Saturday, February 28, 2009

Brooklyn Garage Sale

Sidewalk Sale

A garage sale on the stoop just outside my building. Folks were lined up at 7 a.m. to check out what was for sale.

Friday, February 27, 2009

The American Dream

Penn Station, 34th Street and 8th Avenue, under Madison Square Garden.

1. Cold Beer
2. Warm Pussy
3. A place to take a shit that has a door

Legos + Beer = Amazing.

It's math.



Speaking of drunken math. You should check out This Is Why You're Drunk over on the Tumblr. It will make you want to be drunk.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

House!

It was about this time each week that a small, dedicated gang of derelicts and drunks would haunt the doorway of one particular bar in town.

One-by-one we would usually ease into our table on the patio or in the booth at the back where we could sit, drink and talk without being bothered. Sometimes it was only me and another. Otherwise we had a crowd that took up an entire section.

But always there was someone tending the light each week for those who might not make it out.

Usually chex-mix and chips were demanded after we finished off a slew of bourbon and beers. Once the band was playing and at least one bottle of Old Crow had been consumed came our final demand of the place;

"HOUSE!"

The band would collectively roll their eyes knowing that, yes, they would be playing House of the Rising Sun again this week.

Maybe it was Mardi Gras and coverage from New Orleans or the fact that, for once, I am sitting at home on a Wednesday with nothing to do. Mostly it has to be that my credit card company sent me a "year-end wrap-up" of my credit card. The one I used at Harry's. The report shows, in a long multi-paged list, every time I went to the place and how much I spent.

It even has a pie chart and bar graph to ad visuals to my final tabs at this place.

It was a nice reminder of home from an unexpected place and the people who rallied there each Wednesday.

Oh yeah... and one more thing...

"HOUSE!"

Subliminal messages from blogger

When posting a comment to most of the Blogger world, users are asked to enter a series of letters or numbers that are supposed to be completely random.

In the past I have always suspected that blogger was sending out some kind of secret message about my blog... eetsht, urlame, gveup, etc...

Then, I saw this as I was posting a message over at the Schultz Party:

Go Meth, indeed.

Saturday, February 21, 2009

It did not take me long...


It did not take me long to finally track down my favorite part of the beach. Seriously, though, how else am I supposed to keep all the sand off of me?


The weather here has turned to a balmy 65 degrees with a strong breeze. Because of the wind the waves were enormous and led me to make many "The sea is angry..." and jokes. The lifeguard was not amused when I said this after he had to whistle back some folks trying to surf.

The blog operation is cranking away and so far has gotten us some mentions in the blogs and such back home.

RIBS!!!!!

Yes, those are two slabs of ribs in my bare hands made personally by Top Chef's Tom Colicchio.

Don't believe me?

He might be tiny, but he makes a fine rib.

Friday, February 20, 2009

A self portrait on the beach

The event tonight, where I might or might not have accidentally put an elbow in Rachel Ray's face, was held in this enormous 27,000-square-foot tent right on the beach.

The lights for this thing were strong enough to bathe the entire beach in this pale white light. But as soon as the light hit the water, it went pitch black.

A tanker ship illuminates the horizon several miles off the shore.

Click here for more photos.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

South Beach is a strange land

To call The Miami Herald building an eye sore might actually be a bit of a compliment. There is only one other place in this world where I have seen buildings and roadways faded to a piss color of yellow and that was in the terrible wasteland known as Oklahoma.

"Wee call eet da beast en da bay..." our cabbie slurred through a thick accent. "eet's tearible."

Bright yellow and reeking of the 60s, the building sat on some of the most prized real estate in this city — The Water.

It is the water that makes this city what its — a playground for those streaming from colder, crueler climates — and not just another southern swamp land.

The entire Miami skyline is dotted with buildings that look like they have been cooked from raw clay in a 5000-degree kiln. They look dusty and pale, but more buildings, just like them, continue to go up and litter the view.

but at the beach it is a paradise with perfect temperatures and cool waters mixed with tanning bodies and New York Guidos looking for their next drink.

The food network event has not even started and already we have wandered for miles up and down this Southern tip of the Miami beach.


The night before our plans changed a bit and we found ourselves at a surreal resort that had all the trappings of a tourist location, but was less than 1000 feet from the end of the airport runway, which was just in the other side of the lagoon.

More from the Miami Bureau to come...

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Wine and Food Fest.

Welcom to Miami.

Landed in Miami for this weeks Wine and Food Fest. So far the weather is a dramatic improvement — 70 degrees and sunny.

I had a quick hour to kill so I set up shop in the baggage claim updating the various blogs that I am supposed to be feeding this week.

Blogger Work station

The Miami Bureau is still in a bit of a transition phase.

Also, This gives me a chance to show you the new business cards I plan on throwing around this city like confetti — or pogs

New business cards

I'll keep the photos coming... or check out the Flickr.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Make sure your tray-table and seatback are in their full, upright position...

When flying, there is always that one jackass who is taking photos from his/her seat. The photos usually come out blurry or have a piece of wing or UFO along the edges making the whole beautiful landscape look like a big turd.

Well, I tried my hand at a few in-air shots, sans airplane wings:

Dawn after take off.
Clouds

South Manhattan
South Manhattan

Manhattan and Brooklyn
Manhattan

Citi Field (and former Shea Stadium) with Tennis Courts.
Citi Field

Well, hope these weren't too much of a steaming pile for you to look at. Click on them for the full images — and bump up my Flickr stats, suckers.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Happy (fucking) Valentine's Day, redux

Usually, when you are young and fresh out of college, you are naive and idealistic. Not me, fuck no. I knew the score early. Back then, I was preparing for a life of misery, depression and heavy drinking... OK, so in four years somethings have not changed here at the WW.

From the archive, a Feb 2006 rant about this blessed holiday:

"Why do you eat and drink so much?"
"Well, at least I can feel full rather than nothing at all."
— Bobby Hill to Bill, King of the Hill.

Wonderful, it is another great holiday that we all can gather around and sing the hymns of love and pure kindness and other rot like that.

Valentines Day — where we wait for Love to come bounding down the chimney to fill our stockings with various STD and other disappointments. Well, kiddies, just like Santa Clause, Love does not exist. it was a fucking lie perpetuated by your parents as they fell deeper and deeper into debt because of you.

This nugget of information was not imparted to me by my professors or some role model — no, it was shouted at me by some asshole from a moving vehicle. It actually sounded more like 'Suck my Balls,' but the meaning was the same.

Of course, as people all over the country embrace and show how much they love one another despite how much how fat we are despite a post-new years resolution, I sure as hell was not about to let anyone be happy around me today.

Sitting in my office, one young girl came bounding in and announced that after her studying and class work, her current boyfriend of the week was going to take her to dinner at some fancy place and then spend the evening with her watching a movie about how we all were simpler in high school or about how life can be summed up by one hopeless comedy of idiots who do not know shit about the world.

I was not going to have this. So, I found something I did not like about her and proceeded to yell at her for about 15 minutes.

"I was having such a good day until now," she said on the verge of tears.

"Not my problem. Fuck you. Happy Valentine's Day."

Fuck, it was even more depressing today as I was sitting in my attorney's office and we both mused about this jovial day of mirth and frivolity.

"You know, it is kind of sad that the only person I am expecting to wish me a happy Valentine's day is Mom," my attorney thought out-loud burying his head into the newspaper and trailing off.

The sad part was so far that day my mom had already called me. That was the only phone call I expected, too. Oh, but don't pity me or think I am some kind of abnormality.

I sit pretty comfortably at the news desk. The only thing I envy right now is the team of sports reporters who are violently writing and reporting the latest cluster-fuck by this athletic department. Shit, when will this god-awful storm end. They get to write the stories, I just sit here and read them like every other brain-dead idiot who picks up this garbage we call The Missourian.

You know, I have had fun valentines days in the past (grade school parties and crap in high school does not count). No, last year was pretty good. There was no expectation or planning. It was just me drunk in a tree shouting non-sense to the people below. Next to me was the one woman who seemed to understand it all and continued to reach into my coat pockets for her next beer. But she is gone now.

Never again.

Dan Savage was talking in his column that Valentines day really is nothing more than a corporate holiday. Well, that is nothing new, but I did appreciate his counter-holiday to this vile event

Steak and Blow Job day.

On this day, women across the country will serve up a fine steak and one blow job to each guy. Instead of chocolates and flowers — T-bone and a face fuck.

Frankly, he said, the only reason it has not made it national, is because Hallmark has yet to figure out how to fit it all on a card. This is the kind of man who needs to be a woman — that I can date.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Your mission:

To: The Gonzo Department of Dirty Tricks and Hustling
From: Editor
Re: Punching

I have an assignment for you. Somewhat hazardous. Please travel to 731 Lexington Avenue, the studios of Bloomberg. Enter the building. Find the studio where Charlie Rose is taped. Enter studio. Slap the shit out of Charlie each time he interrupts a guest. Thank you.
The Editor

To: Editor
From: The Gonzo Department of Dirty Tricks and Hustling
Re: Punching

Monday, February 09, 2009

Lucero redux

Ben-crowd

The Lucero show at The Mercury Lounge was amazing. But the lights at the venue left our photos with a little to be desired. LJ and I tried, but ended up leaving much of the work to photoshop to ferret out some good shots.

guitar-shadow

Sunday, February 08, 2009

Lucero

Another weekend. Another great show.



Granted, Lucero was not the all-girl Japanese punk band doing Elvis covers from the night before, but it was still a great show.

Saturday, February 07, 2009

David + Christian Bale = Awesome.

It has been one hell of a week here in the Big Freakin' Apple, work, blog, running around like a fool has left me a little drained and frankly not willing to dance like a monkey for you blog-reading fools.

So, I leave with one of the best memes to hit the Intertubes here in a while (although Beeker Goes to Washington was pretty good).

David went to the dentist and his father recorded him as he was coming down off his sweet, sweet Novocaine and whippets.

Then Christian Bale went fucking nuts.

This is a marriage of the two memes (NSFW).



I have already sent a cable to The Schultz Party out west that they need to drug and film their own kiddos for instant internet celebrity-dom.

Trust me, I'm a genius.

Wednesday, February 04, 2009

A cover letter

To MLB.com,

The Mets once took a chance on a young 6-foot-4 pitcher from Kansas named Mike Pelfrey. With a stellar debut and successful ride with the Mets, I know it's now time for MLB.com to take a chance on another 6-foot-4 Kansas kid to cover the Mets.

OK, so outside of our geographic and height similarities, there is really nothing we have in common. I have spent years in newsrooms matching wits with deadlines and projects that have garnered me several regional and national awards. Pelfrey wears a mouth piece when he plays…

As an ardent Royals fan, it would be a great opportunity to write about and cover a team that is, well, not losing 100 games each season.

Thank you for your consideration,
Mike

P.S: References available on request.

Monday, February 02, 2009

Super Bowl night of weird.

Not since freshman year has I have a normal (read: sober and sane) super bowl experience. The one time I thought I was having a casual evening watching the game at a friend's house it turned out my house was being broken into and set on fire.

For this year's cluster-fuck of a disappointing game, we took to the streets of New York and proceeded to continue to tradition of weird.

We had picked up one of LJ's friends at his bar for the start of the Super Bowl and walked to our next destination taking belts from a half-full Hendricks bottle.

About a quarter of the way down the block we noticed this bar. Game on TV. Drinks half-drunk at the bar. No customer or even a bartender.

"It's a Russian bar, man. Just walk away."

And we did.

We ended up downing far more whiskey than most humans can hold along with a several pounds of sliders and wings as we watched Kurt Warner disappoint Jesus one more time.

We headed to one more cocktail bar but not without stopping by with these fine officers for a snack.


I think they knew these photos would end up on the internet.

America, FUCK YEAH!

We were watching Springsteen during the half-time show of the Super Bowl while drinking whiskey and eating mini-hamburgers and Buffalo Wings.

Oh, and I was also wearing the American flag as a cape.

America, FUCK YEAH!