$24 of trinkets

Adaptation - An NYC Story

2008-11-24T09:11:00.002-05:00

I have not written a while. This is partly because this city, Manhattan, is a freaking beast that swallows you whole. Every once in a while this beast spits you out and you get a chance to tell about your adventures within the belly of the beast.

I have been swallowed by the beast. This city keeps you busy and keeps your eyes "off the trees, and focuses your eyes on the forest". I lose whatever is in front of me only to see what is 100 yards down the line.

Living in this jungle you have to adapt. Adapt to the smell (which my father says resembles a wet camel). You adapt to the noise (I will start a business selling ambient CD's with sirens and gun shots on them to NYers instead of Whales and baboons). You adapt to the people (the crazy drunk, the crazy cat lady, the homeless man who yells at the fire hydrant). You adapt to the weather (I didn't even use gloves today. That is HUGE for me compared to last winter).

Basically you adapt or you lose it. This city forces you to adapt. Adapt or bust.

So Swedish Hot Stuff (a.k.a. The Wife) and I were walking to the train station this morning. Mondays she has class in the A.M. and leaves the house with me. This is a good excuse for me to take the train two stops without feeling like a jack ass who just spent two dollars on one mile of distance that on a normal evening I cover walking two chiuahuahs in fish print pijamas.

Let me sidebar for a moment. As a New Yorker for nearly a year now, I learned as many of the rules and guidelines as I can. Before I moved here a good friend of mine said to me "Don't stop in the middle of the sidewalk if you have to answer a phone or text. Move to the left or right. Its the NY rule". Another friend told me "Don't walk in Central Park after sun down". Or one friend said "Don't sleep with any girls from alphabet city." But that sounded like a personal issue that really has no concern to me. Not just cause I am married, but mostly because if I was single, I wouldn't go picking up hoodrats in alphabet city. Even the homeless guy who screams at fire hydrants knows that.

So I learned the rules. Still learning. One of the rules is regarding subway stairs. Going up the stairs in the subway station? Stick to the right side of the stairs (going up). Going down? Stick to the right (going down). Basically everyone gets a side. Of course this rules has sub rules. For example if you are in the escalators, you stay to the right so that people who are rushing can run up the escalators. There are other rules too (like if you have tourists behind you, drive them crazy by stopping every fourth step. So many tourist, so little time.)

The 7 train exit at Grand Central (or 42nd and 3rd to be exact) is an interesting one. In the mornings they have two escalators coming up from the train. The stairs in the center are made for people going down to the train. Its a good system. Keeps a flow. Everyone gets to their destination on time and with both legs.

But once you get to the bottom of that stairway, there is another small stairway. No escalators this time. Just stairs. Problem here is you get a hundred people coming off both the Grand Central train and the Jamaica Train and they all try to fit into this stairway going upstairs. Its like watching those shoppers on black fridays at a local Wal-Mart in OHIO. Everyone rushing to fit into whatever fart space is available. Problem is, if you are trying to come DOWN the stairs, you can't. They take up all four lanes. Thats like trying to drive down the FDR going south in four lanes of cars going North. You literally have to bob and weave.

So today I said fuck it and acted like a jerk and walked down the stairs knocking sholders and pushing elbows. I basically came down the stairways like an avalanche. Nothing will stop me and nothing will make me move from heading straight down. I pushed one man out of the way. I hit shoulders with another and I shoved someone with an elbow. All these guys were in the lane reserved for those going down to the train on the stairway (by New York unspoken law). They chose to take up that space to beat the hundred of others who did follow the unspoken law, so I went down like a rain in a blizzard. Hard. I didn't give a shit if someone would trip, fall, or lose their arms. It was like that battle scene in Lord of the Rings. I just rushed into this mass without hesitation.

I eventually came out on the other side breathing. And a lot faster than my "more polite" counterpart (a.k.a. wifey). As my wife descended on the train level, she gave me a look and said "You can't do that Shai. You were like shoving people and pushing them out the way".

Is it wrong that I found nothing wrong with that statement? After all, they invaded the "downstairs movement". Is there something wrong with taking charge when someone else invades your space?

What else was I supposed to do? Ask politely? This is NY. You adapt. And adapt means becoming one with your surrounding. I am learning to survive. If this was the jungle, I would be the one still alive.

But then again, I never done that. I never became a jerk so that I don't "miss" the train. Is my adapting, a bad thing?

Personally, between you and I: Fuck it. Seriously. If someone got a shitty mood this morning because I brushed shoulders with them pretty hard this morning on the 7 train station stairways, fuck em. Really. I hope they remember it. Seriously. When I did something bad as a kid, I got a spanking or punished. Guess what? I remembered that shit and didn't do it again. If I did, well, I deserved the second round of spanking that came to me. If I was an idiot enough to make the same thing twice. Same goes with the four idiots who got acquainted with my shoulders and elbows. If they choose to do this again next Monday, well, lets hope our paths don't cross again.

I may sound like a jerk to some of the readers (including my wife who reads this occasionally).

But to those who adapted in NYC know what its like. Sometimes, adapting takes doing things you are not proud of. Its a culture here in NYC and to survive this culture, you have to become one of it. I am not saying this culture is a "jerk culture". Its not. New Yorkers are some of the friendliest people I met. Swear!

But it takes a bit of being a jerk to come out on the other side of the cultural stairways.

So I will keep on living here. Even if it requires further shoving and pushing. After all, you either going down the stairs being a jerk, or going up the stairs getting hit by a jerk. And every jerk that goes down the stairs (including myself), eventually all have to come back up the stairs and get jerked. I'll get mine back soon too.

If you can't handle the adaptation process.....don't take the stairs.

Vote Or Pie!

2008-11-03T09:54:00.004-05:00

As a recently, made citizen of this country, tomorrow will be my first time voting. And what a time to vote indeed.

I don't spend too much time discussing politics because in this day and age, you either on side "A" or side "B". All those who claim to be "Undecided" are idiots. Sorry. But true. I know neither of the candidates is perfect. That's like asking you who your favorite kid is. You know they both behave badly and both love you. But you just can't say one is absolutely perfect. In a way, we are all Baldwins.

So, since neither of the candidates is perfect, you have to choose one. If you go into a restaurant and you are hungry and they tell you "Cake or Pie" you don't sit for eleven months deciding. You choose one. Even if you hate cake and not really into pie. You either order one or get the heck out of the store (in this case, the U.S.). You see, those who are undecided end up being the ones that bitch the most later. "See, I told you he was not perfect!" they would say no matter what candidate wins and fucks something up. The undecided voters are the whiney little friend who used to say "I told you so" when you got rejected by the hot girl in class. "I told you she would say No. You should have not even asked". Fuck that theory. You don't do things because you think they will end badly which is exactly why these whiney "undeciders" are not voting. Why? Cause when shit hits the fan they want the pride to say "I told you so".

You know what? Life ain't perfect. You can get married, have three kids and a 30 year marriage and your husband can wake up one morning and not love you anymore. That does not mean you should not fall in love, get married and have children.

You can go to work for the same company for eighteen years and be loyal and turn down better offers at other companies because you pride yourself in what you do and who you work for and one day, your company will lay you off so they can save a few bucks. That's life. That does not mean you don't put effort into your work.

So, with that, I am calling out my dad. My dad has been one of the whiney "Undecided". I know it is wrong to sit here and talk smack about my dad. He is entitled to his own choices. But this is better then him. This is exactly WHY I am calling him out. Because he is NOT a little "I told you so" kind of guy. He is my hero. So why is he settling for being 24 hours away from voting day and still not know who to vote for?

I can understand not making a choice on which American Idol you want. Although the David Cook and David Archuleta seemed to be just as much as a tied selection as the presidential candidates are.

So I am calling out my dad. This is 2000-effin'-eight. The decision we make tomorrow will effect 1) my dads retirement which he will likely do in the next four years. 2) my wifes loan for education since she will graduate from school in the next four years and need to start paying back her loan 3) his grandkids education since in the next four years those kids will still be in school and 4) the possibility that maybe, just maybe, I may start a family as well.

Why is all that important? because whoever we put in office, can either make life much better for those dealing with those 4 things, or really difficult.

I can understand why my father is having a hard time. Yout two choices are an old bitter man with an idiot running mate or a young, inexperienced man with a running mate who I only seen speak about three times in the past 6 months.

But, here is the deal: Dad, you get to be a part of history. Not just the fact that you can choose the first African American president, or the first female Vice-President. That is, at the end of the day irrelevant. Nobody should choose a candidate based on that choice alone. The history you are taking part of is ours. 4 years from now you can look back and say, "The choice I made, put my son, grandkids, my daughter-in-law and my retirement where it is today". Isn't it better to take pride four years from now knowing that you were taking part of shaping all those outcomes? as compared to not doing anything now and kicking yourself later saynig "I could have done something about it"? Sure, things can also go wrong. But you didn't have children, or move them to the U.S., or work in the same job for all these years because something "may" go wrong. Its a risk. Life is a risk. But you take risks to see what you are capable of.

I always have questions for my father. I used to call him with questions about my car trouble. I used to call him with questions about my sink problems. I used to call him with questions about my having to many problems problem.

Now I just have one question: Will you please go vote?

Not sure who to vote for? flip a coin. Draw a name from a hat. Pin a tale on a donkey (no hint intended). Do whatever it takes, but just do it. Because you are my hero and I need my hero to be a part of something that can change my life and yours. Vote blue or red or purple. I don't care. But just VOTE!

And to any other undecided voters, seriously: Make up your mind already. This isn't American Idol. This is the presidency. Yes, its serious, which is more the reason to hurry up and make up your mind. You need to Rock The Vote, not Rush The Vote. Don't rush your choice cause of the deadline. But don't wait until you are in the booth to make up your mind either.

Color, experience, religion...I am not saying people don't have reasons to not making a choice yet. Even if I don't agree with them. But to skip out on this is just psychotic.

Vote!

When The World Ends...

2008-09-09T09:49:00.003-04:00

Tomorrow is Wednesday. Unless you live abroad, in which case, it is already Wednesday, so you already read this post and can move on to other things like watching The Labyrinth to see if David Bowie was strung out during that movie.

But for now, it is Tuesday, which makes tomorrow Wednesday. Two things happen tomorrow.

The first: I fly to Los Angeles for a week for business. I guess it is pleasure too, since part of my business (atleast the skateboard painting part) I take pleasure in.

I am flying to go to some work meetings, and meet with some prospects who want to display my skateboard artwork at their coffee shop in Venice as well.

The second thing that happens tomorrow is that the Hadron Collider is being turned on. For those of you who have been living under your girlfriends bed for the past month or so, let me explain quickly what the Hedron Collider is:

"The Large Hadron Collider (LHC) is the world's largest particle accelerator complex, intended to collide opposing beams of 7 TeV protons. Its main purpose is to explore the validity and limitations of the Standard Model, the current theoretical picture for particle physics. The LHC was built by the European Organization for Nuclear Research (CERN), and lies under the Franco-Swiss border near Geneva, Switzerland.
The LHC is the world's largest and the highest-energy particle accelerator.[1] It is funded and built in collaboration with over eight thousand physicists from over eighty-five countries as well as hundreds of universities and laboratories.
When activated, it is theorized that the collider will produce the elusive Higgs boson, the observation of which could confirm the predictions and missing links in the Standard Model of physics and could explain how other elementary particles acquire properties such as mass.
Although a few individuals have questioned the safety of the planned experiments in the media and through the courts,[6] the consensus in the scientific community is that there is no basis for any conceivable threat from the LHC particle collisions." (VIA Wikipedia)

So basically some scientist want to perform the BIG BANG and a bunch of hippies think the world will end tomorrow.

I do not think the world will end tomorrow. It better not. Mostly because my company has not reimbursed me yet for my flight to LA. If it does end, I shall sue them on Thursday for loss of compensation. Bastards.

But, while the end of the world is a fun subject to speak about, it is not what this post is about.

Yesterday, the big planet that is called my HEAD has suffered thru its own meteor wipe out. I decided to shave my head.

I shave my head every once in a while. Usually to indicate to myself that a part of my life needs a new start. Not sure why the thought of starting fresh somewhere and shaving my head are connected. Perhaps I watched The Matrix too much.

But, part of my life does need a clean start. While I am happy with almost everything in my life currently, like my marriage which is by far the best relationship I ever had with someone who is not just my best friend but a hot woman at that. My art is doing exceptionally well for what I think its worth. My family is healthy and everyone is good.

But I do have a few things I need a really fresh start with and for those things alone, I shaved my head because if my head is clean....then it is a reminder that I need to start clean.

Sounds silly as hell. I know. The theory alone sucks. But, I am no CERN scientist so, lock it up.

The reasons I shaved my head are not for this post either. What this post is really about is my head. After shaving it yesterday, I noticed I am one step closer to being the old man I dread being.

After shaving my head, I noticed I am the official owner of new property on my head that can no longer grow trees. I officially started my receding hairlines. It is not much. It is not like I lost a lot, but I can definitely notice more of my forehead on the top right and left corner then say, when I shaved my head a couple of years ago.

I don't know what to feel about it besides regret of shaving my head. If I didn't shave it, I wouldn't have noticed how obvious my big forehead is and would not feel like its the end of MY world.

I know I am getting old. I know that with age comes the white hair, the wrinkles, the baldness (sometimes) and eventually bitterness and diapers. But I didn't expect to have to embrace it so early. Not to mention, it scares the crap that I have no idea what my body is like on the inside. For the most part, I think I am healthy. Sure, I drink way too much juice instead of water. I don't eat enough fruits and vegetables and I can sure use a work out. Atleast I listened to that doctor theory that drinking lots of wine helps you live longer. I have taken that advice without thinking twice.

So today I sit and think about tomorrow. Not because the world may end. It wont. But because tomorrow, I will not be as young as I am today and perhaps I need to start paying closer attention to my health. This realization is good. It will force me to start taking better care of myself. This may not be a health scare like a stroke or heart attack (although I will be honest, seeing a receding hairline nearly caused one), seeing how I am aging will help want to take better steps to make sure I get older healthier.

Too bad I didn't still have hair. Otherwise, this new start I need to make about my health would have forced me to shave my head to remind me to keep doing it. I guess all I have to do to remind myself to try and not get too old too fast is just look in the mirror at my big Reese Witherspoon forehead.

Atleast it's not the end of the world.

Mid-Life Fashion Crisis

2008-09-08T12:30:00.005-04:00

It's September in NYC which means two things:

1) The drunktards who watch their football games will be out on the weekends howling in the night as their team wins. OR: Will start fights in the streets when their teams lose. and..

2) Its Fashion Week.

Fashion Week happens a couple of times a year here in NYC. It is a big deal for anyone who enjoys fashion and/or celebrity. They main tent is built in Bryant Park (across the street from my work) and is then injected with teenage girls who look like Mary-Kate Olsen's little pet project, a group of people with 18 neck badges that read "FULL ACCESS" on them, and a handful of gay personal assistants. All walking around in front of Bryant Park.

I personally don't mind it. It is fun to watch people and even more so when you get to watch people who dress up at 9:00 a.m.

My wife loves fashion week because she IS a fashion student. To her, Marc Jacobs is what Slash from Guns and Roses is to me. So I can understand her excitement.

When Fashion Week rolls around, it always makes me look at how I dress. My "style" or better yet, "fashion sense" has evolved since I was in high school.

I went first through the Hip-Hop stage, where I wore my dads pants because they were as big as a bedsheet on me. I wore Cross Colors shirts and Fresh Jive. I wore the overalls with the grafitti on the pant leg and had one overall buckle open. I wore the baseball cap with the price tag still attached. I was trying to be like Marky Mark, but ended up looking more like a white Boys II Men, who if you look back now, looked dorky as hell back in the 90's.

Shortly after high school, I got into the whole "Life is a beach" thing. Listened to a lot of Sublime and wore flip flops and hawaiian shirts (yes I know, my wife would have never looked at me if she met me then). I bleached my hair and wore orange sun glasses. I would kick my own ass if I saw myself now.

Then I went on to the whole "I am too cool to look like anyone so I go to the thrift shop and wear cool shit nobody else wants to wear" phase. This was in my early 20's. I would wear things like bubble vests with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle thrift shirts (before they became cool and started selling at Urban Outfitters). I wore plaid pants and hush puppies. I wore knit skull caps with patterns on them. I even put leopard print on my hair for about 6 months. Why? cause nobody else thought of doing it, so I tried it. It was a terrible idea. I basically looked like the 70's threw up on me. And I thought I was cool as hell. I was so different, but it wasn't cool. It was creepy.

Later I got into the skating phase. While I was into skating for a while, I didn't dress the part. So, I finally tried it out. It lasted about 3 weeks when I realized I looked like a 16 year old boy. Most of my skater buddies pulled off outfits. Me on the other hand, I looked like I shopped at Wal-Mart for my "I SK8, there for I H8" shirt. So I stopped.

Then I just went into the whole "Luke Perry- 90210" look around 2002 where I just wore white t-shirts and jeans....ALL THE TIME! I had like 30 white shirts and that is all I wore. Why? Because you can't go out un-matching that way.

When I met my wife my fashion style kind of gave up. From 2003 to about when I met her, I kind of gave up and put on whatever was clean in my closet. Didn't care if it matched, if it looked funny, or if it made sense. If it was clean, it was going on. My jeans were still on the baggy side. My shirts had holes in them and said things like "Ninja' Please". I wore army hats and bracellets and didn't really give a shit anymore. I wasn't looking to get laid. I wasn't looking to impress girls with the way I dress. I just wanted to skate, surf, and watch Tarintino movies all day long.

When my wife met me she threw me into her "Transformer" machine and now I dress pretty nicely. She made me get rid of the baggy jeans and replace them with fitting jeans. She made me get rid of my "Idaho, no! You-da-ho!" shirts and replaced them with clothes from H&M and Zara. My ghetto sneakers were replaced by nice, solid black shoes. My hat collection shrunk dramatically. I started wearing suit vests over t-shirts. Started wearing beige slacks when I went out with friends. Started wearing button ups to dinners. I became a normal, good looking guy (according to her, not myself).

I dig it. I like the way she helped me pick clothes that do make me look my age. I used to dress like I was still 19, but now, I have embraced the "I will soon have white hairs so I must wear clothes that are not from the mall" anymore.

My most recent purchase is a bit scarry. When Sexy Swedish Wife and I were shopping in Paris, she went ahead and made a bold move and bought me a leather jacket. Until that moment, I always thought that the people who pull off leather jackets are people like Brad Pitt when he sits on a motorcycle, or the guy who plays the man-whore on Grey's Anatomy. I, did not think that I can pull it off. Leather jackets are either really dorky on someone, or really cool. Cool guys pull it off and nobody questions them. The dorks, well, they look like iditos. You know the ones. The guy who sits at the dive bar who has a beer belly and is 37 with no hair and talks about this "broad I nailed lastnight back in the alley of the 99 cent store".

But my wife had confidence that I would pull it off. The first few days I had it, we were still in Paris, so I wore it and felt ok because 1) every European man wears a leather jacket and 2) I was not nervous because I didn't know anyone. But since landing in NYC a few weeks ago, it has been too hot to try it out and with the temperature slowly dropping, I know the day will soon come where I will have to try my new leather jacket on outside in New York City.

My wife defends her decision and says I look very handsome. Which is sweet. I do trust her because she is a fashion student and well, she worked so hard for 3 years to get rid of all that made me look dorky, that I don't think she would throw it all away by buying me a jacket that takes me 20 steps back. But, I am nervous.

I am almost 30, and this is the closest I am to having a mid-life crisis purchase. Most, go out and buy a motorcycle. Sure, I was not the one who bought the jacket, but I am nervous that if I put it on, I will like it and therefor, use it to fill in my mid-life crisis void. The jacket is the new "white shirt and jeans". I don't want to over do it and be the guy who ALWAYS wears the jacket.

So, I will swim lightly. I will take baby steps into the world of "guys who can pull of leather jackets" and hope I don't fall into the "nope, not cool enough to pull it off" hole.

Let's hope my wife knows what she is doing. ;)

P.S. What did ever happen to Andrew Dice Clay? (pictured above).

The 65th Jewish Holiday of 2008!

2008-09-04T13:34:00.003-04:00

Jews have a lot of holidays. I think we have about 865 holidays each year. Atleast that is what it feels like. There is a holiday for when we were slaves in Egypt. A holiday for when we left Egypt. A holiday for when we ate in the desert while running from Egypt. A holiday for when we stopped at the gas station to use the bathroom and buy smokes on the way out of Egypt. Even a holiday when we realized we were back in Egypt because we been walking in a fuckin' circle for the first 39 years.

All holidays seem to be revolving around the same concept: How the Jews suffered.

A Holiday to celebrate how we were inslaved. A holiday to celebrate how we were at war. A holiday to celebrate how Mel Brooks didn't get that Oscar he so rightfully deserved.

We sure suffered a lot it seems. Atleast that is what they tell us when we are kids. I still don't know what half the holidays we celebrate are for. You have "Sukkot", where you build a homeless shelter in your backyard and decorate it with things to celebrate the Jews as they walked in the desert. I did not realize the Jews back in the day had a Michael's Arts and Craft stores in the desert to buy shit to decorate with.

Another holiday is "Purim" which is basically the ghetto version of Halloween. It is celebrating when the Jews were saved from extermination in Persia. One of the things you should do when celebrating is drink A LOT! "They tried to kill us, so lets drink to that!"

As I said, I don't get half the holidays, but I do know I have to be at my parents house for the holidays. When I lived in Los Angeles, I used to drive out to the folks for almost every holiday. But now as Fine Ass Swedish Wifey and I live in New York (which has more Jews then Los Angeles and the entertainment industry combined), it has become a lot harder to make it to the holidays.

And so, my mother is a Jew who is suffering, because her son can not make it to Rosh Hashanah this year. I guess since all the other holidays are about Jews suffering, perhaps we can start a new holiday in the name of my mother. :)

But in all seriousness, I feel guilty. I do. But fact is, that with us living in New York, and flights being so expensive, it is very difficult to make it out to LA for a weekend to celebrate. I know that Rosh Hashanah is one of the BIG/MAJOR holidays (in comparison to the other 820 much less significant holidays), but still.

So today I feel guilt. Which I guess is something they have a holiday for as well (see Yom Kippur).

Anyway, sorry mom. Perhaps her and my father should come celebrate Rosh Hashanah in New York. After all, this is much more realistic to the story. NYC has a crap load of Jews who are walking...much like the desert. So if anything, this is a great place to celebrate!

As guilty as I feel, atleast I am not a Scientologist. Because making a trip out to space for the holidays will be much more expensive.

9021-"uh...how about No!"

2008-09-03T14:11:00.007-04:00

Another new "You wish you were as rich as them but know that they live pathetic lives" tv show started yesterday with the new 90210.

Much like Gossip Girl, this is just another show to make your teenage sister wish she was 92 pounds and pretentious.

I didn't watch the new show. I already been sucked into Gossip Girl by my wife and while I can not escape the torture of people squinting their eyes when they speak, or dressing up to school in clothes that last time I remember I was in high school, were actually against policy and you were forced to go home and change or forced to wear your gym shirt over it for the rest of the day. Not to mention you were written up if you wore things like tank tops, hats, unbutton shirts, t-shirts with things like "Jesus loves beer too" and mini-skirts (no, I didn't wear one).

So my Sexy Swedish Wife was watching the new 90210 during my lunch break today (which took up space on my DVR and time away from my lunch. I literally felt my food coming back up as I watched the first 30 minutes of this show).

I will not review the show as a whole because I didn't watch it as a whole. I won't. So if you look for a review, go to another blog that probably has kitties and glitter in the background.

What I will talk about is dishonesty. You see, this show (much like Gossip Girl), sends the wrong message to young kids. For one, the whole cast is thin. Last time I checked, America is one of the biggest countries (in overweight problems), not to mention teenage kids are not only suffering from being overweight, but many, are also suffering from bulimia. Mostly because of TV shows and magazine ads.

So I thought it was funny to look on the TV during my lunch and see that the whole cast are skinny as hell (in a country who suffers from the highest prevalence of overweight, which in a recent study found the prevalence of overweight in the United States was 12.6 percent in 13 year old boys, 10.8 percent in 13 year old girls, 13.9 percent in 15 year old boys, and 15.1 percent in 15 year old girls.)

Sad, but obesity among teenagers is a huge problem in the US. As is Bulimia. Research shows that more than 90 percent of those who have eating disorders are women between the ages of 12 and 25 (National Alliance for the Mentally Ill, 2003). About 5 million Americans suffer from some type of eating disorder, such as Anorexia, Bulimia or Bine Eating. About 95 percent of sufferers are female, and teenagers are especially vulnerable due to stress, relationship problems, biological predispositions and emotional disturbances.

But lets talk about the show.

First off, these actors are supposed to play 16 year olds, but judging from these photos and the show, they all look almost 30. Not even believable.

Secondly, for the 30 minutes I did watch it, I noticed the token black guy they put in there. Really? You couldn't do with more then one African-American dude? And worst part is, HE IS ADOPTED! Seriously? You couldn't place a rich, successful, African-American family in Beverly Hills? Instead the one black guy in Beverly Hills has to be the same rank as a Madonna baby? Really?

Lastly, they are all beautiful. I know that shows probably don't become successful if they don't have an attractive cast (if you exclude Everybody Loves Ramon, half the cast of Friends, The Sopranos, Seinfeld, and the Simpsons. :)

So, those who watch this 90210 go "Wow, these kids look like an Abercorombie & Fitch ad". Problem is, kids at Beverly Hills High School don't look like that. In fact, here are some photos from the Beverly Hills High School website. Wow, they really nailed it:

The Cast of the show:

The actual students at BHHS:

Call me an asshole. I am not ragging on the real students. I am just saying that the show could have got more "normal" looking kids. Oh sure, they have the abnormally large Indian guy or whatever he is, but come on, kids at BHHS do NOT look like this:

That's all I will say. I give this show one season before it is replaced with a new show about High School kids in Miami.

Love Thy Neighbor (Unless He Is An Idiot)

2008-09-02T09:45:00.003-04:00

Everyone hates their neighbor. Everyone. Or atleast one of their neighbors (or one they used to have).

Doesn't matter if you live in the U.S., in Germany or in a hut in a village in Africa, EVERYONE has a neighbor they can't stand.

I have had a long string of crappy neighbors. Back in 2001 I lived with 3 other buddies in a giant house in Woodland Hills in Los Angeles, CA. Our neighbor was Paul Waaktaar-Savoy who was the Guitarist of A-HA. For those of you who are my wife's age (born in the 80's so not old enough to enjoy the 80's) and have no idea what A-HA is, just look up the words "Take On Me" on youtube.

Problem is, Pauly (while the coolest guy on the block) loved to play his guitar at like 3 in the morning on a Wednesday. Sometimes, my roomates and I didn't mind. Heck, the guy showed up to our party once and I think he took some exstacy. He didn't live in this house all the time. I think it was a place for him for when he came to LA to probably record an album. But when he was there, the music would be on ALL the time.

A few years later, I moved to a building where the neighbor had a kid who loved knocking on my door and when I would open it up and ask the little 5 year old what the heck he wants, he would laugh and run off. So finally one day, I opened the door with a Gurilla mask I had from Halloween and scared the shit out of him. He never came back. He probably never went to a zoo again either.

Few years after that, Sexy Swedish Wife and I lived in Santa Monica in California. We had an Irish 55 year old man living across from our bedroom window. This Irish guy had three things that drove us nuts. 1) He loved drinking and then following it up with grabbing his guitar (at 2 or 3 in the morning) and singing Irish songs. I could only make a few of the words out. Not because of the accent, but because the guy was so drunk he sounded like a screaming baby cow being crushed under a semi-truck. 2) The second thing this guy loved doing is talking REALLY loud.

I come from a family of loud talkers, so I can tolerate it. But when you are drunk, the loud talking becomes a bit annoying. So at 4:00 a.m. on a Thursday, you can hear this guy (who lived with his 20 year old son) talking politics, theories and guitar songs really loud. I once went to tell them to shut the fuck up. They told me to "Fuck Off" with the thick Irish way, and I did. I called the cops and they were slapped with a ticket when the really drunk 20 year old son thought it would be a good idea to tell the officers to "Fuck-Off as well". idiot.

The third and final thing that annoyed us about our Irish neighbor was that he was a 55 year old man who loved having fetish sex with large black women. I am all for sex. I am all for fun sex. Whatever floats your boat....by all means, have fun. Just be safe. But this guy used to love to put the whole leather mask on while putting a gag ball in the womans mouth and smacking her with a whip. It was gross. It felt like they were recreating scenes from Pulp Fiction.

Problem was that we could see and hear them. We obviously didn't want to try and see, so we shut the windows and blinds. But, both he and his (endless amount) of lovers, would scream like they were being tortured in Abu Gharib. You could actually hear the smacking sound of the whip hitting her ass cheeks. It was gross.

Now, I don't care that he was Irish. I don't care if he enjoyed drinking. I don't care if he enjoyed yelling at his son because he couldn't figure out how to play "The Unicorn" correctly on the acoustic guitar. But, I have to draw the line at screaming during fetish-theme sexual acts after midnight on a weekday. I can lose sleep over trucks picking up trash, I can lose sleep over a dog down the street barking. I refuse to lose sleep over a woman screaming "Hit me harder!" to a man who can't reply because the zipper on his leather mask is closed.

Moving on. One year later and now Wife and I are in NYC. The apartment in NYC is by far the apartment that has the most neighbors. I have a neighbor from each side as well as top and bottom. Someone to our left, someone to our right, someone behind us, above us and below us. Ofcourse, there is one side that has windows, but that faces the street which has traffic, honking cabs, screaming homless people, singing drunks, and firetruck sirens every 14 minutes.

I have no problem with any of the neighbors except one. The guy above. I have a problem with him because he is an idiot.

A little back story. Swedish Sexy Wife and I came home one night a few months ago after a night out on the town drinking. When we arrived at home at 2:30 in the morning, we found our couch in the living room soaking wet. Why? Because water was dripping from my ceiling. I called the "Super" and told him. He mentions to me that there are no pipes above me so it can't be a busted pipe. He did say to go check on the neighbor above. I go bang on the neighbors door and after 10 minutes he answers. I tell him water is leaking on my sofa. The guy responds "Well, it ain't me" and then shuts the door.

12 hours later, my super finds out it WAS the fault of the guy above. Idiot installed his Air Conditioner himself and forgot that little part in the instructions that says that you should tilt the A/C outwards from your window, otherwise, your floor will fill up with water. Which it did. Filled with water, went thru the cracks in his wooden old floor, and down thru my cheap ceiling and onto my new IKEA couch.

When I went back up the next night to tell the guy, all he could say is "Sorry dude" and shut the door. He didn't bother to even offer for dry cleaning of the couch covers.

Few weeks pass and I wake up in bed at 4:00 in the morning. For some reason, its raining in my bedroom. I turn the light on and same story as the living room, my ceiling in my bedroom is leaking. Same routine, I call the super, he tells me to go check on the guy upstairs. This time I am furious. I slam on the neighbors door. He opens it up and after telling him what the fuck is going on, he comes back and says "oh yeah dude. My bathtub flooded. Sorry." and shuts the door. You MORON! How the hell do you flood a bathtub at four in the morning?

I later found out from the Super that this guy has done this like 6 times in the past few years. He apparently falls asleep or something while his water is running and then it floods his floors. The super said the last guy in our apartment moved out because he was sick and tired of his stuff getting ruined. I notified building management but they (being an NYC building management company) basically in a polite way gave me the "We don't really give a s***" speech.

Which leads us to this morning. This same neighbor is a heavy walker. I mean, this guy walks around like he is carrying gold bricks and Oprah Winfery in a backpack or something. Me, I am a light sleeper. I wake up from the crazy people yelling. I wake up from the sirens. I wake up from the cab honks at 7:45 in the morning. I also wake up when my neighbor decides to stomp around at 5:00 a.m. and move furniture. This is not the first time this happened. This guy loves moving furniture around at the early hours. He has done this a few times within the 8 months we have been living here. Lastnight was very difficult. He was dragging God knows what from the living room into the bedroom at 5:25 in the morning. It sounded like as if he woke up at 5:00 and said to himself "you know what? if I move my TV and sofa into my bedroom. And move my bed and dresser into my living room, I will have a much bigger bedroom. I should try this out! Like, now!"

It really sounded like he was moving his whole house from one side to the other. Nevermind the fact that we just wrapped up Labor Day weekend where this guy had three days to move shit around. No! He would rather wait until Tuesday's early morning to shift his furniture around.

Long story short, I have been up since 5:25 a.m. I am tired and cranky. I have had 2 cups of coffee and its only 10:30. I am about to go get another one after I post this.

I will probably go say something to the guy later this evening but it seems pointless since he will probably just open the door, say "sorry dude" and then shut it. Then he will probably go flood his bathtub while passing out.

Just wished he could pass out in the tub while he's flooding it.

I am so tired. I am done now.

When In Rome...

2008-08-28T09:52:00.003-04:00

I was born in Israel, which is like Americas step-sister or something. America always defends Israel. When Iran or Jordan or any of the other bullies at school pick on Israel, America comes and says "What the f*** you doing?"

It's like walking up and punching the hot chick at the bar when there is a big, biker sitting next to her.

I am not sure why countries pick on Israel. I know its the whole "You took Jerusalem, now give it back!" thing. Then again, we are Jews. If you drop a ten dollar on the street, I am not going to run up and tell you. You dropped it. It now belongs to the free world. I shall take it and buy myself a kosher hot dog with it. Same thing with Israel. Jerusalem was something we Jews took and said "We ain't giving it back ya know! It's ours. See? We put our name on it with a sharpie so that means its ours! what? where did we get it? uh.....we got it as a gift for Hanukkah back in 15 A.D....oh wait, we don't believe in Jesus.....uh.....15 After Moses. Yeh! We got Jerusalem as a gift for Hanukkah at 15 A.M."

But countries still pick on Israel. Which in the human world, we all know the saying "Hey! Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" Problem is, if wars were playing by that rule, the only places who would challenge Israel to a fight would be Jamaica and New Jersey. But nobody follows rules in War. That is why we have rules to prevent us from going into war.

This leads to the airport in Rome. As mentioned in previous posts, the Sexy Swedish Wife and I have been traveling Sweden, Denmark and Paris. After seeing Sweden, Copenhagen and basically conquering France, we were getting ready to go home. We were flying to JFK via connection in Rome.

A quick back story: I have been a permanent resident in the U.S. for like 105 years. I moved to the U.S. when I was ten years old and never bothered to get my citizenship until last year. Never really seen a need for it. I live here, I pay taxes, what's the point of being a citizen over being a resident? When I finally got my citizenship, when I was being sworn in, I remember they said to us "Now, as a citizen of the United States of America, you can enjoy the benefits of VOTING" (uh, yeh, unless Bush is running and then it doesn't matter/count) "You will also have the benefit of serving as a member of the courts" (which is basically a nice way of saying Jury Duty. Also, really not selling this whole citizenship thing yet) "And finally, as a citizen, you can serve in the armed forces in protecting this beautiful country" (uh...yeah. I came from Israel. They force you to join the army at age 18. I didn't move 5400 miles to join somebody elses army). But I finally got my citizenship last year. Since then, I got married in Vegas, drove a UHAUL with my new wife and two chiuahuahs across the country from LA to NYC, and moved into a new city. So, I never bothered with the U.S. Passport.

Finally, about a month before I left to Sweden, I called the 5th graders who work at the USCIS office. The people at the government offices are not very well trained. If you call them with the same question 3 times, you will get 3 different answers. I don't even think they train them. They just give them a phone and tell them to make shit up as they answer the calls.

So I called the 800 number before I left and asked "I am traveling and I have dual citizenship. I am a citizen of the U.S. and Israel. I have an Israeli passport but no VISA. Instead, I had to turn in my VISA when I was sworn in, and instead got this paper that says I am a citizen. Will I have trouble traveling?"

Now I know everyone and their mother knows the answer to that. Yes! I will. Because honestly, unless you have 1) a valid U.S. passport or 2) a VISA, most countries will give you hell. But, since I have the piece of paper and a dual citizenship, I called and asked.

The nice lady on the other end said, "you can use the paper you got when you were sworn in. The number on that paper is the same number they will put on your U.S. passport, so at immigration, they can punch that number in and see you are a citizen".

Great! Swedish Bread and Coffee...here I come!

Back to Rome now. We woke up in Paris at 4:00 a.m. I do not work well at 4:00 a.m. Unless my wife is having a baby, I do not want to see the number 4 or the letters "A.M." on a clock in my lifetime. We took a flight thru Rome and we were in line to board our plane on Alitallia back to New York "Is My Bed There" Fucking City!

"Uh, hold on Sir" The security person at boarding tells me while looking at my Israeli passport.

Yeh, yeh. I get it. Middle Eastern man, getting on a flight to New York, without proper paper work....I get it. I am the exact type of person they teach you all to keep an eye out for. But seriously...

"I am a citizen" I tell her.

I pull out my little paper that has my little middle eastern grin photo glued on it that says THIS GUY IS AN AMERICAN!

The lady looks at it and calls the big, security guy over and says something to him in Italian.

I wait.

Long story a bit less long, 15 minutes later, wife and I are still not on the plane. Instead I am arguing with the head of security who insists that I can not get on the plane to go to New York.

I tell him about the number on the paper, and how if you punch it into a system, it will show I am American...

"Uh, Sir" he tells me "I am not sure what you mean. This is Rome. Maybe, back in New York they have a computer they can put this number in and see you are American. But we do not have these computers here. We have 1986 Macintosh and a bubble jet printer. Thats it!"

Oh crap.

Meanwhile the pilot comes out to us and asks "What is holding up the plane?"

They explain to him that they are trying to get a hold of the USCIS morons to verify I can enter the U.S.

How the hell does that phone conversation go?

"USCIS office, this is agent 9291. How may I help you?"

"Alo? uh, this is head of airport security in Rome. I have a middle eastern guy here without proper papers trying to get on plane to New York. Can I let him on plane?"

I knew this will be a while.

While the baldheaded, Sean Claude Van Damn looking guy who is head of security (who has 4 phones, 2 guns, a pepper spray and a ring the size of my eyeball) is on the phone trying to get USICS to talk to him, the Alitallia manager looks at me and goes:

"Sir, what will you be doing? Your flight needs to leave. Shall we take the luggage off the plane?"

I asked her "If my wife stays here with me until this sorts out. Can we both get on the same flight home?"

She looks at me without pitty and says "Yes. But you are paying for those flights sir. This is not an Alitallia fault, so both tickets will need to be paid by you!"

Oh crap. I looked at wifey, who at this point is crying like she just saw the ending of The Notebook, and I tell her "Babe, get on that flight. Its better I only pay for one flight instead of two" She refuses and I tell her that she must.

I can understand my wife not wanting to separate. There are two reasons. The first is that out of all the times we flew to Sweden and back, we always travelled separately. My work gives me a couple of weeks off while she stays usually for about a month or a month and a half. This was going to be our time to finally travel back together. The second reason she probably didn't want to separate is due to my bad humor. You see, I have for the past 10 years, have had a weird dream/feeling that I die before the age 30. Not sure why. Call it a strange re-accuring dream. I mentioned this once to my wife and she always tells me its silly. Yes, it is. But not when you are in Rome, at age 29, getting on two different planes. Suddenly, suspicion and worry settles in and she suddenly thinks "It's Gods will" and he wants to spare her while I take the next plane into heaven. I have to be honest, for a few moments, I thought the same thing. Silly, but true.

They finally wisk her on the plane (while she is sobbing). I stand there looking at the Van Damn security guy with a "hurry the fuck up" look. Here is the problem: It is Saturday. Its Rome. USCIS offices are open Monday thru Friday. Getting someone on a phone from USCIS is like trying to get me on a phone at 4:00 a.m. It just ain't happening.

He finally gets a hold of Billy in Honolulu. After about 20 minutes of broken English, the security guy hangs up his 1999 blackberry and puts it on the table, folds his arms and stands silently.

"What's going on? What did Honolulu say?" I ask.

"We wait!" he replies.

"Wait for what? Jesus? Delivery? For you to come back from break? What exactly the hell does WE WAIT mean?"

"It means, we wait! Honolulu is checking some things. My battery is low. So, they call back!"

He calmly explained.

"Uh....battery low? How low? Like, will it die on you while you answer the phone? I mean, what does low mean?"

"Relax sir. This will all work out." He tells me.

"Oh gee. Thanks Mr. Van Damn. Glad you are so confident. Last time I checked, my plane left with MY WIFE ON IT!"

His phone rings.

"Hello?" he goes to the person on the phone from Honolulu. "Ah ha. Ah ha. Yes. Yes. Ok. Yes. No. No. Yes. uh...let me check.....Sir, you still live in the U.S. right?" he says looking at me.

"Not unless you need a new fucking roomate here in Rome" I replied.

He goes back to the call "Yes. Yes. ah ha...ok....sure. sure. yes"

What the hell is going on? Is this his wife on the other line asking him if he can pick up some eggs and milk on the way home tonight. What is with the Yes, Yes, sure, sure, for the last 5 minutes?

The guy finally hangs up the phone, looks at me and I shit you not, in HEBREW (my native language) says to me "Everything is fine. Have a safe trip home and shabat shalom!"

You muther-***ker! You were Israeli this whole effin time? The head of security? the effin Bloodsport guy? You were Israeli? You been looking at my Israeli passport for the last 30 minutes. You couldn't just tell these Alitallia people I was your cousin or something?

Fast forward another 30 minutes and he tells me that he, and all of the other security guys are all ex-Israeli ops who get paid very well to live in Rome and do security in airports. I guess in a way, Israel is the big brother, not the U.S. Protecting its country from jackasses like me who travel without proper paperwork.

So Alitallia books me on the next flight to New York. 3 hours after my original plane left with my wife on it, I got booked on a flight to Newark, NJ. Meanwhile, my wife is in the air and for all she knows, I am in Rome indefinitely.

I sit in the waiting area cooling down. What a nightmare. They suddenly page me. I walk up to the booth and its the Alitallia manager is there again. She has good news, which she says that Alitallia has sympathy for the fact that I had to let my wife get on a plane without me, so she will not charge me for the re-booking. Gee, thanks. That is sweet.

Oh yeah. "We got bad news too. Its your luggage. We lost it." She says to me.

"Lost it? How many bags did you lose exaclty?"

"All of them!" she replies.

Excuse me? How do you exactly lose 3 luggage pieces that are the sizes of three Samoan babies?

You see, they didn't forget the luggage in Paris. Or accidently took it off the plane my wife got on and then left it somewhere. They actually said it never left Paris and that have no idea where it is. The luggage could be in a hotel room in Paris drinking coffee and eating cheese at this point.

But wait..this story gets better...

I land in Newark. Un-luggaged. I stand in line in immigration with confidence. Why the confidence? Because Mr. Sean Claud back in Rome said that Billy in Honolulu said he will put a "waiver" in the system so that when I arrive in New York, I can get out of immigration without issues. Problem is, as I later found out, Honolulu Billy, only added the waiver to JFK. Not Newark, which is where I was standing in line at.

I get to the front of the line. I hand over my passport. I tell them "There should be a waiver in there" and smile.

"I don't see anything sir. You will need to go into the immigration holding and talk to them there"

CRAP!

I go into the immigration room where we have about 30 people who all looked like a table at the UN meeting. You got the token Ethiopian, the token Indian, the token middle eastern....oh wait, thats me. Basically, we looked like an office Diversity Group.

Meanwhile, I want to call Swedish Sext Wife to ask if she landed ok. Problem is you can not use a cell phone from the immigration holding room. This place is like the place they interview crooks on Law & Order. Mirror/one way windows. Brick white walls. Low lighting. I felt like I was about to be accused of smuggling little asian children in my luggage....oh wait, they can't nail me for that cause they STILL HAVE NOT FOUND MY LUGGAGE!

They finally call my name up. I get up there and they start ripping me a new one. "Do you know you can not travel without a U.S. passport? Do you know you don't have a VISA on this Israeli passport? Do you know the fine for not flying with proper papers is $582? Do you know I hate my job?"

Wait..."What? $582?"

"Yes sir. It is a $582 fine"

"Ok fine. Here is my Discover card" I handed them my credit card with its 49% interest.

"Sorry sir. Cash only"

Are you kidding? Who the heck carries $500 in cash on a flight from Rome? What am I? A Miami King Pin? Nobody carries that kind of cash on a flight unless you are Puff Daddy!

"Sorry. I don't have $500 in cash or in my bank account. I just came back from Paris with my wife, who I have officially lost, because she got on a different plane and you won't let me call her. I lost my luggage, and frankly, I am about to lose $500. So just take my credit card!"

The lady (who was on her high horse because all people who work in immigration think they are Gods) says to me "Well, you need to call your parents or a friend to bring you $582 or I can put you on the next flight back to Rome"

"Uh, my folks live in Los Angeles. It will be a few days before they get here. Secondly, do you have any friends you can call right now who would give you $582? Cause I want those friends, because my friends, will think I am playing a joke and hang up on me like I am Andy Dick looking for work."

I continued to explain to the lady about how I called USCIS and how they told me it would be ok to enter with this shitty piece of paper that is apparently worth less then a laser disk player.

Suddenly a man in a tie shows up and asks to speak to the immigration lady. He seems to be the Boss. This whole place is like a mafia base. Everyone behind counters with guns. I feel like they are selling coke on weekends here. They both step away shortly and then the lady returns.

"Sir. I am going to do you a favor and assume you were misinformed. I am going to let you go without the $582 fee. But, make sure you get a U.S. passport before you travel next time ok?"

Wow. You went from being the wicked witch of the west to one of the Golden Girls really fast. Did your boss just tell you to take all the passports out of your arse?

They let me go and I took the taxi home. On the way home, Alitallia calls me to inform me they found my luggage and it should be on the next flight to JFK. Probably arrive same day or the next. Great.

4 Hours later, another call from Alitallia. This time to tell me they sent the luggage on the wrong plane to some other place in Italy. But they are working on it and I will have it later tomorrow. Fine.

At 11 p.m. that night, another call. This time, they got the luggage back to Rome. Unfortunately, someone in Rome didn't know what they were doing there so he sent them back to the original departure which is Paris.

I almost wanted to ask if atleast I am getting the milage points for all these places my luggage is traveling to. I hope my suitcase is taking pictures because its officially traveling more then I am.

I briefly asked the person on the phone "If you never get my luggage to me. What do you compensate?"

"Oh sir. We don't compensate any money for lost luggage. But don't worry, it will there on Monday."

Thanks for the confidence. You said my luggage will be here 3 phone calls ago.

Our luggage DID arrive on Monday. More then 48 hours after we left Paris.

That is it. As a friend of mine said "Got to love a country that lets your wife, who is NOT a citizen, into the country while keeping you, who IS a citizen, locked out of it. God bless our system!"

And God Bless America too.

Swedish Lampoons - European Vacation (PART 1 of 3)

2008-08-22T15:00:00.000-04:00

PART 1: SWEDEN

I landed in Sweden after a long flight ready to enjoy my vacation. I arrived at the In-Laws for coffee and bread. It is amazing how much coffee and bread this country has. It's like every 15 minutes "You want some coffee? Some Bread & Cheese?".....after lunch: "Bread & Ham with some coffee?"....before dinner: "Coffee on your bread?"

Just coffee EVERYWHERE all the time. You look at cows in Sweden and they all look like runway models. Just empty of milk. Damn Cheese and Coffee.

So after some coffee and cheese (ofcourse) Sexy Swedish Wife and I left for the Summer House. I love the summer house. First, just the name itself "Summer House" just makes it sound relaxing.

"What should we do after a crappy week at the office? Oh yes, lets go to the Summer House. "

"I have a long holiday weekend, lets go have some coffee and cheese at the Summer House."

"Norway is attacking! Lets go hide in the Summer House!"

It just sounds so splendid. So relaxing. And they call it Summer House year round. Especially in Sweden, where Summer lasts for like four lousy days. How can you name it after something that only exists over the course of a long weekend?

But I love the fact that if its Christmas they just go "hey, we got some days off, lets go to the summer house." Its fantastic. It is known as the Summer House in the cold ass winter too. Which really makes you think that the temperature will be warmer there.

"It's minus zero here in Stockholm, lets all go to the Summer House. I hear its fantastic there this time of year. Sven, grab the mohitio mix and lounge chairs."

I love it.

So we go to the summer house and enjoyed some great few days there. Went to the lake down the street which was full of German tourists. Germans love 2 things: Lake getaways and moose. Every lake you drive by you see cars with German license plates or german bumper stickers. Which all are subtly next to a giant moose sticker. Moose stickers on the car, on the backpacks, or the children while they swim in the lake. Moose! Moose! Moose! For a country that ruled an empire and led a World War, they all seem to be kinda of nerdy now a days.

The lake was nice and warm and the walks through the forest was calming. Lots of trees in Sweden. No wonder IKEA's are spreading like herpes at a porno convention.

After the summer house, the weather got a bit crappy (in Sweden? Shocker!). Fine Ass Swedish Wife and I went to check out the church in which we will get married in. I know what you must be thinking: "Why did it take so long to invent Taco shells with flat bottoms?". Which is a weird thing to ask yourself while reading this. But! You may also be asking "Are you not already married? Why else would you refer to your wife as WIFE?"

Short version (because I still have to finish this blog plus 2 more about Denmark and Paris):

We got married in Vegas with a Hawaiian priest and a couple of close friends. We still want the big wedding with flowers, and the dress (for her, not me) and the family. Her family in Sweden is way too big to bring to Vegas and plus, alcohol is cheaper there, so I will save a ton on doing a big wedding there. We are looking into doing the big wedding after she finishes school or close to finishing around 2010. Gives me time to save up, and gives time for the value of the dress she wants to go down. :) win win.

Anyway, we went to look at the church we want to wed at. It is in a castle of the old King Vasa.

Very f'd up family. Two sons. One locked the other away in a dungen, then when he got out, he locked the other brother in his room for 8 years and then became king when his brother died. Totally twisted drama. The church was beautiful and hey, it's in a castle. Sure, the tour said the castle was used as a prison once and many deaths happened there, but hey, when has the church NOT been a weird place to be (for a Jew) anyway? The Jew in me wanted to negotiate pricing "since people died here. Can we get the church at a discount?....oh the church is free? ok, well, can we get some gingerbread cookies thrown in for the guests for free then?"

Finally, on August 8th, the reason we came to Sweden this year has arrived. The Wedding. Not ours, if you were paying attention, ours is down the line. It was her sisters wedding. They wed at an old church as well (from the 1700s). Creepy side note: The church had a grave yard and while I was outside chatting with some people about wether or not Swedish Chef from the Muppets was actually speaking swedish or not, I noticed a grave stone with the exact first and lastname of my wife. It was creepy. She assured me that their lastname is very common in Sweden. Like "Smith" in the U.S. or "Rchahychaydh" in Siberia. So I guess its not THAT creepy.

The wedding was beautiful. I was asked to film the whole thing and then walk around and film people and take photos. Problem is, I speak as much swedish as a monkey. Asking people "is it ok to take a photo?" or "Can you say a few words to the bride in groom to the camera?" is really weird when everyone around you speaks another language. After a while, I started getting the vibe that some of the guests were like "Why is the creepy American taking photos of my girlfriend?" I just felt like someone was going to come and punch me. I had to have the toast master announce that "this guy will be taking photos for the bride and groom". Although when he said it in Swedish, everyone laughed. I assume he said something like "The guy with the camera is an American who is a bit slow. So let him snap a few photos, otherwise he goes crazy and cries." I have no idea if he said anything to what I asked him to mention.

Swedish wedding was interesting. The speeches (which I did not understand) and the games (which I did not understand) and the conversations with the drunk guest at the restroom (which I kind of understood, because he somehow suddenly spoke english when he was drunk).

Everything was perfect.

After the wedding, the next few days were very relaxing. Lots of thunderstorms and rain. Mostly, wife and I hung out with her parents. Drinking coffee and eating bread.

Danish Lampoons - European Vacation (PART 2 of 3)

2008-08-22T14:16:00.008-04:00

Part 2: DENMARK

Our flight to Paris was going out of Copenhagen. The In-Laws suggested we take a trip down to Copenhagen the night before and spend a day in Denmark. Sight see and all that jazz.

To get to Denmark, one must drive for what seems like the length of the Sex and The City movie. And, just as boring.

Lot's of trees and trees and...wait, is that an old historic green church? nope. Just two trees next to eachother. To cross into Denmark you must take a really long bridge. This bridge is the "black dude" of bridges (if you know what I mean). It's long.

After 17 days of driving on this bridge, we arrived in Copenhagen. Copenhagen is very different then Sweden when it comes to street names. All the street names in Copenhagen look like what happens when you let your baby slam his hands on the keyboard with an email open. You know, you get thing looking like this: "fredrikssudnmotorvejen" (this is actually a real street name in Copenhagen). My guess is that nobody throws any damn house parties in that city. Nobody wants to deal with writing the directions in the invite by email.

"Crap. How was that street off the highway exit called? Rosjkildevej? Is it two "J"s? A silent "K"? Crap! I still have 6 more turns to write on these directions. This is going to take forever!"

I would love to drive a car with one of those speaking GPS systems in Copenhagen. Just smoke some pot and sit in the car and laugh my ass off when the voice lady goes "in 0.3 kilometers, turn left on Klovermarkenjan. Turn right on Valensbakenit". The system will probably crash if I just take it into a 5 point intersection. Me and Sexy Wife's dad actually stopped at a liquor store to ask for directions for the hotel. Can you imagine trying to pronounce the names of these streets to someone? It took us like 30 minutes just to get the guy to understand us.

"Ohhh, you are looking for Osterbroggen. I thought you said Osterbrokken!"

It is really frustrating.

I bet if someone did a study, they would find that tourists just vanish in Denmark every year. Its like the European bermuda triangle. They can't find the damn airport. They just get lost in Denmark forever.

We arrived at the hotel. Very small and cute. In the heart of the city. Well, maybe not the heart...perhaps the Spleen of the city. Whatever. We took a walk through the beautiful shopping district and checked out the castle of the King and Queen as well as some monuments and beautiful buildings that look like something out of a MTV Cribs in the 1500's.

The one thing that did bug me was the attitude. Danish people are not very nice. Very mean and kind of "I don't give a shit" attitude. We got that everywhere. I know I am American and that we are not very liked throughout Europe. I knew that coming there. But the Danish are just piss stubborn people. Just rude. Waiters, bartenders, clerks, employes at the supermarket, people at the hotel, people on the street, homeless people. They are all just crude.

I can understand. After all they have 5.5 million people and the thing they are most famous for is LEGO. Seriously. We got 5 million people and the thing the whole world knows us for is little plastic blocks. That's got to piss some people off. That's like looking at Israel and saying "No, you won't be known for being the Holy Land. No you won't be known as the place that has Jerusalem. Instead, from all the wonderful things you have to offer to the world, you shall be famous across the universe as the country that spawned Hummus. Oh, what a delicious delicacy it is indeed. People around the world will say "Israel. Land of the Hummus!"

Nobody wants to feel like in the thousands of years your country existed and with all the wars and inventions and great scholars they had, to be known at the end of the day as the place that is famous for LEGO. So I understand why everyone is so pissy. They probably get a lot of tourists "Excuse me, where is the bus pick up for the LEGO tour?". All the Danish (Danes?, I dunno what they go by) are probably all "Piss Off!"

The other place we went to check out was Christiania. Also known as Freetown. It is a residential area (about 85 acres) of about 850 residents who, within the areas limits are free to do drugs. Basically, if you want to smoke pot or do ecstasy with your first date, this will be the place to go and do it because its legal there. Problem is, the place looks like shit. First, they do not allow photos in there. Not that anyone would want it. Nobody goes around taking photos of your cousin's ugly ass baby. Nobody wants photo of that kid on their fridge. Well, its the same with this place. It looks like an atomic bomb of "Ugly" got dropped there. The buildings are torn up, the floors and roads are all dirt and covered in garbage. And all the people hanging out there look like homeless crack heads. There was tons of police and alot of high idiots talking shit. It was neat to watch people rolling up joints in front of police officers but then again, if you have to hang out here, I would really not trust what's in that joint. The place makes Gaza strip look like 5th Ave.

So Denmark was interesting. Short stay as I said. Saw the city. Ate some food. Had some coffee and bread that the in-laws brought with them. Good times over all.

And, ofcourse in the spirit of LEGO, I could not resist posting this:

French Lampoons - European Vacation (PART 3 of 3)

2008-08-21T15:43:00.002-04:00

Ahhh. Paris. Famous for things like the Eiffel Tower, the Mona Lisa and well, surrendering.

French are a peculiar breed. The thing I noticed first about Paris is that there are no french people there. Paris is just full of foreigners living there (very similar to Los Angeles).

We arrived in Paris and had my mothers step-sister pick us up. An Israeli French. That has to be the oddest combination. Part of you is from Israel. A land that has suffered great battles and never lost. Never gave up and never gave up hope. The other half, French. Which basically gave up and surrendered. But the couple who picked us up were adorable. Beautiful people. Heart of gold the size of Russia. They have an apartment right smack in Paris which was nice for us since we had a lot to see in very little time.

I will give my review of Paris along with pictures:

The Eiffel Tower

This thing is exactly how I thought it would be. We took a boat tour our first night there and saw everything from the boat. Including the Eiffel tower as it was lit up with lights like an LSD trip at a rave party. The thing looks like a sparkling, giant dress. It does look cool but you can not stare at the sparkling lights too long or you feel like you will have a seizer. It does hurt the eyes. People just snapping photos of this thing like as if it was a new Brangelina baby. The Eiffel Tower is all iron and built on Champ de Mars (which I am guessing has nothing to do with the planet). It is hands down probably one of the most recognizable structures in the world (with the exception of the Statue of Liberty and O.J. Simpsons house). The Eiffel Tower is the tallest structure in Paris. But then again, when you are building a house for Napoleon, most places don't need to be taller then 4 feet anyway. Alot of French people seem to think that the Eiffel Tower (especially now with the glitter and lights) is much of an eyesore. Then again, they don't seem to complain about Jean Reno (who the rest of the world seem to think is an eyesore).

After the boat ride we went into a cafe':

The Cafe's

No matter where you go in Paris, every restaurant has the same thing. Cheese, Coffee and Cigarettes. Very much like Sweden with the Coffee & Bread. French love their cheese. They have fancy names for their cheese. Like "Emmental francis est-central" or "Fourme de Montbrison" or "Picodon de l'Arde'che". Just saying the names of them can turn a woman on. Everything in Paris just sounds so damn sexy. You can ask where is the bathroom in French and it sounds romantic: "Pardon, ou' sont les toilettes?". Sounds hot doesn't it? Next time I have foreplay, I am pulling out a damn French dictionary and just start reading. Seriously.

The cheese has fantastic taste. Bitter, sweet, strong, light, sour, whatever. Every cheese tastes different. Makes me want to move to Paris and open a Quesadilla store their.

The coffee got me annoyed a bit. They don't have coffee like you and I have coffee. In the U.S. you order coffee they bring you a cup (some bring you a damn Big Gulp 7/11 size cup) full of coffee. In Paris, it all comes in a tiny little cup. Like as in espresso. I told the waiter "I want coffee coffee. Like as in a cup for normal size humans. Not in a cup for Oompa Loompas."

The waiter responded "oh, you want American coffee!". Wtf? American coffee? uh no. Its called "The Rest Of The World Coffee".

Even the coffee has strange names like "Cafe' au lait" or "Cafe' Noisette". I don't speak a word of french but I am guessing they are named "Late Coffee" and "Noisy Coffee"?

The cool thing about the cafe' is everyone has the chairs outside facing the street. Nobody sits at a table for 2 (or for 4) and looks at eachother. This is PARIS! The people here are much more sexy then me, don't look at me! look at them!

Everyone sits and looks at people walking by.

"Oh hey, check out the long legged brunette"

"Oh hey, check out the long legged blonde"

"Oh hey, check out the long legged horse hauling the overweight Americans"

I dug the whole "sit here, have some cheese and watch everyone walking by." It's like as if you are waiting for something incredible to happen. This guy my trip on his shoelace. This lady may get mugged. Someone ran a red light? damn it I missed it! I was busy trying to order some cafe' le Americian.

The other thing about the cafe' is that nobody who works there speaks any English. Being that this is Paris and its an international tourist attraction, you would think these guys would bother to brush up on universal language. Nope. All of France seems to have this "If you don't speak french, then we are not going to learn your language then". Even at the Louvre, all the paintings and statues have plaques next to them that are in French. Was the Mona Lisa painted in 1505? Or was she born in 1505? or is this just item number 1505 and later I can bid on it in some silent French auction? What the heck is going on? Forget trying to find a damn exit at the Louvre too. Everything is written in French. "Oh here! This says Sortir. That means exit. No! Damn it. Its the painting called Le' Sortir. Where is the damn exit in this place? Someone give me a piece of this sculptures foot so I can throw it at this giant glass pyramid I am trapped in!"

Nobody speaks English. Menus: French. Maps: French. Subway instructions on a wall in the subway station: French. I tried asking for directions from a waiter and all he said was "I do not understand". Those were the four words he knew in English. "Do" "Understand" "I" and "Not".

Finally, the people at the cafe' LOVE smoking. I picked my smoking habit back for two days while I was there. Just from sitting in these cafe's. Everyone smokes. If you don't smoke they know you are a tourist. I might as well wear a giant "I Heart Paris" with a belt napsack and a camera. I felt so uncool without a cigarette. So naked.

Then we explored the City:

The City

What a beautiful city. Shall I say "Magnifique!". I did not realize when we arrived that "Rue" stands for "Streets". So here is yours truly, trying to find places by telling Hot Sexy Swedish Wife: "I read online about this great coffee shop. I don't remember the name of the street, it was something-Rue. Is there a Rue on the map?"

Too bad everything has "Rue" on the map. At first glance I was like "Ok. we are here on the map. Oh great, we are on Rue. Perfect! The website said it was on Rue and we are on it."

Swedish Wife: "Uh, honey. They are ALL rue. Rue means street."

I had to play it off like "oh, I knew that. yes. yes. Of course it does."

She totally saw thru my bulls***. Never try to pull off bull**** on a wife. They are like Hirachio on CSI:Miami. Try to tell her I did not break the wine glass and she will look at the trajectory of the glass on the floor. She will look at the way the water has collected at the bottom of the sink. She will look at my fragile, shakey, bleeding hands and then call "Bull****!"

I can never escape her.

So yeh, "Rue" had me called out on my bull**** first day there. But the streets are beautiful. All brick roads (which must be a really hard thing to walk down if you are in high heels and drunk). Matter of fact, that should be an olympic sport. Set off 10 drunk women in high heels down a side street in Paris and see who makes it to the end of the street first. Entertainment if I ever heard of one. "Oh, look at Madame Michelle! She is leading the pack. and -- oh no! Michelle is now down in the gutter. Le Michelle has eaten le shit."

We did get lost a lot in Paris which sounds cool to say. "We got lost in Paris". Much better then say "We got lost in Spanish Harlem". But we did enjoy just getting lost and finding our way back. We found an awesome ice cream shop on the island across from Notre Damn. We found a chocolate store that has amazing chocolates. We found cool little houses and shops and some friendly locals while at it.

We did get lost coming out of the subway and walking in the wrong direction for about 30 minutes before we realized "uh.....I don't see a park! I see a supermarket and what looks like it may be a french strip club". We then realized we walked in the opposite direction. Better for that to happen in Paris then say Bolivia.

That's about it. We did go to the Louvre and some parks (photos below). Mona Lisa is really small. I thought it would be some giant painting. But no. It is the size of a cereal box. We saw some cool parks and some even Napoleons apartment. His apartment was made with a lot of chandeliers (which makes sense, considering he probably couldn't reach the light switch if it was regular lights). Below are some photos of some neat places we checked out (plus one movie poster which looks hilarious in French. "The Momie". Who doesn't want their mommy when Brandon Frasier is in a movie with you.)

Well, that's it about Paris.

Vacation Time!

2008-08-03T13:38:00.002-04:00

Travel Journal: Day 1. July 29/July 30 (depending where you consider my first day being)

Ahhh. Travel. I have officially left “The City” on July 29th to go see Sweden/Paris.
Leaving the city for a while felt a bit weird. I will miss the honking and yelling and drilling and screaming and the 6,540 different smells around my neighborhood.

Off to see Europe. Sweden offers many things like Swedish meals like Swedish meatballs and it also offers large open spaces and green rolling hills. Much like New York, if you took away the buildings.

So now I am sitting in the gate at the Amsterdam airport. Was kind of cool to fly over NYC and see all the skyscrapers and then come in over Amsterdam and see…well, all the pot growing fields. If I only had an extra day here, I would be giving myself the Amy Winehouse treatment.

When I was trying to exit the plane here in Amsterdam I realized how odd it is that it takes 2 hours to get on the plane, but 2 minutes to get off. It’s very much like sex isn’t it?
2 hours of airport fore-play. Taking off your shoes. Taking off your belt, your jewelry. After a lot of checking your photo on your passport to make sure you are as “hot” as your photo is, you finally get “inside”. Oh yeah. Airport sexual healing. But yet, once you are on the plane, it takes 2 minutes to get off of the plane. All this build up and then it ends so quickly.

The exiting off the plane is the funniest. Everyone on the plane suddenly becomes a New York taxi driver. Gets up from their seats as fast as they can and cut off as many people as possible to get out as fast as you can. It’s as if a giant monster is in the back of the plane chained up and they let it loose and you are in a race to get the hell off the plane before you become the monsters bitch. Everyone is just so ready to go.

Today was kind of long. We landed. Everyone stood up and then stood and stood and stood. Line was not moving. It was as if the guy at the front couldn’t figure out how to open up the door. “Oh crap. I slept thru this section in steward school. Is it pull? Push? Lift? Break? Oh crap….was this red handle supposed to come off? Anybody here know how to open these doors? Hand me one of those emergency pamphlets!”

Perhapse the pilot for a split moment had one of those moments where he thought he landed in the wrong airport. I had one of those moments before. Where you are in the right place but you have a weird feeling like you may have showed up in the wrong place.
The pilot is probably thinking “Is this Amsterdam? I don’t remember all these trees. Shit. Is this the right place? Everyone is already standing up and ready to go. Shit. What do I tell them?”

Meanwhile, throughout the flight I had to keep my headphones on. A little kid was screaming the whole flight. Kids on a plane is worse then a snake on a plane. I would rather snakes on my mutha’ucking plane more the kids any day. There should be some kind of rule where kids have to take a shot of scotch when they get on a plane just so they can pass out.

Overall, flight was a lot of fun. 6 hours and now sitting in Amsterdam. Got another hour waiting and a 2 hour flight to Copenhagen and then a 3 hour train ride into Sweden. Three countries in 24 hours. I am like Barack Obama just without all the “giving a shit to stop and say hi to politicians” part.

Will write more later.

Suggested Donations For A Cheap Bastard

2008-07-24T11:05:00.009-04:00

I had my buddy visit over the weekend. This kid is awesome. Even more awesome is the fact that this guy has the best job ever (with the exception of the guy who oils up models at photoshoots).

My buddy has a job working for the Robb Report. I was not sure what that was but then I picked one up at an airport and realized its like a Maxim magazine for rich men. Seriously. It has everything and anything you and I can never afford (yes, I know you can not afford it because if you could, you wouldn't be wasting time reading this blog now would you?). I mean really, they should not even call it the Robb Report. It should be like "Here Is The Coolest Shit Ever And You Can't Fuckin' Have It Report" magazine. I mean, some of the things in there were like straight out of a James Bond movie. "Oh, here is a watch that can be used as a toaster! Only $49,000".

I am not sure who reads these magazines. Obviously rich people, but I would think rich people don't even bother reading. They probably have people working for them and they just say "Hilda! Take this magazine and read it. Then come back to me and tell me what I should buy. Then go to Julius and tell him to order it. When it arrives, tell Burton to play with it and have him tell me what it was like. I am too rich to use my own toys."

Either way, people must read it because my buddy has a full time job there. So what does my buddy do? He test drives cars for the magazine and then writes reviews about it. That is the coolest thing ever. I wish they could do this stuff on Facebook for example. Someone goes on a date with a chick, then writes a review and that way, other dudes can decide if she is worth dating.

"The new Sarah Fartelli is fun and sophisticated. My only issue is that her mood takes sharp turns and heads for the worst. When she asked about my previous relationships, I tried to slam the breaks but to no luck and went straight into stories I thought I left behind in deep dark places. She handles well when I took her out for a test drive but over all, I think she is not that much different then the Sarah Fartelli Ex Series. I think you all are better waiting for the next version or just go and get yourself the new Monica Seduction Series. Much cheaper and has a top that comes off...and who doesn't enjoy that!"

Anyway, my buddy was sent here to NYC to test drive some hot new car that I will never be able to afford let alone pronounce correctly. I am still not sure if its Jaguar, or Jag-You-Are (as in Jack You Off), or Jag-uaray....same thing with Porche. Porshe'. Pur-sh. I don't know. That is why I like things like the Kia Sportage. Anyone can say it. Sportage. Easy. It's not Sport-a-ge'. Just effin' Sportage!

So he stays at my place and we hang out. We go out to check out NY one day and we jump to the MET. For those who don't know, the MET is the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Not to be confused with the Metro Museum for the subways or the Metro Sexual Museum for those who are straight but still in-touch with their feminine side.

For anyone who has not visited the MET, you should know that there is no official cover charge. The admission is by donations. Now they have "suggested" donation of $20. I would suggest people try wrestling a bear at least once in their life, that don't necessarily make it a good idea.

The thing with "suggested" is that its what the owners think it should be. Well, I think my artwork is worth $5000 dollars, but I wouldn't sell it for that much because then I would be living in a cardboard box at the 42nd street station with a shitload of artwork. Here is the thing, if its by donations, you can't get mad at me if I hand over $3 to you instead of a $20.

You ever had a friend invite you out and you said "maybe, not sure yet" and then something came up and you didn't go out with them? Well, if they got mad at you for that then they are a shitty friend. Because you never promised anything. You gave the word that you "may or may not". Same goes with the MET. I may or may not give you a $20, but if I don't, don't get all mad at me and give me that look. You know the look, the one you used to get from your siblings whenever you found the "Afikoman" on Passover. It's the "I fuckin' hate you right now" look.

So my buddy and I were trying to figure out what we should donate. He was like "Should we give them a $10?" and I was like "Each? Are you crazy? Maybe $10 for both. Or $10 for you, me and that group of boy-scouts and the 8 seniors behind us".

You see, I don't think I NEED to give a $20 or even a $10. It reads donation. I could by all means show up to the damn thing with an old lamp, some used pans and a crate of Barbra Streisand records. Just donate that and let them open up a garage sale right infront of the Jeff Koons piece.

By the way, total side bar note here: If you haven't seen the Koons stuff on the roof, go check it out. Big, giant balloon dog. If Godzilla and King Kong had a bastard love-child and a luxury apartment on the Upper East Side, and then on a saturday afternoon in July, Mr. and Mrs. Kong decided to take their overweight, short tempered child to Central Park, I would imagine this is what they would buy him to stop him from killing people there. It is visually neat. Although I am really curious where he put the thing before he gave it to the MET. Like, as he was working on it. I can only imagine the directors of the MET coming over to his studio and he shows them the work he is making for the first time. One of the directors is probably like "This is fantastic Mr. Koons. Very well done I must say." Meanwhile, the other director who is a bit of a jack ass probably follows up with "Can you make me a pony? like a giant balloon pony? Cause I don't like dogs. To be honest, dogs are lame. Everyone does dogs. Dogs playing poker, dogs eating pasta. It's been done. Art has done dogs. Do something new. You know what? You should do a giant Barosaurus! Just a big fuckin' Barosaurus fighting a T-Rex. And you can put like pieces of other Barosaurus like as if he poped other ones with is teeth. It will be fantastic!"

Meanwhile Jeff Koons is probably saying "What the hell are you smoking?"

But anyway, donation! So, me and my buddy are trying to figure out how much to put in this thing because you don't want to be disappointed. You know? It's like a movie. Atleast with a movie you see a trailer. Or you can know ahead of time if it is going to be good. But, here, I am committing for $10 to $20 and I am not sure how great the show will be. I mean, its like going to a strip club during a blackout. I wouldn't be throwing my bills at someone if I didn't know if she is really doing what she claims she's doing. I want to see someone climb a poll using their kanckles (Knee/ankles for the hip talk illiterate). I would never be like "I can't see you, but here is a $5". Sorry. That's where the saying "No Cash, No Ass" comes from. Not sure if its an actual saying, but someone once said that to me and I figured it was legit. But that's another story.

So my friend finally convinces me to pay the student "suggested" price which was $10. Cause everyone knows that its ok to be nice, as long as you are lying. He would rather me lie and say I was a student, and give the MET what they suggested they wanted, then seeing me keeping it real and giving them $2 and some food stamps.

We got into the MET and saw some really goddi stuff. Like, chairs and beds that were owned by Kings and emperors. It was like a 16th century Robb Report. Like back then they had a periodical that would come out called "Sir. Robb The III Report" and it has a crap load of stuff peasants can't afford. Probably a guy just like my buddy test driving the new carriage. "I give this new Z-23 Carriage, four beer barrels. It handled great when I was being chased by dragons and the wheel took a passed out peasants head right off when I drove over him."

The MET was cool. Some naked statues. Not really into that. It's like being at a strip club in the summer. Nobody wants to dance. Just stand there.

Overall, it was cool. They claim to have a bar on the roof where the Koons baby Kongzilla toys are. But really, it was a table with like 2 bottles and some ice coffee.

Was it worth the $10? Probably. Although I would have paid less and then wouldn't have felt weird about leaving early. It was fun. I do recommend it. If you don't have time, just pick up a copy of the Robb Report. It's just like the MET. A bunch of stuff you will never have.

Dogs and German G.I.Joe

2008-07-23T09:18:00.003-04:00

When I was a kid living in Israel, my younger brother and I used to play games. You know, like brothers. Where one kicks the other and then you chase eachother around in circles.

Games in Israel were similar to games that people here in America probably played, but had a twist on them so that we can relate to them better. Like, Americans had "Cops & Robbers". Everyone remembers Cops & Robbers! Eveyone played that. Well, in Israel we had that game too, except it wasn't called Cops & Robbers, no! We had Arabs & Israeli Mosad. One kid gets to be the arab militant and the other plays an Israeli Black-ops.

Games in Israel were very odd. But I played them with my brother. Even dodgeball! America has dodgeball. We had dodgeball in Israel too. Except we used rocks instead. The finals were always played at the Gaza strip I think. Don't quote me on that. But anyway, I digress..

So my brother. Him and I had a playful relationship. We'd beat eachother up in a playful way. Of course someone always gets hurt and then our mother comes and breaks it up and then I would go play by myself until, well, I hurt myself as well.

But that is what brothers do. I have a sister and I never played with her. Cause girls want to play with dolls (some boys do too, but when they are old single men and their dolls have air in them, but nevermind that). I never really could play with my sister. It would be like her holding up Barbi and Ken (Yes, in Israel we had Barbi and Ken, except they were called Shoshanna and Rabi Goldblum). My sister would hold them up and be like "ok, now they are on a date" and all I would do is come around the table with a giant plastic tank with G.I.Joes in it and say "ok, and now the Germans are taking them hostage!".

My sister would be like "What? What are you doing? You can't be here with G.I.Joes! What is this?"

"We are ze Germans! You are hiding Jews arn't you? We know you are hiding Shoshanna and her husband! Give them up now and we will spare your life!" I would reply.

Very twisted individual I was when I was a child.

So where am I going with all this? well, I now have two dogs. Two Chihuahuas. I know I know. A kid who played with G.I.Joes and played Arabs and Jews as Cops and Robbers...and he ends up growing up to owning Chihuahuas. Disgraceful.

But I do own two Chihuahuas and they too play very much like I did with my brother when I was a kid. They probably have their own doggy version of Cops & Robbers. Cats & Dogs or something. They probably always argue about who has to play the cat each time:

"You have to be cat this time"

"No I don't. You be cat"

"Well I was cat last time. You be cat, and then next time, I'll be cat"

"Well, what if a bus runs me over tomorrow. I will not have a next time. I don't want the last time I play Cats & Dogs to be that I have to be the cat!"

"Hey look, fuck you man. It's your turn to be cat so you be cat!"

This probably goes on for hours. But my dogs do play. They run around the house and then they have this thing where one of them hides underneath the IKEA couch (see: old couch post). One hides and the other runs around it and barks. The one running around just barks at the couch trying to get the other dog out from underneath it. It is hilarious. In my head, all I can think the one running around barking is saying to the other:

"Comon'! Come out! Come on you pussy! I'll fuck you up! You better not come out! I got a knuckle sandwich for you when you come out!" (I know, dogs don't have knuckles, just bare with me).

But seriously, its a playful thing. They do this for like 20 minutes or so. One hides, one barks. It's like what I heard marriage is like after 20 years.

So today I take the dogs out on a morning walk before I leave to work. I have to, otherwise they do their business in the house and I have to clean it up which I don't like doing unless someone is paying me. So as we walk down the stairs I see the neighbor who lives below us. She, apparently, has a puppy in her house. Little tiny thing. I don't even know what breed it is. It looked like Gizmo from Gremlins. Not the cute furry one. It looked like Gizmo after it got water on it and became all evil!

When I got back from the walk, my dogs begged for a cookie and I had to give it to them. After all, it is the rule of the world. You do something good, you get something in return. I tried to convince this to my wife, but she always tells me "No!" for when I ask for sex when we come back from IKEA. You would think, I behaved and walked around the fucking giant living rooms (seriously, its like walking in Al Capones house) and I deal with the lines and the subway ride, and then I get home... "Where is my cookie?"

But when I returned home this morning from the walk, the dogs started playing this little game. One ran under the couch and the other started barking. Now, the thing that I started thinking was "Oh shit. The neighbor!" I was thinking that not because they may wake her up (she was obviously already up). I was thinking that because I started to feel bad for the puppy. Imagine being only a couple of months old. Heck, your poop still looks like rabbit poop. You still run into table legs because you havn't got this whole "walking on four legs" thing down yet. "Is it right left, right left? cause I have 4 fucking legs! What the hell do I do with the other two while the first two are going right and left?"

The reason I was worried about the little puppy because here are my dogs barking at eachother and like I said, for all I know they could be saying to eachother "Come out from under the couch you pussy! I will destroy you! You little chicken shit! Come on! Come out and fight like a man!" (like a male-dog I mean). But you know, the dogs are probably talking a whole lot of shit. Like me and my brother did when we played as kids. Now here is this little puppy, one floor below us and he probably has no concept of neighbors. My dogs have the concept of neighbors, we walk DOWN the stairs, so they see people on the way down and go "oh, hey, you are the people below us who always listen to Billy Joel during sex." My dogs get that there are people on the way down. They even stop by the door of the neighbors below us and sniff the entrance. They know they are there. But the little puppy who lives there has no idea my dogs live above him. So here he is, sitting on his sofa. Fresh to the world. Just taking things in for the first time. "Oh look at this. A flip-flop. What the fuck is that? Should I eat it? I think I will!" You know, he is probably just hanging out doing puppy things.

Then, he hears my dogs coming from the ceiling. Now, I don't know if dogs are religious. I mean, if they believe in the whole Heaven and Hell thing. I am sure most people would say "No!" but it makes you think, if you had no clue that anything was above you and suddenly, out of nowhere while you are hanging out chewing on a flip-flop, you start hearing voices and those voices are coming up from above. Not only are they coming up from above but they are talking to you. They are calling you "pussy!" and telling you to "Get the fuck out from under the couch!". The little puppy must be losing his mind! "What? I -- I am not under the couch! This is ON the couch, is it not? I am on the couch? or under? I still don't know. Maybe I learned this wrong, I am just a puppy! what? what? I am a pussy? what the hell does that mean?"

I mean, the little puppy downstairs is probably freaking out thinking Dog God is calling him names and challenging him to a fight. My dogs are upstairs going "come on! Fight me you coward! Come on! Bite me! Bite me!". Meanwhile the little neighbor dog downstairs is thinking "What the fuck is going on? Bite who? The owner? You want me to bite the human? but she feeds me! What? I don't understand. Fight who? I can't see you!"

It must be confusing the hell out of him. If dogs don't believe in God (which I think they do, and they are all Jewish too. Just like me. Why else would they be begging for free cookies and food). But if dogs don't believe in God, then the little puppy must think the apartment is haunted or something. The neighbor comes home after work, her puppy is hiding in the bed. She comes over to see what's the matter and HE BITES HER! He probably bites her then immediately goes "I'm sorry, he told me to do it! I didn't want to but he called me a pussy and told me he would beat me up!"

Dogs are hilarious. And so are German G.I.Joes.

Blackout In The Ocean!

2008-07-22T10:43:00.003-04:00

Prince William was pretending to rescue victims as part of a Royal Navy exercise. Someone was not rescued, but rather left behind. As you can see in this photoshop ethnic cleansing attempt by the editors of Rupert Murdoch's Sun newspaper, they thought they can make the black guy on the far left, be left behind (minus his lower torso).

How does the saying go? "You can take the brotha' out the photo, but you can't take the photo without the brotha'" probably not it.

Found via photoshop disasters.

Dark Knight Done Right

2008-07-20T23:06:00.003-04:00

I went to see the Dark Knight over the weekend and I will not spoil anything here.

I just want to say that this movie blew me away. It has a great plot, some great twist, it was not done cheesy, it has some great cinematography and it has (since Gangs Of New York) some of the best, most enjoyable acting I have seen in this lifetime.

First, the plot: Without spoiling it, I have to say the story was fantastic. It picked up where it left off and continued in a smooth way. What I really enjoyed was that this was the first big picture (millions to make) that was not done with ugly CGI and high tricks to sell. Basically, the story of the joker did not require any animation done over the film to sell it. You look at things like The Matrix, Spiderman, Superman....they all had these ugly, computer animation that is so easily noticeable that it takes away from the reality and authenticity of the films. Dark Knight on the other hand limited themselves with the cheesy computer needs and (atleast to me) seemed like they used real explosive, stunt people to do big stunts instead of computerize a person, and used a real city streets to blow up shit. Here is the thing, the fact that this movie takes place without computer animation to show explosions and such, it makes it feel really authentic. It makes it feel...real.

The Twists: This movie had some great stuff. I will not go into it, but overall it was enjoyable to be shocked over and over. It was written very well and it was fantastic to see every actor (and their story) get equal amount of camera time.

Extra Cheese: Movies tend to be cheesy these days. I remember watching the new Die Hard movie and seeing the whole "Bruce Willis jumping on the F-16 off the freeway and climbing it to beat the pilot and take the plane" scene and I remember thinking "ok. That was too cheesy".

Blockbusters tend to try and please everyone. Problem is, those who like good movies, tend to hate cheesy things. Cheesy things are usually either written by really bad writers and/or directors or forced by studio suits to be able to market it to younger audiences. I hate cheese.

The Dark Knight lacked cheese. Heck, it was lacktose intolorent. Cheese was not even in the theater. This is fantastic since when you strip the cheesy lines (like in Sex in The City), and the cheesy action scenes (Die Hard) and strip away the cheesy love story (Iron Man) then you are left with real emotions, real problems and real people dealing with shit. Thats what this movie felt like. Everyone in the film was dealing with shit, and no cheesy solution to complete those issues.

The Pictures: I have great appreciation for the way shots are made. Cinematography is such a beautiful thing that most of the time goes unnoticed. Unless you look for it. First, some of the shots were made for IMAX and while I have not seen it in IMAX, I heard that it looks amazing. But, besides that, what was done really well is the fact that the film was shot like a comic book. Here is the thing: If you ever read comic books as a kid, you know that they followed a certain flow. Shadows on the faces, random shots of feet walking, or a cigarette hitting the floor. Comic book square boxes had beautiful angles of the people from different views. Comic book boxes placed the person speaking to the left or to the right so that the speaking bubble hung over their shoulder. Lighting was important in the books, for it was the only way to "reveal" a character for the first time in between the shadow of the window screen or the smoke from the gun. Every single shot in this movie was done to the perfection of a comic book. The way each shot was captured, made me feel like I was reading a comic book. If you were to color the shots in solid colors in photoshop, it would be the perfect comic book. The shots were visually stunning. The angles were moving. The lighting and shadows were just perfect to leave you feeling like you were watching a film that never revealed itself to its fullest. It always left you wanting to see a bit more in the shot, without giving it to you. Absolutely amazing.

The Actor: I called this section "The Actor" instead of "The Actors" for a reason. Every once in a while a movie comes out that is absolutely carried throughout by a single performance. I can say that Daniel-Day Lewis made Gangs Of New York. His performance in the film as The Butcher made the movie from a long, 3 hour film into a movie that I will remember forever. His performance alone in it is something that made the movie a time piece. This is the same with Heath Ledger and the Dark Knight. I remember when the film was over, the first words out of my mouth were "What a fuckin' shame" because I realized that this man had achieved what every actor wishes they could....to be EPIC as a person. Movies can be epic. Empire Strikes Back for example. You mention Star Wars to anyone on the face of this planet and they know what it is. It is a movie that has become a legendary film. My grandkids will know of Star Wars, just like I did and just like my folks did. Heath, literally has made himself a legendary EPIC performance. Something that will not soon be forgotten. The shame is that he will never have the chance to out due it. Which may be a great thing. Every actor in hollywood at the moment will have to work very hard to out-due his performance. I can say that his performance sold the movie. I don't mean as in numbers. We all know this movie broke records this weekend because of his untimely death. Not in a bad way but people are inspired to go and watch someones last performance. I think he sold the movie in the sense that this movie, with any other actor playing the joker, could have failed. He was the Al Pachino of Scarface, the Marlon Brando of The Godfather, the Daniel-Day of Gangs. He became the character so much, that it seems like it was a different human being all along.

At times I felt the hairs on my arm stand up. At times I felt scared. Literally. The guy got so deep into this character that when you see him play the Joker, you see The Joker. You don't see Heath playing the joker (like you would see George Clooney as Daniel Ocean). Heath did not exist in this film. Talent existed and somewhere, deep inside the Joker, was Heath. But it was not seen on screen. All I saw on the screen was a performance that made me get the chills during certain moments. His acting skills have surpassed every actor I have seen thus far. He made it a craft and made it his life. And with him gone, so is this ability to sell a movie to the viewer by an outstanding performance.

Overall: So, in conclusion, I recommend to go see this film. I will go see it again (and possibly try to see it a third time if necessary). This is a movie that while, I can not claim to be my "favorite film" (cause as a whole, it wasn't), I can say, it is a movie I enjoyed the most. Watching all the above things gave me a satisfaction that blockbusters can still be moving and exhilarating and wonderful, without destroying the beauty of what a film should be.

I give this film a 10 out of 10, or the two thumps up, or the 5 tomatoes or whatever your rating meter is. This film was "it" for me.

It is perfectly clear that this film will be remembered as Heath Ledgers greatest performance and will take some really amazing skill to out due his performance to impress me in any film I will see the rest of the year.

Rest In Peace Mr. Ledger.

Cake Or Death?

2008-07-18T14:18:00.004-04:00

Sometimes you get a craving but don't have the energy to bake a cake full on.

So, Dizzy Dee has a great little post about how to make a Choclate Cake In 5 Minutes!

I am going to attempt this over the weekend.

"...cause sometimes you just want it" (as said by Rich Galan)

Ingredients:

4 Tablespoons cake flour

4 Tablespoons sugar

2 Tablespoons cocoa

1 Egg

3 Tablespoons milk

3 Tablespoons oil

1 Mug

Instructions:

Mix flour, sugar and cocoa:

Spoon in 1 egg

Pour in milk and oil, and mix well

Put in microwave for 3 minutes on maximum power (1000watt)

Wait until it stops rising and sets in the mug

Tip contents out of mug onto saucer and enjoy!

Not ToKnight I Guess

2008-07-18T13:22:00.002-04:00

I have mentioned in a previous post that I suffer from L.A.D. (Late Adaptor Disorder). This is true as well to trying to get things done on time before its too late. Here, I thought (on a Friday mind you) "Hey, I should go and see the Dark Knight movie tonight or this weekend".

I didn't bother to read the news that happened to mention this little bit:

Fandango, the nations leading movie ticket sellers, says it appears to be selling between 9 and 10 tickets per second for the pic. More than 2,000 sold-out showtimes. Add that to MovieTickets.com’s 1,600 and you’ve got close to 4,000 performance sell-outs!

MovieTickets said Thursday that it's registered more than 1,600 sellouts among domestic showtimes throughout the weekend for "Dark Knight." Those included more than 300 sold-out showtimes at cinemas in Los Angeles and New York."

The online ticketer said 94% of its recent ticket sales were for "Dark Knight."

Warner Bros sources say that Imax has 1,600 shows in all U.S. screens for this weekends opening of Batman: The Dark Knight. As of 5PM Wednesday, 1,400 of those shows were sold out.

The above image is what I got when I tried buying tickets for this evening. Even the late shows are sold out. Guess I have to go see Mamma Mia instead.

Today and Tomorrow: Muy Caliente'!!!

2008-07-18T11:03:00.002-04:00

Mid 90's across the city today and tomorrow with major humidity. A big high pressure system off the Mid-Atlantic coast is pulling hot and humid air into the region. Heat Advisory is in effect which is basically code name to "Stay the f*** home with your A/C on".

I, plan to do some major cleaning as well as take a trip to good ol' IKEA in BK.

Stay cool NYC. It's going to be torture for the next couple of days.

Photo Fridays

2008-07-18T10:32:00.006-04:00

A good buddy of mine came into "the city" from Cali. He also was joined by two amazing couples who are some of the raddist, nicest people I met in a long time.

Here is some photos taken by one of those guys (Michael Trozzo). Make sure to check out his work at 3tp.com while you at it.

Dark Knight Tonight

2008-07-17T15:53:00.003-04:00

The most hyped up movie of the year (and possibly of all times) is being released this Friday with screenings starting tonight at midnight. I got bored lastnight and started drawing on a blank skateboard. The above photo is what I got done while watching "Snatch" and "So you think you can dance". Basically 3.5 hours, and I got a pretty cool looking art piece.

More available at my skateboard art site here:

www.deckyourself.blogspot.com

187 on an overpainted wall!

2008-07-16T17:22:00.006-04:00

I enjoy street art. I don't enjoy ugly tagging of people writing "penis" on a subway bench or the nickname they have like Tazer, Gazer, and Mazer. All crossed out with "Blazer" written on top of it with 187 next to it. What is up with 187? I know that its the gang way of saying "watch your back" but really? 187? Sounds so non--threatening. I guess it really depends on what 186 and 188 are. I mean, if 186 is "I will kick you in the nuts" and 188 is "I will put your head on a javelin and throw it into the east river" then, 187 may not be so bad. God knows I would be alot more scared if someone crossed my name out and put 188 on it. Maybe it be better to try and point out WHY you think you are so much better then the name you are crossing out. Perhaps maybe making a math equation to prove you are truly better. "187 + 9 = 196". Even better, start using the persons name you are crossing out in the math equation: "187 is X...and 9 is Y...then, Tazer is -12".

All I am saying is make it interesting. Write a message. Whatever happened to "Chris loves Sarah" written on a wall? Now a days its Chris crossed out by Sarah with a 187 on it. And its not even spelled right. Chris is suddenly Kriz and Sarah is Sayrah! WTF? Do these taggers not use spell check at home before coming out to display their skills? "I am a better tagger then this guy because I can spell "egregious" better!"

No matter. I still appreciate street art. I think painting the buildings with things is fantastic. Gives the character. Its like those cases you get for your ipods. I personally think its probably all a bunch of local painters walking around tagging buildings and then calling them the next morning saying "I noticed someone painted all over the side of your building lastnight. May I offer you our professional painting prices to get your walls all cleaned up?". Great business. You can create work for yourself. If you ever want a day off....just don't go tagging the night before.

So, I would like to give props to some neat street art I have been seeing as of lately. Some are strange, some art cool, and some are downright ridiculous. No matter, they deserve to be here.

So here I give to you, some fine art:

The new form of street artists who seem to also have part time jobs entertaining kids on weekends at Central Park:

Some artist has been creating these fantastic Joker themed designs on already placed subway posters:

This is neat. Graffiti of flowers on the wall that is actually called Graffiti for Butterflies. ""GFB uses images of milkweed flowers to broadcast the location of food sources to monarch butterflies. In the prototype below, the graffiti is placed on a wall above an actual milkweed plant in New York City, signaling the presence of nectar to hungry monarchs in the vicinity.":

From A-Holes to A-Rods

2008-07-16T11:59:00.004-04:00

Yesterday was the All-Star parade here in NYC. It seems like New York has a parade every 3 days. A Puerto Rican Parade, A Jewish Parade, a Gay Pride Parade, a Gay Pride Parade For Jewish and Puerto Rican lovers, A Parade for half Jewish/Half Puerto Rican Gay Men Parade. This place has more parades then Germans have porn directors.

The parade was outside my office at Bryant Park and with it, thousands of baseball fans wearing hats, jerseys, and holding their children who should be in class. Whenever a parade takes up a few blocks in NYC, the NYPD shows up as if it was ground zero. One cop, every few feet, and all just not giving a $&#@. Don't get me wrong. I appreciate the NYPD and the fine officers in this city that DO work hard. Its the other percent of them that are lazy and act like idiots and just don't give a shit. New Jack City my arse!!! I have yet to see one cop helping a crackhead to beat his addiction only to add him to the police force to take down Westly Snipes in a white wedding shoot out. But I digress..

As my wife is traveling her homeland, I go home to feed and walk the dogs every day at lunch.

Its the same as I do when my wife IS here, just without the whole "me-begging-her-for-a-nooner-while-she-laughs-at-me-and-goes-on-watching-days-of-our-lives" kind of lunch break.

So I went to feed the dogs early and when I headed back to the office, the parade was in full affect. Thousands of people trying to see A-Rod's a-rod, or screaming for Madonnas number.

I on the other hand, just wanted to get back to the office where the airconditioner is on. Unfortunately, the NYPD wanted to make my life difficult.

I first attempted to get into 40th street at 5th Ave. In front of the Library. Cop says to me "go over to the corner, they can let you in over there". So I walk to the corner where another cop sits. "I need to get to work!". He replied with "You can't get in thru here. You have to go down 39th and 6th". "But my office is right there!" I said to him while pointing. "Yeh, that still does not change anything. 39th and 6th!" and he points toward 39th. Fine!

I walked to 39th and 6th. Another officer sitting on his ass checking out his cell phone. "I need to get to my office, it is right there on 40th" I tell the guy. He does not even bother to look up at me and says "Can't come thru here. You have to go to 7th avenue". I could have been Osama Fuckin Bin Hitler and the guy wouldn't even notice. All the time just texting. "I was on 5th and 40th, they told me to come to 39th and 6th. This is 39th and 6th, so..." He raised his head with a face of do you know who I am? type look. "7th ave. You can't get in here."

FINE!

I walk down to 39th and 7th. Young cop. I swear, I could take his ass down if I have to. I decided to just walk past him. I walked passed the blue 2 by 4 (which apparently is the NYPD protection for celebrities and anything else against things like angry mobs, tanks or missles. a blue 2 by 4. Brilliant protection plan there). the cop stops me "You can't come in here!"

I looked at him with a do-you-know-who-I-AM!?! look. "My office is right there. I went to 40th and 5th they told me to go to 40th and 6th. I went to 40th and 6th and they told me to come to 7th. This is 7th, I am going to my office!"

"You can't come thru here sir. You have to go to 42 and 7th"

Are you fuckin kidding me? That is the opposite end of the park. That is 2 blocks AWAY from my office you moron! I decided to not care and continue walking. He stepped in front of me.

"Dude. My office is right there! LOOK AT ME! I am in a suit! You think I would make myself look this good for A-Rod? I don't give a poodles butt about baseball"

Yes, I did start using profanity, which was probably a bad idea but I was sweaty, hot and annoyed at this point.

"Sir. You need to not use that kind of language. Now like I said, you have to go to 42nd and 7th" he responds with a stern voice.

I did what any person under pressure by police would do. I made a go for it. I started to walk stright toward the office.

The cop looked at me with a WTF you think you doing? look. He placed the palm of his hand on my chest and said "SIR! DO NOT MAKE ME USE FORCE! NOW I NEED YOU TO GET BACK TO THE SIDEWALK!"

"Look! I need to get to my office, I don't care about baseball. I don't care about Yankees, I don't care about taking photos of them sitting in 67 chevy!"

The officer started to show some compassion: "Do you have a business card with the address on it?"

Are you kidding? No! I went to feed Chiuahuah's. Not meet with Donald Trump! Although, my response was a lot more subtle and just said "no officer. I don't. But I could call the receptionist."

He looked at me and said "How do I know that's a receptionist, that could be anyone!"

Right, officer. Cause before I walked here, I made a grand, Shawshank Redemtion/The Great Escape type plan where I have a lady sitting somewhere in an empty warehouse in Jersey waiting on my to call her and have her pretend to be a receptionist just so I can get to the front of the parade. I gave the cop a Are You A Moron? look. He understood.

The cop slid to the right and said "Just go. Hurry up!"

I squeezed by and started to walk toward the chaos which was outside my office. In my head I was so tempted to turn back and yell back to him "You idiot! I don't really work here! I just wanted to see A-Rod!" But I didn't. It's one thing to almost get yourself arrested from wanting to go to work. Its another to call in a 2:00 p.m. conference call using your one phone call from a a downtown station.

Spider Skin

2008-07-16T11:22:00.002-04:00

I am a tattoo fanatic. I have...wait...counting....just say, multiple tattoos. The other thing I love is comics. When I saw these images via Oh Gizmo*, I thought, wow! I had to give the guy props who got these, AND even more props to the guy who drew it.

Vacation Before The Vacation.

2008-07-11T16:02:00.007-04:00

The wife left a week ago to Sweden. Visit family, drink some vodka, feed a moose. I am not exactly sure what she does in the real life version of the Shire. Filled with Frodos and unicorns.

I am going to join the wife soon at the home of the IKEA corporate office. But for now, I am here. And in the same way that I have no idea what it is she does before I get there, she has no clue what I do. Until now.

You see, a man needs a vacation. He works hard, monday through Friday (although my fridays are kind of spaced out usually). I work long hours. I work hard. When I take a vacation, I want to just let go. BUT!!!!

But, because we will be in Sweden, staying at the home of her parents, there are a lot of things I can not do. I can't really cook naked or fart during dinner. Yes, I know I am totally gross right now, but there is a point to all this I promise.

So while my wife is in the Swedish Meatball factory, I chose to let go while at home here in New York and be what I know I can't be once I begin my vacation. Call it, the mini-vacation or the vacation before the vacation or vacation practice.

Some of the things I have been able to pull off this past week (which might I add I could never pull off if the wife was here because I am scared of her):

1. I burp alot. I try to not burp when I am around my wife or her family. Every once in a while one tries to escape like Tim Robbins in the Shawshank Redemption. But I usually manage to shut my mouth, cover it with a hand or distract her by dropping and breaking a glass off the table. Now, with her miles away, I burp and I burp loud and proud. I scare my dogs. Hell, I would scare little children if they lived in the same building.

2. Another thing I have done this past week is eat whatever I want. My wife is the common sense in this family. I tend to brush my teeth before bed and then somehow get hungry or thirsty and when I reach for that grape juice at 11:40 p.m. she always says "you just brushed your teeth. If you drink that, you will have to brush them again". You see, that is called common sense. I, unfortunately was born with a rare sickness that destroyed all the little things in my brain that makes common sense and I have grown up...sensless. Because of that, I now drink and eat all hours of the night. Mostly unhealthy stuff. Except for Tuesday when I had a craving for a mango at like 10:30 at night. Go figure. Now sure, one might say that it is bad to eat all hour of the night, but I just blame it on depression for having to deal with the fact that my common sense is on the opposite side of the world at 6 hours ahead of me. Which is ironic, because until I met her, my common sense used to be 6 hours behind. I would do something, and 6 hours later realize "hey, I shouldn't have done that". If my wife was really good, she should have been able to call me 6 hours before I ate that ice cream in lastnight and warn me "6 hours from now you will want Ice Cream. Do not eat it!" Then maybe I would be a bit better. You see, its not all my fault after all!

3. I have watched a LOT of 80's movies. Yes. My wife is from the 80's. She was born in the 80's and therefor has a lack of appreciation for things from the 80's like Flock of Seaguls or the movie Weird Science. This all makes sense of course. I was born in the 70's and I could care less for discotechs and giant collard shirts. But, I do love 80's movies and 80's music. Hence why 80's movies are so rad cause the soundtrack is all stuff from the 80's. Best Combo Ever!
In the past week I watched Real Genius, Weird Science, Ferris Beuller's Day Off, Fast Times, Lost Boys, Gremlin, Star Wars, and Eddie Murpys Raw and Delirious. All in one week. This is hand's down the most 80's I have put into my head since well...1989.
Best line in Real Genius: "This. This is ice. This is what happens to water when it gets too cold. This. This is Kent. This is what happens to people when they get too sexually frustrated."

4. I spend a lot of time convincing myself I should clean the dishes, only to later convince myself that the dishes actually enjoy staying dirty and heck....to not make them feel bad, I should also not be clean. Hence, no shower for me or the dishes damn it. I refuse to offend my dishes.

5. I have looked at myself in the mirror way more then the average person should. Counting hairs on my mustache, or figuring out if that white hair on my beard is really white or just covered in cream cheese (it was).

So as you can see, once I get to Sweden, all this will be over and I will have to shave, shower, do dishes, eat healthy and resort to good ol' 21st century Swedish movies. I wonder if they have "Best Of The Best" dubbed in Swedish. Now that would be totally worth the trip.

Anyway, excuse me if I grossed you out, and to my wife, you deserve a gold trophy for being married to me. It is not easy. I spent 7 days with myself and I am already annoyed with me. Heck, their was a good 3 hours on Monday where I threw myself out of the apartment because I just couldn't deal with myself anymore. I love you and I will be on my best behavior once I land.

A Little Rob Machado In The Family.

2008-07-11T15:32:00.007-04:00

My little nephew signed up for surf camp. I have to say I was proud of the little grom. I have been surfing....scratch that, "attempted" to surf for a few years while living in Venice. I planted my face in the sand underwater more then I planted my legs on the board. Somehow the waves always flew me off of them faster then the cheerleader did to me on prom night.

The neph has been getting into some good sports. He picked up skateboarding which is good. Last time I saw him, the little kid was doing kick flips and grinds. I was proud.

Today, I got some photos of him surfing it up at Zuma (which is one of the best spots to surf in LA). When I saw these, he reminded me of a young Rob Machado ("Jew-Fro and all" as my buddy Rich said).

Rob Machado

I got a kick out of seeing him take those waves and ripping them. Totally shredding.

Just wanted to give the little grom some props. Wish I could be there to take him out to the waters. Atleast he isn't beating up paparazzi's.

L.A.D. Late Adaptor Disorder

2008-07-07T17:23:00.002-04:00

My wife should be thankful. I was on the verge of getting E.A.D (Early Adaption Disorder) about nine years ago.

Remember when the Star Wars, Phantom Menace movie came out in 1999? I was one of the douchbags who camped out in line the night before to be one of the few who got to be the very first to see it. I actually remember the ticket they gave me read "#581". I was the 581st person in the whole U.S. to see that movie the day it came out. I was proud.

I remember camping out next to a guy in a full Chewbacca suit. I swear, the guy stayed in character the whole time. Til this day I still have no idea who he was. He replied to everything with the infamous Chewy growl. Even when I went to make a Subway or a beer run, I'd ask if he wants anything and the guy just sat there grawling with that gargling sounds while raising his hairy arm in the air. It was amazing. I don't even remember him going to the bathroom. He slept in the outfit. Ate nachos through the mask. He even sat next to me in the theatre in the whole outfit and when the movie was done, he high-fived me with the giant hand. I, for a brief moment in my life, felt like Han-Solo.

I wanted to be the first to see the first of the Star Wars since the last one. I know, I know, this sentence hardly makes sense, but neither did my reasons back then. Looking back now, I think it was kind of creepy that I slept one tent away from a guy who likes to wear an outfit for 48 hours. People put restraining orders against people like that, and here, I thought I was Han-Fuckin'-Solo. WTF was I thinking?

Nine years later, I changed a lot. I used to want to be the first at things. Be the first to own this, be the first to do that. But then, I got a job and an apartment and many other responsibilities and unfortunately for me (but fortunate for my wife) I could no longer afford being an Early Adaptor, and so, I fell into the Late Adaption group. Matter of fact, I am such a late adopter, I should be in the Senior Citizen Adaption Group. I got my plasma TV when people already moved to LCD. I got my Wii, when people already moved to XBOX 360 and Playstation 68!

I heard of Blu-Ray DVD's after they already beat the HD. I heard of Guitar Hero after they already released like twenty six versions of it.

Don't get me wrong, I read things like Gizmodo.com and try to stay on top of the gadget world. But I never buy it. Just can't afford the $4,000 86 inch plasma TV with the $800 Blu-Ray DVD player that syncs up to your XBOX so you can surf your movies online while playing Halo and watching Oldschool all at the same time.

The one thing I really nagged my wife about was the iPhone. Here was a toy that I really thought is cool. The only reason I didn't go and throw my IRS refund on it was because I have to sign a contract to AT&T with it. Me being the Jew that I am, I don't like the idea of paying for something once, and then continuing to pay for it over time. It's like paying the full price of a Prius, and then still paying monthly payments on it. So I gave up all hope on having an iPhone as long as it is 1) so darn expensive or 2) moves away from AT&T so that I don't have to pay a penalty.

Now the new iphones are coming out on Friday. They are less, so one would think I would jump up and get one. Nope. Why? Because I am a late adapter. I was hoping to buy the first version of the iPhone when everyone else is already on the 6th version. Why? because it would be cheap and I would not feel bad if I break it because by then, I can go on Craigslist and buy a new one for $75. I did this with my Palm Pilot like two years ago. By the time I got a Palm, the rest of the world had "Blackberrys" (or "African-American Berrys". Not sure what's the proper way of calling them now).

So now, I sit back and wait for the iPhone to stop being the "IT" thing and then I will get mine.

But, that does not keep me away from laughing at others for being douchbags. Which I will do now:

The new iPhone 3G comes out on Friday. Today is Monday. Yet, some thought it would be great to start camping out at the Apple Store on 59th here in NYC. Yes, I will make fun of someone who is doing what I did for Star Wars. Atleast I got to sit next to a guy in a hairy costume. If you are sitting on 59th street in front of an Apple store next to a guy with hair on his body, well, that just means you are sitting next to the guy who works at the Pizza spot across the street from my house. That mother'ucker is a hairy bastard. Hardly speaks English too, so he probably growls just like Chewbacca.

Anyway, have fun Early Adaptors. I will call you in 4 years in response to your craigslist posting named "used iPhone first generation. Selling for $50".

Go away people!

2008-06-30T17:29:00.004-04:00

I don't brag about my art or photoshop skills. Personally, I think I suck. My wife (and some other people in my life) always tell me I am awesome, but I tend to think I suck (like that Dyson Vaccume...oh wait, that's the one that doesn't use sucktion....whatever. "A" vaccume).

Anyway, I don't think I am a guru or a "pro" by any means. Sure, I do graphic design for a living, but its for a company that leaves little room for creativity. My head goes to strange places and I never get to play with my ideas in the cube I sit in.

So, I get all excited when people ask for my design help. Sometimes its to make a flyer. Sometimes its to make a wedding invitation. Sometimes its putting someone's head on top of a ripped body so they can use it as a myspace photo when trying to pick up chicks.

My buddy Craig asked for some help. So, I did. As I said, I don't brag much, but I do think the way I took those people out of the picture, and removed a roof to be replaced by fake palm trees instead ended up pretty sweet.

Nothing like making that somewhat romantic moment on vacation become an AMAZING moment on vacation....which never happened. Now you can go and say "We were the only ones there...all alone with the sunset".

You can click on the image above to view a larger version of it.

Happy 29th you douch!

2008-06-26T10:46:00.010-04:00

Yesturday was my 29th birthday. The BIG 2-9. I know, I know. There isn't a BIG 2-9. It is usually the BIG 3-0, or BIG 4-0. But eff it. I am starting a new trend. 2-9 is big for ME! As mentioned in previous posts, this is my last 12 months of my twenties.

I accomplished a lot in my 20's. I was 20 years old when I first moved out of my parents home with $200 in my pocket and a janky car. I lived with my pregnant sister for a few months while collecting jobs doing "extra" work on Party Of Five and Seventh Heaven. 9 years later, here I am with my own "party of 4" (myself, wife, and two dogs).

It has been a long, interesting 20's thus far, with one more year to go in my twenties (which are known to be "The Best Years Of Your Life"). My wife an I got some unfortunate news lastnight. After getting the news, I thought more and more about life and started to think if people really know how much I apperciate them. I know I am still young in a way, and have a long life ahead of me, but why wait until the end of the road to let people know how you feel. So, I want to take time to thank a few people.

I have a lot of people in my life that I appreciate, love, adore and envy. All for different reasons. I get one wish when I blow out my candles (and I did yesturday morning), so now, I want to thank and leave a wish for each of the people who left something special with me in my life so far. I hope I keep you close for the next 29.

I want to thank people, but not sure if all feel comfortable having their names here. So I will use initials. You know who you are.

First group to thank: FRIENDS!

R.G. - You are the closest thing to a blood brother I have ever had. I can't exactly remember when and where we met, but I could swear it feels like when we were kids. You are my exact duplicate. I love you for having the heart the size of a mountain, for having patience like nothing I have ever seen. You are the kind of father I hope to grow to be. One that will do whatever it takes to let his kids know he loves them. The kind to go out to the end of the earth and back for his children. You have a heart made of gold (and some chicks might even say, so is your "member"). You have been there through my hard times and the best times. I will love you like a family member (and ask you for money like one too. j/k).

My B- day wish to you: To enjoy watching your daughter grow up to be as good of a mother as you were a father to her. I am sure she will. She is raised by the best man she can possibly have in her life. If every human had a father like you, this place would be a lot better to live in.

B.E. - "B". You have shown me parts of me I never knew existed. After being neighbors, I found new ways to accept challenges and learn from them. You have been a friend that lets me know that no matter how hard life sometimes gets, there is always a way to get back up. Your success in life is because you push yourself hard and never throw your hands up to quit. You are generous and always giving and never ask for anything in return. I really do not know how you do it. You are a remarkable human who can build a country from scratch if you wanted to. What the heck are you doing in Banking? You should go run a nation. Your talent of giving is something that I truly admire as well as desire.

My B-day wish to you: To be able to receive back when you have given. Even if it is not in a material sense. I wish good karma for you, and wish you blessings enough to last the life time of yourself, your kids and generations after. You have done more good to this world by yourself, then most charity companies can in a lifetime.

G.P: "G". You are my inspiration. Your spirit of seeing the best in people is something I wish to own. You can see someones talents or good, when everyone else sees nothing. You are able to talk to me in ways that I can see what I am capable of. You are like the light in the darkness and you help me see clearly what I can do and inspire me to keep pushing along. You are a giving person who always puts others ahead of yourself. Your family is as giving and loving as you are to others and I can clearly see that you were raised by amazing people around you. You teach me how to see the best in people and love them for their talent and skill and friendship. An old quote I remember from a book once said "Friends are the kind of people who know the type of person you are, and love you for it anyway". You really make me feel like you appreciate me for who I am and what I "could" be, and not what I "should" be.

My B-day wish for you: To be surrounded by the strong, loving family of yours for the rest of your life and to have your life be as blessed as much as you have blessed mine. I owe you everything I have been able to accomplish for being able to put motivational wisdom within me.

D.W: You are the brother from another mother. You really are an older brother to me. You have known me for many years and have seen me grow. We have partied together, lived next to eachother, and even worked together. You have remained a friend while most of the people from those years have come and gone. The reason is because you stayed true and always told me the truth. You opened up to me and protected me in times of need. You have had my back and even stood up for me. That is truley the work of a big brother. I look up to you for the fact that you are proof, that just because your age gets higher, the heart does not have to grow old with it. You have remained young at heard and spirit and I hope to be able to stay true to myself as you have been to me. Your honesty and wisdom have never failed me and will be with me throughout my life.

My b-day wish to you: To be able to keep that young spirit and heart for the rest of your life. I know that you have a big heart and can look out after those you care most about. There is a reason for me to have met you and that is to learn from you and know you will be a big brother for me for the rest of my life.

My wife's girlfriends in Sweden: I do have to appologize to you three. The bond the four of you have is something I have with the four men listed above and I can never imagine not being close to them. I am sorry I have taken my "love" out of your lives. The importance of her in all of your lives is as important as the men above are to me. You are all like sisters to her, and for that you are sisters to me. I adore and love you all and know that you are there for her when she needs someone most. You have accepted me regardless of knowing me as good as others. You never questioned her reasoning and have welcomed me in a way only true friends can. I am happy and blessed that she has you as friends. I do not think she would have had the strength to come here if you didn't show her that you will be there for her no matter what.

I will always love you three for being the best friends my wife can have and will be the first one to answer if you ever need anything.

My b-day wish to you all: To be able to keep the strength of staying together. The friendship you four have is a bond that can never be broken as long as you know how important it is for each of you. I can see you all being friends well into your retirement years, and with every year, your bond will get stronger. Thank you for accepting me and for being amazing people for her.

My friends who are not listed: I could mention many more people. Frankly, some I don't know your last name, so listing one initial would be pointless. Besides, every friend in my life has brought something that I learned from and will take with me for the rest of my life. So thank you.

My b-day wish to you: That we can have a friendship that will last for the rest of our lives and that our lives are filled with health, wealth, and joy.

TO MY FAMILY:

My wife's brother and sister (and their partners): You are the most welcoming people I have ever met. With out a second thought, you have opened your hearts, minds and arms (as well as opened up your home) to me. You have the strength to let your little sister go to the other side of the world to be with someone you trust and think is worthy of her. For that, I can not say thank you enough. The siblings are the glue that keeps the family, and you are by far the most strongest siblings I have met. You are as good of friends to me as if you have known me my whole life. You have made me feel like a family member and have nothing but amazing things to say about me. I am truley honored to call you family. I hope that I can raise my children one day to be as close as you all are and to make sure they are as sweet, kind, loving and gracious to others, as you have been to me. I love you all as I love my own brother and sister. I will return my love, heart, and friendship back to you as you have done to me for the past few years you have known me. There is no way I can ever known that a family like yours can be so welcoming. I thank you for being you and for letting me, be me.

My b-day wish to you: To stay blessed with the most wonderful people around you. Your family and lovers, are the most incredible people, and you make them better people. I hope to learn from you and hope to continue to be a better person because of knowing you all.

My wife's parents: Where do I start? you are the most incredible people I have ever met. I can not imagine what it is like to let your daughter go out of your home, out of your city and out of your country. I hope I never have to do that, but if I do, I hope I can have the strength you have had to do it for your daughter. I can not begin to explain how much I envy your family values. You have put yourself second and let your daughter be first. You supported her to go after her dreams of learning in the U.S. and now, let her go after starting her own family. It is an amazing courage to step aside and let someone go on their own. You are outstanding parents who have raised amazing children who have given more to the world then anyone can ask. You are supportive as a back bone and keep all those in the family grounded. Your strength is something that can never be broken and what you have tought your family, is something that can never be unlearned. You are the air that they breath, and they can not live without you. I look at your daughter every day and thank that she has you as her parents. She is smart (seriously, a genious), she is as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside, she is funny, charming, loving, caring, giving, sweet, elegant, respectful and professional, and I can say from the bottom of my heart, Thank You! for raising her to be the best woman a man can ask for. Your daughter is "perfect" in every sense of the word and it is all because of you. You are an amazing couple who take anyone into their home and into their hearts, and I know that my life and marriage will be successful for the rest of my life because my wife is the best thing I can ever ask for because her parents have raised her to be that way. You should be very proud. I know I am to have you as my in-laws and I couldn't ask for a better family to join then the one have now. Thank you for being the most incredibly open and loving family. I look forward to growing old with you all in my life.

My B-day wish to you: I will only say this: If I can have half the strength you have when I finally have children, If can raise a family that is half as amazing as the family you have raised, then I would be most pleased. I do not think there is a way I can ever have the strength you have as a parent, but I promise to do my best and try. I will love your daughter for the rest of my life and beyond, and will give her my all, just like you give her your all. I hope that if anything at all, I make you proud.

My Sisters kids: I love the two of you as if you were my own kids. I am proud of you and take joy in knowing what amazing men you will grow up to be. You may not know this, but I learn from you. It sounds silly, but your pure and young heart keeps me young at heart. your laughter and wisdom is something I wish I could have. The pure joy in living as a child is something I try to hold on to for as long as I can. Whenever I see you and talk to you, I feel young again. If I could, I would return to my childhood again just so I can be friends with you at school. You both have an amazing family that loves you and will do anything for you. You are always protected and will always be loved. I hope that you take every opportunity that comes your way. You can be a pro-skater, a singer, an artist, a doctor, even a president. don't ever let anything hold you back and don't let anyone let you think you are not good enough.

If I can tell you anything, it is this: 1) do your very best in school. I know it sounds lame but believe me, I was not very good at school and now that I am older, I wish I did it differently. I dont want you to look back one day and wish you did something differently. Just do it the right way now, so you have no regrets. 2) always go for it. Seriously, if you want to be a pro-skater, spend as much time as you need practicing. If you want to learn music, listen to all kinds of music and learn from your history. There is something good about practice. It makes perfect.

3) Always love first and always give before asking for something in return. Too many people in the world "want want want". The things we own, like playstation, rollerblades, a tv, they are all nice, but when you get older, you will realize that there are a lot of people who have nothing. It feels so much better to give to someone and love someone instead of asking for something for yourself.

My b-day wish to you: To stay young at heart as you get older. You both are extremely smart and you will take over the world. I hope that you realize that the people around you (saba, sata, your grandma and grandpa, Guy, Nef, Damar, Karin and even myself) all love you and will do everything we possibly can to make sure you get the best opportunity in life. You will never have to worry about not being loved. We will all always love you. And make sure you wake up every morning thanking your mom. Your mom is what will get you through life and you have your whole life to thank you for.

My Sister: You are my armor. You have protected me and looked out for me since I was born. You are the closest thing to me and our bond is like iron. I learned more from you then I have in school. Nobody is perfect, and yet, you love me for who I am anyway. You took me in when I first ventured out on my own and you have looked out for me since. You give me strength and courage to go out into the world and take it by storm. I learned alot from you so far and I know I still have a lot more to learn. I still have a lot more to teach as well since you and I both learn from eachother. You are an outstanding sister and an even more outstanding mother. You have raised some fine boys who will grow into some remarkable men one day. I miss you and hope that so far I have been eveything I can possibly be as a brother. I hope I never disapointed you and hope we grow together and never BS eachother. I am glad to call you sister.

My b-day wish to you: To be blessed with a long, healthy life to see your children achieve everything they are capable of. If they grow up to be half as good to eachother as you have been to me, then they will be truley blessed.

My Brother: You really help me keep my head on my shoulders. You remind me a lot of myself. That is a good thing, because I can learn a lot from seeing you and hopefully teach you as well. I can not express to you how much I love you man. Your persistence in life is an amazing quality and your ability to learn things quickly is something many hope to gain. You are a talented, extremely smart person and I hope you get all that you deserve in life. You are the trunk of the family tree, and you hold up all of us when we are ratteling in the wind of the storm. Your ability to stay strong and to hold down your own, is the reason we all can stay together. Don't ever feel like you are not bringing anything to this family, you have brought more into it then anyone else. You have been able to keep us from breaking apart. In our glass house, you have been the one to keep the bricks out of our hands. I know it sounds cheesy, but you are truley an amazing, and inspiring humanbeing. For that, I thank you.

My B-day wish to you: To be able to find what you love, because the talent you have can make you more successful then you can possibly dream. You have a great mind that can lock onto a thought, and see it through. I hope that success becomes you and that you are able to achieve all that I know you are capable of.

My Mother: If there is a peace of heaven on this earth, it is definitely inside your heart. It is a talent, how you raised me as a mother. Now that I am 29 and will probably be a father (soon to hopes of dad), I look back at everything you thought me and I am just amazed by the grace of your spirit. You have never given up hope on me, even when I have given hope up on myself. You have stood by my side when the wind was blowing and you lifted me up above water when I felt like my world was drowning. There is not enough positive words to define how you are as a mother. With every birthday, I realize I am more and more like you and I am thankful for that. You can make me see my talent and what I am able to accomplish better then anyone on this planet. You are the light within me that keeps me going and the sun that helps me flourish. I just want to say thank you for being able to see me for who I am and what I want to be. You are supportive and loving and there is no rhyme to your reasons for loving me.

My B-day wish to you: To forever know that the love you watered me with, will help me grow and pass it along to others. I will pass the kindness and love I have learned from you onto my children and so on. You have forever, changed this world.

My father: If God has made man in his image, then I believe it when I see you. There is nothing in this world you can not change. You are the strongest human I have ever witnessed. With a heart the size of a ship and the courage of a lion you have been able to take our family and keep it sailing. I can never be as good of a father as you have been, but I will always try. There is a force within your parenting that makes me envy everything about you. You are the most loving and giving man and the compassion you give to others before yourself is selfless and kind. I can only hope to grow up to be as strong on the inside as you are. Your ability to handle life is remarkable and there is no force in the world that can stop you from protecting and caring for those you love. If I grow up to be an outstanding father, it is truly your doing. There is no question in the world that you don't have an answer to. There is no pain in the world that you can not endure. There is no love in the world that you can not match. You are the greatest man in my eyes, and you can rest in comfort knowing that everything I am, everything I create, everything I will be to my kids and grandkids, is all because of you. You molded me into a fantastic person who is willing to put his family first and himself second. Just the way you have. That, is a beautiful thing and only great men in history are known to do.

My birthday wish to you: To be able to know that you will never have to stress or worry about what kind of father I will be. I promise you that the way you have raised, loved and taught me, is the way I will in my family. I am your biggest idol and you don't need me to wish for anything for you except many more years of being surrounded by all of us who love you.

and last but never least....

My Wife: It maybe a bit cheesy to write everything here. I know. Then again, I think the only people who read this are you and my mothers, so I am not too embarrassed. I always feel like I never tell you how much I love you enough. But, I want to tell you that you are my "whole". You are my reason for waking up in the morning and my reason to breath. Your ability to motivate me and to push me to places I never thought I could touch is amazing. Whenever I feel like I can't reach higher, or go furthur, you get behind me and push me along. Your strength to support me emotionally and with endless amount of support is priceless. You can not find the kind of love and affection you provide in any kind of person in the world besides you. You are the door in which has made my life with you my home. My years before I met you have been only lessons to teach myself to be able to return my love for you. There is million words of beauty I can write about every small piece of you. From your eyes, to your soul, from your heart to your nose. I love every single inch of you and your spirit, and I adore everything about your personality and ability to love. You have sacrificed your friends and time with family to be here with me and to that I am forever in debt to you. You have showed truly what you are made of by being able to set aside your life at home, to be able to come here to start your own. Your smile can cure any ache and pain in any person and I can tell you that from the day I have met you, I never once, felt pain or sadness. The ability to be surrounded by you is something that can bring peace to anyone who comes across you. I can not change myself enough to even come close to the perfection that is you. If there are lines I ever crossed or things I have said that were ever less then perfect, it is only because I am incapable of ever being as perfect as you. You are the sun in my day, and my dreams in the night. I wake to spend every second to see you and I sleep to only dream of you.

You are my engine within my talent, you are the electricity within my potential. You are my wings that take me higher everytime I achieve something new. You are my reason to live.

My birthday wish to you: I make no wish. I make a promise. I promise to never let you down and always be by your side. I am the shoulder you can lean on. The arm that will never let you fall. I will be the feet that will take you on your journey in life and I will be the backbone that will help you rise when you are weak. Because no matter what you think, you have been all those things to me. I promise you that I will be everything I can for you, even if I never come close to what you have been for me. I love you.

- SD

Everything's Not Lost....

2008-06-24T09:19:00.008-04:00

Last night Wifey and I had the pleasure of attending the free concert by Coldplay at Madison Square Garden. It was the very first (and only) free concert in North America where as of this past week, Coldplay's single Viva La Vida became the first single ever to be number one in America top 100 and the U.K. at the same time for them.

This was our first time in Madison Square Garden and it was exciting to go to a place where I know so many great events took place (Knicks championship, Muhammad Ali fights, Hockey Cups wins). This was no different. Matter of fact, by the time I stood in line to exit the seating area at the end of the show, I looked up at the ceiling where old jerseys of famous players like Ewing were hanging and I thought "This band deserves a jersey up there." This show was legendary.

I come here not as a HUGE Coldplay fan. They are my favorite band (although as for favorite albums I would say Damien Rice wins that one with "O"). I do give this review as someone who really feels like he can't handle concerts anymore.

We arrived at 7:10. Show starts at 8:00 according to the ticket and I could not find any info prior to it regarding an opening act so I didn't want to risk it. We sat down in our seats with popcorn and a $9 Amstel. The first opening act was "Blue Jackets". A local rock band from Long Island. The band had some good rock tracks and some not as good. I have to say, I felt a bit of curiosity to follow up on this band this morning after hearing the last song lastnight which sounded like the lead singer singing "Let me see your stinky feet, your stinky feet..ya ya ya". I couldn't figure out if he was really saying that. You can find the band on iTunes. I would recommend atleast the single "None The Wiser".

The second opening act was the closest thing to ever drive me to suicide. It was a DJ. Not exactly sure if it was a man or a woman. Tall, skinny, thin hands and flat chest. That is basically every raver I have ever see (male and female) so I can't tell you for sure.

The DJ played something along the lines of lounge, trip-hop, mixed with sound effects and crappy dark alley noises. All the while projecting acid-trip like animation on the screen that looped to the drum beats. I felt like I was having a seizure. It was cool for the first 6 minutes, but after going on for 30, I wanted to boo the guy off stage. This alone will be the reason I give this show a 9 out of 10. Terrible.

Now, on for the Coldplay show:

For 10,000 free concert tickets, these guys had fun doing it. The show was not entirely perfect, with sound issues and even lyric and equipment mistakes...which in a way, did make it perfect. Wifey said that it made it feel natural and not so "perfect" and the fact that mistakes happened, let you see the band in their natural environment. It was like watching a rehearsal which was cool.

Some celebrities were in house, from Chris Rock, Kristin Dunst, Stuart Townsend, Molly Sims, and Charlize Theron. This was the bands first show in North America in over two years...so no pressure. :)

Although mistakes did happen, the band took it in stride and made the best of it. At one point, Martin even said "Well, there are no refunds" while attempting to fix the guitar that gave him trouble.

The stage started with a black curtain covering the stage which lifted slowly as the band opened up with their album opening track "Life In Technicolor". Once the curtain rose to the top, the whole band can be seen with extreme energy. Chris Martin on vocals, piano and guitar (he switched between instruments all night), guitarist Johnny Buckland who hands down owned the night. The guy tore up on his electric guitar and by far, stood out the most musically that night. Bassist Guy Berryman, who Martin jokingly mentioned between songs "It just goes to show that with a big production, and a handsome bassist, you can achieve anything" while talking about the Viva La Vida single going to #1 in the U.S. Last but not least was Will Champion who through out the night was going from a normal drum set, to a couple of large drums and banging on a giant bell. He even gave a surprise, but more on that in a bit.

The band went on to play Violet Hill as the first official song of the night with extreme energy with Chris jumping all over the stage, platforms and speakers. He maintained this energy all night and spending equal amount of time on all sides of the stage for every fan to enjoy.

The continued on to play Clocks and then In My Place which are old favorites. This got the crowd up and singing along. Many times during the show, Martin would ask for a little help singing along on many tracks. The crowd really got into it (the fact that they served beers in the seats probably helped a little).

They continued onto Viva La Vida, the hit radio single which brought out amazing light shows.

About the light show, it was incredible. For the first two songs, they had lasers across the stadium along with giant light bulb looking things hanging from the ceiling which displayed words, images and at times, the band itself live. Martin could occasionally be seen projected on them when he stopped skipping around for a bit. Which was not often.

For Chinese Sleep Chant and God Put A Smile On Your Face, the band took to the edge of a platform, literally setting up the whole drum set for Will and the whole band squeezing together to play what seemed like was going to be an acoustic session but ended up being a full rocked out jam. This is where some of the technical difficulties occurred when the guitar did not work for Martin or John. Chris (who is married to Gwenth Paltrow) joked "oh this is embarrassing - let's go home. We come over here, we steal your women and we can't even play one song."

They finally got fixed and went on to an incredible, low lit, set on the edge of the platform.

After that they went on to new album track 42, and then to Square One, Trouble (which Martin begged for a crowd sing along help which was given), and off to "Lost" which was a powerful performance with amazing light show and sound.

They then switched to Strawberry Swing and then after finishing, Martin exclaimed "We are going to try something we never ever tried before, so please excuse us" and then the whole band jumped off the stage, surrounded by bodygaurds and continued to cross the stadium stage left. They kept going to what seemed like a final exit but then proceeded to go up the steps to the third section of seating, directly opposite of the stage. The basically went to where the crappy seats were all the way toward the back. When the lights turned their way, they had equipment set up with microphones and guitars. The crowd was at aww as nobody could believe they can play from the other side of the stadium. People were climbing on one another to get closer as the band literally set up shop in the walkway between seats.

They proceeded to grab an acoustic guitar and play an acoustic version of "Yellow" which was at its purist form. While the album version has beauty in its electric guitar rifs, this was a much smoother and more enjoyable version. After Yellow, Martin joked that they are an old band, and that everyone is probably sick of hearing his voice, so he asked that his drummer Will, take over as lead vocals for a song. To my surprise, Will was amazing. He grabbed the guitar and played "Death Will Never Conquer" (which I think is a cover by The Goldrus). He did a great job. The band then said "Thank you" and vanished out the exits.

I have to mention that when we left the show, I was a bit weirded out that they did not have an encore, but now I realize that when Will finished singing, Martin said "Good Night" and that was the last song. Then, when they arrived to play two more songs back on stage, that WAS the encore, although it did not seem like it at first.

As I mentioned, they arrived back on stage about 4 minutes after vanishing and proceeded to play Fix You and wrapped up the night with Lovers In Japan which closed out the song with cannons blasting glow in the dark confetti into the air throughout the song (by the butt load) onto the audience. The lights went off during the song and the confetti filled the air with yellow and blue bright glow in the dark pieces.

The band thanked everyone for coming and took off. I should mention that they did thank everyone after the 3rd song, saying that it is a pleasure to perform here in NYC where they feel is there "Second Home".

The show was outstanding. I must say I was annoyed by the two Princeton students (with the Princeton hoodies on) who sat behind us who kept talking about how they are so much smarter than their friends. One of them I heard saying to the other "He thinks he is so much smarter than me. I am like, I go to the best school in the country man. There is no way".

I was also not pleased with the people in front of us who seemed like two 17 year olds who just started dating (although they were in their 20's). The were french kissing during every song. Full tongue and groping right in front of us while we stare straight into the stage.

But as I said, the show was outstanding. The energy and a 16 song set list which was an hour and ten minutes long, was by far, the best Coldplay show I have seen. Totally worth every penny...oh wait...it was free :)

Enjoy the photos below (I didn't take them, they were collected on flickr).

Here is the setlist:

Life in Technicolor
Violet Hill
Clocks
In My Place
Viva La Vida
Chinese Sleep Chant
God Put A Smile Upon Your Face
42
Square One
Trouble
Lost!
Strawberry Swing
Yellow
Death Will Never Conquer
Fix You
Lovers in Japan

Viva La Free Concert

2008-06-23T09:33:00.002-04:00

My birthday is this Thursday, and it has been an interesting lead up. I tend to hate birthdays because they remind you that you are one year closer to a retirement home. I am turning 29 this year which means I have to do two things.

1) I have to live it out because honestly, it's the last year of my twenties and once you turn thirty, people expect you to behave a certain way. You can't really grow a five o'clock shadow and wear a t-shirt that says "Jesus is my breakdancing partner". I am sure there are plenty who still do, but I don't know, I just feel like my twenties is when I got to be an idiot and get away with it because I was still in my twenties. Once I hit thirties, you can still be a douchbag time to time, but people may not be as understanding.

2) I have to work really hard on my long term goals which have officially become my short term goals. When I was in my early 20's (21, 23, even in 25) I set short term goals and long term ones. Short terms consisted of getting my portfolio together, starting a website, learn a new program. My long term were "find an incredible woman to spend my life with", "stop being dependent on my folks (for things like money)" and "make X amount of money by the time I am 30". The first two I achieved. I found my wife and she is my spine and feet. She keeps me stright and on my feet. Without her, I would be a mailroom employee with a bad habit of loving alcohol. I also stopped being dependent on others. If shit hits the fan financially now, I figure things out. I don't run to the safety of the Jacob Bank Of Safety (Jacob is my father).

But here is the problem. I told myself back in my early 20's that by age 30, I want to make a certain amount of money. I am not going to say how much it is, but it was reasonable. I didn't say something outrageous and untouchable. But now I am 12 months away from turning 30 and I am not close to that "X" number. I am on my way there, but not really close to a point where I can reach it by any-means.

So, I will probably have to push the age from 30 to 35 and hope for the best.

For now, I was thinking of things I want to do in my last 12 months of my twenties and the first one (which is "Go to a good concert") will be taken care of today.

I entered into a contest to win free Coldplay tickets in Madison Square Garden and I won. So today, my wife and I will get to go check out a free show (take that ticketmaster convenience fee!). I am pretty stoked. Anyone that knows me well enough, knows I am a big fan of this band. So it is nice to go to their show for free on my birthday week and scratch #1 off the list.

Here is the rest of the list of things I have to do in the next 12 months:

1. Go to a good concert

2. Have my artwork in atleast 3 art galleries by age 30

3. Go see another country (Flying to Paris in August)

4. Write a book

5. Read a good book (or more)

6. Get piss drunk one last time at a party or something. After 30, I don't think my body can handle anything that isn't wine or beer.

7. Save for retirement (401K or ING Direct type of investment)

8. surf atleast one more time (which may be hard since I live in NYC)

9. Find a way to get closer to the "X" amount I want to make by age 35.

10. Make sure I complete #9 by my 30th birthday!!!

WHITE BOYZ II MEN

2008-06-20T10:44:00.002-04:00

The great thing about living in "The City" is that there is always random stuff happening. A parade here, a show there, a concert in between.

This summer, every Friday, Good Morning America (ABC) have a concert summer series at Bryant Park across the street from my office. I pass the park every morning on the way in around 8:30 and catch the tail end of the show wrapping up.

Today, they had BOYZ II MEN. You know, that song you had your dance to in high school prom (or made out with someone during your first couple of years in college). They had that one song Motownphilly....and every white kid in my class thought they had the dance down.

I even remember people sporting suit jackets to school when they had that "End Of The Road" song come out.

Anyway, when I passed Bryant Park today I noticed the crowd more than anything. It was filled with 50 to 60 year old white women. Seriously. A crap load of old, white ladies hanging around holding florescent signs that have "Its Not My End Of The Road Yet!".

I was laughing inside, because really, I expected a different crowd. I thought I would see people between 26-36 in there. Those guys were a hit during my Junior High, High School days. I did not know that people in their 40's (who are now in the 50's) were listening to "I'll Make Love To You, Like You Want Me To, And I'll Hold You Tight....Baby All Through The Night, I'll Make Love To You...." (man, that song was HUGE in my Junior days.

Either way, it is good to see people with young spirit. Can't imagine how many were probably singing along to "So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesturday".

Bambi is from Brooklyn?

2008-06-19T21:25:00.002-04:00

This photo was taken in Brooklyn (at Lorimer and Metropolitan). I knew Brooklyn got an IKEA over the weekend but did the IKEA come with a national forest?

Obviously some street art done perfectly well. Add some humor to this urban jungle. After all, Bambi has a better chance surviving in gentrified Brooklyn, then in the ghetto neighborhoods of the Red Sequoias.

It's a bird! It's a plane! It's a --- SQUAT!!!

2008-06-10T16:32:00.002-04:00

Excuse my language, but FUCK! IT'S FUCKING HOT HERE IN NY!

The last four days we have had a "Heat Wave". F that. Its been more like a "Heat Tsunami".

102 degrees inside my house. It was 98 degrees on Sunday night at 11 pm. That's 11 PM people!

Not to mention the lightning storm and warm, hot rain (one lightning hit the Empire State Building Sunday and caused debries to fall down on the sidewalk).

I have been sweating while sitting on a bowl of ice. Seriously, you can't even change the channel on your TV remote without breaking into a heat stroke. My poor dogs have not moved (no, they are not dead). Wifey had been giving them ice to lick and me, well I have been bitching and moaning about the heat for all four days. Then I realized, I should probably stop bitchin and go buy an A/C already.

I went to PC Richards & Sons. Cheap A/Cs and even cheaper employees. Those guys were not wanting to help except trying to sell you the most expensive thing on the floor. I finally buy my cheap A/C against the employee Antonio's wishes (he even said "If you don't listen to me, that's fine. But you are spending money for nothing"). This isn't a BMW douchbag. It's a $100 airconditioner which you may get upside your head if you don't start being a dick in this heat.

I get home only to realize that I need someone to professionally install this A/C because my building has metal window frames that can not take the tiny screws that came with my $99 A/C. I called 12 places. 12! Nobody wants to install the thing. Why? Apparently they don't want to be liable in the event the thing falls out of my window and lands on some jack ass who was on his way to work at PC Richards. By the way, wasn't this an episode on Seinfield once?

Anyway, I finally found some guy through a girl who knows a guy who had a guy that lived with a roommate who had this guy that installs the airconditioners for $50. Only downfall, if the A/C slips out a few months from now out the window and crushes some poodle, he probably won't take responsibility. Heck, I would be surprised if he claimed he can even speak english.

Atleast he is coming to install it. And if it does fall out, well, let's hope I am not home at the time.

So all this worry about stuff falling out of windows struck a chord when I came across an article today that said a building on the Upper East Side had pieces of it breaking off and falling to the sidewalk below. One bolder (yes, bolder..as in, giant rock, not some small Gaza Strip ammunition type rock. I am talking about stop traffic on a windy road in the mountains type rock) fell from the sky on this Upper East Side street and crushed the front of a BMW 3-Series (pictured above).

So here I am, unable to find people to take responsibility on installing my A/C unit because of liability threats that it may fall from the sky and hurt someone (which basically means that all the 8 million people living in this city have been installing these suckers themselves and probably doing a shitty job at it), but now I have to worry about building bolders falling on my ass? Not to mention construction cranes have been falling faster then the dollar currency in this country. With pieces of the empire state building during lightning storms and a 102 degree weather, I am really starting to feel blessed to still be alive this week.

So cheers to you readers of New York for still staying alive in a gross heat with falling rocks and cranes and nasty, hot rain. And Cheers to you Mr. BMW 3-Series, for having a nice car and an apartment in the Upper East Side. Apparently, the UES is just as shitty as the rest of us. Hope that $6000 a month apartment that is falling apart will cover your damages.

Happy coolin'

My, That Is A Large Bug On Your Window!

2008-06-05T14:29:00.002-04:00

I watched Cloverfield lastnight. You know, that movie about an evil monster coming to New York (no, not Heather Mills). The movie was cool, with your usual CGI FX of monsters killing people who are stupid enough to stand around when something over 10 feet tall is coming toward them. How come bad things (or better yet, destructive things) always take place in Manhattan? I Am Legend, War of The Worlds (the one with that small time actor Tom Cruise), Cloverfield, Maid In Manhatta (with that scary looking thing called J. Lopez). How come movie studios never pick on crappy places nobody would miss? Like Valencia? West Virginia? or even Jersey?

But anyway, I saw cloverfield and was happy with the way it ended. Crazy young people doing stupid stuff (like running toward the location of a monster instead of away from it).

Then this morning I get a message from my friend who works at the New York Times (some small, circulation newspaper. I never heard of it). I won't mention her name because lets keep it real: Who really wants to admit that they are friends with me? Even my mother claims my name "Shai" means "gift" in Hebrew, which is a nice way of saying "I didn't want you, but God gave you to me against my wishes".

Anyway, my friend emails me telling me about how some random dude is climbing up her building. From the OUTSIDE! And get this, he is not 1) a construction worker 2) a window cleaner 3) spider-man. So I guess that only leaves one thing....4) crazy person.

Here is what the New York Times blog wrote about the Royal Douchness:

"Updated, 2:12 p.m. | Alain Robert, a French stuntman known for climbing tall buildings, scaled the north face of the New York Times building on Thursday, ascending 52 stories to the roof and clutching a bright green banner, before police officers arrested him around 12:22 p.m.

Police and security officials cordoned off the sidewalk below, on West 41st Street, as a crowd assembled. The words on the banner were illegible from the sidewalk, but from office windows inside the tower the slogan on the banner could be clearly read: “Global warming kills more people than 9/11 every week.”

The man later confirmed, moments after being arrested on the roof of the tower, that he was Alain Robert, a 46-year-old stuntman famous for scaling structures like the National Bank of Abu Dhabi, the Sydney Opera House in Australia and the Eiffel Tower and Montparnasse Tower in Paris. He wore a T-shirt with his name and the address of a Web site (thesolutionissimple.org), exercise pants and climbing shoes. He had long blond hair. He used no rope, harness or parachute."

Ah, the French. Got to love those nutty french men. Kind of ironic that he chose to climb a building in NYC and mention 9/11. Didn't he think he would cause a security issue?

Goes to show that the reason New York City keeps being the city that goes to shits in movies is because we are filled with people who do crazy enough shit. We do stuff that pisses people (or monsters) off. No wonder they want to come from space and fuck us up. As for baguette-boy on the building? Good that the man stands up for global warming. Bad idea that he had to climb a building to prove his point. Perhapse someone should tell him to start a blog instead.

Works fine for me.

Who is reading my blog?

2008-06-04T16:33:00.002-04:00

It has been a while since I have written. I have been busy prepping for my very first art show (not really an art show, but more like storing my artwork at a local coffee shop which is great considering the lack of space in my apartment). More on the art show later.

Google has this great feature called Google Analytics. I decided to give it a spin when I started this blog and been able to see how many people visit here, from what city (or country) they visit from (can you believe someone in Russia is reading my blog?). It also lets you view how many people got to my blog through google depending on google search terms they put in and got my blog site as a top hit.

So today, here are the top 3 search words (or sentences) that led readers to my blog this week.

Makes me wonder if they got here on accident, or if I need to start thinking of better titles for my stories.

Raccoon Gets Mistaken As 50 Cent

2008-05-16T12:09:00.003-04:00

Poor guy. Yes, this is a Raccoon and YES he is in a tree on the Upper East Side. This cool little dude was on 88th street and 1st ave. yesterday.

Cops got there and decided to get him down by shooting tranquilizers at him. Taking the same force they used on Sean Bell when they shot a man on his wedding night 50 times (about 48 shots too excessive), they shot the poor little Raccoon so many times that he died in custody.

According to reports, the cops shot tranquilizer darts so many times and so deep to his body that the animal control people (who got there after this happened) had to euthanize the little one because as they said "it would have been difficult, if not impossible to remove them (the darts)".

Some witnesses said the NYPD reacted very un-humanely and said that some of the police officers even joked about "harpooning" the raccoon.

The NYPD was quoted with a response to the allegations by saying that the officers on site felt like the raccoon may be "Rabid" and were concerned it may have "rabies".

It is known that a raccoon hanging out in daylight is a sign of possibly having rabies. Hanging in a tree on the Upper East Side on the other hand, is a sign you may get shot to death.

R.I.P. little buddy.

Throwing Mama On The Train

2008-05-14T17:16:00.003-04:00

My mother will be landing at 5:30 am tomorrow. She is currently in Israel where she was taking care of my grandmother. My mother has not been to New York City since the late 80's. In the late 80's, Manhattan was a shithole. Grafitti on the subways, crime was higher than it is now and everywhere smelled like the inside of an UGG boot if you took it running on a marathon.

Before we moved to NYC, Wifey and I decided to not bring the car. We will be living very close to my office and her school and New York is so expensive, there is really no need for a car. I told my father I will be giving him my car (no, it was not as a gift. My 1999 Kia Sportage had less use to it than an empty checkbook on the first of the month. I was giving him garbage).

A few days after telling that to my father, I got a call from my mother:

My Mother: "After a long talk with your father, we have decided we will let you keep the car."

Me: "But I don't want the car. It's New York. I have to take out a second bank loan just to pay for parking there."

Mother: "But how will you get around? or go grocery shopping?"

Me: "uh, they have these nifty little things called the subway here mom"

Mother: "Oh no! My son is not taking the subway! Those things are dangerous, and you can get into trouble".

You see, my mother has not been here since the mid 80's and the only thing she knows about New York is what she watches with my dad everytime CSI: NY or LAW & ORDER or CSI: SVU or any other crime show that happens to take place in NYC comes on. Problem is, it's not that bad here. Thousands of people take the subway every day. Sure, some get robbed, some even fall onto the tracks (see: Alcohol + Moving Train = Good Story post), but this doesn't happen often.

My mother cares, which is a good thing. She should. She is my mother. But, I had to tell her that we will survive, and in fact, one of the main reasons this blog was started was to give my mother relief that I am ok by being able to see new posts come up every morning and let her have the peace of mind that her son has survived another night here.

So she has been in Israel for a couple of weeks and she is finally making her way here to NYC. My father asked me to go meet her at JFK (at 5:30 a.m.) so that she does not get lost. I agreed since I do not want to get a call at 9 a.m. from my mother telling me she is lost somewhere of Bushwick. I told my father we will probably take a taxi back but he said "No. Take her on the train". At first I thought he was being cheap but then he continued, "Your mother needs to get the New York experience. Take her to your house on the train. It will be fun. She will get to see what you go through every day and see that it isn't all that bad."

It made sense. Then I came across this article on the news this morning:

"U.S. Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice was discussing terrorism with Ehud Barak, Wednesday, when an aide rushed in to inform the Israeli Defense Minister that Palestinian militants had just fired a rocket from Gaza into a woman's clinic located in a large shopping mall in the southern Israeli port city of Ashkelon. "Let's go down there together," Barak told Rice, according to an Israeli source. "I want you to see with your own eyes what we're going through."

I had to laugh. You see, Mr. Barak is doing to Mrs. Rice what I will be doing with my mother tomorrow. Nothing is better than to take someone into Ground Zero and let them see (as both my father and Mr. Barak have said) "what we're going through".

Israel and New York. Both attacked by terrorists. Both have more Jews than a Bat-Mitzva for the daughter of a Hollywood agent. Both, have something that we "go through" that apparently requires first hand experience. I think I will still take my mother by Taxi. Not because I don't trust the train, the train is harmless. I just think that after coming from a place where missles are landing, it would be nice to give my mother a nice ride in a taxi instead of subway. After all, taking a taxi is an experience you have to see, to really know what it is "I go through".

Hi, I am a real person!

2008-05-14T11:47:00.002-04:00

I miss my friends. I have had a lot of "people I know" in my life, but I also had a dozen really awesome friends. Over the past few years (mostly in the last 2 or 3) I have lost my friends to technology.

Five, six years ago, we would hang out on a porch drinking beer and telling stories. Now, it seems the only contact I have with my friends is on either Myspace, Facebook or the gazillion other sites they tried to invite me to (Friendster, Twitter, etc).

I was a myspace whore for a while. I joined years ago (way before the annoying ads that give you seizures or the days that you go into your myspace inbox only to find 13 emails from chicks who have their ass in a thong as a photo and their email is a cookie-cutter text that basically says "come to my private page to see me without clothes"). I was a myspace whore who spent hours upon hours on it. I even became one of those annoying myspace friends who would post bulletins 12 times a day and would reply to every comment with a comment and would add every band as a friend just so I can put "Jason Mraz" or "50 Cent" as my top 3 friends as if I am "tight like that" with them.

Over the past couple of years I noticed a trend. Many of my friends who used to contact me via my regular email, have abandoned that idea to go to this world where people send you messages via myspace or facebook. To me, that was annoying as hell. For starters, these sites have a crappy inbox system, but I also don't log on daily to check them. So invites to a basketball game because a buddy had an extra ticket, now goes unanswered because it didn't go to my gmail.

I also lost my friends because they all went into this myspace, facebook world where some have to play these games, and surverys and crap like that. "Oh, so and so has sent you a would-you-fuck-me-if-we-werent-friends survey along with a virtual shot drink of foreskin juice and vodka" and suddenly, if I don't respond or accept, I am not cool or I get a snark comment.

This does not apply to all my friends, but has definitely become a trend among some. So today I took a time machine and decided to go back 5 years and get people to get intouch with me via email. I don't want mass-emails like I got on myspace about "come check out my new photo of me farting on my roomate" . I want personalized messages. I feel like I lost connection with some friends due to the fact that these "social network sites" created this comfort level where you can send a message to all 415 friends on your list instead of individuals. Suddenly, my friends have become telemarketing spammers who tell me about their weekend along with 400 other people. What's the point?

So today I went ahead and deleted my Myspace and my Facebook account. Done. Gone. Dead.

If anyone wants to get a hold of me, they should have my email or my cell. If they don't, I probably didn't see you as worthy enough. To be honest, when I closed my myspace account, I had 184 friends. 184. I looked at the most recent contacts on my gmail of people I email regularly and it generated eight names. EIGHT! That means, I had over 170 people on myspace that I never talk to and never needed.

Call me a jerk, or call me the beginner of a revolution against social networking. I just see it as trimming out the fat (or cutting out the weak players from the team). Those who have my number or gmail, can get in touch with me next time they need me. Otherwise, let them forever be happy with their 400 friends and their "Funniest Video I ever seen" bulletins.

peace

What The 'uck Are You Doing?

2008-05-13T10:34:00.003-04:00

Anyone who was watching the season finale of Medium lastnight here in New York got a treat during a commercial break. A promo for the 11 p.m. NY news broadcast, famous anchor Sue Simmons dropped an F-Bomb live on TV.

Since then, she has already come out to apologize but I say F-that. Stand up for your frustration. We are in New York City, we all drop F bombs on a daily basis. It's ok. We are not mad.

Plus, what the heck was her fellow news anchor doing to make her drop the word like that?

Anyway, it is Tuesday and it made me laugh, so enjoy.

Alba Distorted By "Cann" Of Whoopass

2008-05-12T09:55:00.003-04:00

When I was 13, I had a crush on two celebrities. Andrea Elson, the girl who played the daughter on the 1980's show Alf. Yeah, she was like 19 and I was like 13, but according to my Barmitzva, I was a man now. The other crush was Justine Bateman. She played the sister of Michael J. Fox on Family Ties (the dark hair one, not the blonde). Again, she was much older, but I was 13 and all the girls on TV that were my age consisted of Blossom, DJ Tanner from Family House or the girl from My Two Dads. Not the best selections.

Living in Los Angeles I ran into a lot of celebs. I became friends with a few D Listers and some Z Listers as well. When you live in LA, you tend to run into these celebs at car rental shops, at the Whole Foods, at the gas station and almost every time you go to a bar in Hollywood.

Why both these paragraphs? Well, they blend into this soggy mix drink that I had to drink over the weekend.

This weekend, Wifey and I hung out and decided to watch a movie. Nothing good was on except something on TBS called "Into The Blue". I kind of heard about the movie when it came out, the only thing I remembered was that Jessica Alba was in it. I think every guy in this world thinks Jessica Alba is a hot woman (I am sure even gay men think that), but I am married to a much hotter wife. Too bad my hotter wife is so hot in fact, that one evening when we were living in Los Angeles, she went out with her girlfriends and was hit on by Scott Cann (the dude with the giant head from Ocean's 11). She blew him off and flashed the engagement ring in his face and came home and told me how funny it was and what a douchbag he was. I agreed. He is.

It never bothered me to think Scott Cann hit on my wife and asked for her digits because he is a celebrity and celebrities are in a world of their own. So this weekend, I sit in front of the TV with the wife and here comes Scott Cann on screen with Jessica Alba. Now, I should be, like all men before me, completely focused on Jessica Alba, but for some reason, all I can do is look at Scott Cann and feel the urge to wish he would drown or get eaten by a shark every minute of the movie. The movie (from what I hear) has Jessica Alba in a lot of hot scenes....too bad I don't remember seeing them, let alone remember them permanently due to the fact that all my focus was on the douchbag that I knew had hit on my wife.

I wasn't jealous, I know it seems that way. I was proud more than anything else. This guy has money and a celebrity status and my wife shut him down. But here he was, on my tv screen, grinning. I wanted to bitch slap my TV.

I guess the moral to the story is, when your loved ones get hit on by celebs, avoid their movies. Even if the movie includes celebs of the opposite sex that you would think help you enjoy the movie, they won't. Just skip the movie all together. If all else fails, wish them a horrible death by shark bites.

What's In a Name?

2008-05-09T10:19:00.003-04:00

My wife is a fashion student. She goes to FIT (one of the best schools to be in for the Fashion Industry) and she reads this newspaper everyday called Women's Wear Daily.

I, on the other hand, don't know Polo from Puma. Before I met my wife I had what I thought was a good style. Flip flops, cargo shorts, and a T-shirt that says something like "Baghadad Ass Up".

Little did I know, my way of dressing was to "stylish" as Lindsay Lohan's acting is to an Oscar performance. After a couple of years dating a fashion student (and eventually marrying her so that I can keep this good looks forever), she managed to make me a somewhat, decent, fashionable man. I am no model, but I definitely moved up from the "You look like the teenager in the Old Navy commercial".

While now I do shop for my clothes at places like Zara, and H&M and stopped shopping at the Wal-Mart Men's section that has the big, bright, yellow, smiley face over it, I still can not pronounce any of the high-end clothing names. Most "high end" clothing are named with something sexy, and strange (like the don't want you to be able to pronounce it). You have "Chanel" (pronounced Sha-nel)...I thought it was pronounced like Channel. You have Balenciaga, which to me, sounds like a Brazilian Women's Soccer Team.

I even recall one time I saw an article about Stella McCarteny and looked at my wife and asked "Does Paul McCartney know this chick is using his name for her clothing line?". After a laugh that lasted 15 minutes, my wife said "It's his daughter". Well how was I supposed to know that there are two famous McCartneys?

I also remember when I went shopping for my wife's birthday last year. All I remember are the looks of the sales people at the sunglasses store when I asked them if they had anything by "Dolsee and G-yabama". Later did I find out it is pronounced, Dolche' and Gabbana.

So last night I am sitting in bed before I snooze away and I pick up the NY AM paper. I start reading and got to an article about how Sex and The City inspired fashion in people in NYC and how NYC inspired the show/movie. I noticed very quickly that the article used the words "Malano" alot. Sarah Jessica Parker was interviewed in this article and she kept referring to this Malano guy. The article didn't make sense to me because they spoke as if I was supposed to know who this Malano guy is. "Malano did such great work for us on set", "I wish I could have my life filled with his work". I really started to think Malano was the director of the Sex and the City movie.

Me: Hey, babe. Who is Malano?

Wife: What?

Me: Malano. They keep mentioning him in this article about Sex and The City. Malano? Is he like one of the creators or something?

Wife: He is the guy that makes the shoes...you know? the famous ones.

I previously thought it would be a cool gift to buy my wife the Sex and the City full series on DVD. Little did I know, I would be forced to watch all of them with her. Next time, I am buying her the series DVD of something I can watch and enjoy like the Sopranos or Saved By The Bell.

I had this perplexed look on my face when she mentioned he is the designer of famous shoes. Then it hit me that they mentioned him in a couple of the episodes I was forced to watch.

Me (with an exciting glow on my face like I finally know a name of a designer): Oh, you mean the guy who makes the Malanik Blaniks?

Wife: ?

Me: Malanik Blaniks! (I was still smiling. like I knew she would be proud of me for remembering something that she adores. Then, my smile slowly drifted away as I noticed she was giving me a blank stare with her jaw dropped).

Wife: Remind me again, why did I marry you?

You see, the designer is Manolo. He designs shoes called Manolo Blahniks that are worth more than a 42" plasma. I screwed up the name of a famous designer, and obviously proved to my wife that I was not paying attention to the DVDs we watched.

So the moral of the story is, never attempt to act like you know something, if you really don't know anything about it.

I am a well dressed man because of my fashionable wife. I am aware of names like Betsey Johnson or Gucci, but don't know anything about them (just recently found out that Dolce and Gabbana are two guys....go figure). For the knowledge I know due to my wife having endless amount of fashion magazines and newspapers, I still can't claim to know anything.

Thankfully, I am not rich enough to ever have to worry about walking into Saks 5th Ave and ask a sales person:

"Excuse me, where do you keep the Malanik Blaniks?"

I am sure I would be burned at the stake.

My wife's fashion blog is amazing by the way: http://newyorkfashion.blogg.se/

Gossip Girl Traumatized By Crazy Bobby

2008-05-08T14:37:00.003-04:00

Note: The man pictured above is not the same person mentioned below.

They say New York never has a dull moment. I concur.

I went home for lunch because 1) its cheaper than buying the greased up baked bread they call pizza across the street and 2) it lets me hang out with my wife between my eight hour shift at the office to keep me sane.

I always love seeing the different things going on in the streets while I walk to and from home. Men in suits on their blackberries, women shopping with Lord and Taylor bags in both arms, tourists thinking they are getting a deal on a "REAL" Louis Vuitton bag from the Jamaican guy selling the knock offs out of a Sponge Bob towel on the corner of 37th and 7th. I swear I once saw what was obviously a tourist pick a knock off bag up and ask the guy "Are these real?" The large smile that followed on the mans face could only lead me to believe that the words about to come out of his mouth were "Ofcourse madam. And do I have a deal for you today!..."

Poor tourists.

So on my lunch trip I came across three different scenes today. Two were reminiscent of my days in Los Angeles. The first was on the way home as I passed Bryant Park. I saw the movie trailers lined up along side the park along with multiple crew people running around with their schedule sheet on their headsets. I spoke briefly to one of the teamsters who was smoking on the back of a truck and he told me that they were shooting a new Julia Roberts movie. Julia was not on set today. Atleast not here. I continued home.

After two quesadillas, some coffee and a brief phone call with my brother about his dog who he chose to name Ninja, I was back out the door on my way to the office. On the way back, literally 1/2 a block from our apartment, more movie trailers. They have been parked outside of our corner for a couple of days but nobody has been in or out. Today, I got the answer as to what the heck are they shooting here. Right outside the "Hair and Make Up" trailer, sat Connor Paolo. Also known as the little brother of Serena on Gossip Girl (I know, the fact that I have this knowledge without having to research it is a disgrace).

I had to call the wife because she watches this show obsessively. I watch it with her because she forces me. Plus, for every 3 episodes of things like Gossip Girl, Oprah or America's Next Top Model, I get to watch a blood bath movie and make her sit there with me to watch it.

The third thing I saw on the way back to the office should be in a movie. Probably something like Jackass IV. I walk up 40th and just passing Madison when a tall, skinny, african american man passes me. I first noticed the Rambo like florescent headband he had around his head and that he was very dirty. As he dashes past me and weaves in front of me as I walk, I notice his old ripped up shirt. A near confirmation that he is homeless. Then, I noticed both of his hands were holding a brown, letter size envelope where his butt is....and took notice that he was not wearing any pants...nor underwear for that matter. The man was wearing a headband, a t-shirt and an envelope. I was not in front of him, but I was curious that he is using the one envelope he has, to cover up the back part of his naked lower body. I immediately started to take notice of the people walking in the opposite direction. Working people, women shopping, Fed Ex delivery guys, all making that face like they just saw an anaconda snake free in Manhattan. Thankfully, I was getting the covered, raterd PG-13 side of this crazy man.

I got nervous and chose to not pass him. I stalled and let him gain some distance. Every once in a while his dirty butt cheeks would peak from behind the envelope. It was horrifying.

Then out of nowhere, just before the intersection of Bryant Park, the man stops and walks up to a glass window to a store and starts licking the window. He licks and then used his fingers to write something with the spit left behind. I kept walking and not look back.

So there. Not a single dull moment while traveling a few blocks in Mid-Town Manhattan.

This place can be a place where Oscar winning actresses can shoot a movie, and a popular TV show can set up shop right in front of your apartment and you can always count on crazy, naked, homeless dudes to know which body part is more embarrassing when exposed to the general public.

Happy licking!

60 years old but fighting like she's 22

2008-05-08T09:33:00.003-04:00

Israel. Also known as the Holy Land. Or where my grandmother lives (by the Syrian border) they call it The Holy Crap Here Comes Another Missile Land.

Israel turns 60 this week. I am originally from Israel, born and raised there until the age of 10. At age 10 my father realized that I am more likely to smoke pot at age 18 than to smoke someone with an AK-47, he moved our family to the U.S.of A.

I have been back to Israel a few times since then. The most recent was with my mother and (suprise) my wife. I was not aware my wife will be there. She had a flight the same day going to Sweden and I to Israel. My father and her (behind my middle-eastern back) decided to have her land in Israel for 2 weeks before going to Sweden.

We explored the country and until this day, with the exception of the was-supposed-to-be-secret-wedding-but-only-lasted-as-a-secret-for-twelve-days that her and I had in Vegas, the trip to Israel comes second place as to the best time of my life. The reason for being the best trip is, well for one, my wife was there. I got to introduce her to things like Falafel, Jerusalem, and give her the "How To Tell If There Is A Terrorist On Your Bus In Under Three Minutes" course. She took a few buses in Tel Aviv. I was very impressed. I also loved my trip to Israel because I got to celebrate my first birthday in Israel since age 10. It has been 17 years since I celebrated my birthday in my homeland and that trip gave me a chance to re-live some of my memories.

My wife and I explored the country in a way I never had a chance to explore it. We drove from the north to the south. From the Kibbutz to Jerusalem to the Dead Sea (before it all dries up soon) to everywhere in between. It was an amazing trip.

So this week Israel celebrates her 60th. My family were some of the O.G. (Original Gafilta-fish eaters). My grandparents were in Israel when she first became a country. They built her with their hands. They been there when everyone else was trying to get them out. 20 years later, my parents enrolled in the army (not by choice) and also fought in plenty of wars defending their family and friends in that country. My father told me stories and until this day its weird to look at my father (who loves Teramisu cake and his Plasma TV) and think "This dude killed people?".

Israel is a beautiful country (once you make it out of the crappy neighborhood the airport is in). People there remind me a lot of New Yorkers. They keep things real. They tell you how it is to your face and at the end of the day, there is a level of respect that brings everyone together because you have been through something tragic (here in NYC it is 9/11...in Israel it's 9/11, 9/12, 9/13, 9/14.....basically, year round).

The country has been through many wars, many bombings, many cuts and bruises. Yet she is still here. So I take today to say "Happy Birthday" to my homeland. My O.G. family in Israel and to the young, 18 year old kids there who have to guard her with semi-automatics instead of taking someone on a date to the roller skate park or playing a nintendo Wii.

Happy Birthday Israel. May you be as beautiful 60 years from now for my grandchildren to enjoy exploring you as much as I have.

I love AmeriKa

2008-05-06T09:37:00.003-04:00

We have been down this road before (see: "I Have A Dream" post).

Houston, Texas is home to this lovely lady who thinks that those who live in America should only speak English. I am all for standing up for what you believe in, but I know I am a terrible speller and should never be in charge of writing signs for protests. This lady on the other hand, likes to make a point, even if she is the exact kind of person she is protesting against.

Lovely.

2 kudos

For Sore Losers In The Morning, Take Two Vicadins!

2008-05-05T15:55:00.004-04:00

Well this one takes the trophy for dumbest act by a sports fan! Seriously people! I know some folks take these games seriously, but this is just bad:

From WNBC.COM:

After a Red Sox-Yankees argument spilled outside a bar, a Yankee fan aimed her car at a group of people to scare them and didn't brake, hitting and killing a man, authorities and witnesses said.

Witnesses said the argument heated up when Hernandez identified herself as a New York Yankees fan. Like the rest of New Hampshire, Nashua, 45 miles northwest of Boston, is Red Sox country.

Bartender Tanya Moran said the argument spilled outside, and at least one person in a group began chanting against the Yankees when they saw a Yankees sticker on Hernandez's car.
Hernandez allegedly gunned her car and struck Beaudoin and Maria Hughes, 21. Hughes had only minor injuries, which Beaudoin's sister Faith said was because her brother shielded Hughes, a friend.

"She accelerated at a high speed for about 200 feet. She went directly at this group of people," prosecutor Susan Morrell said. "She indicated to police that she wanted to scare this group of people. She thought they would get out of the way."

Beaudoin died of massive head trauma at a hospital, Morrell said.

Prospect Barks

2008-05-05T09:39:00.002-04:00

This weekend, Brooklyn Botanic Gardens had the Sakura Matsuri festival (no, it is not a festival to celebrate Tom Cruises robot child "Suri"). This festival is the "Rite Of Spring" festival that includes traditional Japanese music and dance, arts and crafts and a view of all the cherry blossom trees in full bloom.

The wife and I decided to take our in-laws to the event on Sunday and after a 44 minute train ride, my review of the event is: N/A

that's right. N/A. Not Available. Not Applicable. None Apparently.

We brought the dogs with us (and for those who read my previous posts know that my dogs are smaller than a miniture chinchilla on a diet), the park still wouldn't let us in. After telling them I would carry the dogs in my arms, and after telling them I will clean up after them, and even after telling them I would write a great review on my site about it...they declined and showed me the exit.

So we let the in-laws in and told them to call us when they finished. Meanwhile, the Swede and I decided to take our two dogs to Prospect Park around the corner. I have to say "Thank You" to the security at the Botanic Garden for following the parks policy and procedures because it was totally worth missing the garden and attending this park in Brooklyn instead.

This park was amazing. The sun was high even though they said it would rain (which I now realize that it basically takes the effort of sticking your head out of the window to become a weather man these days). It was extremely warm and the park was blooming and the grass was bright green. The dogs ran for hours chasing birds, squirrels and chewing on sticks. The Swede Wife and I laid in the park and relaxed for what felt like 5 hours (but was probably more like 2).

It was a gorgeous and enormous park that was not crowded with your tourists and UES snobs like Central Park gets. This had what Brooklyn is now known for: Strollers, young thirty something parents, and enough 4 year old kids to start a small army. Kids were everywhere playing soccer. Parents were strolling around with babies and the young hipsters were laying on the grass as if this was some early opening to a concert on the park. Afterwards, we took a trip to Union and 7th to a local coffee shop (Izzy's: 410 7th ave, Brooklyn). Coffee and a sandwich while sitting on the corner in the sun was the best way to let the day slip away.

I had the most awesome time at this park and I can see why so many run to Brooklyn instead of the city to live. While I hear that the area surrounding the park is very expensive, you do get a bit more space than in the city. You also get to be away from skyscrapers and loud tucks, cars, taxi cabs, sirens, homeless, drunk people falling out of bars and your usual transvestite/hooker/politician girlfriend yelling obscene language at someone at 2:00 a.m.

So as for the BBG festival, my rating on the event is: 10. I know I didn't attend, but if it wasn't for them kicking me and my little hobbit dogs to the curb, I would have never got a chance to go and venture into the wonderful world of Brooklyn.

Can I get the Loose Ass Roll to go?

2008-05-04T22:00:00.001-04:00

I went shopping for breakfast. Get some eggs, orange juice and a bread roll. I walked up to the bakery section where I found the prices for all the rolls. Somehow the "Loose Ass Rolls" were discounted. I guess nobody really likes a "Loose Ass" early in the morning.

Can I make this check out to CASH?

2008-05-02T11:45:00.004-04:00

Yesterday, the new Gov. office of David Paterson (you know, the guy who has not yet been caught with a hooker) announced that New York has officially begun its recession. While the rest of the country is questionable (some claim we are, some claim we are not, some claim "I had nothing to do with it, I was with my girlfriend at the movies at the time"), NYC is apparently hitting the recession field.

BUT, I question the statement from the Gov. office only because NYC Budget Director Laura Anglin said that the best thing for us New Yorkers to do to stop this recession is to use our tax stimulus checks to go SHOPPING!

Really? Last time I checked, if you are going broke, you should be saving money. Now I know there is analysts and professionals and people with pages and pages of statistics who will tell you why it is better to put your money into the economy, but common sense tells me that if my eggs are about to hit $6 and my milk is about to hit $6....then I am better off saving that money and spending it on things I need (like food, bills, rent) instead of buying the new GTA IV or the new "Biggest Loser Workout: Now For Little Losers You Call Your Kids". Anglin actually said that people should use the nice $300, $600 or $1200 they will get this month from the government to make "new purchases" rather than paying off bills or savings.

Gee, you are telling me this economy is going down the toilet and into the East River, and instead of saving my money for a rainy day or getting myself out of that debt that has almost put me on the street, I should use the money I get to buy a new Banana Republic pants for $400?

I may not work for the NY Budget Office, but I will tell you all "DON'T SPEND THAT MONEY ON USLESS CRAP!" Don't buy that PS3 you wanted or the Plasma. Don't buy that Louie V. Bag you saw at Saks 5th Ave. Don't buy those 3 rare 1912 stamps with the beard of Lincoln upside down thinking that they will be worth $5 more 20 years from now. SAVE YOUR MONEY!

Fuck what Laura says. She works for the government and I am sure she makes good money that she isn't worried about shortage of rice at her house. Buy yourself a small little thing (like a new CD or some new headphones) and then put the rest toward a rainy day. Times will get harder, be ready.

As for Laura Anglin, I would love to see a list of the things she buys with her check. Too bad nobody is selling common sense. She sure can use some.

CSI: Murray Hill

2008-04-30T09:30:00.004-04:00

I am sick and tired of criminals. I really am. It's one thing when a guy is Austria locks his kid into a room for 24 years and rapes her for years. That guy should be locked in a room in prison with two big, giant men who will rape him for the next 25 years.

Every day I turn the news on and crime is happening everywhere. A woman drowns her baby, a man rapes a college girl, a father beats his kid using the family lap dog. It's all disgusting. Even in NYC, with its recent 50 bullet shoot-out at a man on his wedding day, only to have the police officers (who obviously used excessive force) get off with a slap on the hand.

But! It's another thing when its in front of my building. I am no stranger to crime. When I lived in Venice, California, I arrived my first day at my new apartment to find news crews and a candle light vigil in front of the gate to the building. I found out the next morning that the previous night (one, single night before I moved in) two men in a Mercedez were shot to death while they were waiting at the stop sign in front of my building. And here I thought the news and candles was for me from the Venice Beach Community Welcoming Committee.

When we decided to move to New York, I told myself that safety is the most important thing to me. I could care less if my rent ends up being 98% of my monthly paycheck, or if I have to walk for 30 minutes in the snow (I finally get to use that line with my kids one day "When I was your age, I had to walk in snow.." ofcourse, I will add "in bare feet" just like every parent does).

SAFETY! It's important.

It's important when you walk down the street at night. It's important when you drive. It's important when "It's Business Time". That is why we moved to Manhattan and not the Bronx or Spanish Harlem. I wanted to know that if my wife needs to walk the dogs at night, she can without the need of carrying a .22 caliber.

This morning I wake up and walk out the front door with my usual "I-am-still-sleeping-but-you-can't-tell-because-I-used-peanut-butter-to-glue-my-eyelids-open" look on my face. I stroll out with my gross "Strawberry/Banana/Chocolate/Lime/AppleJuice/Yam/GoatCheese Granola Bar" in my hand when I notice the "CRIME SCENE: DO NOT CROSS" yellow tape around the corners of my street. Police cars are spread out and police officers as well as dudes with CRIME SCENE INVESTIGATION jackets walking around. Some holding cameras, some are on cell phones. My first thought was "Hey! They are shooting CSI:NY on my street!" but then I realized, they shoot some of that stuff in Los Angeles and also, the fact that the guys walking around in police outfits are absolutely police officers and NOT actors. I was tempted to ask "Excuse me officer, but WTF is going?" but I saw my life flash before my eyes and all I could see is myself in a room that is well lit with multiple colors of light, and with Gary Sinise and the chick from Providence standing over me asking me questions and accusing me of being involved in whatever it is that happened!

So here I am questioning if where I moved is SAFE. Before I moved, a buddy of mine said "This is New York man. Everywhere but nowhere is safe. Crime happens all over this city. Some places more than others, but it happens. It's not Los Angeles, so when something happens down the block, everyone knows and sees it. It's NYC! Get used to it. It's a different world"

I came into this city expecting it. We heard about the guy who got shot five streets up from us when he was mugged at an ATM at 1:00 in the morning. Then again, who the heck goes to pull out cash from an ATM at 1:00 in the morning? We also heard the occasional drunk idiots trying to start fights on Saturday nights when they fall out of the local bar. But to see the yellow tape around the pole where my dogs leave their drug test samples on, is weird. Makes it feel so real suddenly. Like as if, something happened during the night and you were asleep and didn't even know it happened. Gave me a weird feeling.

I couldn't find out what happened, although I am sure the AM paper will have a snippet about it tomorrow. For now, I urged my in-laws and my wife to not take the dogs out on a walk any time after 10:00 p.m. I know that sounds like a bit overboard, but in the words of Jay-Z: "There are a lot of problems in the world, I know! But first I have to take care of the world I know!".

If I can't trust these streets to be safe, I have to make my family safe by staying off the streets when crime is at its peak. After all, Gary Sinise is not going to come rescue my family for anything less than $15,000 an episode.

UPDATE: Apparently the scene around my neighborhood is making the news rounds. To read about what happened, you may click here:http://www.nypost.com/seven/05012008/news/regionalnews/mob_stabbing_108926.htm

Props To My Cab Driver from Terminal 1

2008-04-23T10:38:00.005-04:00

A bit after New Year's, I had to take the dogs out on a late night walk. I usually am responsible for the late night walks because 1) I don't want wife to walk them herself or 2) walk them with me because I saw that weird movie "The Brave One" where Jodie Foster and her boyfriend get robbed and beaten in the middle of the night. Granted, in the movie they were walking through Central Park after sundown which is like asking a Jew to walk through the bad part of Jerusalem after sundown. It's just not good for anyone. We, one the other hand, live in Murray Hill which is mostly compiled of two types of residents: 1) Old people who never made their way to Florida and 2) All the people who work at the corner supermarkets in Manhattan, live HERE!

So I take the dogs out on this cold evening and as I step outside our doors, I notice a wallet. I pick up this wallet and there was a wad of $50, $20 and $5 bills in it. I counted it and it was about $350 or so. I looked at the ID and noticed that the man had multiple ID's. One of them declared him a "Retired Officer of the New York State Police Department". I looked around his business cards to find his number to call him and let him know. Sure enough, I find his apartment number on a card, I call and leave a message with the "room mate" and about 10 minutes later, the "retired officer" calls me back. We met outside my apartment about 10 minutes later and he thanked me and all was well.

I have been a firm believer of Karma. Maybe not in the sense that some hippie folks think of Karma, but I do think that if you do good, good will be done to you. This has happened a lot in my life. When I gave an assisting hand, another hand came to assist me in time of need. I am not sure if the help I got would have been there regardless of my previous actions, but I would like to think it was only because I did something good myself.

So lastnight the In-Laws came to visit. My wife's parents are from Sweden and I only seen them about a handful of times. I usually still get nervous around them because lets be honest, their daughter (the youngest) is thousands of miles away from them, living in a big city (total opposite of sweet ol' hillside Sweden) and lets face it, she lives with me. I would be nervous if I was her parents.

So yesterday I decided to be the good son-in-law and go meet them in JFK and ride the train back with them. I took the E Train to JFK which may I add, was scary as hell. It reminded me of that weird feeling I got in my pants when I was 11 years old and got on the Space Mountain ride in Disneyland. I felt like I was going to fall out, and die. That is how the E Train feels. It flies at speeds that even the idiots on "World's Fastest Police Chases" won't dare. Even worse is the fact that it takes turns like as if the Blues Brothers are driving it. I can swear we were riding only on one side of the wheels at some of those turns.

I made a decision to bring the in-laws home safe and spare them the nightmare that is called the "E". They would never forgive me if this was to be their first experience after a 22 hour trip. So we get into a taxi and I sit shot gun. I could have probably squeezed in the back with them but they have been sitting on a plane for many hours and can probably use the space. We chat about this and that. Airline food and in-flight movies. Thirty minutes later we are in front of the apartment. At a desperate attempt to still impress them (even after I already married their daughter and if they dislike me now won't make a bit a difference) I go and reach for my wallet to pay the driver. While still trying to play golden boy, I hand the driver the money while attempting to rush out to be nice enough to open the door in the back for the mother-in-law and help her out. I grab their bags from the trunk and insist on bringing them up the flight of stairs myself.

This morning I get a call from the Taxi and Limo Commission. The good man (a.k.a. cab driver) apparently found the wallet of yours truly in the cab after driving back to JFK. I was in shock because I thought I gave him a crappy tip and I was sure he would chuck the wallet once realizing that I tipped him like he was a shitty waiter at TGIFridays.

I am going to meet him later this afternoon in front of my apartment to get back my wallet.

I am also going to go ahead and pull out some cash and give the man some bills for going out of his way to bring me back the wallet. Lastly, I am giving him some props.

Since arriving in New York I had to deal with some shitty taxi drivers. Rude, obnoxious, some smelly, some loud on their headsets, some were downright complaining when I tipped them less then what they wanted. One driver, I shit you not, asked for the tip up front. I got in the cab and he said "You pay first because I had people run out of taxi without paying!" I figured, fair enough. I handed him my card only to have him look back at me and go "How much you want me to add for tip?"....I was like "You kidding me? get me to my destination, and if you deserve it, I will give you something in cash! So to have my cab driver lastnight go out of his way to bring me my wallet today and be nice enough to not throw it in the East River with all the other garbage, I give him a big "You The Mutha'ucking Man!".

Thank you Mr. Taxi Driver from Terminal 1. You saved me the hassle of re-ordering credit cards (which usually would not be too much trouble except the fact that Wifey is having her birthday this weekend and I have yet to complete my shopping. Without a wallet, this would have been disastrous).

Listening To Hidden Messages (Over The Sound Of Sirens)

2008-04-22T10:22:00.008-04:00

I am a light sleeper. I wake up from the slightest sounds. I know this, because I wake up from mice getting smacked into traps (see previous posts), or the sound of two drunk men arguing at 3:00 a.m. outside, or the sound of the neighbors having what sounded like an orgy with two elephants, a chimpanzee, and a flock of chinchillas. I wake up a lot.

One sound my mind has learned to drown out is the sound of sirens. Fire-truck and police sirens are like baby screams at a maternity hospital. You hear one every few minutes. I almost wish they sounded more like violins or trombones so that way atleast I can have my very own orchestrated soundtrack to my life here in Manhattan. But they don't. They are loud, and annoying and on top of everything, the sound of their truck/car horns are louder than an arena filled with 14 year olds watching a Jonas Brothers concert.

I have learned how to drown out the sound of fire trucks at night, and yet, I still have my "keep-my-family-safe" feelings that make me edgy. I don't know what it is, but whenever I feel that my family (my wife and two dogs) are in danger, I wake up. Sometimes its a strange sound of the wind on the windows (which in my mind is a burglar cutting in through the window by the fire escape), or the sound of a drunk guy hanging outside our apartment in the middle of the night singing (in my mind he is a burglar who will later climb my fire escape and wake me up again by cutting in the window). Call it "paranoia". Call it "on-edge". I live in New York damn-it, and you need "life insurance" just to get on the "E" train.

But for the last 4 days something strange has been going on. I am a firm believer of messages. Not text messages, or sluty MySpace messages from a girl who says she thinks I am a very cool and hot and really wants me to check out her webcam at some unknown website that ends with .xxx instead of .com. I believe in messages in the way that certain things that happen in your day-to-day are trying to tell you something. It's up to you to figure it out.

Saturday was Passover. My wife and I sat and had a nice dinner and talked about the holiday, the reason why the Jews walked in the desert for so long without anyone getting suspicious that Moses may be just a bit on the crazy train. We talked about why the Jews eat Matza and how is it possible that while they didn't have time to make bread in the desert, they did somehow have time to find a vineyard in the desert to sip wine. Magical places those deserts in Egypt. Then we got to talk a bit about my fond memories of being a kid in Israel. I told my wife about how my grandmother (may she rest in peace and forever be blessed with endless amount of Arabic Soap Oprahs in heaven). One of the very few memories I have from my childhood was with my grandmother (most of my other childhood memories have been replaced with Wu-Tang lyrics in High School). One of the memories was a red fire truck she gave me as a gift once. I don't recall why she gave it to me. It may have been my birthday. Maybe it was to shut me up during her Arabic Soap Oprah. I like to think it was because I was so damn cute. I told my wife how much I loved that truck and how I cherished it until about a month later, when I discovered girls.

So here was Saturday, and I talked about fire-trucks. Then comes Monday, where someone asked me if I got Renters Insurance. They even mentioned that "You never know. You can't trust the guy living under you to not start a fire accidently". Which is funny, because the person living under me is a girl, so I guess "No. I don't need to worry!".

So here was Monday, and I talked about fires. Then comes this morning (Tuesday). I wake up because I sense danger. My "protector of the house and all that is within it" alarm went off and I jumped out of bed. I hear sirens in the background. These sirens were not a few blocks away or even down the street. These were outside my apartment building. Even more important was the sound of truck doors slamming and the sound of a man yelling to another guy "Joe! It's this one? You sure?"

I rush to the window and look outside and there is the NYFD outside of our building. Standing in the same spot where my dog lastnight dropped his left over Passover dinner we gave him on Saturday. I tried to look below me and above me to see smoke and I see nothing. The fire men (all 9 of them) rush into the building next door (which is connected to our building by the way like soccer players blocking a penalty goal). They run in with axes and masks and all I keep thinking is "What the hell are these guys doing leaving the siren on while they run inside? Don't they know people are sleeping in here?"

I stood there and started thinking why the heck has the subject of fire come up in the past few days. The talk about the fire truck (which I have not thought of for years until my wife asked me about it) and the talk of renters-insurance in the event of a fire, and now...fire trucks outside my window.

I tried to think what all the messages are trying to tell me, but I couldn't figure it out. So this afternoon, I bought some ear plugs.

Elevator Way To Heaven

2008-04-18T10:02:00.003-04:00

My Barmitzva sucked. Seriously. I was 13 and I was about to become a man, and yet, I was lacking all the things that in my mind at the time made someone a man.

For one thing, I had like a total of 4 friends show up to my party. These days I turn on MTV and see some “My Sweet Bat-Mitzva” reality show where some rich, spoiled brat of a girl gets to invite 800 friends to the Beverly Hills Hotel and giving out Porches as table gifts. I had 4.

Don’t get me wrong, my party was packed and off the hook. I had my family, grandparents, my cousins and my sister even went on to invite her friends…all 50 of them. That’s right! My sister had more friends at MY party than I did. I was 13, they were all 18. There was a brief moment where I felt very cool. Only now I realize, I was a charity case for the local high schoolers who needed a place to drink their Pabst Blue and Saint Idez on a Saturday afternoon.

My Barmitva sucked for a lot of reasons. The party was one thing. Then there was the whole money thing. For those not familiar with Barmitzvas, it is customery in Jewish tradition to give the kid who is becoming a man, some money! First of all, may I add that this sounds like the most un-jewish thing to do? Since when are we givers of money? By tradition, you give a check for 18 dollars. "18" represents “Life” or “Lechaeem”. So a check for 18 dollars is customery. That is some of the cheapest tradition I ever heard of. First of all, a check for 18? Could they not round it up to a 20? Secondly, I ended up with like 100 checks all made out to 18 dollars. You know how much math goes into that at age 13?

The worst part of my Barmitzva, was the studying. You see, the only people who take the reading portion of the Barmitzva is the Rabbi. In a Barmitzva, the 13 year old who is stepping up to be a man, must wake up early to attend Temple (if I am supposed to become a man, can’t I be man enough to choose to sleep in?). Basically, you study months in advance for this event with a Rabbi. I don’t think the guy who was teaching me was a full-on, hardcore Rabbi. He was the “I only do this cause chicks dig guys with beards” kind of Rabbi.

I say that the studying was the worst because it involved me learning how to sing with a post-puberty voice that has just learned how to crack. I sounded like Barry White on helium. Learning how to read the “Torah” with that voice was like asking me to sing a Mariah Carey song underwater. It was exhausting, it was frustrating and at the end of the day, I knew I sounded like crap and was too embarrassed to even attempt to do it correctly. But the Rabbi insisted that I learn it because “God” wants to hear me sing it correctly. It would please him. That stuck with me. Pleasing God really comes down to singing in tune?

Tomorrow is Passover dinner. I will not be attending temple or even attempt to read the book during dinner. Over the years, I have disconnected from tradition and began to form my own. I am not sure why. Perhaps it is the lack of attendance at my party (I sang that song the best I could and God still didn’t have 800 people at my party). Regardless of the reasons, I will not be going all out this year with celebration of the Passover.

Yesterday I started talking to a co-worker about Rabbis in New York and the U.S. and I learned that parts of New York have “Shabas Elevators”. I am not sure if these exist in the rest of the country but the concept made me curious. For those not familiar, Shabas is the day of rest (Saturday) and for the real hardcore people (Rabbi and his family of minions) means no use of electricity, no watching TV, no playing xbox360, and no driving…..except... apperently a Rabbi can be in an elevator as long as someone else pushes the button.

I was thinking about this for a bit. The Rabbi can NOT sit in the passanger side of a car as long as someone else is driving (heck, most of them refuse to take a Taxi here in NYC to temple on Saturday) but yet, if after temple he feels like he needs to make a quick stop at Macy’s Men’s Department on the 4th floor, he can get into the elevator as long as someone else pushes the button.

I even learned that some apartment buildings have this “Shabas Elevators” which actually get programmed to just stop on every floor, so a Rabbi can come in and wait until he is delivered to his floor. Just like Take-Out delivery!

This whole concept sounds suspicious to me. Is God forgiving if you ride an elevator but not a car? Is it because it is moving vertically? Was there something in the Bible that said “You will not gain entrance to God’s party if you move horizontally on Shabas!” and some Rabbi said “They didn’t say anything about vertically!”

Seriously people! This is why I hated my Barmitzva. Silly rules that can be bended. What’s the point? You either follow or you don’t. No reason to swim in the center.

This Passover, I will be celebrating with my wife over a nice dinner and some heavy cleaning. The best part, I can sit in comfort and know that God will not be mad at me this Saturday, because I, live in a "walkup"!

39th Manhole Explosion (Worst Gay Porn Movie Name Ever!)

2008-04-17T10:00:00.004-04:00

New York is filled with Manholes. NY is filled with assholes too, but this post is about manholes.

I am not talking about the Manholes you can find at the Meatpacking district. I am talking about the manholes on the roads throughout the city.

Last night, at approximately 4:30 a.m. at 117 East 39th street (I live at the 200 block on E39th), a manhole explosion occurred. They evacuated people in the area and power was lost for a short time. Six buildings in the area were evacuated due to raised carbon monoxide.

For those wanting some more information about manholes:

New York City gets the manholes made in West Bengal in New Delhi. That's right. These days, your cell phone and internet customer service reps are not the only ones working for you outside of the U.S.

The reason for these manholes being made outside the U.S. is because they cost 20 to 60 percent cheaper. U.S. manhole makers make $25/hour. In India, only a few dollars for a whole days work.

The employees there work with bare feet and long hours around 1,400 to 2,500 degree Fahrenheit of molten metal temperature.

So next time you walk on a manhole, or see one exploding into 150 feet in the air, stop and look and realize all the people and effort that went into it. After all, protecting you from falling into the sewer of New York City is not easy.

Keeping the city away from smelling like sewer in the summer....well, not much anyone can do about that. Not even in India.

Slaps on a Motha' ucking Plane!

2008-04-16T09:43:00.003-04:00

I don't enjoy flying. Not because of layovers, or because of crappy (and outrageously expensive) airport and airline food. Not because long lines at security to make sure I am not carrying an AK-47 in my 10.5 size shoes or even because of the impatient flight attendants (or stewardess, or whatever they call themselves now. "Just bring me my drink bitch!").

I don't enjoy flying because it is not entertaining. Flights are the most boring hours of my life. Some airlines have tried to step-up to the entertainment void in my life. Virgin Airlines for example. Bright colors, rave music, and people bringing you cookies on demand by the touch of a button. If you replaced cookies with LCD, it feels like a flashback to a 1985 party at Studio 54. If only every night was as trippy as that.

But they still didn't hit the entertainment factor for me. Flights are boring. I recall flying to my wife's home land (it is in Scandinavia and rhymes with "Shweden"). I had to fly on Air India. Don't ask me why I flew on Air India to Scandinavia. That is worse than taking Hawaiian Airlines to Yemen. That Air India flight was the worst. Nevermind the fact that I stood through 2 hours of security (where the removed lighters, creams, shampoos, and pocket knives) only to let me board on this flight and then serve me my food with actual REAL SILVERWEAR! It's like "Oh don't bother bringing knives to the airport. We will give you one on our flight." These were not the plastic ones, these were actual dinner knives made from silver. But yet, still less dangerous than my Johnson & Johnson Baby Bottom Smooth Hair Silk Shampoo. But I digress....

The flight was less entertaining then most because Air India apparently had 11 channels on their built-into your small chair TV but all aired Indian speaking movies. Indian News, Indian movies, Indian MTV, Indian Martha Stewart, Indian Best Police Chases Caught On Tape (man those elephants are fast). To someone who does not speak an ounce of Indian, this was a really boring flight.

Then comes my flight back to JFK from LAX on Sunday night. I have been in Los Angeles for business and with a quick stop to my parents house. My mother would never forgive me if I didn't stop by (especially since I will miss Passover this next weekend for the first time in my life). I will skip through the boring parts and fast forward to 10 minutes before we land. Around 1:40 a.m.

I am sitting on a flight by a really crappy airline. I won't say their name, but lets just say its an airline that just happened to be "American" (wink wink).

The pilot comes on and says "Flight Attendents, prepare for landing." the seatbelt lights turn on and the lights turn on around the cabin. I am sitting in seat A. This seat is in the aisle. Suddenly I hear someone arguing across the other side from where I am sitting, but a few rows back. I turn my head just a bit out of curiosity and notice two grown women arguing. From what I gather, the lady behind, has been putting her legs against the chair in front of her and kicking it accidently one too many times throughout the flight. The lady in front, who has been bothered by the seat kicking turns and says "Can you please stop? I asked you already like 10 times". The lady behind her responded with "Turn yourself around and shut the f**k up!".

Those eight words made the lady in the front unbuckle her seatbelt, stand up, turn herself around while with her knees on her seat, raise her hand up and bitch slap the skin off the other lady's face.

This was not a normal slap by any means. This was a "Bitch, where is my money? You better get back on that corner and keep hustling" type of slap. This slap echoed through the cabin like a yell in the Grand Canyon. Within an instant, the lady being slapped stood up, grabbed the other lady (slappy) and pulled her by the hair down to the aisle floor. Next thing you know, they are yelling and throwing slaps around like two homeless people on a cheeseburger.

People sitting around them stand up and get out of the way. Immediately, the flight attendants run down and separate them. I look at the person sitting next to me and thinking "This is better then Pay-Per View".

They put one lady in the kitchen in the center of the plane and have her talk to one attendant. The other, is taken to the back of the plane where she is speaking with two other attendants. The fourth attendant is walking around asking people to sit down. I assume its all over and cancel my attempt to reach for my digital camera in my bag. Then, the attendant in the kitchen turns her back to grab a glass of water for "Slappy" and "Slappy the slap happy fighter" makes a bolt to the back of the plane to tackle the lady again. They go at it for another few seconds before the attendants realize the ring bell rung and the fight is back in for round 2!

The separate them again. This time they take no chances and put one in the back of the plane by the restrooms and the other one in the front of the plane (note to self: easy way to get seated in First Class is to start a fight. May backfire by having the guy you are fighting go to first class, and you being placed in the back by the bathrooms).

We land and of course, police stand ready at the gate as I get off the plane to board on.

This was very entertaining I must say. I wish it went on a little longer, I might have bought a sandwich. Seriously. If airlines took out a few seats in the middle, and built a ring. Let people on the plane duke it out while the rest order sandwiches and alcohol, it would be a very entertaining flight. Like boxing night in Vegas, but at 30,000 feet.

There is a moral to this story. It's not that you shouldn't kick peoples seat, or slap people. The moral is that if you want to take a second shot at someone, look at the flight attendant that is breaking it up and say "Get me a drink, bitch!" and make a break for it.

Roach Vs. Mouse

2008-04-08T10:32:00.004-04:00

Before I moved to New York, I told myself that there are few things that I will need to accept.

1) The weather. Coming from California I knew I would whine and bitch about it for atleast 6 months. I still am.

2) Expensive life style. I knew rent would be more for less. I paid $600 less in Los Angeles for a place that feels like it was twice my current place. While I did assume I would be saving money on not having a car, I failed to realize that when you are dealing with #1 (crappy weather) you tend to take the subway more, and hence spending money on transportation anyway.

Lastly, I knew I would have to accept Cockroaches. I used to watch Joe's Apartment back in the day. The single guy living with hundred of roaches who hung out with him and helped him score dates only to destroy any chance of him getting action by revealing themselves to his date.

I knew New York had roaches. The same way my parents had accepted that I was not going to grow up to be a Jewish Lawyer, or the same way my wife has to accept that I tend to break things around the house on accident, only to break something else while cleaning up the first thing I broke. I, had to accept to see roaches.

I don't mind roaches. A lot of people don't seem to like them. They have skinny legs, little tiny lips, they walk really fast. It's like watching models on a runway. What's not to like?

As I mentioned in previous posts, I have been dealing with a rodent problem. At first it was frustrating. Then it became cute (when you see the little 2 inch mouse and his big black eyes you just want to name him and keep him as a pet). But now it reached a new level.

My house is to rodents, what California is to illegal aliens. A month ago, I was lucky if I saw one rodent. Lastnight, I saw five (possibly seven) all within couple of hours of eachother. They have skipped the border, and have made my house the new San Diego.

A few nights ago, I saw a cockroach. He was walking really slow and almost injured like. I squashed him with my shoe and threw him to the curb faster than Whitney did to Bobby.

Lastnight, as we are looking behind the fridge for the little mouse who ran across the aparment floor, my wife and I got into a discussion.

Which is worst having around? The Mouse? Or the Roach?

Her answer was roach. That was not surprising to me. They are tiny little devils who crawl up on walls and travel in packs. Except that, this is the exact same reason I said that the mouse is the worst thing to have.

Women love a mouse because its furry and cute. But why hate on the roach just on looks? Mice by far carry more diseases. Heck, you can actually get mice mites. Have a rash from them or even have them eat your food to the point where its not healthy.

So, I decided to leave it up to you. Below is a poll. Who is worse at having as a roommate? The Roach or the Mouse?

Something Stinks and it may be your Bush!

2008-04-07T17:55:00.005-04:00

I know I typically write about New York news here, but I came across this article and had to give it props:

"SFist broke news about the Presidential Memorial Commission of San Francisco's plan to rename the city's wastewater treatment facility to the George W. Bush Sewage Plant.

Looking to honor the forty-third President of the United States of America, George W. Bush, the recently formed Presidential Memorial Commission of San Francisco is looking to change the name of the Oceanside Wastewater Treatment Facility. It seems the group would like to rename the SF Zoo adjacent facility to the "George W Bush Sewage Plant."

Right On San Fran. The only thing worse than having a job cleaning up sewage, is cleaning up after a messy Bush.

Sexless and the City

2008-04-04T16:57:00.005-04:00

Single Man at Bar: "Hi, how you doing?"

Single Woman at Bar: "Good."

Single Man at Bar: "Can I buy you a drink?"

Single Woman at Bar: "Sure"

Single Man at Bar: "You here by yourself?"

Single Woman at Bar: "No. I am here with my girlfriends."

Single Man at Bar: "You are? Where are they?"

Single Woman at Bar: "They are outside waiting in line. This place is over capacity. They couldn't let all my single girlfriends in."

Single Man at Bar: "Really? Well, I would love to buy you and your girlfriend a drink or two. How many single girlfriends are here with you? Two? Three?"

Single Woman at Bar: "hmm....about 67 maybe."

Single Man at Bar: "Bartender! Check Please!"

New York Police Department Robbed!

2008-04-04T14:47:00.004-04:00

Apparently Seattle is committing theft. They are stealing NYPD officers to move to Seattle and work for the Seattle Police Department. It's working.

First, let's take a look at why it is working. For starters, Seattle has a population of 582,000 while NYC has 8 million!!! In those cities, Seattle has only 1,200 cops. That is one cop for every 485 people.

In comparison, NYC has 35,000 cops. Which works out to be only 228 people per a cop. That is cake walk. I had 228 friends on myspace at one point in my life (sure, they were all bands) but keeping track of less than 250 people is easy. People have Barmitzvas that are twice that size.

So why are NYPD officers moving to home of Nirvana? well, the starting pay for one in NYC for a police officer is $25,100. Seattle is $47,334 (nearly double just to become an officer).

If you reach the top base salary within x amount of years? as an NYPD, you can get a max of $59,000. Seattle is $67,000.

Take into account the fact that the median cost of household incomes in NYC is $45,000. That the cost of single family home in NYC is $469,000 and that this economy is going down faster than a hooker in a New York Governors office, I can see why police officers are going west.

Just for the sake of crime talk, Seattle had 24 murders in 2007. NYC had 496. 496 in one year! That may not look like much when you have 8 million people walking around, but since I moved here, we had 2 murders within a 4 block radius. 24 murders in Seattle for 2007....their suicide rate is 13.1 per 100,000. NYC has a 6.2 suicide rate. Who needs to kill themselves when you will probably get murdered tomorrow anyway?

It costs 20% more to live here in NYC as in Seattle. Some cops here in NYC have to work a second job just to maintain a standard of living.

It got me thinking about what safety costs. Sure, the NYC cops only need to police an average of 200 people per an officer in this giant city, but our murder rate is higher. I am sure this all balances out, but when someone offers you double your salary just to move to Seattle (not to mention that they will give you an additional $5,000 moving expenses), a lot of cops must be re-thinking their commitment to this city.

You would think that the NYPD Police Commissioner would do something about it. Perhapse raise the salary or I don't know, do something good to keep them. But, instead, he plans on cutting the police force by 1000 cops due to shortfalls in the budget.

So next time you get mugged at knife point while waiting on the L Train, you may not want to run to a police officer immediately after. He will either not care because he got his pink slip that morning, or he knows that the $25,000 he makes is not worth chasing a guy down the tunnel.

I love the NYPD. They are brave and as they say, they are New Yorks Finest. So I think they should be treated a bit better. Can someone give these guys a raise? I know I prefer to pay more in taxes so they can get $40,000 a year instead of ending up as number 497 on the murdered list for 2008.

A City By Any Other Name

2008-03-27T14:24:00.003-04:00

New York, NY.

So Nice, they named it twice.

Either that, or the guy who named it had a stutter.

I came across an article today on Gawker.com that had a list of all the nicknames New York City has (to my amazement, a total of 98). Some were ok (like the obvious ones: "Big Apple", "Capital of the World", etc.) some were lame ("The City Of Friendly People"....who are you kidding?).

But then I got to the comment section, I have to be honest, the names in there are more dead on then anything. I agree with 90% of them. Whoever thinks of lame nicknames for cities makes me think that the people naming them don't even live here. I asked 5 different people in NYC already why the heck its called "The Big Apple" and nobody knows!

So, instead of giving credit to the lame douchbags who named this place ("Americas Mecca"? kind of odd since Muslim terrorist attacked this city) or ("Financial Capital"? I think we have a lot of unemployed Bear Sterns employees who would disagree with that name).

So, I figured I will give props to the real New Yorkers. The ones who call this place by what they see, hear, smell, experience and deal with. After all, nobody knows this city better then the people putting up with it.

Here are some of my favorites, followed by a link to the original article:

1. City of 1000 smells

2. The World Capital Of Pushing Tourists Down Escalators

3. That Place Next To Brooklyn

4. The City Where Summers Smell Bad

5. If You Can Make It Here, You Have A Really Good Map City

6. Cockaroach Alley

7. There Is Homeless Poop On The Subway Here City

8. The Rental Rape Capital of the World

9. The Land We Were Fucked Over for $24 of Beads and Trinkets (as the Native Americans would call it)

10. Flasher's Paradise

11. Land of the $1000 an hour Hooker

12. Jewtopia

13. The City Where The Answer Is Always "Go Fuck Yourself!"

14. Sunnyvale Acres For Hobos

15. Land of the Unemployed Investment Bankers

16. New Fuckin Yawk

17. Who Wants To Know

18. As they call it in Brooklyn "The fuckin' city"

19. Land Of Atleast It's Not New Jersey

20. Where We're Not Unfriendly, We Just Don't Give a Shit About You. There's a Difference.

21. Sorry We Are All Booked Up Tonight City

22. Puerto "We Ain't No Fuckin' Mexicans" Rican Paradise

23. The I Didn't See Your Name On The List Town

and finally, my favorite and the one I call it myself: "Home".

The link to the Gawker Article:

http://gawker.com/372922/the-city-of-superlatives

For those with magical internet service

2008-03-17T17:16:00.003-04:00

A new ConEd commercial is being aired on the radio here in Manhattan and New York. It says that now you may easily report a power outage with the click of a button using the ConEd website on the internet.

I may be a bit behind on my technology at home, but was there some kind of internet service released that works on magic?

Update: Some people have said to me "They probably figured you have a laptop". Well, unless your wireless router works on fairy dust, you still wouldn't get service.

Who is worse as a roomate?
	Cockroach
	Mouse
	Me

Free polls from Pollhost.com