Here Comes the Bride...

Back in 1980's Brooklyn, the "in" thing to do after your wedding ceremony (read: "ghetto fabulous"), especially among the Puerto Ricans and Italians, was to barrel around the neighborhood in your tacky fleet of white 1987 Lincoln Town Car Limousines with your pals, while the limo driver would be continuously blaring the custom horn which would repeat the "Here comes the bride, all dressed in white" tune over and over and over.

I remember during one such festive occasion, when I was probably about 8 years old, I guess one classy couple's limo got stuck in traffic on my block, because I heard the horn blaring downstairs for about five solid minutes while I was trying to watch "Diff'rent Strokes."

I looked out the window to see what all the commotion was about, and I saw the limo sitting in traffic right under my window. Just as I looked, the Puerto Rican/Italian (I don't remember which) bride looked up at me through the sunroof, so I stuck my tongue out at her (her convoy was disturbing my TV-watching, after all). She responded by giving me the middle finger.

I miss the old New York.

Staying Out. It Takes a Plan.

So today, Sunday, I shirked off my law school's writing competition and instead spent the morning visiting my friend in Riker's, and the evening having heated sex and reminiscing with my ex-girlfriend who is in New York visiting from Nagoya (after I swore to myself I wouldn't). Temptation is a bitch. However, I call that a day well spent.

Brooklyn Love is All About Japanese Hostess Love

This blog has quickly degraded into a running monologue of my unhealthy preoccupation with Japanese chicks.

Continuing with that theme, here is a quick video example of why Japanese hostesses and their hair rule my world.

When I lived in Osaka, one of my main girlfriends, who was a hostess, used to take a cab to my place straight after work at 3am with her hair still done up like this. It was the greatest thing ever.