Happy Birthday, Voltron

Everyone that knows me is well aware of my Voltron fetish, so one of my biggest laments about not being at San Diego Comic-Con right now is that I can't get my grubby little hands on this black beauty, the gold-trimmed Designer vinyl Voltron.

And though the iconic robot's Hollywood movie prospects are iffy at best, Voltron remains a pop-culture cult classic (the lion incarnation, of course) who's celebrating his 25th anniversary this year.

How can one get in on the fun? By hooking me up with my Precious.

PS: I'm moonlighting on Heidi MacDonald's Beat blog this week. Check me out!

The Hunger

Like PJ Harvey sang on "Maniac," I need a man. It's getting bad, too. I think I realized things were getting desperate when I dubbed the now-familiar Hare Krishna guy I constantly see at the Union Sq. station, "the cute one." I might've actually blown him a kiss the other day. There he was, passively trying to sell books on karma and vegetarian living, all the while getting sadly shown up by those damn Scientologists and their bullshit free stress tests.

Then there are those times I catch myself browsing at craigslist's "Casual Encounters" section. Though I don't think I could ever go through with meeting a total stranger for the express purpose of extracting orgasm, it's nice to catalog shop through the various peen photos. Incidentally, I think all social-networking sites should adapt this policy of showing dudes' cocks because there are few things more frustrating than groping some guy's package on a third date only to realize the situation down below is shrimpy at best.

How did it get to this point? Good question. Besides the fact that grieving, unemployment and moving probably aren't aphrodisiacs, I am one picky motherfucker. And I scare boys easily. I guess I can't do shit about the latter. Hell, even Candace Bushnell wound up marrying a goddamn ballet dancer. Seriously, I can't hide my ability to out-curse, out-reference obscure metal bands and outnumber the amount of vintage Voltron sets the average Joe Six-Pack owns (and for the record, I own three complete Voltrons, including one that came with mini action figures of all five pilots). All at my own detriment.

So what's a girl to do? Fuck, if I knew, I'd probably be getting some sexy time right now instead of staring at html on a laptop screen. Got suggestions? Holler... Or send pics.

"Dude, I Woke Up in Jersey This Morning."

What other excuse could I have given my pal, Dean Haspiel? I'd been invited to Brooklyn Social last night, but wasn't fully aware that it was to celebrate Dean's new Web comic for Zuda, called Street Code. So belated congrats (again!). And it's true, I did wake up in Jersey City yesterday. No, it wasn't some slumming booty call. I was at the infamous DC's to party with my Austin-based best friend, Merilee 666, who was in town for her birthday. It was great finally seeing her, though I was disappointed I wasn't able to hang at her mom's palatial Jersey Shore house. Those deep-fried Oreos will have to wait another season.

It's been a rough couple of weeks. After a succession of blue-collar professionals upgraded my little Manhattan apartment all last week, my furniture was FINALLY delivered from Georgia by two shining examples of why I'm not all that sad about leaving the South. According to the truck scale, I have 4,550 pounds worth of stuff. Ever wondered what that looks like in a space that's roughly 325 square feet? Wonder no more:



Needless to say, I'm still not able to actually live there, and it'll probably be at least until Monday before I'm able to make enough space to fit my bed in horizontally. Fun times, indeed. At least I have air conditioning, and my beautiful Plasma TV seems to have made it OK. Anyone willing to help me move around some light furniture early next week? Holler.

Can't wait to be settled in so I can focus on looking for my next full-time gig. Want to know how bad the economy is? The other day, a tall milky-white redheaded young woman asked me for money in the subway station. When redheaded White people are begging for money, you know we're in shit shape as a nation.

On that note... time to write about the Wu. Let's see how many Voltron references I can slip in.