Denim has its place

Contrary to reports, I am not going to blog about the weather because frankly when it comes down to it, the weather is a pretty tired subject. Even though that segment on "60 Minutes" last night with the NASA scientist who reported that if we don't do something pronto about global warming at the melting ice caps in Greenland, we're going to be in deep shit. Yeah, even though there's that to worry about and the impending triple digit heat index in the coming days...I'm not going to write about the heat wave, per se.

Instead, I'd like to tackle a much more pressing topic. That topic is those people who insist on wearing jeans during a heat wave. While I was out and about this weekend, sweating out of every available pore, I couldn't help but notice a plethora of denim-clad men and women. It gave me pause. Actually, it startled me and made my head throb. All those poor legs and midsections and groins and ankles. Good grief.

What are you people thinking? What is wrong with you? I'd like to know because the very notion of sliding a leg inside of my Levi's right now makes me throw up just a little bit. I understand some people like to buck convention and others don't like their legs or knees or ankles but really, this devotion to denim is beyond duty. It's insanity. Free yourself. Cut those jeans at the knee. Get a pair of shorts or some short pants or a kilt or something, anything.

The whole world is going to pot. There's war in more parts of the world than I can fathom; there's Mel Gibson's DUI; there's the fact the "Miami Vice" was the number-one movie this weekend. There's trouble in paradise, puppies. Please do your part by saying NO to the denim. It can make a difference.

Extraordinary Machine

Today was totally above board. Not only did I do my good deed for 2006, but I was rewarded handsomely for it. Keep in mind that this good deed required me to commandeer a machine, and I commandeered like a total fucking pro, save for almost hitting that biker but I didn't see him so it doesn't count, nor does the pigeon who I narrowly missed.

So I performed my good deed totally unselfishly and as a result gained entrance into a before-now elusive gastropub. I know that's an anachronism. This particular pub of sorts has always been so goddamned packed that it's tried my patience in one too many ways. People are crawling all over this city like roaches and I hate roaches.

Anyway, it was off-peak so we infiltrated like two badasses, that being me and my right-hand wing who shall remain nameless because that's the way the wing flows. It was an awesome experience, complete with cheese and beer -- my two favorite combinations in the known universe. We took a long constitution afterwards because it was so beautiful out, and we were just feeling so awesome that we had to spread it around. Not to make you jealous or anything, but I capped off the evening outdoors with dinner with some friends.

Yeah, I guess I'd be jealous if I was you. It's hard work being both extraordinary and a machine. Hard work for you maybe. It's chocolate cake for this shiny penny.

Lights out, Queens!

I thought something should be said about Brownout 2006 in Queens. For you out-of-towners, no, this does not relate in any fashion to the little girl club affectionately known as Brownies, nor The Girl Scouts of America.

For several days now it's been lights out in certain neighborhoods in Queens. Normally I wouldn't pay much mind to the unfortunate circumstances of others. I'm like that. It's a gift to be able to close my mind to misery. Yet in this case I happen to know some of the afflicted and the Brownout 2006 in Queens has affected me personally so I'm riled up enough to take matters into my own capable, but small, hands.

Con Ed, get on it.

That felt really good. So good, I'll say it again.

Con Ed, get on it.

If there is truth in advertising, then I firmly believe that Con Ed will get on it, if in fact they are not ON IT already. (For the ad-averse, Con Ed's new tagline is ON IT.)

True enough there are larger problems in the world that Con Ed's resources may better be applied to but I was unceremoniously cut off from a very important phone call last night and that is just unacceptable, Mr. Con and Mr. Ed. So summon your minions, Con Ed. Send those hard hats out to Queens because those people need some power.

Seeing as I'm always ON IT, this shouldn't be too much to ask.

I'm out.

A Short Study on Anonymous

The world abounds with anonymouses (the plural, my own spelling) and associations of anonymouses. Here are some exmples of the latter you may or may not be aware of:

Alcoholics Anonymous
Debtors Anonymous
Sexaholics Anonymous
Families Anonymous
Nicotine Anonymous
Gamblers Anonymous
Overeaters Anonymous
Marijuana Anonymous
Cocaine Anonymous
Emotions Anonymous
Recovering Couples Anonymous
Workaholics Anonymous
Parents Anonymous
Depressed Anonymous
Clutterers Anonymous

I could go on and on as far as the ooooooooooo in Google would allow. Of course, there's also that person Anonymous attributed with all those witty sayings, such as:

A person who aims at nothing is sure to hit it.

A magician pulls rabbits out of hats. An experimental psychologist pulls habits out of rats.

Discretion is the better part of valor.

Yeah, they all pretty much suck, which very well could explain why this person did not take any credit for these less than inspired and altogether unwitty witticisms.

In conclusion, what have we learned from anonymous? Pretty much zip. Except for the fact that you can organize some like-minded anonymouses around pretty much anything and say whatever you damn well please because no one will know it's you and I guess that can be appealing at the end of the day if you're into being invisible.

The real question at the bottom of this and which I heard on one of those nerd public radio programs is this:

If you had one super power to choose that you, and you alone, would possess, would it be invisibility or the ability to fly?

Suicide: Don't Do It

I just saw a play about suicide. It didn't end well.

You may remember the slogan in the subject line from that movie "Heathers" which also touched on suicide. In the movie version, suicide is the exact opposite of BIG FUN even though the cool kids are doing it, or so the crafty Christian Slater will have you believe. If you haven't seen "Heathers", go look it up because I'm too depressed to give you my awesome synopsis.

Suicide: Don't do it. This is my public service announcement. Thank you for tuning in. You may resume regular programming.

'Night Mother.

To hell with mosquitos

I am a juicy piece of succulent mosquito meat. This fact was clearly illustrated a wee two nights' ago when one such creation of God's wrath feasted upon my sleeping flesh. I awoke in a panic feeling the close buzz in my ear. The welts throbbed on my arms, legs, midsection, and back. The beast fed and he fed well. And yet, he was no where to be found. Not even my feverish sprays of Skin So Soft at 3 a.m. could deter him from a second feeding somewhere in and around 5 a.m.

I find this bold act of impudence against one so innocent such as myself to be inexcusable. I summon you, mosquito, to go right to hell and beyond for your gluttony. To hell with you mosquito and your kind. To hell with you bastard child of other such infidels. To hell. To hell. To hell.

Bunching Kills

People should never bunch up close together, no matter who you're waiting to see. Bunching is wrong. People should never be herded like cattle into makeshift lines, a.k.a. death traps, no matter who you're waiting to hear read from his new book. People should never go to Macy's Herald Square because there are no windows above the first floor and what if you get way up on one of those high floors via those wooden escalators and you can't get out? What if? Macy's is akin to bunching, except not really but I could argue it so stop trying to pick a fight.


Dear Super Power Bookstore,

I was disappointed to learn that you promote bunching. Bunching is wrong. I may get Elliot Spitzer on the case because there should be a law outlawing bunching of people real close together, no matter who they're waiting to see. Chuck Schumer is also on my list of high-powered proactive politicians soon to be on the case. Maybe even Help Me Howard. I am not afraid to call in the big guns here. So the next time you organize one of your fancy readings, please instruct your employees that bunching is akin to gauging someone's eyes out with a real pointy fingernail.

Thanks for listening.

Best regards,
Bunching Kills

The wonderful world of me and mine

After observing several small people this holiday weekend who adamantly refused to share their super awesome toys, I've come to a great discovery. Every generation is in fact the ME generation. We're all pretty much selfish on a daily basis, whether we choose to recognize the inner brat or not.

But we're not to blame really. It's the advertisers. And the marketers. And the lions, and tigers, and bears. They feed our egos like hungry beasts. Their succulent meats satiate our seemingly insatiable appetites. Case in point: the personalized meat brander. What every grillboy/grillgirl needs. If you didn't put your initials in the countless burgers served up this holiday weekend, then hell, you're just about the lamest of the lame. Put them initials in that thar' processed meat patty.

Personally I think this is one of the most ingenius manipulations of the ego ever invented. How much better do you think a burger would taste with your initials in it? INFINITELY BETTER. Like the best hunka hunk of juicy cow flesh ever. I kid you not. I will be ordering the meat brander. I just wish you could squeeze in more than three letters. Imagine the possiblities of branding your grilled chicken, corn, salmon, hot dogs, etc. Kinda blows your mind, huh?

Everyone knows having your name on something makes you that much cooler. Remember back in the day when you could buy those mini license plates with your name on them? Or the key chains? Or those silly birthday astrology tags? Must have been nice for you: Melissa, Katie, Beth, Mark, Robert, George. My name was never on any of those trinkets. I suffered the cruel stares, the snickering behind my back. Luckily my mother indulged my thirst for personalization with purple belts with my name wrapped around, a mirror in the shape of my name in bubble script, even my initials on the door of my first car. How you like me now, Melissa, Katie, Beth, Mark, Robert, and George?

In sum, the next time you hear someone yell "MINE. MINE. MINE." don't judge because you're probably just as self-centered and egotistical, and we all know your mom still initials your underwear, just 'cause.

On this eve of independence

Independence is a tricky thing. Yeah, we're all free to be you and me but sometimes I think curbing your freedom, not mine, might be best. True you are free to let it all hang out and say whatever you damn well please -- thanks be to America. But I wonder what our forefathers would have thought of this here present day. Mr. ten-dollar bill and his facelift included. Freedom is real nice -- don't get me twisted. But perhaps we've lost the true meaning of Independence Day.

In the spirit of freedom and firecrackers and cold delicious 40s and Mel Gibson as William Wallace in the totally awesome movie Braveheart which is about freedom just not American freedom, I submit the following list of THINGS OUR FOREFATHERS WOULD HAVE FROWNED UPON IN THE FACE OF FREEDOM.

THINGS OUR FOREFATHERS WOULD HAVE FROWNED UPON IN THE FACE OF FREEDOM

-- Journey touring with anyone other than Steve Perry

-- The Cars touring with anyone other than Ric Okacek

-- Queen touring with anyone other than Freddie Mercury, unless of course that someone was Corn Mo 'cause that would be kinda cool

-- The DaVinci Code: book, movie, and website and anyone who quotes any of the aforementioned in any circumstance whatsoever

-- Pickles

-- Ferrets as house pets; pigs as house pets; alligators as house pets and the like

-- Anna Nicole Smith's video blog and anyone who pays $4.99 for Anna Nicole Smith's video blog

-- Bad pickup lines used in public under the guise of being good pickup lines used in public

-- The public

-- The affiliation of "save the penny" and Keven Federline

-- The fact that I know who Keven Federline is

-- The 1"x6" white strip the USPS insists on pasting on top of the front of postcards whereby obscuring the lovely picture on the front of the postcard and just generally annoying me

-- Postal regulations

-- Inflammatory remarks about cheese


These are just some of the things I think our forefathers would seriously frown upon on this eve of independence. It's something worthwhile to think about before you set off your homemade firecrackers and suckle that last drop of Pabst and nod off to sleep to another day of totally awesome freedom that you probably don't deserve because you don't hold doors open for old ladies or give your seat up for pregnant women on the subway or forget to wipe your exercise machine down or cut people off in line at the market or whatever jerk-like thing you will most likely do on July 5.

Journey to a place far, far away

There exist places far, far away in my mind, and yet only a wee 30 minutes on the F train. One such place is called Brooklyn. They have large, green parks there. People live in this far and away place in big brownstones. They walk down very wide sidewalks in this place. They look just like you and me. I know -- it's alarming.

Anyway, I went to this park way out there to see some TV On The Radio because I liked their photo. I've never heard the TV On The Radio, but like I said, I was visually stimulated by their photo. The people who inhabit this Brooklyn were all out with their blankets and their wine and their funny cigarettes and their burritos. We came ill-prepared to sit on the grassy knoll but we're tough and resourceful. It started to drizzle during the second of two not-so hot bands and thanks to the encouragement of one of our clan, we managed to stay for the main attraction. They did not disappoint. True, I thought the TV On The Radio sound a lot like Fishbone, except not funny.

I love the Fishbone. I saw the Fishbone eons ago when I was young and my buns were hot in a place called Philadelphia. It was summer and there were a lot of sweaty people surrounding me. I do not like to be touched by sweaty people in public, unless I have extended an invitation to do so. Which reminds me of a strange fact that a Cupcake shared with us last night: In any one day you come into indirect contact with 15 penises. I don't have much to say about that particular fact. Facts are facts and it's not within my scope to dispute them. Back to The Fishbone. Angelo climbed one of the spires alongside the stage during the concert. That was pretty awesome. They played all my favorite songs, like "Ma and Pa" and "Sunless Saturday" and "Subliminal Facism." Yeah those were some kick-ass days.

Tonight I'll keep it closer to home for yet another musical extravaganza known as Echo & The Bunnymen. Yes, they're still together, you unbelievers. Please don't show up and try to engage me in conversation because my attention will be elsewhere, namely on stage. But thanks for taking this journey with me. Rock it.