Girlfriend

I really wanted to record a cover of Matthew Sweet’s ‘Girlfriend’ for ya’ll tonight. Butcha’ know what? It’s 11:28 and this fourth beer is speeling one thing: S-L-E-E-P. Still… an interesting day. It went something like this…

Morning, this morning, the curtains are shut… wait, that’s a YAZ song. I wake up, I head in. I get to work early, stopping en route for an organic apple from Westerly Market (I’m all about living a refined-sugarless life these days). I do the News meeting, etc etc. Work. What does work feel like these days? Put it this way: I print out my Outlook calendar in an effort to stay on top of where I’m supposed to be when. True story: I spent so much of the afternoon shuttling between the 29th (News) and 8th (MTV.com) floors that I actually stepped into the elevator and forgot which way to go. Up? Or down?

I went up. Always up.

Cut to after work. I’m at a place called Freight on 16th & Ninth watching a bunch of short films at an event called Spoiler. It’s a themed film festival. Tonight the theme is ‘Divine Interbention.’ I step outside for a breather, and note that on the south side of 16th, hundreds of hipsters are staring at flat screen TVs. On the north side of 16th, there’s an urban development (aka a “project”) complete with clothes hanging from the railing. What a contrast. How New York.

Back home, nearly 11:00 p.m., no one will deliver sushi to me (boo hoo). So I settle — again — for lettuce, nuts and berries. And I look towards calling it a day. What to say it all? What to make of it all? In the words of Outkast, “Motherfuck the wagon, come join the band.”

P.S. Have you listened to my latest Morning Mix, ‘Stupid”? If not, please do. I think I’v got this ProTools thing figured out. Lesson one? Don’t combine with beer.

P.P.S. An adaptation of my ‘Mr. Rogers: Deep & Simple piece is to be published in a book called ‘To Do Before I Die.’ Cool, huh? (Thanks Ron Lieber!)

P.P.P.S. I’m going to Boston this weekend to hang out at my friend Rob’s lake house: BBQ, waterskiing, etc. My buddy Fish has pledged to teach me to surf on Sunday morning. Rock!

P.P.P.P.S. I can see a couple making out in the window of the school across the street. I think he’s going to pork ‘er! (‘National Lampoon’s Vacation’ reference, sorry.)

I still love you, New York.