AN INTERVIEW WITH A YOUNG MANHATTANITE WHO HAS RESIGNED HIS FRIENDSTER MEMBERSHIP FOR REASONS KNOWN ONLY TO HIM

Q. We hear you've left Friendster. Are you a terrorist?

A. Hmm, define terror. I mean, if you’re talking about hating certain ethnic and racial groups, plotting unspeakable acts against them, or even just scaring kids on the street, then yes I’m a terrorist. But really, my work is mostly self-inflicted.

Q. Why did you leave?

A. I left Friendster in the twilight of my career out of dignity and respect for the sport. Nothing’s worse than watching the embarrassment of a player past his prime air-balling a hook shot. Also, my consecutive-days-without-getting-laid streak was reaching Ripkenian proportions, so I thought it was best to step aside for the good of the game.

Q. How many people were in your network?

A. Just north of 200K.

Q. Wow, that's a lot of people. So how is a stranger six times removed from you in your Friendster network different from some skell you'd meet at a bar in Brooklyn?

A. You just pulled the nail from my head. There is no difference and that’s one of these reasons I became disillusioned with the concept. But really, walking up to strangers on the street and awkwardly introducing yourself is the new Friendster. Haven’t you heard?

Q. Do you feel any remorse since all of the clever testimonials you wrote for your friends have been withdrawn?

A. Frankly, that was the toughest realization after I cancelled my account. For posterity, I copied my profile including testimonials written about me into a Word document. Then I realized how poorly they were written. The real gold was the stuff I coined for others.

Q. Did you meet anyone interesting while you were on Friendster?

A. I met Irvine Welsh’s publicist, a Shakespearean actress, a girl who plays guitar and loves Slayer, and the cutest Williamsburg chick who let me buy her drinks until 4am. Kim, if you’re reading this, you owe me $30.

Q. Your network was filled with hot 23-year-olds. Why is that?

A. Friendster is 75% hot 23-year-olds. Or there’s some serious trick photography going on. This is the perfect forum for them. It's a demographic that likes to see themselves summarized in bullet points and photo-booth pictures.

Q. Will you ever return?

A. You know, I ask myself that every day. I suppose if the original cast came back, and my character was more developed...um, what am I saying? Put it this way, there were five sequels to the original Planet of the Apes. My battle, escape, and return are almost certain.

Special Guest Rant
Each day, Lasagnafarm listens for soft voices in the wilderness that, as we approach them, grow to a roar of bitterness and dissent. We like these voices; they make us consider the dispossessed, the unconscionable, and the dodgy as we would, on a typical day, the Olson Twins, Little Debbie cakes, or go-karts. Enjoy.


OPEN LETTER TO BORO6.COM

All Together Now: “What did Delaware, boys? Her New Jersey...”
Yes, let's talk about Boro6's toilet splash on the tri-me-state blog scene. First, I haven't been this disgusted with real estate fauxtaposing since the various attempts by gold-panning brokers in the early/mid '90s to throw the "LoHo" label on the Lower East Side as if the original name only connoted crack, whores, poor Puerto Ricans, and old Jews. (Actually, those attributes would be major selling points today.) But "Boro6" only refers to assholes being sold on fabulous skyline views while hoping to forget the shitty Indian restaurant on their corner that closes at 10. This whole site reeks of an out-of-work commuter's attempt to forge a PATH to legitimacy, but it only confirms that life in a shadow is indeed dark and creepy. Step off our handsomely dressed feet and go back to riding Kevin Smith's trenchcoat-tails.

From the Halls of Montauk Highway to the Shores of Tappan Zee...
Listen, there's only one New York (well, two if you count the real one and the other that certain downtown bloggers mythically write about) and there’s barely enough room for the boroughs we’re already stuck with. In fact, save the proselytizing for Staten Island and do everyone a favor by taking it off our hands. You provide a major disservice to Central Jersey by seeking to align its identity with the torchbearers of the almighty Empire. Likewise, do you think Southern Jersey prefers to fly its freak flag as a Philly suburb? Please peddle your version of state pride to the soccer moms, shoremen and farmers who need it when their kids only get accepted to Montclair State.

It's Mah-way or the Parkway...
From Mahwah to Rahway lies a mobius strip of the Garden State Parkway that tangles and clogs worse than a Turnpike rest stop bathroom. It represents Jersey's main vein being drained or shot up by Jason Mewes spending the last of his proverbial fat cash. Your unwashed asses have stolen our Lady Liberty and hijacked the Port Authority, moves that disgrace a national monument by geographical association and monopolizes maritime commerce for starters, respectively. You have gone out of bounds and any more advances into our bikini area will be met with a beatdown worse than Giuliani-era NYPD protocol. So give us your Deborah Harry's and Karen O's but stick to your snide of the river. Boro6? Let’s be perfectly clear and honest about this: don't pretend that you're viewed as anything but 2Close.

Warmly,
AK-47

Busting out with Busey

My new favorite pickup line is, "What's your high score on Galaga?"

WITH A NOD TOWARD THE NEW YORK TIMES STYLE SECTION, AN INTERVIEW WITH SOMEONE WHO TURNED 30 AND HAS HAD A COUPLE OF YEARS TO THINK ABOUT IT

The New York Times, in a recent article, referred to turning 30 as a New "rite of passage." How did you celebrate this milestone?

There was a group of us turning 30 around the same time. We decided to put on a play to celebrate the occasion. We staged "Six Degrees of Separation," only rather than a gay black man, our lead was an elephant named Muriel with a bad memory. The metaphor was lost on most of the audience. Such are the risks of performing at a senior's center.

In the article, a fashionable NYC lady called 30 the new 22. Comments?

She is off by 1 year. Twenty-two as an age has no meaning. It is like saying, Gawker is the new colorful graphic on the bottom of each day's USA Today. Hmm... strike that; it sort of makes sense. Insert: Gawker is the new phrenology. Damn! Yet again! I can't help but pen marvelous metaphors! Woe!

How fabulous are you on a scale of one to ten?

7

Can you elaborate?

It's my lucky number. Also the age at which I was conceived, metaphorically, of course. Wait, that made no sense. That should be what Gawker is!

What advice would you offer to this year's crop of newly-minted 30-somethings?

An adverb ending in "ly" followed by a participle or adjective is always open. Shame on the NYTimes.

What advice would you offer to former National Security Advisor Zabignew Bresinski?

To change his name. As the National Security Advisor he should be able to move in and out of situations with the least amount of fanfare. Zabiganuestinki draws too much attention.

What is 2(27-14)*15(2)/6? Just kidding.

You are dead to me.

Montauk Report: Surf Break Parking Fix Nixed "Before Night Falls"

Lasagnafarm.com has eyes and ears in more places than a Max Ernst painting. Our stringers reach so far into the scene, they can tweak Ashton Kutcher's button-nose from the inside. This bit of mutiny comes to us from our Montauk connection:

"We get the call to action: a sunset surf session at Cavitt's cove on Saturday night. But how to get our boards there?

We can't shlep them from ditch plains--the beach is full of boulders. And with a 9'6" Robert August in tow, the chances of dinging the board are high.

But a solution comes to one of us. We all know Julian Schnabel's out of town with his family in San Sebastian [ed - of course we all know that, so silly of me], and he practically lives on the break. So why not park at his place? He won't mind.

"Dave" revs up his '77 El Camino. We dump our 4 boards in the back, along with a vintage beach cruiser, and we're off.

One problem: the El Camino sounds like a bloated whale. So no stealthy parking's in store for us. However, Schnabel's assistant greets us with a hearty, "of course you can park here. We love you guys!" And with those words begins the sweetest sunset session i've had in awhile.

Great friends, good waves, and a little help from Julian Schnabel.


Dramatization

AN INTERVIEW WITH SOMEONE WHO WAS ORIGINALLY FROM CONNECTICUT BUT NOW LIVES SOMEWHERE ELSE, JUST LIKE ANN COULTER, CONSERVATIVE AUTHOR, AGITATOR

We hear you're from Connecticut, is that true?

Patently. Connecticut, or CT, as we nutmeggers refer to it, is home also to luminaries such as my mother and father. They settled there in 1972, hoping to find a hospital environs for their children to grow and flower in. Needlesstosay, there was little growing done, except for a small plant or two of marijuana that my brother and I could keep far enough from the air vents in the attic so as not to get the dog stoned.

Is that anywhere near New Canaan, hometown of Ann Coulter, author and conservative liberal-baiter?

CT is very near New Canaan. While New Canaan seceded from the rest of the state in 1972, it was unable to sprout legs and walk toward eighteenth century England, to which it more closely resembles.

What sort of folks live there?

The sort of folks who live in CT are the sort of folks who would be designing cooking aprons or stencil patterns if they weren't busy paying for their children's private-school education. Or if they had talent. Their gods are Mssrs. Sherwin and Williams, and they idolize the families on "Trading Spaces," though they themselves would never let Verne into their homes. The northwestern corner is populated mostly by men who construct tall bundles of sticks. Yes, it perplexes the rest of the state, too. We don't talk about the mermaids who wreak havoc on the coastal areas.

Do you play polo?

I luge. CT is home to some of the finest lugers. The lugers there are unparalleled for their fearlessness and gaunt, pale frames. However, we do come in contact with many of the polo set, as our clubhouse is located under their bleachers. Many polo fans smoke fat cigars that invariably burn holes in Gore-tex.

Do you find Ann Coulter "slinky"?

Not only is Ms. Coulter slinky, she is a scenic drive on a costal highway; a drip of ice cream on a fair child's tongue; the curled lip of a breaking blue wave; the sound of money well spent; and translucent -- in a good way.

Have you ever been blacklisted?

I was. And I will make good on my vow to get even with the Brat Pack.

Canada Is Pissed...*
... because we're sending them all our puppeteers:
"For me, it's a no-brainer," said Mollie Ingebrand, a puppeteer from Minneapolis who plans to go to Vancouver with her lawyer husband and 2-year-old son."

* title of a No Means No (a great Candian punk band) song