USAUSAUSAUSA

I was walking past our friendly neighborhood porn store the other day, when a sign in the window caught my eye.

No, it was not the poster for Pirates II: Stagnetti's Revenge (a real movie -- whose title I googled for you, dear readers, to avoid the mistake of calling it Pirates II: [Some sort of pun about treasure chests], which would not have been very classy of me.).

The sign -- very small and handwritten on a scrap of cardboard -- said simply "European DVD on sale." This aroused [teeheehee] my curiosity. "Which European DVD?" I asked myself. "Of all the wonderful pornographic cinema exported by our dear trade partners across the sea, which classic film has, fortuitously, become affordable to even the poorest of nudie-film connoisseurs?"

But then, I wondered, Why promote a European DVD? We are in a national economic crisis, Serendib Video Place! Why not promote a good ol' American-made porno? Lord knows our proud porn-trepeneurs right here in the States could use a little help these days. Are our American "hot chicks" not good enough for you? Is there no demand for videos of strapping young PATRIOTS in action? I find that HARD TO BELIEVE.

Obviously, Serendib has some sort of unsavory deal happening -- probably with the French. So I urge you, my fellow Americans, do your part. Support the country. Buy American -- I promise Pirates II will not disappoint. There are probably explosions AS WELL AS sex. That's the American way.

An Imagined Affair with the Big Bad Gawker

A friend of mine -- a good, good friend who actually deigns to read this blog -- suggested today that I write something about the incestuous world of New York gossip-mongers. The bloggers, the page-sixers, the...bloggers. In fact, this lovely friend (who reads AND comments! what a guy!) went even further and suggested that I write about one professional gossiper in particular: Nick Denton of Gawker.
The formal submission of the idea:
"Can you make up a blog entry about running into Nick Denton? PLEASE! Since it's Valentine's Day and all, maybe it could be about an imagined affair with the Big Bad Gawker? I KNOW he's gay. but, hey, maybe it could be a purely platonic affair?"
I got very excited when I read this, thinking, "Oh my God, blogging is so awesomely easy! I don't even have to think to do it -- my friends think for me, and i just bang on my keyboard until I manage to beat some funny out of it!"
I gleefully tilted my head to one side, attempting to envision an incredibly satisfying encounter with the BBG himself.
And then I realized -- it's a good thing I don't need brains to blog because I am a moron. I know absolutely nothing about life, and this ignorance extends to the identity of the BBG. I have no idea who this man really is. And by "really is," I don't mean that I cannot sense his essence or imagine the gawker-y goodness of his personal musk. I mean, I don't read Gawker. Never have. Probably will in about five seconds just to see what this man is about, but as of this very moment, I am in a Gawker-free state of innocence.

But innocence is not what my friend wants from me. Innocence is boring. Innocence is lame. Innocence is the opposite of torrid affairs with confirmed homosexuals. And you can't have a good blog without at least one of those (torrid affairs, I mean...or the homosexuals...they're good too).

So I finally dug out my own brain from the back of my closet and started thinking. What would a girl have to do to whip up a believable affair with Le Gawker? I'm not going for the real thing (although I believe there is an opening in my planner for a tempestuous lover on Tuesday and Thursday nights...just saying). I just need enough knowledge of the man to make a satisfying story for my friends.

The easy thing would be to Google him like crazy (which almost sounds dirty -- I'm gonna Google his brains out!) , maybe actually read his little blog or whatever he's twiddling around on these days, pester my friend for more details so I can stop thinking for myself, OR -- OR! -- I could actually meet this fabled Prince of Gossipland.

"How might we encounter each other?" I wondered. Perhaps I will just run into him on the street one day. After all, it's small world, and I walk a lot. Then again, he is in charge of a blog, so perhaps he sits in his mom's basement all day, in which case, I would only have a chance of running into him on "random basement tour Sunday," which I conduct on the third Sunday of each month.

Maybe I could track him down. He is all over the Internets; surely I could reach him through his favorite medium. A banner ad? Posting my contact details and an enticing picture on Gawker's comments pages (because that wouldn't attract any weirdos...)? Writing his name in this post often enough that some search engine picks it up? I don't think search engines actually work like that, but I in trying to engineer some sort of massive shout into the void, all I could come up with was to write Nick Denton! Nick Denton! Nick Denton!

Like I said, I am a damned fool.

Once I found him, what would I do? What would I say? Would we chuckle our way through an awkward first date and then rush home to write snarky things about each other?

God, I hope so.

Maybe as our romance blossomed, we could go on a heartwarming rampage of judging and curmudgeonry together. We could curl up on cold nights, keeping each other warm with the combined powers of hilarity, vitriol and a dash of sexy. Nothing makes you feel more in love than agreeing that everyone else is inferior -- that's a fact, kids.

So Nick Denton (Nick Denton! Nick Denton! Nick Denton!), if you're out there, listen to my friend's Valentine wish, and snark me, baby, snark me.