A Thorrible Post (I'm Sorry)

Loyal reader(s), who I will now call THE FORCE, today is Thursday. For some of you this means going out and getting bombed, maybe playing a little beer pong, smoking the reefer, or hitting the crank. For others, Thursday means curling into a ball and crying because Friends is no longer on the air. But did you know that Thursday really means "Day of Thunor" or Thor? Yes, the reason Thursdays are so great is because its named after Thor, the hammer wielding Nordic diety popularized by Maia Brewton in Adventures in Baby Sitting.



So while you're drinking at Off The Wagon, taking part in the college ritual of "Thirsty Thursday", be sure to pour out a drop of Bud Light for your man Thor who made it all possible.

I've Got Nothing

I've got nothing today. I'm an empty vessel, a void. But since I'd like to keep this daily here's a summary of Amanda Peet's performance on Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, which can pretty much be summarized by this picture:


Notice the wry, knowing smile. The self confidence that says, "I'm a winner, I know what I'm doing. I will prove you wrong. I’m better looking than you. I’m the good guy.” It would have worked, but then every scene with Amnada Peet ended the same way, with her stupid grin, staring into space.


It finally became a running joke for the show. If this continues it could be good fodder for a Studio 60 drinking game.

Do the Queue

I wandered down to the Orchard Street Picklefest yesterday and I met with great surprise, long lines. Not since the Depression era has the Lower East Side seen so many people waiting in line for free salty foods. I for one, don’t understand the obsession New Yorkers have for standing in line, but from Trader Joe’s to the Rick’s Picks Pickle stand, lines are apparently where New Yorkers want to be. And they got a beautiful day for it. The sun was shining and the soon-to-be-autumn air was fresh and sweet. Definitely not a day to queue indoors. Some say my ranting against lines is un-hip, un-Cosmopolitan, even un-American. “If you don’t like standing in line why don't you just move to communist Russia?” they say. It’s not that I hate lines exactly, it’s just that there’s too many goddamn people around.

Travel from New York to New England (Three Different Ones)

I just got back from my third consecutive weekend in New England. I hit every state except Vermont. Plus, we only really drove through Connecticut, the Thruway of the North East, peeing at its rest areas. Sometimes I feel bad for Connecticut because all it really consists of is a piece of land on which highways are built. But then I think of the rich douche bags of Greenwich, the McMahon family of the WWE, the rich, pompous douche bags at Yale, and ESPN, and realize that Connecticut really is a place you just want to drive through. Not to mention the horrid condition of its urban centers. Let’s just say I’m glad the Patriots didn’t move there, and the Patriots play in Foxboro/Foxborough! No offense or anything. Each trip to New England we took a different mode of transportation and here's how it breaks down:

Weekend number one - Bus. For our trip to Maine with a detour in Newton we took a bus to Boston (gladly not the Chinatown/Sadly not the limoliner), rented a car and drove to Maine. Yes, that sounds about as awful as it actually was. I know the bus well. I’ve taken the New York to Boston trip more than any man has any right doing. It sucks the life out of you and leaves you a deflated shell of a human being. By trip’s end your ass feels like you've spent a month in prison. The cinnamon smells used to deodorize the cabin stings the nostrils. Your knees, due to the asshole reclining in front of you are bruised like you’ve spent a month in prison. If you’re lucky enough to have a movie it’s usually some piece of crap children’s movie that features chickens of the “run” or “little” variety. If the bus didn't stop in my hometown I would have ceased taking it long ago. But it does, so I endure the pain, much like a man sentenced to a month in prison.

Weekend number two - Borrowing a car and driving yourself. This worked out great for me, not so much for my wife. I didn’t have my license at the time (since remedied) so she did all the driving. She went to Jersey to pick up the car, drove it to Brooklyn, drove Rhode Island, drove back home and dropped me off with our cat, drove back to Jersey and returned the car, took the bus to Port Authority, and finally the subway home. Not good times for her and I felt terrible. I don't know who had it worse. Who am I kidding? Me. I offered to go to Jersey with her, but being the trooper she is she did it on her own. The other downside of the drive was the ride out of the city on the Friday of Labor Day weekend. It's the stuff of nightmares. Hours of stop and go traffic up that asphalt root canal they call I-95, but at least we had Ernesto to keep us company throughout the drive and weekend.

Weekend number three – Flying. On our third straight trip to New England we decided to treat ourselves and fly to Boston. Flying is relatively painless, the flight being only 35 minutes or so, but all told, it takes about as long as driving. Getting to the airport early, checking in, security, flying, baggage claim, taxi. God forbid they cancel your flight in the five minute window between when you check in and walk through security. In these rare cases they have to book you on a flight that leaves one hour later, adding more time to your travels. But, the airport has televisions. The airport has televisions in bars. The airport has televisions in bars on the opening weekend of the NFL season, so it’s not a bad place to waste and hour or two. In fact, I kind of liked the delay.

So to quickly sum up:
Bus - Bad, similar to a month in prison.
Car - Okay, but better to have your own car parked in your neighborhood, not your mom’s car in New Jersey.
Flying - Delays/cancellations = bad. Television, bars, football = good.

Blogger Beta Blogger Blows

I made the mistake of upgrading to Blogger Beta before they perfected the technology. Now, commenting doesn't work with other blogs, Technorati doesn't ping, and no one is reading my blog. Two of those things are due to Blogger Beta. I don't need much. No bells and whistles. No rack and pinion steering. Just a blogging software that works. So here are some kind words:

Dear Blogger,

You are good to me. You nourish my desire to publish blogs, and you nurture my lack of HTML, but you need to launch something when it's ready and compatible with Technorati or other non-Beta blogs on your site. Thank you.

The 9th Circle of Bureaucratic Hell - A Trip to the DMV

I got a letter from the DMV
the other day.
I opened and read it
it said they were suckaz!

-The Pharcyde

Seven months ago my license expired, unfortunately, I just realized. Luckily, by living in New York I avoided blatant, although ignorant, law-breaking. But I did have to venture into the New York City bureaucracy and renew and transfer my license from Massachusetts.

Few things in our mass-marketed-over-hyped world live up to their reputations. You will sit in stop-and-go traffic on I-95 during a holiday weekend. You will wake up on March 18th with a hangover. And you will wait and wait in line at the DMV. So here are a few observations and thoughts while standing in line in a downtown Brooklyn DMV.

One minute in line and someone is already storming out having been turned away after a good 90 minute wait in line, muttering under her breath, "mutherfuckers, you could have told me that while I was standing here." The DMV, ladies and gentlemen! Now I'm really looking forward to my stay in line and beginning to second guess that I'm in the right one.

I sympathize with the workers a little bit. If I had to deal with stupid questions from even dumber people for 8 hours a day I probably wouldn't smile much either. Case in point, the man who’s arguing that his birth certificate should count as identification despite the fact that it is clearly marked on the website and the wall as counting for “zero points” towards your ID requirement. The workers don’t make the rules, but they do need to enforce them. There's a reason they made the two most loathsome and miserable Simpson's characters DMV employees.

90 minutes later I'm at the front of the line and I can't wait for my moment to shine. My palms sweat when I'm called, praying I've filled out the proper forms and have "six points" worth of identification. The woman scrutinizes my forms, passport and SS card, clips them together and tells me to wait for my number to be called. The good news, I'm through stage one! The bad news, there are two more stages.

20 minutes later I'm at stage two. I have a friendly chat with the Yankees fan employee who ribs me about the Red Sox. I take the punishment, he wields too much power at this point to call A-Rod gay or call Giambi a steroid abusing dickwad. He takes an awful photo of me (I look like I aged 10 years since my last photo taken only five years ago. Maybe it was the blinding light they shine in your face after telling you to stare at it.) Swallowing my pride get ready for stage three, the eye test.

I'm dreading the eye test and I brought my glasses along just in case. I always wear my glasses when I drive, but I don't want it noted on my license, because sometimes I forget my glasses. The eye test is taken at the cashiers desk. There's an eye chart about 5 feet away just behind the cashier and consists of one line of inch high, bold, capital letters. In other words, the eye test is a gimmie. After acing that I breath a sigh of relief. I also make a note to myself to keep a better watch of the cars in my surroundings because in all honesty Stevie Wonder could probably pass that test. I pay, take my temporary license and check the time. Two hours and five minutes since I first stepped into line. Not too, too bad and I feel like I've done my patriotic duty, withholding our nation’s great bureaucratic tradition, The DMV.

Mysteries of Human Biology - Beer Pong Edition

The human body is capable of amazing things when pushed to the limit. Stories of women getting the strength to lift automobiles off there trapped husbands, or the incredible man who cut off his arm with a Swiss army knife to avoid certain death, exemplify the will humans have to survive and succeed. On Friday night I too encountered this will. I won 20 games of beer-pong in a row.

What started out as an innocent and chilly night in Maine quickly morphed into a beer-pong tour de force not seen since the winter of 2000. Now six years older and far removed from my beer-pong playing peak I was touched by greatness once again, this time reaching heights I dared not dream. Winning 20 games in a row.

By win number fifteen I had lost the ability to speak full, intelligible, and lucid sentences, relying mostly on grunts and high-fives to get my point across. Trash talk was out of the question, but when you’re on a winning streak like this one, your shot does all the talking. It was clear that my brain was cutting off my oral capacities and re-routing that energy into my right arm while still saving a little leftover for vision.

By the end of the night my shirt was soaked with beer, my hands were pruned from repeatedly cleaning the ping-pong ball, and we were one cup away from immortality. I squinted hard focusing on the red plastic cup a mere 12 feet away and with a flick of the elbow released my final shot of the night. It flew through the air in a perfect arc heading directly into the middle of the cup, finally landing silently on beer foam. Victory.

There were only 12 or so people there to witness the feat, but in time that number will grow. Everyone will claim to be present on that crisp, late summer, Maine night when the unthinkable happened. The human body is truly amazing.

This is How We Slum It

Slumming It. Once a proud phrase describing those daring, radical, rich, and affluent members of our society willing to go against the grain and live amongst the lowly, yet surprisingly hip and trendy commoners. They smoked and drank in Harlem during the jazz age. In the 70s and 80s they blew coke with the artists in SoHo. Finally, they drank Pabst in the Lower East Side of the 90s and early 2000s. But for anyone who’s eaten at Schiller’s or fought through the Friday night Ludlow Street crowds the days of the LES as slum are over, with this soon to be opened gym as the death knell. Brooklyn looks to fill this new void, but can you still "slum it" in Manhattan? Being both rich and affluent, last Friday I decided to give it a try.

I started after a late day at work by heading to The Blarney Stone, 32nd Street, Herald Square. When you walk into this long dimly lit bar the first thing you notice is the humidity, the next is the smell. It’s not a bad smell but combined with the humid air makes for a unique odor. The reason for this are the steam trays that keep the food at the lunch station (luke) warm. Meats, gravies, sandwiches, mac n’ cheese served on cafeteria style trays that you carry to your table or to the bar. But I didn’t come here to eat, that comes later, I came here to drink and with the size of the bar you always can find a place to sit. Pints of Bud and Bud Light are $4.00 and the top rate bartenders buy back every 4th beer. Yes, this is a bar for drinkers. From a trendy and hip standpoint the bar ranks low, so now’s your chance to get in on the ground floor.

After my free 4th beer I headed out to meet my wife. She was walking down form 51st & 8th, so I said I’d get together with her on 8th Ave and go for a drink wherever we happened to meet. This couldn’t have worked out any better. We met at Port Authority (Yes, I walk fast) and went into McAnn's. McAnn's is actually a bar that I know well from my time living in Weehawken (a slumming it column of it’s own) and the time I came down for New Year’s in a blizzard and was stranded in POA for a good 4 hours. That particular night lead to a stay at the Plaza, but that too is another story.

When it comes to seediness Port Authority cannot be beat, and McAnn’s holds that torch proudly. This bar also features cheap Bud and Bud Lights as well as bright lighting and no hipsters. It’s more of a bridge and tunnel crowd, or more accurately, a tunnel crowd. Potential hip-ness is an absolute zero, but in this ironic age isn’t a zero really a 6? The highest rating any hipster could possibly give something.

It was after another three Bud drafts that I realized I probably should have eaten some mac n’ cheese at the Blarney Stone and we headed out to find some food. We could’ve walked west to Hell’s Kitchen, but if your slumming it from Port Authority you walk due east into the belly of the beast, Time Square.

Where to go to put an exclamation point on this night of slumming? Franchise restaurants. Franchise restaurants depress me, although I do have a soft spot for them, and are a perfect way to end the night. ESPN Zone, too classy. Olive Garden, too many bread sticks. TGIFriday’s, too much flair. No, instead we went to TGIFriday’s ugly little step daughter, Applebee’s. Needless to say, my wife was thrilled.

I ordered the Ribblets & French Fries basket for $13.50 and a Pepsi. My wife ordered water. The Ribblets, I’m not afraid to say, were fucking delicious. Plus, Ribblets help to promote good health. The place was jumping, the wait staff were teriffic and it’s a great place to pretend you’re one of the common folk. More importantly I felt like I belonged to a community. I felt like I was sitting in my very own neighborhood restaurant, the Applebee’s on Dekalb and Flatbush. Catch the trend before Applebee’s becomes too popular (we were seated next to Peter Sarsgaard and Maggie Gyllenhaal.) Before you know it they’ll be everywhere, maybe even on Ludlow.

People Who Look Like People - John Mark Karr Edition

When I first saw pictures of creepy John Mark Karr I couldn't help but think I'd seen him before. Dead eyes, blank, lifeless, childlike expression (could come in handy for a guy like JMK), thinning hair, frail, meek body. Where had I seen these before? That's when it hit me. Time for another installment of "People Who Look Like People"

JMK looks like a gaunter, sweatier, slightly hairier, and pedophilier version of Karl Pilkington, the funniest man in England today and an absolute IDD-YOT.

No? Time to come clean, I'm not very good at this game.



What if I told you he reminded me of...

This really isn't fair to Fred Rogers (who I think is an icon), but JMK could be a younger, pedofilier, sweaterless, Mr. Rogers. They both liked kids, both were teachers, both talk(ed) a lot of make-believe? Huh, huh, get it? Will his story check out? Is JMK telling the truth? Eh, pretty good eh?

No. Really? Then I apologize.




I guess John Mark Karr doesn't look like anyone else. Unless, he's the sweaty man-love child of David Duke and Jeffery Dahmer? I heard Duke played catcher.


If you're still reading and want to read some blog commentary of John Mark Karr that's actually funny go here.

The Daily Dump stole the John Mark Karr media circus. He took the coverage and ran it into the end zone of high comedy. It's hilarious and you should check it out.

Yuppie Battleground Report - Outdoor Seating

I haven't posted in the last few days and to my surprise the world is still turning. However, the overwhelming demand for another post reached its apex. So here we go with the latest Yuppie Battleground Report.

I went to an outdoor bar (not GYC) last night to enjoy a few post-work beverages. As with every place in New York these days the bar was packed with people and seating was in hot demand. Most people at this particular bar share the many large and small picnic style tables, “most people” being the operative term. This one gentleman decided to keep an entire table to himself while “saving” it for his late or perhaps non-existent friends.

“Hi can we sit here?” he was kindly asked.

“Ah, no sorry I’m saving it for my friends. They’ll be here soon,” he replied.

“Are you saving the entire table?” he was asked, this time more firmly.

“Yeah, sorry my friends are on their way and we’ll need the whole table. One is actually inside getting drinks. You know how long the line takes," he explained.

“Yes we’re familiar with the line we come here all the time. But do you really need the whole table?” he said, frustration setting in.

“Yeah, we do. Sorry”

After the couple was relegated to a much smaller table the friend with the drinks did come back to the table. Now it was just two people using a large table, mildly more acceptable.

Over the next 15 minutes or so the two of them proceeded to turn away other requests to share their table, finally giving in to their rudeness by allowing a pregnant woman and her friend to sit at the very edge. How noble of them.

Yes it is true their friends did eventually decided to show up, and it’s also true that it was I who was fetching the drinks from the shamefully slow line, and yes that was my friend rejecting request after request like an Ivy League admissions officer. But when you get a table in this city you need to guard it to the end no matter how much of a dick you feel like. Sorry, but that’s life in the Yuppie Battleground. This may be why “yuppie scum” is such a fun phrase to utter, no matter how hypocritical.

XXXSexySinglesXXX Marks the Spot

AOL is just plain sick and tired of Davis Hawke's failure to pay a lawsuit judgment of $12 million so they're digging up his parent’s property in search of gold and platinum bullion. You read that correctly. Next week, AOL plans to go through his parents couch cushions and junk drawers. It all seems petty to me, AOL being a multi-billion dollar corporation bothering the innocent parents of a son gone astray. That is until I found out why Hawke owes them the money, he's an email spammer, and only the worst and most depraved parents would raise such a home-mortgage-pushing, penile-enlargement-loving, free-ipod-sweepstakes-promoting fuckhead.

Update:

Check out the comment below. That popped up 3 seconds after I posted. Must have been the "xxx" in the title. Those spam fuckers are wiley.

The Zoo is on Our Side of the Bars - The Bronx Edition

Bear with me, I'm going to be a bit of a dick for a minute.

I went to The Bronx Zoo today and nothing stokes my hatred of the masses more than a large weekend crowd, especially when 99.7% are pushing oversized strollers. Now, if there's anyplace that should be chockfull of strollers it's the zoo, it's a great activity for the family, but people the doorways of the world are no place to park your fucking Bugaboo. I know they look cool and I know everyone was fighting to buy it off your baby shower registry, but the world does not stop because you need to speak slowly and in an educational tone to your child. The sound of a father talking in that voice makes my skin crawl.

Also, have you noticed that every last mutherfucker out there is an amateur photographer? Digital photography and Photoshop has every asshole with disposable income thinking they're Ansel Adams. This one douche bag was dressed like he was working for National Geographic shooting pictures of Gwyneth Paltrow in the Kalahari instead of a sleeping tiger through a Plexiglas wall in The Bronx. Oversized backpack to get in everyone's way? Check. 12 inch telescopic lens? Check. Water bottle strategically strapped to backpack in case of sudden drought? Check. Fannypack to prove you're a tourist? You betcha! The width of this guy from backpack to lens was wide enough to stop most NHL penalty shots without moving. But did he realize this? Of course not. He was spinning and turning and backing up and stopping short just to be sure to smack everyone in a 20 foot radius in the face with his bag.

And then there was this one middle aged balding man and his video camera. I think he was alone which immediately caught my attention. There’s nothing quite like a middle-age loner hanging out at the zoo to make you check the amber alert when you get home. Everywhere I stood he would come up right next to me and video tape whatever sleeping animal I was looking at, riveting. (Or as The Bronx Zoo gift shop advertising would say "ribbiting".) I for one would love to get the dailies back from this little shoot. The five minutes he spent filming the tapir's ass is sure to be a tour de force. What I would give to be a fly on the wall when he plays this video to some poor schmucks at a dinner party, “Guess what everybody, I went to the zoo today…and I tape every last second. Let’s watch! Dear, get the lights.”

The lessons are of course are a) don't do anything in New York on the weekends, period. We’re talking lines that would make a communist dictator drool. (b) Unless you're a professional photographer, creepy stalker, or confined to a wheel chair in your apartment, leave the telescopic lens at home. We're all impressed with your little hobby, but let's keep things under control shall we? And (c) birth control, though condemned by the Church, is a good thing and we shouldn’t be afraid to keep using it for as long as possible.

Other than that, The Bronx Zoo is awesome and you should all check it out if you haven't, seriously.

Thoughts While Counting Down the Minutes Until DOG the Bounty Hunter Finally Gets Married

• If I had to spend an enternity on a deserted island with one other person and my worst enemy can decide who that one person is, but I get to name one person who can't live with me on the island, that person would be Dog The Bounty Hunter, him or that dude from Clublife.

• Dr. Octagon (Kool Keith) is playing Bowery Ballroom on 9/9 & 9/10 with Mr. Lif & Beans. Mark your calendar.

• The New York Magazine article on Hank Ratner's Brooklyn development project is a great read and as a new investor in the area after reading it I still have know idea what to think.

• HELLS KITCHEN IS DOWN TO TWO CONTESTANTS!!! The show no one cares about concludes next week with absolutly no buzz whatsoever. Just how I like it.

• This Daft Punk Electrom Teaser is kinda old by blog standards, but still amazing

• Special thanks to LoggedHours and High Class Jackass for their not-as-snarky-as-they-could-have-been comments to my previous post.

• Just for the heck of it another photo:

A Conversation

You know all these blog entries where the writer has a confrontation with somebody and they re-cap it word-for-word? The blogger always has the perfect comeback and always wins the day. I hate these blog entries. They're jutter utter bullshit. Clublife is the biggest offender. This guy sounds like the biggest blowhard going, surprising because most bouncers are so fantastic. But there are others . And even blogs I like get into the act sometimes. Guess that's the point of blogging to write about the day’s events and encounters, but no one speaks like they’re straight out of a Tarantino film, I’m sorry. Anyway, on a completely different subject I had a confrontation today. I was walking to the subway and some dude wearing aviator sunglasses started frontin'.

"Yo, what are you lookin' at," Douche Bag with Shades says.

"I dunno Tom Cruise with narcolepsy" I said

"Yo you want to throw down?" Douchey says

"The only thing you're going to throw down is a French Slam at Denny's you fat fuck maybe you should cut down on the diabetes, fucktard. Don’t want you to lose a limb, you may eat it"

After that he just kind of slunk away mumbling to himself wondering how I got the better of him, it was awesome. I'm awesome.