Wanna go throw stuff off the roof like Letterman used to do?

I'm taking my final in Magazine Publishing and the damn 'R' key doesn't work. Do you have any idea how tough it is to write about aggressive marketing strategies of print products without the 'R' key?
Yeah...

In Other News:

This man writes the world's prettiest songs. They're acoustic milagros for the heart.
Britney Spears needs to be sterilized for the good of mankind. Seriously, y'all.
This makes me want to run away. So does this, this and this.
Right now -- I'm focused on four things: love [strictly of the familial and platonic kind], writing, music and taking as many damn pictures as I can. Wishing you would have captured that moment in time is a terrible regret.

My ♥

I am so lucky to have you. Thank you so much.

To eat good food is to be close to God

There's something to be said for cooking. It requires a full immersion all of the senses and keeps you completely absorbed. You don't have time to think about anything else because you're trying to keep the sauce from spewing like Vesuvius, the vegetables from becoming mushy and the water from boiling over. One man's kitchen = my three-ring circus.

I made vegetable lasagna today. It's good, too. Garlicky and comforting.

Making it helped me feel better. Maybe because it took my mind off of everything that's been going on. Maybe because it helped me feel closer to my family [we cook a lot] or maybe because I [like my family...like most ethnic families] equate food with love and believe that feeding someone is the best way to show you love them.

The best example of this is my mom. Everytime I go home, she makes my favorite food. She knows she doesn't have to and that I'm just as happy nibbling on whatever's lying around, but she does anyway. I never thought about it much before, but now I realize just how much it means to me.

That being said -- please tell the people you love how you feel. A phone call, an email, a text-message, an IM...whatever. It takes so little time but means so much.

Goodbye...

"Or my grandmother's hands, and the way her skin seemed like paper..."

I love you and I miss you.
Call the people you love today.
Tell them you love them.
You never get enough chances...

Damn computer. It ate everything. Big, fat, smug, damn stupid crappy piece of crappy crap.

This is the Transatlantic Best Friend [in the pink], my sister [in her Brand Nizzle shirt], the loveliest waitress in the world and me [in the black] at Cafe Milan in London. If you're in the area, check this place out. They have the best iced mochas ever. I think it's right near the High Street Kensington Tube Station, but I could be wrong.

In addition to being savvy enough to know what the kids on the street are listening to these days, my sister also seems to have some sense of technological wizardry [and a bit of a messiah complex]. A few months ago, my dad and cousin joined forces to annihiliate her computer [they claim it was an accident] and she not only lost all her photographs, but about 600 mp3s.
Today she calls me with the following:

Sparky: I am God of everything. I am awesome. Did you know that I was God? [Edited as per my sister's request]
Jaime: That's a pretty grandiose statement. What did you do? Find a nickel in the couch cushions?
Sparky: You know all those songs that I thought Papa erased from my computer?
Jaime: Yeah?
Sparky: I recovered all of them!
Jaime: Really?! That's awesome.
Sparky: See? I am God.
Jaime: How'd you do it?
Sparky: I don't know.
Jaime: I'm pretty sure God would remember something like that.
Sparky: You really think He remembers how He created the world?
Jaime: True...It was an awfully long time ago....

Blasphemy aside, my sister recovered her music. Awesome. So, to summarize -- Person of Indian descent good with computers. Shocking.

Best. Movie. Ever. I now know everything about the Spanish Inquisition.

An Open Letter To Nick Lachey

Dear Nick:

I read this.
Then, I saw this.
Then, I heard this.
Now, I want to do this and this while listening to this .

Come home to Mommy. She'll take care of you.

Love:

Jaime xo

They're gonna give Daddy the 'Rainman' suite, you dig that?

Rachel Ray has the life I want. She has a seemingly endless supply of extra-virgin olive oil [The closest thing to ambrosia that mortals can possess] and she travels around the country and eats while jabbering cute little bon mots. I could do that. I love food and I'm cuter than a bunny cuddling with a puppy.

I saw an episode of $40 A Day where she travelled to Vegas. Do you know what you can do with $40 in Vegas? You can live like a king! A hell-damn-ass king [+10 to anyone who gets it]!

So, after watching her flounce through the courtyard at the Bellagio and wander all through Sin City [including the Hard Rock Hotel & Casino which features Stevie Ray Vaughan's custom Fender Strat ♥] I came to the conclusion that I desperately need to go to Las Vegas.

Crew -- are you listening?

So to persuade y'all that a Vegas Vacation is in order, here's a list of reasons why Crew + Vegas = Good Times We'll Have To Rely On Photographs To Remember:

• Gambling. Now, I have no clue when to hold 'em or know when to fold 'em, but you guys do and you're actually good at it. Gambling = the possibility of money which can in turn be exchanged for booze [ambrosia of a different kind]
• Paymon's Hookah Lounge. Delicious hookahs, a very cool vibe and drinks like the Babylon Spice [ginger infused Captain Morgan's, coconut milk and mango juice served on the rocks] which are only $3 during Happy Hour. That alone is reason enough to go! Whoever said smoking and drinking do not make you look cool lied.
• Cheap eats -- Vegas is home of the buffet and the happy hour appetizer special and if that wasn't cool enough, the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino has a Mexican eatery called The Pink Taco. And if that didn't rock your world hard enough -- they have a beer margarita.
• Prostitution is legal [Pepe, I'm kinda looking in your general direction here]
• Crew + anywhere = good times. I can remember trips to the grocery store that have been riotous.

So, Vegas, baby, Vegas? I'm thinking it sounds like a plan.

Now THAT, my friend, is a shared moment.

Last night, Paul, Jerry and I are all watching TV when a Victoria's Secret commercial comes on. Thirty seconds of pure silence as all three of us stare at Alessandra Ambrosio in complete awe.
Now, this is a completely understandable reaction coming from the boys, but when they noticed I was just as mesmerized as they were, their little faces lit up with devilish grins and Paul decreed that I shall now be known as 'Clam Eater.' Yeah, that's classy.
In my defense, though -- look at her! Can you blame me? I mean, this is one gorgeous woman.
I've decided that my goal in life is to become a tawny, leggy Brazilian. So far, I'm failing miserably, but hey -- keep dreaming the impossible dream, right?

I'm currently in the process of making my buddy Dan a few mix CDs. Now, I'm with Nick Hornby on this one. Making a good mix is a very precise science...unlike physics or biology [just ask any supporter of intelligent design].
There are a whole litany of rules -- you can't put two songs by the same artist side by side and you can't make shocking switches. You can't be listening to Hank Williams one minute and then, have your eardrums assaulted by Ashlee Simpson. It's too traumatic and in mixes, much as in life -- there's gotta be a flow. However, if you can justify the aural assault and there's a legitimate reason for it, then, it's accetable. See, if I spent as much time on school as I did theorizing about music, I'd probably have cured cancer by now. Alright, maybe not cancer, but definitely mono. OK, maybe not mono....but hangnails? Split ends?

So, one of Dan's CDs features the best blues-inflected rock I could find. The kind of songs that make you wanna kick ass, jam gears and drink beer. A little Stevie Ray, some Black Crowes and of course, you've gotta get the Led out.
I'm so that guy. You know who I'm talking about -- the dude ['cause it's always a dude and never a woman. Hmmm...more sexual identity confusion. I might wanna book some couch-time with a shrink. Or, I could take that money and buy beer! Beer wins!] who gets hammered at the end of the bar and starts grousing about how all the music now 'sucks' and how we need some 'Foghat up in heah!' Or worse yet -- the guy who screams for Freebird, regardless of which artist is onstage [For the record, I've totally done that before at a bunch of shows. It makes the classic rock loving crowd laugh and emo kids scared and confused. Frightening emo kids = Hi-larity!]

In other news -- I smell like Hugo by Hugo Boss and consequently, am swooning every few minutes, I lost an epic battle between myself and a silverfish this morning [they're easier to kill when they don't move], have come to the conclusion that Coke Zero > Diet Pepsi and decided that if I ever become a DJ, my DJ name will be DJ Thumbelina.

She has beautiful eyes, and her hair smells like cinnamon!

My hair hates me.

To be honest, it has every reason to. I torture it constantly with a smoldering flat iron, I don't get it trimmed on a regular basis and once, while in London, I burnt it clean off [damn voltage differences].

So I picked up some Hair-Insurance by Aussie. I like most of the products in Aussie's line and if anything, living in Florida, a state constantly bitch-slapped by hurricanes has taught me that insurance, much like greed, is good. Wow...I guess I really love commas. As a great man [j-school professor, history buff and all-around great guy Rick Brunson] once said, "The comma is the James Brown of punctuation." Definitely the hardest-working mark in the business...unlike that shiftless semi-colon.

Here's to hoping it works because boys don't make passes at girls with split ends...or something along those lines.

However, if "heaven and babies and brilliance" are more your thing, pick up L'Oreal for Kids because according to my sister, that's what it smells like.

In other news, my crippling addiction to The O.C. continues.

• I can't believe the dirty white trash guy actually rented The Sound of Music. Dude, you know how I know you're gay....? Yeah.
• I knew the baby wasn't Ryan's...Actually, that's a lie. I totally didn't.
• Hindu + Jew = HinJew. Best. Portmanteau. Ever. Now, I have to find a cute Jewish boy to marry so I can have a whole litter of little HinJews.
• This site is a fantastic resource 'cause it lists every single piece of music featured in the show and exactly which scene it was featured in. That being said, Ryan Adams -- I think I love you. I think.

and finally, reason #457834 I could never be a Scientologist -- silent birth. I have a hard time keeping quiet an hour after eating a burrito.

I suck at introductions.

Despite the fact that I blog here and here, I got one of these anyway.

Hi. I'm Jaime. I'm 23. I dig the color pink, decaf vanilla lattes and The Legend of Zelda. I'm involved in a serious relationship with my flat-iron and iTunes. Can't nobody tear us apart, baby.

I'm a writer, I make kick-ass mix CDs, I'm emotionally invested in The O.C. and I've got this incomprehensible jones for Ron Livingston.

Hi.