Lying Eyes

I've only had these sunglasses on for about twenty minutes, and they don't even look particulary good on me, but already I'm loving the damn things. I used to have this really sleek pair, but they were stolen off my face last year, and I'd totally forgotten about how great it can be hiding your eyes from society. Like, right now, for example. I'm sitting in Bryant Park, staring at all the shirtless freaks and the big-titted girls with the short skirts, and nobody notices... well, not like anybody notices anyhow, but today, if someone were to look at me, they'd just see a blank vacuous face with black ovals for eyes.

I should be playing poker right now.

But, since no one can see my tell where my eyes are looking, it seems like a good time to gripe about everyone's favorite bitch-and-moan topic: the opposite sex. (Don't complain — yet — cause you've done it too.) So, there are some women — and, it goes without saying, we're being superficial jerks right now and only talking about the attractive ones — in the world who get offended when you, as a largely undatable male, stare at their boobs. Or, say, masturbate in front of them while they're trying to study in the library. (No, I did not make this up from personal experience. A non-me guy was caught, repeatedly, in Columbia's library doing that. And of course there were some negative Nellys — mostly from Barnard, I think — who complained to security and tried to ruin this guy's fun.) And I can see their point, in some cases. But I'm sorry, there's some point in our "Britney Spears milkshake back that thing up" society where people are turning into hypocrites. That line is fuzzy, but I think it can be approximated with two words: low-cut. Okay, that's one hyphenated word, but whatever.

Speaking of our "Britney Spears milkshake back that thing up" society, I saw Paris Hilton at the Virgin Megastore yesterday. She has a new book out — a picture book — and she was doing a signing. It must have been mentally taxing for her, not only because she had to remember how to spell her name, but also because the first person on line was, ironically, an obese woman in a motorized wheelchair who will never, ever be a socialite. Paris is now scarred for life. (Goodie!) Anyway, I caught a glimpse of Paris from the escalator. I didn't have my sunglasses with me, so I couldn't stare too long lest I catch something from her. Seriously, the woman looks like a Barbie doll with a venereal disease.

Anyways, seems kind of hypocritical: you put on make-up and do your hair and, uh, use deodorant so straight guys and lesbians will want to fuck you. You wouldn't be complaining if it was Matt Damon or Colin Farrell or, uh, who else do the women find sexy... Regis Philbin. But then, this poor guy, who, let's face it, isn't gonna get it any other way, wants to fuck you, and you call security. Creepy, oily guys need lovin' too. (I speak from personal experience.) And until somebody takes one for the team, they're just going to interrupt your mid-term studying, get over it.