Tepid Sense of an Intrepid Destiny

2006-06-29T10:11:00.000-04:00

I'm it

2006-03-01T12:30:00.003-05:00

So, rather than take offense to Bill's comment that I need a kick in the ass to start blogging again, I will use his post as a kick in the ass to get back to blogging ... as I've been horrifically bored and still haven't found time to write about nothing.

So. Tagged.

Four jobs I've had (in order of ridiculousness):
1. Editor at a wire news service
2. bagger
3. the guy that says go at the waterslides
4. paper boy

Four movies I can watch over and over:
1. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
2. Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind
3. Wonder Boys
4. The Usual Suspects

Four places I've lived:
1. East Brunswick, NJ
2. Pittsburgh, PA
3. Union City/West New York/Weehawken, NJ
4. Long Beach Island

Four TV shows I love:
1. Jeopardy
2. Arrested Development
3. Good Eats
4. Upright Citizens Brigade

Four highly regarded and recommended TV shows I haven?’t seen (much of):
1. Deadwood
2. Lost
3. Any show with acronyms for a name
4. Desperate Housewives

Four places I've vacationed:
1. Finland
2. Long Beach Island
3. Interlaaken, Switzerland
4. Aruba (they found my killer)

Four of my favorite dishes:
1. sushi at the Sushi Lounge in Hoboken (the only reason to be in Hoboken)
2. grilled skirt steak
3. chilean sea bass
4. goat cheese and apple omelette

Four sites I visit daily:
1. google
2. marketwatch
3. ESPN
4. Yahoo!

Four places I would rather be right now:
1. on the beach or in the water (must be salt)
2. somewhere in Europe with no money, clean clothes or direction
3. where ever it's summer
4. passed out on the couch at my friend Josh's house on LBI

Four bloggers I am tagging:
1. DDubs (I'll tag myself three reasons. First, I need a good kick in the ass. Second, I don't really know that many bloggers anymore. Third, I don't really want to change the links I've copied from Bill.
2. Lozo (because he (and just about everyone else) are complete assholes. Zing.)

I got nothin'. The tagging stops here people

I'm it

2006-03-01T12:30:00.002-05:00

So, rather than take offense to Bill's comment that I need a kick in the ass to start blogging again, I will use his post as a kick in the ass to get back to blogging ... as I've been horrifically bored and still haven't found time to write about nothing.

So. Tagged.

Four jobs I've had (in order of ridiculousness):
1. Editor at a wire news service
2. bagger
3. the guy that says go at the waterslides
4. paper boy

Four movies I can watch over and over:
1. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
2. Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind
3. Wonder Boys
4. The Usual Suspects

Four places I've lived:
1. East Brunswick, NJ
2. Pittsburgh, PA
3. Union City/West New York/Weehawken, NJ
4. Long Beach Island
(5. My car)

Four TV shows I love:
1. Jeopardy
2. Arrested Development
3. Good Eats
4. Upright Citizens Brigade

Four highly regarded and recommended TV shows I haven?’t seen (much of):
1. Deadwood
2. Lost
3. Any show with acronyms for a name
4. Desperate Housewives

Four places I've vacationed:
1. Finland
2. Long Beach Island
3. Interlaaken, Switzerland
4. Aruba (they found my killer)

Four of my favorite dishes:
1. sushi at the Sushi Lounge in Hoboken (the only reason to be in Hoboken)
2. grilled skirt steak
3. chilean sea bass
4. goat cheese and apple omelette

Four sites I visit daily:
1. google
2. marketwatch
3. ESPN
4. Yahoo!

Four places I would rather be right now:
1. on the beach or in the water (must be salt)
2. somewhere in Europe with no money, clean clothes or direction
3. where ever it's summer
4. passed out on the couch at my friend Josh's house on LBI

Four bloggers I am tagging:
1. DDubs (I'll tag myself three reasons. First, I need a good kick in the ass. Second, I don't really know that many bloggers anymore. Third, I don't really want to change the links I've copied from Bill.
2. Lozo (because he (and just about everyone else) are complete assholes. Zing.)

I got nothin'. The tagging stops here people

2006-01-06T11:03:00.000-05:00

Yeah so last night was our holiday party. Why so late you ask? Don't ask.

Anyhow. I didn't get wasted, as is my usual holiday party tradition, and I almost had a good time.

Toole took my link off his site because he hasn't visited in months and didn't realize I posted things once in a while, yet he keeps Anise, Stuart and Kat? I don't get it... I'm gonna go egg his house and piss on his couch. That is, if I could get in ...

Anyhow. I am not gonna get into any current affairs or anything, as I'm working from home and wearing a hoody. I saw Chronicles of Narnia and Syriana somewhat recently. Both were good.

I won't see Brokeback Mountain. It is this year's Monster. Someone has to get an Oscar for kissing a guy, right? I mean, why else would they both fucking do it. Maybe it should be Heath Ledger... cuz he was snubbed by the academy for his wonderful performance in "A Knight's Tale." Maybe it was the techno music...

2005-12-22T21:38:00.000-05:00

2005-12-22T21:35:00.000-05:00

Toby Huss

2005-12-22T19:46:00.000-05:00

I have been searching years for this guy's commercials. Toby Huss, in all his glory.

Though, if anyone knows how to get their hands on the commerical where he says, "And then she spent her last two quarters in a cave echoey sultry pee-stinked bathroom in a vending machine with a sticker that reads: Ribbed, for her pleasure. And if she's a moaner, this will make her a screamer. And if she's a screamer, this will get you arrested.... GO TO HELL!"

or, "Hey Dan Cortes, Mr. Sports Guy... GO TO HELL!"

here's another good commercial:

2005-12-22T14:34:00.000-05:00

2005-12-22T14:32:00.000-05:00

2005-12-22T14:29:00.000-05:00

2005-12-21T12:15:00.000-05:00

Someone got to my site yesterday by searching:

what was oscar wilde's favorite brand of cigarrettes

In case you haven't guessed, it appears my New Year's Resolution will be:

1. Quitting cigarettes again
2. Blogging more again

Houston, That Was A Close One

2005-12-20T21:58:00.000-05:00

I just thought everyone would want to know (and since it is my duty to report): a plane landed safely at Boston's Logan Airport.

Every cable news network decided to devote over 30 minutes to this slightly potentially catastrophic event. Nice job, boys.

The caption underneath the picture on the TV first said, "Plane Lands." Again, nice job.

I don't know which is worse... this, or the headline on Yahoo! from this past Sunday morning at 10:39.

2005-11-15T13:46:00.000-05:00

This is my first time in Vegas without the Good Doctor heaving weighty charges and levying Truth as the simplest form of patriotism. Roaming around these grandiose hotels, debased with indigenous hundred-dollar bills posing as vases and marbled columns, there was an emptiness that sucked up every sin.

I can't recall at this point whether or not the eulogy I wrote him was my last post or not. There was another eulogy I wrote that bid farewell to many other things, including fraternity.

At this point, I think I was driving in South Jersey reciting lines from that favorite novel/manifesto, stoned out of my wits.I can't understand how I wasn't one of the first to know. Rather, I was one of the last ... which seems to be a running thread.

I was at home all day while my sister's body lay in bed with increasing rigor. I should have noticed early in the day that she was lifeless and white. But it took my father, coming home at 5, to truly see the lack of color in her face. My eyes have failed me once again, not that they could have saved her.

I don't really want to report how my gambling escapades are going, although I am slightly up. I keep reciting certain lines again from The Great (Non)Fiction Novel like, "No. Calm down ... learn to enjoy losing," while I roam around the floors, losing twenties like I'm losing my hair.

Vegas is a terrible town when you're by yourself. Impossible to enjoy the restaurants because you can't be the only balding 26 year-old in there eating by yourself. If there were a mirror nearby, I'd get depressed for any number of reasons, but mostly because a man by himself in Vegas is a sad thing.

I am surrounded by all these writers at this convention. Writing was something I assumed I would be doing at this time in my life, but for money. The unfortunate thing is: I still want to write but I make more money than most of these fuckers. Quite the quandary.

quid pro quo

2005-07-08T09:05:00.000-04:00

I don't know much but I know I think I'm living in an episode of the West Wing.

Rumor has it that Chief Justice Rehnquist will resign today between 10 and 12 ET. Then, Georgy will have two Supreme Court nominees.

There have been many instances where TV imitates life, but this Presidential debacle is imitating TV.

There was a West Wing episode where the Bartlett administration had an empty seat on the Supreme Court because of the untimely death of a Justice. The President's men decided to ask the Chief Justice to resign so they could nominate Glenn Close's character as Chief Justice (the first female Chief Justice (who happened to have an abortion when she was younger)). In exchange for this "liberal" judge, the administration would also nominate a vehemently conservative judge to appease the right. By herself, there would have been no way for the liberal judge to be confirmed. This way, quid pro quo.

If only President Bush would govern for the country and not his minions.

The President got slightly over 50% in the general election yet he will probably cater to the extremists.

Ironic how the extremist governing neo-Conservatives already won the war of the filibuster in the media. Them and their "Nuclear Option." They are such hypocrites regarding the technology that they'll even coin a political strategy with the N word.

Last month's filibuster 'debate' was laying the groundwork for these nominations. Now, if the Democrats delay the confirmations of the unqualified judges, they'll be pegged as lazy cry-babies, again, that are playing politics with our country's judges! How dare they!

I wonder if the President still watches the West Wing to learn how to be Presidential... from a man he probably calls a menace to society.

I wish I could think of the other examples where the current White House imitated the one on TV, the one we all wish was the real White House with their intelligence, sound judgement, debate, morals and more importantly ethics.

2005-06-24T10:30:00.000-04:00

You don't have to draw a diagram for the Arab world to know what country invaded Iraq on March 19, 2003 -- against the wishes of every nation in the region -- and tried to justify the attack with a rationale that shifted each time the previous version was shown to be false.

Helen Thomas wrote this, and she, again, is so right on.

I am moving. That's all

2005-06-01T08:53:00.000-04:00

So. You know those guys that drive the armored cars and deliver money to banks and whatnot... they have absolutely no sense of humor.

I want to name my next male dog "Animal" after the muppet babies. What a name, originally I was stuck on names like Huxley and Shakespeare... but "Animal" is, well, much better than "Dog."

How does the Iraqi President have the last name Talabani. Seriously. Nice job George.

How does Newsweek get dragged through the dregs for writing an article that no one disputes. Their story was corroborated once, not twice, yet all the majors, execs, and cabinet are making their rounds admitting that the Koran may have been handled inappropriately according to the religion. They use hand gestures when they say 'handled inappropriately,' to suggest that it may have only been held with one hand and not two, or something. Too late now. It's Newsweek's fault.

I've gotten three tickets in the last 24 hours. Three. There goes another $100. The total in parking tickets over the last two months is approaching $300. Before this innocent stretch I never came close to totalling $100 in all my life. Fuck West New York Parking Authority, or FWNYPA an their inconsistent fascism.

My wife is in Finland for a very extended stay. She is attempting to get into the University of Helsinki. Her entrance exam is on Thursday and I hope she does incredibly well. She left a week ago Memorial Day and I've barely left the house for anything but work, yet the place is a mess. I've got issues.

That's none of your business.

Mun Rakas and I at Seth and Rhiannon's Beautiful Wedding on May 23

Inka's left the country for a while. I am leaving West New York for greener pastures. Here's my soon-to-be housemate and I at a wedding in April.

The groom and his father

The groom, his father and I

Me after 10 glasses of wine, 5 glasses of champagne, countless beers and too much food.

2005-05-16T21:10:00.000-04:00

I don't know when it hit the wires or whatever, but I am ecstatic.

Arrested Development was renewed for a third (and final?) season!

There is a god. All the network executives aren't beyond hope after all...

Oh. Hello again

2005-05-06T13:54:00.000-04:00

Obviously my sebatacle is of no use to you sick fucks that come here looking for pictures of Paris Hilton's vagina. Too bad to all those who used to read what I had to say. It has been like three months... and I haven't felt the itch except for certain times when I've thought of great lines. I wrote a poem to post last month, maybe I'll get around to it this weekend or during the week...

anyhow... here are some lines I've had running through my head:

All things are interruptions of perfection.

What's the opposite of homo-erotic?

and my favorite in a long time:

I'm glad I'm not European, because then I'd have to measure my cock in millimeters.

Buy the ticket, take the ride; The Peter Pan of degenerates

2005-02-21T17:03:00.000-05:00

I was reading the Rum Diary on my way through Berlin via Amsterdam. I had finished when we arrived at that hostel, all drab and perfect. A girl that was travelling with us was interested in the book and I gave it to her. She asked me to sign it. It was the first book I'd ever signed.

My friends and I had spent years saying things like, "Dogs fucked the pope, no fault of mine," and "We're out to croak a scag Baron named Savage Henry," and "Let's get down to brass tacks, how much for the ape?" We drank whiskey like we were one of his friends, mourning now, just like Depp and Murray must be... though I pretend to be him on occasion, drunken or drug-laden Saturday Sundays, they played him perfection.

I recently had fantasies about showing up at his compound and sleeping outside the gates to wait for him to take me on some mad dash through the rockies. Gathering random insight on crooked politicians and the overzealous Law.

I love how Hunter capitalized words. I love how Hunter capitalized on taking things literally and people's sensitivities. He was an enemy of the state; he's made lists, for better or worse; but more importantly Hunter inspired millions of men and women. Hunter was the epitamy of American. he is the dream. he is the wicked buzz, the nasty hallucinations. that was his life.

You never really knew with Hunter. With his Bill Clinton, Richard Nixon, George Plimpton, name dropping; His freak power; his young wife; his speeding life.

0-67 in a blink and I hardly knew the fella.

It must have been around the time when he was putting a gun to his head that I was reciting some lines of his to my buddy while we cruised up an anonymous road in the pine barrens yesterday.

It was today, at 4:59pm (or 16:59 if you're an asshole) that I saw his image on the screen as Skip Bayless said some nice things, for the first time in his life. I learned late.

Hunter S. Thompson would not want me to mourn right now. I can save that for tomorrow. He would want me to drink.

I'll be in Colorado in nine days, the closest I'll ever be to his compound. Wherever they bury that poor man, I'll revere it more than Jim Morrison's graffitied headstone in Pere-Lachaise. It was dreary that day and we couldn't find Oscar Wilde or Balzac. It was laziness and a sense of apathy in regards to looking for a dead persons tomb that I didn't care for. Jim, though, we had the same range. often baritone.

I heard and began looking for my vodka. I'm famous for not knowing how to cope sans helpers. Most death doesn't bother me.

Don't bother going certain places for a satisfactory obit, his legacy was already contrived by he who's gone.

It's more of a fairy tale: the Peter Pan of degenerates; for journalism, a centaur: half Che Guevara, half Jack Johnson. Forgivable.

In a strange twist of fate, Thompson was crushed when he learned that his idol Ernest Hemingway had killed himself in Idaho in 1961.

"I think he killed himself because he couldn't write anymore," Thompson is quoted as saying in a chapter of Paul Perry's book titled "Totally Unclassifiable."

"He couldn't write, he was too sick to hunt. He just didn't have it anymore, so he decided to end it."

Why, Hunter?

I, cold beer in hand, ask: "Did you just quit? or did you realize you couldn't live life to the fullest each day, and couldn't bear to do it any other way?"

This is a tragedy or another example of your inability to float by.

Should I be inspired or sad? drunk, that's for certain.

Buy the ticket, take the ride.

It could be that Hunter was so distraught because he couldn't, as much as he tried, figure this fucking country out anymore. He was America, and he didn't know himself any longer.

He would swear Bush was going to be ousted, shamelessly, from the White House this past November. He guaranteed it. I think he broke his own heart.

There is lots of shuffling going on in the world right now, it's not only my office.
Deaths come in threes, for worse, and this year tops the charts.

Rodney, Hunter and Ray.

How many of these threesomes are all one-namers? They speak volumes for their missing surnames. Fuck Reagan.

The dead. Oh, the dead.

Will the Academy Awards put up his picture on their parade of the passed?

Will his ovation be led by a bunch of drunkard self-importance?

Now I am praying Depp wins so he can say something fleeting and empirical. Before, I was rooting for Ray Charles.

Hunter Thompson is three generation's Jack Kennedy.

I think Hunter is the sole reason I started writing. I can't quite point to Aldous because his intellect his peculiarly high-brow. That Aldous.

I've been planning on being Hunter for the past 6 halloweens. Never amounted to anything. Do you know how hard it is to find an acapulco shirt and a blue fly swatter on a Sunday in Pittsburgh?

What kind of drugs were you on Hunter? to make you do such a thing?

My friend asked me if I had any more details.

I've been getting condolence calls and emails all day.

This is the end of a man. The last of his kind. The last possibility of such a man passed years ago, and this is certainly the end of an era.

Mahalo Hunter. May your words make God laugh. May your insight make God weep. May your zest make all who will follow you jealous as hell. May there be someone again half as talented as you. May you be content with your life and never regret a minute of it.

caricatura

freak power

at work

2005-02-16T22:12:00.000-05:00

Did I tell you that I had a strange dream on Monday night? I was the Reverand Al Sharpton at an outdoor convention where I was getting ready to speak. I kept looking for a good place to smoke a quick one-hitter, but couldn't find anything secluded or inconspicuous enough. You know how bad the cops would love to bust the Reverand Al for taking a toke right before a speech. Anyhow, I couldn't find a place to smoke, so I just kept walking up to the stage, where the lady running the thing told me I was too late and I missed my chance. They knew I have a tendency to take more time than I should, and that I often go off the script, for better or worse. Anyhow. They weren't letting the next person up to speak for two reasons... one, because he/she wasn't there yet either; two, there was a problem with the top tech distribution (don't ask).

This guy walked up to the podium in a white dress shirt that was completely ubuttoned, exposing his hairless, ninny chest. He had one of those thin black ties on, but not tied, just hanging on one side of the shirt. A couple more seedy looking guidos approached the stage looking quizical.

So I says to the guys, I says, "You guys the geeks?"

then I woke up

****************************************

I was planning on writing my epic Hockey Lockout Kill Gary Bettman post, but it's late and West Wing has gotten me thinking about chickens and sounding Presidential.

Here's a short synopsis of my ire.

The owners are the ones responsible for letting players' salaries get out of control. They are the ones that negotiated them, signed the checks and introduced them at the press conference. The owners are the ones who were running companies in the red for who knows how long and they are trying to make the players pay for it.

How many public companies have you heard of that are allowed to run so far in debt that they have to change the rules to play by? I'm not talking about Chapter 11, debt protection, mergers or anything. I'm talking about screwing something up so bad that the only way to fix it is to pretend it never existed in the first place.

New York is the largest market for sports in the world. New York is famously successful for fostering profitable sports teams. The Islanders and the Devils aren't NY teams, but they are somewhat successful. Every New York sports team (Baseball, Basketball, Hockey, Football (not arena)) sells out most of their games, makes a profit and wins quite often. New York teams also charge more money for tickets than anywhere else. Why should the Rangers, who charge $150 for good seats, be forced to put mediocre product on the ice because Colorado overpayed for Joe Sakic, or Anaheim overpayed for Sergei Federov, etc? The Yankees argument doesn't work because they haven't won in a couple years and the Rangers, who have had the highest payroll forever, haven't made the playoffs in eight. But they have a great squad and sell-out every night.

Fuck Gary Bettman.

His arguments are a sham and ESPN and WFAN and all other media aren't free of blame either. The most people have heard about hockey and the arguments all year is when the season died. They did not push the discourse or explain the details... they trotted out Barry Melrose, Bill Clement and Darren Pang to tow the check-writers line. Bullshit.

The players should not be forced to compromise unilaterally because the owners have made terrible decisions, run awful businesses and erased the word 'budget' from their business models. Fuck all the owners.

This is not my post about the lockout.

2005-02-14T22:36:00.000-05:00

So. Today I took mun rakas out for Valentine's Day. I had the Rooty Tooty Fresh N' Fruity, she had a BLT sans B. It was so romantic. After that we headed over to Best Buy to peruse the large selection of refrigerators with TVs on the front and alarm clocks with weather gizmos. We got Father of the Bride 2, Dr. Strangelove, and The Holy Grail. More romance on the way home from Best Buy, I pulled over twice so mun rakas could vomit. What a gentleman I am.

2005-02-14T12:25:00.000-05:00

Last night was a bit much. And I know I haven't written in a while... lots of things have happened, like me getting a new job and whatnot, but that's no excuse. I really should have had something to write about... like the ridiculousness of the Screen Actors Guild awards... like how Desperate Housewives beat Arrested Development for best comedy series... even though last night's AD episode was fucking awesome.

CSI beat Six Feet Under, Sopranos and West Wing, then that Soft-porn looking dude with the chinstrap beard and undeserving eyes goes all melodrama and righteous on everyone.

Last night, before I puked purple in the porcelain, was another Wine Sunday. Last night was a Russian River Pinot Noir, Mondavi Cab, Hahn Estates Meritage (1997! for only $13), KJ Sauv Blanc with goat cheese on the side, Tres Picos - Borsao, Garnacha, 2000 Liberty School Syrah, and maybe a couple others... this was well after the 3 McScorley's at the Corner Bistro on W4th and 8th Ave. No, I didn't get the burger... I had two slices at Fat Sals only minutes before... you go Sal.

Today is Valentine's day.

Thanks Hanna (click me!)

2005-02-02T23:22:00.000-05:00

I know Mike is seriously considering being Rutherford B. Hayes for Halloween next year... at least some of these guys aren't entering the contest.

2005-02-02T23:21:00.000-05:00

jousa

2005-02-02T23:20:00.000-05:00

Yousa

2005-02-02T23:19:00.000-05:00

yowzha

2005-02-02T23:18:00.000-05:00

Yowza

Tell your ma. Tell your pa (click me)

2005-02-02T22:27:00.000-05:00

July 6, 2001.

"I'm alright," I said as I knelt down to the curb. "I just need to sit down for a minute. I need a sip of water."

Wayne Shorter had just finished tooting his horn in front of a packed crowd at Tivoli Gardens in Copenhagen. The Jazz Festival was in full blast as Stenka, a smitten redhead and I had discovered all week. This was the first time I'd had a 'spell.'

Though Wayne was no quintet by himself, nor was he Herbie, his chops rose the crowd to their feet, regardless of the fact that the gardens had no chairs. Genius loves company.

Ray was playing the next night. The same night as Greg's birthday. The same day as my flight out of Copenhagen into Heathrow. The day before I was scheduled to fly back to JFK. I needed some sort of lag, just in case.

This was the closest I ever came to Ray. I was in the same city as he was, that was certain. I knew I would never get closer.

I crashed on the comfortable futon at Stenka's house, just outside the center of Copenhagen somewhere near Vindebrogade. I still have her email address, that stenka.

Denmark was the stop after Helsinki... the extended stay after mun rakas' in Hanko and Helsinki. The layover after Sweden, Holland, Switzerland, Italy, Czech, Germany, Switzerland and Holland again. It was hectic, but the danes accomodate. I picked up a Herbie album and a beige shirt while I roamed the streets by myself with nothing more than a small backpack and a borrowed bicycle with a basket on the front. Bikes in copenhagen, I tell ya, what a city. Commuters scoff at engines and 10 speeds... easier to stop in Christiania, or Free town for a toke or two on a biped...

"Ray" certainly was a good flick. If you look at it the same way you would "Aviator," you too would want to strangle both Leonardo and Scorcese... I certainly can see what all the hubub is about. You certainly could mistake the two of them.

The problem with biopics, for me, about people I adore is the inevitability that I will begin to picture that idol as his idolator... or, Ray as Jaimie... the tattoed motherfucker.

I could care less about Howard Hughes, his hercules, or Kate Blanchett. Misery loves company; compulsion deserves derision; obsessions obfuscate destiny; genius engenders influence.

I'm talkin about. America. Sweet. America.

Baby what I'd say.

Ray in Copenhagen... July, 2001

2005-02-01T21:33:00.000-05:00

If Hanna-Kaisa thinks she can get away with posting mean comments on my blog she is mistaken. And to think, I have far more scandalous pictures of this Finn that I could have posted. Sina know what I mean.

Hanna

And on another note... far too late in the evening, when I was taking Duchess for a walk, I saw the package I was hoping had arrived earlier in the day... early enough to see it...

brand spanking new

awwwww

2005-02-01T20:32:00.000-05:00

I never had a good Shiraz in my life unless you consider Rosemont Estates good. Sunday night, my buddy Brad, mun rakas and I cracked a bottle of Shirvington Shiraz, 2002. Robert Parker, a renowned wine expert, gave this shiraz a 99 out of 100. What good is that score if I have never had a good one? I wanted to be convinced.

This wine was amazing. Smooth, even for a 2002. Hints of espresso, blueberry and currants. I begged Brad not to open it. There were only 1000 cases of this wine made. Something that is worth hundreds more if left a couple years longer. Brad told me about the satisfaction of opening a good bottle. He can remember the smell for years, but more importantly, he can remember where he was and who he drank it with. It was after that bottle that we thought of the sequel to sideways.

Brad is a sommellier. He ran a great restaurant in the city for a little while, but is now looking for work. There isn't a better person to take with you to the local wine store than an accomplished sommellier.

Brad had opened an incredible bottle of Pinot Noir before we came. A bottle that, thankfully, mun rakas hated. It's nice putting her in the corner with a lighter semi-complex wine (NOT spicy or big) and leaving the big boys to the big wines...

Is Sideways turning me into an asshole? I liked wine way before that... I had my epiphanies with a 1997 Stag's Leap Cabernet; 1997 Cakebread Cab and Merlot; 1997 Phelps... boy was it good working in a restaurant back then... those were good years apparently.

Now. I'm resigned to finding the hidden gems... the 13 dollar steals. But when you find them, eureka. Cases for all!

1999 Hawk Crest Cabernet. Made by Stags, two left at the bodega round the corner. Both now occupy my kitchen counter like little elves waiting to have their heads ripped off by an angry and thirsty gorilla.

I'm gonna walk the dog and have two cigarrettes.

I had a presentation today. Went pretty good. I may be a suit fairly soon.

Body and soul sung by Nina Simone is incomparable. I suggest you give it a listen.

have a good week. I will be back on the bike now, as it were.

2005-01-27T21:58:00.000-05:00

I've been meaning to write my "Wow. The Oscar nominations are no surprise and it makes me want to yak" post. Seriously.

Clint Eastwood said to Scorcese and Jamie Foxx in a conference call webcast only available to hasbeen actors, the cast of Saved by the Bell and Cuba Gooding Junior who, though the academy prayed it would be posthumous, is receiving a lifetime achievement award solely for his role in Radio.

"Did you see that motherfuckers teeth in that movie?" asked Jamie Foxx, scratching the back of his head... all scabby from the fresh tattoo. "I thought I had balls wearing dark glasses and listing to one side... that nigger had toooffes. Nowutimsaying?"

"Yeah. I know. When I directed Taxi Driver I thought, 'Man. Am I a genius or what?"

Clint, sick of Marty's hubris, said, "Marty Marty Marty. Do you know who I am?"

"Yeah I know who you are you untalented schnook. If I had the impetuous misfortune to be stuck with you in the cast of one of my movies... I'd either make you play the horse or make the movie so ridiculously stylized it would look like a satirical blaxploitation skin flick... with you as a horse. Did I mention that. I'd probably get nominated for best original screenplay for that one... hey jamie, you got a pen and a paper boy?"

"fuck you Marty. I got raised by mine grandma," he said as he pounded his chest with a clenched right fist and pointed his feces covered middle finger of his right hand towards the sky.

*********************************

Fuck the Oscars. If Eternal Sunshine can only get Best Original Screenplay or Best Actress (for Winslett (who was worse than Carrey (who was better than Leo, Giamatti, and Depp combined (and I love Depp))) than the whole ceremony should be interrupted by a large wave of septic water (which, on second thought, may disinfect the entire thing).

I liked Sideways. good movie. No. I didn't say great. I didn't say Best.

I thought The Aviator was good. No. I didn't say great. I didn't say Best.

I thought Finding Neverland was very good. I didn't say great. I would say Better.

I will see Ray by this time next week... which, conveniently, should be around the same time that I've wiped my hands completely clean of Cingular ... and Martin Scorcese's blood.

I have Manchurian Candidate, Stepford Wives, Napoleon Dynamite, and Kill Bill 2 all on the agenda for this weekend. That would be good and healthy for me this weekend, now wouldn't it. I think I will get me some cases of talls, an eighth of sweet ganj, and a stronger prescription (however you want to take that, it may work both ways).

This isn't what I wanted from this post, but it will have to do... I guess a solid pic is always a good backup.

I was supposed to be in the middle of a huge mustache contest... with my main competition being Mike... I had to recuse myself from the competition for other reasons, BUT I am in the lead if he shaves with no proof or evidence of a mustache or mustache derivative.

Eat this.

2005-01-23T01:52:00.000-05:00

So. Despite the fact that Dickie V did all he could to jinx the Panthers, Pitt beat UConn by ten points. A slight good note to start the weekend off with... now if the Eagles and the Steelers could both win, I'll be in a drunken stupor until 7 am tuesday.

So . Mun rakas and I are apparently on the market for a hot famous woman to have steamy threeway action with, if you're reading this (Angelina or Pam).

Anyhow. I don't really care to write anything today. I fixed my personal computer, for the most part, and have a ambitious agenda for tomorrow that consists of drinking a twelve pack before 6pm and puking in the snow after I pee, to see which melts the crazy white stuff faster. The smart money's on the vomit.

ParisHiltonsVagina.blogspot.com is one helluva site, i recommend it to all you sick fuckers.

I don't care to write more right now, so fuck off.

2005-01-22T21:25:00.000-05:00

So. I've spent the last two days attempting to remove a trojan horse, adware, spyware and malware from my computer that I think I got from the paris hilton picture I posted previously. Immediately after I started screwing around with that photo, I had numerous pop-ups and slow-downs... all things I've never had on my home computer. My work computer is also fucked up... I am getting shit on because people (read: geeks at my job) think blospot sites install harmful malware and spyware programs that hijack shit... well if they could install a simple fucking pop-up blocker, half the windows that pop-up (that if you click will install spyware) wouldn't present the possibility. Now, during earnings, I've got an inoperable computer and am being blamed because of this site all because some crazy shit happened. Am I trying to defend myself on this site? I don't know... though I feel I deserve to be defensive because I've done nothing out of the ordinary.

So. This is a bit awkward huh...

Mike wrote a post about how he's got a new site, and here I am bitching about spyware. Well fuck you. I spent the last couple hours scouring registry keys looking for middadle, idleui, 2ndthought and other shit that Bill is gonna pay for on Tuesday.
Meanwhile, Stuart is getting in verbal fights with me and mun rakas, Anise doesn't post on her 'normal' site anymore, Kat left our job for a more rewarding one, and I have absolutely no reason to be sentimental right now.

My car will be snowed in for the next two days, luckily there is football on and two liquor stores within trudging distance. I will get some white pics and let you go... I am so not happy with this post.

Maybe I'll take two shots of vodka and give it another shot... if Pitt can beat UConn, it would totally make up for this day.

2005-01-20T19:58:00.000-05:00

Amazing, Paris Hilton's pussy juice matches the color of the carpet. Shameless...

"I'd rather be me than Tara Reid," she was overheard spraying, not saying. "Who the fuck wants to fuck anyone from Jersey anyway. Slut."

Tara Reid, who was asked for comment while half-asleep in a stall in the men's bathroom at the golden globes, uttered between dry pukes, "Whatever. I got more scars on mun areola's than that cunt has on her entire body... and I'm not the trick with a lazy eye neither. Last thing I remember remembering, she had so many problems zipping up her trousers after fucking a SUM 41 hasbeen, she gave him a tip. I'd rather stay in a Motel 6 than that twat. If I were a guy, I'd probably have a wetter fuck dry humping an inner tube at Action Park in February."

I am not the biggest fan of Tara Reid, but apparently she's pretty funny... though, maybe I shouldn't write nasty things about anyone... I'm only one degree away from her if you play that lame game. Seriously. I got a handjob on her deck.

My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.

2005-01-18T18:47:00.000-05:00

"The Oscars aren't going to be like this, are they?" she asked, as Clint Eastwood hucked and hawed and aww shucksed. "Are they serious?"

"Yes, baby. It will be this bad, and yes, in their own sort of way, they are serious," I said as I dug into another Beck's Oktoberfest in mid-January. "Does Jamie Foxx have a fucking tattoo on the back of his head?"

The Golden Globes were a fucking joke this year. I remember ones from the past with Jack Nicholson all pilled up drinking a gin and tonic, Al Pacino sitting there stoned, having not had a haircut in eight months. I remember hand jobs under the circular tables; awkward moments when winners were in the bathroom doing lines on faux pedestal sinks when they'd found out they won best supporting actress in a mini-series or Claritin-D commercial.