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THE WEBLOG ARCHIVES: December 2002
December 31, 2002
The Gallivants of Fame | 01:05 PM
The 9th or 10th Annual Night Before New Years Eve Party was – as always – a raging success, with famous friends dropping in from all corners of the globe.
Love in the time of Flash MX | 12:06 PM
Proposal of the year award goes to Doctor Juice*, who lured his bride-to-be to a local movie theater and popped the question onscreen after the end credits rolled. The stunt bought the couple some local ink, and word is newsman Tom Brokaw visited the site and was enchanted. The question on everyone's lips: "Where do I find a guy like DJ?" DJ's take: "I never have to do anything romantic ever again." Nuptials to follow in Summer '04.
December 30, 2002
DreamLog Analysis | 12:24 PM
I have invited several experts to analyze the DreamLog. First out of the gate is Silvana from DreamLoverInc.com, who criticizes the non-narrative structure of my subconcious in his analysis of DreamLog #4:
December 29, 2002
The Gallivants of Fame | 11:43 AM
An eight o'clock Sunday morning doorbell ring usually means JoHos, but this AM produced instead The Winner* – freshly deplaned from Oregon – accompanied by his brother Not S'Dumb, and Shelly Blonde*. A bagel store stop and two sides of the park later, we're tucking away breakfast at the S'Dumb/Blonde residence. The Winner produced a pocketful of bones, encouraging the group to perpetrate a postprandial round of Hot Dice.
December 24, 2002
A Sobering Thought | 01:18 AM
On this, of all days, lets us spare a moment to think of the children in troubled areas like Israel and Palistine, who will have no Christmas this year.
December 23, 2002
DreamLog | 11:35 AM
We are waiting for Dennis as people fill the theater, including two very fat boys. All of the white people sing along with the folk singer performing on a side stage. No one else enjoys him. When the Latino pop star starts his act, the stage slides forward to cover the audience in the pit. We are above, in the conveyer belt seats, and so are whisked past the pop star rollercoaster-style, higher and higher until we are in the dark and far backstage. A technician shows us the door that leads downstairs. After a series of hallways, we watch the pop star from the wings. Trying again, we emerge at the stage door. The fan waiting with her two children rushes over, but I close the door behind me. All of the doorknobs are orange, a peculiar shape. We start back to find our seats, but I am naked after our conveyer belt journey. My friend gives me my boxers: colorful, patterned. I look for a place to change. The sign on the bathroom door says "bipeds only." To the side of the main bathroom, a smaller white-tiled area has showers with toilets beneath them. The men under orange tarps in the middle of the main room wake up as I urinate; slowly, body parts appear as the tarps deflate, a leg, another. Muscular men file in to bathe; I am in need of exercise. They discuss something as I turn on the shower. Two short bursts of water.
December 22, 2002
The Gallivants of Fame | 03:14 PM
Still recovering from a night on the town at semi-fashionable one-syllable bars.
December 20, 2002
DreamLog | 12:50 PM
The phone rings. "Is it laundry day already?" I ask an empty closet. Three lumpy suits are folded over hangers.
Silvana comments: "Your dream was a bit hard to follow. Strangely enough, most dreams have an organization. They are either simple images or they are stories with a beginning (a problem or situation), climax and an end.
The obvious symbolism of phones ringing is a desire for communication. Usually it is the desire of the unconscious to communicate with the conscious. The phone wrings and you question if it is laundry day? It could be that a phone call from the unconscious means that you may need to do some psychic laundry... You had three suits that apparently needed cleaning. The number three suggests that there is something important going on in the psyche -- it is considered an active or process number. Odd numbers generally represent the masculine. Clothing usually represents our persona. So, the phone rings, you think of cleaning and what needs to be cleaned are your suits. The suits may be symbolic of a particular persona that you project and that part of you may be "under construction" of some kind.
The rest of this dream is a bit strange and I don't know what to say about it. You did not experience the action first hand, but were seeing it on TV. Something may be playing itself out in front of you, but you may not have any power over it. The action may be taking place and you have nothing to say about it. A woman, a man and a dead lover??
Anyway, I can't seriously interpret this dream. I don't know anything about you and the way that you wrote the dream is not that conducive to interpretation. A simpler, more of a narrative type of a description would lend itself better to interpretation."
Now That I'm Famous | 10:44 AM
The peeping toms over at Gawker have set up a site for the sole purpose of keeping an eye on New York celebrities such as myself. Though I have so far managed to evade their surveillance in the main blog, they've nailed me down in the links section on the right. The onus of fame burns ever sweet.
December 19, 2002
Dreamlog Update | 03:41 PM
A lunchtime fortune cookie yielded the following prophecy:
Pseudonym Update | 10:24 AM
In an informal barside poll, both NoAss O'Barkeep and RouletteGirl felt that Ninja McFatty's pseudonym should be Fatty McNinja. And so it will be, herewith.
December 18, 2002
Below North 14th | 12:43 AM
Just got back from an evening on the town at Galapagos, a rather unique little pub on North 6th Street in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn. The main feature of this watering hole: water. The front of the bar area has been flooded, perhaps with brackish stagnant stink-water from the nearby East River. The New York Times describes this as 'a truly sublime reflecting pool.'
December 17, 2002
The Early Years: Press | 02:40 PM
A sharp-eyed Daily News photog catches me off-guard – at the tender age of 17 months – in a contemplative mood and a fashionable shirt. What brilliance was I in the process of creating? Sadly, lost in the sands of time.
December 16, 2002
DreamLog MetaBlog | 02:45 PM
At a newly-married friend-couple's house, I awake from a nap and quickly attempt to blog the following:
DreamLogI am unable to do so, and one of my friends explains they "have problems with blogger" on their computer. I attempt to remember the dream for later blogging, but am distracted when I realize that, even though I was able to sneakily put on my pants by hiding my lower body behind the sofa, my underwear is still sitting on top of my pile of clothes next to the computer, and someone might realize that I had, until moments ago, been naked from the waist down. The party has not been going well, even up to this point. We've mostly just been sitting around looking at each other.
Lock comments: "You're a delusional freak. "
December 15, 2002
The Early Years: Press | 12:09 AM
December 14, 2002
The Early Years | 02:42 AM
Many celebrities are kind enough to share of themselves in the form of an autobiography. I shall endeavor to be no less magnanimous. To begin, I present these recently uncovered documents relating to my birth.
December 13, 2002
Quotation ad propositum | 08:40 AM
Yeats: I envy those men who become mythological while still living.
December 12, 2002
Now That I'm Famous | 03:22 PM
It would be irresponsible of me to publicize on this website the deep, dark secrets of my famous friends. It would be even more irresponsible, however – perhaps criminally so – not to share all of the hilarious details of our exciting lives. In order to tread the delicate line between simple, harmless betrayal of trust and nasty, actionable libel, I have decided to create clever pseudonyms for my nearest and/or dearest, so I can report accurately while maintaining a certain level of decorum and deniability.
December 11, 2002
DreamLog | 09:46 AM
We were sneaking into somewhere through an abandoned ice cream shoppe (we had done this before), which involved climbing down a tube into an underground space with 4-foot high ceilings. I went first, and was followed by a young child who wasn't part of our group. As we explored the area, I saw that in order to reach our goal we would have to pass a darkened area with albino rabbits and cats running around, which seemed at the time to be quite intimidating, perhaps because of the dramatic lighting. None of the rest of the group had come down yet, and I noticed that the child was unconscious. Gas leak! I thought, and grabbed the child and started to attempt to escape up the tube. Later on, at some sort of reunion, a college acquaintance stood on my bag to talk to me and cracked the screen of my PowerBook. He seemed somewhat larger than he used to be, and blocked my view of the stage. When the show started, this proved to be a benefit.
December 10, 2002
Now That I'm Famous | 12:13 AM
For those in need of further evidence that I am famous: walked into a local bar earlier this evening and was immediately recognized and given royal treatment by the bartender. Some may say this accommodation owes less to fame than to the fact that I lived with him for two years in college. To these naysayers I reply: that sort of negative thinking is what's keeping you from your true fame.
December 09, 2002
DreamLog | 11:25 AM
In last night's dream, some friends and I tried to convince another friend that I was dating her, for some reason. Then, we did something else. It's all very vague.
December 03, 2002
Now That I'm Famous | 04:59 PM
It is difficult to escape the conclusion that I am famous.
I have chosen not to fight it. Generous to a fault, it is clear to me that it is my obligation -- nay, my duty -- to chronicle for prosperity every moment of my inevitable rise to even greater heights of fame. As a close friend said recently after I emailed him for the first time in four years, "jonathanvangieson.com. Sheesh. Who woke up and made you president, hah?" To him I reply: no one woke up. How true that is.
And so it begins. This Weblog -- or "Blog" in common parlance -- will stand for the ages. Each inspirational moment of my famous life, each clandestine meeting with my famous friends, each night of debauchery, each drug-induced alcoholic stupor, each embarrassing arrest, will be accurately reported here. It is my fond hope that the young will be able to turn to this text as a guidebook to life. Or, at very least, a manual.
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