Monday, April 23, 2007

Skee skee skee

I always bite into my tomato and give it a good suck before carving it up for my sangwich. Today I got a real gusher. It was a grappé tomato from the organic market, they looked good on the rack, but I had no idea. I bite in and sploooge! This little tomato erupts like a pent-up nut, sending up an arc-en-ciel of straight sticky juice that I had to go hunting after; a portent that Spring has sprung.

After that performance, I had to eat the tomato raw dogg. These tomatoes tasted like wasn't until tomato #3 that a slice actually made it to my sangwich.

Thursday, April 19, 2007


The Law Cafe stopped taking IOU's today, but they told me that I am the only student still allowed to get them, because I always pay in the afternoon, and I am "muy guapo"

Today, I wanted to tell y'all a little story about a man who I hardly know...I don't know if you've noticed, but - even though I am not a homosexual - a lot of my blog is devoted to men who I admire, and who I try to model myself after. Let's call this genre of posts - for lack of a better term - the "male models"

On swim team, in high school, I had a homegirl named Morin. She's Israeli, and I always kind of wanted to hit that. Anyways, Morin's dad would always come to swim meets. He was a Moroccan Israeli, and a baller through and through. He had this long ponytail and a porno star moustache...the first time I saw him, I was afraid he was there to plant a bomb! I only found out later that he's on our side.

Anyways, Morin's dad - Avi - was a mega-baller. Still is...he does real estate development, and owns Sassi restaurant in Encino, which is one of my family's favorites. (When you walk in, there's a big picture of Avi posing with Joe Avi!)

On Thursday nights, you can find Avi at Tempo - Encino's Israeli hotspot - making it rain on stage, with the live Israeli music, with crisp dollar bills that he got at Bank of America in the morning, expressly for that purpose. He's been doing this for as far as I can tell Lil' Wayne ripped him off. How baller?!

If you haven't figured it out yet, Avi drives an SL600. Black - bien sur mengs - and rollin on twinkies. The license plate? Avi♥Avi.

Avi's wife (obviously smokin hot) is named Eti; also three letters. Avi could have been a nice guy and gotten it Avi♥Eti. He could have even been an asshole, and gotten Eti♥Avi. But noooo! He cut Eti out of the picture altogether.

Avi's like heaven, everybody tryin to get to him. My Persian friends and I aspire to be so baller...but I wouldn't hold your breath. Well, at least we can copy his license plate idea. Ben Mabati is committed to getting Ben♥Ben as soon as he gets married. Me? Best I can do is Mah♥bod.

Saturday, April 14, 2007

I miss Encino

April fucking fourteenth and il pleut toujours...

When I'm ballin I'm going to make it rain often, like Northern California (Get it get it?)

Friday, April 13, 2007

Dear Jesus,

Why can't all leaves taste like basil? They all look like basil.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

I'm bringing sex is bad

The heinous sin of self-pollution and all its Frightful consequences, in both sexes, considered: with Spiritual and physical advice to those who have already injured themselves by this Abominable practice, leading to disturbances of the stomach and digestion, loss of appetite or ravenous hunger, vomiting, nausea, weakening of the organs of breathing, coughing, hoarseness, paralysis, weakening of the Organ of Generation to the point of impotence, back pain, disorders of the eye and ear, total diminution of bodily powers, paleness, thinness, pimples on the face, decline of intellectual powers, loss of memory, attacks of rage, madness, idiocy, epilepsy, fever and finally suicide.

Reminds me of the haunting final scene of Ibsen's Ghosts: "Uh, uh, I can't see!"


Sunday, April 01, 2007

Things that make ya go hmm...

When I was a toddler, I would take showers with my older brother sometimes, after the swimming pool. He was about the age that I am now. I was but a child, and when this started I had only seen one previous penis: my own. I remember thinking that my brother's flaccid penis was enormous. Compared to mine, it was like level four in Mario Brothers 3, or like when you see someone who has gained a lot of weight in a very short time. Around the same age I saw Baba's penis too, at a urinal: more of the same.

And then, for 21 years, nothing.

Now that circumstances have rendered my brother Beyoncéless, the two of us are spending a lot of quality time, doing what bachelors do. On Thursday night we went to a club, where he worked his trademark "Persian Jay-Z" game and macked me a hot-ass Chilean. On Friday, we went to the gym. They have a swimming pool at the gym.

I have often reflected on my childhood, and not without some consternation. But I comforted myself with the explanation that his penis only seemed so big because I was a little boy.

But seeing it again - after more than two decades - it still seemed impossibly large.

I try to keep in mind Paul Cezanne's celebrated aphorism: "You are your own harshest penis critic." But I'm sure I was not imagining things. We're not even talking the same ballpark...I don't even think they should both be called a penis.

All the penis feedback I've ever gotten has been positive: one girl I hooked up with in college told Burt that I had a, "beautiful cock." Another said it was the perfect color. At Yale I attended a lot of naked parties, I never felt too bad. I am so confused...I wish I could see Baba's penis again.