Doing car stunts tonight. An actor locked up the brakes on a car and skidded sideways at high speed. Directly towards me. I first registered that I was about to get crushed, then noticed the policeman between me and the speeding vehicle. He was looking the other direction and had no idea he was about to be run down. Took a step towards him, grabbed him with both hands and plucked him out of the way. Guy easily went 225 lbs and I snatched him up like a rag doll. The human body is an amazing thing. And this fat boy can still move quick when he needs to.
Around 1989-90 I was stepping out of the old Tower Records at 4th and Broadway and bumped into Joey Ramone. We chatted a bit, I showed him the vinyl I just bought, and we went our separate ways. Looking back I saw him begin to cross the street before stopping and retreating to the curb several times despite the absence of traffic. Years later I wound up attending one of his gigs with his mother as my date (a story for another time). I mentioned the incident and she told me he had some specific ocd disorder that made it difficult for him to cross the street. I miss those early years in NYC, but I miss present day NYC even more.
Heard Joey Ramone’s cover of Louis Armstrong’s song on the way into work today and was hit with an immense longing to be back in the city. New York is where I live, it’s where my home is, and my wife and dog. I miss walking down the street in the East Village and seeing all the folks I know. Want to take Moe to the Dog Run in Thompkins Square Park and have my wife swing by to meet us on her way home from work. I want to take Moe to the Japanese butcher’s to pick out some nice Wagyu for dinner, then swing by the farmer’s market to pick up veggies. Then I can cook us a nice meal and wait impatiently for the Wife to come home and eat with us. I want to pedal my bicycle around the village, stopping in to see old friends here and there. I miss the smells, the sights, the energy and the excitement. Pittsburgh has been very good to me but I feel like a little piece of me dies every day that I am away from my home and family.
Fuck them. Each and every player, coach, trainer, groundskeeper, scout, towel boy, every single person who has anything to do with the organization. Fuck the fans, and the owners. Obviously, fuck Art Modell. I eagerly anticipate his death and guarantee you that shortly after that glorious day a pic of yours truly pissing on his grave will appear on this blog. Fuck their ugly purple uniforms and that bogus “crest” they made up. You know what type of person creates a faux-family crest? Toothless rednecks who live in trailers, that’s who. They have no history, nor class. Fuck their murdering linebacker, and fuck that fat tub of goo Tony Siragusa they unleashed on the world. Fuck the fans for so readily embracing the theft of my team. Assholes bitched about losing their team and how much it hurt for years, only shutting their whiny pie-holes when they had the chance to steal someone else’s. What kind of scumbag wakes to find his television stolen and responds by stealing one from his neighbor? Fuck Baltimore for consistently ranking at the tops in the esteemed categories of murder, illiteracy and venereal disease. Fuck the inner harbor, overrated faux urban renewal project that it is. Fuck Cal Ripken. Prick played way past the point that he should, hurting his team to extend his personal glory. Self-aggrandizing douche announced his retirement so he could get his farewell tour and jerk off to the applause. Compare him to the classy way Tony Gwynn bowed out at the same time and understand how odious each and every thing about Baltimore is. Fuck John Waters, that schtick got tired fast. There’s your hero, Baltimore, the man who brought us a 300 lb. tranny eating human feces on film. Pretty much sums up the best and brightest you have to offer.
But most of all, fuck me for laying money on them.
In the midst of switching from PC to Mac and frustrated by how much there is to learn, especially as I am doing it in the middle of a serious gig. Still, just Facetimed with the wifey for the first time and that alone justified the purchase. So easy and so instant, and there we were chatting away. Only problem was Moe. He went nuts when he heard my voice, tail wagging to beat the band. Poor little guy was running around sniffing my wife’s iPad, peeking behind it to see if I was there. Loved chatting with her but may have to wait til Moe is asleep next time.
Had a rough start to my day. Yelled at someone for ordering a sandwich too slowly. I mean, fuck you anyways for you and your “how is the meunster”. It’s processed cheese in a effing Brueggers Bagels you dipshit. STFU and let me order a coffee. Even so, I could have handled it much better.
Then I got to work and opened a card from my wife’s grandmother telling me how much the family missed me and how she looked forward to seeing me at Thanksgiving. Got a little sappy and was a much better person the rest of the day. Family can be a big pain sometimes, but at others they are so, so good.
Was unexpectedly offered a high profile job that would involve a pay cut and a move to Pennsylvania. So very flattering, thanks, but I can’t make that move and I’m realllly not cut out for government work.
is this a local guy or internet betting? thinking about blindly following your picks + mine on cfb
Not actually betting this season. In the past I used Bodog or WSEX to wager. Since the Feds have shut em down in the U.S. I am simply speculating on what I would bet if it were legal. I take all my odds off of Bodog.
I have had some very successful years, and have also crapped out, so follow at your own risk.
Wifey: You didn’t hear that they closed Porchetta?
Me: Sarah’s place? You serious? That was the best sandwich ever. No way. No effing way. They can’t do that. She brought those roasters over from Tuscany. Got the Berkshire hams. She sent her pork over to the Marines in Afghanistan. No way her restaurant closed.
Wifey: No, it didn’t.
Watching “The Last Three Days”, mostly because it also shot in the Burgh. My God is it awful. Everything about it sucks. The acting is very weak (with the exception of Russel Crowe). The story is poorly structured. It is horribly paced and set up more as an elegaic dirge than anything, which is an awful form for a procedural. The photography is pedestrian at best, shot largely in medium wides like your typical TV Movie of the week. The music choices are beyond obvious. It’s not even worth mocking, it is so awful.
Looking back at “Crash” (the ham-fisted liberal guilt one, not the super sexy Cronenberg/Ballard version), anyone who voted it the Oscar should be sodomized with the statuette. This prick is criminally bad. Him winning for that piece of crap is worse than Mira Sorvino in “Mighty Aphrodite” multiplied by Marisa Tomei in “My Cousin Vinnie”.
Spent the better part of the day with the Chief Investigator for the District Attorney. He was the top homicide detective in Pittsburgh for many years and is one of the most respected police in town. The Movie Star himself was cool enough to chat him up and pose for a picture as a favor to me. The Detective and I are getting pretty tight, and he definitely gave me the “If you run into any trouble, you have my number…” blessing.
I just now finished a lengthy phone call with one of the more, erm, connected criminals in town. We’ve been going to mass together and he wants to introduce me to the Bishop when we hit mass at the Cathedral. He gave me the “If you run into any trouble, you have my number…” blessing a while ago.