This link is to a clip of me talking to TMZ about my days as an on line sex operator posing as a Penthouse Pet. This was in 1991, when the internet was only doctors and scientists, and we were given a large, heavy computer terminal with an 800 baud modem built in (dial-up now is 56,000 baud). No images, no voice, just slow blinking text over a dark green screen. I was one of four guys who did this out of our dorm room at NYU. I got $12 an hour and used all the money to pay for my student films. It actually helped me learn how to write quickly, in character, at 100 words per minute. I have to say, I really kept my customers satisfied.
There are two kinds of horror film fans: The pretentious Hitchcock carnoisseur, and the uninteligent gore hound. Whenever these two get together there are bound to be ugly disagreements. The Hitch fan turns his nose up to films like…
Thank you everyone for the tips on tumbling. Still figuring this out. I thought if I posted pics as photos it posts them bigger than if it’s in a text - am I imagining that? I woke up ridiculously jetlagged, barely slept, but that was a good excuse to walk around Neuchatel this morning and start playing with my new Canon 5D. I’m already addicted.
View from my hotel room:
Switzerland is so quiet. The Swiss tell me they’re very shy and don’t speak up, which is probably due to years of staying neutral. Or maybe they’re neutral because they’re like that, I don’t know. All I know is I have already eaten more chocolate in 12 hours than in 12 months. Looks like I may appear in From Hunk…to Chunk! sooner than anticipated. Eh, it was a good run while it lasted.
I’ll write more later. This is really so my parents can see what I’m up to at every minute as I know they’re wondering. Tonight I’m hosting a screening of “The Wicker Man,” one of my all time favorite films that I have never seen projected in 35mm. It should be a fun time. How did the multiple pic postings look to you guys? Better to post like this or one at a time?
Shortly after I moved to Los Angeles I dated this girl who was very funny, but also very bizarre. Now, I’m bizarre, so for me to say that she was odd she must have been pretty off the wall. But that’s also what I loved about her. She had a great sense of humor and excellent taste in movies and obscure British television. She had family in England, and at the time I had never been there, so we decided to go to London for the holidays. I fell in love with England right away, we toured all over, went to the theater, met up with friends she had there and had endless dinner parties. And we argued almost every night. One of our stranger arguments, or ‘carguments,’ came when we were taking a long drive to the English countryside. The song “Flagpole Sitta” by Harvey Danger, a big song at the time, came on the radio, and she freaked out, frantically changing the station. I liked the song, but moreover, was intrigued by why she would have a near violent reaction to it. “I can’t hear it, I can’t hear it!” she screamed, as she covered her ears, which of course only made me flip back to the station to watch her freak out. She started hitting me, she was serious - “I’m not fucking kidding, don’t play it, I can’t hear it.” What possible trauma could have happened to her that she associated with the song? She stopped speaking.
We drove in silence for a few miles, until she said quietly said “It’s the amputee part.”
What about it?
"I can’t hear it. It makes me cry. I can’t explain it…"
The strange thing is, I knew what she’d meant. I’d seen that before - when a song has a certain effect on someone that probably has nothing to do with the song itself, it just hits some emotional button that makes you want to cry, not out of sadness, but out of some strange hidden embarrassment. It was some combination of words or syllables that stir up a nonsensical phrase you made up as a child and have kept in your head all these years and never told anyone. If people knew what was rattling around in your brain they’d have you committed, so you bury it until it unexpectedly rears its ugly head, hopefully when no one’s around, and you indulge it for a moment then stuff it away and pretend it never existed. In 5th grade chorus this one song made this kid burst into tears, and the whole class knew it, so every time we sang it we’d look at him and he’d die of embarrassment and would just start crying and laughing until snot came out his nose and his face was wet with tears. So of course I started singing it.
"You mean 'they cut off my legs and now I'm an amputee Goddamn you'” —
She didn’t let me finish. She was screaming, covering her ears, eyes closed, fighting back the tears now streaming down her face. I felt horrible, I didn’t realize it was that serious. She wouldn’t accept any apology, I was her mortal enemy at that point and she was stuck in a car with me. I did the only thing I could.
I pulled over to the side of the road and we fucked. Nothing was spoken, we just jumped on each other. It really seemed to clear the air. After that we both felt much better, and the ride seemed to go pretty smoothly. That was, until we reached the inn at the countryside and had another fight, followed by sex, and probably another one a few hours later. It was that kind of relationship. It didn’t last long.
"I can talk about amputees, you know. I don’t have a fear of them" she offered, later that night. I pretended not to care, but deep down I was fascinated.
"I know. I get it. It just stirs up something. You can’t explain it. It’s happened to me."
"Really? Which song?"
"I’ll never tell."
Harvey Danger came on the radio this morning while I was the gym. And dammit if I wasn’t tearing up and laughing to myself. Thank God no one asked me why, I wouldn’t have been able to explain it. It’s like she passed on the curse. So yeah, she gets the last laugh on this one. Goddamn you.