Just When I Thought Things Were Gettin' Better

Another fun day in my 'hood ... three blocks from my apartment: Brooklyn Girl Shot, Leads Little Brother To Safety

And that girl? Totally badass.

Consolidate My Pocket

I always seem to have my pockets filled with crap when I leave the house. Keys, cash, cell phone, credit cards, ID, ATM card, MetroCard, PATH QuickCard, grocery store discount cards, library card, insurance cards, blah, blah blah. Sure, some of it I never seem to use, but the one day I leave it at home is always the day I need it. This little iCache may just be my answer to me livin' a bit lighter: iCache

Keep that in mind, Santa.

Who Doesn't?

I went to N.J. today and the first car I see when leaving the ferry terminal had this awesome bumper sticker on it:
Maybe the greatest bumper sticker of all time.

Slightly Bingey

Here you go, Lozo. No more toe photo. You can stop your crying ...

This weekend I went away with some of my friends and despite not being quite as young and iron-livered as we used to be we still managed to drink a fairly decent amount of booze. Along with the cans of Genesee and Coors Light (I don't know why -- leave me alone), we also busted into the hard stuff. It was a textbook binge drinking sort of situation. Note this photo:
That Chivas bottle? 1.75 liters. Little more than halfway gone. That emptiness is due to myself and one of my friends going a bit overboard one night.

The other bottle? That's 90.4 proof Smirnoff. At the liquor store, there was two bottles of Smirnoff to chose from. One, the standard 80 proof, the other the 90.4 proof., both the same price. I'll take the kick in the face please. About three quarters of that bottle was gone by morning. That was me too. That was split with a different friend the night after the Chivas night.

Moral of the story? I think at the time there was one, but at this point, I don't really know. Nevertheless, I think my liver hates me.

Toe vs. Cart

Maybe it's too many years of having my groceries delivered by Fresh Direct or perhaps it's just the fact that I am a shopping spaz, but here's what a trip to the grocery store on Friday resulted in:
Yeah, so accidentally kicking the wheel of your shopping cart, while trying to get at some produce isn't good. Unless turning your little, defenseless toe a purplish black is somehow good.

The Ohio and The Bklyn

So, as I previously mentioned, I've been out in not so sunny Cleveland, OH for work. It was a two week stay, then back to New York for the weekend as I was signed up to run the NYC Half-Marathon and then after brunch and repacking, it was back to Cleveland again for another week.
Cleveland has involved work (obviously), a baseball game (Indians vs. Twins), some runs through some sketchy neighborhoods, a lot of corned beef sandwiches, some grilling, a lot of rain, some bowling (143 and 137, thank you very much), many comments about Styrofoam and other environmental fiascos the city seems to embrace, some beers, a couple of concerts (Slayer/Marilyn Manson & Incubus/The Bravery), lunchtime naps in my hotel room, etc. It's not the worst place in the world, but certainly not the best either.

Speaking of worst places in the world ... remember how I recently moved? Well, while I don't find my neighborhood scary or horrible (yet) there have been a few neighborhood "incidents" that are making me wonder what the hell I have gotten myself into.

Incident #1: Saturday, (the day I moved in), this guy manages to carjack two different cars, shot at the home of his girlfriend and then got killed by the police in a shootout (135 shots, NYPD? Really?). story

Incident #2: Early Monday morning (two days after I moved in), police pull over a stolen SUV. As they approach the vehicle, both cops are shot. One dies, the other would have been dead if not for his bulletproof vest. story
Note: the dickheads involved were caught quickly

Incident #3: This past Saturday, when I came back to NYC from Cleveland, I get in a cab at LGA to go home. I tell the driver where I am going and he looks at me in the rear view and says in a thick Indian accent, "That's not a very nice area, sir." Gee, thanks. Either way, that's where I live so let's just go. The as we get close, he adds, "Perhaps this is not a very good neighborhood for you. When I drive around here, if I get lost? I don't stop to ask for directions. I just keep going."

Incident #4: This past Sunday, post running the half-marathon, as I'm cleaning up the apartment and myself a bit and packing for my return to Cleveland, the doorbell rings. I answer it and see a guy standing there with a badge around his neck. He introduces himself as whatever his rank is at the NYPD and asks if I live in this apartment. I tell him I do. He asks if I was home last night. I tell him I was. He asks if I heard or saw anything unusual outside the night previous. I tell him that I was in the back of the apartment in my room or the "office" most of the night and ask why he is asking. He tells me, "There was an argument between two men out here last night and one of them got stabbed." Perfect.

So, that's the fun in my life at this point. Two more days here in The Cleve and I'm back to my glamorous NYC life.

Secret Sauce

I've been out in Cleveland, OH for work the last couple of weeks. More on that later.

In the meantime, check out this receipt from a pizza I ordered from Donatos while out there:
CUMSHAKE? I don't remember ordering that at all.