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Merengue star Elvis Crespo is being investigated after a woman said she saw him performing a sex act on an airplane en route from Houston to Miami, according to Miami-Dade County police. Apparently, Crespo's seat wasn't the only thing in an upright position.
But yeah, let's keep that "debate" about global warming going a little longer. I'm so tired of beautiful snow peacefully blanketing the ground and enjoying hot cocoa inside after a snowball fight and not sweating in January. Really, it's got to come to a stop. Thankfully, America's business butt-buddies, the Republicans, have been doing God's work (well, the God in Revelations at least) and making sure we fart out every ounce of fossil fuel we can from our collective societal asses.
We should run a few more years' studies to make absolutely sure that that blue liquid coming off the melting arctic shelves is in fact water, and not, as the Heritage Foundation would have us believe "spillage from an enormous, delicious raspberry Slushy. And what kind of American could hate a Slushy?"
Maybe conservatives are stalling, keeping their shrill cries and hope-stabbing decibels up just long enough for the Republican Party to grow gills and invent underwater firearms. Couldn't live without those, now could they? I sure hope they invent Mer-Mexicans to carry out all the hard labor for them in their new briny abodes. I wonder though it they'll pay them under the water table, so taxes don't get taken out or if they'll even pay them minimum wave.
ABOVE: Future American President Costner, about to sign the historic Mer-American Aquahomestedders Surrender Treaty with Atlantian Emperor Screelleeeaaaascreeekky Skreeeeek Skreeeeleeekee. Note Costner's use of the traditional harpoon-shaped quill, a sign of respect to our new H2Overlords.
Working with a grant from the think tank the Institute for American Dating Studies (IADS), a series of pairs of diametrically opposite, polar personalities from similar fields and socio-economic backgrounds were selected to go on 10-15 dates and to record the events therein and to observe how, or rather if, their feelings for one another progressed. There are ten pairs in total. Comedians Sara Benincasa and Sean Crespo were selected as the "control group." This is the official observation web logs of those participants.
DATE #1
Sean's web log
The Salsa Class
Ok, guys at IADS, before I get started with the main body of my entry, I just want to say thanks again for this tremendous opportunity to poison my reputation around New York and to make many new lifelong enemies. The $100 a date you're paying me is not enough considering that this was my first date on your stupid experiment and I'm already sick to death of my "partner," if you can call someone who throws sharpened dance shoes at you on your first date with her a partner.
Unfortunately, according to your experiments' rules, you can.
So listen, whatever it is Sara is going to tell you about last night will be entirely false. How do I know this? Because Sara spent the better part of the night lying to me and those around us about herself. That's how. If I were you, I'd run another background check on her by the by. I saw her resume during the interview process and now that I know her a little better, I feel confident making the claim that she is NOT the Hungarian Mud Sculpting Champion (99-03) that she reported to be--just an FYI there. Here's another 'for instance' of S.B.'s BS.
Sara told me last night during some awkwardly erratic small talk--and by the way, does she have some crippling emotional disease you haven't told me about yet? Were you planning on telling me? And really, if we're the scientific control for this experiment, I'd hate to see the train wreck variables you've paired up for the other dates.--that she had spent a year in the Canadian Coast Guard and was proficient in CPR, the Heimlich Maneuver, Menopause (it sounded convincing when she listed it), and several other life saving techniques.
"What a happy coincidence!" I thought to myself when at dinner the man eating next to us began to choke on his veal burger and later went into cardiac arrest.
"Oh my god!" I said out loud moments later when Sara went over to him, made as if she were trying to help save his life, and then started going through his pockets for money and credit cards. She then cut the maitre d' a fifty to keep his mouth shut.
As the coroner pulled up, just as our black cab pulled away, I wondered if this dating blog experiment thing was such a good idea. And then as Sara exclaimed that "just because we dined and douched" didn't mean I still didn't have to pay if I wanted to visit her vaginal metropolis "Snatchville" later that night...I knew it was not such a good idea.
I guess I should get to the main body of events. As prescribed by you, after dinner we headed over to Crazy Sal's Mad Loco Salsa dance studio over at the corner of 112th Street and Malcolm the Tenth Blvd for a night of what I was hoping would be an exhilarating peak at the caliente culture of the latin nations. That was not to be, it seems, at least not when your dance partner keeps loudly exclaiming things I never even intimated, thought, or much less said, things like, "See, and you thought Spanish people were barely even people! But look how pretty their dances are! They must be good for something besides being America’s pack mules, like you said at dinner!"
Besides being banned there for life, the only other thing I find more depressing about last night is the full-page ad my landlord, Manny Ramirez (no Bosox relation), found in the Spanish newspaper El Periodico! this morning which features my terrified/enraged face and the headline (which Manny graciously translated for me before he and the rest of the Ramirez clan removed my person from apartment #3C with, literally, brandished pitchforks--they work at the Home Depot garden center it turns out) "Hitler Youth On Hate Crime Spree."
The author of this article? Hmm, funny that. The paper lists it as the work of "freelance reporter Mariasara Beunocasa."
I'm sure there's no connection to the wholly disparately named Sara Benincasa, who I went on a date with at that same Salsa dance studio, who instigated the arguments and accusations that followed, and who even took the photo of me defending myself as our dance instructor Juan attempted to flay my face with a plastic rose, complete with real "fake" thorns.
Well, there's more to tell, but I'm being told by the hospital staff that I have to log off. You see, I have cornea surgery in an hour and the nurses insist my eyes get some rest before I am anesthetized. "What kind of anesthesia will be administered?" you ask. Why, the local kind.
If you weren't aware, local anesthesia for an eye operation = A Huge Needle In My Left Eye Four Times. Do I get two for flinching? Gee, I sure hope not. Hitting me on the arm while a needle is being inserted in my eye might cause irreversible damage to my sight, rendering me even less capable of fending off newer and graver threats which are sure to abound from Sara's Mordorian shenanigans. I'm sure she will have a plethora of fascinating non-facts to add to this account, as well as many examples of her trademark race baiting. So have fun plowing through that vasty field of lies.
Yet I urge you, don't just take what she says with a grain of salt. Take what she says with a metric supertonne of condensed industrial grade salt with g measurements extrapolated for Jovian gravity. Can't wait to see what horrible situation you sadists cannon ball me to next. Probably an Easily Offended Pride Bobybuilder Parade or maybe a tour of an invisible knife-throwers factory. Can't see how either of those could turn out poorly with Sara as my erstwhile companion for hire.
Thanks, science!
Yours, Sean
P.S. Oh, and this is for the IADS financial department...just so you know, $100 doesn't even cover one of the four injections I'll be getting pumped DIRECTLY into my open eye in a few minutes. And it certainly won't cover the financial costs of losing my apartment (Manny seemed upset by the newsaper article for some reason), the emotional cost of being excommunicated by the Spanish side of my family (Crespo is, ironically, Spanish. Who knew. Apparently, our salsa instructor did not.), nor will it cover the extensive legal fees I'mm already committed to paying my defense attorney for the upcoming defamation hearing I've been cordially invited to by Lopez, Lopez, and Smythe. They're "abogados at law," their letterhead says.
Part 1 of a story about some of the more humiliating jobs I've had, including being a guinea pig for a sleep deprivation study. Recorded at The Drink at Work Show in New York. City
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