Rain Issues

Dear umbrella users,

When you have an umbrella held over your head, please realize that you need to increase your distance from others. With an umbrella you need more than your usual shoulder width to get by others. You'd think this would be obvious, but my whole walk home today I had umbrellas jabbing me in the head, the face, the arm, etc. It's fucking annoying having little, metal umbrella spikes jabbing at you. And just to let you know, I'm not against punching your umbrella so it smacks you in your own head or even ripping it from your hands and crushing it into a useless tangle.

Thanks.

Oh, and this goes with extra emphasis to the ladies. I know you are used guys lifting their umbrellas higher so you don't have an umbrella collision which is very nice and all, but although I am as chivalrous as them, I don't use an umbrella (because they are fucking useless) and I have not yet figured out a way to disconnect my head and raise it out of the way of your umbrella. So until then, keep your shit away from me.

Sincerely,
WJR

(Attempted) Dancing Queen

In the song Clint Eastwood by Gorillaz one part goes:

Rhythm

You have it or you don't that's a fallacy ...

Well, I went to see Better Than Ezra last night and after watching the girl and guy in front of me (they weren't together, it was all chance), I can say with confidence that the Gorillaz had that wrong. These two had zero rhythm. Zero.

I noticed the guy off to my right pretty much immediately, trying to sort of dance and clap and whatnot. Total spaz. Off the beat, pained look on his face, bumping into others, etc. The girl, the real issue, was right in front of me. Alarmingly close on occasion. She was spinning around, facing away from the stage, hunching over and really looking retarded. A few times I wasn't sure if I was about to be smootched on the lips or knocked out by a flailing arms. She was madness. Now, I don't normally make fun of anyone's dancing as I'm no pro, but this girl was a combo of Axl Rose when he does that sidewinder dance, a one legged stripper, Elaine from Seinfeld and a penguin.

I tried to get a photo, but it was just too dark. Photo or not, it was not pretty.

Mr. Morning

I love when the first word out of my mouth for the day makes me laugh at my own prickishness.

I was on my way to subway via rollerblades this morning around 5:40am. It's barely light, I'm bordering on late, I'm fairly sleepy (if you know me this means "not wanting to talk") and I'm rolling along at a pretty good clip. A guy on a bike is coming the opposite way and does a quick U-turn so he is heading the same way as me, obviously ready to ask something stupid or tell me his B.S. story that he has been rehearsing all night or if nothing else, mess up my momentum and "me time". As I come up on him and roll on by we have this brief yet enjoyable exchange:

Bike guy: Hey buddy, can I ask you something?

Me: Nope.

Putting the Art in Fart

So, it looks like we have all the submissions that we are going to get in the "draw my parasite" contest. Surprise, the usual suspects were all involved. In my book, all submissions were quite delightful and I think everyone is a winner. You may think otherwise (especially the bitter artists). Nevertheless, let's look at the submissions (click on the long URL for the art in motion) --

Toole's:

http://admin3.imaginationatwork.com/LaunchPage?aFileType=&_nolivecache&aDrawingID=20060813_081408703_1832726033_usa



Meg K.'s:

http://admin3.imaginationatwork.com/LaunchPage?aFileType=&_nolivecache&aDrawingID=20060816_081340701_987522782_usa
Editors are advised that due to a technical glitch during the sending of the art, the text within the picture and the caption did not post. She was saying "Oh my, I just love it here in Bill's butt. I'm going to stay forever!" and the caption was "Beautiful, but deadly"


Lozo's:

http://admin3.imaginationatwork.com/LaunchPage?aFileType=&_nolivecache&aDrawingID=20060812_213255437_1560507130_usa
Editors are advised that due to a technical glitch during the sending of the art, the text within the picture did not post. It should read, "I am here to destroy Bill's poop!"


Last but not least ... AND it should be noted the first submission -- done before this was even a contest. Meg C.'s:
http://admin3.imaginationatwork.com/LaunchPage?aFileType=&_nolivecache&aDrawingID=20060720_135250291_1859462958_usa


Feel free to discuss / critique / judge.

Buzz Worthy

Newly joined up to the Netflix world, I have been hunting their archives of crap as to fill my brain with even more useless quotes, plots and other pointless brain clogging material. This is my favorite movie synopsis yet:

Killer Bees
When a truck crashes in a small town, releasing a torrent of angry killer bees, it's up to the sheriff (C. Thomas Howell) to convince everyone they're deadly -- but no one except a local beekeeper believes him. And wouldn't you know it? The bees have arrived just when the town's abuzz about the annual Honey Festival. Tracy Nelson (daughter of 1950s icon Ricky Nelson and sister of the hair-band duo Nelson) co-stars in this made-for-TV thriller.

It could be so bad it's good, but somehow I am guessing it is so bad it's shit. Perhaps I will someday get the balls to watch it, but so far, I just can't do it.

Totally Crossed Out

Last night I went out for a few frosty beverages with my old roommate. First stop was B-Side.

Who was DJing? David Cross. I first saw the sign outside and figured it must be some other David Cross. I mean, why would David Cross be hanging out in the same dumpy place as moi? And as long as I'm asking myself questions, why even bother with a DJ at this place? Either way, as it turns out it actually was the actor/comedian David Cross. I'm not much of a celebrity junkie and even when I see a celebrity, I never say anything or make a big deal, but I still like it.

I generally don't see (or perhaps it's just that I don't recognize) many "famous" folks, but Cross is the third person from Arrested Development I have seen at random. I once saw Kitty Sanchez on 52nd Street, between 6th and 7th Avenue. Then I saw Buster Bluth in L.A. And now I can add Tobias Fünke to that random list.

Although these cast member siteings are nice, I would still prefer it if I could spot them once a week in full character on my TV like I used to be able to before Fox wrecked it for me.

You Should Be In Art School

Dave has made his own rendition of my parasite:


See it being made here.

Dave does this, not just to create a tribute, but rather because he has an DNA-based issue that forces him to make everything a competition. In this case, he wanted to flex his artistic muscle in an attempt to prove that he is better suited to document the moment than Meg is. I'm not so sure I find myself in agreement that his creation is better, but I suppose art isn't really something that can be judged. Especially computer art of something microscopic.

Thanks for the effort though. Anyone else that feels like making an artistic tribute or being a competitive art dork, feel free to create something (here or otherwise) and e-mail it to me.

Last Stop ... America

I bet we see ya in L.A. or N.Y. very soon, Beckham: http://cbs.sportsline.com/soccer/story/9596952

You too, Posh ... I guess.

Health and Vitality

I have run across this supersized infomercial on i (formerly known as PAX) a couple of times recently. I think it is 30 minutes (maybe more?) and formatted like a news program. Everyone is very serious. Very serious about clean colons. It's fucking ridiculous and slightly gross, yet somehow I can not look away from the horror. I think they have one for another ailment too, but this is the one that fascinates me the most (of course).

This is the guy who is the colon "expert":
He's all business. He makes a lot of awesome faces and hand gestures to show how serious dirty colons are and how expert he is.

Is a clean colon the secret to health and vitality? The expert seems to think so.

I still haven't actually hung around long enough to figure out what the hell this infomercial is promoting. I'm guessing from the conversation I have witnessed is that it is something that makes you shit out everything you have inside you -- probably even vital organs. When you do, you may or may not make this face:
Keep an eye out for it.

Speaking of shitting, I've had some inquiries of my parasitical status. Well, I feel better, thank you very much. However, before you get all "hip, hip, hooray" on my ass, I am still not 100% cured. I have to have some more testing done (probably this week) to see if the parasite has been killed by the medication I was on, or if it has just gone into temporary hiding. Apparently parasite are sneaky and rather resilient.

On the parasite note, my co-worker Meg made me this artistic tribute to my parasite on GE's very entertaining Imagination Cubed site: See the painstaking process of making this here.

Although this may very well be an accurate portrayal of what is going on inside of me, I don't care for the smile and carefree attitude that parasite has one bit. Little fucker!

Mad Hatter

Dear gal at the post office,

You are not at The Kentucky Derby. You aren't at a polo match. You aren't even at a fancy hat wearin' funeral. You are at the post office in Jersey City. You were having trouble seeing the guy behind the counter because the brim is so big. That hat is not only unnecessary, it's retarded.

Sincerely,
WJR

PS I've never seen someone involved in such elaborate (aka never-ending) mailing in my life.

Always Excuses

I know I haven't posted in fucking forever. I also know most of you don't give a fat shit. Actually, more importantly, I realize there isn't really a "most of you" except for A.P. who seems to have gotten so disgusted that he has given up on insulting me and my blogging.

That said, I'll let you know what my problem was/is. First my computer which I only purchased in February died. After two weeks, a new logic board, camera board and disc drive, it was once again ready for action. Unfortunately, this exciting action has been delayed thanks to a lack of internet connection (thank you Time Warner).

So, someone is coming to fix this shit on Thursday but I have just made the realization (without even trying) that my neighbors signal floats into my computer, so I am now sort of online until then.

So, that is my pathetic attempt at an excuse. Welcome back, me.

Rage Against The Paycheck

It must be nice to have seven figures dangled in front of you and be able to turn down: Audioslave over?

Seven figures = $x,xxx,xxx. Fill in each "x" with whatever digits you want and I think it is safe to say I'd take it ... doing almost anything.

U-S-A! U-S-A!

"I'm so happy I made it to the semi-finals of the Miss Universe Pageant, I could just shit! There, that feels better. Yes!"

Next Time I'll Get It To Go

Last night, I decided to enjoy a little burrito action at Chipotle so I cruised down to the location on St. Mark's. I got a seat at the counter by the window which normally makes for some interesting viewing while munching solo.

Not this time.

I had some St. Mark's urchins having a makeout fest on the steps right below me. It's about a thousand degrees, the stairs are dirty as hell, they're dirty as hell ... fucking unappetizing to say the least.
He's not gonna pork her, Russ.

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