Today’s soundtrack: I play the stereo loud, I disturb my neighbor, I want to enjoy the fruits of my labor
Today at 12:02pm: waiting for the light to change



Two things you need to know for this entry: One, the studio I live in used to be a factory, so the floors are for shit--low-grade plywood that’s been sloppily painted a half-dozen times. Two, there’s this bell on my computer that “ding”s every time I get a new e-mail.

So today I’m down on my hands and knees trying to strip a test area of the floor with a chemical paint remover, and the computer dings once or twice. I finish applying the remover, then slap the paper on top of it. In theory you wait a few hours, then peel the paper off and all the paint comes off with it. I couldn’t afford to buy the special paper you’re supposed to use so I’m using scraps of photographic background paper from the studio.

After applying the remover I climb up into the loft to check the e-mail. It’s something from a LiveJournal user, saying I’ve made it onto some type of ranking list. He says I’m on top of the list. I click the link to see what he’s talking about.

Apparently some guy used an algorithm to calculate the ten most “popular” LiveJournal sites, out of the four million or so his algorithm was able to access. I’m ranked fourth. Then I realize the three sites ahead of me are group sites, so yeah, like the guy said in the e-mail, I’m the first individual blogger on this list.

I figure it’s a mistake, since I’ve seen plenty of LJ users that have more “friends” than I do. The Kim_Jong_Il__ username, back when I had the chops and the inclination to update it, routinely drew more than twice the traffic of “hipstomp.” And I’ve seen LiveJournal “Top 40” lists with me not even in the running.

Then I read a little more and realize this algorithm-thingy is not going by gross numbers, but by the Google PageRank system, where if the people linked to me have lots of people linked to them in turn, my numbers go up.

So. By mathematical quirk, according to this one guy’s calculations, I have been deemed the single most “popular” LiveJournal blog within certain numerical parameters rather beyond my comprehension. I’m not quite sure how it works, I don’t get the sense that it’s completely accurate, and I don’t feel first.

The bell dings a couple more times. It’s more random people, repeating this statistic to me. You are number one.

So I flip open a copy of Entertainment Weekly and sit by the phone, waiting for it to ring with offers of book deals, movie deals, or newspaper and television reporters dying to interview me.

In an hour it rings twice: the first time is Verizon calling to upsell me on some services I can’t afford, the second time it’s a wrong number, asking for a “Dr. Lam.” Whomever Dr. Lam is, he either went to med school or has a PhD. Me, I didn’t stay in school a day longer than I had to.

I put the E. Weekly down, grab my coat, go outside and walk the streets of Manhattan, waiting to be recognized, mobbed and adored. A busload of tourists pulls up in Little Italy and I saunter past them confidently, waiting for crowds to gather and point. Nobody seems to see me, perhaps my clothes are not bright enough.

Next I have lunch with a friend at a NoLita cafe, where I wait for the manager to send over a bottle of wine or maybe comp our meal. Instead we finish eating and the waiter unceremoniously brings the check.

Then I walk over to Broadway, where surely one of downtown’s many attractive women will take a break from shopping and thrust their phone numbers into my hand, hoping to sleep with me. I bring my shoulder bag to collect the panties they’ll throw. But everyone looks pretty busy, no one comes my way.

A news helicopter passes overhead, and I stand still so the cameraman can get a clear shot of me while they circle. But the pilot just keeps going and the ‘copter disappears behind some buildings. Maybe they’re going to get gas.

At the end of the day I come back to my apartment, to take the paint stripper off the floors. But the substitute paper I’d used is apparently all wrong for the job, and when I try to peel it off it shreds messily. The paint stays on the floor, now with jagged scraps of paper seemingly glued to it. I try taking it off with a scraper and only succeed in making more of a mess. When I stand to wash my hands I’m dizzy from the fumes and feeling sick.

I spend twenty minutes looking for the bottle of mineral spirits I’d bought to clean up the stripper, but can’t find it anywhere. While looking for it, I succeed in making my apartment a mess to rival the one now stuck on my floor.

For dinner I got take-out from a Chinese place, some tofu and rice in a brown sauce. I ate it at my desk, like always, in front of the computer and next to a fresh stack of bills. If you were there you could hear me chewing. My phone had no messages, the computer stopped dinging, the bed behind me as messy as it was empty. I turned some music on so it wouldn’t be so quiet.