Back in the USSR

Well here we are face to face a couple of silver spoons.. or maybe christmas has passed and I once again start to wonder why I ever left the Nutmeg State. I mean we all love where we grew up and yet love the fact that we never ended up like that kid who is the local firefighter and the bouncer at the tavern, but at the same time, I love my town. There is the running on the beaches, the cheap bars downtown, and the scores of ladies I get to reintroduce myself too who now are fat while I stayed skinny, actually not true but I cannot seem to get over the rules of engagement that defined my high school years. But in the end, I loved being home, and wonder why the concrete playground I currently live in is ever worth it. From what I have gathered, I am ready to have deformed children that cannot run a mile, but know why the Bodaga has cornered the all natural skin cream market... for this i am afraid..

Blueprints for an Ark

Tonight, my team won its second basketball game of the season... so to celebrate, we went out for a little liquid celebration in order to recap our night of basketball domination... Drinks were drunk and tales were told... And I left in a cab around midnight to trek back to Casa de Rain Delay... Arriving home around 12 + 15, I entered and prepared for bed with only a hapless knocking to disturb my plans.. When I opened the door, my landlord (or the better half), Maria, appeared and informed me that there was a pipe problem that had reintroduced itself this evening. (The same problem that reared its angry head during the Thanksgiving Break.) And after some investigation, I realized that the questionable fortitude of the ceiling above my bed had once again lost the war (not the great one) and dumped that fine liquid life into my room.... an inch of it... As such, my landlord and i just spent the last hour drying out my apartment and piling wet articles of clothing to be washed and dried in their basement... I love my life... I love kharma... And I just need to know what the fuck a cubit is...

A Little Promotion Never Hurt Nobody

In my life, I have come to the realization that I have some of the most amazing friends in the entire fucking world, who on daily basis do some really amazing shit. As I once wrote in an email, they find the time to use their creative talents for good instead of boredom.

Recently, two of these friends namely Savage and Bob Jingle of blogging fame entered a short film competition where they were given a genre in this case a western and had to make an entire short film using that genre from shot to edit to print in one weekend. Not surprisingly, the film they created called Hashslingers is now a finalist in this national competition. What can I say they do good shit...

Anyway, here is where the promotion comes in as they need your votes America in order to achieve their ultimate goal of World Domination. (Sure, they are both brilliant and evil....)

So do me a favor and yourselves, go to this site and vote for my friends... or don't and then, I will piss on your front lawn and send you shit in a tupperware container for Christmas....

Da Bears

The Chicago Bears are having a phenomenal season.

Now for those that follow along, one would think that since I am a Sox fan, I should also be a big fan of the Pats. Well, to be honest, where I grew up in CT, there was not a single friend that I had who had the Pats as their favorite team. Back then, the Giants ruled... or you simply liked some other team like the Cowboys or the Raiders. No one was really a Pats fan mainly because they sucked.

Of course, all of that changed when the Pats made the Super Bowl in 1985. Then, suddenly like all those Chicago White Sox "fans" this year, Pats' fans emerged from the woodwork acting like they had been there all along. I, however, did not understand... here was the team that no one ever talked about or watched. I mean here was the team that had SUCKED... why were these people now drinking the Kool-Aid.

And so, I decided to support the 1985 Bears. Now, there was a team. They had the greatest defense of all time... Jim McMahon and his fine producing head bands... Sweetness... The Fridge... Ditka... and of course, the Super Bowl Shuffle. Long before the Idiots on the Red Sox of 2004, Da Bears were the rock stars of their sport, and I loved them. (Plus, it helped that Dad loved the Packers, and a little rivalry between a father and a son is always a healthy thing.)

Now, twenty years later, I am still a Bears fan. Sure I love when the Pats win or the Giants have a great season like they are having (the Jets suck), but the Bears are my team so until they win again, I will not experience that true satisfaction of my football team winning the Big One.

Maybe this is the year... GO BEARS!!!

The Road to Boston

Back in April, as I wrote about, I ran the New Jersey Marathon. I was very content when I finished in 3:36 and change, but in retrospect, I was far from satisfied because I knew that although the completion of those 26.2 miles was tremendous source of pride, I had another goal that still needed to be completed in order to fully satiate my marathon jones i.e. qualify for the Boston Marathon.

The Boston Marathon, which this year is being held for the 110th time, requires that its participants meet a time standard in order to be able to compete in this event. While it is true that in recent years, individuals have been able to run without meeting a standard by getting in through some kind of charity exemption, I firmly believe that the only way I will ever run this event is by meeting the qualifying time set for my age group, which is 3:10 or 7:15 per mile. There is no other way that I will run this event because I want to train my ass off, run like a mad man, and meet the qualifying standard so that I can run the Boston Marathon in April 2007.

Now, back in the day when I was young (I'm not a kid anymore), qualifying for Boston would have been something that I probably could have done in my sleep, but currently, after gaining a little weight and failing to maintain a running routine, this goal is going to require some hard core training. As such, in order to accomplish this goal, I have selected the Vermont City Marathon, which will be held on May 28, 2006, as the race to lay down the gauntlet and let the proverbial shit fly. The race itself seems to feature a healthy amount of crowd support, a decent course, and 3599 of my closest friends to help me with this task. Additionally, in the next week or so, I have to develop a training plan that will require me at its peak to run 40 miles or so per week while hopefully, shedding 15-20 pounds in the process. (I need to be fast and quick and not lumpy and slow.) Moreover, as I wrote about a week or so ago, I have convinced a couple of my buddies from my high school crew team and who have each ran an Ironman or two themselves to train and try to qualify with me. (strength in numbers or just suckers for pain?) Finally, I have written this entry as a way to hold myself to this goal because for some reason when I put my plans in life out here for public consumption, I tend to actually follow through with them.

So there it is... I am locked in... I registered for Vermont tonight and have already run three times this week... I will keep you posted.

Time Management

Before leaving work this afternoon around 6 or so, I polished off my fourth bottle of water for the day. This is nothing unusual as I tend to drink more than my share of water and have done so for as long as I can remember. What can I say, I am constantly thirsty and can feel a noticeable difference when I have not consumed my 300 gallons for the day. (come to think of it, maybe, I am aqua man.)

While this has never changed, my ability to gauge when I will need to urinate after consuming the water in question is currently completely out of whack. I used to be able to figure when this need would arise right down to the appropriate nano-second for the commencement of operation urination. But lately, I have been forced to either break out into a full fledged sprint to the bathroom or to do this weird uncomfortable shuffle speed walk that maximizes my speed while minimizing any potential accidents in order to avoid explaining to my entire office, why at 28 years old I have pissed my pants like Miles Davis. (wait that is not the line)

Today was no exception....because after polishing off the bottle of water at my office and riding the subway for ten minutes, I found my fat ass shuffling mightily through the streets of Williamsburg, sweating and praying that I would get home before the mother fucken dam broke in order to avoid being the subject of millions of hipster blogs writing about the fat guy, who was sadly incontinent. Thankfully, today like all the times prior to today, I managed to get home without incident and successfully completed the self-evacuation process... Take that you hipster scumbags... Go back to Colby.

What is more worrisome and brings me pause is when did I lose the ability to gauge my need to pee or why have I suddenly started the practice of shuffling from the subway to my apartment praying that all hell does not break loose?

What has caused my constant mismanagement or misdiagnosis of when I will next need to urinate?

Is this just a sign of things to come? Should I just go out and by the Depends right now? I mean I am not necessarily ready for the adult diaper, but if strapping one on means that I will not be struggling to avoid public embarassment, I may have to look into it.

Or maybe, I could simply drink less water, but that seems like a horrible idea. I mean what if there is a drought or if the entire water supply is contaminated?

I guess for now, I will simply have to increase my vigilance of monitoring my internal warning system while simultaneously developing new and creative ways to get to the nearest restroom without incident in order to keep my present prestigious streak alive...

Insomnia Sucks

I knew it was going to happen this evening, and I did everything that I could to try to avoid it including going for a seven mile run and then having a couple of beers earlier this evening. But as I sat there in my bed, my mind started racing and I started thinking and like clockwork, my insomnia kicked in.

Now, I am actually pretty sure what I have is not insomnia since more often than not I have no problems falling asleep, but when this happens, it means that I basically will not be falling asleep until well into the morning hours. This lack of sleep would not be so bad if I could just lay around tomorrow but since I have to be at work bright an early, tonight's bout is putting a giant crimp in my plans for a productive work day. And unfortunately, once my mind goes on one of its wonderous rides, there is nothing I can do except sit there and lament about how I cannot fall asleep.

And what am I losing sleep you may ask? Well, actually tonight, there is a veritable catalog of things on my mind. First, I am thinking about my deposition tomorrow in which my witness, a police officer, is going to be deposed. This is case in which my officer went up to a vehicle in order to perform an arrest, at which point, the driver of the car, in which the plaintiff was a passenger, slammed the vehicle in reverse in order to flee and subsequently flipped the sucker. Of course, the plaintiff has sued for a variety of reasons and blamed the City for all of them. Now from my experience, I know that tomorrow is going to be an absolute war since my witness will have every aspect of his life called into question including but not limited to his morale character, personal intergrity, and age of onset (last part is not true, but I would not put it past my opposition.) As such, it is my job to make sure this does not happen and to protect my witness. So i got that on my mind...

Next, I have to write papers to oppose a motion in which all the other parties want to pin blame or liability on the City because the plaintiff sat in his chair at work (a City agency), reclined, and the chair snapped. Of course, this is the same chair that his fat ass had been sitting in for six months prior to the date of the accident, but of course, you guessed it, WE ARE TO BLAME. The best part about this case is that the accident happened in 1987 when I was in 4th grade. I am beginning to think that there should be a law preventing me from defending any cases that involve incidents which occured before I had pubic hair or atleast liked girls.

Finally, I have decided to throw in a glass of mulling over my life and all of its decisions just for good measure and in case, I decide not to think about my immediate plans for tomorrow...

Hopefully, by writing all of this down, I will now be able to fall asleep in the next hour or so or else I may be back here in an hour writing about the Red Sox 2005 season, porno, and people I hate...

Actually, I will most likely just whine about not falling asleep.

Idle Thoughts Regarding Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Loneliness

What up fuckers!!! I know that each and everyone of you stopped checking my page out weeks ago when I went on a bit of a hiatus, but I am here to announce that I am back atleast until I decide to disappear again. I wish I had a great excuse or some crazy story to tell in order to explain why I decided to lay low for awhile like I went to rehab, robbed a bank, or did both. Unfortunately there are not any great adventures nor are there any excuses, I just kind of got bored with writing for awhile... I guess like my life, my blog is meant to have its ups and downs i.e. periods of writing and periods of abandonment.

However, I am back...until I become a cheesehead... (that's coke slang people)

So let me cover some thoughts while I got my proverbial groove on...

1. First and foremost, I just want to take a moment to comment on how incredible the weather has been for the majority of November. I was actually going write about this about a week ago because as I have stated in the past, I hate when people complain about the weather. Mainly because, there is nothing you can do about the weather so when you wake up in the morning just make the best of it. Granted this is coming from the kid who did crew for 10+ years of his life and thus rowed through sleet, snow, lightning, and rain, LOTS OF GOD DAMN RAIN.... And sure people certainly have a good faith basis to complain when it rains for eight days straight like it did a few weeks ago as thoughts turn to basement's flooding, sky lights leaking, hairdo's frizzing, and small dogs and children floating off into the abyss (not a hurricane joke), but in the end, it's rain not the end of the world. Of course if the world ends because of rain in the near future, I will be the first one to be blamed or maybe it will be that mother fucker who writes the Farmer's Almanac, I mean, he probably knows the end is near already.

But in November, we have experienced what I would describe as pure bliss. I mean the days and nights have been warm extending Indian Summer well into what should be a colder times. As a result, I have been able to actually get out there and do many more runs outside with minimal layers. In fact it has been so unseasonably warm that many of the entrants in the New York City Marathon held two weekends ago struggled to finish due to the heat that slowly gripped the day.

Anyway since the majority of us spend our time bitching about the weather, I figured I would simply say thank you, weather, for the a nice patch of November you have provided us. We will soon hate you when we have twelve inches of snow on the ground.

2. A quick congratulations goes out to my buddy, Bob Jingle, who has been going through an extraordinarily busy and stressful period in his life as he is currently trying to edit a short film, appear at gigs for his burgeoning comedy career, write for his video game magazines, work, and OH YEAH, be married. In fact, today, BJ and the wifey are celebrating there second wedding anniversary... As I have said in the past, I am not there yet, which is probably for the best since I am fucken nuts, but Bob and Ms. Jingle are perfect for each other so cheers to them. (Atleast until the next time, Ms Jingle yells at us for smoking while she is drunk and smoking in her kitchen with the window open.)

3. A new entry to the world of blog can be found here. This old friend is a law school pal of mine, who slowly but surely has reappeared in my life since I moved to this great City of mine. PAF's recent entry about debt is spot on as right now I am well over one hundred thousand dollars in debt mainly due to school and my obsession with the illegal infant slave trade. (I figure the FBI/CIA or whomever is out there already got tabs on me so why not throw out some real bull shit for them to chew on.) The thought of my own personal debt makes me want to vomit most of the time, and it is great to know that I am soon going to have sell my soul or possibly all my worldy possessions simply to break even someday. At the very least, I will have to sell out and go for a big money law job, something that I am really looking forward kind of like how the Jews look forward to the return of Hitler. (I am sure that PAF is now happy that I plugged her blog while making a Hitler joke.)

Anyway, check her out or rather read her blog. (She has a boyfriend, people, don't check her out, perverts.)

4. In sports news, I am planning on running a Spring marathon with a couple of buddies from high school, who I rowed with as youths, pronounced UTES. These guys basically run Iron Man competitions in their spare time so I am sure that I should do just fine against them. Actually, I have always been the faster of the three in road racing mainly because I am lighter than they are, but we shall see. I believe that our collective goal may be less about beating each other and more about qualifying for Boston, but I am sure it all goes out the window once we get on that line. Good luck suckers! And you know what they say in Occum...

5. Finally, a special person in my life is running their first marathon this weekend. Judging by the weather, it is hard to say what to expect, but I am confident that they will finish and thus accomplish a long time goal of theirs. I wish you the best of luck, but I am sure you will not need it.

To conclude, I guess for now that is all I got. I am trying to simplify alot of different aspects of my life as I approach the less than eight months to go mark for my current job. Honestly, although this job has provided me with many many opportunities and great experience, I am pretty burnt out and thus, am just trying to muscle through until next August. I think this burn out more than anything has really put a drain on any sort of ambition that I may have to write, run, or do anything that I actually find enjoyable.

I am doing my best to try and shake this case of the blahs... and as I do, I will try to keep writing about my adventures, which should be increasing tenfold during the coming holiday months... I mean atleast then I will have my family to make fun of right?

Further, I am planning on cooking my first ever turkey for my family for Thanksgiving, an idea that seemed to be a solid about a year ago but now as the big day approaches has created panic attack inducing anxiety... or is that anxiety that is panic attack inducing? Thankfully, my goal is simply not to kill the entire clan, maybe we will just have to sacrifice one to the turkey gods...

Till later... I am Lord Vader... nerd.

Sheepshead Bay III: Rock Bottom

Sadly, instead of actually going to the deposition, I decided that since it was well after one in the afternoon, I could simply find the nearest bar and spend the next hour or so in order experiencing some hard drinking with my Russian brethren. (Yes, there is a little Russian in me..chuckle, chuckle...) In reality that is not what happened, but like Sylvestor Stallone or the last couple episodes of Seinfeld, I want to squeeze as much fucken juice out of this series of entries as I can even if it means that no one has read my blog in weeks.... which is actually very true.

Anyway, after the Dunkin Donuts, I arrived at the location of my deposition and immediately found myself in the home of this 300 + pound gentleman and his equally portly wife, who had managed to decorate their apartment as only people who are of that size can meaning that they had EVERYTHING.. including but not limited to excessive amounts of exercise equipment, game systems, electrical equipment, and um... oh yeah BOXES... just boxes of whatever EVERYWHERE... along with substantial water damage.. a bed in their living room.. and no care for where they hung their laundry out to dry.

And since, I was fifteen minutes early, I got to spend my time talking to these people... who of course were the nicest couple on the earth... which is why I feel really bad about what I wrote in the paragraph above...I mean as I sat there, they told me their entire life's stories while continuing to make sure I was ok, needed food, water, or anything else i needed including their first born if they felt it would make me happy... making it worse was the fact that the witness himself was a man of failing health but endless spirit.. And so there I sat in the middle of Sheepshead Bay feeling like I was visiting family instead of performing the arduous task of an off site deposition...

Of course, my sympathy ended when my opposition finally arrived twenty minutes later and announced that there was no court reporter ordered meaning that the deposition could not go forward...Which when taken a step further is why I went back to this same household a week later last Thursday and experienced the same charm but a veritable indifference to my surroundings...Really you lose all the magic of a harmless Brooklyn adventure when you are forced to reenact the same sojourn you took into the outer limits the week before... And the coffee is just not the same.

Thankfully, the deposition was held, and I am happy to report that I dominated my opposition so much that by the end, I was just asking the questions for him. (this is NEVER a good thing) And while, I do not have a great message to leave you with, I have to admit that I enjoyed my time in Sheepshead by the Bay... well atleast the first time...

I am a bad person.

Intermission

While I want to bring you Part III this evening, I am slowly but surely losing steam so instead, I figured that I would bring to you my commentary on a commercial that I have seen lately and thought about during my second screening of Harold and Kumar.

The commercial is the one where the grandmother is sitting by herself in her kitchen waiting for either dinner or maybe she is waiting to be taken to the hospital to die... anway, she is clearly waiting for something... And the voice over says something to the affect of "Don't worry just tell your grandmother that you were smoking pot or getting high instead of coming over for dinner..." (for the record that is the worst paraphrase ever.)

Anyway, the gist of this PSA is that this imaginary grandchild has placed smoking weed over and above spending time with the living dead, i mean grandma. And that this has caused something horrible to happen to her. Now instead of just assuming that this was the craziest commercial ever, I actually did a quick google search on this before I started to write this entry and not surprisingly the stoners of the world, which at various points in my life, I have been a card carrying member, have commented on this commercial in only the detail that weed can invoke.

Now although many were funny, my favorite had to be the one that questioned the actually reality of this commercial in that there is not a stoner on the earth who faced with the possibility of a full on meal from grandma as the commercial depicts would have missed this meal. Instead, they would have smoked up and then headed over to grandma's house to eat the shit out of that meal. Trust me on this one, I have done it... I mean I know someone that did... But truly, this is exactly how I felt about this commercial because either the kid smoking the sticky icky would have been there chowing down, or he never would have scheduled dinner with grandma in the middle of a school week. (For those that do not know, high school kids would only schedule this meal for a Sunday afternoon.)

And in reality, is this what pot leads to, I mean from what I can recall and it is not much, I usually spend most of the times that I have smoked pot sitting on a couch playing video games, and sure I might have forgotten some plans but those plans were expendible. And really what affect does missing dinner have on grandma, I mean are we supposed to make the leap that once you fail to appear that grandma torches her house and then heads out and murders the entire town of Grandma? Well, I did a search for that story and surprisingly, I just ended up on IMDB reading over 100 reviews of B horror films that were all made in Kansas.

So I guess until the point comes when grandma ends up going on that statewide killing spree due to the bastard grandkid smoking a joint, we can all ignore this commercial. And maybe those that made it, can focus on how if you are on a high school budget with a weed problem that pretty much is all the money you have or how the walk from your couch to the kitchen when stoned is actually the pot world equivalent of running a marathon.

Sorry grandma.

Sheepshead Bay II: Stranger in a Strange Land

So to continue my tale of woe, I rode the Q into the deepest and darkest parts of Brooklyn. I was told that where I was going I would be some where near Coney Island, which basically meant that in terms of my knowledge about Brooklyn, I would be somewhere between the middle and FUCKEN NO WHERE. I do know that on my way, I went over the Manhattan Bridge, which is otherwise known as the Bridge I have never used. During this voyage, I believe I went through some parts of Brooklyn where I easily could have found a convenient way to get shot by just getting off the train and being white. (I am not being racist as that was not the intention of that comment, there are just places in Brooklyn where it is very easy for your ass to get SMOKED.)

Interesting note: most of my trip was on a subway car that was above ground. Now, I am not sure how most people feel about this but to me, it is always weird when I am on a subway ca above ground. I mean I love it, but for some reason, I feel like I have done something wrong or am somehow betraying my fellow man because instead of smelling urine and sitting in darkness, I am actually smelling urine but the sun is shining in. It fucks with a person I guess.

Anyway, I finally arrived in the Bay after a good half an hour on the train and found myself in Brooklyn's own Russian enclave. I mean everywhere I turned there were signs in Russian and the name Vladimir was the only name that appeared on any of the Real Estate signs. But yet no signs of either sheep or their heads. Surprisingly, I had a pleasant walk from the subway station to the location of my deposition albeit 20 minutes. Apparently the MTA feels that since this is the land that time and the thawing of the Cold War forgot, only one train within a thirty minute walking distance is sufficient. Of course this is the same MTA that thinks that suspending trains during the Holiday Season on the weekends nonetheless is easily justified especially when it is the only train that gets me and people like me from Brooklyn into Manhattan and vice versa...I love them guys....Thankfully, the only thing that saved me from turning around, going back to the office, and savagely beating my boss who sent me out into Siberia was the Dunkin Donuts that I found located right next to the location of the deposition. And one extra large Hazelnut Coffee black, I was a happy little camper...

And even though, I will be posting the next part of this saga in just a bit (read: years, it could be years).... I end El Douce right here...

Promises Promises

I apologize for not getting a part two out for my story, but I am off to catch a train to Hartford, CT. There I will be watching my schools of higher learning, UConn and Rutgers, face off in a football game for the ages. As such, I will finish the story on Sunday.

I am off like a prom dress.

SHEEPSHEAD BAY IN THE HOUSE(Part I)

So this AM, I woke at 8:15 in order to prepare for my great adventure to the Sheepshead Bay area of Brooklyn or Eastern Long Island as they probably call it out there. In order to achieve my goal and after performing my morning ritual of OCD like tendencies. (is the coffee pot off, did I turn the space heater off [shit it's summer], what about the AC, all of which are performed because I firmly believe that I will somehow cause my entire house to ignite in some blazing inferno of Hell), I entered the NYC underground in order to make my journey to this morning's deposition. If you recall from this morning's post, I was going to be part of a deposition where our retired custodian was going to kill my chances of winning as his final FUCK YOU to the City of New York and the Board of Education. And the reason it was at his house and that I was not defending him is that since he was retired, we no longer were his employer and thus, plaintiff could subpoena him at any time in order for us to lose our attorney-client privilege.... as such, he was basically a hostile witness scratch that, he was a hostile witness.

Anyway in order to get to his place, I had to take the L train into the City to Union Square and then head back into Brooklyn over the Manhattan Bridge on the Q train. The estimated time from stophop.com or whatever the hell it is called was an hour and half, which made me extra special happy at 1 AM this morning.

So I finally left my house at 8:50 AM to get to this place by 10. I knew that I was probably cutting it close or would be late but I always think those trip planners are plus or minus an hour on their estimated time predictions. Plus, the sheet said I was only in reality traveling 8.9 miles.

Needless to say, I made it to Union Square by 8 and even successfully transferred to the Q... which is where I leave this entry for now...

I have to get to a Deathcab for Cutie concert.... and yes, I am Seth Cohen.

It's Like That

And that's the way it is...

I hate alot of things in life. I hate how I have to head to Sheepshead Bay tomorrow in the AM for a deposition of some guy who is basically going to house the case I am going to try to defend at some point during trial... and I hate how I am never going to meet someone who actually will appreciate what the fuck is going on in my head.. I mean for CHRIST'S SAKE, I am a mother fucken genius....

But really for the last year, one of the things that I have hated on almost a daily basis is the St. Louis Cardinals who since losing to the Red Sox last year have been bitching to everyone including Tony LaRussa's mom about how they would have beat my boyz if they had a healthy pitching staff. (REALLY?) Finally tonight, I have news for those Bud swigging ass fuckers.... YOU'RE TEAM CANNOT WIN WHEN IT MATTERS... I mean you just lost to the Astros and last year you got swept... meaning that there is no World Series title until atleast 2006... and yet, each year, you were the team to WIN IT ALL... So Cardinals' fans have another Bud or whatever beer company is based there and built their mansion on the plant to achieve tax exemption, and wait till next year....

Oh and enjoy when they blow your stadium up this year... I am really sad you could not bring the title home... and by really sad, I mean eat my ass... LOSERS...

Official New Yorker

Well it's official, on October 6, 2005, I went into Manhattan to the DMV Express or whatever it is called near Madison Square Garden to obtain my official New York State Driver's License.
It was a sad day because I knew that by the end of my trip to the DMV, I would no longer possess a Connecticut State Driver's License, which I have held in different versions since I was 16 years old. Now to some, it may seem a bit odd to lament about the turning over of a license, and all of the other events of my life in the last nine years.

Now originally, I had intended to make this voyage into the Big City early in the morning of the day after my birthday. However, I soon realized after I woke massively hungover and with a very puffy face that the trip was probably best taken at some point in the afternoon so that I did not look like I had just been released from Central Booking. Anyway, I finally made my way over there around 2:30 in the afternoon still a little groggy but figuring that any sense of numbness I was experiencing would simply serve to lessen the pain that I would experience once I turned over my old friend.

Now, even though most DMV stories are true tales of woe that involve long lines, the loss of hours off of one's life, and much cursing, my experience was relatively painless probably because I was there on a Thursday during the middle of the day. Anyway, I filled out a form, passed an eye test, and then got my picture taken... all within thirty minutes of stepping in the door. After which I was given a number and told to wait until called... Soon I figured my old license would be a thing of the past and my new license would be in hand...

When was my number was called, I jumped from my seat immediately proceeding to the counter. Once there, I paid my money and forfeited my old license... and in return, I was handed a slip of paper... I looked at the paper, and then at the woman behind the counter, and then back at the paper. Clearly realizing my confusion, the woman informed me that this was my temporary license and a new one would be mailed to me within two weeks. AND clearly, she had to be joking I thought to myself as I had just surrendered something near and dear to my heart and now was being told that in its place, I would have a piece of paper that looked like the registration for the car that I no longer owned. Unable to defend myself and simply stunned, I walked out of the DMV, head hanging, and grasping the piece of paper that would serve as my means of identification for the next two weeks... wishing that I was back in the Nutmeg state where I would have left with my friend that very day... a man without a photo identity...

Thankfully, I am happy to report that today I received my new license in the mail....and not a day too soon as I was getting very tired of trucking my passport around with me in order to serve as my means of access to all thing 21 and older... While this multi-color style license with my picture that makes me look more like a member of the population of Riker's Island than a resident of Eastern Strong Island (Brooklyn) will never replace my old one from the glorious Constitution State, I can now officially and unequivocally state that I am a New Yorker...

A Really Bad Idea

A group of my friends and I have formed a symposium of sorts in the universe of Blog... Although we would love to think that our new endeavor will have a tremendous effect on the human race similar to the Enlightment, we actually just hope you print off the new things we write before you go and take that dump at work.

Check it here.

MIA Excuse

It is time to come clean to you my fine readers about the real reason behind my recent inactivity with the good old blog and quite frankly this is a little hard to say... Alright I will just come clean and say it... I am not an attorney... It's true I have been lying to you all of this time... But really it was not my fault because in fact, I just found out that I have never been attorney and was simply living a life of deception and lies... A lie that I am not dealing that well with that at the present moment...

So what am I if I am not an attorney, well actually, I am a Department of Sanitation worker or as the career is more commonly known, "A Garbage Man." It's true, I am a Garbage Man.

Now you may wonder how a writer of my superior intelligence and intellect has been fooled for so long into thinking that I had a career as an attorney. Well that my friends appears to just be an impressive case of DENIAL. I mean I swear that each day, I wake up, put on my shirt, tie, and even pants if I am feeling frisky and then head to the office to practice the law. I even go or atleast I thought I went to Court each week to argue before a Judge calling him, "Your Honor."

Apparently, however, all of this is a classic case of misinterpreting my own reality, which I realized over the course of this very week while remaining in my office (I think that is what it is called) till around ten each evening. As I sat at the "desk," I realized that each day when I went to work instead of actually practicing the law, I was in fact cleaning up other peoples' garbage or SHIT. In fact, I have been spending so much of my time lately proceeding in this manner that I have begun to leave my own garbage strewn around the office in the hopes that some other poor soul will come in and take up the task of cleaning up my refuse.

And sure this is simply a blatantly obvious metaphor for my actual career, but in fact, it is my reality. I mean each day, I go in to discover another SHIT bomb has gone off in some file that I am dealing with that is solely the direct result of the inability or general incompetence of one of my co-workers or former members of the office. And as stated, I have to be consumed with saving that person's ass because at this point, it has been reassigned to me in order to limit the amount of damage their leftover shit can cause. As a result, my own shit keeps piling up and there ain't shit I can do about it. (pun intended, bite me)

Therefore, I am left with only one conclusion that I am no longer an attorney, and instead, I am member of the Department of Santitation, Department of Environmental Protection, or whatever agency has the responsibility to ensure that the large piles of shit that are accumulating my office and probably the world do not affect the live's of others.

SHIT!

Disclaimer

Just a quick disclaimer before I actually write something real tonight, I am starting to hit the point where I fear that I am repeating myself as I could have sworn that I discussed some of the crap in yesterday's entry numerous times before. Now, I think that really my reason for thinking this has to do with the enormously crappy memory that I have developed due to my "recreational activities," but I figured that I would apologize for any redundancies before I write much more.

A WEEK IN DELAY

For the last week, I have been trying to find some time just to write something or anything. I mean last week was my birthday and although all celebration should have ended on the 5th of October or possibly the morning of the 6th, I decided at some point last week to continue my celebration until some time early Monday morning of the 10th after I completed a pub crawl in the Lower East Side with my partner in crime, Dirty D. While at times, I viewed the events of the last week to be in direct contradiction to my 30 day fast from alcohol, I have come to conclusion (whether right or not) that I am going to have weeks like the one I just had as I am a creature of excess, and as long as a week does not progress into two weeks or more, I should be just fine. The key as my wisest of friends has told me when I recently entered this little slump is to remember that at the end of the day, moderation is what we are striving for and I am confident I can achieve that and so much more... Anyway, my present consumption aside, let me get to some shizzle that has been on my mizzle... (or mind, I have been playing a little bit too much Grand Theft Auto-San Andreas lately)

1. Happy Birthdays go out to Popstar and Pamarama. Today is the DOB of the Popstar while tomorrow, Little Sis Pamarama blows up the birthday scene with the big 25... HOLLA....

2. Work is killing me. I really have nothing to add other than there is NO REASON for me to have come home at ten o'clock tonight as this makes me want to write on this damn thing about as much as it makes me want to ask my roommate, the Jewish Journalist, to take a giant dump on my chest. (albeit a kosher one... and just so it is clear, The Roommate is actually a Jewish Journalist working for a jewish tell all rag in the local metropolitan area.. and although I think the experience he is getting is worth it to him, the constant appearances at crazy Jewish wine parties, cheese tastings, and being exposed to the dirty Jewish political underworld during his weekends nonetheless is starting to really wear on him... I think he may even be converting to Catholicism soon.. I'll be here all night tip your bartenders.)

3. In baseball news, the Sox were eliminated from the playoffs and thankfully so were the Yankees. Now as Bob Jingle has so deftly analyzed in his recent piece, the Sox lacked essentially everything that got them there in 2004, but at the same point instead of dwelling on the decisions that the Sox made this year, I prefer to look at what they did not do and why this means that they are going to win the World Series in 2006. Essentially it all boils down to the fact that the Red Sox unlike their arch nemesis the Mother Fucken Yankees did not panic this year meaning that unlike the Yankees they did not sign every possible pitcher and/or sucky outfielder on the market in hopes that these second rate morons would somehow make the other 200 + million dollars the Boss spent on that shit force of a lineup win a World Series and thus make the season a success.

REMEMBER THE YANKEES SIGNED HIDEO NOMO TO A MINOR LEAGUE CONTRACT... Repeat that to yourself seven times and then remember that he was last effective sometime during World War II when he was flying kamikaze missions in the Pacific... yeah I said FUCK HIM... and judge me....

But back to the point, the Yankees essentially rebuilt an entire pitching staff with Randy Johnson as their number one starter before the entire season started and ended with Randy Johnson and I think the announcers from the YES network as their pitching staff. Now the Red Sox proceeded in similar fashion except that when the wheels came off somewhere in the middle of the season, Theo did not necessarily panic instead he started to use some of his younger guys, made a couple of economical moves, and essentially told the entire Red Sox Nation that we were either going to win with the guys we got or it was the proverbial wait till next year. And I guess the Red Sox kind of split the baby on this one in that they made the playoffs but in the end got swept by the Chi-Sox, who were far superior in the areas that mattered i.e. EVERY POSSIBLE FACET OF THE GAME.

And you know what, I am kind of ok with the overall outcome for the season because I think that by the end of this year, this team was very very tired due to all of the off-season brew ha ha of being the World Champions for the first time in 86 years and thus, saving an entire part of the country from being losers for the remainder of their lives and dying bitter and alone... (actually, Sully, you are still dying bitter and alone.. because you are WICKED RETARDED but that is because you never graduated from Revere High School, you tool. Ok I will stop the simpleton Masshole jokes.) And they still won 95 games... i mean that is unbelievable...

Now, maybe it is true as Bob Jingle constantly reminds me that the Sox may have been better off with Pedro and Derek Lowe, but the problem is that for so many years the Red Sox wasted their off seasons through with the inability to make any moves by the likes of Lou Gorman and Dan Duquette... And since Theo just won us a World Series, I am willing to give the son of a bitch a pass on the season because I believe that in the end, the Sox will be better off without both Pedro and Lowe. (Plus, Pedro's stats from this season are all bull shit anyway now that he is in the NL since he gets to face the equivalent of the ballboy and the dude that throws batting practice every time through the lineup...while Lowe has spent his time in LA screwing the Weather Girl or whomever that bimbo was WHILE SUCKING BALLS.)

And then there are the Yankees, whose fan base awoke this morning to headlines of the pending apocalypse as Big George is soon going to unleash the fury that only he can on the ball club with the entire coaching staff, the GM, and many of the players possibly seeking employment elsewhere after the season. AND you know what, he got exactly what he deserved because instead of building a ball club with a certain character like the teams of the late 90's and the Sox of 2004, he basically tried to replace character by simply spending more money. AND yes that was the problem with the Red Sox to some extent but I feel that the Sox are in a far better position to be successful than the Yanks who are looking to make wholesale changes.

And finally, I am happy because I got to shave and now can get some real honest to god sleep and possibly even a date (ah that is unlikely)...

And now, I get to experience the sleep that I so writefully deserve...

Oh and by the way, A-Rod BLOWS!!!

October 5, 1977

Is the day that I entered this world.

Today, I am twenty-eight. I am not sure what if any significance this age has, other than in fact I have aged another year. I don't necessarily feel older, but I guess that I actually am older. I mean everyday that we live, we are technically older than we were the day before as this is how the aging process works.

I am not sad about turning twenty-eight like some people get because they are yet another year closer to turning thirty. Yes, I am closer to thirty, but in reality, there is no reason why because I am older that I have to act or behave in any different manner than I did when I was twenty-seven or even when I was twenty-five for that matter. The changing of one's age does not necessitate a change in one's life or impose some trumped up requirement that we have to suddenly become adults. Life has a funny way of making you an adult when you least expect it so I am not in any rush to force my life down that path.

This evening, I will celebrate this momentous event by watching some baseball with friends, an event similar to most of my evenings in this City. There was no evite sent out and no big hullabaloo planned because I tend to feel guilty if I force people to do anything huge for my birthday. As such, I am not big on making today any more of a deal than it has to be and so friends, baseball, and beer will be more than sufficient to observe the day of my birth.

Happy Birthday Old Man...

Man School

So I am back in Brooklyn after spending the weekend recharging back home with the rents. I had a great time in seeing my mom and dad as well as being able to head out to some of my old haunts. (Shaddy local townie bars.)

Possibly, the highlight of the weekend was the time that I spent at Man School attempting to earn my Man Badge. For those that do not know, Man School is where you go when you attempt to do some type of manual labor whether it be the fixing of a car, chopping of the wood, or any other activity that requires sweat being expended. Since I have moved to the City, Man School, basically, has been out of session because there are limited if NO opportunities to take any of its many courses.

BUT in the wild world of New England, Man School is always in session, and thus, today, I had the opportunity to re-gravel my parents' driveway by filling up a wheel-barrel with little tiny rocks and then spreading them over the entire driveway. This task was necessary because my parents are selling the house of my youth and moving to a gated community (read: Old Retirement Place of Doom). As such, they are trying to spruce the place up to increase the market value, and hence, I found myself shoveling stones today.

And you know what, I loved every minute of it. I mean as you all I know I run a ton, and thus, I have a unusual aversion to the infliction of personal pain. And as I once told a girl who I was trying to get to date me (and failed miserably at doing), I enjoy pain. Scratch that, I love pain because I think that through pain, you are able to gauge the exact amount of energy you are utilizing to complete a certain task and thus can truly calculate your productivity. PLus, there is a sick endorphin rush that comes along with pain. (I am twisted what can I say.)

As a result, today's activity made me feel like I actually accomplished something tangible. And sure, I realize that this task may seem to be mundane to some and a pain to others but at the same time, I loved it if only because it got me away from frittering my life awat in front of a computer screen practicing the law. And so I feel an immense sense of accomplishment as a result of the Man Badge in Gravel Shoveling that I earned today and you can judge me if you want but that Man Badge is mine forever.

Race Results

Well I ran the 5k this morning and finished in an acceptable 19:51, which is right around 6:30 mile pace and earned me 16th place overall. The time is a little off my goal for the race, which was sub-19:00 but considering that I have not worked in any speed work yet, I think this is a great starting point. Hopefully by the time I run my next race, a five miler in Central Park at the end of October, I should be able to run the same pace but for two additional miles.

Popstar, on the other hand, did awesome as she got third place in her division and a prize. (some kind of shampoo hair product..) Even more impressive about her performance is that she did this only days after going on meds for strep throat. She is a stud, what can I say...

Anyway, now we are off to a local dive bar to watch the Sox...

Till later....

Update from the Mothership

So I find myself this evening writing this entry in secrecy from the Constitution State in the house of my youth. As I have stated previously, my parents have never been privy to any of my mindless babble, and I intend to keep it that way for the foreseeable future meaning if I find out that one of you ass ponies tells them, I will gut you like a fish.

Anyway, I have come home for a little relaxation and some quiet time with my parents, who I have not seen since some time in late July. I actually realized this fact today and have grown more and more angry with myself throughout the evening for letting that amount of time pass between my visits to see them. I really do enjoy their company because they make me smile and laugh with their constant "We Have Been Married Forever" bickering. Moreover, I thoroughly enjoy their unending questions about why I do not have a girlfriend or their bottomless stories about parents of classmates from my high school class, who they have seen around town and are wondering how I am doing.

Since I have been asked these questions and told of these inquiries for the last ten years now, I typically respond in the following manner. First, to the single guy question, I inform my parents that I do not have a girlfriend because I want to live life of a hermit, write a manifesto, and die alone. Then, when told who has been asking about me, I tell my parents that if anyone asks again about how I am doing that they should tell them that I am currently incarcerated and plan to kill again once released. Each of these responses usually results in my mother shaking her head and telling me that I just need to open my heart and stop being so cold.

Now, I really do love my mother and my father, but in reality, there is a method to my madness with these responses above and beyond the obvious of screwing with my parents. First, I do not really have the answer to why I am single, and I intend not to really search for that answer because I have a feeling as to that question, the more one looks the less one finds. BUT as to the people, who are being nosey and inquiring into my BIZNAZ, well they can simply fuck off because these people do not really care about how I am doing. Instead, they are asking these questions in order to get my parents to talk about me so that these other parents can then prattle on for fifteen to twenty about how little Joe is getting married and has a great supervisory position at Pfizer. It is a classic case of parental child flaunting, and I am not going to let my parents get wrapped up in this sham of conversation. Instead, I want them to avoid it as I am trying to protect my innocent parents from being pawns in this evil game of duplicity. Moreover, Joe was an asshole in high school and is probably an asshole now, who contributes little to nothing to society or even his own existence other than he probably now pees sitting down. (Not sure how that helps things but if you knew Joe , it would all make sense.) As such, my parents need to realize what the end game is here, accept the fact that Joe sucks, cut bait, and tell Joe's parents to eat shit! OR instead, simply tell them that I am in jail. Trust me there is no greater conversation killer than informing someone that little Rain Delay, whose life seemed to be so full of promise back in high school, is currently doing 15 to 20 and having his ass pummeled daily by Big Earl.

But to get back to the matter at hand, I have come home to hang out with the rents and experience some classic days of Autumn as discussed by my main man, Bob Jingle. There is no better season in the world than the Fall and no better place to experience it then in New England. (Just trust me on this one, it is not up for discussion.) Plus, I get to watch the Sox face the Yankees with my dad, which is always killer even though tonight he only made it to the seventh before sleeping. And finally, I get to hang out with little Miss Maggie, the family English Setter. (Yes, I am from New England and yes, my parents own a yuppy dog, deal with it.) Anyway, Mags has become the third child in my family being spoiled rotten by my parents, and since, I cannot own a dog in the City, I too baby the shit out her when I get home.

But for now I must get to sleeping as tomorrow looks to be a big day as I make my return to the road racing circuit with a 5k in the morning.. then, it looks like baseball, beers, and babes for the remainder of the day... I hope to get another post in before the weekend is out, but if I do not, I promise on Sunday evening, I will try to fill you in on the weekend that was here in Southeastern Connecticut.

Now I to sleep in a twin bed that is way to small for me.... Ahhh it's so damn good to be home!!!

Like the Wind

Apparently tonight is the night that Fall has decided to make its dramatic 2005 debut here in New York City as this evening featured unusually cold temperatures and a pretty kick ass wind. Of course, New Yorkers responded in their usually manner by immediately dressing like they were attempting to survive a god damn blizzard. For all of their bravado and tough guy outer appearances, New Yorkers have to be some of the weakest and lamest creatures on the planet when it comes to the weather.

Now, I will give you that it is decently cold outside right now and the wind is unlike one that we have seen yet this year BUT that is no reason to be sporting winter hats, gloves, and even scarfs... all of which I saw today while I was running through the streets of Brooklyn in shorts and a long sleeve t-shirt. While I admit that New Yorkers are not used to the rough and tumble of the hardened New England winters of my youth that made me into the fall and winter adoring human being that I am, they are still New Yorkers, who are considered by many to be the toughest, the brav est, and the finest that America has to offer and thus should be able to deal with a little bit of a chill in the air.

And plus, it was not even that fucken cold outside... I mean use that shit when it gets really cold out like in the middle of January when the wind blasts down the avenues and the temps fail to get above 20 degrees. Otherwise, if they keep up the current rate of dealing with the cold, New Yorkers are probably going to be lighting themselves on fire as soon as the temperature dips below freezing... And although they may piss me off sometimes, even I cannot advocate massive acts of personal arson (that is arson to one's person)...

So buck up New Yorkers, take off the hat, gloves, and even that ultra hip scarf you got in Soho... Find yourselves a sensible jacket and maybe even another layer if you're feeling frisky... and then, get out there and brave these conditions... trust me it will be ok... and if it is not, I will be here to criticize you.

Why I Am Getting Fired Today

Here are some random thoughts... and yes, I am writing all of this even though I still have two motions to get out this afternoon... I have basically decided to devote the entire afternoon to adding content to my blog instead of fulfilling my obligations to the man, and by the man, I mean Earl, the guy who cleans my office and makes me touch him in his special spot.

BUT I DIGRESS...

As I discussed in my previous entry, baseball is going to be the death of me this fall. I mean last year I was on the brink and BUT FOR the fact that the Sox won the World Series, I would be six feet under right now. Even with them doing me a solid, I still had walking pneumonia for two months after the season ended and can directly blame them for my massive drinking habit since I drank from the beginning of the playoffs onward. This year, the Sox have returned to finish me off in that they should have finished the Yanks off about three months ago... But instead, as of today, they find themselves in second place in the AL East and tied for the Wild Card. Their season has been one of the more frustrating as they have had injuries to key players (Schill, Foulke, Damon, etc.)and a bullpen that I believe now features the corpses of Satchel Paige and Cy Young as the featured middlemen. Furthermore, they cannot seem to hold a lead and have managed to score only at the most meaningless of times.

Meanwhile, the Yanks have managed to pull their collective heads out of their asses and are playing solid baseball. Of course, Yankees fans are making this out to be an amazing turn around by a bunch of blue collar underpaid over achieving ball players instead of the reality that it is i.e. the team with the highest payroll in baseball doing exactly what they should be doing, winning... nothing more, nothing less. Simply, the Boss puts up the money for this team to win every year and if they do not that has to be considered a failure. And so, they should be on the roll that they are on right now.

Similarly, the Red Sox should not be as inconsistent as they are right now because they pay their players a helluva alot more than most teams. And yet even with all of the failures of this season, I still have a good feeling about the Red Sox this year as long as they get into the playoffs because I think that this team is exactly what they appear to be i.e. a bunch of lazy slobs of ballplayers who ooze talent and yet have failed to use it for most of the season although they have still managed to win 90+ games. I think that this team even with their collective IQ of 30 understands what it means to be in the post-season and how to turn it at that particular time because even they can focus their abilities for that short amount of time. The post season is made for these ADD babies of Beantown and so if they can get in, I think the Sox should find themselves right back where they were last season... and no, not down three-nothing to the Yankees... IDIOTS!!!

A few more quick hits off the pipe for you...

The new Coheed and Cambria album entitled, "Good Apollo I'm Burning Star IV, Vol. 1: From Fear Through the Eyes of Madness", is the bomb even with its excessively pretentious title. Their music is definitely not for everyone or possible anyone besides me and the Dirty D, but if you like whacked out rock music, this is your band. Plus, these guys tear their instruments new assholes every time they play and sound better live... Also, I have a giant man crush on their drummer, who plays the drums unlike anything I have ever seen before. So go buy it and then blame me when you hate it. Of course, if you hate it, it just means that you do not know the first thing about good music and should save us years of hassle and kill yourself. Ok that was harsh just render yourself deaf.

In weekly poker news from the 398, Savage won at poker again last night. I am not sure what he has been doing lately although claims that he has been simply enjoying marathon sessions of the Sopranos. I think the reality is that he is watching the Sopranos and playing online poker. I am ordering surveillance for his ass, and yes, I have the ability to do that if I need to.

And finally, fall is my favorite season. The sewer outside my house smells like someone died in it, which is entirely possible since my entire neighborhood is "connected." And I turn 28 in less than a week...

Now get back to work and stop calling me...

Schnoogins.

Some Quick Updates

Since I am back on the wagon of blogging... (and possibly off the wagon in other parts of my life)... I figured I would highlight a couple of the blogs that I have added recently...

The first is Popstar, who is one of the my closest friends in the whole wide world... She was a roommate of mine in law school and helped me get through a lot of the bull shit that is my life and continues to do so. She is also one of the best attorneys I know and pretty much, fucken brilliant. She just started this blog, but already, her writing has proven to be amazing... read it or I will cut one of your arms off.

Next, McDougall's blog is by a friend of mine that I met through the now infamous Erminia from law school whose own travels and adventures could be a blog all by themself. I never knew that this individual wrote nor had an interest in writing, but apparently like Prince, she has entire catalog of writing that has never been put out there for public consumption... and she hates Edinburgh, Scotland... so what is there not to love here. Further, I think she may be just as angry as I am, which could threaten the future of the world and your personal safety. (No not you, the guy with the shoes next to you.. yeah him..)

Finally, J.A.'s blog is by a second cousin of mine who apparently is in Liberia. (Africa kids, Africa) My mother sent me this site, which almost resulted in me sending her a link to my own blog. I quickly decided that this was the idea of a mad man and simply thanked her for keeping me in the loop. I am very afraid that my parents would cry if they read what I write in the entries on my blog. I mean they are great but some of this shit cuts a little too close to home if you catch my drift. (I don't catch my own drift) Anyway, Jason's blog appears to be about his adventures in Liberia, and since I don't think anyone who reads this thing is there right now, you should read this to find out what that country is all about...I believe poverty, war lords, and a burgeoning adult porn industry... wear a condom that is all i am saying.

So read them, criticize them, and then, blame me for giving you something else to do instead of actually doing the work that you were hired to do.

Big Time Apology

I just wanted to apologize for disappearing for the last week or so. I keep meaning to write something but between work and the massive head cold that I have been trying to get over, sleep has become a top priority. Plus, during that time, I have had a couple of topics that I wanted to write about but all of it felt a bit forced and so I decided to spare you guys from reading that bull shit. (which is exactly what this apology is turning out to be.)

As well, the Red Sox and the Yankees have found themselves in a their annual battle to see who can make their fan base become more and more like the Living Dead at work the morning after each game. I mean I love baseball but couldn't this just have been decided months ago so that I would not be forced to watch three baseball games every evening? As it stands right now, I have two games on my computer and one on the television... and yes, I am still single... weird.

The point of the matter is that I plan to put finger to key this evening and produce something tangible besides a half ass apology post. Additionally, this weekend I am heading back to the mothership to see the folks, which is guaranteed to produce atleast twenty-five entries.

Finally, I am putting myself on a schedule, and thus, I am going to try to write something every Monday and every Thursday of the week. I don't want to force this thing, but I also need to have some kind of schedule in order to make sure that I keep writing... since really the point of this whole damn thing is for me to write and improve my skill set...(I said skill set people... you can pick one up in aisle three of your local Super Walmart...)

So like I said I am sorry for the lag... and for your face... get over it!

Want to play a game...

So yesterday, right around noonish, the telecommunication's server at my office went down. As a result, my office was without the ability to receive voicemails, email, and most importantly, we were unable to access the internet or as it is commonly known in the popular parlance of America's youth, the World Wide Web. As such, I was left with five hours, FIVE WHOLE HOURS, of nothing to do but work. I am not sure if you have ever tried to do work for five hours straight without interruption, but I can assure you that if I had to perform such a task on a daily basis, I would insist that I be compensated atleast ten thousand dollars for every hour that I worked. I mean it is hard and extraordinarily boring to have to work for that much time straight. In fact, I am not attorney, but I bet there are laws against it.

Now, such an outage has happened before at my office and everytime it happens, I am reminded of a classic SNL skit called "Wake Up and Smile" starring Will Ferrell, Nancy Walls, and the guest host of that night's show, David Alan Grier. Basically during the skit which is a mock of a network good morning show, the teleprompter breaks and as a result, the host (Ferrell) and his cohost (Walls) are left paralyzed and helpless as they no longer given what they are supposed to do and say... The skit basically proceeds with these characters breaking down as if they are in a real natural disaster facing a life and death situation culminating with them forming their own tribe and eating the weatherman in order to survive... with Ferrell's character saying:

The weatherman is DEAD! I KILLED the weatherman! His STRENGTH is in me!

Similarly, at my office when the internet goes down, people start to exhibit odd breakdowns of character that someday may in fact result in the death of a coworker in order to save the group... I mean some people do truly sit down and do work, but others start to simply roam the office as if they are searching for survivors of this metaphoric crash... They react in this manner mainly because they can no longer avoid doing work by checking their email, updating their fantasy teams, blogging, commenting on the blogs of others, surfing the web for porn, and/or playing their favorite internet games. (I do atleast three of those activities, but since I am writing here, I am exempt from criticism.) More often than not, these individuals tend to just end up standing in the doorway of my office with a weird shell-shocked like look of desperation hoping to talk about anything in order to calm the internal panic that has seized them because the internet is not working. (Note: Usually, we talk about all the things we could be doing on the internet instead of having that conversation.)

My favorite group or tribe of people that forms during these crisis are the Helpers or those individuals that feel the need to tell everyone they can that the internet is not working. For example yesterday, this group managed to inform the office of this fact at least a thousand times throughout the course of the afternoon. Of course, they not only told us that the internet was not working but some even tried to explain the problem as if they had suddenly gone to Devry and overnight received their computer degree making them experts on this problem. (It is amazing how most of these so-called "experts"work in the file room and exhibit a marked inability to grasp the alphabet on a daily basis. But for some reason understand why the entire telecommunication's hub at my office has shit the bed.) Now my reaction to these people, who I am certain deep down truly believe they are helping the greater good by spreading the word that there is an internet outage, was to walk around the office right around five o'clock after they had finished their rounds and ask random people if the internet was working. And of course, some people, mostly members of this group, felt the need to tell me that it was in fact not working and that it had not been working for awhile now. (No SHIT SHERLOCK! By the way, "S" follows "R" in the alphabet.)

Of course, this group are composed of the same people who everyday forward me some crazy bull shit of an email about a lost kid or how I should not flash my headlights at a car that has their's off because that is a gang initiation tactic and I will be shot. First of all, the kid is not lost... he ran the fuck away from you because you were always on his shit trying to help him. And if he was abducted, it was voluntary because once again he hates you. Furthermore, no god damn email is going to bring the little bastard back so go back to playing the Maze Game or whatever the fuck it is that you play on your computer all day long instead of doing work... (oh right you can't cause the internet is down... life's a bitch, buy a shotgun.) And as for the gang thing, well that has been around since atleast the 80's as an urban legend, but here is a little hint, if a gang wants to kill someone, they will just do it. They don't need you to blink your headlights at them for motivation. (Note: If this is in fact the way I die, kudos to the people who elevate this myth to reality) Actually, come to think of it, that kid from the picture that you sent in your previous email, who had run away, well he actually joined the same gang that shoots people for flashing your lights at them so you better WATCH THE FUCK OUT. Furthermore, all the emails that you send that include things that are supposed to make me happy, get closer to Jesus, and/or feel bad for others. IN REALITY, MAKE ME UNHAPPY, HATE JESUS, AND LOATHE PEOPLE WHO ARE WORSE OFF THAN ME... LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!!! ( and for the record, pictures of puppies, cats, and other pets do not make my day go by faster nor do i think they are cute...) But i digress...

Thankfully, today, when I arrived at work, the internet was working and once again some kind of normalcy had returned to the office. Unfortunately, the Helpers were onto their next task of informing everyone that the internet was now working while incorporating some of the lingo from the IT people as to the cause of the problem and what was done to fix it. And of course, I still received at least three emails containing cute puppy dogs, a lost child from California, and a warning about phone calls from a fake area code...

Maybe tomorrow I will just call in sick...

BO KNOWS BO

Well here I am at work on this incredibly muggy day in the City... Thankfully, my day has been made that much more enjoyable by the fact that since I have walked into the office this morning, I have had an extraordinary case of Body Odor or BO as he is known around these parts that is currently making me more than a little nauseous... and causing my eyes to water...

What is amazing is that over the course of the last 12 hours or so I took two separate showers and I even used SOAP that I applied quite sufficiently to the areas of current resistance... And yet, here I am hanging out in my office with my friend BO in all of his glory... What is even more impressive is that BO has managed to fight off both a change of undershirt and a two re-applications of deodorant... Apparently, I am dealing with new stronger BO, the likes of which the world has never seen.

The irony of my current status as THAT GUY in my office is that I constantly berate others for failing to take the appropriate measures to leave BO at home before they report to work in the morning in order to save the remainder of the office from their stench. I mean sometimes you wreak of certain things like booze that you just cannot avoid or atleast you cannot avoid after you have been up until 5 AM downing boilermakers... But BO can be avoided, atleast I thought, through general hygiene like taking a shower in the morning and applying deodorant thereafter... (Of course there is another possibility in that this may not be a case of BO but rather what I am smelling is the stench of my insides slowing but surely dying and rotting...meaning that I may not make it until five... let's hope it's BO...)

Consequently, this current bout with BO is causing me to reevaluate my entire morning ritual, as tomorrow, I will use a veritable cocktail of soaps and shampoos to eradicate BO. By acting in this manner, I hope to eliminate a repeat of today since I do not want to take the title of STINKY MAN ON CAMPUS from the guy who works in the file room who I believe cannot help bringing BO to work with him because he is homeless.. (hell is going to be so warm).. For now, I will remain in seclusion as a solid to my fellow man who need not to feel the ill effects of my friend BO.

Tour de Gym

So tonight, I won the Tour de France of my gym. It was great.. I had been training for it for months running and cycling just for this evening's race. I mean all that hard work really paid off and I even got a yellow jersey as my reward...

Actually that is not true in the least, but I did participate in my first spin class at Maxim Fitness in the Dirty Will a.k.a Williamsburg. Now, as I stated a long long long time ago, I am not exactly the biggest fan of gyms as I often find the clientele to be less than desirable and because I have no idea what exactly I am to do once I get inside one of these bad boys.

On a typical trip to the gym, I end up running way to fast on the treadmill next to some gorgeous blond, who spends the entire time giving me a look of absolute disgust as I sweat profusely while making the treadmill violently shift and shake. By the end of my forty minute death run, the treadmill users on either side of me have found other cardiovascular machines to utilize or have left the gym entirely. Then, after my battle with the treadmill, I go and attempt to lift weights, which means that I try to pick up the heaviest weights that I can find disregarding any concept of form and/or the reality of my own physical strength. Generally, I fail miserably in this effort.

As a result of these cavalier workouts at the gym, I then usually spend the next couple of days in traction or at the very least in considerable amounts of inflexible pain. As such, I tend to go to the gym for like two weeks straight and then avoid it like the plague for a solid three months... lather rinse repeat...

Recently, I have been neglecting the gym entirely as I have been getting in four runs a week for a total of 20+ miles. While this is great as it keeps me from becoming a FAT ASS, generally, running as your only source of exercise puts you on the fast track for a variety of physical ailments and injuries such as stress fractures, shin splits, and tuberculosis. (I bet you never knew that you could get TB from running... it's true... NOm, no it is not...) In order to avoid these pitfalls especially TB and VD for that matter, I decided that I might as well put my gym membership to good use and try some of the classes that my gym offers in order to diversify my workout regiment and not be such a psychopath when it comes to utilzing the gym.

So tonight, I tried spinning, which for those that do not know (not sure who you are) is a glorified 21st century version of stationary biking. However, in order to make the workouts that much more extreme, the modern day spin classes as the kids call them (i think) mix in a healthy dosage of dark mood lighting and awful trance techno music (the kind that appears to lack both beginning and end but has a plethora of bass) coupled with extraordinarly hot temperatures... To complete the picture, gyms throw in a screaming nutbox of an instructor who along with her seven cups of coffee for the evening is also on a healthy dose of speed, crank, and oxycontin... (or maybe they simply main line Jack before the workouts, I mean it worked for Motley Crue.)

During the course of a workout, this instructor yells out a variety of commands that indicate to the spinners: what positions they are supposed to be in on their immobile bicycles (basically whether you should be standing or sitting), how fast they should be pedaling, what resistance the bike should be adjusted to, and what circle of hell they are now entering.... For the record, I believe tonight we entered the seventh circle....(for those keeping score at home, this circle contains bunny rabbits, the legendary WWF tagteam, the Killer Bees, and Teddy Ruxbin...all filming a really troubling snuff film... let's just say, the Bear gets it in the end...)

My class tonight had all of these elements along with the spazzy instructor, who with her thick Eastern European accent had the added twist in that she appeared to be a former member of the East German Women's Olympic team as her arms, legs, and chest were bigger than mine to the point that several times during the workout I had to remind myself that she was in fact a "she". Thankfully, she had not lost her flare for East German style workouts or the use of workout enhancers for that matter as she took me and the five women that were in my class (no other men) through one of the most exhausting, kick ass, hour long workouts that I have done, which by its end, caused me to forget that I was in fact pedaling as I had slipped into a weird euphoric state with the visuals discussed above... teetering on the brink of passing the fuck out... Furthermore, by the time that I was finished, I sweat enough that a moat had formed around my spinning mobile replete with alligators, piranhas, and other deadly human eating creatures. (I will save the story of how I escaped from the bike and avoided these creatures for another entry, one that I will write after I huff Freon from my air conditioner.)

Regardless of the pain and the fact that I am now questioning my own manhood, I loved every minute of it and will be back next week and every Monday for the foreseeable future... just so that Beata (that's her deliciously evil name) can bark orders at me like I am a member of the East German military during the Cold War... or her naughty sex slave.. What can I say, I am a sucker for excruciating pain especially when it is delivered by a screaming brick shit house of a woman with techno accompaniment...

A Date With An Old Friend

So tonight for the first time in over a month, I had some beers while playing a little poker with my friends. I was very apprehensive to have anything to begin with because I am very scared to fall back into past patterns of activity, but at the same time, I am want to see if I can actually be responsible in having a few beers every so often without it having any carryover effect with me drinking five to six days in a row during the week. Time will only tell as to whether or not I will be able to avoid this pitfall but for tonight, I have done pretty well as I drank five brewskis and am ready to stop and go to bed. All and all, I would consider tonight a minor victory as I think that this is a step towards responsibility, and I hope this is true.

AND NOW, to demonstrate the internal conflict that I am having with my decisions of this evening, I give to you.....


RAIN DELAY VERSUS THE BEER!!!














You may have won tonight beer... But I will crush you in the end....

This Time It's For Real

Alot of times in my own life, I forget that I am actually an attorney and that I do have a "real" job with "real" responsibility. I often forget these facts of my life until during moments of clarity like the other day when I was taking a piss, I realize that I actually have a career as an attorney and that this is no longer just me going to school to learn how to be the person that I now am.

Now, I do realize that I discussed this topic last week and thus, I apologize for rehashing this topic, but today and for the remainder of the weekend, I am preparing for my first real trial which kicks of on Monday at 9:45 in the morning so I am once again realizing more than ever that I am a practioner of the law.

This weekend, basically, I am creating the blueprint for my trial next week and mapping out every step that I am going to take in order to assure a victory for my client, the City of New York. As such, this afternoon and probably well into this evening and through tomorrow, I will be working on how I am going to select the appropriate jury to present my case to and what exactly I am going to say to those fuckers so that they decide the case in my favor. After that, I have to organize all the questions that I am going to ask the plaintiff on cross-examination and my witness on direct. Basically, I have decide on the best strategy to make the plaintiff look like an incompetent lying fool while making my guy look like the best damn human being ever to walk the earth. Finally, I have to write my closing where hopefully, I will wrap this sucker up into a nice little package with a cute little bow and seal the mother fucken deal. As of right now, I have no idea how I am going to do any of this but hopefully at some point in the next 30 hours or so I will have an epiphany and like the phoenix, my plan for operation domination will rise from the ashes... (maybe I will work that sentence into my opening.)

I guess for now, I best get back to writing and brainstorming. We shall see how this bad boy turns out...but one thing is for sure, the practice is now over...and on Monday, my trial is very very real....

Irrational Fear # 356

From the outside looking in, New York City would appear to be the land of opportunity for many things. In terms of dating, the City with its massive population would seem to be a veritable candy store for us single warriors who walk its streets a soldier and fight the world alone...AND NOW IT'S... 18 and life... (whoops, I just slipped into Skid Row mode there for a second)

Back on topic, the law of averages if applied to the single population of New York City basically dictates that in theory there should be a better chance to meet that special someone here or at very least, it would appear that there would not be a problem finding yourself a date in this gigantic City since there are so many different opportunities. Of course, in reality, the situation is more complex than that because the fact that New York City is so big probably makes it twice as hard if not more to actually meet someone because people here tend to have their guard up a bit more than anyone else. Why, you ask? Because just as there is a greater potential to meet people, there is also a greater chance to meet psychopaths who would like nothing more than to take you to dinner and then eat you for dessert...or just enjoy a little necrophilia. (look it up, it ain't pretty.)

What ever the actual reality of the potential for dating is in this fine ass City of mine, my reality is that since moving to this City, I can count the number of dates that I have actually gone on, on my left hand. For the record, I believe the number is five. (In comparison, the dates with my right hand, well we could be counting for a while.) The numbers do not lie, people, the fact of the matter is that I have not exactly been slaying the ladies since I made my move here from the Nutmeg State. (Of course, slaying may be the wrong word to use right here considering I just mentioned necrophelia and psychopaths previously in this entree... i mean entry. dammit!)

But now with all that I have realized in the past month or so i.e. when you spend 12 hours a day writing a stupid blog, you better run a shit load or else your ass becomes HUGE and that no matter how long you sit on a couch in front of a window, no lady is ever going to walk up to said window and ask you on a date. I have begun to consider exactly what my options are for getting my shit back in the proverbial game as it were... oh it were believe me. Of course, talking and doing are two completely different things and in terms of having any type of game or capability of meeting anyone, I tend to be less than successful in this area. (I believe the kids would say that I lack game... I wish the kids would come over to my apartment so I could give them a mouth full of bloody chicklets.)

Part of the problem is:

First, I don't try to pick ladies up at bars... that is sketchy and if I was a lady, which I am not, I would find it to be sketchy or atleast, I would seriously consider whether or not I was going to wake up in the guy;s bed the next day or at the bottom of the East River.

Second, I don't necessarily drink anymore, which means that in all social settings, I have eliminated the liquid courage portion of my game (i call it that loosely) in swooning the opposite sex. On second thought, this is probably a good thing because liquid courage in the past simply amounted to excessive amounts of liquid slurring and later in the evening, liquid spinning followed shortly thereafter by either one of its cousins, liquid vomiting or liquid passing out.

And finally, I don't know necessarily try to meet anyone. I acknowledge that this is completely my own fault as I am the only one that I can blame for being really lazy and enjoying my couch a little more than a human being should, atleast legally. On a side note, apparently, I have been enjoying the couch so much lately that tonight when I finally moved after a solid three hours on it, my roommate actually gasped and wondered if everything was ok. In the end, I guess I am not really into the whole effort thing and maybe that has to do with some crazy cracked out fear of rejection (which is not Irrational Fear #356). Actually it has everything to do with a fear of rejection, but I am not going to psychoanalyze this part of my life any further because I only got my minor in psychology (actually I also minored in sociology, yeah I DOUBLE MINORED.. talk about a loser) and thus, I am not qualified to delve into this any further or atleast I can use this as my cop out excuse to move this sucker along.

All of this leaves me with limited options in terms of meeting anyone, barring of course an act of God or a decision to act in a proactive manner and leave the couch, which seems highly unlikely.
Of course, there is always Irrational Fear #356 i.e. what I really wanted to write about since the beginning of this long winded crapfest that you have been reading and that is entering the world of Online Dating.

Now before, I explain why I would rather attempt to date my sister than attempt this option, I must first explain that in no way, shape, or form, does what I am about to write discredit anyone that participates in this activity. This is my irrational fear. In fact, I am very good friends with someone who actually met the love of their life through this vehicle and will soon marry that person. There is no judgment being passed here nor is that the point of what follows.

Originally, to me, the world of online dating was a scary, dark place that was only used by old men who want to prey on young unsuspecting teenagers or by computer nerds, who had never been laid, which at this point probably qualifies me. I thought that only losers used this medium in order to have some kind of hope of not dying alone as in my mind, online dating amounted to an internet support group for the damned. Now, this preconception is pretty harsh and at the present time, I no longer think any of these thoughts because of what I discussed above in that several of my close friends have used online dating to meet people that they are now very serious with. And these people are not pedophiles nor are they losers and/or virgins... they are actually well adjusted members of society... As a result, my preconceptions have been thrown out the window...

But this still leaves me with my fear of online dating. I am terrified to even try it. I mean I know that through things like match.com or e-harmony, they take all of your attributes and then match you 69 ways till sunday with potential dates or if I want to meet that little jewish girl that I always wanted, jdate is an option.

But that does not change the fact that I cannot even wrap my head around the concept of online dating itself and how it works because to me, online dating is like when you try to teach a grandparent how to use the internet. It is just beyond their comprehension because their minds are not wired to accept what you are trying to explain to them. The same thing happens when people try to have a rational conversation with me about online dating. My ears and thus, my mind, listen to what that person is saying but compute what is actually being said like the person is speaking like parents in the Peanuts cartoons. No matter how much people try to tell me about it, the less I actually hear. (And yes, I am close minded, but this is an irrational fear.)

My anxiety and fears get even worse when I think about what would happen if I ever got matched with someone or whatever it is called in this strange world. I mean how would I ever show up to meet someone that I do not even know? What the hell is that all about? What would I say to them? Who would sign up for such a situation willingly? The whole concept just seems downright tortuous and frought with potential rejection. I would rather chew glass.

And I do not know how to change any of these fears. I mean it has gotten to the point is that I cannot even bring myself to enter the websites into my web browser to learn about what is out there for me. I actually think at this point, I could be diagnosed with an honest to god phobia. It's crazy shit. But I guess when I get to the core of this problem I just am not prepared to put my fate in the hands of the internet gods and rely on them to find a suitable match for me, which is kind of interesting since the only thing I have found a perfect match with on my own in the last month is my sweet ass couch. And unfortunately that is where I will most likely remain for the foreseeable future, waiting either for divine intervention or for my testicles to drop so that I actually get myself out there and do something about this present dilemma.

Once again, this requires some form of effort that at the present time, I am more eager to force you losers to read my complaints about than to actually exert any type of effort on my own... So I guess in the end, I should blame each of you since if you were not reading me whine like the little bitch that I am, it may actually force me to leave said couch and figure out where exactly "she" is eagerly waiting my arrival or at the very least what catalogue "she" needs to be ordered from.

Thirty Ounces (Days) To Freedom

Today is the thirtieth and final day of my quest to regain control of my life. I have managed to make it through the past thirty days without partaking in any of the demons that had driven my life to the brink of being wildly out of control and fueled my penchant for self-loathing. Basically over the course of these thirty days, I have learned that my life does not need to revolve around being drunk or recovering from being drunk. Further, it has lead to me wanting to keep any future activities of consumption to a minimum so that I do not feel like I am wasting my time or my life sitting on the couch lamenting whatever it was that I did the previous evening... Clearly, I realize that I have a lot of work still to do, and clearly, I am not trying to take myself too seriously as there are people in this world, who have overcome problems that are far worse than the one's that I am dealing with... I guess the bottom line is that I needed to get my shit together and so far, I am well on my way to accomplishing that goal.

Word.

The Dumb Get Dumber

Congratulations has to go out to Mrs. Britney Spears-Federline or whatever she is called these days (I prefer played-out whore) as she gave birth today to a wee baby boy. I mean this is really great for her and her gold-digging husband, Kevin Federline, as they can now officially begin their plan to take over the world by populating it with talentless, nicotine addicted, white trash babies...

Thankfully to assist them in their quest, Kevin has already begun to procreate with another lady, Shar Jackson, and thus has alot of practice of raising children that will never amount to anything other than being frequent clients of California rehab clinics and VH1 reality television shows...

Of course, what celebrity birth story would be complete without the possible name for the new celebritard baby, and thankfully in this case, Brit and Kev have chosen a real winner for a name as they are apparently considering naming their boy, London, after the capitol city of England. (One has to really wonder if they know that is where they are getting this name from or does Denny's now serve London Broil?) But truly, the selection of this name makes perfect sense... both of them are from somewhere in the South, which um... uh.... ummmm...And thus.... uh ugh barf.... ugh... duh...(OH WAIT, Britney loves Madonna, and Madonna thinks she is English... and Madonna has become just as crazy as Britney with the whole Kabala thang.... so that must be the reason.... My head hurts... and I am sweating uncomfortably...I need to go and rake my eyes out...and then eat my eyeballs for dinner...)... God only knows the real reason....

I guess the real winner in all of this is Britney herself, who now gets to reintroduce herself to 40's, her three pack a day Kools habit...and her unofficial competition with Tara Reid to be the drunkest skankiest WHORE on the face of the earth...that I have to see on the cover of Trash Slut Magazine while I am trying to check out from the supermarket... (Of course, I will buy it and read the damn thing cover to cover.)

And finally one has to wonder how much time will pass until Vegas posts the over/under on when Brit and Kev give the kid his first pack of Marlboro's and introduce the little bastard to flavor country? I figure he has five years but with these two morons, it could be a matter of months.

Best Day Ever

Is not the description that I would use to describe Monday, September 12, 2005.

Instead today was just one of those days that could not end quickly enough. In addition to it being a Monday, which meant that there was no way for it NOT TO SUCK, today featured me at work until 7:15 PM trying to complete response papers to a plaintiff's motion, which I received at Friday at 5:30 PM, that is scheduled for oral argument tomorrow morning. Now this would have been manageable on any other day if I had not spent my entire morning in Court conferencing various cases and only returning to my office to handle this disaster well into the afternoon. Adding to the time sensitivity of this matter, the upper management in Manhattan took particular notice of this motion due to the issues that it involves and thus, I had the added stress of being under their constant scrutiny. (Note: I would tell you what the motion is about but that is confidential and I would have to kill you.) As a result of this scrutiny, I had to make sure that whatever I wrote today had to be crafted in such a way that it conformed with the big wigs' infinite wisdom and strategy on how to deal with this issue. Of course, I know that if we end up losing tomorrow, it will still be my ass on the line because it is easier to blame the old low man on the totem pole instead of the big guns, who decided on the strategy in the first place. (Note: As is the case with most jobs, my place of employment seems to not believe in the concept of personal accountability.)

Anyway, I rolled out of the office around 7:20 in hopes that I could get home before 8 in order to get a decent meal and just try to forget about the entire day in order to salvage what remained of my day. In order for this to be a reality, I had to first make it home, which required a little assistance from two of my favorite entity, the MTA and its baby, the New York City Transit system. (Note: The subways and the MTA are not actually departments of the City of New York nor are they managed by the City of New York as the MTA is actually its own autonomous corporation, separate, apart, and distinct from the City of New York so when you complain to the City about the subways really the MTA is the entity, who needs to be contacted. PHEW... I am tired after that one... I think I just passed out...)

After I entered the Jay Street Subway Station, however, I quickly realized that the subway gods were conspiring against me and that my attempt to get home before 8 was nothing more than a pipe dream as I observed my fellow subway patrons standing four deep awaiting the next Queens-bound A or C train. Unfortunately, once the A train arrived things went from awful to fucken really awful because the train instead of departing the station immediately after everyone boarded simply waited in the station with its doors open as the cars quickly filled up and reached rider capacity.

Thankfully, the MTA, which is the master of public relations, made this situation as painless as possible as their employees proceeded to scream in interesting versions of barely understandable English on both the station and subway car intercoms, "THE NEXT STOP WILL BE HOYT AND SCHERMERHORN STREET, PLEASE STAND CLEAR OF THE CLOSING DOORS... PLEASE STAND CLEAR OF THE CLOSING DOORS..." Of course, the doors did not close... nor did the train move... As such, the MTA should have just had their employees yell, "LISTEN YOU STUPID MOTHER FUCKERS... THIS TRAIN AIN'T MOVIN... WE HAVE NO FUCKEN CLUE WHY THE TRAIN AIN'T MOVIN... BUT WE DO KNOW THAT IT AIN'T GONNA MOVE FOR QUITE SOME TIME... SO EITHER YOU IGNORANT MOTHER FUCKERS CAN GET OFF THE MOTHER FUCKEN TRAIN AND FIND AN ALTERNATE WAY TO GET YOUR SORRY WORKING LATE ASSES TO WHEREEVER THE FUCK YOU ARE GOING OR YOU CAN STAND ON THE TRAIN AND STARE AT EACH OTHER WONDERING WHEN THIS TRAIN IS GOING TO MOVE... BUT WHO THE FUCK KNOWS WHEN THAT WILL BE... NOT US... THAT IS FOR MOTHER FUCKEN SURE..."

As an added door prize to this lack of communication and/or effort from the MTA was the fact that the train had now been waiting for ten minutes in the station with the doors wide open providing ample time for my fellow man to play a rousing game of "Come On, We Can Fit One More." (Note: this game invented originally on college campuses throughout America with phone booths was brought to New York City in the early 80's by a group of Yalies, who wanted to have a little fun after a hearty night of drinking and reach arounds.) Today, this game can be found atleast twice a day during the morning and the afternoon rush hour when subway patrons attempt to squeeze as many people into each subway car no matter how full that car maybe nor how badly its occupants stink of body odor. (Note: I will never play this game nor will I ever comprehend it, mainly because I have no interest adding to the human crush in a subway car and even less interest in smelling the various flavors of ass that is contained therein.)

After realizing that my train was not leaving any time soon, I decided to circumvent the use of the A train and got on the next Brooklyn bound F train across the platform so that I could transfer to the G train at either the Bergen Street or Carroll Street stations. Thankfully, the F train came quickly and I departed this train at Carroll Street to transfer to a Queens bound G train...

Of course, the subway system was not done fucking with me... as it clearly had not satisfied its thirst for my blood or my sanity... Instead, as I departed the F train and began to walk to the stairs to transfer to the other side of the platform, the F train began to pull away and that is when it happened.... Because as I walked, I looked up and noticed the conductor of the F train leaning out of the train, glaring at me, and mouthing and I am not kidding about this "ASSHOLE" in my direction. At first I thought that I was clearly mistaken, but when he did it again.... "ASSHOLE"... I pointed to myself and mouthed back in response, "WHO ME?" To which, he responded by simulateneously nodding his head in affirmation... and repeating his declarations of "ASSHOLE, ASSHOLE!!!", two more times before he stuck his head back in the train right before the train disappeared into the tunnel.

Now, if you have read my blog up to this point, it is probably pretty clear that I am an asshole. As a matter of fact, I kind of embrace that role in life, but I never realized that just by looking at me, someone could tell that I am in fact an asshole. Clearly, I was mistaken becuse today, I di nothing more than walk down the subway platform to get to another train and yet that simple action coupled with whatever my face looked like at that particular moment made this conductor peg me correctly as an ASSHOLE!

Now, originally, immediately after this happened, I was irate because as discussed in amazingly boring detail above, I was already pretty pissed off about how my evening was already going. Therefore, it was not in anyone's best interest to add to my internal anger. As a result, I considered a variety of options including but not limited to attempting to chase the train down and boaring it in order to tear this guy's throat open with my teeth. Of course, this thought quickly left my mind as I do not truly have a taste for human blood and because I probably would have killed myself in the process. More seriously, I considered filing some form of complaint against this conductor by reporting him to the ticket booth. Of course, then, I thought about what would actually be done if I did complain and decided that the best I could hope for is that my complaint would become bulletin board comedy for all the train conductors on the F line who probably pull similar stunts on a daily basis just to break up the monotony of driving a fucken train all day long or possibly as some suckier MTA version of Punked.

And I guess that is when I realized the pure genius of what this conductor had done. I mean clearly he was trying to elicit some type of response whether it be shock, anger, or both by calling me an ASSHOLE. Further, he knew that there was pretty much nothing I could do about it because he was on a moving train and I did not appear to have the stunt capabilities of Jackie Chan. And in the end, why the fuck not call me an asshole, I mean I am one, but even more importantly, driving a train as stated above, must be pretty boring at times and maybe this clever act of lunacy brightened up his day or atleast provided a laugh for him and the boys over a couple of suds at Choo Choo Charlie's Bar and Grill or whatever the name of their watering hole is...

So if I was to bring just a little bit of sunshine to their worthless little lives, I feel like my commute home this evening was for the greater good regardless of the pain that it caused me. Of course, it would have been alot better if the MTA simply got its shit together and did not turn my thirty minute commute into an hour and a half affair.... but I guess that might be a bit too much to ask from an entity whose employees feel the need to fill the voids in their meaningless lives by calling unsuspecting strangers... assholes... but then again, I am one... and at the end of the day, that is really all that matters in this entire situation... isn't it?