So I've had some really random weeks for the past few weeks. These stories aren't necessarily connected or chronological.......but I thought they were funny.....so here you go.
The other night as I was leaving work, I swear I saw the asian version of Kid 'n Play. There were these two kids and one had his hair stacked up about a foot high on top of his head and a really bald undercut while his buddy had these really tiny dreadlocks. They both had these HUGE puffy coats on and really baggy jeans and were trying so very hard to convince the doorguy at some club that they were "hip-hoppers" (their words, not mine). I laughed very hard..... because I (and most of my friends) had an undercut in middle school.
During the day I work at the Isamu Noguchi Museum as an art handler. Noguchi (1904-1988) was a stone sculptor and designer. You can learn more about him and see pictures of the heavy rocks that I move at Noguchi.org. In the office, my buddy Al and I found a picture of Noguchi and Don Johnson. Yes, Don Johnson from Miami Vice. And yes he's wearing a white blazer with a t-shirt. Well, very covertly my buddy Al scanned the picture and made t-shirts from the image.........I laughed my ass off.
..
So my first gig in New York is this monday night. I'm not really all that nervous, i just don't wanna screw up. So wish me luck......
Rock on!
Saturday, October 29, 2005
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
The Pain of Getting Older
As my close friends know, i turned 24 recently.....and boy, it hurt!
The week leading up to my day of birth was great. The guys from Lucid Soule came in town and it was so much fun to have my friends near me. I can honestly say that I had more fun in those four days than I have in the now four months since I arrived. The only possible way that the weekend could have been better is if some asshole hadn't slashed the trailer tires on the boy's transportation. Luckily there was a tire shop right down the block from the incident..........my theory of course being that the employees of said tire shop are to blame for the holes and they performed the hanus act in order to bleed business out of poor, traveling musicians. Bastards.
Anyway it was a great time nonetheless, no matter what Adam says. I already miss those guys.
So after the fellas took off on sunday morning in the cold rain, i trekked off to work. I had decided that I would do something I hadn't done in a while and actually celebrate my birthday. Sadly, I got off of work later than expected and had to turn 24 at 12:01am riding the subway with Jose Rodriguez who kept begging me for money even though I had turned him down four times. I guess that's what happens when you are the only person on the train with the bums.
I arrived at the bar that I've begun spending my time and hard-earned money in and was greeted by my buddy Dan. I mentioned to Dan that it was my birthday and he proceeded to basically announce it to the entire bar. While I and my wallet are very thankful for such treatment, as I didn't pay for anything the entire night, my liver now hates every single one of those people that placed shots in front of me.
I got home sometime around 5am and in some manner negociated 4 flights of stairs. I woke up on the living room floor having apparently made a series of dinosaur calls. My sister (who i didn't know was home) came from some dark corner of the apartment with paper towels and plastic bags.
I awoke at 4 o'clock on monday afternoon, with half of my clothes on, after having spent the night on the floor. My mouth was so dry I could barely close it. I have a bruise on my hip from sleeping on my side and at some point in the evening's activities, I must have fallen down, 'cause i have a very large bruise on my back. Sadly, my state of being prevented me from enjoying another evening on the town and I have now vowed a personal prohibition.....as temporary as that can be. My goal is at least a week.
So here's to hoping that when I turn twenty-five, I'll at least be smart enough to steer clear of someone who offers to buy me a shot. I'm gonna run now.....no real plans tonight, but man i need a beer.
The week leading up to my day of birth was great. The guys from Lucid Soule came in town and it was so much fun to have my friends near me. I can honestly say that I had more fun in those four days than I have in the now four months since I arrived. The only possible way that the weekend could have been better is if some asshole hadn't slashed the trailer tires on the boy's transportation. Luckily there was a tire shop right down the block from the incident..........my theory of course being that the employees of said tire shop are to blame for the holes and they performed the hanus act in order to bleed business out of poor, traveling musicians. Bastards.
Anyway it was a great time nonetheless, no matter what Adam says. I already miss those guys.
So after the fellas took off on sunday morning in the cold rain, i trekked off to work. I had decided that I would do something I hadn't done in a while and actually celebrate my birthday. Sadly, I got off of work later than expected and had to turn 24 at 12:01am riding the subway with Jose Rodriguez who kept begging me for money even though I had turned him down four times. I guess that's what happens when you are the only person on the train with the bums.
I arrived at the bar that I've begun spending my time and hard-earned money in and was greeted by my buddy Dan. I mentioned to Dan that it was my birthday and he proceeded to basically announce it to the entire bar. While I and my wallet are very thankful for such treatment, as I didn't pay for anything the entire night, my liver now hates every single one of those people that placed shots in front of me.
I got home sometime around 5am and in some manner negociated 4 flights of stairs. I woke up on the living room floor having apparently made a series of dinosaur calls. My sister (who i didn't know was home) came from some dark corner of the apartment with paper towels and plastic bags.
I awoke at 4 o'clock on monday afternoon, with half of my clothes on, after having spent the night on the floor. My mouth was so dry I could barely close it. I have a bruise on my hip from sleeping on my side and at some point in the evening's activities, I must have fallen down, 'cause i have a very large bruise on my back. Sadly, my state of being prevented me from enjoying another evening on the town and I have now vowed a personal prohibition.....as temporary as that can be. My goal is at least a week.
So here's to hoping that when I turn twenty-five, I'll at least be smart enough to steer clear of someone who offers to buy me a shot. I'm gonna run now.....no real plans tonight, but man i need a beer.
Saturday, September 10, 2005
Drunk and Stupid (the abridged version of my life)
I can officially say that I'm starting to enjoy the city. It's taken me three hard months, and I'm still incredibly homesick, but the city has its bright points. The weather is nicer. Public transportation (when it's running on schedule) is great. This week is "Fashion Week" which simply translates that there are thousands of beautiful models all over the city. They walk in packs and puddles of drool gather at the feet of every male that happens to witness such a spectacle.
But that (surprisingly) is not the best part of the city.
Do you want to know what is?
BUYBACKS!!!!!!!
Let me explain......or at least fail miserably in an attempt.
When I first arrived in the city, I had a hard time getting adjusted to higher prices. Everything costs more here, except a bottle of water is still roughly a dollar. Me, being in the habit of drinking heavily (thanks Northgate!!), I was appalled at the price of beer! A six pack of good beer can cost you anywhere from $9 to $13 dollars. A pint of beer at your local watering hole can easily be $7 or more. Try drinking a Guinness for less than $8.
Or so I thought.
I've recently discovered that there are much more "wallet-friendly" establishments here in the city, once you know where to look. Happy Hour is also something I've never looked forward to until now. I now know places where I can drink Guinness for the amazing price of $3!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Try getting that back home (the cheapest I can remember is Monday night at the Chimes is something like $4.25?)
The fun comes in when the buybacks start. You see, after you've paid for and systematically guzzled your first few drinks, a bartender will usually offer to buy you the next round. In order to keep the buybacks coming, the trick is to continue to tip the barkeep even though you didn't pay for the drink. It's essentially like buying beer for a dollar.
Buybacks have gotten me in a world of trouble. You see......I have a problem.
No, not the type of problem that requires an intervention (unless you just really want to come visit), but a problem nonetheless. I don't wake up craving beer (mmmmm......beer), but if someone offers me a drink and does not ask for money in return for said drink, I cannot say no. Thus, my problem.
Being that I'm a creature of habit, I was in Queens the other night, enjoying a nice after-work beer with my co-workers. We arrived shortly after 5pm, right in the midst of Happy Hour, and began drinking our $3 draught beers. Sometime close to 12:30am, having accidentally skipped dinner, I realized that I should probably make some attempt at stumbling home. I weebled and wobbled all the way to the train, and that is as far as my story goes.........simply because I cannont remember anything else. Thankfully I ended up safe in my slightly uncomfortable futon/bed with half of my clothes on, including one shoe and my hat, but not my pants.......
Don't feel bad for me or my liver. I am actually in the midst of a self-imposed dry period. Mostly because after my adventure and subsequent hangover, I can't look at a beer without wanting to blow chunks. The hangover was not quite as bad as when Corey and I floated the Abita Keg @ Brian's Party.......but it did not make work easy at all today.
So enough about alcohol and hurl. I'm off to bed, so that I can wake up and have some other incredibly random events that never seemed to happen when I lived back home.
But that (surprisingly) is not the best part of the city.
Do you want to know what is?
BUYBACKS!!!!!!!
Let me explain......or at least fail miserably in an attempt.
When I first arrived in the city, I had a hard time getting adjusted to higher prices. Everything costs more here, except a bottle of water is still roughly a dollar. Me, being in the habit of drinking heavily (thanks Northgate!!), I was appalled at the price of beer! A six pack of good beer can cost you anywhere from $9 to $13 dollars. A pint of beer at your local watering hole can easily be $7 or more. Try drinking a Guinness for less than $8.
Or so I thought.
I've recently discovered that there are much more "wallet-friendly" establishments here in the city, once you know where to look. Happy Hour is also something I've never looked forward to until now. I now know places where I can drink Guinness for the amazing price of $3!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Try getting that back home (the cheapest I can remember is Monday night at the Chimes is something like $4.25?)
The fun comes in when the buybacks start. You see, after you've paid for and systematically guzzled your first few drinks, a bartender will usually offer to buy you the next round. In order to keep the buybacks coming, the trick is to continue to tip the barkeep even though you didn't pay for the drink. It's essentially like buying beer for a dollar.
Buybacks have gotten me in a world of trouble. You see......I have a problem.
No, not the type of problem that requires an intervention (unless you just really want to come visit), but a problem nonetheless. I don't wake up craving beer (mmmmm......beer), but if someone offers me a drink and does not ask for money in return for said drink, I cannot say no. Thus, my problem.
Being that I'm a creature of habit, I was in Queens the other night, enjoying a nice after-work beer with my co-workers. We arrived shortly after 5pm, right in the midst of Happy Hour, and began drinking our $3 draught beers. Sometime close to 12:30am, having accidentally skipped dinner, I realized that I should probably make some attempt at stumbling home. I weebled and wobbled all the way to the train, and that is as far as my story goes.........simply because I cannont remember anything else. Thankfully I ended up safe in my slightly uncomfortable futon/bed with half of my clothes on, including one shoe and my hat, but not my pants.......
Don't feel bad for me or my liver. I am actually in the midst of a self-imposed dry period. Mostly because after my adventure and subsequent hangover, I can't look at a beer without wanting to blow chunks. The hangover was not quite as bad as when Corey and I floated the Abita Keg @ Brian's Party.......but it did not make work easy at all today.
So enough about alcohol and hurl. I'm off to bed, so that I can wake up and have some other incredibly random events that never seemed to happen when I lived back home.
Wednesday, September 7, 2005
Three Month Heartbreak
can't believe that it's been three months here already.
I also can't believe how heartbroken I am about my hometown.
I guess that some people might not know, but I was born in New Orleans. Even though I didn't grow up there, I still have this strong yet strange connection to the city. I have spent the last week fighting back tears and holding back screams. It hurts so bad that so many people have passed away and even more are forced to leave their homes after a horrible act of nature. It bugs me that everyone knew that the threat of New Orleans sinking was real, but nothing has ever been done about it.
I don't want this to turn into a political rant so I'll state my piece and be done. The Bush administration's response to this tragedy is appalling!
I feel so helpless this far away from home. I can't do anything to help from 3000 miles away. I've given to the American Red Cross and I encourage you all to do the same.
I'm proud of my friends who are back home for being strong and helping in the ways they have. You all are inspirations and I wish desperately that I could be among you. Sadly, I know that if I come home, I won't return to the big apple. Homesickness is truly a sickness indeed.
On another note, I hit the cover off of a baseball yesterday. Granted, it was a cheap baseball that the seams were already split on, but nonetheless, I crushed it.
I hope those who read this are ok and your families are ok. Let me know if there is anything I can do to help you, even though I'm so far from my home. Peace.
I also can't believe how heartbroken I am about my hometown.
I guess that some people might not know, but I was born in New Orleans. Even though I didn't grow up there, I still have this strong yet strange connection to the city. I have spent the last week fighting back tears and holding back screams. It hurts so bad that so many people have passed away and even more are forced to leave their homes after a horrible act of nature. It bugs me that everyone knew that the threat of New Orleans sinking was real, but nothing has ever been done about it.
I don't want this to turn into a political rant so I'll state my piece and be done. The Bush administration's response to this tragedy is appalling!
I feel so helpless this far away from home. I can't do anything to help from 3000 miles away. I've given to the American Red Cross and I encourage you all to do the same.
I'm proud of my friends who are back home for being strong and helping in the ways they have. You all are inspirations and I wish desperately that I could be among you. Sadly, I know that if I come home, I won't return to the big apple. Homesickness is truly a sickness indeed.
On another note, I hit the cover off of a baseball yesterday. Granted, it was a cheap baseball that the seams were already split on, but nonetheless, I crushed it.
I hope those who read this are ok and your families are ok. Let me know if there is anything I can do to help you, even though I'm so far from my home. Peace.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
The Soundtrack to Pornography
Man, I have had the weirdest week.
I know that I must say that at least twice each and every week since I've been here, but I think this one takes the cake!
I was at work last Wednesday at the rehearsal studio. I had been at my other job all day, so by the time I got to Ultrasound, I was incredibly tired. I only had a few bands spaced out here and there over the evening. Normally, while the bands rehearse, I sit in this hallway, in case they have any stupid questions like: "Why am I not getting any sound out if the bass amp?" (Generally, it helps if you turn it on jackass)
So, during a break in the "action" [this joke will be funnier in a minute], I got up and used the restroom. A short time later, as I'm counting the seconds pass by, a weird looking bald guy walks by me on his way to the bathroom. He's singing at the top of his lungs, but not listening to anything like an Ipod or cd player. Immediately, I think the guy is a nutjob [this will also be funnier in a bit]. The guy apparently takes care of his "business" [c'mon....there is a pattern developing here], and walks back by, still belting it out at a ridiculous volume for a capella.
About ten minutes later, it was close to the time when the last band in my section would be finished so I decided to start cleaning up. My cleaning duties are relatively easy in that I have a few chairs to pick up and clean the bathroom. The latter is where the problem started. I walked into the room with my bottle of 409 and a roll of paper towels to clean the rim of the toilet and the sink. It was at this point in time that I happened to look into the toilet and notice a condom floating in all of its recently used glory. To further elaborate on the situation, the bathroom in my section is a one seater, and nobody had been into it since our buddy left.
Obviously disgusted, I went downstairs to ask if the other techs had seen the guy on our video monitoring system. They said they had seen him walk into room "6" [which is funny, because it is only one letter removed from 'sex']. I at this point ran upstairs to tell my manager, Jeff, the situation. He jumps from the chair behind his desk and hurries downstairs to inspect the situation. By this point, without the security of my watchful, but very tired, eyes....someone had used the toilet and flushed our evidence. Thankfully, Jeff took my word for it and we hauled of to the rehearsal room in question.
In most of the studios, there are opposite-facing double doors that serve as sound proofing. As Jeff opens one and begins to open the other, someone from the inside begins to push against the door in order to prevent entry to the room.
Disclaimer: For kids that are reading this unsupervised by an adult 21 years or older, please ask your parents before continuing. What follows is an eyewitness account of the events, complete with dialogue, profanity, nudity, and pornographic material. Thank you.
"OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR RIGHT NOW!" Jeff screams through the tiny crack between the door and its frame.
The door opens slowly to reveal six persons, (Four men and two women) all of whom are completely naked, three of which are engaged in sexual intercourse.
Some of the naked people are holding a video camera and another is aiming a light fixture toward the afformentioned action. [get it now?]
"Oh shit" Jeff mutters, hanging his head. "Stop whatever it is you're doing. Get your clothes on and get the fuck out of my studio!"
Startled and apparently embarrassed, the "actors" scramble to get dressed and out of trouble as soon as possible.
"We're awfully sorry about this, man" says one guy, hiking his shorts on to cover his junk.
"How the hell do you people think that this is ok?" asks Jeff. "Do we look like a porn studio to you? You guys don't even have instruments for Christ's sake!"
"I'm a drummer," says another guy, who happened to be standing behind the drumkit.
Without skipping a beat, Jeff scratches out "That's a shame, kid. 'Cause it looks like you've only got one stick." (can i get a rimshot, please?)
So that's my story. Funny how life happens. I can't express to you how weird it feels to go into work now, not having any clue what I might walk-in on. So keep your eyes peeled for an upcoming porno movie, filmed on location at Ultrasound Studios.
Maybe if I'm really lucky and/or they forgive me for ratting on them, I can get a song into the film or on the soundtrack!
I know that I must say that at least twice each and every week since I've been here, but I think this one takes the cake!
I was at work last Wednesday at the rehearsal studio. I had been at my other job all day, so by the time I got to Ultrasound, I was incredibly tired. I only had a few bands spaced out here and there over the evening. Normally, while the bands rehearse, I sit in this hallway, in case they have any stupid questions like: "Why am I not getting any sound out if the bass amp?" (Generally, it helps if you turn it on jackass)
So, during a break in the "action" [this joke will be funnier in a minute], I got up and used the restroom. A short time later, as I'm counting the seconds pass by, a weird looking bald guy walks by me on his way to the bathroom. He's singing at the top of his lungs, but not listening to anything like an Ipod or cd player. Immediately, I think the guy is a nutjob [this will also be funnier in a bit]. The guy apparently takes care of his "business" [c'mon....there is a pattern developing here], and walks back by, still belting it out at a ridiculous volume for a capella.
About ten minutes later, it was close to the time when the last band in my section would be finished so I decided to start cleaning up. My cleaning duties are relatively easy in that I have a few chairs to pick up and clean the bathroom. The latter is where the problem started. I walked into the room with my bottle of 409 and a roll of paper towels to clean the rim of the toilet and the sink. It was at this point in time that I happened to look into the toilet and notice a condom floating in all of its recently used glory. To further elaborate on the situation, the bathroom in my section is a one seater, and nobody had been into it since our buddy left.
Obviously disgusted, I went downstairs to ask if the other techs had seen the guy on our video monitoring system. They said they had seen him walk into room "6" [which is funny, because it is only one letter removed from 'sex']. I at this point ran upstairs to tell my manager, Jeff, the situation. He jumps from the chair behind his desk and hurries downstairs to inspect the situation. By this point, without the security of my watchful, but very tired, eyes....someone had used the toilet and flushed our evidence. Thankfully, Jeff took my word for it and we hauled of to the rehearsal room in question.
In most of the studios, there are opposite-facing double doors that serve as sound proofing. As Jeff opens one and begins to open the other, someone from the inside begins to push against the door in order to prevent entry to the room.
Disclaimer: For kids that are reading this unsupervised by an adult 21 years or older, please ask your parents before continuing. What follows is an eyewitness account of the events, complete with dialogue, profanity, nudity, and pornographic material. Thank you.
"OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR RIGHT NOW!" Jeff screams through the tiny crack between the door and its frame.
The door opens slowly to reveal six persons, (Four men and two women) all of whom are completely naked, three of which are engaged in sexual intercourse.
Some of the naked people are holding a video camera and another is aiming a light fixture toward the afformentioned action. [get it now?]
"Oh shit" Jeff mutters, hanging his head. "Stop whatever it is you're doing. Get your clothes on and get the fuck out of my studio!"
Startled and apparently embarrassed, the "actors" scramble to get dressed and out of trouble as soon as possible.
"We're awfully sorry about this, man" says one guy, hiking his shorts on to cover his junk.
"How the hell do you people think that this is ok?" asks Jeff. "Do we look like a porn studio to you? You guys don't even have instruments for Christ's sake!"
"I'm a drummer," says another guy, who happened to be standing behind the drumkit.
Without skipping a beat, Jeff scratches out "That's a shame, kid. 'Cause it looks like you've only got one stick." (can i get a rimshot, please?)
So that's my story. Funny how life happens. I can't express to you how weird it feels to go into work now, not having any clue what I might walk-in on. So keep your eyes peeled for an upcoming porno movie, filmed on location at Ultrasound Studios.
Maybe if I'm really lucky and/or they forgive me for ratting on them, I can get a song into the film or on the soundtrack!
Sunday, August 7, 2005
Two Month Anniversary and Crabby Old Ladies
So today is now two months that I've been lost in this giant city. I've had some interesting times the last few weeks and I hope desperately that I can describe them all to you accurately before I have to go to work.
Anyone that has ever met me has most likely met me while I was wearing my most prized posession, my Kansas City Royals hat. I'm a huge baseball fan, and spend entirely too much time obsessing about the Royals, even though they are the worst team in baseball (two years running). I wear my hat proudly and have done so for at least six years now. I always am delighted to see someone else show support for my favorite bunch of losers, and usually inclined to point out that I, too, am wearing my KC hat (because I usually am).
About a week ago now, I was on a train home from Brooklyn and was about to transfer trains. As the train came to its usually screeching halt, and as I waited patiently for the doors to magically open, I noticed a portly young gentlemen with a bright, shiny, new Royals hat on his pudgy head. I could feel the corners of my mouth stretching into a big smile. As I exited the train and he began to board, I casually made a comment "Hey man, nice hat!" Now, I can see how one might have taken my phrasing, out of context, as demeaning or rude. But I swear to you, I said it with a degree of elation in my voice that is usually only found in toddlers who are thanking their parents for the Tickle Me Elmo doll they just unwrapped from under the Christmas tree. I was flat out STOKED that this guy was wearing a Royals lid. And like any true New Yorker, he turned and looked at me (somehow not noticing that I was wearing the exact same hat he was) and said "Fuck You."
Last Monday, I started my new job as an art handler at the Noguchi Museum in Queens. The first day went off without a hitch. I have to be in Queens by 9am, so I have to leave my apartment at roughly 8am. Being that I hate mornings and struggle to rip myself from the comfort of my deep sleep, I have very little extra time in the morning to sit down to a well-balanced breakfast. So as I get into Queens early Tuesday morning, I exit the Subway Station to catch my bus transfer, the trusty Q103, to take me all the way to the museum. I noticed that I had a few minutes before the bus came barrelling down Vernon Blvd, so I popped into a deli and purchased a muffin and a pint of orange juice ("It comes in pints?!"). I must have timed it perfectly because just as I exited the afforementioned deli, the bus was seemingly waiting for me to board. I got on and sat down pretty close to the front. At this point, it was only me, the bus driver, and this old guy with the HUGE wrap-around sunglasses.
So I begin my meal, being a diabetic, by taking my blood sugar, calculating the correct amount of insulin and then, in crude terms, shooting up. Yes, there are needles involved in my process, and I never realized how other people might take it when they saw me shooting up. Forgive me for the graphic description to follow, but just as I inserted the needle into yhe region around my belly, the old guy pipes up with a "OH MY GOD! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!!?!?!?!??"
I have to explain to you the weeny, whining, drawl this poor sap used when he spoke. Do you remember the Jerky Boys? They were huge back in the mid-90s or so, and they had a character named Sal Rosenburg who was a nerdy guy who complained about everything from his "hemmerroids" to how fava beans had made him ill. If you can place this character's voice, please use the sound of that voice to hear how this guy on the bus talked.
After I explained that I was a diabetic and was taking my insulin to the old man, he proceeded to tell me that he "came from the Optometrist," (apparently explaining the absurdly oversized sunglasses) and that "they told me I have no diabetes in my eyes." Of all the conversations to get into with strangers......
For my final installation, I'd like to begin by saying that northerners are generally much more rude individuals than southerners.
Mabe has been here for the last week or so, and it has been quite awesome to have a friend around. It makes me realize that I miss my friends and I am very happy to have her visiting. We got to go to the Mets game yesterday at Shea Stadium. It was her first Major League Baseball game and it was a blast that the Mets won 2-0.
As we're riding our series of trains home, the subway was packed. I was resigned to standing near the door because of lack of seating. I was not the only one in the doorway, much less the other doorways were also full of people. Generally, as people got onto the subway I would squeeze myself into the corner in an effort to make it easy for the people boarding the train to get into the doorway. As we got to the 59th Street station, a lady (who was the first to get on at that stop, with ten other people behind her) taps me on the shoulder and proceeds to complain "Don't stand in the doorway! It makes it hard to get on the train!" I told her that I'd work on that and as she walked away to a freshly untaken seat, she mutters "Asshole!"
Nobody that got on after her, including a lady carrying a baby palm tree, complained to me about my position in the doorway. Two of them even made fun of the lady's complaint and got me to giggle a bit. The lady huffed and puffed the whole time she was on the train and got off at 72nd Street, only two stops up.......why couldn't she just walk the thirteen blocks? Lazy.
So those are my most recent adventures. Until next time.
Same Crap Time, Same Crap Channel.
Anyone that has ever met me has most likely met me while I was wearing my most prized posession, my Kansas City Royals hat. I'm a huge baseball fan, and spend entirely too much time obsessing about the Royals, even though they are the worst team in baseball (two years running). I wear my hat proudly and have done so for at least six years now. I always am delighted to see someone else show support for my favorite bunch of losers, and usually inclined to point out that I, too, am wearing my KC hat (because I usually am).
About a week ago now, I was on a train home from Brooklyn and was about to transfer trains. As the train came to its usually screeching halt, and as I waited patiently for the doors to magically open, I noticed a portly young gentlemen with a bright, shiny, new Royals hat on his pudgy head. I could feel the corners of my mouth stretching into a big smile. As I exited the train and he began to board, I casually made a comment "Hey man, nice hat!" Now, I can see how one might have taken my phrasing, out of context, as demeaning or rude. But I swear to you, I said it with a degree of elation in my voice that is usually only found in toddlers who are thanking their parents for the Tickle Me Elmo doll they just unwrapped from under the Christmas tree. I was flat out STOKED that this guy was wearing a Royals lid. And like any true New Yorker, he turned and looked at me (somehow not noticing that I was wearing the exact same hat he was) and said "Fuck You."
Last Monday, I started my new job as an art handler at the Noguchi Museum in Queens. The first day went off without a hitch. I have to be in Queens by 9am, so I have to leave my apartment at roughly 8am. Being that I hate mornings and struggle to rip myself from the comfort of my deep sleep, I have very little extra time in the morning to sit down to a well-balanced breakfast. So as I get into Queens early Tuesday morning, I exit the Subway Station to catch my bus transfer, the trusty Q103, to take me all the way to the museum. I noticed that I had a few minutes before the bus came barrelling down Vernon Blvd, so I popped into a deli and purchased a muffin and a pint of orange juice ("It comes in pints?!"). I must have timed it perfectly because just as I exited the afforementioned deli, the bus was seemingly waiting for me to board. I got on and sat down pretty close to the front. At this point, it was only me, the bus driver, and this old guy with the HUGE wrap-around sunglasses.
So I begin my meal, being a diabetic, by taking my blood sugar, calculating the correct amount of insulin and then, in crude terms, shooting up. Yes, there are needles involved in my process, and I never realized how other people might take it when they saw me shooting up. Forgive me for the graphic description to follow, but just as I inserted the needle into yhe region around my belly, the old guy pipes up with a "OH MY GOD! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!!?!?!?!??"
I have to explain to you the weeny, whining, drawl this poor sap used when he spoke. Do you remember the Jerky Boys? They were huge back in the mid-90s or so, and they had a character named Sal Rosenburg who was a nerdy guy who complained about everything from his "hemmerroids" to how fava beans had made him ill. If you can place this character's voice, please use the sound of that voice to hear how this guy on the bus talked.
After I explained that I was a diabetic and was taking my insulin to the old man, he proceeded to tell me that he "came from the Optometrist," (apparently explaining the absurdly oversized sunglasses) and that "they told me I have no diabetes in my eyes." Of all the conversations to get into with strangers......
For my final installation, I'd like to begin by saying that northerners are generally much more rude individuals than southerners.
Mabe has been here for the last week or so, and it has been quite awesome to have a friend around. It makes me realize that I miss my friends and I am very happy to have her visiting. We got to go to the Mets game yesterday at Shea Stadium. It was her first Major League Baseball game and it was a blast that the Mets won 2-0.
As we're riding our series of trains home, the subway was packed. I was resigned to standing near the door because of lack of seating. I was not the only one in the doorway, much less the other doorways were also full of people. Generally, as people got onto the subway I would squeeze myself into the corner in an effort to make it easy for the people boarding the train to get into the doorway. As we got to the 59th Street station, a lady (who was the first to get on at that stop, with ten other people behind her) taps me on the shoulder and proceeds to complain "Don't stand in the doorway! It makes it hard to get on the train!" I told her that I'd work on that and as she walked away to a freshly untaken seat, she mutters "Asshole!"
Nobody that got on after her, including a lady carrying a baby palm tree, complained to me about my position in the doorway. Two of them even made fun of the lady's complaint and got me to giggle a bit. The lady huffed and puffed the whole time she was on the train and got off at 72nd Street, only two stops up.......why couldn't she just walk the thirteen blocks? Lazy.
So those are my most recent adventures. Until next time.
Same Crap Time, Same Crap Channel.
Friday, July 29, 2005
Movie Reviews
Note to self:
When living in a large city, with virtually no friends, do not go see a movie alone on a thursday night. Especially a movie regarding weddings.
To the Amazing Brand-O, I have no clue how you can do it. I remember when we lived together you used to go see movies by yourself all the time. For God's sake, man, that has to be the most depressing activity in the world. Well, maybe not. Perhaps burying your dead kitten might be more depressing......but it's close.
My sister had a "date" tonight. So for some reason, since the guy was coming over to pick her up, I had to disappear. I thought to myself that I'd just wander down the street, grab some food, hop the train down to my local cineplex, and catch a movie. It subsequently dawned on me that I would be involved in all of the afforementioned activities alone. Not thinking anything of it, I decided to pop into a sandwich shop and sat down to a decent sized meal. One startling revelation is that "Diet" Snapple still has sugar in it. What the hell? That does me (being a diabetic) no good at all.
So after my grabbing of food, I did in fact hop the train that I mentioned I would. I'm used to riding the train alone, so there is really no anecdotal rambling to introduce at this point in the story.
I arrived at the movie theater at about 8:30pm and couldn't decide what to see. I've seen "Batman Begins" (very good), "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" (decent), and Star Wars: Episode 3 (twice....i know, i'm slacking). "Fantastic Four" had just started and wouldn't play again until 10:30pm. "Wedding Crashers" previews have looked funny on TV, plus Vince Vaughn is funny and I've like Owen Wilson in all of the Wes Anderson movies. I shuffled my feet up to the ticket counter and forked over my $10.75 for the 9:00pm feature.
As the theatre began to fill up slowly, I realized my first mistake in my first attempt at solo movie watching: I picked the super-ultra-mega WRONG night to see a movie alone. Thursday is apparently "take a date to the movies" night here in Manhattan. I think I saw a four year old walk in with a hot girl on his arm. No really, they were making out later too!
The movie was funny, but somehow got all serious at the end, which was a buzzkill. As I left the theatre I had a movie moment occur before my eyes. As I walked along the crowded streets of the city, I swear to you that every single person was walked hand-in-hand with a significant other. Hugging, kissing, holding hands.......hang on, i've gotta hurl.........
(unpleasant noises)
Back.
Seriously though, didn't these people get the memo? Spring is for lovers. Right now it's summer! And it's really, really, really HOT. Being that close to someone has to have some profound effect on a person's well-being due to body heat or proximity effect or reverse osmosis. It's just not healthy.
So the moral of the story is that there are 8,000,001 people in New York, and there are 4 million couples that go to the movies on thursday nights. Are you as bad at math as me?
When living in a large city, with virtually no friends, do not go see a movie alone on a thursday night. Especially a movie regarding weddings.
To the Amazing Brand-O, I have no clue how you can do it. I remember when we lived together you used to go see movies by yourself all the time. For God's sake, man, that has to be the most depressing activity in the world. Well, maybe not. Perhaps burying your dead kitten might be more depressing......but it's close.
My sister had a "date" tonight. So for some reason, since the guy was coming over to pick her up, I had to disappear. I thought to myself that I'd just wander down the street, grab some food, hop the train down to my local cineplex, and catch a movie. It subsequently dawned on me that I would be involved in all of the afforementioned activities alone. Not thinking anything of it, I decided to pop into a sandwich shop and sat down to a decent sized meal. One startling revelation is that "Diet" Snapple still has sugar in it. What the hell? That does me (being a diabetic) no good at all.
So after my grabbing of food, I did in fact hop the train that I mentioned I would. I'm used to riding the train alone, so there is really no anecdotal rambling to introduce at this point in the story.
I arrived at the movie theater at about 8:30pm and couldn't decide what to see. I've seen "Batman Begins" (very good), "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" (decent), and Star Wars: Episode 3 (twice....i know, i'm slacking). "Fantastic Four" had just started and wouldn't play again until 10:30pm. "Wedding Crashers" previews have looked funny on TV, plus Vince Vaughn is funny and I've like Owen Wilson in all of the Wes Anderson movies. I shuffled my feet up to the ticket counter and forked over my $10.75 for the 9:00pm feature.
As the theatre began to fill up slowly, I realized my first mistake in my first attempt at solo movie watching: I picked the super-ultra-mega WRONG night to see a movie alone. Thursday is apparently "take a date to the movies" night here in Manhattan. I think I saw a four year old walk in with a hot girl on his arm. No really, they were making out later too!
The movie was funny, but somehow got all serious at the end, which was a buzzkill. As I left the theatre I had a movie moment occur before my eyes. As I walked along the crowded streets of the city, I swear to you that every single person was walked hand-in-hand with a significant other. Hugging, kissing, holding hands.......hang on, i've gotta hurl.........
(unpleasant noises)
Back.
Seriously though, didn't these people get the memo? Spring is for lovers. Right now it's summer! And it's really, really, really HOT. Being that close to someone has to have some profound effect on a person's well-being due to body heat or proximity effect or reverse osmosis. It's just not healthy.
So the moral of the story is that there are 8,000,001 people in New York, and there are 4 million couples that go to the movies on thursday nights. Are you as bad at math as me?
Friday, July 22, 2005
Let's Go METS!
I've seen two baseball games in a week now.
Last Saturday, I trekked down to Coney Island and watched the Brooklyn Cyclones play the Auburn Doubledays. The game was very close, but the Cyclones won 3-2. The game was cool for a few different reasons.
First, it was Mookie Wilson Bobblehead night. The first 2,500 fans received a Mookie Bobblehead. For those of you that don't know who Mookie is, he is the guy who basically won the 1986 World Series for the Mets. Remember the "infamous" Bill Buckner spoof at first base in Game 6? No? Then you need to watch more baseball. For those of you who are familiar with that play, Mookie is the guy who hit the ball "through" Buckner's legs, giving the Mets the victory. He also is now the coach of the Cyclones.
Secondly, the game was played between two Single A ballclubs in the New York-Pennsylvania League. Single A ball is the lowest form of professional baseball. These players are kids who are right out of high school or college, having just been drafted earlier in the summer. The season doesn't start until the end of June because the Major League Draft in on June 15. Anyway, two former LSU Tigers were members of these teams' rosters. Ivan Naccarata (3B) played for the Cyclones, who are the Single A team (or affiliate) of the New York Mets. Ryan Patterson (OF), who just finished his LSU career this season, played rightfield for the Doubledays, who belong to the Toronto Blue Jays.
The third reason that the trip to Coney Island was cool, is that it was cool. I mean, the weather..... When I got to the park at about 4:00pm it had to be 90 degrees with a high humidity (due to the proximity to water). But as the game entered into the second inning, a fog from the ocean swept into the ballpark and covered up the sun and made it very misty. The temperatures cooled off to about 65 degrees. It was a much more pleasurable experience.
Speaking of the Mets, today I went to my first Mets game! They won 12-0 over the San Diego Padres. I got off the train and was amazed at the size of Shea Stadium. The place is huge, but looks so small on TV. Then i started thinking about how cool it must have been back in 1964 when the Beatles played a concert there. There were so many screaming fans in the stands back then that the stadium was shaking......I can't imagine the noise level required to shake a STADIUM that big! Anyway, the game started at 12:10pm and we were back on the train by 3pm. What a way to spend the day.......$12 bleacher seats, $6 beers, $4 footlong hotdogs and America's past-time. B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L!
Last Saturday, I trekked down to Coney Island and watched the Brooklyn Cyclones play the Auburn Doubledays. The game was very close, but the Cyclones won 3-2. The game was cool for a few different reasons.
First, it was Mookie Wilson Bobblehead night. The first 2,500 fans received a Mookie Bobblehead. For those of you that don't know who Mookie is, he is the guy who basically won the 1986 World Series for the Mets. Remember the "infamous" Bill Buckner spoof at first base in Game 6? No? Then you need to watch more baseball. For those of you who are familiar with that play, Mookie is the guy who hit the ball "through" Buckner's legs, giving the Mets the victory. He also is now the coach of the Cyclones.
Secondly, the game was played between two Single A ballclubs in the New York-Pennsylvania League. Single A ball is the lowest form of professional baseball. These players are kids who are right out of high school or college, having just been drafted earlier in the summer. The season doesn't start until the end of June because the Major League Draft in on June 15. Anyway, two former LSU Tigers were members of these teams' rosters. Ivan Naccarata (3B) played for the Cyclones, who are the Single A team (or affiliate) of the New York Mets. Ryan Patterson (OF), who just finished his LSU career this season, played rightfield for the Doubledays, who belong to the Toronto Blue Jays.
The third reason that the trip to Coney Island was cool, is that it was cool. I mean, the weather..... When I got to the park at about 4:00pm it had to be 90 degrees with a high humidity (due to the proximity to water). But as the game entered into the second inning, a fog from the ocean swept into the ballpark and covered up the sun and made it very misty. The temperatures cooled off to about 65 degrees. It was a much more pleasurable experience.
Speaking of the Mets, today I went to my first Mets game! They won 12-0 over the San Diego Padres. I got off the train and was amazed at the size of Shea Stadium. The place is huge, but looks so small on TV. Then i started thinking about how cool it must have been back in 1964 when the Beatles played a concert there. There were so many screaming fans in the stands back then that the stadium was shaking......I can't imagine the noise level required to shake a STADIUM that big! Anyway, the game started at 12:10pm and we were back on the train by 3pm. What a way to spend the day.......$12 bleacher seats, $6 beers, $4 footlong hotdogs and America's past-time. B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L!
Saturday, July 16, 2005
Treading Water.
I've hit rock bottom.
Ok, maybe not, but it's not far off.
It's Friday night, well.....now it's Saturday morning.....but that's not the point.
The point is that I'm sitting here in my apartment in the most populated city in America with nothing better to do than type. I even have some money (for a change) and I still sit here tapping away at these letters that are completely out of order.
I guess the good times and the bad times come in waves. I think I'm caught in the undertow.
I was looking forward to seeing Austin and Lane while they were in town this week with their band, but our schedules didn't match up just right and I missed getting to see them on a couple of occasions.
My friend Glenn is coming on Sunday. He's in the area with his bandmates (the Red Stick Ramblers for a week or so before they fly off to their next set of gigs. I'm happy to get to see him and hope that I can muster enough "oomph" to show him a good time in the city.
Thankfully more friends are on their way in the coming month. It'll be good to see familiar faces.
As it turns out, I'm missing two weddings while I'm away. Lee Abbott is getting married, and so is my cousin Eric Sallinger. Not that either of them will ever read this, but congratulations. Sadly, I don't have the extra cash floating around to mosey on home and catch the ceremonies. I remember having double birthday parties with Eric, who is exactly three years older than me because we share the same birth date.
I apologize that this blog isn't as carefully and (because I think I'm funny) hilariously worded. I don't really have anything exciting or humorous to say tonight. I just felt like writing to get it off my mind so that maybe I can crawl into bed and fall asleep in the next few hours.
Tomorrow, well.....later today, I'm going to my first Minor League Baseball game. The Brooklyn Cyclones are the Single A affiliate of the New York Mets. I hope for a good time. Afterall, it is Mookie Wilson Bobble-head night.
Ok, maybe not, but it's not far off.
It's Friday night, well.....now it's Saturday morning.....but that's not the point.
The point is that I'm sitting here in my apartment in the most populated city in America with nothing better to do than type. I even have some money (for a change) and I still sit here tapping away at these letters that are completely out of order.
I guess the good times and the bad times come in waves. I think I'm caught in the undertow.
I was looking forward to seeing Austin and Lane while they were in town this week with their band, but our schedules didn't match up just right and I missed getting to see them on a couple of occasions.
My friend Glenn is coming on Sunday. He's in the area with his bandmates (the Red Stick Ramblers for a week or so before they fly off to their next set of gigs. I'm happy to get to see him and hope that I can muster enough "oomph" to show him a good time in the city.
Thankfully more friends are on their way in the coming month. It'll be good to see familiar faces.
As it turns out, I'm missing two weddings while I'm away. Lee Abbott is getting married, and so is my cousin Eric Sallinger. Not that either of them will ever read this, but congratulations. Sadly, I don't have the extra cash floating around to mosey on home and catch the ceremonies. I remember having double birthday parties with Eric, who is exactly three years older than me because we share the same birth date.
I apologize that this blog isn't as carefully and (because I think I'm funny) hilariously worded. I don't really have anything exciting or humorous to say tonight. I just felt like writing to get it off my mind so that maybe I can crawl into bed and fall asleep in the next few hours.
Tomorrow, well.....later today, I'm going to my first Minor League Baseball game. The Brooklyn Cyclones are the Single A affiliate of the New York Mets. I hope for a good time. Afterall, it is Mookie Wilson Bobble-head night.
Friday, June 24, 2005
The Wizard of Oz and the Late Night Mass-Transit System
So I was watching a crappy tv show the other day before going to work and a character in said tv show made an interesting analogy. Somehow, the topic of the movie "The Wizard of Oz" came up in reference to growing up and moving away from home. For those of you that have yet to realize I've been writing about this very topic for the last few weeks, now is the time to perk up and take notice that I've moved.
Anyway, back to the show. I can't remember the exact phrasing used in the show, so I'll do my best to paraphrase. The point made was that the most famous line in movie history is "There's no place like home" from "The Wizard of Oz". And while in certain cases, this can be true, the movie actually proves the opposite. The feeling of sleeping in your own bed and eating food from your own refridgerator, and crapping on your own toilet are things that we may in fact take for granted. But if there is no place like home, then why in "Wizard" is home a drab, boring, black-and-white place where some crabby old broad wants to kill your dog.
Away from home is in technicolor. Huge buildings, lush greenery, flying monkeys and singing midgets. I actually haven't seen flying monkeys yet, and the midget I saw was actually tap-dancing in the subway terminal at Penn Station, but you can grasp my point. The one thing I haven't quite placed is that in Oz, Dorothy makes the best friends she'll ever have....whereas I'm sitting here typing on this damn machine and drinking alone. My friends are the thing I miss the most, besides my dog. So I suppose that analogy goes only so far.
On to more exciting fodder:
Late nights, riding the subway is possibly one of the most humorous experiences to be had in this city of huge design. Whether your amusement is derived from drunks, whores, bums, or drunk whorish bums.....the subway at 2am has what you're looking for.
I must look like a deer caught in headlights when riding the train, because I can't help but stare at these amazing creatures to see if they might do tricks. I think I even got propositioned by a "working woman" the other night on my way home from work. She was at least a good looking prostitute with all of her teeth, or at least I think it was a "her". If not, that guy paid a lot of money for a pretty good set of melons and to have his adam's apple reduced. No....it had to be a girl. I couldn't help but giggle when she proposed her idea of romance, which included a hotel room, room service and getting "Freeeeeaa-ky" (which was in fact broken up into several extra syllables than freaky generally has).
Another late evening included sitting in between a completely gorgeous Columbia University student named Katie and a horny, drunken Spanish guy named Emilio. I, having had only two beers due to both the expense of alcohol and my lack of financial abundance, was caught in the middle of a poorly executed hook-up attempt and the poor unwilling victim of said attempt. Apparently, I have "I'll be your fake boyfriend" written across my forehead because as soon as Emilio finished slurring his less-than romantic plea to Katie, she blurts out "He's my boyfriend." It was all I could do not to squeak "WHAT?!?!" and play along. Emilio, dejected and still alone, exited the train at the next stop and Katie used the tension-filled moment to thank me. Before I could even muster the courage to attempt to speak more than "you're welcome", the train came to yet another screeching halt and she was gone. Damn. As if I could magically have a ton of luck, just because it was 3am. Oh well.
If (and hopefully when) some of you people decide that it'd be cool to visit, we'll stay up late and ride the train somewhere and stare at all the people. It'll be fun. If you're lucky, I'll suffer through all the tourist bullshit with you too. It's funny that I've been here less than 3 weeks and already I'm totally fed-up with tourists.
Last story, I promise.....
I was walking up Broadway near Times Square (42 St.) and there had apparently been a car accident involving a taxi cab. The front-end of the cab was super-ultra-mega smashed up and that took me all of two seconds to realize. Unfortuneatly, the 350 tourists crammed on each corner of the intersection couldn't arrive at the same realization. It was too exciting for their tourist brains. So they just stood there with mouths agape and eyes bulging from their sockets like a pregnant woman's stomach somewhere in the third trimester. Even though the street sign clearly had a picture of a stick-person walking, signaling the hoards of people to actually shuffle their feet in an effort to move from the spot they seemed to be glued in, they stood in the same spots, each moron with his own perfect view of the crushed taxi that also hadn't moved in thirty-five minutes. Imagine my dismay actually having to struggle my way through the crowd, apparently being the only one with something slightly better to do.
The city is interesting to say the least.
Anyway, back to the show. I can't remember the exact phrasing used in the show, so I'll do my best to paraphrase. The point made was that the most famous line in movie history is "There's no place like home" from "The Wizard of Oz". And while in certain cases, this can be true, the movie actually proves the opposite. The feeling of sleeping in your own bed and eating food from your own refridgerator, and crapping on your own toilet are things that we may in fact take for granted. But if there is no place like home, then why in "Wizard" is home a drab, boring, black-and-white place where some crabby old broad wants to kill your dog.
Away from home is in technicolor. Huge buildings, lush greenery, flying monkeys and singing midgets. I actually haven't seen flying monkeys yet, and the midget I saw was actually tap-dancing in the subway terminal at Penn Station, but you can grasp my point. The one thing I haven't quite placed is that in Oz, Dorothy makes the best friends she'll ever have....whereas I'm sitting here typing on this damn machine and drinking alone. My friends are the thing I miss the most, besides my dog. So I suppose that analogy goes only so far.
On to more exciting fodder:
Late nights, riding the subway is possibly one of the most humorous experiences to be had in this city of huge design. Whether your amusement is derived from drunks, whores, bums, or drunk whorish bums.....the subway at 2am has what you're looking for.
I must look like a deer caught in headlights when riding the train, because I can't help but stare at these amazing creatures to see if they might do tricks. I think I even got propositioned by a "working woman" the other night on my way home from work. She was at least a good looking prostitute with all of her teeth, or at least I think it was a "her". If not, that guy paid a lot of money for a pretty good set of melons and to have his adam's apple reduced. No....it had to be a girl. I couldn't help but giggle when she proposed her idea of romance, which included a hotel room, room service and getting "Freeeeeaa-ky" (which was in fact broken up into several extra syllables than freaky generally has).
Another late evening included sitting in between a completely gorgeous Columbia University student named Katie and a horny, drunken Spanish guy named Emilio. I, having had only two beers due to both the expense of alcohol and my lack of financial abundance, was caught in the middle of a poorly executed hook-up attempt and the poor unwilling victim of said attempt. Apparently, I have "I'll be your fake boyfriend" written across my forehead because as soon as Emilio finished slurring his less-than romantic plea to Katie, she blurts out "He's my boyfriend." It was all I could do not to squeak "WHAT?!?!" and play along. Emilio, dejected and still alone, exited the train at the next stop and Katie used the tension-filled moment to thank me. Before I could even muster the courage to attempt to speak more than "you're welcome", the train came to yet another screeching halt and she was gone. Damn. As if I could magically have a ton of luck, just because it was 3am. Oh well.
If (and hopefully when) some of you people decide that it'd be cool to visit, we'll stay up late and ride the train somewhere and stare at all the people. It'll be fun. If you're lucky, I'll suffer through all the tourist bullshit with you too. It's funny that I've been here less than 3 weeks and already I'm totally fed-up with tourists.
Last story, I promise.....
I was walking up Broadway near Times Square (42 St.) and there had apparently been a car accident involving a taxi cab. The front-end of the cab was super-ultra-mega smashed up and that took me all of two seconds to realize. Unfortuneatly, the 350 tourists crammed on each corner of the intersection couldn't arrive at the same realization. It was too exciting for their tourist brains. So they just stood there with mouths agape and eyes bulging from their sockets like a pregnant woman's stomach somewhere in the third trimester. Even though the street sign clearly had a picture of a stick-person walking, signaling the hoards of people to actually shuffle their feet in an effort to move from the spot they seemed to be glued in, they stood in the same spots, each moron with his own perfect view of the crushed taxi that also hadn't moved in thirty-five minutes. Imagine my dismay actually having to struggle my way through the crowd, apparently being the only one with something slightly better to do.
The city is interesting to say the least.
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