1.29.2007

Okay, so oftentimes, I’ve tried to make excuses for my generally judgmental attitude towards certain things. I know that this isn’t a debilitating part of my personality or anything… it probably makes me more interesting to a degree (that is, until people start getting sick of it and just think I’m mean). At any rate, I’ve discovered where it comes from.

My parents.

My parents are the most judgmental people on the planet.

My dad just stopped me in my tracks to tell me that Katie Holmes isn’t actually that pretty. We weren’t really talking about her… in fact, we weren’t really talking. I walked past him, and he says, “You know, that girl isn’t that pretty at all.” And that was the end of the conversation. It’s as if we had spent the past 20 minutes discussing the charming attributes of Hollywood royalty… perhaps we had brought up the Tom & Nicole era, discussed their breakup, maybe threw in some banter in re: Scientology and country music stars arguably prettier than their wives, and then, naturally segueing from one wife to the next, introduced Toledo’s former sweetheart, Katie. But no… “she’s not that pretty”… and SCENE.

My mom is an entirely different story. I made the mistake of allowing her to peruse my pictures from New Year’s Eve. Perhaps I wanted her to know that her son was having a fine time on his birthday… or maybe I was trying to subtly inform her that yes, at the age of 28, her son does indeed partake in alcoholic beverages (baby steps, people). In truth, I barely had a moment to consider the pros and cons of my mother enjoying the plethora of drunken New Yorker images before she yelped, “AMIT!” ‘Oh damn,’ thought I, barricading my mind from the potential onslaught of South Asian mothering. “That girl,” my mother began, indicating with a wavering index finger, “should NOT be in your pictures!” Before I could inquire as to why, she continued, “Why would you allow yourself to be photographed with someone that ugly? Are you actually friends with her?” Luckily, I could tell the truth and not be horrified by her response, “Actually, Mom, I was quite a few drinks through the evening, and I decided to take pictures with random people at the bar. So no… I don’t even know that girl’s name.” After breathing a deep, almost gutteral sigh of relief, she actually proceeded to insult every single person in the pictures whom I didn’t know, which makes me consider that I might be subconsciously screening the people with whom I socialize such that they eventually pass muster with my mom. It’s horrifying, but the signs are there.

God help me.

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posted by phat tony 4:22 PM

1.26.2007


I've been living with my parents since just after the New year, sort of refueling and revitalizing before I return to the big city in a couple of weeks. I've been up to a bunch of random things, from not-for-profit work to just catching up with some old Central Ohio favorites (people, that is). But I've also been engaging in a behavior that I find shocking, gruesome, and not just a little scary.

I've been bonding with my family.

This virtually unheard of behavior, not even breached since I left town at the age of 17, has been unusually... well... seamless. Conversations with my parents have, for the most part, been secret-free, and our general annoyances come shining through in healthy diatribes. It's shocking, but kind of pleasant.

Now this idea of family, not in the way I've been living it, but the way that's emblazoned in shows like Brothers & Sisters, has become a shining hope of mine. A clan of folks, bonded through blood or marriage (or really any vague form of togetherness that any family member feels is appropriate), sitting together, arguing, smiling... drinking?

Maybe that's what I want. Maybe I just want to split some bottles of wine with the family and see how the plethora of neuroses play out.

Why has this show provided me with inspiration? Sick.

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posted by phat tony 11:50 PM

1.19.2007

I'm having a fat day.

That's all.

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posted by phat tony 4:30 PM

1.17.2007

“It begins with a distant thunder rolling across the heavens with a storm warning’s clamor. It swells to envelop the firmament in a grand exclamation. It climaxes with the stentorian bark of an angry god. It then retreats in the same subtle fashion with which it arrived, leaving in its wake the brightest day.” - Giffen, Jones & Owsley

“What happens: Your alarm goes off and in an instant or two your mind rouses you to a level near consciousness. What you think happens: You have been dreaming along, la-di-da, not a care in the world, and at an important part of the dream some piercing sound cries out, a car horn honking to warn you to get in your own car because a grizzly bear is a few dozen yards from your campsite, for example. The car horn seems to be inextricably linked to the rest of the dream; in fact, it seems to be the punch line, as it were, of the dream. Then you wake up and realize your alarm clock has been making a noise coincidental to your dream sound. Except that is not how it works. Your brain hears the alarm, and your dream is created, with full backstory, as if you’ve been dreaming it for hours. Dreams are image based rather than time based. It makes no sense, on waking so suddenly, to think that a whole dream like that could have been created in an instant. But supposedly our lives flash before our eyes as we’re about to die. This is something of the same concept.
It might be useful to review Freud’s analysis of this strange process and its component parts. Dreams rely on images rather than words. They connect and combine these images by free association and they are not bothered in the least by contradiction. Dreams also break free of Newtonian notions of space and time. Dreams are completely unembarrassed by impropriety.” Kiteley, The 3 a.m. Epiphany

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posted by phat tony 7:09 PM

1.12.2007

Okay, so many things have been happening. Most good, some bad, some just sort of nondescript.

I'll start with this... I've left NYC temporarily to rethink some things and regroup generally (by "temporarily," I mean that I'll be back in NYC by February)... I'm currently in my hometown, and since I've been here, I've made it my goal to become Central Ohio royalty. I think it can happen, once the townsfolk get over the fact that I'm not white. Luckily, I have someone who comes as close to royalty in my hometown as it gets... Tiffani (two f's, two i's) was homecoming queen 25 years after her mother was, and two years before her sister was. That, and her blonde hair is really shiny. With her help, I have two or three more weeks left to make it happen... so wish me luck.

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posted by phat tony 4:57 PM

1.10.2007

upheaval.

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posted by phat tony 4:32 PM