The curtain rises on a vast primitive wasteland, not unlike certain parts of New Jersey – Woody Allen

I went to the end of Houston Street to go rowing with Floating the Apple. It's an organization that builds 19th century white hulled rowing gigs with inner city kids. The guy I am house-sitting for builds the boats and he introduced me to the adult rows on Tuesday and Thursday night.

Last night, I had a perfect row. We had no girls and a coxswain from New Zealand on his first solo coxing (he only told us afterwards that we took his solo cox cherry) . I was stroke meaning that the other three rowers followed my rhythm. We rowed strong down the island and were doing so well that New Zealand decided to strike out for New Jersey. In spite of a lot of boat traffic, we made it safely to a park on the other side to be greeted by a gaggle of toddlers waving and yelling. After about two hours on the water, we get back to the dock and pull out the boat.

Afterwards, I hang out and talk to the guys from the boat. The cox lives in Chinatown and makes a living writing screenplays. The grizzled old guy I took for a dock worker is actually an actor and played the villain in a Kevin Smith movie I’ve never heard of. The last guy, who I convinced to row when I met him at the Clearwater festival, walked with me for a few blocks. He’s had a number of jobs over the year: taxi driver, construction worker, bike messenger and my personal favorite: porn star. Now he’s “dating” a dancer that he met at a strip club but it seems like all he does is buy her food and trips together without ever seeing the fruits of his labor. Lesson to Lex: Never trust dancers, or women in general.

At home, I jump in the shower and I starting howling out curses because it feels like a red hot coal is pressing against the top of my butt crack. The infamous rowers butt! A blister formed from all the friction with the seat and the water painfully washed over it. But my tale gets worse from here. The next morning I wake up and am poking around down there only to find another blister right on the taint by the testicles. This one is even worse because I can’t stop playing with it and it gets aggravated during my bike ride. It’s time to bring in the big guns: Gold Bond