Another guilty pleasure of late: Ross The Intern's Weblog. Now with "Talky Blogs" for added enjoyment.
Note to Ross: I can relate. David moved everything to our new apartment while I was at work, and when I got to the new spot I was a bit overwhelmed with furniture placement.
Everything came together in the end; as it always does.
Which coincidentally, is my mantra right about now.
It's probably a good thing I'm both too exhausted to venture out, and my bank balance is a bit weak. A cosmo here, a shot there would be a welcomed treat this weekend; but the reality of the event almost never lives up to the fantasy.
Believe me, I tried.
Once, while living in Chicago, I ventured out to the Chicago Eagle. "The Mecca of Manhood", I thought to myself.
And while some of the patrons and *ahem* events going on inside certainly made my voyeuristic trip worthwhile; I almost turned around and went home after being greeting by a three hundred pound doorman in a greasy t-shirt with strategically placed nipple-breathing holes.
And a voice Mariah Carey would envy.
See Tarzan, hear Jane. The man sounded like he sucked down a tank of helium. Poor dear.
That's not to say Cleveland doesn't have a thriving leather scene full of manly men; it certainly does. I've met quite a few fetish following fellows since my arrival.
I thought about having a drink after work this evening. I thought about calling David and asking him to join me in tossing back a few shots of scotch from a safe, dark (and very distant) corner.
Then I looked out the bus window and saw two masculine looking men clad in leather from head to toe. Caps, vests, chaps, boots.
Hi. You may recognize me as the impeccably dressed gentleman your bus driver seems to enjoy tormenting each and every morning. Maybe you could do something about one of the transit stops in my neighborhood? Yeah, the one conveniently located just under a traffic light and on the highway.
I understand my waist size may factor into this issue. Perhaps your driver simply doesn't see me? After all, not unlike Ms. Ritchie, I am am rather thin; I do stand behind the telephone pole located at the RTA stop in question. For safety reasons, mind you. But in my defense, I do wear sunglasses large enough to be seen from space.
Why, just this very morning I was once again abruptly brought back from my morning daydreams by the scintillating sound of screeching tires on the wet pavement. I looked up to see my driver glaring at me from an open door as the bus continued by for just a few more feet before completely, and rather suddenly, coming to a complete stop.
I apologize to the young man in the pin striped suit. The woman two rows ahead (and in the seat on the left) seemed to enjoy your breakfast.
And what didn't make it into her mouth looked lovely with her lilac eyeshadow.
From the site: "|re|Design Cleveland is attempting to stimulate conversation around town by creating a series of design charrettes dealing with topics from facades and spaces to public amenities, identities and possibly products. Think of it as Clevelanders redesigning Cleveland for Cleveland's sake."
I'm not much of a very early morning person. Sure, getting up at nine and reporting to work at ten is easy, but on occasion I rise from a deep sleep at five a.m. and start working by six. Usually loving the early out time, I often enjoy an afternoon nap with Miso while someone on the tube (background noise) goes on about a baby daddy, or pre-op sexual frustration (Jerr-y! Jerr-y!) of some sort.
I'm picking up a few night shifts at work and while the extra hours are something I'm not really looking forward to, the idea of sleeping in a little later makes me quite happy.
I'm a much happier person when I begin working later in the day. Proof? Consider my conversation with a customer yesterday morning at seven a.m. :
Me: "Hi. How may I help you?" He: "Give me..." Me: "May I have..." He: "What?" Me: "I'm sure you meant to say 'May I have...' please, continue." He: "Give me..." Me: "May. I. Have." He: "Yeah, what you said..."
This goes on all morning, and quite often I get frustrated and begin to throw things, or run from the room screaming. Which then of course, leaves a room full of co-workers staring in disbelief at the sight of me scrambling to the break room lighting up three cigarettes at once while at the same time muttering under my breath, "Shutup, shutup, shutup."
I either need to learn to deal with ignorant people or get back into selling high end furniture.
Which, because of the stress brought on by a monthly quota, made my hair temporarily fall out in patches.
The deli just down the street is amazing. I can head out and find what I want (if it's not too terribly late) and usually bargain with the owner about the price of certain items. Buying in bulk helps.
"You want how much for this case of wine?"
"I'm not paying more than five dollars for this pack of (insert late night necessity here)!"
"Why yes, I do need a thirty count pack of 'C' sized batteries. And for only three dollars? SOLD!"
But today, the owner just wouldn't budge when I wanted to get my snack on.
A little late in the game, but if you enjoy the show Heroes as much as I do, be sure to check out the live webcast of 'An Evening With Heroes' tonight after the show. (10:30 Eastern Standard Time)
I managed to pick up three books on CSS and XHTML, while David foraged around the travel table and found a few encyclopedia-sized travel guides to add to his ever growing collection.
We arrived at ten-thirty this morning and were promptly asked for our membership cards.
Sorry, I refuse to pay fifteen dollars for early admission, crappy coffee, and day old donated danish. We walked around the downtown area until one, when the public sale began.
To pass the time, David gave me a historical tour of some of the more prominent buildings in the immediate area: the convention center, the Federal Reserve Bank of Cleveland, and some background information on the Cleveland Brown's Stadium.
I returned the favor by giving him a quick tour of my local haunts: Starbucks, D'Vine wine bar, and a pause in the afternoon to consume one of my new favorite beverages.
Please. There's only so much learning I'm willing to do on a Sunday.
I almost forgot to mention that earlier in the day I snagged the latest promo piece for the upcoming Cleveland Fashion Week.
I got all giddy reading about the fun parties, places to go, designers to meet.
Then I came across a bit of info I previously missed:
'THE CLEVELAND FASHION SHOW 2007 at ETON CHAGRIN BOULEVARD on Saturday, May 12th featuring American designer WENDY PEPPER of BRAVO network's PROJECT RUNWAY show.'
"Frankie, how could you miss such an exciting announcement?"
From fashion designer Jeremy Scott comes a very tongue in cheek look at soap operas and the ladies who inspire them. Featuring, among others, Tori Spelling. Sit back and laugh, kids.
Ten o'clock, finally. I clock out, say my goodbyes, and walk out the door.
The cool breeze coming from the lake feels especially lovely, and for a minute I stand in one spot, close my eyes, and breathe in the night air.
I turn the corner and enter Brigade, making sure to give Michael an extra long hug hello, and goodbye. Pleasantries and air kisses to the hot straight man; can't miss the bus.
I walk past crowds of outdoor diners keeping my eyes straight ahead. I hear laughter, wine glasses lightly tapping one another, bits of conversation not meant for my ears. I think about how hard my day has been and how I would love nothing more than to pull out my mobile and reserve a table for two.
Suddenly, I remember my non-existent bank balance. I curse what we're missing.
At the bus stop I pull out the style section of the newspaper and peruse the clothing I adore, knowing exactly where to buy the knockoffs.
I stumble up the back stairs and unlock the door. I'm greeted by the world's most adorable cat, and the most loved man of my life. The sight of both these creatures makes my heart melt. The smell of freshly baked pizza fills the air.
Eyes closed for just a moment, I inhale the familiar aroma.
I smile, and feel a bit of pity for the people dining out this evening.
I thought I'd written about the massive book purchase David and I made last year while living in Warren, yet I can't seem to find the post.
Here's a quick recap: The Warren Public Library held a book sale and we decided to go. We planned to pick up a few items but realized when we got there that we'd be leaving with many more books than originally planned. Why? Glad you asked. We were handed a brown paper bag (grocery store sized) and told that whatever we could fit inside, we could have for two dollars.
We put our packing skills to the test and left with (if I remember correctly) about one hundred books for six dollars.
The Rainforest in the Cleveland Metroparks Zoo is the perfect setting for a tasty event like the one we attended last night. One could easily get lost in the lush green surroundings, enjoying the sights and (sometimes simulated) sounds of Mother Nature.
We got there early, stayed late, and decided to extend our evening by watching Sanjaya say bye-bye from the couches inside of Twist. We then headed off to Cocktails where David crooned a bit of Karaoke, and gave his thoughts on some of the more undesirable musical selections.
Now if you'll pardon me, I need to find some aspirin, and figure out what exhibit he stole these from.
David and I were walking off a big dinner a few weeks ago when we happened upon a film crew outside the Statler Arms building located downtown. We weren't sure what they were filming, but I snagged a few shots anyway.
The scene I saw involved a hotel bellhop of sorts looking into the cab and muttering his line. I saw this scene about four times before going on my merry way.
I just saw a commercial for the Ohio Lottery's new instant game, Magnificent Millions. In one scene, a bellhop of sorts looks into the cab and cheerily tells the passenger to "Have a magnificent day!"
I'm not exactly sure in what capacity, if any, I've written about my forever-mending broken wrist. I use the term 'forever-mending' because the break was so severe that I'm forever scarred, disfigured, and almost never without pain.
I'm not angry, spiteful, or in any way shape or form trying to get even with the person partially responsible by writing this entry. We're still friends. And by 'friends' I mean we're MySpace pals and if and when I see him I exchange pleasantries and nothing more. I'm now living my life, he's living his. Many miles apart.
Also, I'm sure he pops in here now and again.
When it happened I cried out in pain, and in the same instant my body seemed to kick in an extra amount of adrenalin it knew I would need to deal with the ordeal.
I calmly announced I'd broken my wrist. More precisely, I screamed that I'd shattered several bones. His back was turned and he refused to look in my direction; he simply sat on the edge of the bed.
I couldn't call 911 because my cell phone had been thrown against the wall and shattered to bits; I had no land line.
I slipped on my sandals and went outside to get help. Dazed, I stepped in front of an oncoming patrol car. The sheriff radioed for an ambulance.
Upon arriving at the hospital I heard a familiar voice, a friend who worked as a nurse received the ambulance's notice that they were en route, with me in tow.
God bless you, Elaine. And God bless whatever painkiller you gave me when I got there.
Twenty minutes later Elaine showed up at my bed with something a bit stronger. I remember her smiling, I remember her telling me that she was there to take care of me, and I remember the needle entering my arm.
The few hours following that; I simply have no recollection.
The next morning I was scheduled for surgery. Driven to the hospital by the same young man partially responsible for the break, I was still groggy from the medication Elaine administered the night before.
The doctor who performed the operation informed me that because of the severity of the break, casting the wrist was simply not an option. It would never heal if he did this. I wrote on a slip of paper: "I, Frank Gumola, give doctor XXX permission to perform whatever surgical procedures necessary so that he may correct the break and allow my wrist to perform as perfectly as possible."
With tears in my eyes, I handed over the paper.
I had no insurance. I had no money. But by the grace of God I'd found the one doctor in my former home town who had a soft spot in his heart for gay men and women in my situation. I later learned a great deal about this doctor and his community service.
I woke up three hours later with four pins and a fixator attached to my left wrist.
I wore the device and suffered through swelling, pain, and unfathomable itching for nearly three months.
I lived with the man partially responsible the whole time.
When I was nearly fully recovered, another fight ensued. He grabbed my left arm and hit me just above the wrist, slightly fracturing my arm. 'We' finally ended, long after we should have.
David has never once hit me, not even in jest.
When an argument between us unfurls, when my Italian temper takes over and I begin to get a little loud, an amazing thing happens; his arms remain flat at his side, his hands stay unfurled.
I start Yoga classes soon, and I'm hoping they act as a sort of physical therapy for the pain in my wrist.
The weather in my neck of the woods is quite beautiful this evening. David decided to attend tonight's Indians game, and I decided to avoid all things downtown and visit the local coffee shop for quiet Frankie time.
Fat chance.
En route I was offered different purchases by different people. Not street vendors, not salespeople outside of shops, but regular pedestrians walking in the opposite direction. The items I politely declined to purchase:
a young man's services for the evening, asking price: $100.00
I arrived at Gypsy to find screaming children. I've never encountered screaming children in a coffee house. Isn't there some sort of Starbucks-enforced code of ethics that doesn't permit the presence of children under the age of eighteen? There should be.
Wednesday evening David and I are attending a Kahlua tasting in the RainForest at the Cleveland Metroparks Zoo.
If I happen to encounter a noisy bunch of children there, I swear I'm going to pass out Kahlua disguised as chocolate milk.
There are days I feel like screaming. There are days I laugh alone, in an empty apartment. There are days I find my shoelaces double knotted and curse him. There are days I find my favorite coat not hung up the way it should be. There are days of endless nagging.
And then there are days when he leaves for work at six in the morning and I lazily stumble into the bathroom around noon and find the tube of toothpaste correctly squeezed, and I smile.
Actor, musician, and all around Renaissance man Gavin Bellour rocks my little world. After reading this insightful interview, I hope he does the same for you.
(Questions marked with an asterisk were submitted by Jhames. Thanks, LDSA!)
How much input do you have when filming spots like this? Is every move you make choreographed, or do you simply "wing it" and hope your scene doesn't hit the cutting room floor?
Gavin: That was actually one of my favorite spots to shoot. The input that an actor gives can vary from being directed within an inch of your life (and being essentially glorified furniture), to totally getting to play around like an idiot.
This was one of the latter. We shot it in an old bowling alley in Vancouver, Canada and to tell you the truth I had very little idea going into it what I was doing as I had done the whole casting process based on a different script.
Long story short we pretty much set up cameras and I got to just dance around like a dork and do what I thought would be funny. The director and I refined it over the course of the day and shot it from multiple angles. A lot of stuff ended up cut out but I was happy with the result. I still think it's pretty funny to watch.
Frankie: What (and when) was the first commercial you auditioned for? What was the first one you got? Which TV spot is your favorite?
Gavin: Uhm ... I think the first one I booked was a Microsoft spot where I was playing guitar on a rooftop and they drew a whole stage and audience around me. As for my favorite I'd probably say the Bowling Alley one or there was a good Napster one too, but I don't know how much it ran.
Frankie: Besides 'This Revolution', in what other films might we have the pleasure of seeing your acting talents?
Gavin: There's one doing the festival circuit later this year called 'These Days' and if you are really clever you might be able to find an old cult movie called 'man/woman/film' where I have a bit part.
Trailer for 'These Days'
I haven't been available for the last few years to do film or TV due to being on the road with Million/Billion ... but we're on hiatus right now and I just signed with a really reputable agency so there'll be some fun stuff coming up.
Frankie: Tell me a bit about 'need:dean', the experimental video. How did that project come about?
Gavin: Oh God ... lol. To be honest I'm not even sure when I did that. My girlfriend recently brought it to my attention and I've tried to watch it but I can't. I did a lot of stuff like that over the years because let's face it, it's fun to play around with cameras and concepts. This was way before the YouTube age though ... so the fact that it would ever end up on the internet was pretty far from my mind. : )
Frankie: A bit of Googling turns up "The Gavin Bellour Trio". Did Million/Billion spawn from the trio, or are the two completely separate musical adventures?
Gavin: I'd been playing solo around LA for a while before I hooked up with Yonatan and Brian. For the first year together, we still didn't have a name, we just played all over and so the 'Trio' was sort of our default name until we were in the studio and we finally decided to come up with something better.
Frankie: How has the recent success of Million/Billion affected your personal life?
Gavin: It's been kinda crazy really. We spent the better part of June through November in a van on tour last year which makes it difficult to keep tabs on people.
One thing I've noticed though is that good friendships stay intact no matter how much distance there is. As for the romantic side of things, I've been in a relationship for over a year so while it seems like it might not be any fun to tour like that, it actually made things a lot less complicated for me, and I would just fly out when we had breaks or she would come and visit us when she could.
Frankie: My favorite track off of 'Ready. Fire. Aim.' is 'Inhuman', it's quite beautiful. I enjoy describing it as 'sensuously melodic'. How would you describe your music?
Gavin: Yeah that's actually my favorite song on the album. I guess the only word I use to describe the music is 'eclectic'. The attempt is always to recombine elements in different ways and I don't think it'll ever stop evolving.
Frankie: I noticed you list Scientology as your religion on your MySpace page. What drew you to the philosophical teachings of L. Ron Hubbard?
Gavin: I've always been interested in philosophical and spiritual stuff and have looked into all sorts of things over the years, from traditional Western to Jewish Mysticism, Buddhism, pop psychology, New Age, Agnosticism, whatever.
I knew a few scientologists socially and they were generally happy, stable, successful people, doing what they loved in life and were fun to be around, so I figured there had to be something to it. I've always been the sort of person who likes to make up my own mind about things rather then listen to others so I checked it out and it made a lot of sense to me.
All the crap I've heard other places really has nothing to do with it. I'm not sure why people like to criticize new ideas so much but all I know is I've gotten great results in my life and work from applying it and I'm a much more stable and self-sufficient person than I ever was before looking into it. It's been great.
Frankie: Hi, I'm Frankie, big gay fan. *waves* Sigh. I know, we play for different teams. Are you aware of your gay fan base?
Gavin: *waves back*. Hi Frankie. (blush). I wasn't aware of my big gay fan base. It's very flattering. Thank you.
My Dad plays for your team and lives in SF so I've grown up as pretty much an honorary card-carrying member ... went to my first Gay Pride parade at about age 8. Love it.
Unfortunately, my particular sensibilities stray the other direction.
Frankie: Related: Your Friendster account. All but abandoned? I'm only asking because under "Who I Want To Meet" you typed: "My own personal stalker". Can I officially have that title? I promise to stalk from afar, as not to frighten you.
Gavin: Yeah I kinda abandoned that. But now that you are my official stalker you can let me know when there has been any activity on it and I'll check it then. : )
Frankie: Who cuts your hair? It's always styled impeccably so.
Gavin: Why thank you. That means a lot coming from a Fashionista.
For years it's been an old friend at a great salon in LA but, I'm in NY for the time being so I've had to find a new guy. I scored though and found a great barber shop on the Lower East Side. I love it.
They even give straight-razor shaves!!
Frankie: With all the different facets of the entertainment industry you're involved with, what do you most enjoy?*
Gavin: It varies from time to time but I've pretty much resigned to the fact that I have to be doing them all. I tend to have more energy when I've got multiple irons in the fire.
Frankie: What do you want to be best known for?*
Gavin: Being a renaissance man.
Frankie: Do you have any plans on combining your band with your work as an actor?*
Gavin: Absolutely. I think they both feed into each other and as things expand in both areas there will definitely be a crossover. It's all about symbiotic relationships.
Frankie: More importantly, How many inches are in your Ginches?*
Gavin: That sight was hilarious. I can't wear underwear like that. I look funny.... even so, I've never had any complaints.
Frankie: How many side projects do you like to keep going at any one time?*
Gavin: Let's see ... right now I'm auditioning for new projects, just shot something, writing for a music side project, and working on developing a screenplay ... so ... I guess 2 or 3 at a time?
Frankie: What are your musical influences, and what helps you push your own musical stylings?*
Gavin: I'm not sure what you mean by 'push' but I think it just means what pushes them along? I'll assume that's what you mean.
Uuuhhhhm. There's so much good music out there and often I find myself being inspired by something totally random ... like right now I'm listening to this funky marching band from Portland called March Fourth. It's like Latin, funk, gypsy music with horns. I love it!
Also right now I'm listening to Nick Drake, the New Arcade Fire, Belle and Sebastian and also an old compilation Island Records in the 60's (early R & B) ... but then I was at the gym and caught myself singing along to Gwen Stafani ... not the most 'butch' thing to be singing, but certainly fun right?
It sounds really obtuse but to be honest, I just like 'good' music ... which I feel can exist in any genre. Whatever makes the foot tap and the mind wander is what I like. The fun part is finding ways to weave all of that around a good song and come out with something totally new.
I'm definitely working on that now ... the new thing I'm working on is sort of Motown/Stax Records with gospel backgrounds, strings and horns ... and also a little digital programming too. Gonna be really catchy and really cool!
Frankie: Thank you again, Mr. Gavin Bellour, for a look into the life of one of my favorite actors and musicians. A year ago I wondered who you were, and what you did.
Today I know a bit more about you, and I wonder if there is anything you can't do.
One of these posts is causing the container to stretch in IE. I haven't figured out which one it is, and it'll eventually get bumped from the page. So, if you see images smaller than they should be or content appears rearranged; there's your explanation.
And shame on you if you're viewing this site with that horrible browser.
My Mother, the woman who would rather dictate to YBJ instead of composing an email herself, has kicked it up a notch and learned how to send text messages. Sort of.
Last night my 'Please Don't Bother Me' hour was interrupted no less than five times. The messages, in the order I received them:
My family's sense of humor can be rather warped. Take our Easter tradition, for example.
I can't remember how it started, but during my younger years we'd wake my brother Mark by cracking our hard boiled, Paas colored Easter eggs on his head.
The egg assault would continue throughout the day.
Eating breakfast, CRACK! Mark is quietly reading, CRACK! Dinner conversation would be flowing nicely along and, you guessed it; CRACK!
My brother took it all in stride, and for many years. He never tried to wake earlier than the rest of us, never got angry about it, and never once tried to get revenge.
A few years ago my brother Mark and I gathered at my Mom's house for Easter dinner. He brought his daughters along. Three of the most beautiful girls in the world.
The look of amazement on their little faces when my sister and I simultaneously attacked him from both sides is one I will never forget.
I can't be with my family today, so here's hoping his little angels got him good.
"We were expecting a dozen or so entrants for our first-ever Peeps Diorama Contest. We got somewhere north of 350 from across the area and the world." - Dan Zak, Washington Post
Pictured is the winning entry, "Peeps Are a Girl's Best Friend". You may also enjoy others from the photo gallery.
"It was cold indeed, as always in Oslo late December. At a Christmas party in a night club, Kito picked up a guitar and Erik lifted a microphone to his mouth. They were about to do a warmup for an already famous singer-songrwriter-friend who was doing a live act later on. Five or six songs later the jamming wouldn't stop, the crowd was singing along and York was born."
Just a small sampling of photos from last night's festivities. View these and others full size at my Flickr page.
And now about the event itself.
I've never been to The Q until last night, and for several reasons. A few being I just don't get into sporting events, hate large crowds, and can't imagine paying out the ass for a draft beer. By the way, there was no beer to be found last night, last night's event being a college basketball game. No bother, Yinpu beforehand hit the spot.
I did manage to get some great shots of David and I posing throughout the arena, including one shot of us just a few feet away from the court, the media setting up behind us. My phone's software is acting up right now, I'll try posting those again later.
I walked down to the floor level seats and explained to the usher that I'd never been to The Q and she immediately offered to take me courtside, take a photo of David and I, and allowed me to harass the press about pretending to harass me. (No more photos! Please! I'm incognito!)
You had to be there to get the joke. The joke being that I accidentally walked in the wrong door when we got there. The media entrance. Security nabbed me, and fast.
Profusely exclaiming one's web celeb status does nothing in this type of situation. Just so you know. Neither does claiming to be one of the player's MySpace friends. Hmmph. Who knew?
The lovely lady sitting to my right decided to accessorize with the largest fanny pack I have ever seen. In teal. Very bright teal.
The experience itself was a memorable one. Lots of lesbians, live television coverage, and it all began with a minute or so of total silence prior to singing the national anthem.
That's when I belched loud enough for 20,000 people to hear.
Two tickets to tonight's SOLD OUT NCAA Women's Championship Game: $142.00 (And for second level corner seats, to boot!) Actual price I paid: Zero, nada, zilch; I ♥ comps. The anticipated look on his face when I hand them over tonight: Priceless.
I promise to get a photo or two. Yes, of me at a sporting event.
I know. I wasn't thinking. But I'm in love, so there.
"The reference to Tomatoes is in regard to the very unfortunate young model who was on a tomato diet when she died. Not to underplay this tragic event, but on the average, I meet a lot more young models with healthy appetites than girls starving themselves." - Jonathan Lennard
You can't throw a basketball without hitting a chaperon, coach, college student, or tourist.
To David, this is yet another reason to hit a sports bar and knock back a few drafts. And yesterday he decided to do just that. I bravely ventured to his side during my lunch hour.
It wasn't pretty:
He: "They have buffalo pizza appetizers and (hic!) draft specials." Me: "Can I get a martini?" He: "Sigh." Me: "Fine, but I want an umbrella in it. A blue one."
It wasn't the worst experience of my life. Besides, my revenge is just around the corner.
I'm canceling my membership to Grady's Ladies. I'm starting a Brady's Bitches club. Who's in?
Who knew Cleveland athletes were so talented? The Cleveland Plain Dealer, that's who.
I've actually found the end of the internet. Seriously. There can be nothing left for me to see.
12\20 is a unique exhibition showcasing twenty up-and-coming image makers lending their creativity and craft to a twelve inch turntable slip mat.
I almost forgot to mention that earlier in the day I snagged the latest promo piece for the upcoming Cleveland Fashion Week.
Actor, musician, and all around Renaissance man Gavin Bellour rocks my little world. After reading this insightful interview, I hope he does the same for you.
Frankie: Hi, I'm Frankie, big gay fan. *waves* Sigh. I know, we play for different teams. Are you aware of your gay fan base?
You may recognize Gavin Bellour from one of my earlier posts (Yeah, I gush over his good looks, what of it?), one of his numerous television commercials, or from his current project: lead singer of the band Million Billion.
"We were expecting a dozen or so entrants for our first-ever Peeps Diorama Contest. We got somewhere north of 350 from across the area and the world." - Dan Zak, Washington Post
"It was cold indeed, as always in Oslo late December. At a Christmas party in a night club, Kito picked up a guitar and Erik lifted a microphone to his mouth. They were about to do a warmup for an already famous singer-songrwriter-friend who was doing a live act later on. Five or six songs later the jamming wouldn't stop, the crowd was singing along and York was born."
