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.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Monday, September 12, 2005
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?
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?
Saturday, September 10, 2005
Are You Awake Cause I am
I am up... it's 7 AM on Saturday and time to get to Boston. Apparently, my area of Brooklyn does not function before 7:15 AM on Saturday's because I just went to both the dry cleaners and the laundrymat and neither were open to take my dirty clothes. What up? I mean I am up they should be too.
Thankfully, the laundry mat opened at 7:10. Sadly, the nice Asian man at the laundrymat forgot my name again. I believe that he has some form of selective amnesia because at this point, he is remembering my name every other time I go in there. Other times and even creepier, he remembers calls me by the last four digits of my phone number, which is used as my laundrymat card code. I guess he gets some slack because he gets to handle my underwear on a weekly basis. I mean I don't even handle my underwear on a weekly basis.
Finally, a quick thought on New York City politics, how can a guy with the last name of Weiner run for Mayor here in New York City and further why does he have posters everywhere that say WEINER FOR MAYOR. I mean he does know that his name makes me and six year olds laugh for hours right? His commercials are even worse because the name is pronounced just like you would think it would be and concludes with the slogan, Weiner for mayor... I mean I know that it is juvenial and I know that I belong back in 4th grade, but his name is Weiner and sadly I cannot stop laughing. Once I hear the name, everything else he says is just background noise to my child-like giggling and laughter. Weiner... pee pee... oh whatever it's seven in the fucken morning...
I'm off like a prom dress.
Thankfully, the laundry mat opened at 7:10. Sadly, the nice Asian man at the laundrymat forgot my name again. I believe that he has some form of selective amnesia because at this point, he is remembering my name every other time I go in there. Other times and even creepier, he remembers calls me by the last four digits of my phone number, which is used as my laundrymat card code. I guess he gets some slack because he gets to handle my underwear on a weekly basis. I mean I don't even handle my underwear on a weekly basis.
Finally, a quick thought on New York City politics, how can a guy with the last name of Weiner run for Mayor here in New York City and further why does he have posters everywhere that say WEINER FOR MAYOR. I mean he does know that his name makes me and six year olds laugh for hours right? His commercials are even worse because the name is pronounced just like you would think it would be and concludes with the slogan, Weiner for mayor... I mean I know that it is juvenial and I know that I belong back in 4th grade, but his name is Weiner and sadly I cannot stop laughing. Once I hear the name, everything else he says is just background noise to my child-like giggling and laughter. Weiner... pee pee... oh whatever it's seven in the fucken morning...
I'm off like a prom dress.
Escape from New York
My favorite team, the Red Sox, have come to town this weekend to face the rival Yankees in the Toilet Bowl in the Bronx. As a result, the Yankees' propaganda machine has seized this lovely City, and as such, all of the Yankees' fans have decided to once again start caring about their team. (I understand that they are used to winning around these parts, but I have never seen a group of lamer fans, I mean these guys hibernate until September and then arise from their slumber and act like they have been living and dying with this team the entire season. Also they speak of Yankees baseball and their style of play like the game was invented here. I checked, it was not.)
As I am a Red Sox fan, this time of year becomes almost unbearable to live here because I have to constantly defend my team and NO this has not gone away since the Sox won the World Series. (Just for the record, THE SOX WON THE WORLD SERIES, BITCHES!!!) Thankfully, these barbs no longer has the same effect because all I have to say is, "Damn, I cannot believe your team lost four games in a row in the playoffs last year. I mean you were up three games to nothing... how do you lose four in a row... has that ever happened before? Oh wait no, NO, it has not..." And while generally, I would have no problem sticking around in order to remind these suckas about how their team had the worst collapse in the history of sports, I have decided to get the fuck out of dodge and head to Beantown for the weekend. There I can be far away from the Bronx and the members of Brainwashed Pinstripe Nation, who if I am not mistaken share the same brain or atleast share the same comeback for everything... 26 titles.... duh... 26... uh... BARF.... tools.
Hopefully while I am in Boston, the Sox will make up for tonight's loss and get their collective heads out of their asses winning the next two out of three... But if they do not, I am already prepared for the numerous copies of the Post and the Daily News that will be waiting for me when I return to work on Monday, each of which I am sure will declare that this weekend the Yankees rid the world of AIDS, cured cancer, eliminated poverty, and found Bin Laden...
BUT no matter what happens... I will always have this...
Have a wicked awesome weekend!!!
R.D.
As I am a Red Sox fan, this time of year becomes almost unbearable to live here because I have to constantly defend my team and NO this has not gone away since the Sox won the World Series. (Just for the record, THE SOX WON THE WORLD SERIES, BITCHES!!!) Thankfully, these barbs no longer has the same effect because all I have to say is, "Damn, I cannot believe your team lost four games in a row in the playoffs last year. I mean you were up three games to nothing... how do you lose four in a row... has that ever happened before? Oh wait no, NO, it has not..." And while generally, I would have no problem sticking around in order to remind these suckas about how their team had the worst collapse in the history of sports, I have decided to get the fuck out of dodge and head to Beantown for the weekend. There I can be far away from the Bronx and the members of Brainwashed Pinstripe Nation, who if I am not mistaken share the same brain or atleast share the same comeback for everything... 26 titles.... duh... 26... uh... BARF.... tools.
Hopefully while I am in Boston, the Sox will make up for tonight's loss and get their collective heads out of their asses winning the next two out of three... But if they do not, I am already prepared for the numerous copies of the Post and the Daily News that will be waiting for me when I return to work on Monday, each of which I am sure will declare that this weekend the Yankees rid the world of AIDS, cured cancer, eliminated poverty, and found Bin Laden...
BUT no matter what happens... I will always have this...
Have a wicked awesome weekend!!!
R.D.
Friday, September 09, 2005
Quiet Time in Greenwich Village
This is from last weekend... and I forgot to post it.. it is lame... But sometimes, like Curt Schilling this season, even I lose my fastball and cannot locate any of my pitches.
In the heart of Greenwich Village on Christopher Street is the Stonewall Inn where on June 27, 1969, members of the New York City Police Department attempted to raid this locale and simultaneously created the spark that started the Gay Right's Movement. Last night(now a week ago) I found myself mere yards away from this historic location as I visited one of my favorite bars in the City, The Riviera. In this heavily populated gay area of the City, the Riv, as it is known to its patrons, is the RED SOX bar in New York City, a veritable stronghold of Red Sox Nation deep within enemy lines. It is a place where a Yankees hat gets you booed while a Red Sox hat is the norm and on any given night, the Riv is filled with Sawx Talk as conversations range from Manny being Manny, the acquisition of Tony Graffanino, and the recent departure of post-season hero Mark Bellhorn to the hated Yankees.
I found the Riv a couple of years ago shortly after I moved to the City. My former roommate, the actor, mentioned a Red Sox bar somewhere in Greenwich Village called The Riviera. I having no clue about this area of the City wondered why a bar that allegedly was a safe haven for Sox fans had a name that I associated with France and topless sunbathing and thus was initially hesitant to enter this potential French enclave of the City. However, after enduring a couple of months of watching the YES network and hearing their announcers tout the wonders of YANKEES BASEBALL, I needed to find any bar in the City where Sox fans gathered.
Thankfully, the Riv turned out to have nothing to do with France and everything to do with a team who until last season had not won a World Series for 86 years. And although I have never seen anyone sans top within its friendly confines, the bar has become a go to for me whenever I want to catch my favorite baseball team and hear the all to familiar voices of Jerry Remy and Don Orsillo, the Red Sox announcers.
I am not sure why but right now as I am writing this piece I am not sure what I am supposed to write next without this whole thing turning into a restaurant review. I mean the food is good, and there is beer so if you want those things, the Riv can satisfy those needs. I guess I just wanted to mention that last night I went there and watched the Sox beat the Orioles 7-6 and had a reasonably decent time. Definitely nothing glamorous about the evening. (Note: As I am currently editing this thing one week later, the Yankees beat the Sox tonight in the opening of a huge series in the Bronx. I guess this piece has been doomed from its inception as it causes the Sox to play crappy baseball and my readers to want to rake their eyes out with a fork.)
After I went to the Riv, I went around the corner to The Kettle of Fish bar located on Christopher Street. Oddly, this bar is a Greeny Bay Packers and Wisconsin Badgers bar during football season as apparently, the area that is famous as the center of the start of the gay right's movement has now expanded to provide a safe haven for non-New York City sports fans. Kettle is a very chill bar with a small town bar atmosphere. Once again, I feel like I should be giving this place a star rating so I will give it four stars. The best part of this bar is that inside there is this cool picture of Jack Kerouac, who I guess used to booze there or maybe he just sat at the bar and angrily plotted his trip across the United States.
So I guess that was my night, one week ago. I think that this entry if nothing else just proves that no matter how glamorous your friends may tell you their lives are because they live in the Big Apple when they actually write about it, their evenings sound like a night out anywhere and everywhere in this country we call America. (and now I successfully ended my worst entry ever with the single worst sentence I have ever written in my life... I am putting myself on probation.)
The lights fade.... and the sound of American Pie by Don Maclean is heard in the background....
And scene...
In the heart of Greenwich Village on Christopher Street is the Stonewall Inn where on June 27, 1969, members of the New York City Police Department attempted to raid this locale and simultaneously created the spark that started the Gay Right's Movement. Last night(now a week ago) I found myself mere yards away from this historic location as I visited one of my favorite bars in the City, The Riviera. In this heavily populated gay area of the City, the Riv, as it is known to its patrons, is the RED SOX bar in New York City, a veritable stronghold of Red Sox Nation deep within enemy lines. It is a place where a Yankees hat gets you booed while a Red Sox hat is the norm and on any given night, the Riv is filled with Sawx Talk as conversations range from Manny being Manny, the acquisition of Tony Graffanino, and the recent departure of post-season hero Mark Bellhorn to the hated Yankees.
I found the Riv a couple of years ago shortly after I moved to the City. My former roommate, the actor, mentioned a Red Sox bar somewhere in Greenwich Village called The Riviera. I having no clue about this area of the City wondered why a bar that allegedly was a safe haven for Sox fans had a name that I associated with France and topless sunbathing and thus was initially hesitant to enter this potential French enclave of the City. However, after enduring a couple of months of watching the YES network and hearing their announcers tout the wonders of YANKEES BASEBALL, I needed to find any bar in the City where Sox fans gathered.
Thankfully, the Riv turned out to have nothing to do with France and everything to do with a team who until last season had not won a World Series for 86 years. And although I have never seen anyone sans top within its friendly confines, the bar has become a go to for me whenever I want to catch my favorite baseball team and hear the all to familiar voices of Jerry Remy and Don Orsillo, the Red Sox announcers.
I am not sure why but right now as I am writing this piece I am not sure what I am supposed to write next without this whole thing turning into a restaurant review. I mean the food is good, and there is beer so if you want those things, the Riv can satisfy those needs. I guess I just wanted to mention that last night I went there and watched the Sox beat the Orioles 7-6 and had a reasonably decent time. Definitely nothing glamorous about the evening. (Note: As I am currently editing this thing one week later, the Yankees beat the Sox tonight in the opening of a huge series in the Bronx. I guess this piece has been doomed from its inception as it causes the Sox to play crappy baseball and my readers to want to rake their eyes out with a fork.)
After I went to the Riv, I went around the corner to The Kettle of Fish bar located on Christopher Street. Oddly, this bar is a Greeny Bay Packers and Wisconsin Badgers bar during football season as apparently, the area that is famous as the center of the start of the gay right's movement has now expanded to provide a safe haven for non-New York City sports fans. Kettle is a very chill bar with a small town bar atmosphere. Once again, I feel like I should be giving this place a star rating so I will give it four stars. The best part of this bar is that inside there is this cool picture of Jack Kerouac, who I guess used to booze there or maybe he just sat at the bar and angrily plotted his trip across the United States.
So I guess that was my night, one week ago. I think that this entry if nothing else just proves that no matter how glamorous your friends may tell you their lives are because they live in the Big Apple when they actually write about it, their evenings sound like a night out anywhere and everywhere in this country we call America. (and now I successfully ended my worst entry ever with the single worst sentence I have ever written in my life... I am putting myself on probation.)
The lights fade.... and the sound of American Pie by Don Maclean is heard in the background....
And scene...
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Every Once and Awhile
I pretend that I am an attorney.
Tomorrow is one of those days because I have a witness to prep for my first trial ever that is coming up in a week. Now you would think that because this is my first trial, I would be really nervous, but I am not. Actually, I am kind of looking forward to the challenge and the mind fuck that I am going to lay on opposing counsel. While I am not necessarily nervous or stressed, I am realizing on a daily basis that I have no idea what I am supposed to do in terms of the actual trial meaning where I am I supposed to go, what am I supposed to bring, etc. Basically, instead of preparing the case, I am getting bogged down in simple details and all the meaningless practical crap. In reality, I probably should be more concerned with my opening, closing, cross examination, and direct examination, but for some reason, I think I will have all this figured out by the time the curtain opens.
It also does not help that there has been no work on the case up to this point so tomorrow is our first crack at figuring out what the hell happened in this matter. I guess it will probably be clearer tomorrow when I figure out why my guy's firetruck decided to crash into this guy's parked car. (that sentence is ripe with gay innuendo.) Of course, I highly doubt it because the more I work at this job, the more I realize that what seems to be simple just means that somebody is really lying in order to cover their own ass. There is no reason to expect tomorrow will be any different.
Now, the prep of the witness would not be a bad thing if I had not also been duly rewarded with a deposition in the afternoon. (For those that do not known, a deposition is when I get to sit in a room for five to six hours asking someone how they managed to trip and fall on a perfect sidewalk in the middle of beautiful summer day. Some attorneys only expend a couple of hours deposing people, but I kind of like to see how long my fellow man can go without food. If I am not eating, they are not eating.)
Now for tomorrow's big winners, basically what I have figured out from the hour of work I did to prepare for this disaster is that for some reason allegedly after a bit of roadwork near their residence, the plaintiffs' basement had a wee bit of a flood problem everytime that it rained. And when I say wee, I mean that up to six to seven feet of water would collect in their basement whenever it would rain. Now if you live in New York City, you know that if there is water coming in, everything else that collects on the street is coming in with it meaning that these people had various forms of municipal waste like leaves, oil, bottles, and of course, lots of dog shit.
The whole case seems pretty boring and so to spice it up, I think I am just going to ask these people how the flooding affected their ability to have intercourse, a question that is admissible if they are suing for loss of services. This question is probably my favorite question to ask plaintiffs because I can be as specific and get into as much detail as I want to meaning I can ask about frequency before and after, duration before and after, what they did before the accident, and what cannot do anymore. The best part of this question is that it really makes people turn bright red and squirm, and sometimes they will even drop the claim right then and there. I, myself, used to be hesistant to ask these questions, but now hey, if you are going to claim that your love life now blows because of something like a flood in your basement, be prepared for me to find out what kind of kinky shit you were into before you needed to build the damn ark.
Anyway, I guess I got to hit it so that I can have some form of a clear mind by tomorrow morning... time to play attorney... even if it is for one day only.
Tomorrow is one of those days because I have a witness to prep for my first trial ever that is coming up in a week. Now you would think that because this is my first trial, I would be really nervous, but I am not. Actually, I am kind of looking forward to the challenge and the mind fuck that I am going to lay on opposing counsel. While I am not necessarily nervous or stressed, I am realizing on a daily basis that I have no idea what I am supposed to do in terms of the actual trial meaning where I am I supposed to go, what am I supposed to bring, etc. Basically, instead of preparing the case, I am getting bogged down in simple details and all the meaningless practical crap. In reality, I probably should be more concerned with my opening, closing, cross examination, and direct examination, but for some reason, I think I will have all this figured out by the time the curtain opens.
It also does not help that there has been no work on the case up to this point so tomorrow is our first crack at figuring out what the hell happened in this matter. I guess it will probably be clearer tomorrow when I figure out why my guy's firetruck decided to crash into this guy's parked car. (that sentence is ripe with gay innuendo.) Of course, I highly doubt it because the more I work at this job, the more I realize that what seems to be simple just means that somebody is really lying in order to cover their own ass. There is no reason to expect tomorrow will be any different.
Now, the prep of the witness would not be a bad thing if I had not also been duly rewarded with a deposition in the afternoon. (For those that do not known, a deposition is when I get to sit in a room for five to six hours asking someone how they managed to trip and fall on a perfect sidewalk in the middle of beautiful summer day. Some attorneys only expend a couple of hours deposing people, but I kind of like to see how long my fellow man can go without food. If I am not eating, they are not eating.)
Now for tomorrow's big winners, basically what I have figured out from the hour of work I did to prepare for this disaster is that for some reason allegedly after a bit of roadwork near their residence, the plaintiffs' basement had a wee bit of a flood problem everytime that it rained. And when I say wee, I mean that up to six to seven feet of water would collect in their basement whenever it would rain. Now if you live in New York City, you know that if there is water coming in, everything else that collects on the street is coming in with it meaning that these people had various forms of municipal waste like leaves, oil, bottles, and of course, lots of dog shit.
The whole case seems pretty boring and so to spice it up, I think I am just going to ask these people how the flooding affected their ability to have intercourse, a question that is admissible if they are suing for loss of services. This question is probably my favorite question to ask plaintiffs because I can be as specific and get into as much detail as I want to meaning I can ask about frequency before and after, duration before and after, what they did before the accident, and what cannot do anymore. The best part of this question is that it really makes people turn bright red and squirm, and sometimes they will even drop the claim right then and there. I, myself, used to be hesistant to ask these questions, but now hey, if you are going to claim that your love life now blows because of something like a flood in your basement, be prepared for me to find out what kind of kinky shit you were into before you needed to build the damn ark.
Anyway, I guess I got to hit it so that I can have some form of a clear mind by tomorrow morning... time to play attorney... even if it is for one day only.
Zen of Phil
A couple of weeks ago I wrote about my grandfather and how he was a great man. His son, my father, Big Phil, is an equally great man, actually he is greater... I mean this is the man that gave me some of my most treasured qualities like my strapping good looks, my anger, my temper, my sense of humor, my love for beer, and of course, my giant Irish noggin'. Further, he never pressured me into doing any sports or to do anything really, but has always been there smiling with great pride whenever I do accomplish something... (Except when he found weed in my sock in high school, then the look was that of betrayal as he wanted to know why I was holding out on him...)
Our relationship over the years can be characterized as being less like that of a father and son and more like that of two brothers with him being the older and wiser brother and me being the younger and whinier piece of shit brother. With these roles defined, my father through the years has been there time and time again to keep me in line and to always lend a bit of advice or atleast commentary when he felt that I needed to realize the error of my ways or simply to inform me as to what he found wrong with the way I did something. (Note: I love the man, I do... It's just you tend to tune someone out when they try to teach the proper way to stack wood or load a canoe on a car for the thirty-thousandth time.)
Anyway, since the Big Guy has always provided me with little pearls of knowledge throughout my life, I have decided that I will provide you, my loyal readers, with some of this advice, free of charge from time to time so that you may better live your life's more in tune and aligned with the Zen of Phil.
Lesson 1: Sweating: Badge of Public Dishonor
I am a sweater, and thus, during the summer months of 300% humidity and 110 degree heat, I sweat constantly whether it be day or night, inside or outside, I sweat. Making matters worse, I do not have any hair or atleast it is usually really short and thus, there is nothing to absorb the sweat from my head. As a result, when I sweat it tends to run all over my head and face... it is a very cute image, I assure you.
Anyway, this summer while attending one of the many weddings that I went to in order to watch someone else progress closer to what society considers being an adult, I found myself sitting in a Congregational Church in Old Lyme, Connecticut. Conveniently, this church had clearly been built at some point during the 1800's, which was a period of time during which there was apparently no air conditioning. Thankfully, the church had decided to open its windows in order to allow the stagnant June heat and humidity inside in order to maintain the unnecessarily hot conditions.
As such along with my parents and sister, I found myself sitting in the pews sweating profusely like R. Kelly at a girl scout meeting, a whore in church, or two rats humping in a wool sock. (please take your pick) Of course, shortly after we sat down, my father noticed that I was sweating and proceeded to glare at me. My mother, god bless her soul, noticed as well but offered me a tissue to wipe my face down while my sister, another angel from heaven, looked to see if she had anything to help. My father, who apparently decided to ignore the reality of the day i.e. the 90 degree temperatures and the fact that I happened to be wearing a GOD DAMN suit, stared increduously. Of course, he could not leave it at that, I mean the man has to comment and put his two cents in.... and so this is what followed:
Dad (in a semi-hushed tone): Andy, andy, what is wrong with you? Why are you sweating?
Me: (ignoring him.)
Dad (not satisfied and clearly thinking I had lost hearing, now louder): ANDY, ANDY, what is WRONG WITH YOU? WHY ARE YOU SWEATING SO MUCH?
Me (finally giving in): I don't know why I am fucken sweating....
Mom: (shaking her head and looking away)
Sister: (looking for other seating)
Dad (clearly not understanding this answer): WOULD YOU JUST STOP SWEATING...
Now, clearly, in retrospect, I feel bad about swearing at my friend's wedding before the ceremony in the church, but did I have an alternative. I mean I could have cut out the vulgarity but that was to drive home a point that I could not control the sweating since Mother Nature had clearly conspired against me and my fellow man to create sweat-only conditions. Maybe I should have given my father a more complete answer such as "Sorry dad, I did not get my heroine fix today, and thus I am going through a wee bit of withdrawal right now. If you could just take me to the nearest methadone clinic between the ceremony and the reception, I should be able to get this all straightened out so I can dance my ass off into the night."
And clearly, I feel bad that my mother and my sister had to endure this disagreement between my father and I... Of course, they have had to endure many of these over the years, and I believe that they are secretly running a pool amongst our family members and friends as to how much time will pass from the time we first see each other to when we have one of these spats... I wonder what the "buy in" is and how I can get in on that action...
But here is the thing, there was nothing wrong with the fact that I was sweating while sitting in an un-airconditioned church during the summer with a suit on... As a matter of fact, there were a number of other people including my own father sweating in the pews surrounding us... Moreover, the ushers were giving out bottles of water so that people would not pass out while at the church.
And yet, Dad decided that it was time to make sure that I knew that he did not think that I should be sweating at that particular moment regardless of the fact that it was beyond my ability to control it. Instead, he wanted me to figure out a way to shut my own body down defying the rules of human physiology. And that is why I love my dad... he always wants me to strive for the best and to make the impossible possible....Even if it means some type of near death experience.
So go forth with your day today, tomorrow, or whenever, and just remember, no matter where you are or what you are doing Phil is there watching to make sure that regardless of the temperatures, you are not sweating. Please try your best to appease him or else he will judge you. Or atleast, blame it on me.
Our relationship over the years can be characterized as being less like that of a father and son and more like that of two brothers with him being the older and wiser brother and me being the younger and whinier piece of shit brother. With these roles defined, my father through the years has been there time and time again to keep me in line and to always lend a bit of advice or atleast commentary when he felt that I needed to realize the error of my ways or simply to inform me as to what he found wrong with the way I did something. (Note: I love the man, I do... It's just you tend to tune someone out when they try to teach the proper way to stack wood or load a canoe on a car for the thirty-thousandth time.)
Anyway, since the Big Guy has always provided me with little pearls of knowledge throughout my life, I have decided that I will provide you, my loyal readers, with some of this advice, free of charge from time to time so that you may better live your life's more in tune and aligned with the Zen of Phil.
Lesson 1: Sweating: Badge of Public Dishonor
I am a sweater, and thus, during the summer months of 300% humidity and 110 degree heat, I sweat constantly whether it be day or night, inside or outside, I sweat. Making matters worse, I do not have any hair or atleast it is usually really short and thus, there is nothing to absorb the sweat from my head. As a result, when I sweat it tends to run all over my head and face... it is a very cute image, I assure you.
Anyway, this summer while attending one of the many weddings that I went to in order to watch someone else progress closer to what society considers being an adult, I found myself sitting in a Congregational Church in Old Lyme, Connecticut. Conveniently, this church had clearly been built at some point during the 1800's, which was a period of time during which there was apparently no air conditioning. Thankfully, the church had decided to open its windows in order to allow the stagnant June heat and humidity inside in order to maintain the unnecessarily hot conditions.
As such along with my parents and sister, I found myself sitting in the pews sweating profusely like R. Kelly at a girl scout meeting, a whore in church, or two rats humping in a wool sock. (please take your pick) Of course, shortly after we sat down, my father noticed that I was sweating and proceeded to glare at me. My mother, god bless her soul, noticed as well but offered me a tissue to wipe my face down while my sister, another angel from heaven, looked to see if she had anything to help. My father, who apparently decided to ignore the reality of the day i.e. the 90 degree temperatures and the fact that I happened to be wearing a GOD DAMN suit, stared increduously. Of course, he could not leave it at that, I mean the man has to comment and put his two cents in.... and so this is what followed:
Dad (in a semi-hushed tone): Andy, andy, what is wrong with you? Why are you sweating?
Me: (ignoring him.)
Dad (not satisfied and clearly thinking I had lost hearing, now louder): ANDY, ANDY, what is WRONG WITH YOU? WHY ARE YOU SWEATING SO MUCH?
Me (finally giving in): I don't know why I am fucken sweating....
Mom: (shaking her head and looking away)
Sister: (looking for other seating)
Dad (clearly not understanding this answer): WOULD YOU JUST STOP SWEATING...
Now, clearly, in retrospect, I feel bad about swearing at my friend's wedding before the ceremony in the church, but did I have an alternative. I mean I could have cut out the vulgarity but that was to drive home a point that I could not control the sweating since Mother Nature had clearly conspired against me and my fellow man to create sweat-only conditions. Maybe I should have given my father a more complete answer such as "Sorry dad, I did not get my heroine fix today, and thus I am going through a wee bit of withdrawal right now. If you could just take me to the nearest methadone clinic between the ceremony and the reception, I should be able to get this all straightened out so I can dance my ass off into the night."
And clearly, I feel bad that my mother and my sister had to endure this disagreement between my father and I... Of course, they have had to endure many of these over the years, and I believe that they are secretly running a pool amongst our family members and friends as to how much time will pass from the time we first see each other to when we have one of these spats... I wonder what the "buy in" is and how I can get in on that action...
But here is the thing, there was nothing wrong with the fact that I was sweating while sitting in an un-airconditioned church during the summer with a suit on... As a matter of fact, there were a number of other people including my own father sweating in the pews surrounding us... Moreover, the ushers were giving out bottles of water so that people would not pass out while at the church.
And yet, Dad decided that it was time to make sure that I knew that he did not think that I should be sweating at that particular moment regardless of the fact that it was beyond my ability to control it. Instead, he wanted me to figure out a way to shut my own body down defying the rules of human physiology. And that is why I love my dad... he always wants me to strive for the best and to make the impossible possible....Even if it means some type of near death experience.
So go forth with your day today, tomorrow, or whenever, and just remember, no matter where you are or what you are doing Phil is there watching to make sure that regardless of the temperatures, you are not sweating. Please try your best to appease him or else he will judge you. Or atleast, blame it on me.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
My Favorite Commercial
It's the one with Emerald Nuts, a Unicorn, Santa Claus, and the Easter Bunny... and no, it will not get you arrested unless you are in China... and actually getting arrested there might be the best thing for you... not really... the ad is here.
The Great Poker Disaster
So last night my buddies and I got together for another weekly installment of the Williamsburg Four Poker Night. This week's tournament was aptly named, "The Labor Day Weekend Recovery Tournament," and held in my below street level apartment on Graham Avenue. This week's players, Bob Jingle, Dirty D, and Savage, played exceptional poker after taking a week off from playing while Bob Jingle traveled to the Sunshine State with his lovely wife, Mephistopholes, to live for a week with his sister-in-law, nieces, and nephews. (Note: I think he basically lost his will to live and decided that he needed to see if he could put himself on the fast track to suicide. Although the young nephew appears to be quite the chess player as well as a lover of Mephistopholes' chest.)
Unfortunately, I played some of the worst poker I have played in quite some time. My strategy was pretty simple as I tried to shake things up a bit betting when I usually would not and bluffing a shit load... and that blew up in my face... which it should have... Mid-game, however, it appeared that like Stella, I may have gotten my groove back and the game appeared to turn around so that I began to get that great feeling of fake confidence that only gambling can provide.
And then the whole game went to shit.... Basically, I lost all my money on a hand where I had a straight, king high. I believe that on the table were the following cards: Eight, ten, Queen, and King with another card that was meaningless to the straight. In my hand, I held a jack and a nine. As a result, the only hand that could beat me was if Bob Jingle, who I was facing head up for the pot, had an Ace and Jack in his hand. So I took a gamble and figured he did not have it... and went ALL IN.
AND THAT MY FRIENDS IS WHY I SUCK AT POKER!!! CAUSE HE HAD IT... and I lost all my money.
The rest of the night featured an intense game between Savage, Dirty, and Jingle while I downloaded porn and IM'ed the ladies on the interweb. (Atleast, I got something out of the deal I guess.) Unfortunately for me, due to my losses, I could not afford lunch today and that is the real tragedy of the entire evening.... Oh and that I cried after losing...
Yes, I was that sad, and apparently, I had my shirt off?!?!!?
I will rebound next week and win my five bucks back... You will all see... I want my FIVE DOLLARS...
Unfortunately, I played some of the worst poker I have played in quite some time. My strategy was pretty simple as I tried to shake things up a bit betting when I usually would not and bluffing a shit load... and that blew up in my face... which it should have... Mid-game, however, it appeared that like Stella, I may have gotten my groove back and the game appeared to turn around so that I began to get that great feeling of fake confidence that only gambling can provide.
And then the whole game went to shit.... Basically, I lost all my money on a hand where I had a straight, king high. I believe that on the table were the following cards: Eight, ten, Queen, and King with another card that was meaningless to the straight. In my hand, I held a jack and a nine. As a result, the only hand that could beat me was if Bob Jingle, who I was facing head up for the pot, had an Ace and Jack in his hand. So I took a gamble and figured he did not have it... and went ALL IN.
AND THAT MY FRIENDS IS WHY I SUCK AT POKER!!! CAUSE HE HAD IT... and I lost all my money.
The rest of the night featured an intense game between Savage, Dirty, and Jingle while I downloaded porn and IM'ed the ladies on the interweb. (Atleast, I got something out of the deal I guess.) Unfortunately for me, due to my losses, I could not afford lunch today and that is the real tragedy of the entire evening.... Oh and that I cried after losing...
Yes, I was that sad, and apparently, I had my shirt off?!?!!?
I will rebound next week and win my five bucks back... You will all see... I want my FIVE DOLLARS...
Monday, September 05, 2005
Sun and Fun for Monday
I am off to the beach tomorrow morning for a little sun, a little fun, and some well needed relaxation. I truly believe that every weekend should be a three day weekend or at the very least, let's require one per month to provide our brains and our lives a little downtime from all the crap that we have to deal with on a weekly basis. (Even if this will never become a reality, the more I work, the more I appreciate the three day weekends that I do get as they provide me with a chance to simply become a human vegetable.)
Apparently, however, there are individuals in this society of ours that ignore the productivity that can result from the downtime provided by a three-day weekend and feel the need to work through these breaks. Although I may not agree with such a mindset, I cannot criticize these individuals as long their own desire to work 24/7 does not affect the lives of other individuals at their place of business. When it does, however, then, it's open season on this backwards mindset.
A sad example of such a situation is the friend of mine, who has spent the majority of the weekend working for a boss, who on Saturday of this weekend came to the office early and immediately began to complain about the fact that the remainder of the office was not there at nine in the morning. (ON LABOR DAY WEEKEND) I mean is this not Labor Day weekend, a weekend meant for the workers? A weekend that in the legal profession and most others marks the end of the calm summer months providing all of us with a chance to rest up for the upcoming stressful fall season.
In my friend's situation, however, instead of allowing his workers to spend a relaxing weekend with their families and friends in order to refuel, this boss has lost touch with reality and decided to force his office to work in an apparent attempt to exploit and alienate each of his employees. And sadly, I believe that he finds nothing wrong with the fact that his office is working this weekend while so many others are not. In his warped mind, he feels that the office needs to be working subscribing to the flawed philosophy of since "I am working, why shouldn't they?"
In my mind, such an approach has to be one of the more ignorant and simple minded philosophies that I have ever experienced because any type of output that is achieved by bringing in the office on the three day weekend is negated by the longlasting detrimental effect that such a practice has on office morale and future productivity. (Not to mention that half the office probably wants to quit on a daily basis.) I mean by making his employees come in this weekend, he is creating an work environment that is not only contentious but one where the employees have no respect for their boss. (In most cases, they probably hate the fucken man, which may actually be a positive since atleast they are unified in that regard.)
Moreover, even if they come in, are they really putting forth their full effort or are they simply stewing at their desks about the fact that they are in the office while their friends and family are at the beach or other places relaxing? Actually they are probably spending the majority of their time IMing anyone who is not at the office about how they want to murder their boss or atleast their not so secrete desire to leave a bag of shit under his desk when he leaves.
And how is this maximizing productivity? Clearly, it is not, instead this mandate to work this weekend is simply appeasing the insecurities of a workaholic who forgot a long time ago what it means to actually live life. The more I think about it there really should be counseling provided for this individual or atleast some type of public castration. Actually since I know he has a pretty firm grasp on the law, let's just make such practices illegal with fines to those violators who want to ruin other people's chance to get a free day off to spend with their families.
So to my friend, I wish that I could bring you to the beach with me tomorrow so that you do not have to spend anymore of your time doing work.
And to your boss, I hope he gets laid (actually maybe simply getting an erection will suffice) or atleast goes in for that medical procedure that removes the giant stick from his ass although I have a feeling that the stick is pretty well up there. Or maybe and more realistically, he needs to take his own personal three day weekend and spend that time trying to figure out where he lost his love for life while reconsidering his priorities and the life that that he is living. (And for this personal three day weekend, I am suggesting that you make him a three day supply of pot brownies to assist him in this life reevaluation.)
Apparently, however, there are individuals in this society of ours that ignore the productivity that can result from the downtime provided by a three-day weekend and feel the need to work through these breaks. Although I may not agree with such a mindset, I cannot criticize these individuals as long their own desire to work 24/7 does not affect the lives of other individuals at their place of business. When it does, however, then, it's open season on this backwards mindset.
A sad example of such a situation is the friend of mine, who has spent the majority of the weekend working for a boss, who on Saturday of this weekend came to the office early and immediately began to complain about the fact that the remainder of the office was not there at nine in the morning. (ON LABOR DAY WEEKEND) I mean is this not Labor Day weekend, a weekend meant for the workers? A weekend that in the legal profession and most others marks the end of the calm summer months providing all of us with a chance to rest up for the upcoming stressful fall season.
In my friend's situation, however, instead of allowing his workers to spend a relaxing weekend with their families and friends in order to refuel, this boss has lost touch with reality and decided to force his office to work in an apparent attempt to exploit and alienate each of his employees. And sadly, I believe that he finds nothing wrong with the fact that his office is working this weekend while so many others are not. In his warped mind, he feels that the office needs to be working subscribing to the flawed philosophy of since "I am working, why shouldn't they?"
In my mind, such an approach has to be one of the more ignorant and simple minded philosophies that I have ever experienced because any type of output that is achieved by bringing in the office on the three day weekend is negated by the longlasting detrimental effect that such a practice has on office morale and future productivity. (Not to mention that half the office probably wants to quit on a daily basis.) I mean by making his employees come in this weekend, he is creating an work environment that is not only contentious but one where the employees have no respect for their boss. (In most cases, they probably hate the fucken man, which may actually be a positive since atleast they are unified in that regard.)
Moreover, even if they come in, are they really putting forth their full effort or are they simply stewing at their desks about the fact that they are in the office while their friends and family are at the beach or other places relaxing? Actually they are probably spending the majority of their time IMing anyone who is not at the office about how they want to murder their boss or atleast their not so secrete desire to leave a bag of shit under his desk when he leaves.
And how is this maximizing productivity? Clearly, it is not, instead this mandate to work this weekend is simply appeasing the insecurities of a workaholic who forgot a long time ago what it means to actually live life. The more I think about it there really should be counseling provided for this individual or atleast some type of public castration. Actually since I know he has a pretty firm grasp on the law, let's just make such practices illegal with fines to those violators who want to ruin other people's chance to get a free day off to spend with their families.
So to my friend, I wish that I could bring you to the beach with me tomorrow so that you do not have to spend anymore of your time doing work.
And to your boss, I hope he gets laid (actually maybe simply getting an erection will suffice) or atleast goes in for that medical procedure that removes the giant stick from his ass although I have a feeling that the stick is pretty well up there. Or maybe and more realistically, he needs to take his own personal three day weekend and spend that time trying to figure out where he lost his love for life while reconsidering his priorities and the life that that he is living. (And for this personal three day weekend, I am suggesting that you make him a three day supply of pot brownies to assist him in this life reevaluation.)
Saturday, September 03, 2005
Write Something Funny
The above words are the instructions I received this evening when I asked a special someone what I should write about. The conversation came about because I found myself home alone on a Friday evening confined to a shitty couch polishing off 20 dollars worth of Thai food while simultaneously listening to the Red Sox game on the computer and watching Man on Fire with Denzel Washington and Dakota Fanning on the television. (There are jokes about both of these actors that I consider to be layups that I will let you figure out on your own time because I have not reached the point where I need to go to my garbage time humor, yet. Also, I turned the movie off after writing that I was watching a movie with Washington and Fanning in it... talk about a wake up call and a commentary on how low my life has sunken. I think I just judged myself.)
Anyway, while I am sitting on the couch desperately figuring out how to be funny, this someone finds themself at a bachelorette party with the name, Ivana Cumalot, as her code name for the evening, apparently there are name tags involved as well. For the record, the adoption of fake names is something that is a bachelorette party only idea as gentlemen tend to stick with having the ass of some naked stripper with a fake name grinding on their lap instead of creating a fake name for themselves. Further, I would love to make fun of the bachelorette party fake name thing, but the fact that she is wearing a name tag gives her a pass, I mean she is walking around with that name on her name tag, I think she may have suffered enough this evening.
Anyway, so this someone's only suggestion about what I should write was to write something humorous while she proceeded to go out and indulge in all that there is to indulge in at a bachelorette party. I believe they get together, give head to carrots, drink White Zin, get naked, and pillow fight.... atleast for the first hour until the Zin kicks in and then, they all proceed to sob for the next couple of hours and tell each other how much they love one another.
The problem, however, with a command of this nature is that I am not an automatically funny kind of guy meaning that I cannot just sit here and out of thin air create something that would be described as funny. (Some would also say that I am never funny, those people would be either be assholes or my seventh grade class who made fun of me for still having glasses... Just for the record, I got contacts now bitches... and what do you got, that's right, two kids and a mortgage... Eat a dick!)
Instead of being funny on call, I am a conversation and situation based humorist meaning that while people are talking, I am usually trying to figure out what whitty comment I can work into whatever they just said. (Note: I never listen to what anyone ever says to me other than to figure out how I can work a zinger in there.... so if it is really important email it to me so that I can atleast refer to the written word when I need to remember that you are dying of a flesh eating virus.) Now, the problem that this presents is that I am not funny unless I am in a situation involving other people. As such, I cannot be funny while sitting on my couch alone in a semi-comatose state feeling sick off Pad See Yu, Beef Satay, and TomYung Goong. (although I am having great visuals right now.)
The perfect example of this problem was a couple of year's ago when I was in Vegas with my buddy, Jason, from law school. Ironically, this was Jason's bachelor party during which I proceeded to spend so much money on booze, strippers, and gambling that my credit cards (all of them) got locked out by their respective companies two nights in a row because I had reached their nightly limits. (In the interest of full disclosure, never go to the champagne room because no matter how much money you spend ($400), she is not going to catch the next flight back to Hartford, Connecticut to marry you. Also, if you are spending alot of money (another $400), make sure that she spends the entire time giving you a lap dance and do not proceed to waste the majority of your time with her asking her about her entire life story as if you are going to save her from her current career choice. She is making so much more money than you are and is certainly not looking for an intervention.)
Point being, while in Vegas, I was apparently on some kind of a roll in terms of being funny. I mean I was also drunk beyond the point of being able to stand for the majority of the trip, but at the same time, I seemed to be able to say something funny no matter the situation. (At the present moment, I cannot think of exactly what I was saying or any of the jokes I told, mainly because I have smoked enough weed to support the entire country of Bolivia since that time.) Anyway, the streak was continuing nicely until Jason and I went to Caesar's Palace to meet up with a cousin of mine and her friends that just happened to be in town at the time at a hookah lounge located there. Now this would have been a great idea if it was not 2 in the morning after I had already gone to the strip club and lost approximately $200 at a blackjack table at the Hard Rock Casino. (That would be a thousand dollar evening people.) In order to pacify my outlandish losses, I had also proceeded to drink my face off just so that I could feel better about myself or atleast to forget about the losses. It was one of those evenings where you end up places and have zero recollection how you got there. I believe that I flew the entire evening with the help of teeny tiny fairies.
Needless to say I could barely speak by the time we arrived at the lounge, which in true Vegas fashion let me in without even questioning my inability to stand. Somehow, I managed to find my cousin and Jason and I proceeded to smoke the hookah with her and her two friends (I think there were two of them. And yes, if they had been "professionals" smoke the hookah would have meant blow jobs.) At some point, Jason, who was equally shitarded, began to tell them about how I was the "funniest guy in the world" and how I had been "making everyone the laugh the entire weekend." I sat there giggling to myself thinking about how I had been pretty funny and mentally patting myself on the back. This ego boost lasted until one of the girl's who clearly had not drank enough that evening, asked me in a most serious voice:
"Funny? Like how are you funny? What do you say that is so funny? Show me."
At this point, I froze, paralyzed by the misfiring of my synapses who had long ago lost their battle with Jack Daniels and his band of outlaws and did not know what to say... let alone something that was funny. The girls just looked at me, and I stared back at them, unable to say anything. This dramatic pause seemed to last five to ten minutes until thankfully, Jason responded, "He just is" and I laughing nervously turned bright red hoping the conversation would shift to other things, which thankfully, it soon did. (In restrospective, basically, I "Jimmy Falloned" my moment in the spotlight.)
But the story, even though not funny in and of itself, just further emphasizes that I am not funny on call. I cannot dance when you want me to... I don't have a go to schtick... I don't "bath daily" (farley bit)... I can only capitalize on the weaknesses of others... I am an opportunist...who twists the words of others to appear funny and whitty... I am a hack... And now I have been exposed...
So I apologize for not being able to come up with something funny for you tonight.. I guess I will have to think about it and hopefully tomorrow, when I wake up with a full head of steam, I will be able to write something other than the above which makes me look and sound like a true American ass hat... Or maybe this exactly what you wanted in the first place...
Good Night Ivana Cumalot... wherever you may be.
Anyway, while I am sitting on the couch desperately figuring out how to be funny, this someone finds themself at a bachelorette party with the name, Ivana Cumalot, as her code name for the evening, apparently there are name tags involved as well. For the record, the adoption of fake names is something that is a bachelorette party only idea as gentlemen tend to stick with having the ass of some naked stripper with a fake name grinding on their lap instead of creating a fake name for themselves. Further, I would love to make fun of the bachelorette party fake name thing, but the fact that she is wearing a name tag gives her a pass, I mean she is walking around with that name on her name tag, I think she may have suffered enough this evening.
Anyway, so this someone's only suggestion about what I should write was to write something humorous while she proceeded to go out and indulge in all that there is to indulge in at a bachelorette party. I believe they get together, give head to carrots, drink White Zin, get naked, and pillow fight.... atleast for the first hour until the Zin kicks in and then, they all proceed to sob for the next couple of hours and tell each other how much they love one another.
The problem, however, with a command of this nature is that I am not an automatically funny kind of guy meaning that I cannot just sit here and out of thin air create something that would be described as funny. (Some would also say that I am never funny, those people would be either be assholes or my seventh grade class who made fun of me for still having glasses... Just for the record, I got contacts now bitches... and what do you got, that's right, two kids and a mortgage... Eat a dick!)
Instead of being funny on call, I am a conversation and situation based humorist meaning that while people are talking, I am usually trying to figure out what whitty comment I can work into whatever they just said. (Note: I never listen to what anyone ever says to me other than to figure out how I can work a zinger in there.... so if it is really important email it to me so that I can atleast refer to the written word when I need to remember that you are dying of a flesh eating virus.) Now, the problem that this presents is that I am not funny unless I am in a situation involving other people. As such, I cannot be funny while sitting on my couch alone in a semi-comatose state feeling sick off Pad See Yu, Beef Satay, and TomYung Goong. (although I am having great visuals right now.)
The perfect example of this problem was a couple of year's ago when I was in Vegas with my buddy, Jason, from law school. Ironically, this was Jason's bachelor party during which I proceeded to spend so much money on booze, strippers, and gambling that my credit cards (all of them) got locked out by their respective companies two nights in a row because I had reached their nightly limits. (In the interest of full disclosure, never go to the champagne room because no matter how much money you spend ($400), she is not going to catch the next flight back to Hartford, Connecticut to marry you. Also, if you are spending alot of money (another $400), make sure that she spends the entire time giving you a lap dance and do not proceed to waste the majority of your time with her asking her about her entire life story as if you are going to save her from her current career choice. She is making so much more money than you are and is certainly not looking for an intervention.)
Point being, while in Vegas, I was apparently on some kind of a roll in terms of being funny. I mean I was also drunk beyond the point of being able to stand for the majority of the trip, but at the same time, I seemed to be able to say something funny no matter the situation. (At the present moment, I cannot think of exactly what I was saying or any of the jokes I told, mainly because I have smoked enough weed to support the entire country of Bolivia since that time.) Anyway, the streak was continuing nicely until Jason and I went to Caesar's Palace to meet up with a cousin of mine and her friends that just happened to be in town at the time at a hookah lounge located there. Now this would have been a great idea if it was not 2 in the morning after I had already gone to the strip club and lost approximately $200 at a blackjack table at the Hard Rock Casino. (That would be a thousand dollar evening people.) In order to pacify my outlandish losses, I had also proceeded to drink my face off just so that I could feel better about myself or atleast to forget about the losses. It was one of those evenings where you end up places and have zero recollection how you got there. I believe that I flew the entire evening with the help of teeny tiny fairies.
Needless to say I could barely speak by the time we arrived at the lounge, which in true Vegas fashion let me in without even questioning my inability to stand. Somehow, I managed to find my cousin and Jason and I proceeded to smoke the hookah with her and her two friends (I think there were two of them. And yes, if they had been "professionals" smoke the hookah would have meant blow jobs.) At some point, Jason, who was equally shitarded, began to tell them about how I was the "funniest guy in the world" and how I had been "making everyone the laugh the entire weekend." I sat there giggling to myself thinking about how I had been pretty funny and mentally patting myself on the back. This ego boost lasted until one of the girl's who clearly had not drank enough that evening, asked me in a most serious voice:
"Funny? Like how are you funny? What do you say that is so funny? Show me."
At this point, I froze, paralyzed by the misfiring of my synapses who had long ago lost their battle with Jack Daniels and his band of outlaws and did not know what to say... let alone something that was funny. The girls just looked at me, and I stared back at them, unable to say anything. This dramatic pause seemed to last five to ten minutes until thankfully, Jason responded, "He just is" and I laughing nervously turned bright red hoping the conversation would shift to other things, which thankfully, it soon did. (In restrospective, basically, I "Jimmy Falloned" my moment in the spotlight.)
But the story, even though not funny in and of itself, just further emphasizes that I am not funny on call. I cannot dance when you want me to... I don't have a go to schtick... I don't "bath daily" (farley bit)... I can only capitalize on the weaknesses of others... I am an opportunist...who twists the words of others to appear funny and whitty... I am a hack... And now I have been exposed...
So I apologize for not being able to come up with something funny for you tonight.. I guess I will have to think about it and hopefully tomorrow, when I wake up with a full head of steam, I will be able to write something other than the above which makes me look and sound like a true American ass hat... Or maybe this exactly what you wanted in the first place...
Good Night Ivana Cumalot... wherever you may be.
Somebody Got A Posse
Many of you criticized me for my piece about the Rooster stating that you thought that it was primarily just a ploy for me to fill some space on my blog during a period of writer's block and secondarily, a way to show my readers my office. (Many = one of the six of you that read this crap.) Tonight, however, I am writing to inform all of my readers that the writings about the Rooster were very real and that the situation has escalated since the last time that I wrote about him and his interference with my workday.
During that time, the Rooster was absent from my office for several days while he flew to Miami to attend the MTV Video Music Awards as the special guest of Kanye West's pet pigeon. Now as I discussed in a previous post, during the week's festivities, Suge Knight, somehow, ended up with a bullet in his leg at Kanye's party. Further, there are many rumors circulating as to how this happened that range from him being shot by a variety of suspects to a self-inflicted accidental gunshot wound.
Now, I am not saying that the Rooster shot Suge Knight, all I know is that he was at the party with the pigeon and that ever since he returned from Miami, he has been a little more on edge. (I also don't know how he could have held a gun, but he is a crazy Rooster so nothing is beyond reason at this point).
I mean for the first couple of days, he just sat in my office silently staring straight ahead looking blankly at the opposite wall. He would not move a muscle appearing almost as if he was a fake rooster. At times, I would think that he would move and try to catch him by turning my head without warning. Sadly, he would be right back in his original position just staring off into space. It got to be downright creepy, and I was starting to think that I needed to put a sheet over him to avoid his steely glare.
This solution would have worked if the situation had not gone from bad to worse this afternoon when I arrived at the office.... As a I entered my office, I observed the following...
That's right, the Rooster is now rollin' with a posse, running with a crew. He has not told me why and I have not asked him why, mainly because he does not talk, but I have a feeling it is because he is directly involved with the shooting of Suge Knight. As a result of his involvement, he now needs extra security, and thus, he has enlisted Bobblehead Calhoun and "E" MOTHER FUCKEN "T" as his ballerz to make sure somebody does not whack his ass. Of course this means that my office is now the hideout for one of most wanted playerz in the potentially revived rap wars.... and to say the least, I am not happy about this fact...But now that he has a posse, it is impossible for me to get rid of him... I am a hostage in my own office...
So Suge if you read this, it was not me man.. it was the Rooster, he shot you, Suge... I just work here man... I mean I hate my job, but I still want to live to work my job... Fucken Rooster...
In the words of the Snizzle Double Gizzle... "I'm innocent... I'm innocent.."
During that time, the Rooster was absent from my office for several days while he flew to Miami to attend the MTV Video Music Awards as the special guest of Kanye West's pet pigeon. Now as I discussed in a previous post, during the week's festivities, Suge Knight, somehow, ended up with a bullet in his leg at Kanye's party. Further, there are many rumors circulating as to how this happened that range from him being shot by a variety of suspects to a self-inflicted accidental gunshot wound.
Now, I am not saying that the Rooster shot Suge Knight, all I know is that he was at the party with the pigeon and that ever since he returned from Miami, he has been a little more on edge. (I also don't know how he could have held a gun, but he is a crazy Rooster so nothing is beyond reason at this point).
I mean for the first couple of days, he just sat in my office silently staring straight ahead looking blankly at the opposite wall. He would not move a muscle appearing almost as if he was a fake rooster. At times, I would think that he would move and try to catch him by turning my head without warning. Sadly, he would be right back in his original position just staring off into space. It got to be downright creepy, and I was starting to think that I needed to put a sheet over him to avoid his steely glare.
This solution would have worked if the situation had not gone from bad to worse this afternoon when I arrived at the office.... As a I entered my office, I observed the following...
That's right, the Rooster is now rollin' with a posse, running with a crew. He has not told me why and I have not asked him why, mainly because he does not talk, but I have a feeling it is because he is directly involved with the shooting of Suge Knight. As a result of his involvement, he now needs extra security, and thus, he has enlisted Bobblehead Calhoun and "E" MOTHER FUCKEN "T" as his ballerz to make sure somebody does not whack his ass. Of course this means that my office is now the hideout for one of most wanted playerz in the potentially revived rap wars.... and to say the least, I am not happy about this fact...But now that he has a posse, it is impossible for me to get rid of him... I am a hostage in my own office...
So Suge if you read this, it was not me man.. it was the Rooster, he shot you, Suge... I just work here man... I mean I hate my job, but I still want to live to work my job... Fucken Rooster...
In the words of the Snizzle Double Gizzle... "I'm innocent... I'm innocent.."
Friday, September 02, 2005
The Sports Guy's Take on New Orleans
One of the links that I have to the right is a link to the website of ESPN.COM's Page 2 columnist, Bill Simmons or as he used to be known "The Boston Sports Guy" or as he is known now, "The Sports Guy." Basically, Bill, an alumnus of The College of the Holy Cross, writes weekly columns, daily rants, and other pieces commentating on mostly sports while also interweaving a fresh perspective on pop culture into each of his works. I read him religiously and would suggest him to anyone that wants a unique take on all things sports and beyond. He even recently participated in an onine chat with Chuck Klosterman, which can be found here.
Today, he wrote a piece from his perspective as a sports journalist on New Orleans and the tragic disaster that has destroyed this City. I liked it, maybe you will as well. Please check it out....here.
Today, he wrote a piece from his perspective as a sports journalist on New Orleans and the tragic disaster that has destroyed this City. I liked it, maybe you will as well. Please check it out....here.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
A Time For Real Perspective
I know the other day that I made light of Hurricane Katrina and the coverage given to it by the national media. While I am not rescinding my criticism of the media, I am rescinding any statements that may have been construed as undermining the severity of this storm and the devastation that it has now caused.
Tonight, for the first time since the Hurricane struck, I sat down and watched CNN to get a better idea of what exactly is going on. While watching the coverage, there was a phone call from a registered nurse, who is currently working at one of the hospitals in New Orleans. This nurse told a story of absolute desparation as she stated that the hospital in which she was working had no water, no electricity, no more beds, and was essentially existing in "beyond primitive conditions" with the patients sitting on floors that were covered in feces. She stated that her and her fellow co-workers had been working around the clock without sleep and were starting to fear for her own safety. She also described how the staff had begun to administer IV's to one another because they were starting to suffer from the ill effects of malnurishment.
As she told of her horrific existence, her voice cracked, and she started to cry. As she cried, she said that she contacted the show because she wanted someone to know that they needed help and wanted to know when help was coming as no one had helped them yet. I have never heard another person talk or sound the way that she did as her voice was filled with pure desperation. She was a human being who sounded like she had reached her breaking point and all I wanted to do was help her.
And I am sure that her story is only the tip of iceberg for the area of this country that has been destroyed by Hurricane Katrina. I mean you cannot go anywhere in the City today without seeing the images of the devastation whether it be on the news or in print, the likes of which many of us have never seen. These images of the destruction are juxtaposed by the images of some of the people of this area looting and taking to the streets armed with guns as martial law has gripped the affected area. While I do not agree with the choice these individuals have made especially when I see them stealing non-essential items like televisions and other luxuries, I cannot even begin to imagine the fear that some of these same people must be feeling as they lack shelter, food, water, and even basic safety. It truly is world without law and order.
And while some may say that these people should have left before the hurricane struck, the truth of the matter is that some of the worst affected areas were the poorest, which means that the inhabitants of these areas lacked the means necessary to flee from the hurricane. Instead, they did what they have probably always done when facing a situation like this one attempting to wait it out in their homes. The problem of course is that this time, the storm was far worse than anything they had ever experienced in the past. Further, it is unclear where these people would have gone anyway since the devastation is so widespread.
As a result of hearing this woman speak and then thinking about this entire tragedy, I had to do everything in my power not to cry because there I sat thousands of miles away in my apartment safe, well fed, and without a fear in the world. My heart ached and continues to ache for the people of the affected areas and their families who may be worried if their family members are still alive. All of these thoughts really made me feel downright awful about all the crap that I have been complaining about of late providing me with real perspective about how trivial my life's problems truly are in comparison.
I also started to wonder what exactly I could do to help these people. After a quick Google search, I found that a comprehensive resource for information about relief efforts and what we can do to help is the Red Cross Website. At this site, you can also make a monetary donation. The donation process is very easy to complete and is secure. The only issue I had was that there was heavy traffic on the site, and thus, you may have to wait awhile for the site to open up, but the wait is worth it, as the donation goes directly to the relief efforts being undertaken by the Red Cross. Additionally, this site provides you with ability to search for your local chapter of the Red Cross in case you want to find other relief efforts that are being undertaken in your community.
In addition to the Red Cross Website, I found their companion site, GiveLife.org,which provides information about the opportunities to donate blood in your area, which is an essential commodity right now. Moreover, this website for the Federal Emergency Management Agency is another comprehensive resource to find other groups that are helping with the relief efforts. Finally, I guess if none of the above is appealing to your voluntary desires just plug in Hurricane Katrina into Google, and I am sure that you will find something that suits your needs.
Of course, I do not want to come off sounding like you have to go out and do any of this as the above is just meant to be a guide if you want to help out right now. Further, if you do not do anything that does not make you a bad person or even the spawn of satan, I just figured if I was thinking about this stuff and what I could do, other's may be interested in what options are out there as well. In the end, maybe the simplest thing that you can do is to keep these people in your thoughts and prayers.
Tonight, for the first time since the Hurricane struck, I sat down and watched CNN to get a better idea of what exactly is going on. While watching the coverage, there was a phone call from a registered nurse, who is currently working at one of the hospitals in New Orleans. This nurse told a story of absolute desparation as she stated that the hospital in which she was working had no water, no electricity, no more beds, and was essentially existing in "beyond primitive conditions" with the patients sitting on floors that were covered in feces. She stated that her and her fellow co-workers had been working around the clock without sleep and were starting to fear for her own safety. She also described how the staff had begun to administer IV's to one another because they were starting to suffer from the ill effects of malnurishment.
As she told of her horrific existence, her voice cracked, and she started to cry. As she cried, she said that she contacted the show because she wanted someone to know that they needed help and wanted to know when help was coming as no one had helped them yet. I have never heard another person talk or sound the way that she did as her voice was filled with pure desperation. She was a human being who sounded like she had reached her breaking point and all I wanted to do was help her.
And I am sure that her story is only the tip of iceberg for the area of this country that has been destroyed by Hurricane Katrina. I mean you cannot go anywhere in the City today without seeing the images of the devastation whether it be on the news or in print, the likes of which many of us have never seen. These images of the destruction are juxtaposed by the images of some of the people of this area looting and taking to the streets armed with guns as martial law has gripped the affected area. While I do not agree with the choice these individuals have made especially when I see them stealing non-essential items like televisions and other luxuries, I cannot even begin to imagine the fear that some of these same people must be feeling as they lack shelter, food, water, and even basic safety. It truly is world without law and order.
And while some may say that these people should have left before the hurricane struck, the truth of the matter is that some of the worst affected areas were the poorest, which means that the inhabitants of these areas lacked the means necessary to flee from the hurricane. Instead, they did what they have probably always done when facing a situation like this one attempting to wait it out in their homes. The problem of course is that this time, the storm was far worse than anything they had ever experienced in the past. Further, it is unclear where these people would have gone anyway since the devastation is so widespread.
As a result of hearing this woman speak and then thinking about this entire tragedy, I had to do everything in my power not to cry because there I sat thousands of miles away in my apartment safe, well fed, and without a fear in the world. My heart ached and continues to ache for the people of the affected areas and their families who may be worried if their family members are still alive. All of these thoughts really made me feel downright awful about all the crap that I have been complaining about of late providing me with real perspective about how trivial my life's problems truly are in comparison.
I also started to wonder what exactly I could do to help these people. After a quick Google search, I found that a comprehensive resource for information about relief efforts and what we can do to help is the Red Cross Website. At this site, you can also make a monetary donation. The donation process is very easy to complete and is secure. The only issue I had was that there was heavy traffic on the site, and thus, you may have to wait awhile for the site to open up, but the wait is worth it, as the donation goes directly to the relief efforts being undertaken by the Red Cross. Additionally, this site provides you with ability to search for your local chapter of the Red Cross in case you want to find other relief efforts that are being undertaken in your community.
In addition to the Red Cross Website, I found their companion site, GiveLife.org,which provides information about the opportunities to donate blood in your area, which is an essential commodity right now. Moreover, this website for the Federal Emergency Management Agency is another comprehensive resource to find other groups that are helping with the relief efforts. Finally, I guess if none of the above is appealing to your voluntary desires just plug in Hurricane Katrina into Google, and I am sure that you will find something that suits your needs.
Of course, I do not want to come off sounding like you have to go out and do any of this as the above is just meant to be a guide if you want to help out right now. Further, if you do not do anything that does not make you a bad person or even the spawn of satan, I just figured if I was thinking about this stuff and what I could do, other's may be interested in what options are out there as well. In the end, maybe the simplest thing that you can do is to keep these people in your thoughts and prayers.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Once A Runner
Today's subject heading is actually the title of one of the best book's that I have ever read by John L. Parke, Jr. It is the account of a college runner, Quentin Cassidy, and his quest to become a dominate runner. The book basically embodies everything I love about running, and I guarantee if you read it, you will want to go out there and just run as fast as you can. Mainly due to quotes like this one:
A true Runner ran even when he didn't feel like it, and raced when he was suppose to, w/o excuses and with nothing held back. He ran to win and would die in the process,running to him was real, the way he did it the realest thing he knew...hard as diamond,it made him weary beyond comprehension, but it also made him free.
But today, the heading will serve as the lead-in to my update on running entry.
As a I wrote a couple of weeks ago, I have been employing the 10% training method in order to resurrect my running career. As a result, two weeks ago I ran 12 miles, last week I ran 13, and this week I will cover 14 miles. I am rounding down the percentage so that I will do less mileage in order to build my strength at a slower rate. In training this way, I hope to avoid injury and build a solid base.
So far everything is going just as I had hoped. I am not running that fast mainly due to the humidity, which is the worst weather for me to run in and makes it very difficult for me to breath. I am, however, getting quality runs in and remaining relatively injury free. I did experience a little shin tenderness yesterday for first time yesterday, but I have backed off a bit and things should be ok. Plus, I am stretching a hell of a lot more.
Tonight's run, which made me realize an update was in order, was the first time that I pushed it above the four mile mark. Tonight, I ran 6.5 miles in a relatively slow time, but more importantly, I felt really good and really comfortable for the majority of the run. The run itself took me over the Williamsburg Bridge and back. This is a run that if you live in this area should be done atleast once a week mainly because it allows you a great run over the East River with an amazing view of both lower and upper parts of Manhattan. Plus, you are running on a pedestrian walkway and thus, do not have to deal with automobiles and all that bull shit.
As for my progress so far, it is hard to gauge exactly how fast I am running or if I am improving at this point mainly because the weather is not exactly conducive to me running my fastest times or for me to feel totally comfortable, but from what I can tell, I should be able to start to incorporate some speed workouts once I get above the 15 mile mark for a week. Once I am there, I will have a better handle on what races I am going to do in the coming fall season, which is my favorite time of the year to run and what kind of speed I will be able to exhibit during these races.
One positive so far, is that I definitely do not feel like on every run I am trying to push through being hungover or that my lungs spent the evening before smoking three packs of cigarettes. I will take that upside any day versus the past feelings during a run.
Finally, this weekend, I may try and get out and run a cross country race at Van Cortlandt Park in the Bronx, one of the premiere venues for cross country racing. It is a four miler and would be a lot of fun. I have not run a cross country race since I was in high school and this would be one of the coolest things that I could do for my Labor Day weekend I truly love cross country racing over any other type of racing because there is a true "animalistic one with nature" quality to it that makes me feel like I am competing not only against my fellow man but the course itself. It's a pretty primal experience.
Now, I must relax and recover from the today's pounding of the pavement.
A true Runner ran even when he didn't feel like it, and raced when he was suppose to, w/o excuses and with nothing held back. He ran to win and would die in the process,running to him was real, the way he did it the realest thing he knew...hard as diamond,it made him weary beyond comprehension, but it also made him free.
But today, the heading will serve as the lead-in to my update on running entry.
As a I wrote a couple of weeks ago, I have been employing the 10% training method in order to resurrect my running career. As a result, two weeks ago I ran 12 miles, last week I ran 13, and this week I will cover 14 miles. I am rounding down the percentage so that I will do less mileage in order to build my strength at a slower rate. In training this way, I hope to avoid injury and build a solid base.
So far everything is going just as I had hoped. I am not running that fast mainly due to the humidity, which is the worst weather for me to run in and makes it very difficult for me to breath. I am, however, getting quality runs in and remaining relatively injury free. I did experience a little shin tenderness yesterday for first time yesterday, but I have backed off a bit and things should be ok. Plus, I am stretching a hell of a lot more.
Tonight's run, which made me realize an update was in order, was the first time that I pushed it above the four mile mark. Tonight, I ran 6.5 miles in a relatively slow time, but more importantly, I felt really good and really comfortable for the majority of the run. The run itself took me over the Williamsburg Bridge and back. This is a run that if you live in this area should be done atleast once a week mainly because it allows you a great run over the East River with an amazing view of both lower and upper parts of Manhattan. Plus, you are running on a pedestrian walkway and thus, do not have to deal with automobiles and all that bull shit.
As for my progress so far, it is hard to gauge exactly how fast I am running or if I am improving at this point mainly because the weather is not exactly conducive to me running my fastest times or for me to feel totally comfortable, but from what I can tell, I should be able to start to incorporate some speed workouts once I get above the 15 mile mark for a week. Once I am there, I will have a better handle on what races I am going to do in the coming fall season, which is my favorite time of the year to run and what kind of speed I will be able to exhibit during these races.
One positive so far, is that I definitely do not feel like on every run I am trying to push through being hungover or that my lungs spent the evening before smoking three packs of cigarettes. I will take that upside any day versus the past feelings during a run.
Finally, this weekend, I may try and get out and run a cross country race at Van Cortlandt Park in the Bronx, one of the premiere venues for cross country racing. It is a four miler and would be a lot of fun. I have not run a cross country race since I was in high school and this would be one of the coolest things that I could do for my Labor Day weekend I truly love cross country racing over any other type of racing because there is a true "animalistic one with nature" quality to it that makes me feel like I am competing not only against my fellow man but the course itself. It's a pretty primal experience.
Now, I must relax and recover from the today's pounding of the pavement.
Some General Complaints And Then I Sleep (The Remix Version)
Just checking in to make my daily complaints about everything that bothered me today and since I was in such a bang up of a mood after last night's Diddy Variety Show on MTV, there may be a lot to write about...
Two follow-ups from last night's recap before I tear Monday and the human race a new asshole...
First, there is a rumor that Suge Knight shot himself in the leg with his own gun this weekend. Of course, the police cannot find the gun probably because his bodyguards disposed of it due to the fact that if Suge is found with a firearm, he violates parole and is back to being Big Earl's "Go Bitch" in the joint... BUT if the police do discover that he shot himself in the leg, can they just shoot him to spare us the inevitable and to keep him out of the news? I love you Suge, really, but can he stop fucken up the program? (I had to say that last line so that I would not be killed by Suge.)
Second, the party at which he was shot hosted by Kanye West, apparently, did not have anyone searching for weapons at the door. Just so I am clear, if I throw a party and invite Suge Knight, I am searching for guns, knifes, string, and anything else that could be used to kill another human being.
To hammer home how crazy this lack of security is... in New Orleans this weekend, officials were searching the people seeking shelter from Hurricane Katrina in the Superdome for drugs and weapons. These people were trying to avoid death in a horrific storm and were being searched... But in Miami, at a party that has Suge Knight in attendance, who is the individual blamed for starting the East Coast versus West Coast rap war, there is no such search requirement.... good hustle fellas.
Now onto the complaints, first and foremost and for the record (Note: As an attorney, I am always making a record.), Monday is the bastard child of the work week as no matter how you try to sugarcoat it, Monday's absolutely fucken blow. This is because on Mondays, people show up exhibiting some form of exhaustion and/or withdrawal from the weekend's festivities. As a result, I propose that it be mandatory that no work can start before 10 AM on Mondays in order to ease the work force into the work week.
Additionally, it will get rid of all the Monday morning peppy people, who are constantly filling Monday mornings with white noise as they feel the need to announce to the office the events oft heir weekend, which is always the craziest and BEST WEEKEND OF ALL TIME. If we push the day back,however, these people will already have shot their peppy load come ten o'clock in the morning by talking to themselves. Thus, us non-peppy people will not have to listen to their bull shit as we try to figure out how we got to work in the first place and why we didn't just call in sick. Further, this will lessen the chance that I will end up curb stomping someone at 9 in the morning. It's for the greater good here people because I do not need to kill anyone, atleast not right now.
Now, if we are not going to make the work week start later on Monday mornings, then I propose that no one is allowed to spea until 10 AM on Mondays. In this way, we will eliminate all of the "how was your weekend" and "how are you feeling" bull shit conversations that pervade our Mondays. I too am guilty of asking these questions, but I ask as a matter of habit and not because I really care about the fact that you spent the weekend in some shit hole of a bar in Hoboken, hooking up with some fattie, and were SO WASTED... In reality, while you are talking, I am thinking about what websites I have not looked at yet this morning, writing this entry, and if friend X, e-mailed me yet today about the Sox game last night. I would say eliminate Mondays from the work week entirely but really Tuesdays would then be just as bad as Mondays, and thus, we would just have to adopt the above suggestions for Tuesday mornings.
One final thought on this topic, if you get the chance, watch how the chippy peppy fuckers are always the people, who by Wednesday, are having a mental breakdown about how much work they have and are totally burned out on the week. Their existence is basically an exercise in futility as they prove to be essentially worthless to the overall productivity of the office due to the fact that they are productive at the one time that no one else is i.e. Monday mornings and then, fall off the wagon by the time the rest of the office picks up steam i.e. 11 Am to 1 PM on Wednesdays... As a result, I am not sure what we should do with these individuals, but one idea is the public execution of a select few of them in order to make an example of them to the remainder of Peppy Nation... (I am not crazy people, I just need help.)
Next up, humidity... I go to Vegas every year because I love wickedly hot temperatures. I like to sit in the sun in order to sweat and bake. What I cannot stand is humidity... And I am not talking about normal humidity rather I am talking about the "seventh circle of hell" humidity that exists in New York City during the summer. As I wrote about on Saturday, this past weekend, it appeared that humidity had finally released us from its evil grasp for the summer as there was a pleasant breeze and nothing to make my boxers stick to my balls for an entire afternoon. In reality, humidity was just fucking with us as it promptly reentered the picture Saturday evening while I was at an 80's party in Jersey City. (I know all parties in Jersey are 80's Parties, easy guys...) Slowly but surely, humidity took over Saturday evening and by the time I woke on Sunday, it was in full effect ready to ruin three to four of my t-shirts and multiple pairs of boxers... (I am a sweater, I sweat)...
The worst part about the humidity in the City is the apparent alliance it has formed with the subway stations. The subway stations, which already smell like dead rat, garbage, and piss, reach new levels of funk when they are combined with 100+ degree temperatures and 300% humidity. It is really hard to explain what the actual feeling is when you enter a subway station, but I assure you that if you are not expecting that first blast of heat and stench when you descend those fateful stairs, it will take your breath away meaning that when you enter one of these bad boys, you quickly realized that you are actually feeling the fires of hell firsthand topped off with a mugginess that causes immediate liquification of the skin along with a wicked case of swamp ass.
The humidity/subway station axis of evil makes the whole wearing a suit to work thing that much more uncomfortable to the point that the last thing that I make sure that I have before I walk out the door is a fat kid towel to wipe myself down after the walk to the subway. Couple these conditions with my lack of hair and by the time, I get to the platform, I have sweat dripping down my face, back, butt, and balls. It is a sad state of affairs being a fat kid playing the role of an attorney during the summer in New York City. (Actually, I think that is a new Kevin Smith film or atleast something he has in the works starring Ben Affleck.)
Finally, I have said this to a bunch of friends over the last couple of days and thus will make short order of my third and final complaint for the evening. I cannot stand car horns and how people in New York City feel the need to blast their horns whenever someone fails to get off the line the second the light turns green. Many complain about this daily occurrence for the simple reason of WHAT GOOD DOES IT DO, besides making that person angry, you angry, and passerby's angry. It certainly does not make traffic move quicker. I argue that it creates more traffic because once that horn goes off, everyone usually stops to figure out who is honking and who they are honking at.
So I have a simple proposal to correct this over zealous abuse of the car horn, each car should be equipped with a sensor that detects unnecessary usage of the horn. Once the car senses this usage, it would initiate a self-detonating device that would essentially blow up anyone in the car while not affecting anyone on the outside of the car or the car itself. As a result, we eliminate the problem without hurting anyone else. Sure it means that someone is dead but that is one less car horn abuser to worry about and that is the goal, right?
So those are the complaints and since it's Tuesday morning, I should hit it... I have more things to complain about like how the Yankees have clearly made a deal with the devil this summer and are thus making their requisite push to the playoffs... or how my job sucks so bad that I may actively attempt to get fired... But those are for another day...
For the record (there it is again), I wrote this entire thing in the nude while listening to Bruce Springsteen's Greatest Hits... I think that's a hookup in Jersey...
Take it in the ass...
R.D.
Two follow-ups from last night's recap before I tear Monday and the human race a new asshole...
First, there is a rumor that Suge Knight shot himself in the leg with his own gun this weekend. Of course, the police cannot find the gun probably because his bodyguards disposed of it due to the fact that if Suge is found with a firearm, he violates parole and is back to being Big Earl's "Go Bitch" in the joint... BUT if the police do discover that he shot himself in the leg, can they just shoot him to spare us the inevitable and to keep him out of the news? I love you Suge, really, but can he stop fucken up the program? (I had to say that last line so that I would not be killed by Suge.)
Second, the party at which he was shot hosted by Kanye West, apparently, did not have anyone searching for weapons at the door. Just so I am clear, if I throw a party and invite Suge Knight, I am searching for guns, knifes, string, and anything else that could be used to kill another human being.
To hammer home how crazy this lack of security is... in New Orleans this weekend, officials were searching the people seeking shelter from Hurricane Katrina in the Superdome for drugs and weapons. These people were trying to avoid death in a horrific storm and were being searched... But in Miami, at a party that has Suge Knight in attendance, who is the individual blamed for starting the East Coast versus West Coast rap war, there is no such search requirement.... good hustle fellas.
Now onto the complaints, first and foremost and for the record (Note: As an attorney, I am always making a record.), Monday is the bastard child of the work week as no matter how you try to sugarcoat it, Monday's absolutely fucken blow. This is because on Mondays, people show up exhibiting some form of exhaustion and/or withdrawal from the weekend's festivities. As a result, I propose that it be mandatory that no work can start before 10 AM on Mondays in order to ease the work force into the work week.
Additionally, it will get rid of all the Monday morning peppy people, who are constantly filling Monday mornings with white noise as they feel the need to announce to the office the events oft heir weekend, which is always the craziest and BEST WEEKEND OF ALL TIME. If we push the day back,however, these people will already have shot their peppy load come ten o'clock in the morning by talking to themselves. Thus, us non-peppy people will not have to listen to their bull shit as we try to figure out how we got to work in the first place and why we didn't just call in sick. Further, this will lessen the chance that I will end up curb stomping someone at 9 in the morning. It's for the greater good here people because I do not need to kill anyone, atleast not right now.
Now, if we are not going to make the work week start later on Monday mornings, then I propose that no one is allowed to spea until 10 AM on Mondays. In this way, we will eliminate all of the "how was your weekend" and "how are you feeling" bull shit conversations that pervade our Mondays. I too am guilty of asking these questions, but I ask as a matter of habit and not because I really care about the fact that you spent the weekend in some shit hole of a bar in Hoboken, hooking up with some fattie, and were SO WASTED... In reality, while you are talking, I am thinking about what websites I have not looked at yet this morning, writing this entry, and if friend X, e-mailed me yet today about the Sox game last night. I would say eliminate Mondays from the work week entirely but really Tuesdays would then be just as bad as Mondays, and thus, we would just have to adopt the above suggestions for Tuesday mornings.
One final thought on this topic, if you get the chance, watch how the chippy peppy fuckers are always the people, who by Wednesday, are having a mental breakdown about how much work they have and are totally burned out on the week. Their existence is basically an exercise in futility as they prove to be essentially worthless to the overall productivity of the office due to the fact that they are productive at the one time that no one else is i.e. Monday mornings and then, fall off the wagon by the time the rest of the office picks up steam i.e. 11 Am to 1 PM on Wednesdays... As a result, I am not sure what we should do with these individuals, but one idea is the public execution of a select few of them in order to make an example of them to the remainder of Peppy Nation... (I am not crazy people, I just need help.)
Next up, humidity... I go to Vegas every year because I love wickedly hot temperatures. I like to sit in the sun in order to sweat and bake. What I cannot stand is humidity... And I am not talking about normal humidity rather I am talking about the "seventh circle of hell" humidity that exists in New York City during the summer. As I wrote about on Saturday, this past weekend, it appeared that humidity had finally released us from its evil grasp for the summer as there was a pleasant breeze and nothing to make my boxers stick to my balls for an entire afternoon. In reality, humidity was just fucking with us as it promptly reentered the picture Saturday evening while I was at an 80's party in Jersey City. (I know all parties in Jersey are 80's Parties, easy guys...) Slowly but surely, humidity took over Saturday evening and by the time I woke on Sunday, it was in full effect ready to ruin three to four of my t-shirts and multiple pairs of boxers... (I am a sweater, I sweat)...
The worst part about the humidity in the City is the apparent alliance it has formed with the subway stations. The subway stations, which already smell like dead rat, garbage, and piss, reach new levels of funk when they are combined with 100+ degree temperatures and 300% humidity. It is really hard to explain what the actual feeling is when you enter a subway station, but I assure you that if you are not expecting that first blast of heat and stench when you descend those fateful stairs, it will take your breath away meaning that when you enter one of these bad boys, you quickly realized that you are actually feeling the fires of hell firsthand topped off with a mugginess that causes immediate liquification of the skin along with a wicked case of swamp ass.
The humidity/subway station axis of evil makes the whole wearing a suit to work thing that much more uncomfortable to the point that the last thing that I make sure that I have before I walk out the door is a fat kid towel to wipe myself down after the walk to the subway. Couple these conditions with my lack of hair and by the time, I get to the platform, I have sweat dripping down my face, back, butt, and balls. It is a sad state of affairs being a fat kid playing the role of an attorney during the summer in New York City. (Actually, I think that is a new Kevin Smith film or atleast something he has in the works starring Ben Affleck.)
Finally, I have said this to a bunch of friends over the last couple of days and thus will make short order of my third and final complaint for the evening. I cannot stand car horns and how people in New York City feel the need to blast their horns whenever someone fails to get off the line the second the light turns green. Many complain about this daily occurrence for the simple reason of WHAT GOOD DOES IT DO, besides making that person angry, you angry, and passerby's angry. It certainly does not make traffic move quicker. I argue that it creates more traffic because once that horn goes off, everyone usually stops to figure out who is honking and who they are honking at.
So I have a simple proposal to correct this over zealous abuse of the car horn, each car should be equipped with a sensor that detects unnecessary usage of the horn. Once the car senses this usage, it would initiate a self-detonating device that would essentially blow up anyone in the car while not affecting anyone on the outside of the car or the car itself. As a result, we eliminate the problem without hurting anyone else. Sure it means that someone is dead but that is one less car horn abuser to worry about and that is the goal, right?
So those are the complaints and since it's Tuesday morning, I should hit it... I have more things to complain about like how the Yankees have clearly made a deal with the devil this summer and are thus making their requisite push to the playoffs... or how my job sucks so bad that I may actively attempt to get fired... But those are for another day...
For the record (there it is again), I wrote this entire thing in the nude while listening to Bruce Springsteen's Greatest Hits... I think that's a hookup in Jersey...
Take it in the ass...
R.D.
Monday, August 29, 2005
Bring On The Work Week
Quick and dirty that is what I am laying down tonight... Today had to be one of the more productive Sundays, I have had in a very long time. I woke up and got some brunch with a couple of close amigos... One of the said amigos gave me a couple of books to read about writing and stuff like that... I am not trying to take myself too seriously when it comes to this writing thing because it is very much about allowing myself to be creative which I do not get to do at my job and to simply vent when I need to. At the same time, I think that no matter what the purpose is, I can always get better at this thing called writing. Moreover, I am interested in reading what others have to say about that goal. So, I will read the books and then see where I end up... Maybe right back here... maybe not... Whatever man.... WHATEVER.
In other news, I added a quote feature to the side bar of the blog... The one that is there right now is from Zoolander. It's long and slightly confusing, but I am sure you guys can wrap your minds around it. But if not, go down to your local high school and ask someone about the movie, the quote, the context, etc. Hopefully, you will get the answer before the police escort you off the property. Actually, this would be a great time to transition into my take on R. Kelly's performance to night at the VMA's, but I will let his "juvenile pissing on" ass be spared for another couple of paragraphs.
Another big part of the day was spent watching various sporting events on the TV including the Sox game, the Buick Open, and the Little League World Series... The recap goes like: the Sox won.... Faxon won the Buick Open in a playoff hole where each golfer had an amazing second shot onto the green during the playoff... and Hawaii won the Little League World Series on a walkoff homer in the first extra inning game since 1971... It was a surprisingly solid day in sports...
Oh and in case you have not heard, there is a hurricane coming that is going to smack the taste out of New Orleans sometime tonight or tomorrow. Apparently, this hurricane is a dirty Russian stripper of a hurricane because I believe they named her Katrina? Now, I feel bad for people in New Orleans and the other soon to be destroyed locations. I also feel bad for myself since I never made it to New Orleans before it was washed out to sea. I KID I KID... I am not trying to sound insensitive, but I am currently at the point of Hurricane Coverage Saturation as the news outlets like they always do, have decided to go into the END OF THE WORLD coverage mode. As a result, I cannot watch TV without being told about this hurricane. It was mentioned on ESPN, on the VMA's, and I am sure that Fox probably worked it into Family Guy just to make sure the viewers were kept informed. Of course, I have a problem with this, mainly because the only people that now need to know about the damn storm are those people in that area, who should have evacuated at this point AND NOT BE WATCHING FUCKEN TV....
Other things on TV tonight included Entourage, the HBO hit series (I wish I got paid to say that), which decided that every storyline that has been cultivated this season needed to be turned on its head in order to set us up for what should be a pretty amazing season finale. I am not sure what is going to happen but I like the "Jeremy Piven i.e. Ari firing" angle alot. They did not make it too much like Jerry Macguire, which would have been awful, and at the same time, the writers have provided Piven's character with the ability to now be completely insane. I mean he was insane before, but now he can explore his character as an unemployed and desperate individual. I mean he has no safety net anymore.
Also, the Video Music Awards were on tonight, live from Miami, with Diddy as the host. Sadly, I realized while watching this fiasco that I no longer am a part of the current MTV Generation. I will be turning my union card in tomorrow morning. I apologize to the union, but I cannot be your soldier anymore. Tonight's show which I caught bits and pieces of was some of the most over-produced piles of garbage that I have ever seen. This has been the trend in recent years with this show as MTV, which last showed a video in 1989 (yeah that is a cheap shot), tries to over entertain every chance they get. As a result, everything comes off very flat and unoriginal.
The music performances were awful with Green Day and The Killers performing songs that they have already performed live on multiple awards shows. Why not explore the other songs on their current albums, which if you do not own, you need to go out and buy immediately as there is not a bad song on either album. There was also an unnecessary retro performance by Hammer, which solidified the fact that his career is as dead as... let's go with... The Dave Chapelle Show and Mariah Carey's chest... As well, R. Kelly decided to grace us with a lip synch performance during which, I think. he acted out the ending to his recent music video drama that he has been working on... I was begging for him to urinate... But seriously, here is my question, whatever happened with the whole news story and the subsequent investigation about R. Kelly and his great urination escapade? I mean there was video tape and she was underage.... did this just go away? Was she paid off? How does he still have a career and how is he different than Michael Jackson right now? Is it because he did that song for Space Jam?
Sadly, Kanye West and My Chemical Romance, who each had exceptional performances, could not save this show... MTV should stick to acts like this and do away with disasters like Mariah Carey, Ludaris, Fall Out Boy (worst band I have ever seen), and whatever other shit they threw at me tonight...
Finally, Diddy used the entire evening to self-promote the shit out of himself... I am not his biggest fan, but I do find him to be slightly amusing only because he takes himself way too seriously. But was it necessary to bring out another post-mortem Biggie performance tonight? And was that planned before or after Suge Knight got shot last night? Further, is anyone surprised that Suge Knight got shot last night? Here in New York, the news is covering it like the beginning of another coastal rap war. Suge Knight has lived about ten years too long at this point, and I am sure this will not be the last time that he will be shot. I am not advocating this course of action only stating the simple fact that he has more than his share of enemies.
Further, who cares if this is another coastal rap war? Will anything actually happen or will there just be alot of talk about it for the next couple of months? At this point, they might as well make the entire thing into a one night only series of street fights on Pay Per View... I would pay to watch it...
I guess for now that is all that I got. 14 days off the sauce and counting... Although listening to Kurt Loder and John Norris recap the evening at the VMA's makes me want to down the bottle of Jack in my freezer... THANK GOD THEY ARE NOW REPLAYING THIS SHIT... Off to tear out my eyeballs and cut off my ears...
Good night.
In other news, I added a quote feature to the side bar of the blog... The one that is there right now is from Zoolander. It's long and slightly confusing, but I am sure you guys can wrap your minds around it. But if not, go down to your local high school and ask someone about the movie, the quote, the context, etc. Hopefully, you will get the answer before the police escort you off the property. Actually, this would be a great time to transition into my take on R. Kelly's performance to night at the VMA's, but I will let his "juvenile pissing on" ass be spared for another couple of paragraphs.
Another big part of the day was spent watching various sporting events on the TV including the Sox game, the Buick Open, and the Little League World Series... The recap goes like: the Sox won.... Faxon won the Buick Open in a playoff hole where each golfer had an amazing second shot onto the green during the playoff... and Hawaii won the Little League World Series on a walkoff homer in the first extra inning game since 1971... It was a surprisingly solid day in sports...
Oh and in case you have not heard, there is a hurricane coming that is going to smack the taste out of New Orleans sometime tonight or tomorrow. Apparently, this hurricane is a dirty Russian stripper of a hurricane because I believe they named her Katrina? Now, I feel bad for people in New Orleans and the other soon to be destroyed locations. I also feel bad for myself since I never made it to New Orleans before it was washed out to sea. I KID I KID... I am not trying to sound insensitive, but I am currently at the point of Hurricane Coverage Saturation as the news outlets like they always do, have decided to go into the END OF THE WORLD coverage mode. As a result, I cannot watch TV without being told about this hurricane. It was mentioned on ESPN, on the VMA's, and I am sure that Fox probably worked it into Family Guy just to make sure the viewers were kept informed. Of course, I have a problem with this, mainly because the only people that now need to know about the damn storm are those people in that area, who should have evacuated at this point AND NOT BE WATCHING FUCKEN TV....
Other things on TV tonight included Entourage, the HBO hit series (I wish I got paid to say that), which decided that every storyline that has been cultivated this season needed to be turned on its head in order to set us up for what should be a pretty amazing season finale. I am not sure what is going to happen but I like the "Jeremy Piven i.e. Ari firing" angle alot. They did not make it too much like Jerry Macguire, which would have been awful, and at the same time, the writers have provided Piven's character with the ability to now be completely insane. I mean he was insane before, but now he can explore his character as an unemployed and desperate individual. I mean he has no safety net anymore.
Also, the Video Music Awards were on tonight, live from Miami, with Diddy as the host. Sadly, I realized while watching this fiasco that I no longer am a part of the current MTV Generation. I will be turning my union card in tomorrow morning. I apologize to the union, but I cannot be your soldier anymore. Tonight's show which I caught bits and pieces of was some of the most over-produced piles of garbage that I have ever seen. This has been the trend in recent years with this show as MTV, which last showed a video in 1989 (yeah that is a cheap shot), tries to over entertain every chance they get. As a result, everything comes off very flat and unoriginal.
The music performances were awful with Green Day and The Killers performing songs that they have already performed live on multiple awards shows. Why not explore the other songs on their current albums, which if you do not own, you need to go out and buy immediately as there is not a bad song on either album. There was also an unnecessary retro performance by Hammer, which solidified the fact that his career is as dead as... let's go with... The Dave Chapelle Show and Mariah Carey's chest... As well, R. Kelly decided to grace us with a lip synch performance during which, I think. he acted out the ending to his recent music video drama that he has been working on... I was begging for him to urinate... But seriously, here is my question, whatever happened with the whole news story and the subsequent investigation about R. Kelly and his great urination escapade? I mean there was video tape and she was underage.... did this just go away? Was she paid off? How does he still have a career and how is he different than Michael Jackson right now? Is it because he did that song for Space Jam?
Sadly, Kanye West and My Chemical Romance, who each had exceptional performances, could not save this show... MTV should stick to acts like this and do away with disasters like Mariah Carey, Ludaris, Fall Out Boy (worst band I have ever seen), and whatever other shit they threw at me tonight...
Finally, Diddy used the entire evening to self-promote the shit out of himself... I am not his biggest fan, but I do find him to be slightly amusing only because he takes himself way too seriously. But was it necessary to bring out another post-mortem Biggie performance tonight? And was that planned before or after Suge Knight got shot last night? Further, is anyone surprised that Suge Knight got shot last night? Here in New York, the news is covering it like the beginning of another coastal rap war. Suge Knight has lived about ten years too long at this point, and I am sure this will not be the last time that he will be shot. I am not advocating this course of action only stating the simple fact that he has more than his share of enemies.
Further, who cares if this is another coastal rap war? Will anything actually happen or will there just be alot of talk about it for the next couple of months? At this point, they might as well make the entire thing into a one night only series of street fights on Pay Per View... I would pay to watch it...
I guess for now that is all that I got. 14 days off the sauce and counting... Although listening to Kurt Loder and John Norris recap the evening at the VMA's makes me want to down the bottle of Jack in my freezer... THANK GOD THEY ARE NOW REPLAYING THIS SHIT... Off to tear out my eyeballs and cut off my ears...
Good night.
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Word Verification
For those of you who comment, which I totally appreciate, I have just added a new blogspot.com feature called word verification, which basically requires the typing of a word in before you can post your comment. The purpose of this function is to eliminate automated spammers, which I hate. Please continue to post comments even with this minor inconvenience.
Thanks.
R.D.
Thanks.
R.D.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Eternal Sadness
My grandfather died just before I finished my second year of law school. I remember getting the message from my mother when I was in Virginia playing in a softball tournament. There I was hundreds of miles away crying in a hotel room thinking about how badly I wanted to be in Connecticut at the time. My grandfather was a truly great man, who always laughed and taught me a lot about being a solid human being.
Death came to him quickly as he had been diagnosed with cancer the year before and sadly, his health faded thereafter. I remember that phone call as well because it was the night after my last exam as a 1L when my sister called saying that Grandpa had cancer. I did not realize the severity at the time. As time progressed, however, it became very apparent that no treatment could save him, and it was just a matter of time. Complicating matters was the fact that right before I went to law school while I was rowing in Great Britain, my grandmother, his wife, had a severe stroke that to this day has left her in a nursing home. Until the end, my grandfather spent all of his time visiting her daily and as a result, exhausting himself to the point that I often wonder if he weakened his body allowing the cancer to infest it.
It was a weird experience because my whole family was very sad when the end came, but at the same time, when you watch someone suffer like that right before your eyes, all you really want is for the end to come so that the pain can be no more. Sadly, my grandmother never really knew that he was sick because my grandfather never told her since he wanted to appear strong for her and to be there for her as he had been his entire life. Moreover, making the whole thing more tragic is that my grandmother's mind has been so affected by the stroke that she does not truly comprehend the passage of time. As a result, it appears that she lives each day thinking that my grandfather has not been gone for almost five years now. Instead, the memory remains fresh in her mind. (I do not know if this is actually true or a defense mechanism to never forget about him. The truth probably lies somewhere in between)... This makes the entire grieving process for her that much more difficult as she still cries on a daily basis. (I think she would do this anyway)
I thought about all of this today for the first time in a long time as a result of something that happened to me when I actually left the house for a brief couple of minutes to go and buy a toothbrush. While, I was at the drugstore where I bought said toothbrush, there was an old woman there, who was rambling on with the clerk about a variety of subjects. When I approached the counter, he gave me a look of do not mind her as he proceeded to ring up my purchases.
At this point, I said something to the effect of, "Man, she really likes to talk..." (Note: she had walked to the back of the store at this point) In response, he explained to me that she was there everyday sometimes before the store would open. Then, he hit me with the knee buckler as he told me that recently her husband had passed away, and suddenly, I understood why she was there each day...
Like my grandmother, she now finds herself alone without the person that she had vowed to remain with until death do us part. I guarantee that although she made this solemn vow she never truly comtemplated that one day, she would find herself alone without the love of her life. And now, she simply wanted someone to talk to so that she could do something else in order to get away from her internal sadness. I cannot fathom what it must be like to come home to an empty house and an empty bed where the person you shared decades of your existence with used to be and then, have to deal with this on a daily basis... And then again, I think that you must try and remember all the good times you had and maybe when you find some clarity, you take some solice in the fact that you had the opportunity to share those moments with that person... It all is just very sad to me.
I am not sure if any of what I just wrote has a point nor do I want to wrap it up into a neat little life lesson for you to carry forth after you read this entry... I guess I just needed to write about it since I cried today missing my grandfather for the first time in a very long time while simultaneously wishing that I could see my grandmother right now in order to give her a great big hug...
Death came to him quickly as he had been diagnosed with cancer the year before and sadly, his health faded thereafter. I remember that phone call as well because it was the night after my last exam as a 1L when my sister called saying that Grandpa had cancer. I did not realize the severity at the time. As time progressed, however, it became very apparent that no treatment could save him, and it was just a matter of time. Complicating matters was the fact that right before I went to law school while I was rowing in Great Britain, my grandmother, his wife, had a severe stroke that to this day has left her in a nursing home. Until the end, my grandfather spent all of his time visiting her daily and as a result, exhausting himself to the point that I often wonder if he weakened his body allowing the cancer to infest it.
It was a weird experience because my whole family was very sad when the end came, but at the same time, when you watch someone suffer like that right before your eyes, all you really want is for the end to come so that the pain can be no more. Sadly, my grandmother never really knew that he was sick because my grandfather never told her since he wanted to appear strong for her and to be there for her as he had been his entire life. Moreover, making the whole thing more tragic is that my grandmother's mind has been so affected by the stroke that she does not truly comprehend the passage of time. As a result, it appears that she lives each day thinking that my grandfather has not been gone for almost five years now. Instead, the memory remains fresh in her mind. (I do not know if this is actually true or a defense mechanism to never forget about him. The truth probably lies somewhere in between)... This makes the entire grieving process for her that much more difficult as she still cries on a daily basis. (I think she would do this anyway)
I thought about all of this today for the first time in a long time as a result of something that happened to me when I actually left the house for a brief couple of minutes to go and buy a toothbrush. While, I was at the drugstore where I bought said toothbrush, there was an old woman there, who was rambling on with the clerk about a variety of subjects. When I approached the counter, he gave me a look of do not mind her as he proceeded to ring up my purchases.
At this point, I said something to the effect of, "Man, she really likes to talk..." (Note: she had walked to the back of the store at this point) In response, he explained to me that she was there everyday sometimes before the store would open. Then, he hit me with the knee buckler as he told me that recently her husband had passed away, and suddenly, I understood why she was there each day...
Like my grandmother, she now finds herself alone without the person that she had vowed to remain with until death do us part. I guarantee that although she made this solemn vow she never truly comtemplated that one day, she would find herself alone without the love of her life. And now, she simply wanted someone to talk to so that she could do something else in order to get away from her internal sadness. I cannot fathom what it must be like to come home to an empty house and an empty bed where the person you shared decades of your existence with used to be and then, have to deal with this on a daily basis... And then again, I think that you must try and remember all the good times you had and maybe when you find some clarity, you take some solice in the fact that you had the opportunity to share those moments with that person... It all is just very sad to me.
I am not sure if any of what I just wrote has a point nor do I want to wrap it up into a neat little life lesson for you to carry forth after you read this entry... I guess I just needed to write about it since I cried today missing my grandfather for the first time in a very long time while simultaneously wishing that I could see my grandmother right now in order to give her a great big hug...
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