The New York Pasquinade

Shit Shit Says

2012-01-26T22:25:00.000-05:00

I Don't Know, Like Whatever

2012-01-10T18:19:00.000-05:00

I don't know like, I was like, just like whatever, and I don't know like, she was like, I don't know, like...

Yes, we've all cringed inside as we've had to endure sitting next to a person who has no regard for the others on the bus, spewing out incoherent drivel that will never see the light of day in the world of articulation.

This is a short sampling of what must've been an hour tirade, indicating to me, the end of civilization.

Not a word of this is made up -- this is an actual recording of a human female aboard a public bus.

Listen with caution.

The Subway Seating Situation

2011-11-18T14:06:00.003-05:00

One thing I skeeve more than anything is someone else's body rubbing up against mine - except my girlfriend's of course :) People, if there is a sliver of an inch between me and that obtrusive vertical bar on the subway, do not sit next to me! Why should I have to squeeze my legs together, crunching my balls, just so you can ease your fat ass onto a seat? And no, I can't leave my legs open at a comfortable man distance, because I absolutely refuse to have any part of my body rub against yours. Okay, I have failed to shower today, but at least I showered last night! I know dogs that shower more often than you.

It's bad enough I have to worry about the seat I'm sitting on, or the bar I'm touching. God knows what kinds of bodily fluids or bacteria villages live on those uncomfortable 70s orange grooved seats.

The Commissioner Talks Baseball

2011-03-03T13:37:00.005-05:00

Hear what the nomadic Lower East Sidean has to say about America's favorite past time, and of course its relationship with money.

They're, Their, There and Your, You're

2011-01-13T16:20:00.007-05:00

I may not have the best grammar or punctuation skills, but can we all gather around as a society and quickly lay this out for the sake of my own well being? Listen, I didn't pay attention in fifth grade English either. I couldn't wait to go home, eat a snack, crack open a soda, and watch a ten hour block of television (yes, that's what I did.) But, for the love of Oprah, can we please start using the proper forms of their, there, they're and your, you're?

Okay, just pay attention for like one minute and then you can go back to A.D.D'ing over facebook, twitter, espn, imdb, or whatever other popular site you frequent.

Here we go:

See this thing --> ' <--- that's what we call an APOSTROPHE. You're allowed to use it. Now -- “They’re” is a contraction of “they are.”

So, if you’ve written “they’re,” ask yourself whether you can substitute “they are.” If not, you’ve made a mistake.

“Their” is a possessive pronoun like “her” or “our” “They eat their pizza with pepperoni.”

Everything else is “there.”

“There goes the baseball, out of the park! See it? Right there! There aren’t very many home runs like that.”

NEXT

Remember that APOSTROPHE? You may use it again! So -- You're is a contraction of "you are." "You are going to lose the game," can become, "You're going to lose the game."

"Your" is the possessive form of you. This is your game. (Meaning you own the game.)

I'll digress because I don't want to turn this into a lame how-to blog. However, please feel free to refer to this post when writing your next facebook status complaining about your life, or telling us where in the world you currently are. If you're going to rub it in our face that you're on a beach in January -- at least use the proper forms of your/you're and there/their/they're.

Stay tuned next week for "its/it's."

The Commissioner of the Lower East Side

2010-11-17T14:32:00.009-05:00

This friendly neighborhood fella goes by the nickname, "The Commissioner," and is a regular on the streets of the Lower East Side of Manhattan. He resides in a place that used to be predominately Jewish and Italian, but has seen an influx of various races. No matter what the topic - he has a strong opinion. You can throw political correctness out the window. The Commissioner tells it like it is and with little to no transition from topic to topic...

The Eyebrows

2010-11-04T14:33:00.004-04:00

Did someone take a sharpie and draw a line above your eye? What is that? Aren’t eyebrows tiny hairs that grow across the top of the eye? You must be one of those real high maintenance chicks. Holy shit! You’re a guy? As one of my favorite comedians, Artie Lange says, “This whole generation is a bunch of fruits.”

Listen, I’m not saying you should grow those things out ala Martin Scorsese, but at least maintain some sort of human eyebrow consistency after a trim. I’m looking at you and I’m thinking a few things:

1) Are you a clown?
2) Which part of Jersey are you from?
3) Or maybe one of those places north east of the city…Queens, Long Island, whatever…
4) Seriously, are you a clown?
5) Were your eyebrows bothering you so much that you had to have them surgically removed and replaced with a dark black line?
6) Why am I even obsessing over this? Can you please just give me the coffee I ordered and I’ll be on my way…

I think at the very least there should be some sort of measurement guidelines as to how much eyebrow one can actually chop off. Of course nobody wants to see a unibrow – we’re not Eastern European here. But, the eyebrow should at least match up with the ends of each eyeball. Just give me that. Can we work with that? Sometimes I feel like I’m looking at hyphens over people’s eyes. Are you trying to work on your grammar? (old man joke I know.)

The moral of the story – I’m not that angry with you and your eyebrows. I just consider you inferior and a moron. No big deal. Now let me go trim my unibrow so I don’t look like an asshole.

The Charlie Sheen

2010-10-28T13:32:00.007-04:00

If you think Charlie Sheen is a scumbag on his hit show, TWO AND A HALF MEN, then you haven’t been keeping up with his real life antics. Then again, if you’re watching TWO AND A HALF MEN, you probably don’t have the best taste in programming anyway. Okay, there’s an occasional funny joke per season. But, this guy is unreal.

Just the other day I was listening to Howard Stern, as I regularly do in order to stay alive. (Please re-sign at the end of the year or I may die!) Stern just so happened to have Denise Richards in his studio. She was being flirty, hot, and a tad slutty. But, it was all in fun and there was no mention of what she had been through the previous night. Her ex, Sheen, had tagged along for her New York City trip with the kids. He decided to check into the room across the hall from her and the kids at the Plaza Hotel. What a nice father. The kids were staying in some ridiculous,” Hey, look how wealthy we are childrens’ suite.” While Charlie prepped his, “Hey, look how much of a disaster I am suite.”

Dinner was planned at some upscale restaurant in the city that I’ll never eat at, and Charlie lovingly brought along his HOTD – hooker-of-the-day. Who the hell brings a hooker to dinner with his ex wife and kids? Well, I guess Charlie Sheen. Charlie then proceeded to go on an all night coke binge, ending up in a THE HANGOVER scenario where his naked body laid out on the Plaza Hotel floor.

CBS, can you please cancel his show ASAP? Not that I have any morals or anything, but the show that needs to be aired is the show that is Charlie Sheen’s real life. This is quality programming at its best. Why watch twenty minutes of canned laughter and hackneyed jokes, when we can watch the dude from HOT SHOTS go to dinner with a hooker, have an all night coke binge in New York City, and tear up the Plaza Hotel in a fit of rage. That’s three solid story lines, and no fake background laughter necessary.

Anyway, apparently Charlie has been missing ever since the fiasco. Maybe we should check one of those office situation comedies on NBC – doo do chi!

The Hands on the Hips

2010-10-26T13:51:00.003-04:00

Almost every girl does this, and I only started realizing it through Facebook. Girls get together in a group photo and obnoxiously put their hands on their hips for a pose. What the hell is that? Did you all get together and decide this is going to be the one and only way girls will pose from now on. I mean I can’t even remember what photos used to look like PHOH (pre-hands-on-hips.) Although I vaguely remember a short HIP era (hands in pockets.)

So, what is it ladies? I’m not saying you don’t occasionally look good in this rigid pose. Well, some of you don’t, but that’s for other reasons. But, for some reason, it comes off a little arrogant to me. It’s almost speaking to me, “I’m so cool. I’m too good for you. Look how awesome I look now that my hands are confidently resting on my hips.”

I have one theory. Perhaps it helps with posture, giving support to the breasts and popping that ass out. Which is nice. Am I right, though? Who knows. It’s just a theory I’ve been throwing around for some time. Perhaps man will never know the answer.

Is it a conscious decision to do this? I know a lot of times I’ll take a picture of a group of girls, and then they’ll all gather around and look at it. Obviously looking to see how they individually look, rather than as a whole. Then. Oh no. I didn’t put my hands on my hips. Can we take another picture? That one didn’t come out right. Boom. The hands go right back to the hips. All is well again in HOH picture etiquette.

If there are any ladies reading this - which for God sakes I hope there’s at least one or two – can you please explain this phenomenon? Until then I will assume you are just rubbing it in our face with that insufferable pose.

The Cell Phone People

2010-10-21T13:52:00.001-04:00

Let me begin by saying I have an iPhone and it’s amazing. I have no idea how it was made, who designed it (well Steve Jobs I guess), or how it’s capable of doing practically everything except sleep with me (though it does rest beside my bed at night.) You could sit down and explain this technology to me for the rest of my life, and I still wouldn't have a clue how I could speak to someone in L.A., while sitting on a toilet in New York. Having said that, (and yes I know this phrase is becoming annoying: see Curb episode) who gives a shit about anything else? Why is it a conversation starter to ask what type of phone I have and what service I use? I mean it’s bad enough I have to fake banter with people about the weather, but cell phone services? Come on.

Someone told me they have TMobile. My first thought was – “how do I get out of this conversation with as little dialogue as possible?” But, being the friendly guy I am, I replied with all I knew, “Oh, isn’t that the Catherine Zeta Jones one?” A conversation had officially begun, where originally there should be no business for a conversation. Just what I needed.

Not only that, it seems as though there is some sort of ranking system amongst the providers. With Verizon being some sort of powerhouse and AT&T being the Kansas City Royals of cell phone providers.

“Oh you have AT&T? I bet you get a lot of dropped calls.” Yes, I do. But, first of all, why do you give a shit? Second, that is none of your God damn business. I own an iPhone. Back the fuck off. I think the iPhone trumps all, though it’s a catch 22 having AT&T be the sole provider.

Just the other day I saw a bartender hit on an attractive young lady, by asking her what service and payment plan she has. And it seemed to work! I don’t get it. To me it’s the same thing as breaking the ice with, “What kind of car do you drive, what insurance, and how much do you pay? OK, I could see if I was in Los Angeles - that’s like asking for the time over there. But, we’re trying to live in a society here! Are we now being typecast and categorized by cell phones? Can’t we go back to categorizing people the right way? By race, wealth, and cup size?

The Tattoo People

2010-08-30T16:54:00.000-04:00

Now I’ll just be honest – I’m not a tattoo guy. Have I seen a cool tattoo here and there? Sure. Actually, wait, no I haven’t. I’ve yet to see the significance of the tattoo. What possesses people to have ink injected into their skin, through a vibrating needle? Is it so they could justify their unemployment? Is it so they can be embarrassed when they’re elderly and no one wants to look at them? Or is it so they can fill the Jersey shoreline, reminding me which nationality and religion they are. Apparently the chain with religious symbol around the neck isn’t enough of an indicator.

I’m barely able to endure the pain of a middle of the night foot cramp. Which, by the way are absolutely unnecessary – thanks human body. I’m assuming it hurts, right? And if you’re calling me a bitch at this point, I’m not offended in the least. I’m quite comfortable avoiding objects that break the skin, and potentially lead to HIV. Alright, I’m getting carried away. It’s probably just a little pinprick and people have the right to express themselves through body art. But, is it really body art?

The sleeve is a popular tattoo design these days. This is where a person’s entire arm is covered in some sort of tattoo or design. Personally, I’m quite fine with the traditional cotton or polyester sleeve, but what do I know? Then we have the tramp stamps. Obviously the girl can’t even see her own tramp stamp, so this must be specifically for me to gawk at. Honestly, I’m impressed that you’re telling me something with the stamp, but I don’t even know what I’m looking at. Is that a Batman logo? Is it a tree branch? What am I looking at here? Call me old fashion but I’m cool with regular plain skin in the ass area. I get it. I see it. No need to draw any more attention to the region. Last I checked we’re genetically wired to pick up on those things anyway.

Next we have the Chinese letters. I live in Chinatown and I will still never understand that language. I have a better shot at re-cracking the Rosetta Stone than I do of figuring those symbols out. Pretty sure no one understands or cares what the letters stand for. Even if the phrase is in English – still don’t understand why anyone would care. “Only the Strong Survive” or “God Is on My Side”….whatever the saying is…Looks like a sign of insecurity to me. Do you really need to tell us through inked skin how much God is on your side? I suppose God was playing for another team until you got hammered and decided to have those words engraved on your chest. Good for you.

Last but not least – the tattoo on the face. If you have a tattoo on your face, I think it’s safe to say you’ve pretty much thrown in the towel on life. We’re not analyzing those tattoos on your face, we’re in awe as to why you even bothered to get out of bed this morning.

The Newborn

2010-05-26T11:24:00.000-04:00

Eeehh eeehhh…

Please don’t do it. I just finally knocked myself out with a scotch and Claritin D combo. (Which by the way is not good for the heart. Don’t try this at home.)

Eeehh…

Dude, I would pay you not to do it….

WAAAA!!! WAAA!!! WAAAAA!!!

Fantastic. What time is it? 5 A.M. Well I guess in rural America you have the rooster’s crow. In New York City, you get the relentless cries of a foreign newborn, who just so happens to reside across from my conveniently open bedroom window. Sure I could close the window, pop on the AC, and pump up some Led Zeppelin on my itunes. But, Con Edison’s monopolistic power has what I like to call a chokehold on my budget. Let me wait this one out…again.

WAAA!! WAAA!! WAAAA!!!

Like come on, seriously? I don’t even hear the jitters in this thing’s excruciating screeches. Shouldn’t there be some jitters from the parent bouncing the thing around in his/her arms? Or a suffocating pause from a bottle being force-fed down its mouth? Give me something I can work with here. Does anyone even live over there?

Maybe the baby is actually living down in the ally. Should I call social services? Although then I would actually have to hold some sort of responsibility and actually act like I care about the child’s well being. When in fact the only being I care for is…myself. Kidding! (kinda.)

WAAA!! WAAA!! EeeHee!!! WAAA!!!

Was that a hesitation in between the “Waa?” Please tell me you’re tiring out, because God knows those neglectful parents aren’t going to put out your cries for help. Who let’s their newborn cry throughout the night? I’m actually considering walking outside, switching buildings, rocking the damn baby in my own arms, shutting it the fuck up, and walking back to my bed for precious sleep.

Comfort the damn thing! Put a pacifier in its mouth! Hell, give it up for adoption for all I care. But, for Christ’s sake shut it the hell up!
Eeehh!! Ekkk!! Ekkk…ee…e…

Wait for it…could it be? I don’t hear it. Thank you! There is a God! My pounding headache thanks you for allowing me the next half hour of peaceful sleep. Yes, I know it’ll only be for a half hour, but you’ve blessed me with this rare gift of peace, and for that I am thankful. Let this be a warning to always wear protection, and never have a child until I can afford for someone else to take care of him.

Uggh! I can’t go back to sleep now. What time is it? It’s after 6? The sun is out now. What the hell am I supposed to do now? Eh, I guess I’ll treat myself to some McDonald’s breakfast. Let me just find my basketball shorts…

Eeeehh…Ehhhh….

Yea, yea, go ahead. What do I care now? The damage is already done. Cry away ya stubborn bastard.

WAAAAA!!! WAAA!!!!! WAAAA!!!!

The Construction Worker

2010-03-31T02:01:00.000-04:00

I commend you for your hard work. I don’t know how you can operate such heavy machinery in this weather. Please, take a break. Somebody get that man a drink. There’s a street vendor right around the corner. Why don’t you take a break, grab some chicken over rice while you’re at it. I’m not sure what the white sauce is that they squirt on there, but I whole-heartedly recommend it. Then, when you return, come back and have a seat with your fellow coworkers. Whistle at some broads while you’re at it, but don’t make it too cliché.

I couldn’t even begin to comprehend what it is that you are working on. I could’ve sworn I saw you guys here two months ago. This must be an arduous project. Good thing you put up this temporary path so pedestrians can squeeze through on their way to work. Don’t worry about the massive slush puddles along the way; focus on the main project at hand. We’ll deal with that. How’s the chicken? The white sauce makes it, right?

Boy I’d like to bring her home, huh? Everybody agrees, right? What an ass on her. Her skirt almost blew up like Marilyn Monroe over the manhole. Tony likes manholes? Gross! Oh, it’s a joke – I get it. Yo Tony, did you hear what Jose said about you and the manholes. Got to love that joke. Is there something you want to tell us? I’m only kidding. I’ve seen the girls you’ve brought home – real winners.

Man, I’m getting tired just looking at you. What time is your break over? No, don’t rush, I was just curious. I would take my time if I were you. It’s not like you’re getting paid by the hour or anything. God forbid if they paid you overtime too. Oh, this is overtime? Double-time? So you get paid twice your regular salary? My goodness – you guys better get back to work then.

I’m still not even sure what it is that you’re working on. But, I know how it’s intense. It would have to be a big project if its been going on for more than a month. Five months? God bless you guys. Oh, you’re going on a coffee break? Didn’t you just have a two hour lunch break? I mean this isn’t Mad Men. Is this Mad Men? It’s a show about an ad agency in the…never mind. I’ll let you guys get back to your coffee break.

By the way, what’s the estimated completion date for this project? December? Wasn’t that four months ago? No, I understand. I was just curious. Please, don’t let me bother you anymore. I’ll just take the temporary sidewalk.

God damn it! Can someone get rid of these puddles? Now my socks are all wet. They’re going to be scrunching all day. My feet are going to be wrinkled like an old man’s. No, I wasn’t blaming you guys. I’ll be back for your next break. Oh, you’re done for the day? Well, see you again tomorrow.

The Street Performers

2010-02-22T14:19:00.000-05:00

Just what I’ve been looking for, a meaningless dance session in the middle of a crowded intersection. Let’s all gather around and gawk at performers, as they do back flips and somersaults to an over played Michael Jackson song. Who is Billie Jean anyway? Or is it Billie’s jeans? There’s an easy pedophilia joke in there somewhere, but I’ll let the man rest in peace.

Did that guy just stand on his head, while another guy did a flip over his feet? Holy shit, get the kids, we need to take a picture of this. Wow, New York City is so exciting! I could stand here and watch this all day, without regard for people who live here everyday and are no longer fazed by the dancing, and are just trying to go about their business in an orderly manner. How do I hit record on this thing?

I just love they way they clap their hands in unison. It really brings a sense of camaraderie to the surrounding spectators and myself. I feel like we should all clap at the same time and smile. This is so much fun! It’s like I’ve forgotten all the problems in my life, by simply giving in to this simultaneous clapping session.

How old is that little boy? He can’t be older than seven. How can he do all these wonderful dance moves? Oh, they want us to all move in closer now. Well, they seem to have full authority on street traffic, so I suggest we listen to them.

How long is this clapping going to last? My arms are starting to tire. How did this all start in the first place? I thought we were here to watch them perform. Now, I feel as though I’m part of the act. Weren’t we supposed to meet someone at six? What time is it? I think I’m going to stop clapping now. That guy over there with the windbreaker stopped like a minute ago. Yes, I’m going to stop clapping now. I don’t need to smile anymore either, do I? I mean they won’t mind if I transition back to my neutral face, will they?

Perhaps we should get going now. It’s getting pretty crowded. Are the cops here to watch, or are they going to break this up? What does that guy want with the basket? Oh, he’s collecting money? No, I wasn’t really watching you guys. I was actually trying to get through. We’re meeting someone for dinner at six. I don’t have any bills on me. I’m sorry. I only have my credit card. You don’t take credit card do you? I’m sorry man.

Good thing we got out of there. I almost accidentally pulled out a five, when I fake searched for money in my pocket. Of course I have money on me. Who doesn’t carry money around? It’s not like I wanted to see them perform. They just so happened to be in my way as I was on my way to dinner. I can see if I went somewhere to see them. But, I’m not paying them for randomly performing in the street. They weren’t even that great anyway. I feel bad for that little boy. Isn’t there a child labor law against that sort of thing? Oh no, this guy on the corner is playing drums on buckets. Let’s cross the street so I don’t have to awkwardly ignore him while he asks for money.

The Cock Block

2010-01-19T12:09:00.000-05:00

Could this girl be even hotter than the last? She’s looking at me right now – giving me the eye. Not the lazy eye, or the “fuck off” eye either. The signs are all aligned, like 2012. It’s like a slow motion movie scene. Either that or I’m starting to feel slightly buzzed from the whiskey. A sly tap on my friend’s shoulder, with a nod in her direction will allow for friendly reassurance. What do you think? I know, right? Awesome. I need to walk over with a drink in my hand. It’s always good to carry a prop, especially one with beer in it.

“Hey!” yelled the slightly inebriated girl with no particularly great attributes.

“Hi?”

Listen, you seem like a very nice person, but you’re jamming my radar.

“What’s up, I’m Jenny.”

Very nice to meet you. Again, if you could just step out of the way so I can keep an eye on my…shit! Where did she go? I’m not talking to this girl! She’s talking to me! Where is she? Somebody needs to take over this.

“How’s it going?” I say, without a look into her eyes.

“What are you drinking?” she asks as I take a deep chug from my Amstel Light.

“Vodka.”

“You’re funny. How old are you?”

“How old are you?”

“Guess,” she says, with a heavy dose of flirtation.

Honestly she looks anywhere from thirty to forty. So, I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Twenty-seven,” I lied.

“Ew, you’re so mean.”

Great, then get the hell out of my way so I can find that girl.

“I’m twenty four!”

“Close.”

“You’re so sarcastic. I love that.”

Jesus Christ, are you serious?

Jesus Christ: "I thought you’d like her."
Me: "No!"
Jesus Christ: "My mistake. See ya in hell."
Me: "Thanks Jesus!"

And he’s gone. Sorry about that. Now, where was I? Oh right, I’m sarcastic. Yes, thanks. I get it.

“Are those Chuck Taylors?”

They clearly are. What is she driving at now?
“Yea.”

“I once had sex with a guy just because he was wearing Chuck Taylors.”

The platter is served. But it’s more like an Applebees entrée, rather than a preferred porterhouse or lobster. Does this come with free dessert? Oh, stop it! You don’t want this. She is way too attainable. There’s nothing wrong with her though. Why does she want to throw herself at me like this? Must be a recent break up. I’m the rebound. I will rebound for no one. Well, unless the N.B.A. was thinking of recruiting five foot ten white guys without any athletic build and a sore shoulder. I could probably rebound for the Knicks or something. But, I will not be her rebound.

“That’s crazy. Did you see my friend?” I responded.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

Don’t make me feel bad. I’m a very caring person. That’s not right. Did you just brush my crouch with your hip? That was pretty cool. Why did you have to come off so easy? That’s disgusting. I mean clearly there’s something wrong with you.

“I’m not trying to get rid of you.”

Where the hell is my friend? There he is! Get over here.

“Jenny, this is Adam.”

There you go. Talk to Adam. That’ll get you off my back. Now, where did that prize go? She must be around here somewhere. Maybe if I continue to talk to Adam and Jenny, make it look like I’m enjoying myself, the hot girl will get jealous.

“So tell Adam what you were saying…”

Jenny? It’s me. The one you were throwing yourself at two seconds ago. Adam, I introduced her to you to say hello. I didn’t tell you to block me out of the conversation. She likes me, not you! At least bring me back into the group so I look important and fun again. Quickly, here she comes. She’s back! She’s looking at me again.

“Jenny?”

Shit! She saw you ignoring me. How do I get out of this situation? Now she thinks I’m a loser, who is here all alone.
Don’t look away. Didn’t you see that I was talking to a girl earlier? She totally wants to sleep with me. That’s my friend Adam. He means nothing to her.

“So, Jenny do you want to get out of here?”

“OK!”

Shit! What the hell was that? I don’t want you. I want her. Adam, talk to her again.

“Actually, I may get another drink.”

“I really want to go though.”

God she is so desperate.

“I’ll walk you home.” Adam interrupted.

“OK!” said Jenny.

Wait a second. Where are you guys going? I can’t stand here alone, and Adam you know I like Jenny. How could you not tell? How did I just go from slam-dunk to the third wheel? Oh, you guys are sharing a cab uptown? That is so not right. You know I live downtown. Yea, yea – have fun you two. I set that up you know. You owe me big, Adam! Jesus, I totally want to sleep with Jenny.

Jesus Christ: “I told you. Now you’re fucked.”
Me: “Yes, thanks God.”
Jesus Christ: “Its just Jesus.”

The Hot Chick

2010-01-08T02:26:00.000-05:00

I can’t remember why I got out of bed today. My Asian neighbors are in the hallway screaming in…Asian? I can’t write. I can’t even keep my eyes open. If it wasn’t for the screaming I’d be in bed sleeping. What time is it anyway? Oh shit. It’s 2P.M. Well, this has been a productive day. Let’s see, I brushed my teeth…I…That’s all I did. I need to get out of here.

I still can’t remember why I awoke in the first place. Maybe a coffee will lift my spirits. I’ll have to try the local café…

Sweet Jesus of Nazareth. She could be the hottest girl on the planet. Suddenly my reasoning for getting up and going out has been quickly brought to my attention. Heart rate increasing. Sweating profusely. Nerves…nerving? Oh my God, she’s so hot. Please look at me. Is she looking at me? She could be pretending not to look at me, but secretly is looking at me in the corner of her eye. I bet that’s what she’s doing. I’ll just casually turn toward her and show her I notice her disguised gaze.

OK, so she’s reading a novel. Yes, I know, you’re way out of my league. You’re perfect. You’re absolutely one hundred percent my type. Why should you look at me? Was that a look? Fuck.

Alright, I’m going to sit down and enjoy this coffee. I’ll put her out of mind. She isn’t even real. She doesn’t exist. I have to look. She’s so hot. OK, one more quick look then back to the coffee. Are you kidding me? That is the sexiest body I’ve ever seen. Do you have any idea how hot you are? Who the hell made you? A God of some sort?

Come on, really? How could you not have noticed me for like at least a second. I’m good enough for a one second look over. I’m not repulsive. In fact, I’ve been told how cute I am on several occasions. One look. Go ahead. Was that a look? What the fuck? How good can that book possibly be? What are you reading? I can’t read the title. Let me just squint and see what you’re reading.

No! No, I wasn’t staring at you. I wanted to see what you were reading! Please don’t give me that look. I just wanted to know what you were reading. Great! Now she thinks I’ve been sitting here gawking at her, and thinking about her this entire time. That’s preposterous. I’m just enjoying my coffee. Do you honestly think you’re that hot that I would want to stare at you this whole time?

Wait a second. Was twirling of the hair with your left hand a sign? Are you subconsciously telling me that you appreciate the stare and maybe even find me attractive in some way? I may be on to something here. I know! I’ll grab a copy of The Onion. She’ll see me laughing and enjoying the articles, and subsequently know that I have a great sense of humor. Hot chicks love that, right?

Oh man this article that I’m reading is so funny. Hey, look at me laughing at this article. I’m not laughing too hard, but enough to know that I have a sophisticated, witty sense of humor. Nothing over the top. After all, this is the Onion – not Jay Leno.

Ugh, I can’t believe how perfect her face is. How can you have flawless bone structure, gorgeous eyes, luscious lips, in addition to that body? Stop reading that damn book! Acknowledge me!

I need to walk over there. That’s it! I’m just going to walk over and say something to her. No, I shouldn’t bother her. She’s reading her book. Her boyfriend is probably working hard on Wall Street. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here wasting my day in a café staring at his prize. I knew I should have switched majors to finance.

That was totally a sign. You deliberately crossed your legs in my direction. It wasn’t a crazy Sharon Stone cross, but it was most certainly a “Hey, look at my legs” cross. Well, I noticed it baby. Don’t you worry. You don’t think I have the balls to get up and walk over there? Well, watch this.

I can’t do it. Why do I have to initiate the conversation? Why can’t you? I bet you haven’t had the courtesy to initiate one conversation in your entire life. Everyone comes up to you. How spoiled you are. You know what? I’m not going to be like every other guy. I’m going to sit here and ignore you for the rest of the day. I’ve seen better. You’re average at best. Back to The Onion.

“Excuse me. Do you know if there’s an outlet in here?” the beauty asked.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic! Is there an outlet in here? What is she really insinuating? Is this an innuendo? She is definitely just trying to open a conversation with me. I knew it! If you ignore her, she will come. I win!
“Ugh, I’m not sure. What do you need an outlet for?”

“My computer. OK, I’ll just ask the waitress.”

Is that it? Do you want to talk some more? Wait, don’t go!

“What are you reading?”

“The Lost Symbol.”

What the hell is that? I don’t read real novels. Why did I even ask that? I don’t have a follow up question for that.

“Who wrote that?”

“Dan Brown.”

What an idiot. I should have known that. He’s the most popular writer in the past five years. Of course I haven’t read any of his novels. The movies sucked. I’m done. She’s leaving. Holy shit, she is even hotter standing up. I can’t take it. I need to do something. I’m getting out of here. No, don’t leave. Man up.
“Do you want to have some coffee?”

“I just had a cup.”

“Oh, me too.”

She’s laughing. That was a cute joke. She likes it. I’m so in.
“So, do you live around here?”

“Yes. Do you?”

“Down the street.”

“Cool. What are you writing?”

“It’s a book. Mostly comedy.”

“Oh, that’s awesome. Did you see The Hangover?”

Oh come on! How can people think that’s funny?! Don’t even get me started. I have to lie to her. I’m not losing her over this. I will forego my pride and pretend I enjoyed the movie.
“Great movie!” (with fake smile.)

“Oh my God, right? My boyfriend hated it! He’s more into like Woody Allen, Larry David, and all that other smart, funny stuff.”

And that’s it. You’ve officially shattered my heart. You have a boyfriend and he has a real appreciation for comedy. I can’t even be mad at him. If only we had met before you started dating him. I could’ve bored you with those Woody Allen movies. I could’ve pretended to like The Hangover with you. I could’ve disappointed you in bed.

“Are you OK?”

“Me? I’m fine.”

“You look upset.”

“Nope. Fine.”

And that was that. She broke my heart. She broke my heart. You’re not even that hot. What’s with that mole thing on your face? Your nose is pretty crooked too. By the way, don’t you work? My God your arms are flabby. I’m getting out of here. Why is she even talking to me? Go bore your boyfriend. I feel bad for him. He’s probably cheating on you as we speak. I’m so out of this chick’s league. I'm out of here...

“Wait, where are you going?”

“Have to get back to work. Was nice meeting you…”

“Mandy.”

Wow, that name is so hot. Shit, I should stay. She’s so damn hot. Ugh, she’s wearing high heels too? Look at her abs. I didn’t even see that…

The Card Hander-Outer

2009-12-08T16:52:00.000-05:00

These guys are at every street corner, outside every barbershop, and of course recruiting for that class-A “Gentlemen’s Club.” Which quickly brings me to my first tangent. Why are strip clubs called gentlemen’s clubs? Has it become a gentlemanly trait to stare at a woman’s tits while trying to land dollar bills on the stage from ten feet away? The only gentlemanly thing I’ll ever do at a strip club is look at that forty-something year old beat up stripper just so she doesn’t think she repulses me (which she does.) But, I feel bad. I mean I want the little dignity remaining with her to at least last the next two years. I think that may be about the only gentlemanly thing that occurs at a strip club - the courtesy look of interest out of pity.

Anyway, to get back on track to the guys who hand out those cards or flyers. They’re usually some poor schmuck or Mexican immigrant, who can care less about annoying the general population, so long as they make five dollars an hour under the table. I don’t blame them entirely, but do owners really see an increase in profits from these people? I’ll be walking down the street, thinking up the best way to justify being an hour late to work, when all of a sudden a card is offered to me. Now, I will instinctually grab one out of every twenty-five cards handed to me. In fact, they throw it out there so quick; I may even accidentally grab it if it was a used condom. Let’s hope Trojan doesn’t start an out of the box guerrilla marketing campaign this way.

So I have the card in my hand. It’s a five-dollar psychic reading. How karmic that this is placed into my hands. Certainly this is ingenious marketing by Chloe, the psychic. Really though? Do I even need to get started on this? First of all, for those of you who actually think there are supernatural people out there who can read the future, there aren’t. It’s a big scam! Even if these people do exist. How great can a five-dollar psychic be? A Doublecone from Mr. Softee costs more than that, and the only prediction a Doublecone yields, is that you will need to use the bathroom within an hour. If this person were legitimately capable of reading your deepest thoughts, your love life, and your future, wouldn’t they be paid more than a psychologist? Of course not. They would only pay that person five dollars for their time. That is all one’s life is worth according to Chloe’s pay scale.

The cards vary from psychic to religious jargon. I would like to speak on behalf of the average pedestrian. I have nothing against you personally, but next time you see me just skip me. I don’t feel like saying, “sorry,” or “no thanks,” when you hand me a dollar off for a foot rub card. Let me give the card-hander-outer man a tip of advice. You can cut out the middleman by simply tossing your stack of cards directly into the nearest trashcan. Because let’s be honest, nobody holds on to those things for longer than a block and a half. They are sloppily folded in half, sometimes more than once, and quickly dispersed of by the time we reach the next trash can. And hey, if you’re all out of cards, then you’ve done your job, and you should still get paid. Now that’s win, win.

The Crack Addict

2009-11-18T17:25:00.000-05:00

There is no smooth transition into describing this guy. He is as abrupt as an unplanned pregnancy. He is like a child who lost his way. A loner, with a deeply disturbed past. His demeanor is…

Addict: “That’s the problem with the white man!”
Me: “I’m sorry?”
A: “You shouldn’t watch the chickens run!”
M: “What chickens?”
A: “I saw the bus coming. Don’t you tell me about the bus stop! I’m a grown man. Fuck you!”
M: “You spit on me.”
A: “Excabible dad grosh.”
M: “That’s not English…Well, I suppose dad is a word.”
A: “The fuck you ain’t.”
M: “I should be going now.”
A: “God bless you.”

What a nice man.

The Degenerate Gambler

2009-10-27T12:46:00.000-04:00

While it’s depressing just how low this guy can sink, I can’t help but love this all too familiar personality. I’ve sat down on a Saturday afternoon, with an ambient unknown college football game on in the background. I won’t ask why the game is on, because I assume no one is watching. Suddenly, I’m startled with an unexpected outburst from a nearby friend.

“Fuck you Boise State!”

“Really? You bet on Boise State?” I asked.

“No, are you kidding? I bet Hawaii would have the first field goal.”

So, just to clarify, my friend, who has never been to Hawaii or Boise State…In fact, I’d bet a hundred dollars he doesn’t even know where Boise State is. No, Sean I don’t actually want to bet you on that. I’m just making a point. Anyway, he made a bet that Hawaii would make the first field goal of the game. This is what I’d call a minor degenerate. It’s pathetic. It’s absurd. But, I’ve seen worse. You have ways to go Sean. Oh sorry, that’s his name. Let me introduce you to a real degenerate.

This next degenerate gambler is one of my favorites. If you ever want to escape Manhattan, without actually leaving the city, go to Chatham Square in China Town. Then venture into the O.T.B. (Off Track Betting.) Now, you’ll have to know the lingo, the tracks, and knowing the horses may help. Fortunately, I had a friend working behind the glass. He explained how to bet, and I still didn’t understand. Of course I pretended to know what was going on. After all, degenerate gamblers encircled me, and I didn’t want to disappoint. Give me the three horse at Belmont – straight up. Loser. Whatever, I don’t have a clue what’s going on. I’m not the degenerate here. Well, at least not today.

The main reason for my trek was to see what it’d be like to live in Beijing, and to see what this OTB was all about. Plus, I got to bullshit with my buddy. We started to talk, about nothing in particular, when an extra from Goodfellas approached the glass. I’m not even trying to be funny. This was a legitimate extra from Goodfellas. I’ve seen the movie countless times.

He was adorned with black pants, a black T, and topped off with a top hat. He wasn’t very tall, but his presence was unmistakable. First of all, he was the only Italian guy in Chinatown that night. Well actually there were three others, but we didn’t look Italian like he did. This guy was old school Mulberry St. He paced and bantered with everyone who crossed his path. Nobody knew what he was saying, and he obviously didn’t know what the Chinese folk were saying. So it was a mutual misunderstanding. He had bet the three horse, like me, only this three horse was from Yonkers. Wait a second. He meant to bet the three at Lone Star. Woops. My friend may be bright, but he’s not very attentive it seems.

“That fuckin’ jerk off gave me Yonkers!”

He makes it sound like a venereal disease. I would hate to have an upstate New York STD. It sounds pretty boring and overpriced.

The degenerate went on and on, tearing into my friend over the wrong betting ticket. He even contradicted himself on occasion, discussing with Ping and Yang how the kid isn’t so bad – he just made a mistake. It’s not totally his fault.

The race on his ticket came and went. He did not win. He wouldn’t even have won his original bet. He’s an all around loser. In more ways than one.

“Ah fuck him! He’s a fuckin’ moron!” he concluded.

Obviously another bet was overdue. Try the four horse at Santa Clara. Surely this horse is pulling for you. Now the events that proceeded are not made up or exaggerated. His horse went neck and neck with the two horse. Literally, they were nose to nose. It would take a magnifying glass to determine the winner.

“I’m going to have a heart attack!” he yelled. “I don’t know why I keep coming back here!”

He turned to Ping, who had an amiable grin painted on his face. “What are you smiling at?”

“You win?” Ping asked, sincerely.

“I hope you die in your sleep!” the man answered.

Ping didn’t understand a word he said. He nodded his head and continued about his own degenerate ways.

“Please God, let me win this bet. I won’t make another bet in my life.” The man continued.

Hey, God? I know we haven’t exactly started off on the right foot, but here’s a little advice: I wouldn’t make that bet with him. He’s definitely lying. OK, suit yourself. After twenty minutes of deliberation, the man’s horse was declared the winner. Praise the Lord! Maybe prayers can be answered after all (Can you sell this book for me God?) Hey Goodfella, you should go to mass and thank God for this substantial win (like $40.) And remember, you promised not to bet again in your life.

Hey, you didn’t have to push me. It was too late. The man put his $40 on the next race. It may have been the seven horse at Belmont, or the nine at Yonkers. It didn’t matter. This guy was in a never-ending cycle of gambling. His appetite would not be content, until his misery reached its peak. He still had money in his pocket, and that could only mean one thing – place a bet.

There is a moral to this story somewhere and that is to never trust an OTB clerk. Well that and gambling is a horrible, addicting disease. However, I couldn’t imagine a world without characters like these. Sure they’re suffering, but at what cost? Their loved ones? Their own self-respect? Yes. But, man what an entertaining Saturday evening it was for me. And that’s all that really matters, right?

The Douchey Co-worker

2009-10-13T13:05:00.000-04:00

We will typically spot this person in an office environment. You’ve heard of people that are, “by the book.” This person is the book. They enjoy reading, routine, and routine. They seem to lack any sort of personality whatsoever. Wait, is that a personality? I feel like they are faking it. Like they’re a compilation of flesh, organs, and bone, but what happened to the human soul? Well, if you actually believe in a soul…

“Did you just make a comment against religion?”

“No. I love religion.”

“Good. That would be blasphemous.”

Sorry about that. Anyway, this person fails to understand the laid-back personality types, the creative person that lies inside of us all, and the occasional vulgar joke. I’ll be right back. I need to take a piss.

“What did you say?”

“I mean I need to use the washroom…”

“You’re excused.”

OK, I’m back. So, I wonder if this person ever made a racist joke, got drunk on a whim, or farted in public. That grin on his face makes me want to puke. Does he realize that he’s making that grin? It’s like there is a surgically placed kabob in his ass, and he enjoys it. Not too much. Just enough to allow for this grin of his. And that can’t be a genuine laugh. He’s forcing himself to laugh. No man reaches a point of comical ecstasy with an abhorrent outburst like that. I shouldn’t even use the word outburst. I mean miniscule, irritating chuckle.

What I’d like to know is where are these people raised? I would have to say somewhere like Connecticut or Rhode Island. They seem like a safe place to raise a child without any sort of outside influences from actual human beings. What are the conditions in which they’re raised? I imagine sitting around the dinner table making wise cracks at one another isn’t the typical dinner setting. So, what do they talk about? Perhaps they discuss politics, logic, and different shades of golf shirts. I must say, pink is the new green.

Is he making fun of me back, or is he not capable of vengeful thoughts? I wonder if he thinks I’m immature and useless to society. Granted I am, but I don’t want him thinking that about me. At the same time, I don’t want to hate him, but he leaves me no choice. I’d rather like him, than hate him. Maybe we can get along after all. I doubt it.

Are there actual people buried beneath the façade, or is this all we’re going to get? Maybe there is an ethnic humorist, like George Lopez but funny, waiting to erupt out from the pale skin Chester McGinley. By the way, I completely made that name up. It sounds pretty lame though. No offense to the Chester McGinleys out there who are reading this.

Now these people thrive in corporate environments. In fact, it’s likely that they will rise to the top and be your boss at the dead end job you’re stuck in. So yea, they’re in the same boring building as you day in and day out, but they’re making more money than you – and subsequently more successful than you. How does that make you feel? If you haven’t decided yet, I’ll answer for you. Sick. Because they kissed enough ass, nodded their head, and agreed to their superiors enough times to put them in that comfy corner office with a view. And let’s be honest, who doesn’t want that corner office? I could totally stare out that window for hours and daze about nothing, while collecting serious corporate dollars. Plus, I can finally eat at that pricey steakhouse across the street. For lunch! Sweet!

Now that I think about it, I wonder if this person has already thought this through. Maybe they’re way ahead of me. Perhaps they know that if they approach life in such a manner, than they will eventually have a sweet steakhouse lunch. Come to think of it, I may be going about life all wrong.

“Did you just have an out-of-the-box thought?”

“No.”

“Good. OK, well I’m going to go home to my wife and talk about my day at work. Can’t wait to see who they’ll vote off Dancing With the Stars tonight. See you tomorrow morning.”

On second thought, I’ll stick with Type B Personality. Sorry Chester. You’re not making comments about me with your other Type A friends, are you?

The Old Ladies Meeting At Coffee Shop

2009-09-30T14:15:00.000-04:00

While stepping away from their daily block of Judge Judy, Oprah, and Bridge games, the Sexless and the City meet up to discuss their alcoholic daughter-in-law and the extravagantly overpriced coffee they’re sipping. It’s an exclusive club. The qualifications? Have a grandson to brag about, be skilled in the art of gossip, and awful with technology. The players? Old ladies. Why no, I’m not using this chair. You may borrow it. You’re quite welcome. Aren’t they so cute?

Their styles are as stubborn as their attitude toward abortion. I wonder when was the last time they got laid. Oh God, why did I put that image in my head? Megan Fox. Megan Fox. OK, I’m better. It must be nice to just sit at a café on a Wednesday afternoon. Shouldn’t you be sewing or making people wait extra longer in the grocery line while you count out your change to the exact penny? I shouldn’t be mean. I wonder if they’ll let me join in on their gossip. One of them is looking at me right now. I hope they’re not talking about me already.

Hold the presses, Janette’s niece is in the school play, Shrek. I hope she isn’t the lead. It’s this Friday at eight o’clock if anyone’s interested. She’s really talented. You should hear her sing. She got that from Janette’s side of the family. Her father isn’t very talented. He’s more of a pushover. I don’t even know why Janette’s daughter married him. She settled down way too early. But hey, at least he gave her two cute kids right? I guess you can’t complain.

There is way too much cream cheese on the bagel. Is your bagel soggy too? Rose’s bagel is really mushy. I don’t know why people eat here. No matter how many times you tell them not to over-do-it on the cream cheese – what do they do? They load it up with cream cheese. You can’t even taste the lox. Which is the only reason
to eat here in the first place. That’s one thing I’ll say; they do have fresh lox. It’s hard to get that anymore. I’m taking this coffee back. It’s way too cold.

Apparently, Loretta’s son bought her an ipod. Her nephew, Stevie, was trying to teach her how to use it the other day. Touch this. Drag that. It’s all very overwhelming if you ask me. Then they have these things called applications. Stevie was taking pictures with this thing, and then making funny faces with it. He’s aborable. Loretta has a picture of him somewhere in her purse. I think she is still looking for it though.

Anyhow, she doesn’t get the ipod. I hope her son, Ned, won’t mind that she is taking it back. She’s not going to tell him. She’d feel too bad for him. You should’ve seen the excitement he had when he showed it her. She’ll just take the store credit and buy a tea kettle with it. I mean is that wrong? She just figured out how to use her VCR. How in God’s name is she going to figure out how to use an ipod? Does it play records? She has a beautiful record of Johnny Mathis that she hasn’t been able to play since Morty passed away. I wonder if Stevie knows how to convert vinyl to mp3. Maybe she should hold onto it for a little longer. She may get the hang of it.

So can you believe Jeffrey’s still out of a job? This economy is awful. Loretta was just saying how she didn’t vote for Obama. Everyone agrees – he was a bad choice for president. Not because he’s black. Well, he’s half black right? His mother was a white woman, correct? It’s the father though. He’s out of the picture completely. I think he lives somewhere in Africa or India. He’s Muslim you know? And you know all about those Muslims. Osama Bin Laden and such. They started this whole war in Iraq. Georgie told Rose that we may be going to war with some of those other Indian countries. I don’t know which ones. The Muslims ones I guess. Janette saw this poor woman the other day, draped with a black robe – head to toe. Honest to God. How can she wear that in this humidity? Their husbands make them wear that. If Harry made Janette wear that he’d be out the door. Who are we kidding? Harry wouldn’t even ask Janette to make the bed. He’s such a sweetheart. I wonder how he’s doing.

Rose really likes that bottle of sugar. Do you think they would know if she took one home? They have so many of them. They wouldn’t notice would they? It’s not like she doesn’t buy something there several times a week. It’s not stealing. It would go perfect on her kitchen table. She shouldn’t even ask if it’s OK. They would definitely give it to her if she asked. Yea, Rose just wrap it up in a bunch of napkins and stuff it in your purse. You’ve earned it. Although, you gals should probably leave after that. Actually, I think Wheel of Fortune is coming on soon too. Bye ladies.

“Thanks for the chair. You’re such a sweetheart.”

“My pleasure.”

“Are you single? I wish my granddaughter, Stephanie, would date someone more like you. She’s gorgeous. You’d love her.”

I guess it couldn’t hurt to grab a coffee with her. At least see what she looks like.
“I’d love to meet her.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m working on a comedy book.”

“Well it was nice meeting you sweetie.”

Was I rejected by an old lady? Excuse me sir. I think that lady took off with some of your supplies. Check her purse.

The Repeating Your Order

2009-09-17T14:52:00.000-04:00

I’m going to make this as simple as possible for you. So, please pay attention.

“I’ll have a footlong on Herbs and Cheese bread…”

“What kind of meat?”

“Italian lunchmeat.”

“Italian bread?”

“No, the Herbs and Cheese bread please”

“Six inch or footlong?”

This is why I told you in the beginning of the order the specific flavor and size of the bread. So, I wouldn’t have to break it down for five minutes.

“Footlong please.”

“Spicy Italian or Italian B.M.T?”

“B.M.T., with Provolone.”

What the hell does B.M.T. stand for? Bowel movement testosterone? Bowling minus tits? Buying Meat Trash? I’ll stop there.

“B.M.T.”

“OK, B.M.T….not BLT? Correct?”

Yes, B.M.T. That is precisely why I said BMT. I know what a BLT is. I’m from this World.

“What kind of cheese?”

You guys heard me say Provolone, right? I mean I’m not going crazy here, am I?

“Provolone. Can I have that toasted too?”

“Lettuce, tomato, onion?”

“Yes, but can you toast it first, please?”

The toasting really enhances the sandwich. If you aren’t toasting your sandwich, you’re totally missing out. How long have I been ordering by the way? It’s got to be nearing ten minutes. I’m missing the Simpsons.

“Lettuce?”

“Yes, lettuce, tomato, onion…”

“Tomato?”

Really?

“Yes.”

“Onion?”

“Yes.”

“What else?”

“Olives, oil, and oregano.”

“Oil and Vinegar?”

Did I say oil and vinegar you jackass? If I wanted oil and vinegar, I would say, “Oil and vinegar!”

“No, just oil please.”

“That’s it?”

“And oregano.”

Finally! Thank God. That was ridiculous. It’s a fucking sub. This guy acts like he’s building…well a sub. The underwater military kind.

“That’ll be all. Thank you sir.”

“You want soda and chips with that?”

Pretty sure “that will be all” means “that will be all.”

“That will be all. Thank you sir.”

“$5.42.”

Damnit, I have to break a twenty over this. I thought the deal was $5 for the sub. What’s this $5.42 shit?

The Pretentious Hipster

2009-09-09T12:21:00.000-04:00

Did you shower today, sir? Your hair is greasy and your clothes are worn. That’s not to say you’re poor and you can’t afford clean clothes. It’s almost as if you deliberately bought those clothes at a vintage shop, just so you could have that look. Come to think of it, I’ve seen that shirt at a nearby boutique. It’s at least $70. Those sneakers you’re wearing, at least $100. Why you’re not poor at all. Aren’t you from the Upper East, with the wealthy? Wait just one minute. You’re a pretentious hipster.

They come from all over. Probably rejected in their hometown, they usually find solace somewhere in and around the city. Just like any trend, group, or cult, there are degrees of hipster. If you’ve ever been to Williamsburg, Brooklyn, it’s like you died and went to hipster hell. Like wolves they tend to travel in packs. Don’t ask me how they slipped into those jeans, or why the jeans get ever so tight around the ankles. Maybe they don’t have ankles? I’m not sure.

These are the guys who you didn’t want on your team in gym class. Don’t pass it to Timmy; he’ll turn it over. Oh great, there are two outs and Timmy is up. Can somebody grab my glove now so I can start heading onto the field? Like clockwork…strike three, you’re out! Back to the field. Thanks Timmy, at least you’re consistent in sucking.

Alright, I’m being cruel and unfair. Not everybody has to be good at sports. Take Einstein for example. He sucked at sports. I heard he couldn’t even hit a ball off the tee. Even Timmy would hit a dribbler in tee ball. But, Einstein came up with that equation and that theory. What was it called again? Oh right….Relativity!

Timmy and the other hipsters are just smoking cigarettes while I’m trying to walk to Houston St. via Ludlow. What is it about Ludlow that attracts all the hipsters? I think there’s a café and bar all in one. I know what else is around here. An American Apparel. This store has totally branded the hipster look, and sets the bar for what a hipster should look like. If you’re new to the game, and not sure how to get your foot in the door – shop here. American Apparel allows you to ease your way into the ways of a hipster. It’s like when Yoda first starts teaching the force to Luke – except with hipsters and what to wear. OK, not a great example. I’m not trying to plug the store or anything, (although I would for the right price) but I really commend you for making $1 t-shirts into $50 t-shirts by exploiting the naiveté of the common hipster. Bravo! By the way, I do like the women you choose in your ads. Simple, yet still attractive.

If there’s anything a hipster likes more than cigarettes, it’s café coffee. Ah yes, nothing like overpriced organic coffee served up by a fellow hipster with a purple scrunchie. Come to think of it, I’m surrounded by hipsters as I write. Plus, I’m drinking their coffee. Why am I getting the impression that they can read my thoughts? Are you looking at my screen right now? I hope they didn’t slip anything in here. Is this foam or…You aren’t like vampires or werewolves, are you? I mean you’re not going to bite me and turn me into one of you, will you? At the moment, I can’t really afford high priced t-shirts with ironic sayings. I’m not a big indie punk guy either. Can you hold off any attacks until my next paycheck? Don’t look at me with those Kanye West 80s sunglasses. I can’t tell if you’re mocking me or not.

I think I have you pegged. You cover up your own insecurities and mediocrity with the false notion that you are better than us. You try too hard to make yourself look “hip,” in the face of others. I don’t fault you for being different, hipster. I fault you for trying to be different. See? There is a difference. You and I aren’t so different. I hope I didn’t confuse you by using the word “different” so many times.

Perhaps we can work together someday. I see the potential in you. Let this be a lesson, not a scolding. This organic coffee isn’t so bad after all. I think I’ll have another cup Purple Scrunchie Barista. Say, are you from around here? You’re actually kind of cute. Did you get that from American Apparel?

The Cheesy Beggar

2009-08-26T09:17:00.000-04:00

One thing I must say is the common beggar has improved in terms of storytelling, wit, and well…lying. There is undoubtedly one goal – to receive as much change as possible. But, how much can they ask for? If they shoot too high, they’ll come off greedy and unappreciative. If they ask for something too little, like a nickel, they’ll wonder whether or not they could’ve gotten more out of their sucker. It’s homeless economics 101. In fact, they should probably teach this at universities. Did you know the average homeless person makes over $30K a year? That’s more than the average non-homeless person. Something to think about.

There are many tales, schemes, and clichés that they’ll try. True story – This smelly homeless guy came up to me last night. I preemptively told him I don’t have any change. He was rather insulted by the insinuation and quickly let me know that he was not looking for money. Naturally, I felt kind of bad for the bum and allowed him to speak once more. He only wanted a cigarette. My mistake. I don’t have a cigarette either. Sorry buddy. I suppose I’m completely useless to the homeless society. I sent him on his way, wishing him the best of luck.

As I walked on, thinking about my own poverty, the man reappeared. We made eye contact, and I was certain that he remembered me from five minutes ago. He’s not going to ask me for another cig’ is he? No, he was on to another topic in his Rolodex.

“You know fish, right?”

“I don’t have any cigarettes man.”

“I don’t want a cigarette,” the man said, insulted once more.

Now I’m really confused. I don’t have any change for him. I don’t have a cigarette for him. Does he think I have a spare fish in my back pocket or something? Occasionally I’ll carry a salmon, but you happened to catch me on an off day. Better luck next time.

But, this relentless man was not talking about fish at all. He was talking about Phish – the band. This makes sense. He looks like a Phish fan and he smells like a dead fish. Now I know about Phish, but I’m not that guy who goes to their concert, trips on acid, and calls himself a hippy. To tell you the truth, I probably couldn’t name one Phish song. I’m more of a Led Zeppelin, Rolling Stones guy. Nevertheless, I am not like the new generation where I’ve never even heard of Phish and am more interested in Flo-Rida’s newest ring tone. What kind of name is that? Flo-Rida. Not Florida, the state. Flow Rider…the rapper who flows and rides? In his defense, I bet he’s from Florida. I guess that’s creative in his mind.

Back to Johnny Bum. That’s what I’ll call him for now. He did want money after all. I knew it! He actually had a decent stack of cash in his hand to show me. He had more than I. If anything I should’ve been asking him for money. I was really in the mood for a falafel. I was right on McDougal, and I didn’t even have a dollar on me.

This guy wanted people to fund his trip to upstate New York, and his ticket to Phish’s upcoming concert. That’s pretty ballsy if you ask me. I didn’t believe him though. He was tripping on acid as we spoke. I knew this because he happened to mention, “I’m tripping on acid as we speak.” Gee, do you think he could’ve been lying about the all important Phish concert? There is no way he wanted money to pay for his next fix. This guy? On drugs? No way. Sorry buddy, maybe you’ll convince me the third time I run into you. By the way, can I borrow a few dollars for a falafel?

I’ll never forget this lady who approached me in a deli. She was about to purchase some alcoholic energy drink. You know, something that she desperately would need. Something very vital to her well-being. She wanted to “borrow” fifty cents from me. I love how they want to borrow money. As if I’ll see her in a few days and she’ll cough up the fifty cents I lent her. At least be honest with me, and yourself. You want to take my money from me, with no intention of paying me back.

I told her I did not have any change on me. Notice how generous I am at this point. So she told me that it wasn’t a problem. Her next move was to have me pay the difference.

“No problem sweetie. Here, take my fifty cents, and you can just pay the rest,” the genius said.

Is she serious? I just told her I don’t have change for her. So, she thinks I’m still interested in “lending” her money. The audacity of this woman. She handed me her change and drink and actually coerced me to the counter to pay the difference. Here I go. This makes sense, right? Wait a second! No way! I’m not paying for your drink. She looked at me as if I had just turned down the body of Christ.
What don’t you understand? You’re just going to pay for the rest of my drink. Understand? I may be naive at times, but come on. This trick isn’t going to work. I guess you’ll have to go a Tuesday without your energy beer.

Do you want to know what she did next? She approached my friend who had not overheard our conversation. She told him that I was a little slow, and didn’t understand her request. My friend said to himself, “I’m not slow. I understand what you want.” Sure enough, my friend went ahead and paid the difference for her drink. He came to me, confused. What didn’t you get? All I could do was shake my head in dismay. What are people thinking?

Something that I can understand, sort of, is if someone needs change for a
dollar. Watch out for the tricky bum in Penn Station. He wanted change for a dollar. Alright, that’s not too bad I thought. Let me see if I have four quarters in my pocket. You’re in luck buddy. Dollar please. I held out my change. So did he. What’s wrong with this picture? Who is giving who change here? I thought he needed change for a pay phone? Where’s your dollar bill?

Wait a second. You want to give me your change for a crisp dollar bill? What good is that for me? I have four quarters already. Do you think I’m eager to carry around eight quarters? I hadn’t planned on hitting up a Laundromat or arcade anytime in the near future. Wait another second; you only have about fifty cents in your hand. I can’t take this anymore. Just take my change. Here is a dollar. Go get a beer or crack, or whatever it is you waste your money on. Do I need a class to be homeless, or can I jump right into it? Do you mind if I shadow you for the rest of the day? I’ll be your apprentice or whatever. You’ve got to be making more money than I am. Wait, where are you going?!

Shit, I have no money for the subway. Anybody have change for the subway?

The Movie Over-Rater

2009-08-19T11:41:00.001-04:00

“Dude, did you see The Hangover? You would love it! It’s so your sense of humor too. The guys get drunk and wake up and forget everything. Then there’s like a tiger and a chicken, and some Asian gangster dudes. One guy looses a tooth. A tooth! Could you imagine?! So funny! Oh my God, then one of the guys marries a stripper! I mean how do they come up with this stuff? It’s fuckin’ hilarious. This Summer is going to be awesome. So many movies I need to see! Can you say G. I. Joe?”

Meet the movie over-rater. He’s never seen the Godfather. He likes both of the Matrix sequels, and he likes Scarface because it’s cool to like Scarface. He is the reason you come out of a movie and ask yourself, “Why would they even make this movie?” He is not alone. In fact, there are more of them than there are you and I. If we’re not careful, he will breed with some of us and further the garbage that litters the theaters.

Movie director Michael Bay is all too familiar with this crowd. His movies are deliberately designed to allow for no human brain activity whatsoever. The purpose of his films are to completely shut down all internal motor functions, thoughts, and intellectual opinions, so that the viewer can just enjoy two CGI robots smash each other over and over.

Wow, that explosion was badass! I’ve never seen an action film with a giant explosion. Especially one that immense. Here is my $12.50. I’m going to need a refill on this tub of popcorn too. I’ll just get up in the middle of this intense drama with its intricate plot and refill my tub. Of course I want extra butter. It’s free. Why wouldn’t I want it?

Please have a seat and hear this particular true story. Oh right, you are sitting. I was at Kips Bay (over near Murray Hill), where I joined an old college buddy for a late evening showing of the Peter Jackson remake of King Kong. I sat down, neglecting to buy my own popcorn or soda. Instead, I would “borrow” from my friend’s share. He didn’t mind. At least that’s what I told myself. After previewing more of what’s to come (and disappoint) for the summer, we sat down for what was bound to be a mediocre remake at best. How good could this thing possibly be? It was either this or sitting by my air conditioning unit all day, while my contacts dry out, watching Match Game on the Game Show Network. Love that Charles Nelson Reilly. Is Betty White still alive?

The gentleman to the left of me was on a very romantic date. I could tell by his XXL t-shirt and crooked hat, with the stickers and tags still attached. Nothing says romance like a red Yankees hat, with an official MLB sticker on the rim. Now I shit you not, as soon as King Kong came on to the screen this man awoke from his slumber and turned into a five-year-old child – sans parental control.

“Look at the monkey! Yea Kong!” the twenty something year old child exclaimed.

The movie over-rater had turned my attention away from the screen, and onto his fascinating antics. Is he being serious? Is he looking for laughs? I wasn’t sure. But, he was in awe of this giant ape. His excitement reached a peak, and alas he had to tell a friend about this unbelievable ape that had taken him out of his seat. Yes, he was standing.

With the quick dial of his phone, the over-rater was able to reach his friend. Yes, we’re still in the middle of a theater trying to watch a movie. The connection was a success. Not only that, the recipient of the call was in the very same theater. As I looked across the theater in pure amazement, I found another over-rater – hootin’ and hollerin’ about the very same ape. The two were able to have a conversation via cell phone. One man seated directly to my left, while the other was up in the front. They openly discussed how the ape was a “pimp,” given his ability to pick up the lovely blonde, Ann. They rooted for Kong as he defeated a Tyrannosaurus Rex in an animal-like feud. They even had sympathy for Kong when he was captured and exploited. “Poor monkey,” they cried. With that went my theory that they were heartless robots. No, “God” made these creatures. I’m still talking about the movie over-raters.

What was going on in the actual film made no difference to me. I had seen the original King Kong and I had pretty much put my brain on autopilot from the opening credits. But, two grown men were actually enjoying this movie so much, that they had to talk about it via phone from one end of the theater to the other. Mind-boggling. Shut the fuck up! No wait, I’ll say that out loud.

“Shut the fuck up!”

“What you say family?”

“I’m trying to watch the movie...what family? They’re in New Jersey.”

“Man, leave me alone. I’m on the phone!”

He had a point. I hate it when people interrupt my phone conversation. Plus, he was trying to watch a movie. I wasn’t even paying attention. You know what? I’m enjoying this. It’s like the de-evolution of human intelligence taking place right before my very eyes. Alright buddy. Talk away… From now on I may shell out the extra dough for the movie experience, not for the movie, but for the ignorant entertainment provided by dozens of movie over-raters.

Before I sign off on this topic, I thought it’d be a good idea to poll hundreds of movie over-raters to see what are the top ten movies of all time. Here are the results. Drum roll please….

Top Ten Movies: Voted by Movie Over-raters

1. 300
2. Saw
3. The Hangover
4. Final Destination
5. Transformers
6. The Italian Job
7. Sin City
8. American Gangster
9. Clerks
10. Do The Right Thing

I would like to thank everyone who helped with this poll. You will make people think extra hard about the movies you have selected. As they are undoubtedly, awful. Don’t feel too down, though. You are an important part of society, as you continue to line the pockets of millionaire Hollywood producers, whose main ambitions are to line their pockets with millions of dollars.