Scat-tastic

Scroll right on past this if you aren't interested in bodily functions. More specifically, my bodily functions. Even more specifically, shit.

As you may have read, I'm having a battle with a parasite or I guess parasites. My good friend AP, who likes to see me in discomfort thanks to a history of errors committed by me at his expense (e.g. being a Yankees fan, busting up his knee, letting my iguana crap on his bed and sweatshirt), inquired about the testing procedure to determine what is attacking my innards:

Tell me you had to submit a sample of your poop to make the diagnosis. Please, please tell me that.
-AP

I will tell you. Yes, the basic procedure did involve poop samples. I had to scoop some poop into three separate vials that had some sort of mystery liquid inside. Fill to line on container, shake, bring to doctor, make joke with doctor about carrying shit around with me in my backpack, wait for results. Luckily for you, AP (and those of you who were curious, but not gross enough to ask), I anticipated such inquisitive concern and snapped some photos documenting the at-home procedure. No actual poop scooping photos, but photos nevertheless:

Here's me prepped for the unpleasant scooping task
(contrary to popular belief, summer heat does not help the situation).

The tubes waiting for their precious cargo.

Done and done. Gross and gross.
The best part is that I get to repeat this procedure again a few weeks after I finish the medication I am on to see if I killed my enemy. This time though it is just two vials instead of three. You are invited to help if you want. If not, don't worry. I'll keep you updated.

Microscopic Stowaway

After some trips to the doctors and various tests, my doctor has determined that while in Honduras, I managed to pick up some internal fun in the form of a microscopic parasite called Blastocystis hominis. Despite not being thrilled about this, I am at least pleased that I now have some reasoning for being so sluggish and sleepy as of late. My favorite part about this is that nobody seems to really know how to treat it. Medication has been prescribed, but it doesn't always work. Plus I can't drink while on it (and that's why I'm not starting it until Sunday). Fucking parasites!

Anyway, for all of you who like to say things to me like "Why can't you go on vacation somewhere normal?" or "What, are you to good for Cape Cod or Disney World or Toledo, OH?" or whatever it is you say to me when I go to such "strange" places, I guess this is where you can say, "I told you so."

Thanks.

Drinking and Bouncing

This weekend I am heading upstate for a friend's birthday party that should be filled with cursing, boozing and lots of immature behavior. To make certain this is the case, there is going to be a keg and a bouncy bounce. By the way this friend is turning 30. I think his neighbors are going to love it.

I had this conversation with my wife the other day:

Wife: What's the story with Tom's party this weekend? Is it a barbecue or catered or just whatever?

Me: I don't fucking know. All I care about is that there is going to be a bouncy bounce.

Wife: You're going to have to keep it under control after you get some drinks in you.

Me: It's a fucking bouncy bounce.

Wife: Well, let's make sure that Frank The Tank doesn't wind up in the bouncy bounce, OK?

[crickets]

Wife: OK?

Me: Hmmmm.

Three Enter

Everyone who ever stops over at my apartment always seems to have to comment on how my fish tank is filthy or green or gross or whatever. Geeez! So much judging. Get off my case.

I would clean the tank once in a while, but being near the window makes the algae grow with the quickness, so it was sort of an uphill battle. The fish didn't seem to mind so, whatever. I didn't find it to be that huge of a crime for things to be a little cloudy.

To those of you who love to bust my balls, take a peak to the left. The tank has been cleaned. That shit is clean! Also, a new air pump has been installed, so hopefully it will stay that way a little longer than usual.

Recently, my two goldfish, Blackie and Chompers died (not due to the water cleanliness -- the coroner's report has cleared my name), so today, I went out and picked up three new friends. As you can see I like to keep my fish tank diverse. All races live in harmony.

So, presuming these three idiots survive the night, they'll need names. This is where you come in. I'm looking for suggestions. I'm not guaranteeing your suggestion will become the legal name of one of these fish, but perhaps if you have a good suggestion, and the board approves it, you will be able to go to sleep at night with the warm, fuzzy feeling inside that you can only get from knowing that a fish that you named is swimming around a tank in my apartment. Now wouldn't that feel nice?

Ride The Lightning

"I woke up and blood was coming out my ears."
Lightning Strikes Teenager Listening To iPod

Ouch.

Know H2O

Dear terrorists,

Bomb tunnel, flood city? Really? Let me let you in on a little physics secret: water generally does not flow up. It's true. Sure, blowing up the Holland Tunnel would make for a major mess -- death, traffic issues, mental issues with tunnels, etc. -- but flooding the Financial District it would not. The river sits below the land here in NY, just like it probably does where you live.

Oh, and in the event that the Financial District did flood? We own these things called pumps. They suck the water out of an area that has water in it and dumps it somewhere else (like back in the river). It's amazing.

Thanks for being such idiots.

Sincerely,
Me

Did I Go To Sleep in New York and Wake Up in Mississippi?

When did New York become part of the Bible Belt?

New York Court Rules Against Gay Marriage

How fucking embarrassing.

Rock On

Just a quick prediction on the winner of Rock Star: Supernova. It was quite a turdfest week one, with singing from some that was bordering on sounding like something that I could produce with my ass.

Predicting after one showing is a bit tough, but I'm going with Dilana Robichaux. Maybe it won't work out, but at this point, she was the only one that sounded good, worked the crowd, catered to the band /judges and fucking rocked it.

Another prediction ... Jill Gioia won't make it to the end, but she will wind up in Playboy. Or at least Maxim (which will probably be way more skanky than Playboy).

It has been spoken.

Canadians Do It Best

Someone got here today searching for canadians fucking dogs

Just any ol' body fucking dogs isn't enough? They need to be Canadians?

Happy 4th

I'm not a big fan of this clown, but I wanted something "American" to post and I found this in a hurry. I figure there's not much more American than red, white, blue and camo (and God knows you don't want to see me dressed like this).

Happy 4th everyone. Happy birthday U.S.A.

Everything in a Machine

A friend of mine sent me a link to this page a long time ago: http://www.photomann.com/japan/machines

Sometimes I really wish I had access to an egg vending machine.

Privacy or No?

Hey Britney! Hi. How's it going?

I remember back in March when you said in an interview, "In the future, I will refrain from discussing my private life in interviews." That was funny. Then just a couple of weeks ago (June 15) when you were shooting the shit with Matt Lauer you said that you wanted the paparazzi to leave you alone and that you needed "privacy" and "respect." Sure. Makes sense. You are entitled to those human rights I suppose.

Well, I'm not judging you. You can do as you wish, but just to let you know, this sort of magazine cover stunt doesn't exactly take the spotlight off you or inspire the paparazzi to get bored of you.

I swear. It's true.

Flat Bride

I was going to post this photo anyway, but after getting a negative comment on a photo that has had me laughing for days, I knew that I had to post it in an attempt to redeem myself. My thinking here is that perhaps if scat-based humor isn't going to work, perhaps some bride trampling will.

These ladies are participating last week in a promotion goin' down in Times Square for WE tv's, Bridezillas. They are negotiating a frosting filled, wedding themed obstacle course to win $25,000 towards their upcoming nuptials. Funny enough right there if you ask me, but take a closer look at the photo. Click on it to make it bigger if you must. They all look nuts as can be, but the highlight is that there is definitely a trampled bridezilla down on the ground in the back. Not just down, but face first, limbs all over the place DOWN.

She's not winning shit. I just wish I was there to see it in person.

Drink With Those Who Do Not Judge

This past Friday evening, I had a work "outing" to attend. Work outings generally consist of some sort of brief meeting then an attempted game to build team camaraderie and then the thing that really seems to build team camaraderie -- boozing.

So, after about 6 hours of open bar, snacks and lots of talking about absolutely nothing, I head from Jersey City towards home. A former co-worker calls when I am about 20 steps from my door, telling me she is out just 10 short blocks away. I am certainly ready to call it a night, but am I smart enough to know this, or admit to this? Hells no! So, I stop in my apartment for a quick urination break and head back out again.

Saturday after I woke up and watched some SpongeBob I did a little recap of the night and quickly came to realize that I was pretty F'ing drunk by the end. I was able to IM my former co-worker about the latenight meet up, concerned that maybe I had been a disaster in front of her friends and boyfriend (all of whom I had never met before). The answer reveals that I hang out with the right people to keep me looking good ...

me: How retarded was I on Saturday night?
former co-worker: ha. I was so drunk I didn't even notice. I thought you were sober
me: Sweet.

I'm Taylor Hicks!

"I love shitting my pants in public. Check it out!"

Notable Quotable - Phil Style

I finally got to see the Pantera "Behind The Music" in its entirely the other day. My poor ass doesn't have cable, but one of my more upscale friends was nice enough to record it for me and I just finally got the VHS drop. It was a good one indeed. Sad for certain with the Dimebag shooting and all, but overall it was the kind of rock story that makes watching "Behind The Music" worth viewing -- rock, struggle, drugs, touring, boozing, breakdowns and death.

Phil, as is so often the case had some classic quotes, running the gambit of emotion and mental diagnosis:

Unbalanced?

"I guess not everybody that goes to a rock show or a heavy metal show is going there to get their nose broken, ya know a lot of people want to watch.

And I wouldn't allow it.

If I didn't get what I was demanding out of an audience I guess, I became furious."

Humble?

"Any free time I had I would start something that would turn into something awesome."

Confident?

"Don't underestimate the kid. You're fucking crazy if you do. And I AM the kid."

Peep the Pix

So, here are some selected photos from the Honduras escape. You can click on the photos for a larger view if you feel the need. I hope you like them, but even if you don't, I don't give a shit. Kidding. Of course I care about all of my readers and what they think. Always.

Let's go ...

This first photo is stop number one on the trip. The town is Copan Ruinas and the place is Casa de Cafe Bed & Breakfast (highly recommended). We had a nice little room with a nice little hammock just out the door that I made good use of.


Here's what I do best on vacation. This was about 5 minutes after we checked in. You can't beat a comfortable hammock with a good view.


Take a good look at this one. This is my wife. She has many rules about not ever appearing or being mentioned on this blog. This was an approved posting although I have full confidence that this decision could be reversed at any moment. Anyway, here is a photo of my wife with some green parrots. This looks like tons of fun going on, but is actually moments before the birds start getting a little too friendly and a look of panic crept onto her face:


This is a little travel buddy aptly called Witch Duck (notice the hat and cape). Here Witch Duck is meeting a new friend, Copan Cow.


From the country, we move to the beach. More specifically, the island of Roatan. This shot is from happy hour at the aptly named Sundowner. So nice. So delicious. It's in Half Moon Bay, conveniently located right near the place I was staying.


The sun sets on Half Moon Bay.


Possibly my greatest nature photo ever. Well, the camera did most of the work, but shit ... those little hummingbirds are fast so I get some credit.


This is me feeding a very tame toucan. If I was getting a pet and had the choice between a dog and this bird I may very well choose the bird. It was great.


Witch Duck again! This time beach bound. Sunscreen my little friend. Sunscreen.


This guy loves his job. He'd come out everyday with a goofy smile on his face and just drive along, fluffing up the beach at West Bay. I have serious thoughts of becoming his apprentice.


So very hard to celebrate 6/6/06 with Dave Matthews Band playing at the restaurant downstairs. Fuckin' Dave Matthews! So un-metal.


Here are two geckos doing the nasty. You never see the Geico gecko do that. My wife tried to tell me that they might just be cuddling. No way. If there is one thing I know, it's reptile sex. These two were humping.


Another day winds down at Half Moon Bay:


Guard dogs on the roof? I don't know how they got their asses up there or how effective a guarding tactic this is, but they certainly liked to bark. See how toucans are better than dogs?


This photo is another of my wife. This photo is not authorized, but I think it is great, so I am including it.


The end.

Quotes From Vacation

Sure there were many, but these two were within the first few days and I think really show how the brain goes from worrying about stupid shit like work, bills and the world's demise to absolute nonsense with the quickness:

I don't know where this conversation even came from, but it is nice to know that Toole's love for The Price Is Right stays with us even on vacation. Just for the record, the Burbank Airport is named after Bob Hope:

Wife: Is LAX the only airport in Los Angeles?
Me: Well it's the main one, but there is Long Beach, that's where Jet Blue flies. Also, there is one in Burbank. I think it is called the Ronald Reagan or Bob Barker or something like that.
Wife: [silence].
Me: Wait that's not right. I know it is named for someone, but Ronald Reagan is in DC, and there is no way the airport is named after Bob Barker. He's not even dead yet.
Wife: Well if Mike Toole was in charge it would be.

As an intro here, I will just say, that at every meal up to this point, I had some sort of cheese. Every meal.

Wife: (with package of cookies extended my way) Have another cookie.
Me: I don't want one. All I'm doing is eating fucking cookies.
Wife: No you're not ... you're eating cream and cheese too.

Back

I'm back from my R&R. It was great. Honduras was the location -- hot, cheap, relaxing and full of all things non-home. I'll post some photos soon (actually, the Time Warner fix-it crew is supposed to be fixing my internet connection in a little bit, so it will probably happen after that).

I find one thing that vacation always insures is meeting or at least encountering people from all over this crazy planet. That's great. It's always refreshing to meet other people in the same vacation state of mind you are. We met some interesting folks from Ireland, Canada, New Jersey and elsewhere. However, vacation or not, people are annoying more often than not, so I tend to get quite a nice list to hate. Vacation hating isn't really hate. It's just my special way of saying, "That guy/gal certainly is annoying." Sure, it isn't fair to judge an entire group on the actions of one, but I really don't mean it like that. I wouldn't judge a whole group on one person, but shit, I like to curse and a little internal, personal humor is fun. Plus, I hate more than just people. Here's my list (that still comes to mind) from my 16 days away from home: Fucking French. Fucking Texans. Fucking departure tax. Fucking Spaniards. Fucking Mario. Fucking security. Fucking Canadians. Fucking dogs. Fucking Italians. Fucking Bostonians. Fucking Southerners. Fucking locals. Fucking Flight 93. Fucking hippies. Fucking Israelis. Fucking birds. Fucking Fidel. Fucking sunburn. Fucking roosters (it's not even light out yet!). Fucking Brits. Fucking AnneSophie. Fucking New Yorkers (ya can't get away from 'em). Fucking lack of smoking ban. Fucking Argentineans. Fucking pork rinds. Fucking missionaries. Fucking Germans. Fucking Russian planes. Fucking etcetera.

Escaping The Grind

Not that you would really notice anyway, thanks to the lack of posting 'round these parts as of late, but yours truly is going to be not posting for a little bit thanks to some vacation. I'll be gone for a bit, but upon my return, I will return with photos and magical tales of land, sea and air adventure.

Culture Upgrade?

This past weekend I got myself a little cultured for once. I went to a Broadway show. Fancy, no?

I saw Avenue Q. It was the 2004 Tony Awards winner for Best Musical. Fancy.

In actuality, despite the musical aspect of it, I'm not sure it falls into the culture category. It has puppets in it which is sort of the lower end of the culture spectrum to begin with and these puppets curse, drink and have sex. It's certainly no Les Miserables in the eyes of most.

Nevertheless, I'm putting that down as culture.

Peep-N-Sheep

On the way home from work today, stopped in Ricky's for some hair dye (just in case). The woman in front of me in line is buying the following:

(1) 4 piece Little Bo Peep costume - something like this.
(1) box of 12 Trojan Twisted Pleasure condoms.

Total cost $84 and some change.

I have the feeling that sheep is in for the night of his life.

Chalkboard Grades: Art = A; Spelling = F

Long time no post ...

Well, here is something I saw on my way to Jeremy's Ale House last night that motivated me to get back on the blogging wagon:

Customer Service and Motherly Advice

I just got off the phone with one of my credit card companies. I had a question about my account. Things went smoothly and wrapped up nice and quick, just the way I like phone calls. The end of the conversation went a little beyond the usual financial talk:

Credit Card Lady: Is there anything else I can do for you today?
Me: Nope. I think that will do it.
CC Lady: OK, well happy Mother's Day.
Me: Oh, thanks. [pause] You too.
CC Lady: Thank you. Now go call your mother.
[Click]

The Wit of The Stadium

Last night, I went to one of the worst baseball games I have ever seen. Definitely the worst I have ever seen in person, and this includes T-Ball. The game was Yankees vs. the hated Red Sox. For the Yankees, it was a fiasco of horrible pitching, shitty fielding and a lack of hitting. Awful.

Despite this shit storm on the field, and the annoying fucks from Boston around me, it was fun. Plus I had a couple of overpriced beers and a hot dog, so that makes the night better than average. Here are three things I overheard that gave me a laugh.

Outside the stadium before the game, by the big bat (where everyone loves to meet their friends -- including me) a woman walks by. On the way into a stadium that is slowly filling with 54,000+ people. She says, "Why is it so crowded?"

Next, was some guy behind me who had the genius to switch the nickname of David Ortiz a bit for his own enjoyment. Instead of Big Papi, this guy was yelling, "Ortiz! Big Poopy! Big Poopy!"

My favorite, was later in the game. I was in the bathroom making room for more beer. Some guy comes in, waiting his turn. He gets his best Boston accent going, "I'm from Baaston. Where'd I paark my caaa. I'm from Baaston. Where'd I paark my caaa." A couple of chuckles. Then, "Guys from Baaston have wicked small penises. Wicked small."

The Trick

I've been listening to Cheap Trick The Greatest Hits. I can't, for the life of me figure out why they aren't in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. They certainly can hold their own against some of the other clowns already in there.

Even if you don't necessarily feel the same way I do, don't you think a band that includes a five neck guitar and an awesome display of facial hair like this deserves some recognition?

That is rock and roll my friends.

Insane in the MemBlaine

Last night I shot up to Lincoln Center to get a peep of David Blaine floating around in his watery, crystal ball. As all things that are free and slightly freakshowish, it attracted quite a mob of idiots. Blaine wasn't doing much of anything when I was there. Apparently he was getting his nasty, rotting hands treated, so he was just up by the top of the tank with his hands outside. I wanted to see something happen, maybe some swimming, or waving or whatever one does in a water-filled ball, but I'm not one to devote a lot of time to a waterlogged guy with rotting hands who may or not live past Monday, so I didn't stay long.

Back when I used to work in NYC, I worked a late shift for awhile, so I was getting out at midnight. I used to rollerblade to and from work too, so when he pulled the frozen in ice stunt in Times Square I stopped by on my roll home for a little Blaine time and then when he did the standing on a big pole stunt in Bryant Park, I got to see him with practically nobody around. Just me on a chair and Blaine standing 100 feet up. That was cool. Anyway, it wasn't so cool this time with so many people around.


This lady was the highlight of my visit. People could walk up and touch the ball or take photos or whatever, but there were security guys around doing a lot of "Keep moving folks" and "Take your pictures but the line needs to keep going." Well, this woman was having none of it. She was there to show good ol' D.B. her love for his soggy body with roses. Blaine wasn't really looking due to his body position and the fact that his hands are about to fall off. Although security kept telling her to move on, she held her ground. Eventually Blaine saw her (I think), however he couldn't really signal his thanks or return any sign of love because his hands were busy and he has an air regulator crammed in his mouth. Nevertheless, she left looking somewhat accomplished. I bet Blaine can't wait to get out of there and spend some quality time with his new girlfriend who is at least 20 years older than him. HOT! I guess that is some added incentive to survive holding your breath for nine minutes.

That is beyond my comprehension by the way. Nine minutes! That's some sick shit.

3 For Me

I was starting to sweat my promise to have something to blog about for a little bit, but these three ladies sharing my return ride on the PATH from work saved me: I'm generally not a big gawker on the train, but these three had me hooked from the moment I got on. The two adults were all over the little one in the middle. Doing something with her left ear. I don't know if there was something in there or if it was some sort of science project, but there was a lot of digging and poking with no results other than a dirty tissue and a lot of face making.

I then noticed that the girl's shirt said, I'M GOOD. ASK YOUR BOYFRIEND. In my opinion she was a tad on the young side for such an announcement of skankiness, but what do I know? Not much, but at least I know she is GOOD.

The next scene entailed the lady on the left putting bracelets on the young girl's arm I guess so she could look fancy for the big trip to NYC. She proceeded to push the first one up past her elbow, because "That's how I used to wear them when I was young." Well, apparently they had different arms back then because the bracelet lodged itself on her upper arm pudge and wouldn't come back down. There was panic in the girl's eyes when she realized that it was stuck. That look was still on her face when I got off at 14th Street, while the girl and the two ladies struggled with the stuck bracelet. I was briefly tempted to stay and watch the drama continue, but I was concerned they might ask me to get involved.

I've Got Nothing

I know I promised a couple of you T.L.B. fans some sort of update. I'm still having some sort of blockage of ideas, but I will certainly whip something up by tomorrow morning. I'm going to make something worth complaining about happen in the next 12 hours if it's the last thing I do. In the meantime, here is a tennis photo for you that will hopefully hold you over until then:

I Am What I Am

And I quote: "... the guy offering the tip doesn't seem to be any sort of food expert or anything. He's just some dude who had a hangover on Sunday and decided to blog away."

Yeah, no shit. I am still more than qualified to critique the great "expert" Rachael Ray.

It Always Goes Back To The Basics

A friend of mine is having a 30th birthday party this summer. My friend AP (the one whose knee I may or may not have destroyed) e-mailed me last week to see if I was planning on going and what the date was. This of course, got off the subject in a hurry:

From: AP
To: WJR
Time: 2:30
When was WD planning a party for TD? What's the date?

From: WJR
To: AP
Time: 2:35 PM
I think it is in July, but I am going to have to check my calendar when I get home.

From: WJR
To: AP
Time: 2:37 PM
Boo-ya! I found it. [date inserted here, 2006]

From: AP
To: WJR
Time: 3:42 PM
do you plan on heading up for this?

From: WJR
To: AP
Time: 3:43 PM
I do. I am going to act like I am 20 all over again (and possibly kick Tom's cat a couple of times too).

From: AP
To: WJR
Time: 3:47 PM
Will you take a wiz out the third floor window?

From: WJR
To: AP
Time: 3:49 PM
I will if instigated. I am also hoping to sleep in the backyard.

From: AP
To: WJR
Time: 3:54 PM
If instigated? I don't remember a 20 year old WJR needing much pushing or incentive to piss out the window. As a matter of fact, you did it with glee and reckless abandon with childlike wonderment.

From: WJR
To: AP
Time: 4:00 PM
You are correct. Consider it done. Nothing beats high elevation urination. I was just thinking about how if I were one of the people that got stuck in that Roosevelt Island tram the other night I would have been pissing out the window as often as possible. Urine at 250 feet has gotta be good.

From: AP
To: WJR
Time: 4:06 PM
I was thinking the same thing as I was watching the live coverage that night. I admit that I wouldn't have been watching it had anything of interest been on. But, I stopped on Channel 7 with a live shot from their chopper. I wondered aloud what a piss stream would look like from that angle and if they'd dump right into a commercial.

I was waiting for some big fat welfare mom to stick her gigantic tukus out the window to take a dump. No such luck.

From: WJR
To: AP
Time: 4:14 PM
Did nobody bring up the bathroom situation? I heard someone mention that a little kid peed in a cup, but that was it. I have days where if I were delayed in my commute I would probably pee and/or shit my pants. There had to be someone like me on there.

From: AP
To: WJR
Time: 5:06 PM
I don't think anybody is as focused on bodily functions as we are.

I was flying home from someplace a couple of weeks ago when I got up to pee about three times in one hour because I had two pints in the bar before boarding. At my last visit, I heard an elderly woman say to her flying-mate, "I don't know, maybe he goes to the bathroom so much to snort drugs." I told her to mind her own fucking business or I'd flush her head down the vacuum toilet. Well, I didn't really say that. I just thought it would be cool if I did.

From: WJR
To: AP
Time: 5:20 PM
I wish you had said that. Or offered her some drugs. Or offered a ticket to the mile-high club.

Old bitch.

Sunday Detox

Mmmmmm cupcakes ...

Last night I had myself a little birthday celebration out in Astoria. Surprise! I got drunk.

I woke up around 10:30am which was earlier than I should have considering we didn't even leave the bar until after 3:00am. When I woke up I thought I had escaped a horrible hangover. As the day progressed I realized this wasn't the case. It all caught up to me. The pierogies, the pitchers of beer, the shots of whisky, vodka and tequila ... all caught up, jumped on my back and smashed my face into the floor. I was not as hungover as I was a couple of Saturdays ago, but it was close. I even had a bout of the sweats. Just like Albert from Little House on the Prairie when he was coming off of morphine.

Some notes for a hungover Sunday:

Dear TBS,
Please give me a fucking break with your Sunday viewing options. This is what you offered me today? Sweet November, Sleepless In Seattle, Fools Rush In, Stepmom and Pretty Woman (2x). Torture. Total torture. What happened to "Very Funny" as you like to say?

Dear Rachael Ray,
Just a quick kitchen tip. When you are frying up Canadian bacon in a nonstick pan you don't need E-V-O-O.

Dear Old School,
You are fucking funny. Almost funny enough to stop being pissed off at TBS and Rachael Ray

Dear Paquito's,
If human/food unions are ever legalized, I would marry your soft tacos.

It's Not Actually Cake

The bathroom at work has three urinals. Nothing exceptional to report there. However, this past week I noticed an odd trend in the style of the cleaning staff. There was only one urinal cake. For those of you not familiar with urinals, there is normally one in each urinal, not one to share by three urinals. I don't really think much of it at first since this is actually somewhat of a step up, as often there are none. Maybe the management company ran out or something. What do I know? Then I notice, as the week goes on that the cake (or big blue mint as I like to call it) has switched urinals. It seems the cleaning staff or some other concerned bathroom user has got some sort of urinal cake rotating schedule going on. It was literally going through the cycle of urinals, switching each day. Left. Middle. Right. Middle.

I just don't know why this is happening or why I even notice or give a shit. I just hope this stops soon.

Lumpy

There has been some discussion at my place of employment the last few days of the mumps outbreak in the Midwest. Everyone is generally perplexed about how people are getting that shit despite the MMR vaccination that everyone gets. I don't really have the answer to that, but I can say that I got a MMR shot when I was young (whatever age that is normally done) and then again before I began college and guess what? I got the fucking mumps. I blame the sister of my girlfriend at the time, but I won't get into all that theory here.

Freshman year in college wasn't exactly my most healthy time during my stay on this planet. There was a lot of poor nutrition mixed with cramped living quarters, booze, staying up late and getting up for early mornings rowing on the Hudson. I managed to get a lot of pink eye and strep throat and cooties, but the surprise was mumps. I mean, who the fuck gets mumps?

I had a crew race the Friday of Easter weekend against Manhattan and RPI, somewhere in the Harlem River. That morning, I thought I felt a little funky, but didn't really think it was anything to be concerned with. By the time we got down to NYC my throat was sore. Not like germ-based sore throat, more like I slept contorted sore. I still didn't care, as once this race was through, it was back home for a weekend of eating and sleeping to my heart's content. After not winning (as was so often the case) and getting in trouble for mooning a Circle Line boat full of tourists, it was back to school. My parents picked me up and home we were headed. My mother had been thoughtful enough to pick me up a sandwich from Subway. My mouth and the rest of me was so out of sorts by that point that I ate about two bites of my sandwich -- which is very unlike me, if you have ever seen me around food.

So, I get home and start to get very swollen and sore. I got to the doctor. Since I thought I might be dying, I just went to whatever doctor I could see instead of my usual guy. I got some old doctor who told me, "Yup, you've got mumps," as though it were something as common and unalarming as a blister or ingrown toenail. I wondered if maybe he didn't realize what year it was and the uncommon predicament I had found myself in. This shit hurts, makes me look funny and can lead to infertility (which at the time would have been nice, but probably not in the long term).

Anyway, there isn't a lot you can do about mumps other than sit around and occasionally stare in amazement in the mirror. So that's what I did. I wish I had taken a picture. My face was so bubbled out, I couldn't even see my ear lobes when I looked in the mirror because my swollen face was blocking the view.

So, that is my story. A pointless story, but a story nevertheless. I was one of 92 cases of mumps in New York State in 1992. Where were my headlines? Damn that Midwest ... always stealing my media spotlight.

Launch Time

Sometimes I feel like this when I'm not surfing ...

Bring Your Mom

With some boozing planned for Saturday (with the partial excuse of me getting older) I have had a few wiseass comments from here and there.

My favorite response, which I think was actually serious and not wiseass has come from a gal I work with:
---------
To: WJR
From: Xxxxxxx Xxxxx

how exciting --

I'll come after my mom's wedding reception!

---------

That's the dedication this world needs!

Speaking of the excitement, if you don't have your mom's wedding reception to attend, feel free to stop by for some brews and stupidity. Here are the details:

[The details have been removed due to concern by a few, that I might attract the likes of those who murder children or other undesirables. If you want the details, you can e-mail me, then after a thorough background check I perhaps will let you in on the details.]

F.U. to the E.B.

I was in that odd period, when I was old enough to pretty much do what I wanted to during daylight hours, yet was a few years too young to acquire myself the freedom of a license to drive. So much time available, but what to do?

During this time, my friend down the street had a map of our township and we decided we were going to see how many of the roads in the 52.7 square miles of town we could bike. It was a ridiculous idea, but what else did we have to do over an entire summer? Nothing.

Easter weekend, if I recall correctly, was our inaugural ride. Probably on Saturday. After a good chunk of riding, we get to a fairly busy intersection. There is a guy on the corner dressed in an Easter Bunny costume waving at cars, I guess trying to spread some holiday spirit (aka luring people to shop at the store he was in front of). We pull up near him, and wait for a chance to cross. The bunny turns to us and says, "Get the hell off my corner." Not very much in the spirit of Easter or very consumer friendly. I didn't say anything, as back then I was a bit more quiet and more easily surprised than I am today. My friend however shot right back, "Fuck you Easter bunny." And off we peddled.

Stupid bunny.

I think this may be the very same bunny, obviously further down the same road of evil:


Happy Easter!

I'm celebrating by goin' out drinking. I think that is what Jesus and the Easter Bunny would want.

Talkin' Baseball

I just finished an interview in the latest Playboy (May 2006) with Ozzie Guillen, manager of the Chicago White Sox. I think it may be the only interview I have ever read where the person being interviewed curses more than I do. So, of course I am now an instant fan.

There was a brief discussion of the White Sox/Cubs rivalry in Chicago, which leads to this question and answer that I think is a classic:

PLAYBOY: Are the Cubs cursed?

GUILLEN: No, they're just horseshit.

Sombody get me a Sox hat!

Another Victim

Back in January I encountered a bird wing mystery. Pretty nasty.

Today, while out at lunch I have another encounter with the aftermath of the wing ripper. Different bird, slightly less exposed bone, and only one wing, but certainly the work of the same villain:

The mystery continues.

That's What Saturdays Are For

Saturday night I hit the sauce pretty hardcore for the first time in awhile.

During the day I was supposed to go the see the Mets game, but that bitch Mother Nature had other plans. Yup, after riding the John Rocker's favorite 7 train out to Shea they announced the game was off. It had been raining all day, but I guess they didn't want to call it until they knew there was no hope. So, with a block of time suddenly wide open, my baseball cohorts and I decided we could go for something to eat. This of course led to something to wash that food down, and all of a sudden I was mildly drunk. I didn't think I was, but when I got on the A train to head home, I was so into my music that I looked up at the stop past where I needed to get off.

Idiot.

Anyway, I finally got my ass home, made some phone calls, chilled for a bit and then was back out.

Out for one blind cavefish Jess' birthday celebration. This was our first meeting since we first crossed blogs back in (I think) late 2004. As it turns out, she is neither blind or a fish, so that was a relief. I don't want to talk for all parties involved, but I think it is safe to say a good drunken time was had by all.

For myself, a whole lot of Jack and gingers, an unnecessary shot of tequila and a slice of pizza on my walk home resulted in me waking up on my couch at 7:45 am fully clothed. I moved to my bed and stayed there until about 11:45am. Then I got up for a big move back to the couch. I watched some Mets baseball (the game I should have seen, a day late), checked my e-mail, ate a PB&J and then hit the couch again. There I put on the world's greatest sleeping pill -- auto racing. That shit puts me out cold. I don't know if it is the hypnotic motion of the cars circling a track or if it is the noise or what, but it works like a charm. I snoozed for another couple of hours, got up watched a couple of movies and ate some Chinese food and with another fun work week just around the corner, packed it in for good.

Boo-ya ... another productive Sunday.

Friday Night Kick

This past Friday I went to see some asskicking at Mayhem on Mulberry. It was pretty sweet. I was just complaining about how I never see any knockouts at these things -- just beatings -- but in the last fight, Nat McIntyre (from Minnesota), who I thought was looking like the lesser fighter at first, pulled a kick from out of nowhere and landed it on the side of the head of Ahmed Fahim Mohammed (from Egypt). It was fucking sick. It knocked Ahmed's mouthpiece out of his mouth, and down he went to his ass and slumped on the ropes. This was all like five feet in front of me. He was counted out, and then the doctor came into the ring and laid him down and gave him some oxygen. By the time he got to his feet he had a really nasty bruise right around the temple/side of his eye and I swear he had a dent there.

I wish I could have seen him Saturday morning. I bet he looked and felt like he had fallen in front of a bus. Welcome to America, Ahmed.

Show Me Respect and Dial it Now!

At work today I had to call someone at glaceau (makers of vitaminwater). Give this number a call and listen to their automated phone assistant: 718-746-0087. Funny business.

Kneed

If for some odd reason, during your times reading this blog you start to take a liking to me and you start to think you may like to be friends with yours truly, think again. Before you make such a plunge into the unknown, read this e-mail I received today. You may reconsider your craving for friendship.

This e-mail comes from my friend Andrew. Andrew and I met back in 1993. We lived together for a semester in college, rowed together competitively, vandalized things, went on road trips, dressed up in tuxes for each other's weddings, laughed our asses off at all kinds of inappropriate shit and numerous other things that certify us as friends.

Here is the e-mail I get today from Andrew:

From: AP
To: WJR
Date: Apr 3, 2006 2:22 PM
Subject: You're an asshole......

I'm having problems with my knee again. I swear, if I need surgery, I'm coming to NY to beat you with my crutches.

AP

I vaguely remember this knee injury but can't for the life of me remember what the incident was. I was fairly certain booze was involved (ya think?), and remember feeling bad, but other than that all was blank. I have to e-mail him back:

From: WJR
To: AP
Date: Apr 3, 2006 3:20 PM
Subject: Re: You're an asshole......

What were the circumstances around this injury again? I can't for the life of me remember how I damaged you.

The answer arrives:

From: AP
To: WJR
Date: Apr 3, 2006 3:47 PM
Subject: Re: You're an asshole......

WE: Chris N.'s bachelor party on a bus.

YOU: Drunk standing in the aisle

ME: Drunk sitting in a chair with my right knee in the aisle.

YOU: Somehow fall on my outer right knee forcing it to the ground.

ME: Damaged MCL.

ME: Something else is going on in there. My knee clicks and snaps whenever I straighten my leg. Problems walking up and down stairs. Hurts to the touch. Never had a problem until this happened.

If it wasn't so painful, I'd laugh. I'm seeing a knee specialist in two weeks.

Thanks for nothing, asshole.

AP

See how I work? We'll be out drinking, smoking cigars, and having a grand ol' time one second and the next I'll be destroying your medial collateral ligament. And this was a good friend of mine. Imagine if you were fresh on the friendship scene! It'd be uglier for sure.

Heed my warning!

Just Like The Sun

So, for those of you who were wondering about my father's eye operation (apparently even some strangers were concerned), it seems that all has gone well. I guess the vision is about what it was before the operation, but it should gradually improve over the next six to 12 months.

I got an e-mail from my mother giving the non-scientific prognosis: Your dad went to the dr. today and got the bandage off. Right now he sees about as well as before the transplant and hopefully his vision will improve as the healing takes place. The dr. has a "TV screen" that shows what he sees when he looks into your eye. I saw dad's eye - big - and the stitches all around the cornea. Just like a little kid draws the sun!

Obviously, my mother is fascinated with the technology and kid art.

The donated cornea came from some guy who died from "a fall" (I'm guessing a high fall). You know your clumsy ass is going to wind up falling at some point, so, let this be a lesson to you . Sign up to donate your eyes and other junk your body doesn't need upon death. Your parts come in handy to someone rather than just being worm food.

Eye For An Eye

Tomorrow my father is getting a cornea transplant. The mere thought makes my non-corrective lens wearin' eyes cringe. His eyes have been a mess for some time though, and when it can't get much worse, I guess the prospect of being able to see better is enough of a plus for him to avoid the cringing.

The actual procedure involves taking the cornea of someone who has died and inserting it as a replacement for my father's existing cornea. So, the next time I see him, he'll have a piece of someone else doing the lookin'. Modern science is pretty cool. I just hope the cornea doesn't come from an evil donor. I don't want any incidents like with Frinkenstein on The Simpsons.

Sweet glayven!

Not Here

There's no denying that I enjoy discussing bodily functions. Well, when I'm alone with nobody to talk to, I find that signs pertaining to dog's bodily functions sometimes will work as a substitute.

Just when I was starting to feel lonely on my walk home from work and in need of a little juvenile humor I came upon this pick-me-up:

I don't know if it is new or if I just finally noticed it, but this sign on the wall of 333 (half evil I guess) East 14th Street was just what the doctor ordered. Not as funny as this one, but what is?

By the way, building owners ... I don't think dogs can read and even if they could, they certainly can see a sign hung five feet above the ground.

Only Semi Valid

One of our clients at work today had some sort of beef with semicolons which lead to someone at my company being forced into making this note as to cover their ass:

Text of Report:
Combined the headlines with a single dash between them (client told me they do not believe that semicolons are a valid punctuation mark).

Members Only

Last night I went to see a concert at S.O.B.'s here in the NYC. It was my first concert that was entirely hip-hop. I've seen a few rappers/hip-hoppers in my day, but always with some sort of rock and or roll to mix things up a bit. You know, like Public Enemy with Anthrax or Ice Cube mixing it up with all the "alternative" musicmakers at Lollapalooza back in 1992.

Anyway, this show was Swollen Members (insert genital-based joke here) along with openers Gym Class Heroes and Sweatshop Union (actually, just 4 out of the 7 Union members).

I photographed some of the stage antics. You can click on the photos for a larger view if you really care to.

First it's Sweatshop Union:
Sweatshop Union doing their thing. Left to right, you have Kyprios, Metty, DJ Itchy Ron (peaking over Metty's shoulder) and Mos Eisley.

This is Metty the Dert Merchant or Metty for short. He reminds me of Toole, if Toole was Canadian, rapped and owned a Orioles hat. Notice the middle finger. So like Toole. He even had some wacky facial hair, but not quite wacky enough to outdo Toole. His friend to the right is DJ Itchy Ron. As far as I can tell, you just can't go wrong with names like Metty the Dert Merchant and DJ Itchy Ron.

Next up ... Gym Class Heroes:
Gym Class Heroes. From Geneva, N.Y. of all places. Not exactly the center of the hip-hop world. Not even the center of anything. Who would've guessed?

Here is the guitarist and singer of Gym Class Heroes. The guitarist looks like a slightly less beefy and slightly less full of bullet holes 50 Cent. I even saw him dancing around a bit during Swollen Members and he even dances like 50 a bit. Awesome. By the way, the singer makes this face quite frequently.

Travis, singer of Gym Class Heroes. He was constantly fidgeting around and messing with his face. All that busyness reminded me off a combo of Brad Pitt in 12 Monkeys and Leonardo DiCaprio in What's Eating Gilbert Grape.

I was really looking forward to Swollen Members (insert joke with my name and genitals here), and to be honest they were a bit disappointing. I don't think the crowd, or lack there of, helped much. That said, it's Swollen Members:
This is Mad Child from Swollen Members. I always thought the "Mad" was as in "Crazy" but about 30 seconds into the show I started thinking it was just "Mad" as in "Pissed off." He was bitching about the monitors being to loud, then the sound being too low, then the lights being too bright, then the monitors being too low. He also wasn't too concerned with the smoking ban.

Prevail and Mad Child.

This is Rob the Viking, DJ for Swollen Members. Although he has Viking in his name, I didn't see any sign of a helmet with horns, nor was there any pillaging or plundering.

Swollen Members blurrin' it up.

So, in all it was a $12 well spent. Sweatshop Union was really impressive. Gym Class Heroes was a pleasant surprise. Swollen Members as I mentioned was a little bit of a let down, but I'd be willing to give them another shot.

Keep on rockin' hip-hoppin' in the free world.

Plantastic

It seems that as of late, every single day there is a story or study about how global warming is making a mess out of the Earth and everything on it. The frogs, the coral, the beachfront homes, the polar ice caps, people, etc. All fucked. I personally think the "experts" who say that global warming is a myth are nuts. The whole thing is scary to me and to be completely honest, it makes me feel pretty depressed.

I was also recently reading some articles in Business 2.0 about space. Mostly the business angle (obviously), but it went into some of the innovators and innovations coming down the pipe to make all this space business possible. Cool shit. Space elevators (by 2021), space hotels (by 2015), tourism spaceships (by 2023), humans on Mars (by 2030) and all the crap that goes with it.

So I'm no scientist, but all this reading has given me a possible plan to reduce our problem with global warming. I know there is more to it than this, but I know the buildup of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere is part of the trouble. Well, if my 10th grade biology memory is correct, plants convert CO2 to oxygen. The atmosphere doesn't need all that CO2 and us humans can use that oxygen. So, my plan is this: Take some of these fancy space innovations, get some plants way up in the atmosphere, put them on some sort of platform or hanging system and let them do their thing. Clean the air, reduce the speed of the slow baking death the Earth is heading for. Boo-ya!

Now, I don't really have the resources or knowhow to get this done, so I invite whoever has the skills to use my idea. I don't even need any credit, although a simple "thanks" when you accept your Nobel Peace Prize would be nice. Or if you are really nice, perhaps a job which involves a space suit . I look forward to the results.

Oh, and if all this is not actually a help to our global warming problem, please let me down easy. And I'd like to see some proof, because I can't imagine this plan possibly being incorrect.

Check Yourself

Dear Rachael Ray,

You know, I used to find you OK to watch on the ol' Food Network every so often. I even have one of your cookbooks (a gift) and it comes in handy on occasion. Well, you have overstayed your welcome in my eyes. You are on the tube way too much, you wear really unflattering shirts and worst of all, your use of E.V.O.O. for a shitty acronym for Extra Virgin Olive Oil is maddening. Just fucking say "olive oil" or if it really has to be extra virgin, just spit it out. I know you are trying to save time so you can make an entire meal in 30 minutes, but come on! E.V.O.O.? That's NOT a time saver and it is NOT going to sweep the cooking world and make you some sort of word originator. It IS annoying. Get your shit together. Take a look at some of your old shows and compare with some recent ones. I think even you will notice how annoying you have become.

Sincerely,
Me

Chicken!

I get a IM from Lozo today containing this clip:


That never gets old. You may want to keep this link on file just in case you need a laugh injected in your day.

Ready To Serve

Starting tomorrow I get to head down to New York Supreme Court for some jury duty. Well, at least the process to have jury duty. The last time I got called for this American right and legal responsibility, I pretty much spent three days sitting in a big room with a bunch of slobs, waiting for them to call my name for a case. No case ever came my way.

Anyway, hopefully this time it will be a bit more like the Pauly Shore movie Jury Duty. That would kick ass. Me hangin' out with Pauly Shore, Tia Carrere and Abe Vigoda! Well, probably mostly Tia.

Sweet, sweet justice.

Everyone's A Winner

I'm not a big watcher of the Academy Awards. I watch a little, but then get bored of everyone and their acting. I reviewed the winners and some photos, so I think I have it all figured out anyway.

As they say, "A picture is worth a thousand words." I think that rang true:


Jon Stewart gives someone a verbal lashing for talking during one of his monologues as he hosts the 78th annual Academy Awards in Hollywood March 5, 2006. (REUTERS/Gary Hershorn)


South African actress Charlize Theron, nominated for an Oscar for best actress in a leading role for her work in 'North Country,' seems to be going to the same hair stylist as Marge Simpson. A bit more hair and some blue dye, and Marge and Charlize could be the makings of Single White Female 3.(AP Photo/Kevork Djansezian)


Actor Felicity Huffman, nominated for best actress for her film 'Transamerica,' does her best blow up doll imitation as she arrives at the 78th annual Academy Awards in Hollywood March 5, 2006. (REUTERS/Brian Snyder)

What the hell happened here? Holy shit!

Musician Eddie Van Halen arrives at the 14th Annual Elton John Academy Awards Viewing Dinner and After-Party in West Hollywood, Calif., Sunday, March 5, 2006. (AP Photo/Matt Sayles)

Mercury and Chrysler

Thursday, March 2, 2006 @ 9:15pm

Consistent

As you may or may not have noticed, I haven't had shit to say lately.


I still don't.