. All so fucking brave. Holding one another. Crying. Walking aimlessly. I stop at various parked cars where people are huddled to listen to the news reports on the car radios. That’s when I first learn about the attacks.

MOTHER FUCKERS!!!

I keep walking. Uptown. While I continue to try contacting my family and friends. Making my way through the rolodex on my cell phone. Finally, about 5 blocks shy from my street I reach my friend Ariana. She is at work.

“Oh my God. Todd! Where are you! I was so worried. Are you there?!” Silence. I just can’t get the words out. “I’m, - umm…I—People,” Then I hear her start to cry. “Todd, are you o.k.? Where are you?”

“People jumping. Bodies. Exploding. Planes…Family…”

I finally loose it. My eyes well up and tears finally release. All my efforts to control them go in vein. I am now balling my eyes out. Just then I feel a gentle squeezing and rubbing of my shoulders as I tell Ariana to call my family because I can’t get in touch with them. I give her the number of my parents, hang up the phone, and collapse to the curb after learning Tower I also fell.

Some girl, I guess the person who was rubbing my shoulders moments before sat with me. Held me. Rubbed my shoulders. She asks if I am going to be o.k. I can’t answer. “Would you like me to make you tea or something?” I wave her off. I am empty. Drained. And needed to be alone. I feel her presence get up to leave me.

I look at my watch. 11:20am. I look back at the cute girl as she walks away from me. I watch her for a few moments. In the nation’s most catastrophic day in recent history, in the city’s greatest moment of despair, and tragedy that I personally witnessed and experienced - the first thought that crosses my mind as this sweet comforting woman walks down the street away from me was, “Damn. She’s got a great ass.”

The Wrap Up

And then it dawns on me. Had I not been listening to Howard Stern that morning I would have been at my desk before 8:45am. I would have perished. That could have been me up there. And the nightmares that have subsided quite a bit over the years still haunt me from time to time. What would I have done had I survived the impact? Would I have jumped? If I did, what would have been my thoughts, if any, on the way down? Would there be any sensation at the moment of impact or would it just simply be lights out? If I chose not to jump, would I have burned? Would I have suffocated? Who would I have made my last call to? What would I have said? What would I have felt? Would I have been terrified or would I have had an eerie calm? Would I see God? Would I just cease to exist? All these questions were answered in nightmares playing out almost every possible scenerio of what might have happened had I got to my desk on time that morning. Thank you Howard Stern for being so entertaining. Your show saved my life. Literally.

Marsh & McLennan lost close to 300 employees, including 12 of who I knew personally and one, Dan Crisman, who I just started to make friends with outside the work place. He was 25.

If you want you can click on the link below and scroll down to download my conversation with Howard Stern on his radio show on the 1 year anniversary of September 11.

http://www.toddwall.tv/multimedia.asp

Friday afternoon I get an out-of-the-blue call from the president/owner of a very well known Film & Television Production company. He invites me to come out and meet him in SoHo at around 9pm. A dynamite restaurant with dynamite service called Pastis. He would like to discuss a future project(s) that I might be right for. I was a tad nervous because I know the entertainment business and I know New York. I don't want to sound cynical (nor do I want to be naive) but there are a ton of bullshitters, posers, assholes, and yahoos out there all claiming to be somebody they’re not and they can do something they really can't (or won't). So when a rare moment happens and a person in power such as Peter (his name) says he intends to help me out it’s hard not to question if there is an ulterior motive. Thus far, I can find none.

Could someone in a top position such as his help someone move their career along just for the sake of simply being kind? As far as I know...yes. Although extremely rare - it does happen.

A quick back story on how we met:

When the show Lenny & Lou closed I was back to being unemployed. I am proud to say that I do have a decent work ethic. I hate not working. So in the middle of interviewing for fulltime jobs, I was working part time at a Real Estate firm helping my friend, Ariana out. It was roughly $150.00 - $200.00 a day on the weekends. Easy work. Good money.

One of the lovely sales agents at the company had to show a gentleman a penthouse under construction and naturally she didn’t want to go alone. She asked me to come with her. I obliged. As if me being there should make her feel any safer...

We went and waited for the man to show. He did. Looked like a regular gentleman in his 40’s. He introduced himself and made small talk while we waited for his friends outside the building's entrance. He asked where each of us lived. I told him the Upper East Side on 70th and 1st. He mentioned how he was familiar with the 'hood because of his treatment at Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center. Then I mentioned how I used to work there. He also mentioned he was in town scouting locations for some TV show he is producing. He also mentioned one of his friends that was (at this point walking down the block with another guy) a well known TV director. He worked on a documentary about 9/11. Peter talked about his direct experience with digging in the rubble days after the tragedy. His brother was one of the very few lucky firemen that was pulled out of the rubble soon after the collapse. “Incredible,” I told him, “I too am a 9/11 survivor.” I told him a very abridged version of my experience down there (blog to be published on 9/11/06) on that day which he found fascinating.

His colleagues show – he introduces one as the TV director and the other as his Casting Director. I thought to myself, "Shit, I am an actor. Who are these people? Should I ask for their cards?" But I refrained myself. I was there on business and not to network so I did the politically correct thing and never mentioned I was an actor. Thought that would be cheesy and inappropriate and I withheld the info. When we all went up to look at this soon to be a gorgeous multi-million dollar penthouse apartment I noticed he continued to engage me in small talk: Where was I born? where did I grow up? Yada yada yada. I asked him the same. Then when we were waiting for the elevator he asked me how long have I been in real estate. I looked at my watch and said, “Oh, since about 10 this morning.” He chuckled and asked what else I did. I sheepishly said, “Well I feel awkward telling you because I know you mentioned you were in the entertainment business, and well…I guess you can say I’m an actor.”

“Oh really.” His eyes lit up a little bit. “So are you in anything right now or working on any project(s)…?”

I said, “Well actually, funny you should ask, I have a small speaking part on The Sopranos that’s airing tonight.”

What perfect timing.

His eyes lit up a little more and asked what else have I done and I told him of this well made short film I did where I played young Steven Spielberg and that the film was inspired by the making of Jaws. He seemed just a tiny tiny itty witty bit impressed. But I think he was even more fascinated by my 9/11 story. He said how he’d like to help me out and he gave me his card. To my surprise I saw the name of the company on the card and I almost gasped. On the outside of course I remained cool. Normal. Indifferent. Quite different from what was going on inside. He gave me his phone number and told me to call him the next day. I did. We talked for quite a bit. Naturally in this biz and in this city you have to keep one eye open with every stranger you meet, especially the ones that offer to help. What’s the catch? What’s the agenda? What’s the M.O.? I asked him why he was willing to help me out and he responded by saying that he felt a certain bond with people, like myself, that was so directly affected by 9/11. He told me to keep in touch with him as he will be working on many projects in the near and distant future.

So I did the right thing and kept in touch every so often without being a pest. Without being eager. And without expecting anything. Maybe I would at the very least gain a mentor in the entertainment biz – an industry I really want to make my mark in. And to my surprise, and so unlike everyone else that came around before him with a million empty promises [which I am sure started out with the best of intentions] Peter has been a real stand-up guy. Not that common in showbusiness and I can't thank him enough for that.

Back to the present:

We meet up at Pastis in the Meatpacking district and it is packed. We go across the street now to Ono, the restaurant at the base of Hotel Gansevoort. We get a bit hammered on Lychee Martinis. Plenty of them. They were good. My stomach was empty and the three I drank were taking effect. We talked about the biz and the future project(s) I may be right for, the women in our lives [both the good and the bad], and then we mingle in the outside bar with some other patrons. It is now almost midnight and we have not eaten – [Vegas flashback]. He suggests the roof top bar at the Gansevoort before we eat [again – Vegas Flashback].

There is a long line to get into the hotel to go up to the roof. We go to the front of the line where a cocky bouncer is humiliating a girl by loudly claiming how her ID is fake and he is confiscating it and he will be calling the NYPD if she doesn’t leave. [flashback to when my ID was confiscated by some dick bouncer in New Hope Pennsylvania and humiliated me and my friends in front of the entire line].

So Peter hands the bouncer his card, says the company he is with, and the overwhelming business they contribute to the hotel. The bouncer, again with his ridiculously cocky attitude, says, “I don’t care who you are. I don’t know you. Get to the back of the line and wait like everyone else.” So a tame argument ensues as he tries to explain further to the bouncer who he is. The bouncer rudely dismisses him and loudly exclaims [I am paraphrasing here] how he doesn’t give a shit. So Peter asks the bouncer for his name. He replies ignorantly, “Sal.” And turns away with a smug little smirk on his face. Peter bravely gets closer to Sal and says, “I want you to remember my name” and Peter states his first and last name while the bouncer gives him a cocky wave of his hand.

We walk away and Peter apologizes that I have to witness this. He gets on his cell phone. I see him in a brief yet passionate conversation. He hangs up and within a minute the manager of the hotel comes out and meets us. Shakes Peter’s hand and begins to escort us into the hotel. As we are about to enter through the revolving door, Peter yells out – and this is great – “He Sal!” [middle finger raised] “Fuck you pal!”

The look on Sal’s face was priceless. He immediately left the line to follow us in not knowing what to do. Sal pulled out his cell phone but then immediately closed it. I guess he didn’t know who to call. He stood there like a schmuck, embarrassed, a bit nervous and shuffling his feet (kinda like the girl he humiliated minutes before). My friend proceeded to tell the hotel manager the hundreds of thousands of dollars his company provides in business for the hotel. And they have a choice. Continue to pay the rude douche bag of a bouncer a measly $30k and loose his company's business or get rid of him and keep his business. Right in front of Sal - the manager told Peter he will have a talk with Sal but in the meantime offers us his card and comp drinks at the bar. Peter graciously declined – “Not while he’s here (pointing to Sal). Then Peter turned to me and said, “Come on, Todd, let’s go get some steaks!” I shrugged to the bouncer. I let a little “tsk tsk tsk” to Sal escape my mouth and then I smiled.

And so we headed back to Pastis for some midnight steaks. Each an 8 ouncer – while across the street, loosing his job was Sal the Bouncer.

Unfortunately, the dickhead tried to pull a power trip with someone that had some “real” power. And well, what goes around comes around. And so that’s how Sal the bouncer got himself bounced!

"As you go through life you will realize that the number of people you can truly rely on can be counted on one hand --- minus the pinky and the thumb."

The statement I thought was rather cynical but I am starting to realize how true it is.

Not to sound self righteous but I would like to think of myself as one of those three fingers on everyones hand. Even the ones that don't seem to return the favor. Because of that, I go through life being let down more often than not. I want to change and be as cold and selfish as some of the people I have come across during the course of my lifetime but I just can't. When I am in need I find some sort of way to help out. Even if I can't personally, I try to find someone else who can help in my absence.

Two weeks ago a girl I used to sorta date who lives around the corner from me called me up out of the blue at 11:30pm. I thought maybe she was returning a message I left for her several weeks before but that wasnt the case. She sounded a bit distraught.

Turns out she was in a cab with no money and the cab driver was freaking her out with murderous banter. So, without question or hesitation, I hopped out of bed, put on some clothes didnt even grab an umbrella for the torrential downpour that was going on outside. I just wanted to meet her at her apartment so I can get money to her cab driver and make sure she was home safe. We went out for tea, caught up, she hugged me and thanked me and paid me back. She even asked if I wanted to come upstairs to hang some more but I decided to go back to my apartment.

A couple of weeks later I asked if she wouldn't mind doing a favor for me since she lives and works in the neighborhood. Real simple. Pick me up at the hospital after my Colonoscopy exam. I will be drugged and they legally can't release me without an escort. Not to be tit for tat, I did you a favor now you do me one - but I thought the favor I asked of her would be a no brainer.

At first I thought the test was from 2-3pm at New York Hospital which is right down the street from us. Super convenient. She said she would be delighted to be there for me and would rearrange her schedule to come and pick me up. Very sweet! The day before the exam I find out the procedure is at Lennox Hill Hospital which is several blocks away and it was from 3-4pm. I notify her and she says she doesn't think she can do it because she has way too many things lined up. One of them being her acting class which I know is very precious to her. Than she said to call her anyway and we'll figure something out. Very sweet again.

I do have a ton of friends, one lovely girl, Neva, who was willing to cut out of work down by the fashion district and catch a cab all the way up to the Upper East Side to make sure I get home o.k. and then head back to work. The offer was above and beyond and I will never forget her for that. I just didnt think what would be necessary since my friend was already in the neighborhood.

Anyway, my friend said she'd call me at dinner time to work out logistics for my Wednesday exam. No call. Surprise. So I called her at 9:30pm to go over the Ifs, Ands, and Buts of the day and what to do, who to call and how she can contact me. Couldnt get a hold of her. But the morning of the exam she sends an email saying saying, "Phone died. See you @4."

I am sure somewhere between the lines there was a "Good Luck, hope it goes well" but I guess I had to really look between the lines. Maybe under a decoder spy light. In her defense, she was probably in a super rush and simply didn't realize the mental agony I go through before these tests.

I get to the hospital and have to get naked and put on those lovely fashionable hospital gowns and sit in a FREEZING cold waiting room. Alone. I find out that the patient before me was late so my exam won't even begin until 3:45. This will now make my friend late to her class, or rehearsal or wherever it was she had to be.

So instead of being worried about myself and the procedure which always poses some sort of risk (last time my father had it done, the scope perforated his intestine and he wound up in the hospital for 2 weeks), I was worried about her. Sending her texts of exactly where I was, leaving her messages of the number on the floor where my exam was taking place and instructions if she gets there and I am late and she has to go - to leave a message with one of the nurses. Her phone was dead so I couldnt contact her. Nor was there any effort (that I know of) on her part to contact me. My mind and emotions wandered to a place of anger. But then I started to feel guilty again for feeling this way. In fact all I could think was how angry she will be at me for asking her to do me this favor and how I was going to make her late her appointment. Guilty. Why? I dont know. Maybe I was just being a martyr. I know I've been late for class, or rehearsal or whatever. But I still felt bad. I know how precious these classes are to her.

I checked the waiting room one more time at 3:45pm to see if she happened to have been in the waiting room. Maybe she came a little early. Anyway, no one was there. I had to put my phone away before being escorted down a long corridor and into the room. As I am walking down the hall with a nurses aide on either side of me, I can hear a sergeant's voice in my head shouting "Asshole Walking!" and I chuckle to myself.

The procedure room is even colder than the waiting room. All white. So cold. So sterile. Filled with machinery emitting a constant low humming drone. Did I mention it was cold. And sterile. The anesthesiologist and nurses are starting the IV. An oxygen tube is placed up my nose. They remove my gowns. I am lying on a gurney facing the florescent lights hanging from the stark white ceiling. Naked (with a blanket covering me). I am being poked and prodded. Before the drug drip is started I had to sign papers claiming I am aware of the risks involved. I sign. I am told to roll over to my side as the lights dim. Maybe I am just a big ol pussy but it was very emotional. So sad. So lonely in this room. Knowing nobody is out in the waiting room. My parents didn't even know I was having this done. Actually I told them a while ago but they forgot. But I easily forget birthdays and anniversaries so I dont fault them at all. I almost start to cry. I can feel the lump in my throat. Self pity starts to overcome me and spread like a deadly virus. Part of me was so sad that I felt that I almost wouldnt mind if I didnt wake up. I know thats a bit dramatic or melodramatic but hey, this was how I felt at that moment. Didnt care about anyone or anything. Just wanted to go under peacefully and leave everyone and everything behind. I pretended I was an inmate in the execution chamber. Wondering if there really was an afterlife. What death was going to feel like. If anything.

I was a mere a specimen on a table in a lab. Tubes coming out of nearly every oraphus. The drug starts to kick in. My emotions were the only thing that made me feel human. And every possible emotion hit me almost simultaneously. anger, rage, sadness, euphoria, envy, amusement - heck, I even laughed as I started to go under. I was happy to be leaving consciousness...

The exam ends. I finally wake up in recovery. My first thought was not about myself or the exam but about my friend. Nobody heard from her, nobody stopped by for me. I asked everyone one who passed by if someone left a message. Anyone for Todd Wall??

"No. Sorry." They replied. "No one."

So I sat there in recovery with the other sick patients for 2 hours. That sucked.

The doctor came in and said he took a couple of biopsies but that according to what he was able to see, everything looked good. I was told I had to wait another hour before I could leave but I snuck out. I was so hurt, depressed, tired, angry, and antsy (from the tons of drugs they gave me).

I stumble home. Reading all the wonderful texts from a couple my true friends wishing me well, asking to call them when I am able. Rob, Alex, Neva, - Thank you.

I fell asleep when I got home and later in the night my friend called right before she has to go into the subway to see if I made it home o.k. I did. Thanks.

She said she called the hospital and they told her that I wouldnt be ready to be released until 5:30pm. What would have eased my mind is if she just thought to leave a message for me somehow. But she didnt.

Did I expect her to coddle me the whole day and night? No. Not at all. I didnt even want her to miss any part of her scheduled activities on the count of me. And I made that clear to her as well. So what did I expect? Maybe a little something more than just an email saying, "Phone died. See u @4."

This may seem harsh and I have no idea what was going through her mind and there are two sides to every story - but as far as I could tell, and based on my experience of the situation she didnt understand the scope of what I was going through nor did she seem to care...much.

Just to make it clear. I cant read minds so this is only a very broad and very negative speculation. She did call the next day to see how I was doing. Maybe this was all I should have and could have expected. After all who are we to each other...really.

The truth of the matter is we are no longer close. We rarely talk except when we run into each other. So she really was under no obligation whatsoever to me nor I to her and because of this I should not have been affected so much by this experience.

But I was.

The reason being is that I know what I would have done if the same situation was reversed and she was the one that needed me. I most likely would have made a call to inform the powers that be that I would be a little late because I am helping out a friend. And if she fought me on this, I would have insisted. But thats just me. Maybe I care about the wrong people. Or rather, the people that are simply wrong for me. Which will bring me to my next blog Ode to my Ex.

There are certain types of people in each of our lives that are just very rare as I am learning. These are the people that understand that doing favors for friends means having to sacrifice something with little or no hesitation. A favor thats done because its simply convenient is more like a nice gesture in disguise.

If someone doesnt seem to find you valuable enough to make any small sacrifices to help you out when it is needed - well - even though they may still be considered a friend - they certainly can't be counted as one of those precious fingers on that one precious hand.

I am in my 30’s and I have never been to Vegas before last week. For that I am ashamed. I was the only one out of my inner circle of friends and girlfriends that hadn’t experienced Vegas and was told that July 4th weekend was the best weekend to go out there. Since I am single, I have some money in my pocket, a fulltime job as well as residual income from previous acting jobs, and no real responsibilities to anyone other than to myself I figured, fuck it, now’s as good a time as any to experience Vegas. The best way to experience Vegas, I knew, would have to be with my friend Howard. Why? Because he is sort of a Vegas expert. How do I know he's an expert? Well he has been going out there on average 3 - 4 times a year for the past 8 or 9 years. I think by all the United States Judicial Courts’ (are there any other kind?) standards, that number qualifies him as an expert on Las Vegas. By expert I mean he knows all the hotspots, the people who work AT the hotspots, where to stay, how to spend, how to party and how to live out there and make the most out of your condensed time pushing your body to the absolute limit without actually dying or slipping into a coma.

I must say I was a bit nervous going out there for 5 nights and 6 days with a guy I haven’t hung out with often. I didn’t know what to expect. He told me a week in advanced to start training for our trip. Training? Yeah. Training. Eating healthy, exercising, trying to increase my alcohol tolerance and at the same time getting plenty of rest. All the things that Vegas will take away. So as you can pretty much guess, it was a long intense weekend…of partying. All those who know me well know that I am not really a party guy. Friendly. No doubt. Can hold a conversation with just about anyone, anywhere, at anytime. And that's what people love about me. But a partier? Nah. Not me. So, yes I got damn sick out there. But not as much from the amount of alcohol consumed as it was from the intense heat, lack of sleep, food, and water to keep my body nourished and hydrated.

HOWARD

In order for you to understand why my weekend was so intense you have to know the dude I went out there with.

Howard. Can party. He seems to know everyone on the scene and everyone seems to know him. He talks low which forces people to lean into him. There is some power in that. Unlike me who has such a loud fucking voice, people tend to back away when I speak. But I speak with passion and excitement and I am very animated, while Howard speaks with a calm smooth intensity. Very focused energy. Kind of like the energy in the atom particle - moments before the Big Bang happened putting the Universe in motion.

I met him while I was temping for Marsh & McLennan. After 9/ll the survivors that were working down there (me among them) were relocated to midtown. The company took on a slew of consultants to work on the Disaster/Recovery effort in the IT department. Howard was one of those consultants. So I knew him since early post 9/ll.

We are almost polar opposites on the surface. He parties like a great big cock and I party like a nicely groomed vagina. Everyone that we met out there (which was quite a lot) seemed to ask the same question. "How is it that you two are friends?"

He used to be a bouncer. I used to get bounced. He loves the club scene. I hate it. He loves to party hard. I like to party soft (note the 'vagina' reference above). He loves house/trans/rave/Hip-hop music. I hate it. Well, I do like some hip-hop. He loves to dance. I kinda like to dance to good hip-hop music but Howard is quite good at it. He can bust a move and I have heard many people tell him so while I was out there.

He also has a liberating "I don't give a fuck" attitude on the surface. Me? I give a fuck. In fact, I give way too much of a fuck. But that is starting to change a bit. The amount of fuck I give is starting to decrease a bit.
He sees no woman or I should say NO ONE as above him even though they may be taller. Which is more often than not the case. Howard is not the tallest guy and doesn't have the most hair (shaved head) but damn does he have game. Good game. And women love him. I love him. But by the same token he has very little patience and tolerance for people and as I said before I probably have way too much. Don't worry though. I am starting lose my patience with all of you as well.

He can be a very scary guy too. If he wants to be. A Pitbull. The slightest thing can set him off. He is short and stocky and has that slightly off-center psycho element about him that if you are going to get into something physical - just hope you have 911 on speed dial. That was the first number I stored on my cell when I landed in Las Vegas. 911.

But also know that Howard is the nicest, most generous guy and loyal friend. He is an intense planner and seems to live life with a day to day itinerary. And he takes pride in showing people, mainly his friends a really good time. It’s actually a huge priority for him to make sure whoever he’s with is having the time of their lives. As awesome as that is, it also creates unneeded pressure. But better that then the opposite, someone who could give a rat’s ass.
The guy also has your back in any situation. Someone I know I can count on and I hope he knows that he can count on me as well. I don't think there is any limit to his loyalty but I suspect that if you cross him, a 2nd chance is as hard to get with him as it is to get season tickets to the New York Giants. Like at the end of Titanic I found out the point in his life where the proverbial ship snapped. Aside from all the joking around, the laughter and drunken stupidity we shared with people out there (mainly women), we also had a chance to bond with some serious heart to heart talks about our lives. Now before this blog starts to sound like Brokeback Mountain II, as I am suspecting some of you fuckheads are thinking, I'll just end this section by saying we all have our own personal tragedies. Some worse than others. And these tragedies and heartbreaks that we experience tend to mold and shape our personalities and how we tend interact with other people – whether they be strangers, lovers, friends, or family. For better or for worse.

Until this weekend, we were little more than acquaintances but little less than really close friends. We just had different lives. Until late last year, I have been in a serious relationship for as long as I've known him. I was very domesticated. Doing all the things that couples do and he was doing all the things that a single man should do. So I have been out of the "scene" for quite sometime. When I landed in Vegas I was thrown into the wild. Imagine taking a domesticated cat to the jungles of Africa and releasing him there. My survival skills were a little rusty but by the end of the trip I was a wild animal. Or maybe still a cute domesticated cat that simply made friends with the other wild animals out there. I don't know.

We did hit a few turbulent moments during our stay, (his digital camera got ripped off; I got real sick and a few others not worth mentioning).

So. Come to Vegas with us.

VEGAS

Thursday, June 29th. I Worked a full 8 hours and went straight to the airport. I was flying JetBlue out of JFK and Howard was flying continental out of Newark. Our flights were leaving within a half hour of each other. Both our flights were delayed by 2 hours. So we were texting each other from our respective runways at our respective airports within our respective aircrafts. "Have a safe flight, see you in VEGAS!!"

I am not a good flier. So the funny text messages from my lovely friend, Liz really helped to keep me from becoming agitated. Well that and the Xanex. Well 2…and ½ Xanex. So I was good. So good, I felt I could have flown the fucking aircraft myself. But that was not part of my JetBlue package. When the rep asked where I’d like to sit I requested the cockpit but the fuckers gave me seat 14A.

Once we took off the flight was smooth. I had peanuts, soda, and “Blue” chips. I pissed and slept throughout the flight but never simultaneously. [clap, clap]

We meet up at Las Vegas Airport a little before midnight Thursday. We head to the Hard Rock Hotel & Casino (our hotel) and quickly unpacked, shit, showered, shaved, changed and we were out the door by 1am. We went to a place called JET and met up with one of Howard’s connections - the floor manager, Leo. We had fun. We drank, danced, talked to some girls, danced with them, and drank with them. We left at 4am to go to another place. When we walked out, the sun was up. And everyone’s day was just starting while our night was just ending.
It is officially well into early Friday morning and…shit - forgot to sleep. And we forgot to eat. Damn.

We went back to the hotel. Took a nap for a about a couple of hours but had to be at the hotel's pool by 11am to claim our cabana. We did. So we drank some more that day. Ordered some finger food. Admired the pool. Swam in the pool. Met some more people. Drank some more. Until around 6pm. We go back to the room. Napped for 1 hour. Had to be at Nobu by 7:30pm. This was to be our "Last Supper" until Monday night/early Tuesday morning. It would have been great to have a Da Vinci like artist to paint us at our last supper. But there were no renaissance painters on hand. Just a bunch of cute touristy girls with digital cameras. I would be the innocent Jesus figure and Howard - sorry bro - would most represent Brutas in this “Last Supper” scenario! He had a mission to introduce my body, my mind, and my spirit to Vegas life. His life. A place where most people who know me would say I didn’t belong.

After dinner we went to Tao (a night club - Duh) where we had our own table/VIP service at the club. Lots of loud music, lots of girls dressed to the nines (don't know what the fuck that statement means, "dressed to the nines?" Why not “to the tens” - it's a higher number. Wouldn’t that make girls dressed to the tens hotter than the girls dressed to the nines?? - who knows. Who cares). They were dressed in a very UNdressed sort of way. Hot. But sort of stripper hot. Not necessarily classy hot. Bummer. We met lots of people that night who helped us finish our 2 bottles of Grey Goose Vodka and Captain Morgan's spiced rum.

We stumble back to the room at around 5ish on Saturday morning. I think. Slept for a couple of hours and yet again had to be at the pool by 11am to reserve our Saturday cabana. So we are at the pool. My blood has been replaced by alcohol, and CO2. Our gorgeous cabana girl started our morning off with a shot of I don't know what. But it was Pinkish Red and it came out of a plastic syringe.

Forgot to eat again. Shit.

It is now 11am Saturday morning and in the past 48 hours I have had but one full meal and a total of 6 hours sleep. My blood alcohol content is probably off the charts and it’s not even noon.

MOM - I can feel you getting woozy reading this. Take a couple of deep breaths and pop a Paxil or two before you read the rest.
DAD - I can feel your pride.

O.K. So now I am officially sick. It is Saturday morning or early afternoon. I am already drunk, naucious, weak, shaky and very dizzy. I am a bit scared. I forgot that I had Crohn’s Disease that I had to nurture. I neglected my poor disease. But then again, fuck my Crohn’s! What did it ever do for me except cause me physical pain and psychological grief. Although it did get me out of work early a few times.

Back to my point – right now at this time I feel violently ill and I fucking hate Vegas. I want out. I want to get back to New York City so I could relax. I want to go home. Please! Somebody rub my belly. No more. Toddy wants no more. No more girls in bikinis. No more alcohol. No more house music. No more $20.00 ATM fees... I am fried. I am done. I am so burnt.

But I had to suck it up. I am a man. And by God Howard was going to make sure of that if it was the last thing he does before he slips into his own dehydrated / low blood sugar / sleep deprived / alcohol induced coma.

What was nice about the cabana (aside from the flat screen TV, couches, lock safe, and constant wait service - was that it had a nice cool mist coming out of these ducts hanging over the roof. You could actually lay outside and you wouldn't get fried from the heat...as much. Laying out with this beautiful mist blowing on you. It was nice. I mostly stayed by the cabana that day. Every once in a while throughout the day, I would down a bottle of water and dive into the pool and try to “accidentally” grab some boobage while I was at it. This was a measly attempt to hydrate my body. But I mostly stayed back.

Oh, and I really didn’t grab boobage. Some of the boobage did happen to be in my way a few times and I tried to dodge them. But it required too much effort to dodge such big fake boobies. So when I saw big fake boobies coming in my direction I’d just position myself in a suicide stance and allowed the boobies to smash into my face and body.

Going off on a tangent here that’s partially made up. Back to my story.

I stayed back and napped while Howard roamed the wild. Every hour or so he'd come back with a set of girls. I swear to God. It was like a poppa bear going out to hunt and bring back food for the baby cub(s) that was sleeping in the den. I bet you can guess who the cub was in this scenario. Just to be clear, I was not hooking up with these girls. Just entertaining them.

Now here comes my favorite story. He brings back 3 women to the cabana. ALL nurses from New Orleans. They were real sweet and felt great compassion for my situation. So much so that they offered to bring me back to their room to hook me up to an IV for a 1/2 hour to replenish my fluids. They swore it worked much better and much faster than just drinking water or Gatorade.

O.K. Can you think about that for a moment? I mean these are nurses! Registered nurses! Women in healthcare. Women who work in hospitals. Women who take care of the sick. Nurses. Who party so hard when they come to Vegas that they actually bring their own fucking IV's with them. How hardcore is that!? All I have to say to that is: “Vegas, baby. Vegas.”

So as the day wore on, I started to feel a little better but still couldn't hold in any food or drink. I was very shaky and at this point I just wanted to stay in for the night. I was sick, exhausted, cranky and I suddenly felt I was not having a good time. I wanted to go home. But I couldn't.

So after a 1 hour nap in the early evening we had to get ready. Again. To go out. Again. To a club. Again. To drink. Again. I wasn’t ready but we did go out. We went to a place called Triste. It was a cool looking club with a massive rock waterfall inside the club. It was a sort of indoor outdoor feel kind of like the city of Rivendell from Lord of the Rings where the elves lived.

The problem was they overbooked the reservations and we lost our table. So did a lot of other people. This caused a commotion on line. The bouncers were assholes, the promotors were assholes, the chicks were bitches, the men were dicks. What more can I say. There was not much love in this club. We got in and it was time to start putting a little alcohol in my body. But this time I always had a bottle of water with me so I would keep myself hydrated as I drank. Smart. Right? On the bright side we saved lots of money and I really was trying not to drink much this night. All in all, despite not having a table we still met a couple of people that were nice, and we did have a pretty good time. At this point I’d say the way I felt was now probably reaching the 60% mark.

We get back to the hotel at around 4:30 or 5am and we decided to gamble a bit. Black Jack we played. I eventually cashed out my whopping $60.00 earnings while Howard stayed. I went to bed because I knew we had Rehab the next day.

Forgot to eat again. Damn it.

Rehab is an absolutely insane pool party thrown at the Hard Rock every Sunday. You know what? Insane is too passive of a word.

It starts at 10am and goes on until 7:30pm. Not sure what time Howard came back to the room, maybe 8:30, 9am? Soon after he went to bed the phone rang and it was his wake up call. All I heard was him mumbling shit like, "Oooh man, oh fuck. Ooooo shit. Fuck. Ugh. Ugh. Oh fuck" He had to drag his exhausted, drunken, beaten down body down to the pool and try to hustle for a cabana for the hottest pool party in the country. It would be a near impossible feat.

Howard. Props to you man. You did it.

He did it. We had a cabana on the best day to actually have one. So he comes back to the room in triumph and euphoria and crashes for about another hour. We have to now leave the room and get to the cabana by noon or someone else may flash a wad of 100's to the pool staff and we could just as easily loose it. So we get there and we set up.

Oh fuck. Forgot to eat again.

REHAB

This time a girl that Howard met in Vegas last year, whom he has kept "relations" with decided (along with her friends) to go in on the cabana with us. They were fun girls. And funny. And naturally they all thought I was funny and I was still not feeling 100%. More like 75% now. Where are those nurses?? Where are those IV's?
Rehab, I must say is probably the craziest pool party EVER. EVER. I was surrounded by INSANELY gorgeous girls (a lot of them were strippers by trade and were just getting off work to show off their new bathing suits. Or birthday suits [?]. I don't know. It was sensory overload for me. Imagine a computer with a 1 gig hardrive – then downloading 5 gigs of porn onto it LOADED with viruses and unlimited pop-up ads. Yup. That was me. Almost couldn’t deal. Wanted to crash but I stayed headstrong.

There were also lots of normal, smarter, and classier looking women. Lots of the men were chizzled. Tan. Obnoxious. Showing off their bling. A little dumb sounding but so were the girls. Maybe that's the point. Every once in a while - you need to just dumb yourself down a bit. Since I hate rave/house music so much it was such an awesome refresher when they'd play a recognizable song, from a recognizable band that actually played recognizable instruments and sang recognizable notes and melodies. And when that happened I perked up even more. 80%.

My lovely friend from college, Liz, bought me a Yankee hat before I went out there. I remember walking into the casino from the pool and the Yankee game was on. And just as I walked pass the bar toward the bathroom, A-Rod hits a grand slam homerun. A group of people ran up to me after seeing my hat and hugged me. The guys were giving me pounds (when you clash fists). Screaming, “New York’s in the house!” And, “Yankees!” Girls tugging on my hat. I just screamed back at all of them and then headed toward the bathroom to drain my lizard.

So hop, skip, and jump to later that night.

Howard, a lady friend of his, and her friends hung in our room for a while and we ordered room service and rested before our Sunday night outing. A cool place called Light. This was one of my favorite nights here. We met up with Howard’s friend, Leo again and we were ushered to the front of the line, into the club, to a back corner VIP table. The place was really cool. Great vibe. We were treated very well. Even in the restrooms. Seriously. I went into the restroom and the moment I entered, there was an army of men cleaning the restroom in unison like sailors on the deck of a ship in a 1950’s musical film. While I was washing my hands, One guy was pumping soap while another was brushing the lint off my shirt with a lint brush!!! Goddamn! What’s next? A blowjob!?

We met tons of people there. Again, I hung back at the table and drank while Howard would go out and bring back people to the table in constant rotation. We consistently met the nicest people that night. I did make a little fau paux. He brought back three beautiful Asian looking women. I was talking to one. Nice conversation about the town. Then I asked her nationality. She says, “Guess!”

This should be fun, I thought. So I immediately said, “Japanese.” She says, “No.” Then I realized she was kind of tan so I guessed, “Korean?” She again says, “No.” “Vietnamese…[no]…Taiwanese [no]…PHILlIPINO!...[NO]…Chinese??” Exasperated she blurted out, “I’m Mexican!” [awkward silence]

Then I shouted, “OK – SHOW’S OVER! YOU’VE BEEN A LOVELY AUDIENCE! THANK YOU VERY MUCH AND GOODNIGHT! I’M OUTTA HERE. PEACE!!”

I got up and left. I took myself out of the game. No recovering from that one.

I sat by myself at the table to recover from my idiocy. Then Howard says, “Ok. You’re up Todd. It is now time to apply what you have learned. Go now, and don’t come back without some lovely women to share our booze with.” Yes it was juvenile. Very much so. But you know what? Fuck it! I am a nice single guy and I am going to enjoy this. So, I left the table and roamed the club. I was a baby cub on the hunt for the first time. Fifteen minutes later, I met Laura, Lauren and Erica. Three lovely women who happened to be from New York City. One who lives directly around the corner from me. Go figure.

As a side note, I think I met more women from New York City, in Las Vegas these 5 nights than I did living IN New York City the past few years. Is that a good thing? I don’t know. Just interesting. Do people become more approachable outside the city? Again, I don’t know.

I don’t remember what time we got back but I made sure I set aside Monday to tour Las Vegas. That was fun. A long day of cruising all the best hotels – The Belagio, The Mirage, Mandalay Bay, New York, New York and my favorite – The Venetian. What a breathtaking hotel. We had to be at the airport by 8am Tuesday morning. I wasn’t really up for going out that night. But fuck…we did.

We went back to JET. Everyone in Las Vegas seemed to be at this club. Paris Hilton was there. I was hoping to bump into her. Literally. I would have whispered in her ear, “Stick with me kid. I’ll make you rich.” Never happened. She was on her cell phone and her Sidekick. Simultaneously. Weird. I think she was texting her own sidekick from her cell phone and then responding.

Anyway. I had fun. Talked to some very obnoxious women. But a few nice ones as well. Met a couple more from New York City. Met some from London who seemed to really adore me. Right off the bat they got my humor. They were intelligent, cute…accents and best of all – drunk. They couldn’t stop saying how women in London would kill for a guy like me. Did I mention they were drunk? They probably would have told “Son of Sam” Berkowitz the same thing for all I know. Ah - but they were sweet.

I also saw a massive, massive, MASSIVE black dude at the bar. Probably 6’5” and maybe 290+ pounds. He was drinking a Corona. I had to mention to him that the Corona in his hand reminded me of one of those mini airplane bottles of liquor in my hand. He laughed. I laughed. Awkward silence. Then I challenged him to a fight. He laughed again. Awkward silence. I said, “I bet I have a bigger dick!” He cracked up and said, “Little white dude’s on a roll. Give me a pound, dawg.” We clashed fists and we went on our merry way.

We go into another room and I noticed a one-legged girl on crutches dancing with her boyfriend. GODBLESS THEM!! Then - two fucked up, scantily clad girls with major attitude are pushing through the crowd and without even being aware of anything around them but themselves they literally pushed the girl with one-leg and knocked her off balance. Without a moments thought, Howard grabbed one of the girls by the arm and screamed at her, “YOU JUST KNOCKED OVER A GIRL WITH CRUTCHES, YOU BITCH! PAY ATTENTION!!” They had such a look of confusion and even fear. Almost priceless. But without turning around to apologize they just pushed forward to get out of the room and out of the situation. Way to go Howard! The girl’s boyfriend was very appreciative.

So we finally get back to the hotel around 5am. We go to the hotel diner for meal number 2 of the weekend. It is 5am and we ordered buffalo wings to start, and bacon and eggs for our entree. Vegas. My appetite was back. I was feeling good. Now 95%.

Howard and I reflected on our stay in town. I really did have a great time. However, if I never step into a club again for the rest of my life, I may be o.k. Howard’s lady friend joined us not too long after we ordered.

We had to be at the airport in a few hours. I noticed a very VERY cute girl sitting by herself at the counter. So cute and so alone, I figured she had to be an escort. Some skeevy guy tried to pick her up and he failed. Miserably. Howard and his lady friend suggest I go talk to her while they went up to the room for a little boom boom. They suggested I do my incredible Scotch & Soda trick. So, I got up – walked to the counter and guess what. She spoke first. I’ll never forget her opening line... “What’s up?” I stared at her for a few seconds like a deer in headlights while I processed this question. Before I knew it we were in deep conversation. I glanced over at Howard and Lisa. They looked like proud parents. They paid the bill and went upstairs and I stayed and talked to Gina. A German Jew. Yes. Her name was Gina and she was a German Jew. Probably still is. And not only that. She’s moving to NYC to go to F.I.T. for fashion journalism. She looked like someone that would grace the cover of a fashion magazine rather than be a writer for one. But...I have to say, she was intelligent and focused, and did I mention very cute. I did do my Scotch and Soda trick by the way and she was floored and freaked out and very impressed. Aside from having been out all night and the fact that I had to be at the airport in an hour I would say I am feeling 100%! So after Gina gave me her number, email, and fax she whispered to me not to tell anyone but she’s 20...

CHECK PLEASE!!

Ah but she was sweet. It is now 7am, I say goodbye to the beautiful and very lovely young woman. I chuckled to myself all the way up to the room where Howard was finishing packing. I collected my luggage and we headed out. Having not slept in the past 24 hours Howard and I were stupid delirious. Cracking jokes from the hotel lobby all the way to his terminal at the airport. He was on an earlier flight than me. We gave a good handshake and a manly heterosexual hug and we parted ways. “Great time, bro! See you back in New York City!”

THE WRAP UP

So I am back in the greatest city in the world. New York City. I have no regrets about the weekend except for the fact that I didn’t pace myself the first few days. I have been eating like an absolute fiend. Non stop trying to gain all the weight and nutrients I lost out there. Thanks Howard for looking out for me and showing me an awesome time! But if I hear “Drop it Like it’s Hot” Yung Joc’s “It’s Goin’ Down” or “Dontcha Wish Your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me” one more fucking time I swear to God I am going postal!!!

A ‘friend’ of mine once said to me “You’re not going to find much love in the club.” And she’s right. But that statement I think more applies to guys like me and even girls like her. Because I witnessed PLENTY of love in the clubs out there. But it was between people of a different “ilk” so to speak.

These women, I’ve noticed, all seem to have a fierce look in their eyes while waiting on line by the velvet ropes outside the club. One is more provocatively dressed than the next. All of them sizing each other up. Who has the better body or the most revealing outfits? Who is getting the most stares? Who will be the better dancer? Who’s got nicer shoes? Nicer tits? Who will gain the most attention inside the club? And most of all, who will produce the most boners by the end of the night.

The men on the other hand had much simpler looks their eyes – “Damn! I’d like to fuck her.” Or just simply, “Let’s get drunk, have a good time and hope for the best!” That’s it. Hey, what can I say? We’re simple creatures.

Women, especially the ones that frequent clubs - love, Love, LOVE attention

It’s also funny to hear “normal” women put down strippers and say how much they hate the fact that men go to strip clubs. But I’ll be damned if I didn’t see ONE single woman out there that did not fight to get up on those platforms at each of those clubs so they can “pole dance” the shit out of each song. Just like a stripper.

And I was also amazed at how many women love to play “lesbian” and dance provocatively - grinding into each other throughout an entire song. Seriously. More then ¾ of the women in every club I went to committed this downright fraudulent crime against the Penis. How dare they?!

I do get it though. They’re thinking, “Guys love lesbians, we love attention, so let’s play lesbian, and torture guys (and real lesbians).” And they get angry with us guys who gawk and stare!? Labeling us as “pigs” and “dogs”!?

FUCK YOU! That’s like me dressing up in a pink bunny suit wielding a chainsaw and then complaining that people are staring at me.

Before I went to Vegas I had been hearing that the women were sooo much nicer out there than here. More approachable. Less attitude and just plain friendly. Even the insanely gorgeous, modelly ones.

But the bottom line - wherever you go you will encounter assholes and bitches, gentlemen and sweethearts. You go to strike up a conversation with someone and 1of 3 things will happen. You’ll either catch major attitude - and the person won’t even indulge you for a second. NEXT. The second is - the person will be courteous, answer your questions with monosyllabic answers and you’ll see their eyes darting all over the place subtly hinting that they prefer not to talk to you – but - will not be openly mean. The third and best scenario is – once you get past the “What’s your name, where you from, and what do you do questions - you’ll have a decent, fun, and maybe even an alluring and intelligent conversation that will either lead somewhere like the bedroom, a future date, relationship or just a simple kiss on the cheek and a genuine “Nice meeting you” smile.

I am grateful for all the highs and even some of the lows I experienced out there. Because it means I really lived life for a short time without a care in the world. Every once in a while I think we all need to do that. It’s really not that bad to just let loose every once in a while and act like a total idiot. So long as you don’t harm anyone in the process. Hell, I didn’t even think about my acting career (or lack thereof) the whole time I was out there. Then the day before I was to come back I got a phone call from the head of Orion Entertainment to set up a meeting to discuss a future project he said he had in mind for me. Well that put me in an exceptionally good mood. Duh. I do feel that if you want something really really bad…sometimes…it’s good to just let it go for a short period time. Allow it to come to you. And guess what, it almost always does and it’s when you least expect it. How’s that for a cliché?

And finally, although I am glad that I really lived life to it’s fullest out there I do realize that that life style is just not for me. I can’t say enough how happy I am that I got a chance to experience it and experience it with an “expert.”

Thanks Howard for looking out for me and showing me such an awesome time!

I discussed the first test in Part I - The Upper GI: The Colon Invasion.

Part II of the testing for Crohn's phase is The Colonoscopy: A Whole New Scope. It happens to be the easiest of the three. Why? Because you get DEMEROL!! ...

[Wow] Cant really say "Demerol" without getting goose bumps all over. Demerol is a drug that makes morphine feel like a tylonol regular strength gel cap. Demerol is good. Really good. Oh Man, really really good [eyes are looking up into the heavens, lost in nostalgic euphoria] [tears of joy] Demerol.

OK - back to reality. Now really, the worst part about this test is simply the "prep." [Prep is the medical hip-hop slang term for - Preparation]

Ah, yes. The fucking prep [gagging]. Excuse me, cant mention "prep" [gag] without gagging.

The prep [gag] is what you have to do before this exam to ensure your intestines are completely clear, and clean so the doctor can easily spot any diseased part of the GI track.

The prep [gag, GAG] are two things you have to ingest. One orally and the other... well you can guess.

They are a puke and shit inducing solution called Fleet Phophosoda and a Fleet Enema. You can pick it up at the local pharmacy and embarrass the shit out of yourself (a pun - hahaha) purchasing it. I'll usually make a joke to the cashier, something along the lines of... "Yeah, um...Spring Cleaning." They just nod, bag my stuff and say, "Have a nice poop!"

The Phosphosoda needs to be diluded in either water or juice or whatever you wouldnt mind ruining the taste for forever after. This is a very thick salt watery solution. Basically, tastes like the Atlantic. This cleans out your bowels the night before the exam. But the morning of the exam, you still have to give yourself the Fleet Enema or you can have a loved one do it for you. It is a small soft [for easy squeezing] plastic bottle filled with a solution which I have no idea what but it does it's job beautifully. The bottle is equipped with a thin (not thin enough) lubricated nozzle for easy insertion. For my first colonoscopy I was 12 and my mom did it. Thats right! My mom gave me an enema. I WAS ON ALL FOURS WHILE MY MOM STUCK A LUBRICATED NOZZLE UP MY ASS AND SQUIRTED A poop INDUCING Solution INTO MY RECTUM!!!!! [starting to tear] I was sodomized by my mother at 12. This is the real reason I am in Therapy [choking back tears]. [to the E! True Hollywood camera crew] - "That's enough! Turn the camera's off. [sniffling] You've seen enough! [crying] TURN THE GODDAMN CAMERAS OFF!"

Again this is all scary for a 12 year old but the doctor reassures me that I wont feel a thing except euphoria.

DOCTOR: What Im about to give you is called Demerol. This is the drug of choice for doctors who become junkies.

TODD: You are about to stick a 4 foot tube with a camera at the end up my ass and clip off parts of my intestinal wall for biopsies I sincerely hope you are NOT one of those doctors!

So he starts the IV drip while 2 female assistants standby. Now, Im 12 years old and have no idea what drugs are or what they feel like. And right now, Im not impressed. He says to lie down on my side and he tells one of his assistants to cut the lights.

TODD: But wait!! Doctor! I dont feel anything! NO! Dont start!

DOCTOR: Relax Todd, we didnt even start the Demerol drip yet. And dont worry, I read Colonoscopies for Dummies so I think I got a handle on it! O.k.?

So he starts it and I feel him starting to lube my ass (shit, Im praying hes not a pedophile). I start freaking out!

TODD: Doc, I dont feel anything, I dont feel anything. Its not working; the Demerol is not wor-- [A HUGE smile suddenly comes over my face. I am now in a place called La La Land. So sweet. So nice. So happy. Oh look - a blue bird. "Hello Mr. Blue Bird"]

The doctor says, "I bet you feel it now huh?"

I say, "I love you doctor! I love your assistants too. I love colonoscopies"

Then I roll over to my side, he takes one look at my butt and jokes, "WHAT AN ASSHOLE!"

Throughout the exam I slipped in and out of consciousness but I remember the doctor and I cracking a few jokes here and there in a Seinfeldian type banter. The doctor said that if I was awake I can see my insides on the monitor so I'd look and say, "Wow, Im pretty photogenic!" - "So doc, you think Im as beautiful on the inside as I am on the outside. And he'd say, "No doubt! You kind of resemble my mother-in-law."

After my next colonoscopy (July 26th, 2006) I will be sure to ask my doctor to give me a bunch 8X10 screen captures of my colon for me to send off to Casting Directors and Agents with a little postcard to go along with them that says, "Wish You Were Here!"

You are the crispy noodle in the vegetarian salad of life

What the fuck!?

I am still trying to figure out the fortune. Last night I was out eating Chinese (food) with some friends and friends of friends. At the end of the meal when it came time for all of us to read our fortunes out loud and in all of our stupidly awkward responses we go either "Oooh good one..." [as if the fortune is perfect for him/her OR we go "Aaah" [with a slight nod and squint of an eye or two as if the fortune put everyone in deep thought].

I don't even wanna talk about the idiots that still have to blurt out the stupid addage "in bed" at the end their fortunes. It was funny in High School and UN-like farts it is no longer funny. I, for some reason, get consistently rediculous fortunes. Forget about the "You like Chinese Food" one or "You have the ability to find humor in everything that makes you laugh" [??]. On the VERY rare occasion I'll get an unbelievable fortune like, "Your talents will be greatly rewarded" Or "You will soon come into good fortune" [as if the Chinese somehow knew I was experiencing a string of bad luck]. The great ones I keep either in my wallet or on my refridgerator thinking that is the only way the fortune will eventually come true. And if you throw it out or lose it, well tough luck. The fortune becomes obsolete. I still have a fortune that I got when I was 9 years old that said, "You will be rich and famous, engage in many amazing sexual conquests and you will die a legend." In case it doesn't happen I will ask to be buried with this fortune and the original cookie it came in. I'd like to bring it to God or Budda or whoever the supreme being is and voice my first complaint - "What gives?" I have a feeling he'll say, "Oops! That fortune was supposed to make it's way to River Phoenix but the Chinese Restaurant, Mai Mai Yum Yum in LA closed down and reopened in Central Jersey."

So back to my original point. I told everyone at the table about the "Crispy noodle" fortune I got and none of them believed me. Well being the neurotic fuck that I am, I busted it out of my wallet and passed it around for proof and asked if anyone had any insight. No one could figure it out. They were all stumped. Everyone making absurd guesses to its meaning. "Hmmmm...'You - are - the - crispy noodle - in the - vegetarian - salad - of life' ? Wow!"

We even called over a Chinese waiter to help us decipher this fortune. I figured, he's Chinese, [excuse me, ASIAN] and we assumed he was a professional. A professional what I have no idea but a professional. Some of my best friends are Asian and I don't mean to sound racist, because I am not, but somehow all the Asians that I know personally seem to have a natural wisdom and serenity about them. I gave up the notion that they all know Karate because that would make me a disgusting racist fuck.

So the waiter looks at it, studies it, contemplates it, sniffs it, holds it up to the light, whips out a laser light pen and a #2 Pencil and does the Lithmus Configuration on it. He scans it, wipes his ass with it and finally puts it under a blue spy light. He looks at all of us. He looks really really REALLY ashamed. He is stumped.

So maybe it's one of those rhetorical fortunes like , "Always listen to the sound of one hand clapping."

Or better yet, "He who eats crackers in bed gets crummy [crumby] sleep."

Or EVEN better yet, "Virginity is like balloon. One prick, all gone."

The Chinese waiter then comes back to our table with a bit of excitement exclaiming that it just dawned on him that he knows a highly enlightened monk living alone atop of a mountain in Tibet. I was told that if I ventured up that mountain and endured all of Mother Nature's elements, it would be him and ONLY him that could impart his knowledge, wisdom, and meaning behind this mysterious fortune.

I am Jewish. I love the Chinese and their food, but I hate the cold, and all of Mother Nature's elements. Climbing mountains? Nah, I'll just stick to escalators and stairs.

But I am curious and determined to seek meaning so in all my New York glory I just asked for the monk's cell phone number.

The waiter said I could try his cell but he gets real bad reception up there. Damn!

So let's have some fun, shall we?

I will eventually turn some of these blogs into a one-man-show that will either be called "The Common Man's Dilemma" or just simply "Monoblogs!" I tried to set up a 1-900 voting system (like for American Idol) for all of you to vote on the title but it turns out it simply costs too much to charge you.

What exactly is Febreze??

My friend must have Feng Shui-ed his apartment correctly because the very next day he won a $10,000.00 NY Post lottery, booked 2 TV pilots, one for NBC and one for ABC both of which got picked up for the fall season so he will be famous shortly, and after that wonderful phone call from his agent he went to get a tuna avacado sandwich at the diner and it was there that he met the woman that he is now engaged to and got pregnant with twins (GO Sperm!!)

I must have Feng Shui'ed my apartment all wrong because the next morning my agent called and decided to drop me from their roster, so no more auditions as an actor. I lost the powerball lottery and as a result from identity theft some asshole cleaned out my bank account. As a result of being flat broke, my superficial girlfriend dumped me for the asshole above who Feng Shui'd his apartment correctly. There really must be something to this Feng Shui shit. Time to put red candles in my love corner, take down the mirrors on my ceiling above my bed and put them in the bathroom with the running water from the broken toilet tank. I will put purple in the living room because that will summon Prince to make a big comeback. What the hell am I talking about. I don't know and I don't care.

All women seem to have tv's the size of an iPod LCD screen and all men seem to have tv's the size of a fucking Lowe's Movie Theater screen. Let's not even talk about the sound system.

I hate Halloween. I never know what to do. It's a lose lose for me. If I dress up I feel like a dick. But...If I don't dress up, I STILL feel like a dick. What gives!?

My therapist has a rule that if I don't cancel a session in less than seven days advanced notice I still have to pay for the session I cancelled even though I am not there. No joke. So I told her that if SHE cancel's without that kind of advanced notice she has to solve all my problems for that particular week during the following session.

I would love to see a real mouse fight a computer mouse in a cage and see who wins. The first primative "Flesh vs. Machine" test.

Speaking of which. I wonder if Laboratory mice warn each other that pretty much everything that's given to them causes cancer. Fuck the mice. Let those rodents die so I can live longer. In fact I wouldn't mind living long enough to see the extinction of rodents and bugs.

It's funny to watch bugs bug each other. They probably call each other "pests" and whatnot. Teasing each other, "Hey 30 eyes, you're a freak!" or "Your mama's such a slut she had 12,000 babies from 30 different males."

Sneakers are perfect for long range walking.

If I had a dime for everytime I lost a dime...umm...shit. I don't know.

Why are nose boogers funnier than eye boogars?? Wanna hear something really really gross. There was a time when I was so broke I could only afford used toilet paper. Gross.

But at least I got Febreze.

I'd like to use this moment to give a big ol' FUCK YOU! to the MTA.

This blog sucks!

Being a guy can suck. The energy, the time, the frivilous dinners and conversations for such a length time just to get a little action. For one week, I want to travel to a planet where all the females are simply hot disease-free sluts who can't procreate. I think that's the real male fantasy. So any female reading this, get ready to hate.

A girl once said that she had a fantasy of being rescued by a man on the ski slopes. She actually had this dream that after she would take a big spill on a double black diamond expert ski slope - some gorgeous skiier would swoop in, pick her up and they'd ski down the mountain together and elope in the ski lodge. Well, naturally I wanted to impress with my own ski slope heroics:

My response to her was this:

Funny you should mention that because I rescued many a fallen woman on the ski slopes. They were all over 60 years old. I helped all of them to their feet. So, you can consider me a hero of sorts. Actually, maybe not since I felt obligated. You see I was the one that knocked them all over in the first place. I am very reckless on the Bunny Slope. I seemed to have made a sport out of snow plowing over old ladies on Bunny Slopes in various ski resorts across the nation. My last incident occured in Snowbird, Utah. Woman was named Edith. Oh, that Edith, what a character. She was holding on for dear life to the tow rope as I snow plowed into her. I was going 1 1/2 miles per hour at a force of -2G's. We both got tangled in the tow rope together. I held on to the wire of her pace maker with my left hand and grabbed hold of her colostomy bag with my right. I did a quick drop, tuck and roll holding on to her and we both escaped from the Rope's wrath. I helped her up. Brushed off the snow, wiped the tears from her eyes, kissed her on the cheek, and quickly snow plowed down the 20 foot hill, popped off my skis, and did my awkward ski boot walk to the lodge and relaxed with some hot chocolate as I reflected on my day's heroics.

As you can pretty much guess the girl looked at me and rolled her eyes. I then said, "Wait! There's more!" I got up and turned around and blew a fart in her face. As she started to walk away briskly I yelled out, "Can I get your number!?"

O.k. I am having sleepy eyes so it's time for the beddy byes.

Creativity or Stupidity? You decide.

Goodnight!

This girl and I were called into a room together to play husband and wife. She was cute. From L.A. Very cute. We look at each other and immediately recognize each other from somewhere but can't seem to place where, when and how.

Girl: I know I met you somewhere. You look real familiar.

Me: Yeah. You look familiar too.

[and we both stare at each other for a few seconds with a blank inquisitive look].

The Casting Director interrupts our little moment to give us our directions for the audition. It was cute and funny and we worked well together. We leave and while we are waiting for the elevator we still try to place how we know each other.

Girl: Do you do improv?

Me: No. Well not professionally, only in my everyday life.

Girl: [She laughs]. Oh you mean like right now? [we both laugh]

Then we ask about various commercial auditions we may have seen each other on but we can't place it. So we continue small talk as we ride the elevator down. Of course, "man" mode kicks in and in the deep dark trenches of my mind I hear that drill seargant voice saying, "Get her number, Private! Get her number!"

[oh, who am I kidding. this isn't in the deep dark trenches of my mind. It's actually right in the forefront of my mind! It's practically imprinted on my forehead!]

Anyway, I ignore the voice for now and figure I'll get a contact number when we say goodbye downstairs. So as we are exiting the building I ask her what made her just up and leave LA to come to New York or some dumb question like that, but before the whole question even escapes my mouth she suddenly increases her speed (remember the Kingda Ka blog?) and jumps ahead of me with an arm stretched out to hail a cab. As she hails her cab she turns her head and says, "Sorry but I have to catch a cab to work!" As she gets in and without turning around she shouts, "It was nice meeting you!"

My eyes widen, my jaw drops, and I stand still for a moment with a total blank stare feeling rather schmucky. After a moment I shrug my shoulders, put on my headphones to my iPod, crank up the next song which happened to be "Ticket To Ride" by The Beatles and I start to head back to the Viacom building where I work.

Then a cab stops at the corner (the light was green by the way), it honks and the girl opens the car door and yells out to me, "You were in Lenny & Lou at 29th Street Rep!! That's how I know you! You were awesome!"

Wow. What a city. What a biz.

She closes the door of the stopped cab while a barage of horns start honking. The window rolls down and I even think she gave me a thumbs up and blew me a kiss but I don't know. I started to see spots. All I could hear is the drill seargant again shouting, "Private! Are you a Goddamned Pussy! Private!!? Wake up and get her number NOW Private before I rip out your eyes and skull fuck you!!!"

So as the cab pulls away I snap out of it for a sec and I shout, "WHAT'S YOUR EMAIL!!??"

[What's your EMAIL?] ??

Yes, I am a schmuck.

She sticks her head out of the window as the cab starts to pull away and I think she yelled it out to me but I couldn't hear. The cab starts to pick up spead and she shouts something again making undecipherable hand gestures at me out the window. But I simply couldn't hear her. She could have yelled out, "ImNotTellingYou@Don'tStalkMe.com!" I don't know. I just see the cab speeding further and further into the distance and just when you think I couldn't get any schmuckier - I loose ALL sensibility, ALL that is cool - and I blurted out, "Toddwall.tv! ToddWall.tv!! TODDWALL.TV!!!" At the top of my lungs.

Yup. That was the best I could do. That was all that came to my silly little head. Shouting out my website.

I am almost positive she didn't hear me but I can pretty much bet the rest of TIMES SQUARE did. Maybe even the people in the Abercrombie & Fitch store. Well maybe that's stretching it a bit.

Anyway, I finally came to. The spots I was seeing disappeared and I finally became aware of where I was and what I had just done. So I chuckle to myself as I shake my head in shame for the second time today and I shuffle back to work with the idea for my next blog pulsating in my head.

I don't know if I'll ever see this girl again. But hey, maybe I'll get more traffic to my website!

Goodnight!