Ice cream cones are overrated. Last night I walked into a local "creamery" and when asked what type of cone I wanted, I just wagged my finger and wordlessly extended my greedy hand towards the bewildered scooper. The resulting experience was revolutionary; the heat of my hand providing a perfect catalyst for the hot/cold sensation that I sought. No silly crunchy cone to hurt my gums and dilute the purity of the substance. I could see in the eyes and faces of the employees and patrons present that their minds were blown.

I would recommend paying before you accept your product. Also have a small arrangement of moist wipes at your disposal unless you have a penchant for licking your hand clean.
link to this post   11:45 AM by Trey | (1)
It's official. Everyone who lives in New Orleans (or has has ever lived in New Orleans) now has a fleur-de-lis tattoo somewhere on their body. I was alarmed when I saw the little one on my ankle this morning. I don't know why. After all, NOLA 504ever the Saints, know what I'm sayin'?

For the Bay Area contingent: I will be in San Francisco from June 3rd to the 12th.
link to this post   4:27 PM by Trey | (1)
I would like to link to a craigslist apartment listing. This listing is particularly special to me as it is an apartment that I inhabited in New Orleans not so very long ago. Has it been three years? Inhabit is not the word; I was part of an epic social experiment in progress.

Not much has changed since I lived there. It was the same puke green color on the outside. The checkered floor in "the conservatory" (as I called it) is a bit cleaner. They apparently painted the hallway white instead sticking with the dark grey/psychotic-scribblings collage that adorned it previously. I am reminded of walking down that hallway after a long day of work and just as I was about to take that first left (my bedroom), I would take the right into the kitchen where Gretchen might have been making pico de gallo or something similarly vegan. We would sit at the counter and drink martinis, smoke Camels, and play poker until one of us decided to go to Ms. Mae's or the Saint, or maybe just fell off the barstool in a drunken stupor. There was the bright orange room with the nasty pool table, the nasty couch, the beer fridge, and the Justin Timberlake poster. The LR contained the trusty television, two equally ratty couches that reeked of the two dogs (Strummer and Blitzkreig) that lived on them, at least 5 scattered ashtray, and a painting of a disemboweled woman that graced the mantlepiece. My three lovely, talented, and eccentric roommates inhabited the remainder of the rooms: Gretchen, Cristine, and Erin. The entire apartment sat above a basement as large as the house; below my bedroom there was a particularly creepy room that seemed to have served as some sort of torture chamber at some point. There was another room that was the practice space of the short-lived, but well-traveled space rock band, MiR. Over the one year span that I lived there, there were several extremely well-attended house parties including: Danzig/Black Metal, When Animals Attack!, Groppy III, Motley Crue, Cannibal Corpse, and Groppy IV. Needless to say, I loved it.

One significant change is that they raised the rent from $1100/mo to $2400/mo. This upsets me, but I will not rant about the overinflated rental prices in New Orleans right now. Oddly enough, I have a strange urge to rent the place and renew the once great 2636 empire, starting a new band in the basement. I think I will just be happy to know that it still exists, and sometime in the future another starry-eyed hipster will gaze upon its mud-encrusted linoleum and inhale its infused bongwater smell with the same gusto that I did. The lore of this building should be written on the walls, passed down from generation to generation, on the lips of the awkward and sexually frustrated.

I have created an archived page to capture this moment.
link to this post   1:24 AM by Trey | (1)
Confession Time

So, I haven't told many people about this, but I kinda have a "problem." Granted, there are definately problems in the world that could be considered bigger problems than my own. That is not to downplay the gravity of the situation, because I am seriously worried about my addiction.

I buy a lot of Viagra. And Cialis. V1agra and C1alis together. I can't get enough. Don't get me wrong, I don't actually take the drugs; I just like knowing that all of the little blue and yellow pills that are lined up on my desk, spilling out of my bathroom drawers, and overflowing my kitchen cabinets have the possibility of inducing a massive erection that could be sustained for months, if not years at a time. I can think of any number of armageddon scenarios in which these pills could come in very handy. Consider it a lesson learned from my days in the Scouts: "Always be prepared."

I am not concerned about the stockpiling. After all, I'm not hurting anyone; if anything, I'm helping the struggling manufacturers of these phine pharmaceuticals. I am, however, concerned about the kind of people that I encounter in my endless search for cheaper distributions channels. For example, the email I received today:
I am happy with your visiting today Sir,

I am ready to kill myself and eat my dog, if medicine prices here (link removed to protect you, gentle reader) are bad.

Look, the site and call me 1-800 if its wrong..

My dog and I are still alive :)
This does not bode well.
link to this post   2:51 PM by Trey | (0)
All Bets Are Off

Q: Trey: My beloved hipster haircut is growing out at an alarming rate and is starting to look like something in between something popular with the Kappa Kappa Gammas and Hillary Clinton circa 1998.

Should I cut it and be faced with this same dilemma every other month? (Take into account the high priced salon I frequent). Or should I let it grow out and patiently deal with the brown football helmet look?

A: Before you do anything, you should ask yourself a question. Is there really a dollar value for happiness? The answer is yes. In this case, I estimate around $35-50 per salon visit. If your happiness costs more than this, I would recommend that you just remain unhappy for the rest of your life.

On a personal note, I found my happiness in the time-honored tradition of the $10 Shot-And-A-Haircut deal at the R Bar in New Orleans, LA. The stylists are usually sleep-deprived, and sometimes the bartenders try to welch on the shot, but since my first fauxhawk was born almost two years ago, I have been beating the hipsters off with a dismissive, pretentious stick.

Q: Dear Manthey, I have a quandary that perhaps you could address. My concern lies with persons, whom shall remain nameless, that use such wording as "alacrity." Do these persons, with such cerebral verboseness, eventually recognize they're (sic) solecism? If so, with this knowledge would they even arbitrate a personal modification?


Desiderate Jr.

A: I'm not ashamed to admit that I had to use in order to understand your question. Well done. In answer to your question, WTF? I can sniff out your thinly veiled ad hominem attack from half a continent away. On the other hand, if this is your way of telling me that you have a secret crush on me (which you almost certainly do), I suggest you stop dancing around the issue. Which brings us to...

Q: I have a secret crush on you. What should I do about it? Help, I need advice!


Secret Crush #1

A: Wow. I wasn't expecting this. Thank you for your honesty. I mean, I kinda had a feeling you had a thing for me, but I never thought you would just come up and tell me, especially not anonymously.

I guess it is my turn for honesty: You have no chance with me, whomever you are. I a wild stallion galloping furiously across the beaches of love. I am the Black Stallion, nay, the son of the Black Stallion, Blacker Stallion. Only the young orphan boy Alec can tame my unruly ways (and he is only a concept, not a real person), and we will lay on an island beach in the surf and munch on seaweed until a passing ship rescues us and brings us to the safety and predictability of the mainland. Yet I still won't be tamed. But if you email me your phone number or a discreet location where we can meet, I'll give it a shot. Everyone deserves at least one shot.

Needless to say, the response to my advice column launch has been wildly successful. I'm in the wilderness of success. For inclusion in the next column, please write "This one is for all the marbles" in the subject line.
link to this post   10:05 AM by Trey | (0)
Advice For You

I'm starting an internet advice column as of right now. Some of the topics I will be addressing include romance, technology, self-esteem, hairstyles, personal grooming, secret crushes (on me or otherwise), investing, gourmet foods, sexual tips, and general life direction.

If you would like to submit a question you should send me an email: Please put the following text in the Subject line: "All Bets Are Off." I imagine that I will produce some sort of anonymous form submission at some point, but for now, just swallow your pride and use the email.

I will not reveal your identity in the follow-up response unless you specifically ask me to do so. Your identity will be protected at all costs, up to and including my own life. I will attempt to answer your question with as much alacrity and sincerity as the Internet will afford, which is to say, quite a bit.

link to this post   1:20 PM by Trey | (0)