east village idiot

In Case You Missed It, I've Moved

2006-12-04T16:39:00.000-05:00

I'm at eastvillageidiot.com now. It should be easier for you to remember.

And if you're looking for the new feed, you can eat it up at http://eastvillageidiot.com/feed/

Peace out.

The East Village Idiot has Relocated.

2006-11-14T12:30:00.000-05:00

Don't worry, he still lives in the East Village, just not here.

Head on over to eastvillageidiot.com.

King of the Drunk Dial

2006-11-13T09:33:00.000-05:00

I must admit that I am a bit enamored with my phone. But after this weekend, I think it's gotten a little out of hand. When I'm drunk, my phone and I are all over each other. For example, let's review my Saturday Night in pictures:

Look at my phone! I loooove my phone!

My phone is way more important than you people.

My phone even likes it from behind.

Heather's clearly jealous that my phone loves me more than her Blackberry loves her.

My phone is good enough to eat!

Yeah, dearest LG Fusic, we need to talk. I think I need to give you some space. Like, in my pocket instead of in my hand.

Mind-Blowing Discoveries

2006-11-12T13:26:00.000-05:00

My roommate, who is 25 years old and works in finance, just came into my room to tell me he has made a miraculous discovery:

"I just found out that I can use my debit card like a credit card."

The card has a Visa logo on it. He's had the card for as long as he's had a bank account.

My brain hurts.

Friday Funnies: So Long, Rummy!

2006-11-10T11:56:00.000-05:00

Little did I know that my readers were such big fans of the Friday Funnies. Last week, when I was sitting on a bus when I could have been updating the Friday Funnies, I got a slew of angry IMs: "WHERE ARE THE FRIDAY FUNNIES?" Well, relax. This week, you're getting it on time. But first, a question, since you're all such huge fans.

Now, onto the Funnies, from CBS' The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson:

Sometimes, The Polak Jokes Write Themselves

2006-11-09T09:56:00.000-05:00

There's been a lot of flack lately about an article in the Haverford College Alumni Magazine that disparaged the Greenpoint neighborhood in Brooklyn and its large Polish-American Community. The P.C. Police have already come to the rescue to take the article off Haverford's web site, but this controversy begs the question: who the hell goes to Haverford College and where the hell is it?

But it also begs the question: how far off was he? I will not pass judgement, because I am embarassed when people reinforce stereotypes, but I want to share this story from my days living in Greenpoint:

One Saturday afternoon, my roommate and I were walking down Manhattan Avenue to grab some lunch at the Triple Decker Diner. Two middle-aged blonde women were walking in front of us, obviously speaking in Polish. They stopped to turn into one of the two thousand 99-cent stores that line Manhattan Avenue.

The 99-cent store had double glass doors at the front. One of the women grabbed the long handle of the door to pull. The door did not budge. She tugged again, and the door would not move. Not willing to give up so easily, the two women moved to the other door. The other woman grabbed that door's handle and started to pull. That door wouldn't budge, either, so she pulled again. At this point, it was clear they were annoyed. Frustrated, the two women assume the store must be closed, so they walk away and continue down Manhattan Avenue.

As we passed by the doors of the store, I noticed two signs. Inside the first door the women tried to open was a white, handwritten sign: "PLEASE USE OTHER DOOR." Right next to the handle of the second door was another sign: "PUSH."

I was in complete disbelief. I turned to my roommate and asked, "did you just see what I just saw?"

"Yes," he replied, "yes I did."

amNY Watch: That's What She Said

2006-11-08T14:39:00.000-05:00

No, but it should be a crime for respectable journalists to misspell a third-grade spelling word in big, bold letters on page 2.

Previously in amNY Watch: Don't Leave Me Hangin, Here's Your Report Card, Red With Anger

Sullivan For President

2006-11-07T12:02:00.000-05:00

This message was posted on the Facebook Wall of a political candidate I actually voted for this morning:
Congratulations, Brittney Sullivan, for single-handedly setting back the women's movement by several decades! I'm really proud that you and I pulled the same lever this morning... or do you believe you shouldn't be able to vote, either?

Vote or Something

2006-11-07T09:54:00.000-05:00

It's Election Day! I made my visit to the polls first thing this morning, but there's plenty of time left today to get out there and vote.

To motivate you to get out there and do your civic duty, I've provided some Get Out The Vote Slogans For Those Who Think "Vote or Die" Is Too Violent:

Happy Voting!

Rangers Fans: Delinquents-in-Training

2006-11-06T14:40:00.000-05:00

I had heard that Rangers fans were just as batshit crazy as Yankees fans, but I had no idea how young they started. Last night, I watched my Buffalo Sabres come back from a 3-1 deficit to beat the Rangers at MSG, 4-3 in overtime. In the suite next to us, separated from us by just a sheet of glass, was a group of 10 rowdy children, all probably 8 or 9 years old. They were all Rangers fans, and they had no shame.

As the Rangers came out on the ice, the kids went nuts. They jumped around and screamed like they had missed their daily dose of Ritalin. Hell, they probably did, as their fathers just sat back, downed some beers, and watched in amusement.

Early in the game, the kids spotted a Sabres fan in the crowd beneath the balcony, and dropped their popcorn onto them from above. This did not bode well for our suite full of Sabres fans on the other side of the glass.

After Buffalo scored their first goal, our suite erupted in cheering. The children took notice, and turned their taunting away from the crowd below. For the rest of the first period, they schemed to come up with ways to taunt us. And once the Rangers scored their first goal, the barrage began. First, in a mind-boggling show of the masculinity of themselves and their team, they lifted their shirts:

They jumped up and down, pointed at us, laughed, and chanted, "Let's Go Rangers!" The most confusing comment from one of the kids was, "we own this place... literally!" Was his father the CEO of Cablevision? I doubt it.

For most of the game, we all struggled to come up with a kid-friendly comeback as we watched the Rangers take a 3-1 lead. We sat in our box in silence, and we stewed as our neighbors continued to taunt us. Finally, my friend Brendan chose to break the silence with the most brilliant comeback ever:

Obnoxious 8-Year-Old Rangers Fan: BUFFALO SUCKS!
Brendan: You're fat.

That pretty much shut them up for the rest of the game. So did Buffalo's two goals in the third period, and our eventual victory in overtime. As we cheered for the game-winning goal, the kids glared back at us. One of them gave us the death stare.

This solved one mystery. I now know where Yankees fans who taunt old men with canes and throw beer on girls wearing Red Sox hats at Yankee Stadium get their start: taunting innocent Sabres fans. They're delinquents-in-training, and in fifteen years, they'll be in top shape for getting arrested for drunken disorderly in the Bronx.

Food In All The Wrong Places

2006-11-06T12:04:00.000-05:00

At 11pm on Saturday night, I found myself in the most unexpected of places: South Providence. It's an area of Rhode Island where most people wouldn't be caught dead... or, rather, they might literally catch themselves dead. Me being in South Providence is the equivalent of a kid from Westchester walking through the streets of Canarsie or the South Bronx.

Anyone who said that Rhode Island is lacking in Latino cuisine has never been to South Providence at 11pm on a Saturday night. But in a neighborhood where as a child, my parents insisted on locking the doors of our car as we drove through - during the day, even - that's not exactly surprising. Lining Broad Street, the main drag through South Providence, were literally ten trucks selling food native to Colombia, Guatemala, Mexico, and the Dominican Republic. Want a real taco, with meat braised in a spicy tomatillo sauce with a real corn tortilla? They've got it, and it puts Chipotle to shame. Want a chimichanga? Oh, they've got that, too, and you'll never taste one better. They've even got papiajos, a Dominican rarity, made with fried plantains and a meat filling. Despite the over-abundance of food available, every single truck had a line at least three deep.

Having lived in New York for a while now, I've been uptown and seen quite a few trucks scattered through Washington Heights and Inwood, but South Providence was like a three-ring circus of Latino food. I can take a three-week trip through Latin America, or I can just cruise up Broad Street in South Providence. That's better for my wallet, and much better considering my elementary grasp of the Spanish language. And you're probably slightly less likely to be shot or kidnapped in South Providence.

Friday Funnies: Boom!

2006-11-03T13:20:00.000-05:00

It's Friday, and my Pats have a big game this weekend: they face the Colts on Sunday Night Football, with Al Michaels and Frank Caliendo... I mean... John Madden:
Have a fantastic weekend.

amNY Watch: I Hang My Head in Shame

2006-11-03T10:31:00.000-05:00

All week, I've been doing this amNY Watch feature here. Well, it wasn't until I yesterday that I realized something: the entire time I've been disparaging the cheapo paper, I've been using this mousepad:

Whoops.

Starting next week, amNY Watch will become a weekly feature, every Wednesday. It's too easy, and it was getting a little ridiculous. And on top of that, I won't have to force my way through 46 pages of sound-bite drivel every morning.

Until next week, be sure to review the charges that am New York faces:

- Use of Comic Sans on the front page
- Color-blindedness
- Geographic Indifference
- Localism-Revisionism

What the Puck

2006-11-02T22:20:00.000-05:00

A complete list of MLB teams, judging from the selection of caps at Lids on 42nd Street:
A complete list of NBA teams, judging from the selection of caps at Lids on 42nd Street:
A complete list of NFL teams, judging from the selection of caps at Lids on 42nd Street:
A complete list of NHL teams, judging from the selection of caps at Lids on 42nd Street:

amNY Watch: Don't Leave Me Hangin!

2006-11-02T10:27:00.000-05:00

I guess I'll never know the details of what happened between Katie Holmes and Brooke Shi-

Getting Political: Just Shut Up.

2006-11-01T12:29:00.000-05:00

Dear John Kerry,

Shut the fuck up. Seriously. I see you weren't content with just blowing the Democrats' chances in 2004, so you're going ahead and doing it again in 2006. Way to go, dumbass.

And then, once you fuck up, you go and call it a botched joke insist, "I was talking about Bush." No, you weren't, idiot. You were talking about a draft. But a draft is obviously way too controversial an issue for you to bring up when John McCain says we need 100,000 new troops over there and we have no idea where those 100,000 are going to come from.

Not only that, but you want to fuck it up for us again in 2008, too? Go away, you spineless babbling idiot.

With My Blessings for Your Retirement,
Chris

P.S. I suggest that we all adopt this phrase:

amNY Watch: Apparently, The "Syndrome?" Not So Important.

2006-11-01T09:40:00.000-05:00

And thanks, am New York, for telling me first thing in the morning that I'm going to have a horrible day.

Sad But True Revelations on Wikipedia

2006-10-31T15:25:00.000-05:00

Articles on Wikipedia That Are Shorter Than The Article on The Nickelodeon Game Show Legends of the Hidden Temple:

- The American Revolution
- The Taliban
- The Reniassance
- Dwight D. Eisenhower
- Ancient Greek Literature
- Nazi Germany
- The Protestant Reformation
- North Korea
- Double Dare

amNY Watch: Here's Your Report Card

2006-10-31T09:37:00.000-05:00

Typography: F

Well La-Dee-Freakin-Da

2006-10-30T11:52:00.000-05:00

Yes, I did dress up for Halloween. And yes, I made this decision at the last minute. Thanks to the ingenious shopping habits of Kate, I was able to make my entire costume for about $30, plus the cost of the throat drops I sucked down all day yesterday to revive my voice after shouting loudly in my best shrill Chris Farley impression.

Meet Chris as Matt Foley, Motivational Speaker:

It's really awkward going out dressed up three nights before Halloween. I seemed to be the only one dressed in a costume as I walked through the East Village around 9pm on Saturday. I actually held my arms across my chest to try to conceal the throw pillow stuffed up my shirt.

Saturday night, it was hard to tell who was actually dressed up for Halloween and who was in their normal garb. First there was my friend Travis, who was dressed half as a rabbi and half as a priest (he was a cliche: "a priest and a rabbi walk into a bar"). It was a brilliant costume, but it definitely had the potential to offend. As we boarded a Q train at Canal Street headed for Brooklyn, two Hasidic Jews boarded in the same car. What resulted was an excruciating 10-minute trip over the Manhattan Bridge between Canal Street and DeKalb Avenue with no means for escaping embarassment... or the evil eye. You could feel the wrath of God on that Q train, my friends. Travis may very well be cursed for life.

Then, as I was walking home, I saw a man dressed in what looked to be a brilliant Osama Bin Laden costume: a long, thick beard and traditional Afghani dress, right up to the headgear. Then I remembered that there's a Mosque just a block away from my apartment. Was it a costume, or was it for real? I'm thinking it was the latter, and now I am filled with guilt for my insensitivity. And besides, who would dress in an Osama Bin Laden costume? That's so 2001.

amNY Watch: Red with Anger

2006-10-30T09:55:00.000-05:00

From Page 4 of today's am New York:

Someone at the paper must be color blind; apparently, they can't distinguish red from black.

Free papers: you get what you pay for.

Recently in amNY Watch: NYPD Beach Patrol, Floridian Edition

Here Come the Friday Funnies Again

2006-10-27T14:33:00.000-04:00

From the guys at Nobody's Watching:

Put some ice on that... and enjoy the weekend!

amNY Watch: NYPD Beach Patrol

2006-10-27T10:05:00.000-04:00

Once again, I'm reading amNewYork so you don't have to. Because, honestly, with the crap journalism I find in there every day, why would you want to?

From page 8 of today's paper:

Damn! I didn't even know New York City had a beach patrol. Once again, the city is being sued for their own negligence.

Oh, wait. This didn't happen in New York? Huh. Could've fooled me, since there's absolutely no mention of the fact that "the city" they mention is actually Oxnard, California.

· · · · · · · · ·
I've mentioned before that amNewYork's sports section sucks, but here's today's sports section: a whopping three pages, and only two with real, actual sports news:

What's missing here? Oh, I don't know. How about THE SCORE OF LAST NIGHT'S WORLD SERIES GAME? I think that qualifies as sports. Also, check out the NHL standings on the page:

Um, yeah, these standings are from Wednesday night. I know you're working on deadlines, but the Islanders and Devils games were over around 9:30 last night. But apparently, the guys at amNewYork don't bother to burn the midnight oil.

Odds and Ends: Thursdays are for Bitching and Moaning

2006-10-26T15:55:00.000-04:00

- Why do I feel like my entire life revolves around work when I only spend about 20% of my week actually at work? After doing some number crunching, it also appears that I spend another 20% of my week drinking, and roughly another 15% waiting for the M14 bus.

- Why does everyone seem to sing the praises of a poorly-written, weakly-acted, choppily-edited sitcom? Or is that supposed to make it "ironic?" Is that what makes it so hip? I don't get it. I guess this is why I live in Manhattan.

- I am deeply saddened to learn that as long as I am on U.S. soil, I will never be able to just smile and give Colin Hay a vegemite sandwich.

- Here is the coolest thing ever. Enjoy.

amNY Watch: Floridian Edition

2006-10-26T11:30:00.000-04:00

They're free, they are hardly stimulating, and they're apparently both a fire and a flooding hazard. In my ongoing campaign against crap journalism in free newspapers, I present to you these two items from today's amNewYork:

What the hell is this? This sounds like a story straight out of a crappy weekly community newspaper. Tomorrow in amNewYork: a preview of the Southeast Oklahoma Fine Arts Association Outdoor Art Show!

Holy insignificance, Batman! I'll be sure to book my flight to Orlando right away so I don't miss the Spooktacular Science Extravaganza this weekend!

An Invitation to the Pants Party

2006-10-25T16:39:00.000-04:00

Today, I received my first-ever event invitation on MySpace. I was quite excited, actually - was one of my friends throwing a party? Was someone I know actually using an often-ignored feature on MySpace? Nope. And I don't think I will be attending this event.

Yes, and you'll see that I did read the invitation. But I swear, it was only for my own amusement. For real.

The Room, The Room, The Room is on Fire

2006-10-25T09:26:00.000-04:00

Monday night, I woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat. I could hardly breathe as I threw blankets off my bed, and I was practically ripping my clothes off.

Was I sick? No. It dropped below 40 degrees in the city for the first time this season Monday night, so it was the first night that the heat was on in my building. There are two settings for the heat in my apartment building: searing and off. For the past several weeks, I had enjoyed sleeping without a fan blowing on me. In fact, I had gotten used to the peace and quiet of sleeping in a room with virtually no noise. But those days are numbered, because it was about 80 degrees in my bedroom last night. I came into my apartment from the cold and within 30 seconds, I was sweating. I couldn't take off clothes fast enough to avoid sweating.

In this case, I would actually prefer that my landlord do the bare minimum in a situation. New York City code states:

* [During the heating season, October 1 through May 31] Between 10 p.m. and 6 a.m., heat must register at least 55 degrees Fahrenheit when the outside temperature falls below 40 degrees.

55 degrees! Even 70 would be nice right now. I could actually use my quilt. I don't even know why I bother having a quilt on my bed.

And once again, the snooty suburbs think they're better than us. Westchester County requires landlords to heat apartments to 68 degrees all day, year-round. Excuuuuse me. At least the city's policy is somewhat environmentally sound. Plus it keeps our heating costs down. Stick that in your hot water pipe and smoke it.

We're #1!

2006-10-24T14:06:00.000-04:00

The residents of the East Village can claim to be #1 for something: our bus service! In two very contradictory ways!

In last week's Best of New York in the Village Voice, the M14A bus was voted Best Bus:

Their veritable river-to-river routes take you from the industrial/jock/seminary precincts of far west Chelsea to the Latino and Chinese enclaves beyond the East Village's education ghetto. Dip your MetroCard in the slot and go shopping for food at the burgeoning Chelsea Market; the biggest of the city's greenmarkets, at Union Square; Trader Joe's; or the Essex Street Market

Break out the champagne! The bus that serves our fine neighborhood is #1! We've got the best bus in the city! And no other free alternative weekly independent newspaper can take that away from us!

We basked in that glory for as long as we could: six whole days. This morning, the Straphangers Campaign's Pokey Awards were released. Who got the award for the slowest bus in New York City?

The M14A! With a lightning-fast average speed of 3.9 MPH. I walk faster than that, which reinforces the fact that I am better off (a)walking to Union Square or (b)being at the mercy of gropers and hipsters on a two-stop trip on an L train packed tighter than a fat girl's top at a Murray Hill bar.

So hurray to the M14A, the best and the worst that the MTA has to offer!

Drop Dead, Old Hag

2006-10-23T10:50:00.000-04:00

I never wish death upon anyone. But when you're counting down the days until you croak and you're generally a horrible person, that's when I might second-guess whether you contribute more to society dead or alive. The M15 bus I was on last night pulled to a stop around 72nd Street to pick up the meanest old lady alive. She had a walker, so the driver brought down the wheelchair lift. As the lift started to descend, from the middle of the bus, I could hear her outside: "WATCH IT! You're going to take MY ARM off!"

When the lift brought her up to the floor level, she immediately snapped at another old lady sitting behind the driver, "MOVE YOUR BAG... NOW!" The bag wasn't even in her way; it was on the floor between the other old lady's legs. There was plenty of clearance on either side for her walker. The woman sat down across two seats and then forced the bus driver to lift up the two seats in front of her, usually reserved for wheelchairs, to she could put her walker there. "FOLD THOSE UP," she yelled to the driver. Apparently, she saw no need to fold up her easily-compacted walker instead.

Around 57th Street, a woman trying to get off the bus literally tripped over her walker, which was sticking out into the aisle.

Would the old lady apologize for nearly tripping a passenger? Hell no. Instead, she lashed out at that passenger. "WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING, YOU IDIOT!"

The tripped passenger couldn't believe it. "Sorry! I'm so sorry," she responded, in a sincere manner, trying to avoid the wrath of this evil woman.

"WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU? YOU PEOPLE HAVE NO COURTESY! YOU'RE A MORON," was her apparent acceptance of the apology.

At this point, I literally wanted to yell back at the woman and voice my disgust. I opened my mouth, but then I stopped myself. I was a little hesitant, as I was struggling with the ethics of yelling at a mean old lady. Looking back, it was probably a good idea to keep my mouth shut: I had forty more blocks to go, and this lady was so mean that she was probably a lost cause. It's not like a 24-year-old's lecture would make an 85-year-old have an epiphany about the way she treats her fellow man.

The tension between the old lady and the other passengers had reached absurd proportions by the time I got off at 14th Street. After I got off, did that lady make anyone else's life living hell on that M15 bus as it rumbled towards Lower Manhattan? I may never know, but at least I can sleep at night knowing that she'll probably kick the bucket soon.

Too Soon? Too Soon?

2006-10-23T10:35:00.000-04:00

To the people who put these up last week along 5th Avenue: You apparently didn't get the memo that IT'S NOT EVEN HALLOWEEN YET!

Drop the Name Dropping

2006-10-20T14:53:00.000-04:00

You know who I can't stand? Name droppers. They're all over New York. You know someone who knows someone. Your uncle's mother-in-law's best friend's son is someone famous. Good for you. I'm happy for you.

I mean, It's not like I tell all my friends that my cousin once played a bit part on Ed in its final season, and went to college with Stephen Colbert and David Schwimmer. And that I met them at his wedding before either of them hit it big. No, I'd never brag about that.

It's not like I go around and brag about how my cousin is neighbors with Jon Stewart and I've been invited to go watch The Daily Show live, and get my picture taken with him. And maybe have dinner after the taping, and pick his brain. No, I'd never brag about that.

I wouldn't dare spread the news that my friend works for a Hollywood agent who represents Eliza Dushku, and totally swears he can hook me up with a date with her, and maybe score some tickets for me to take her to a Red Sox game next season, where I could take her into the clubhouse to meet the players. No, I'd never brag about that, either.

Is any of that true? How would you know for sure unless I told you? I could've just pulled all that out of my ass. I bet your name-dropping is probably bullshit too, and I really don't care who you know.

Unless you could score me a date with Eliza Dushku. In that case, I'm listening.

Friday Funnies: Look on the Brightside

2006-10-20T10:05:00.000-04:00

The bad news is I woke up with a nasty hangover, a banged-up knee, and vomit in my kitchen sink (not mine). The good news is I get to do it all over again tonight, because it's Friday!

To celebrate, why not enjoy my friends Andy and Matt and their literal interpretive dance to The Killers' "Mr. Brightside":
Have a great weekend, and remember: no matter how bad you feel today, you can't feel nearly as bad as Aaron Heilman does.

NYCDOT Incompetancy, Volume 2

2006-10-19T10:44:00.000-04:00

In the midst of a friendly bar crawl on Saturday night, I stop Brian dead in his tracks. "Look at that red light camera! Look at it!"

Pointing a red light camera at a storefront... really effective, NYCDOT. Even less effective than installing pedestrian signals upside-down.

The Best of the Best

2006-10-18T11:54:00.000-04:00

The Village Voice released their 2006 Best of New York this week. Among the categories of "winners" this year: Sports and Sex. Let's take a look at some of the winners:

Huh? What the hell! That's fucked up, guys! Gay porn and a baseball stadium, back-to-back? What kind of transition is that? There must be a missing link here.

Ohh! Okay. Now it all makes sense.

SF Chronicles: A City Filled With Rage

2006-10-18T09:51:00.000-04:00

One more item from my trip to San Francisco last week: people don't know how to internalize their anger in Northern California.

Of course, this is probably because most of them are too stoned to know what anger feels like most of the time. But I witnessed two very harsh road rage incidents that you would probably never see here in New York.

1. While on a city bus, I notice a car come to a dead stop in the middle of the street. This is a narrow two-way street, and there is no getting around this car. For the next 30 seconds, the bus driver literally lays on the horn. Finally, two people run up to the car and get in the back seat, and the car pulls off. That part of the story, especially the excessive use of the horn, is not unusual for New York. What happens next is.

At the next traffic light, the driver and passenger get out of the car and walk up to the driver's window on the bus. "WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE," they shout. "WHAT THE FUCK, MAN. WE OUGHTTA BUST YOU UP FOR THAT SHIT."

Without skipping a beat, the bus driver responds to the threat. "I've got 20 fucking people on this bus who've got places to go. Get the hell back in your car or I'll call the fucking cops." The idiots oblige.

In New York, this uncharacteristic vulgarity from a bus driver would be followed up by silence on the bus, and a complaint to the MTA for lewd behavior. But not in San Francisco: the entire bus broke out in applause.

2. At a three-way stop, a woman in a convertible pulls to a stop at the same time as a Mercedes. The Mercedes pulls through the intersection safely, and the convertible, with the right-of-way, begins to turn behind him. At the same time, a Ford SUV driven by another woman - which was behind the Merecedes and clearly didn't have the right-of-way - starts to pull forward into the intersection, despite the fact that the turning convertible is clearly in her field of vision. Suddenly, the SUV driver, realizing that the convertible is not going to cede her right-of-way, stops short, and her brakes screech.

The convertible driver honks her horn and raises her hand in disbelief. At this point, the SUV driver shouts for all to hear, "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, YOU FUCKING BITCH CUNT?"

Jerk? Moron? Asshole? Pendejo? These are acceptable words in expressing your frustration with other drivers in New York. But never have I heard "fucking bitch cunt."

San Francisco drivers: calm the fuck down!

Earlier SF Chronicles: The Bitchy Bohemian Bar Bouncer, Misconceptions, Presidential Material

This Office is Illin'

2006-10-17T12:17:00.000-04:00

Is it me, or is the entire world sick right now? Seriously, there isn't a single co-worker here who hasn't had something in the last month or so. I've been sick THREE TIMES in the past month. Finally over my cold from the weekend, I just went to the gym yesterday for the first time in two weeks, where in an attempt to boost my immune system with exercise, I probably acquired another cold that will hit me by this time tomorrow.

The symphony of coughing, sneezing, and nose-blowing in my corner of my office this week has been almost unbearable. At this point, there's only one way to avoid getting sick again: turning my cubicle into a Bubble-Cube, sealed in duct tape:

10 Ways to Get to Newark Airport (And None of Them Are Good)

2006-10-16T15:27:00.000-04:00

I flew out of Newark Airport for the first time ever last week. It never seemed like a convenient choice, solely because it's in New Jersey... and even worse, Newark, New Jersey (I once took an online "purity test" that asked, "have you ever been to Newark, New Jersey?"). But others were convinced that it wasn't so bad - Newark has fewer delays than LaGuardia, and it's closer to Manhattan than JFK.

I've been had. In terms of ground transportation, Newark is the most ridiculously complicated and costly airport choice in New York. Here's ten different ways to get to Newark Airport from my apartment in Manhattan, and all of them suck:

1. Taxi from your door to the airport terminal
Length: 30 minutes, on the best of days; over an hour during gridlock
Cost: about $50, plus tip
Advantages: No need to travel with the plebes underground, door-to-door service
Disadvantages: Cab driver may drive off upon hearing the word "Newark," you may spend more money getting to the airport than on your flight from the airport

2. L Train to 8th Avenue, A/C/E Train to Penn Station, New Jersey Transit to Newark Airport Station, Airtrain to airport terminal
Length: 45 minutes to an hour
Cost: $16
Advantages: Low cost, the excitement of the potential to be groped on a crowded train, being able to blame Amtrak for inevitable delays on NJ Transit
Disadvantages: Being at the mercy of an unreliable public transit system, struggling to hold onto your luggage as you force your way through a turnstile

3. L Train to 6th Avenue, PATH Train to Hoboken, New Jersey Transit to Newark Airport Station, Airtrain to airport terminal
Length: 55 minutes
Cost: $14
Advantages: Being able to tell friends at your destination, "I was in Hokoben this morning," as though it were an exotic destination
Disadvantages: There are exactly two trains a day that run directly to the airport from Hoboken, so this option is as viable as hailing the Cash Cab to Newark and hoping you don't get kicked out on the Pulaski Skyway.

4. L Train to 6th Avenue, PATH Train to Journal Square, PATH Train to Newark Penn Station, New Jersey Transit to Newark Airport Station, Airtrain to airport terminal
Length: One hour
Cost: $11
Advantages: The cheapest reasonable option (despite still being $9 more expensive than the cheapest option to JFK), the thrill of visiting Downtown Newark
Disadvantages: Being at the mercy of four different unreliable public transit systems (one for each leg of the trip!), the loss of one purity point

5. L Train to 8th Avenue, A/C/E Train to Penn Station, Amtrak to Newark Airport Station, Airtrain to airport terminal
Length: 45 minutes to ???
Cost: $37
Advantages: Riding in "the lap of luxury" for 22 minutes, the excitement of wondering if Amtrak will still be in business on the day of your flight
Disadvantages: Looking like a complete and absolute sucker

6. L Train to 8th Avenue, A/C/E Train to Penn Station, New Jersey Transit to Newark Penn Station, New Jersey Transit ticket machine, New Jersey Transit to Newark Airport Station, Airtrain to airport terminal
Length: One hour and 10 minutes
Cost: $13.25
Advantages: Spiting NJ Transit by demonstrating how absurd it is that it's cheaper to get off the train at Newark, buy a new ticket, get back on the train, and then go to the airport
Disadvantages: Looking like a cheap mofo to save an extra $2.75

7. L Train to 8th Avenue, A/C/E Train to 42nd Street/Port Authority, Olympia Trails Bus to Newark Airport
Length: One hour
Cost: $16
Advantages: Your amusement at the hobos at Port Authority when taking a 6am flight, practically being assured a seat on the bus
Disadvantages: Your amusement at the bus company in assuming that the bus trip through the Lincoln Tunnel takes just as long at 5am as it does at 5pm

8. Supershuttle
Length: 45 minutes to an hour
Cost: $19, plus tip
Advantages: Knowing that you are not the only New Yorker catching a shuttle to the airport at 4:15 in the morning, the chit-chat with the folks from Texas who got picked up at the Marriott Marquis
Disadvantages: Picking up every other New Yorker awake at 4:15 in the morning before finally leaving Manhattan, the chit-chat with the folks from Texas who got picked up at the Marriott Marquis

9. Walking
Length: four hours (at a brisk pace)
Cost: free
Advantages: Complete freedom to leave whenever you want, a rest stop at the White Castle in Jersey City
Disadvantages: Inhaling the fumes in the Holland Tunnel, the inevitable arrest by Port Authority Police

10. Carjacking
Length: 15 minutes
Cost: free
Advantages: By far the fastest method of getting to Newark (assuming a police chase ensues), being able to flee the jurisdiction by plane (assuming no police chase ensues)
Disadvantages: Being sure to jack a car that has E-Z Pass and can make it all the way to the airport, having a permanent felony record

Life-Altering Facts, Brought To You By Music Choice

2006-10-16T09:31:00.000-04:00

Friday Funnies: Taft Was Eaten By Wolves

2006-10-13T14:57:00.000-04:00

Gerald Ford is back in the hospital again. Sad news? Right. Not good fodder for this week's edition of the Friday Funnies? Wrong. Whenever I hear the name Gerald Ford, all I can do is laugh, and I blame it all on one of the funniest sketches in the history of Saturday Night Live:

SF Chronicles: Presidential Material

2006-10-13T00:40:00.000-04:00

I was lucky enough to get into the Continental Airlines Presidents Club as compensation for my hellish delays on the trip to San Francisco. Does it really exist? Oh, it does. Free food. Free drinks. Comfy chairs. Plugs for your cellphone, laptop, and iPod charger. Flat-screen TVs. Friendly service agents. Yes, I have seen the world beyond those mahogany doors, and it is good. For a day, I lived like a king. I was, for one shining moment, a member of the cool kids' club.

Ways the Continental Airlines Presidents Club is like a New York City Nightclub

There is, in fact, a velvet rope at the entrance. No burly bouncer, though - just a small, unintimidating Asian woman behind a desk who would probably use some sort of martial art technique to protect the club from intruders.

You have to be "on the list" to get in. If you're "not on the list," you can always pay someone off (in this case, exactly $45) to get in.

"Proper attire" is required. Although the only improper attire here are wife beaters and cut-offs, especially at the Houston Presidents Club.

The clientele is often too drunk for their own good. The booze at the bar can do that to lonely business travelers, the same way bottle service can do that to Guidos.

The owners reserve all rights to kick you out of the club. This is rule is probably most likely used for infractions like streaking through the bar, hiring a stripper to perform in the conference room, or talking on your cell phone in the TV lounge.

Quick, Somebody Call 311!

2006-10-12T21:38:00.000-04:00

Walking on the ceiling? Seriously, how dumb do the workers at the NYC DOT have to be to not notice this? These people are responsible for fixing our streets! I can picture elderly pedestrians stranded on the corner, trying to figure out a way to walk on their heads.

Cross Bay Blvd., Broad Channel, Queens

SF Chronicles: Misconceptions

2006-10-11T13:37:00.000-04:00

Despite what everyone told me, in comparison to New York, San Francisco was not everything it was cracked up to be. Here are some busted myths:

1. San Francisco's transit system is simpler than New York's.

In downtown San Francisco, both the Muni and BART subways share stations. These two systems are about 100 times more dissimilar than the MTA and PATH - they don't share fare collection systems, they have different rules and regulations, and they go to completely different places.

One night during my trip, I wanted to get to West Portal, which is near a Muni subway stop. I only had a $20 bill on me, and the station agent does not make change. How did he suggest I get change?

1. Go to a BART machine that makes change for $20 bills, receive 4 $5 bills.
2. Go to another BART machine at the opposite end of the station that makes change for $5 bills, receive 5 $1 bills.
3. Go to a third BART machine that generates both tickets and change, receive 8 quarters for two $1 bills.
4. Use 6 quarters in the turnstile, pass through, and take a "proof of payment" transfer receipt. If a police officer catches you without this slip, you can be fined up to $500, despite the fact that this is a fare-controlled area, and there is no way to get into the station or onto the train without passing through a turnstile.

This is the equivalent of being told you have to go to an NJ Transit machine to purchase a single-ride Metrocard, and being threatened with a massive fine if you don't hold onto your receipt for a $2 subway ride. And you think we New Yorkers live in a police state!

2. San Francisco is cleaner than New York.

One of my friends, a newly-christened San Franciscan, told me, "you can eat off the sidewalks here." I don't know what plates he eats off of, but I would never even touch the sidewalk in San Francisco. My shoes feel dirty just walking there.

You see, San Francisco is teeming with homeless people far above what I've ever seen in New York. San Francisco is a temperate climate, so the homeless can stay outside year-round with few problems. And it especially doesn't help that the city of San Francisco gives their homeless welfare checks.

I have never seen more puke stains on city streets before in my life. In the morning, there were piles of puke stewing in the middle of the sidewalk, remnants of their welfare money spent on alcohol and drugs. And they don't even have the courtesy to puke in the gutter!

3. San Francisco is gayer than New York.

In three full days in San Francisco, I did not once see a same-sex public display of affection. In fact, I did not see a same-sex couple hold hands. I don't even recall seeing a rainbow flag. I didn't realize this until Sunday afternoon, when I saw two men in a bar in North Beach wearing glittery eyeshadow, presumably as part of the Italian Heritage Parade that took place earlier in the day.

"You know what," I told my friend, "I've been in San Francisco for nearly 72 hours, and that's the gayest thing I've seen here. I see gayer things in New York on daily basis." So, no need to fear God's wrath, San Franciscans! We've got you beat when it comes to Sodomites, too!

Earlier: SF Chronicles: The Bitchy Bohemian Bar Bouncer

SF Chronicles: The Bitchy Bohemian Bar Bouncer

2006-10-11T11:15:00.000-04:00

While in San Francisco, and in the midst of travel delays, I went to get a drink with a buddy of mine. Monday was a beautiful day, so we decided to meet up in the slightly-sketchy Mission District for a drink at a bar with an awesome outdoor seating area called Zeitgeist.

The bar was as divey as divey can be. Its look reminded me of Mars Bar, but its clientele was entirely unintimidating - most likely because they're all high as kites. For crying out loud, this bar had bicycle racks in its backyard. I saw more beards and hipster hats in the backyard than I would on any block in Williamsburg. I have never seen so many people at a bar at 4pm on a Monday afternoon. Pathetic? Perhaps. But the beer was cheap, plentiful, and the bar had a selection of microbrews that rivals the best beer bars in New York. And on way my out of the bar, as I basked in the late afternoon October sun once more, I paused on the deck. "I have to take a picture of this," I told my friend. So I pulled out my camera, aimed, and snapped away:

"Excuse me," a burly man with a shaved head shouted, "but you can't take pictures here."

I seriously thought he was joking. I didn't even know for sure if he worked there. "Oh, I just want to send a picture to my friends. This place is awesome."

"You can't just take a picture of whatever you want here," he says. The folks at this bar seem pretty bohemian, and a ban on photography seems draconian to me, so I figure he's still just kidding, chiding the kid from New York.

"I just want to take a picture for posterity."

"No, no pictures," he snapped back immediately.

"You're joking, right? Why the hell not?" Now I'm beginning to think he's serious.

"We've had issues before. People here don't want their picture taken."

"Whatever," I grunted, as I rolled my eyes and walked out with my friend. This exchange was as close to a bar fight as I usually get. My friend has a history of getting kicked out of bars for fighting, so I wasn't about to let it get to that. The bar has a web site, and coincidentally, its picture of the backyard is completely empty, and too small to distinguish. So, either the clientele here are all ultra-sensitive, are all criminals, or are all completely high off their asses. Judging from the fact that the place was packed with hipsters at 4pm, I'm willing to bet it's a mix of all three.

Back from the Bay Area

2006-10-10T23:34:00.000-04:00

Finally, about a day late, I'm back in New York... back on solid ground... back in the only time zone that matters (I rue the day that I live in a place where I have to get up at 9am on a Sunday just to adjust my football fantasy teams). I've got plenty of stories to share, but in the meantime, here's the #1 Sign That You're on a Flight to Texas:

Yee-haw!

What the hell was I doing on a flight to Texas? Let's not relive my travel nightmare and just pretend I didn't spend 7 hours at Bush Incontinent... err... Bush Intercontinental Airport in Houston.

Friday Funnies: Everywhere You Look

2006-10-06T00:52:00.000-04:00

I'm off to San Francisco for the weekend. What's the first thing you think of when you think of San Francisco? Full House, of course! And who's the first person you think of when you think of Full House? Bob Saget!

Peace out, homies. Have a great holiday weekend. Which holiday? Whichever one you choose. Sukkot? Columbus Day? Canadian Thanksgiving? Leif Erikson Day? They're all excuses to call this weekend a holiday weekend! Enjoy!

Get Your Priorities Straight

2006-10-05T14:28:00.000-04:00

(Or, Chris' passion for politics makes a rare appearance)

An investigation into the teen page sex scandal that has rocked Washington, D.C., in recent days is expected to last weeks, not months, members of the House Ethics Committee announced today. A subcommittee looking into the matter issued four dozen subpoenas today for House members and officers, according to committee chairman Rep. Doc Hastings (R-Wa.). "The American people and especially the parents of all pages are entitled to know how this was able to happen," Hastings said. He added, "We have no other higher priority."

Really? You have no other higher priority? Hmm. How about our soldiers dying overseas? Our national health insurance crisis? The ongoing threats to our Homeland Security? The swell of illegal immigrants crossing our borders? Nope, I guess those take a backseat to a guy who did something that's apparently more unethical than... oh, I don't know, fighting an unjust, unprovoked war at the saking of thousands of innocent lives.

Okay, I'm done. I just needed to get that off my chest. Thanks.

No One Else Wants to Bring Sexyback, Either

2006-10-05T11:24:00.000-04:00

About two months ago, I called for a moratorium on the use of the phrase "I'm bringin' SexyBack." I think the song by the same name is senseless, repetitive, craptacular, and doesn't deserve the airplay it's been getting. Its song title certainly doesn't deserve its constant use in the vernacular of women, most of whom would probably never be able to actually bring SexyBack - whatever that means.

Well, guess what? DJs in New York's club scene are finally seeing the light. They agree with me!

[C]lubs around the city have been using the song title on their posters, so that the already-hungry masses naturally expect to hear their favorite song. “I’ve seen it on multiple club posters. Things like, you know, ‘We’re bringing the sexy back tonight at whatever club,’” said Alex Sanchez, a.k.a. D.J. Alex Technique. “I think it’s the dumbest thing ever.”

Eat it, bitches. I can only hope we have already witnessed the end of the SexyBack era, and its final resting place will be on the 2007 Banished Words List.

Sports Television Brilliance

2006-10-05T01:29:00.000-04:00

At Professor Thom's Monday night, all but two televisions were showing Monday Night Football. One of those two kept me distracted from the game for almost the entire first half. That television was tuned to the NFL Network.

While I am completely appalled by the league running a cable television network that no cable system wants to fork over the money to carry, I will acknowledge the single redeeming quality of the NFL Network: The NFL Cheerleader Playoffs.

The premise is simple: put cheerleaders from nearly every NFL team through a series of competitions with no real point except bragging rights. Among the highlights: the obstacle course (lots of jiggling), the kayak race (lots of splashing), mountain biking (lots of mud), and the swim relay (lots of flesh).

Most entertaining, however, is when their knowledge of the sport they cheer for is tested. In the "Match Game," the cheerleaders must match the logos of the teams to their team names. From what I've watched, it has become apparent that no NFL cheerleader knows the difference between a Jaguar and a Panther. Then, in "Touchdown Trivia," they are posed with daunting football-related questions, such as, "how many points is a touchdown worth?", "how many yards is it from one goal line to the other?", and "what NFL broadcaster has his name on the most popular football video game?"

Each episode ends with a dance-off, where a choreographer and a former cheerleader judge the cheerleaders' dance performances. Oh, and Chad Johnson, too. If any NFL player is qualified to judge dancing, it's Chad Johnson. Also, throwing in a real NFL player as a judge keeps the dance competition from being completely gay.

I'll be at my local bar watching hot cheerleaders shake around, get wet, and get down and dirty in the mud every Thursday night at 9:30. Who thought you'd ever expect that out of a show on the NFL Network?

Staten Island: Not Even Worth the Attention I'm Giving It

2006-10-04T13:23:00.000-04:00

Staten Island, are you seriously trying to pick a fight with the big boys? Your borough is so insignficant, I laugh at the thought of going there for anything. I think I drove through Staten Island once. You think your island is too good for everyone else: you have to pay to get onto it. At first, that sounded exclusive, until I realized that I just paid nine bucks for admission to the New York Guido Factory and Landfill.

Your borough is a cesspool, yet you think you can compete with the big boys. Manhattan has three times as many warm bodies as you do (no, I'm not going to include the thousands of rotting corpses buried in your garbage dumps). Brooklyn has six times as many people. We've got strength in numbers. But since you Staten Islanders are a bunch of meatheads, your Borough President, James P. Molinaro, insists on picking a fight with us:

“It appears to me that Staten Islanders, being the most law-abiding people, hard-working people, God-loving people, are abused the most by the M.T.A.”

Excuse me? The most? Apparently, to the Staten Island meatheads, Manhattanites are lazy criminal atheists. Screw you. Don't you dare play the holier-than-thou card. It's not our fault that your lowly island reeks of garbage and you've been on the verge of getting a Wal-Mart and a NASCAR track.

Oh, and don't complain about transportation, either. You're the ones who chose to live in a place that's like two hours away from Manhattan, unless you take a puke-orange boat occasionally piloted by alcoholics.

Staten Island, we don't want you anymore. We never really wanted you, and we have a feeling you don't want us, either. Slick your hair back, jump in your needlessly pimped-out Honda, drive to New Jersey, and pick a fight with someone you can handle: a drunk Guido at a bar down the Shore.

Grammar Police on Patrol: Let the Capitol Police Handle This

2006-10-04T00:02:00.000-04:00

Former Congressman Mark Foley: Alleged homosexual. Alleged child molester. Confirmed grammar criminal.

Recent Stops on the Grammar Patrol: Not So Scholarly, Luck of the Irish, Early Edition

Kiss My Ass, Yankees Fans

2006-10-03T11:08:00.000-04:00

You think you're classy? You think you root for the classiest team in baseball? Screw you!

These are not the words of a bitter Red Sox fan. You won, we lost, we know, we'll get over it. These are the words of a sports fan who knows hypocrisy when he sees it. Your classy team is selling this classy t-shirt on their own website:

Classy? I don't think so. This is filth. This is downright repulsive; your team's management is sanctioning an anti-Red Sox shirt with a gravestone on it when one of our players has cancer. Really classy.

Go to the any other major league team's shop. No, really, I insist. I dare you to find any piece of clothing that trash-talks another team, let alone uses their logo. You can't find it, because it doesn't exist.

I don't mind when Joe Schmo is out at a cart under the 4 train selling a "Fuck Boston" t-shirt, but it's another thing when it's endorsed by the team.

Don't let me ever hear you call your team classy again. Ever. Unless the Yankees apologize for putting this atrocity on their website, burn the t-shirts they have in stock, and put all the proceeds they've collected towards cancer research, you have no right to ever claim the high road again.

Grammar Police on Patrol: Not So Scholarly

2006-10-02T14:40:00.000-04:00

Congratulations, CUNY! It's nice to see that despite the fact that you've had two Truman Scholars in the last two years, you have not used any of your newfound educational capital to inform your marketing department that the use of the numbers 2 and 4 as replacements "to" and "for" is not grammatically correct. Keep up the good work!

Earlier in Grammar Police on Patrol: Luck of the Irish, Early Edition, Patrolling Union Square

The Obnoxious Comedienne is Extra

2006-10-02T14:12:00.000-04:00

I did a little more research on the hotel I'm booked at this weekend in San Francisco, and I discovered this little nugget of joy: celebrity-inspired suites! Among the options:

The J. Garcia Suite by Jerry Garcia
Get into a groove in the J. Garcia Suite. Created by the late, great Grateful Dead lead man Jerry Garcia, this suite pulses with good vibrations. The self-portrait hanging among his many original watercolors and the autographed wall add a personal touch that is inspired Jerry. The J. Garcia Suite is a must for the Deadhead in your life.

The Black Magic Bedroom by Carlos Santana
The art, music and vision of legendary guitarist Carlos Santana are imbued in every detail of this suite. Textile artist Michael Rios created a Technicolor tapestry of Santana's most heartfelt and intense imagery. At once otherworldly and earthbound, the Black Magic Bedroom inspires a peaceful, yet invigorating energy, much like the man himself.

Pretty cool, right? Well, it sounded like a great idea, until I saw their newest celebrity suite:

Kathy Griffin's D-List Suite
Hotel Triton's latest Celebrity Suite combines sleek elegance and chic sensibility with a touch of sex appeal for the guest who desires life's finer pleasures. In a recent episode of Kathy's hit series, "My Life on the D-List," Ms. Griffin and Mike Nielsen (known to viewers as her 'Gay Visionary') traveled to San Francisco to design an inspired hotel suite.

Dear God. Is a stay in her suite as obnoxious as she is? Does the television only display her made-for-cable TV specials? Does the alarm clock wake you up with an awful, off-color joke? This could be the first time I would prefer not to be booked in a suite. I don't expect to ever hear anyone brag about staying in the Kathy Griffin Suite.

Friday Funnies: Bad Doctors of the World Unite!

2006-09-29T13:29:00.000-04:00

While I'm on the subject of bad doctors, I might as well end the week on a high note. Here's a classic clip from Family Guy. Or... at least as classic as you can get with a show that premiered seven years ago.

Have a great weekend. And stay healthy, please.

Qualities I Possess That I Don't Want In My Doctor

2006-09-28T17:26:00.000-04:00

My normal doctor was out of town when I came down with strep throat. Instead, I had a replacement: a soft-spoken young Asian woman who carried herself like she didn't know exactly what she was doing in a doctor's office. I had already waited in the waiting room for 45 minutes, so I was happy to see anyone who could figure out why I had the worst sore throat of my life. And I figured I'd give her the benefit of the doubt; my doctor has always been great, and she wouldn't have hired someone inexperienced on her staff. But she had some qualities that didn't exactly leave me assured of her competence:

Disorganization

"Hmm, I don't seem to have your charts," she said right after walking into the room. She got up from her desk and looked in the compartment on the door. "Nope, it's not here, either. Well, let me ask you a few questions then." She shuffles papers on her desk. She seems to be missing something. "Hold on a second." I figure she's going to get my records, which should be all neat and tidy in a folder kept somewhere safe in the office. She returns a minute later with a blank medical chart, and starts asking me about my entire medical history. I was expecting her to ask me if I remember the first time I sneezed.

Trailing Off

Doctor: Okay, let me take a look...
[Silence.]
Me: down my throat?
Doctor: Yes, let me just...
[Reaches for the shelf]
Me: get a tounge depressor?
Doctor: Okay, now could I get you to...
[sticks tounge depressor in my mouth and holds up light]
Me : ick iy unge owwn?

Lack of Basic Medical Knowledge

"We're going to give you a strep test." Naturally, that makes sense, since I was the one who suggested I might have strep throat. "I think you might just have a sore throat," she said. "Do you have any other symptoms?"

"Well, I had the chills last night. Chills and sweats. Sometimes at the same time. You should probably take my temperature." She did, it was 99. No fever, she tells me. "I just took some Tylenol for my throat before I left." Tylenol is a fever reducer. If she actually had my charts, she'd know that even 99 is pretty high for me.

"Well, maybe you're right. We'll just have to see, I guess." She gave me the test, took my phone number, and told me she'd call back with the results in the afternoon. At least I think that's what she said, she might have trailed off.

Inability to Follow-Up

Nearly eighteen hours after leaving the office, I was completely convinced I had strep throat. It all added up: I had a fever, chills, a headache and a sore throat - and nothing else. All signs point to strep. But I hadn't gotten a phone call yet, so I call up the doctor's office to get the results of the test. After going through two hurdles, including an indignant triage nurse who said that the office no longer gave out test results on-demand from patients on the phone, I finally got an office worker who was willing to do my dirty work.

"Oh, she tried to call you, but you didn't answer. You do have strep, and she wants to know what pharmacy to send the prescription to." I told her I never received a call. The phone number she had was correct. She even read it back to me twice. I was baffled. So was she.

I got the cold shoulder from the doctor. I can picture her in her examining room, staring at the phone, thinking, "hmm, should I call him? I think it went well, but I don't want to sound too needy. Maybe I should wait."

Now I'm all drugged up and slowly improving. And I'm following doctor's orders: drinking plenty of...

...

and maybe, I guess, eating lots of...

The New Enemy: Streptococcus

2006-09-28T09:37:00.000-04:00

Meet the latest visitor to my body:

He takes up residence in your throat and puts you through agony every time you want to send something his way. He's visited virtually everyone, mostly in childhood years, but somehow I managed to avoid him until I was 24 years old.

How did he get there? I don't know. Maybe it's because every one of my co-worker's desks have looked like this for the past week:

Or maybe it's because I was too drunk to remember making out with someone on Saturday night:

Most likely, it came from some whiny little brat out in public:

So, to whomever is responsible for giving me strep throat, thanks. From now on, I should just walk around New York City like this:

Except the skirt. I could go without the skirt.

Magazines You May Be Surprised To Know Have Circulations Over 100,000

2006-09-26T15:48:00.000-04:00

THROWLINES is edited for electronic/soft-tip dart players, dart league coordinators and coin-operated vendors of the National Dart Association. (Circulation: 118,138)

STRICTLY SLOTS is written for slot and video poker players. It identifies, illustrates, analyzes and rates every new slot and video poker machine on the market and helps readers use correct strategies. Additionally, the magazine focuses on all aspects of the slot culture. (Circulation: 127,100)

BECKETT YU-GI-OH UNOFFICIAL COLLECTOR contains comprehensive collectibles coverage of the popular Yu-Gi-Oh! anime program. Each issue contains card and collectibles price guides, coverage of Yu-Gi-Oh! characters, contests, web site review, info on the trading card game, merchandise reviews cartoon reviews and more. (Circulation: 133,096)

BEAD & BUTTON is a magazine for bead enthusiasts worldwide. The focus is beaded jewelry and accessories in a wide range of styles. (Circulation: 150,954)

U.S. YOUTH BOWLER is edited for members of the United States Bowling Congress. It contains bowling instruction by players and coaches, games and puzzles, tournament announcements and features, youth bowler profiles, features on Team USA as well as other professional and amateur player profiles. It is written for a teen audience, with the age groups ranging from 6-21 years old. (Circulation: 375,000)

Now, A Clarification

2006-09-26T13:46:00.000-04:00

Earlier this month, I remarked that Audrey Ference's bar reviews for L Magazine made me dumber.

Well, thanks to Audrey herself, now I know the rest of the story:

I'm not actually allowed to just review the bars, is the thing. I'm supposed to be writing about "bar culture." They had an actual reviewer for a while but I guess they got rid of him. Sorry if I've made you more stupid. I only get 400 words. I try my hardest.

So, she's not reviewing the bars, which in my humble opinion, defeats the whole purpose of writing about them. I don't understand why anyone would want to read about a topic as vague as "bar culture." But if the L insists on it, I can't blame Audrey. Well, then. I'm sorry, Audrey... you're officially off my list. Now I know that it's not Audrey who sucks; it's L Magazine that sucks.

So, L Magazine, for the crime of not allowing space for any mention of skee ball when mentioning Ace Bar, you are officially on my list.

Drink Up, It's Lunch Time

2006-09-25T10:30:00.000-04:00

This week is my favorite week of the year. It's a rare excuse to get drunk during working hours. It's also a rare excuse to pretend you know something about wine, and using that as an excuse to drink more than your fair share of wine. It is National Wine Week, where for $10, you get a bottomless glass of wine with your meal at the Smith & Wollensky family of restaurants.

This is a great opportunity for media sales reps to schedule "business lunches" that involve no business at all and run about four hours. When you return to the office, you face mounds of work on your desk, none of which you're in any state of sobriety to do.

Fresh out of college and four weeks into my first job, I had my first wine week lunch with my supervisor and a sales rep from Fortune at Park Avenue Cafe. We drank wine until 3:30 and stumbled back to the office. At about 4:00, our group director called us into her office to work on a project. We take two steps into the room before she catches a whiff of alcohol and snaps, "are you guys drunk?"

The simple answer is yes, we're completely wasted. I could barely walk in a straight line to my cubicle. I was mistyping every other word in an e-mail to a co-worker earlier. I was entirely too loud on the phone. But I'm a deer in the headlights now. What do I say in this situation? Am I in trouble? Is my job in jeopardy?

My supervisor simply replies, "it's Wine Week."

"OH!" my director shouts back. "Why didn't you tell me? I would've asked you to bring me back a doggy bag of wine!"

Another memorable Wine Week lunch involved a New York Times salesperson, several clients, and the largest hunk of pork you have ever seen:

Add about seven glasses of wine to this Crackling Pork Shank at Maloney & Porcelli, and you're guaranteed an instant food coma.

Honestly, working in advertising is generally an accepted excuse for drinking on the job. But National Wine Week is the one week every year when we truly feel no shame. After all, why else would Wine Week coincide with Advertising Week?

Grammar Police on Patrol: Luck of the Irish

2006-09-22T13:45:00.000-04:00

While the War on Cold continues, the War on Bad Grammar carries on as well. This one is unique: this business somehow managed to correctly distinguish between "your" and "you're" once, but blew it the second time around.

Emerald Pub, your on my list. Err... I mean... you're on my list.

Grammar Police on Patrol: Early Edition, Union Square

The War is On

2006-09-21T17:38:00.000-04:00

My fellow Chrisians,

This morning, we were attacked by the common cold. Other neighboring countries have faced this enemy head-on in the last few days, and now we are its target. We must stand up and fight. Or, alternately, lay down and fight.

The War on Cold will be fought on several different fronts. First, we will smoke our enemies out of their holes with a simple defensive weapon known as steam. Our military has been investigating new, effective, and efficient high-tech weaponry. Emergen-C has been a cutting edge tool in the War on Cold, although its costs are high. Interestingly, its waste product, neon green urine, has the effect of literally blinding our enemies, and ourselves. We have also brought some allies into our fight as well: deliverymen. History has taught us to "feed a cold, starve a fever." So, Chinese food, chicken sandwiches, and burritos will bring our enemy to its knees. And finally, most importantly, we will not rest in this war until we are well-rested.

Finally, we have an exit strategy and a timetable. Our hope is that the enemy will be uprooted from our sovereign land by tomorrow afternoon, so our leader can greet The Killers at Webster Hall. In addition, our nation must not suffer defeat just days before a goodwill visit to the West Village with leaders Jack Daniels, John Molson, and Jose Cuervo.

Stay strong, fellow countrymen. We will prevail in the War on Cold. We will not let illness, fear, and pain win. Our enemies are like germs. Sorry, actually, they are germs. They will be defeated.

Thank you, and god bless... AACHOO... me.

In Defense of Rhode Island

2006-09-20T11:09:00.000-04:00

Dear U.S. Census Bureau,
This is not Rhode Island. This isn't even an attempt at Rhode Island. It looks like you got lazy, took an outline of Vermont, and trimmed the sides off.

This is Rhode Island. Your pathetic representation of my home state is embarassing to us and you. Hang your head in shame. You've omitted half of the state... the ISLANDS! Plus, you conveniently shaved off nearly all of its public waters. In fact, one of those islands is called Rhode Island.

Thanks for making Rhode Islanders feel even less significant than they already are. Next time, look at a map.

Sincerely,
A Rhode Island Expatriate

A Crappy Post for a Crappy Day

2006-09-19T17:33:00.000-04:00

Hipsters, I got no beef with you, usually. I'm down with your ironic t-shirts. I've been known to sport a faux-hawk every now and then. And I dig Williamsburg, to a certain extent.

But I hate hate hate your laziness, with a passion.

Every single morning, I transfer from the L train to the N/Q/R/W. As I climb the stairs at Union Square, I can hear - and sometimes even see - a train in the station. And yet, you lazy fucking bastards continue to crawl your way up the stairs despite the fact that there's absolutely nobody in front of you to slow you down.

I could expect - and maybe even excuse - that behavior from a 75 year-old lady with a walker. But from a 22 year-old able-bodied trust-fund baby? Inexcusable!

You may live in your own little world, but I live in New York. Hurry the fuck up.

[Sorry, hipsters. I'm in a rotten mood, and you got in my way. No hard feelings, okay?]

Call Me Mister Popularity

2006-09-18T11:04:00.000-04:00

I had three friend requests when I logged into MySpace today.

You know, dimmer people might actually accept these. I usually just deny them. But since these are all completely fake profiles generated to drive traffic to porn sites, anyway, why not choose the "send message" option instead?

To: Julie
Subject: FOLLOW YOUR NO$E TO EASY MONEY!
Body: Too afraid to show your face on MySpace? Invest in a nosejob right now! Sure, you may be proud of your body, but the more money you pour into your face, the more money your "website" will generate!

To: PlayRough
Subject: I Play Nice
Body: Hi, PlayRough. I want you so bad! I know that your picture is probably from a "barely legal" website, and you're actually a 26 year-old male smut-peddler, but I've always wanted an imaginery female MySpace friend that I could slap around.

To: SexyHotty
Subject: Paris
Body: Hi, SexyHotty. I think you missed the memo: these days, looking like Paris Hilton isn't considered a compliment.

I know, I know. I had entirely too much time on my hands this weekend.

Earlier: I Am Now Dumber for Having Read Your Message

There Are No Words

2006-09-17T00:58:00.000-04:00

I just saw a local ad for Gallagher's 2000 (don't worry, the link is SFW) during Law & Order: SVU.

Is there not something terribly, horribly wrong with that?

By the way, it must suck to be the guy staring at the stripper in this ad. Great move, man. Now your face is synonymous with adult entertainment, day after day, on cable television. I mean, I'm sure it seemed like a good idea at the time. "You're gonna be in a strip club ad" probably sounds awesome when you're distracted by booze and fake tits.

Friday Funnies: I've Been Waiting All Week For This

2006-09-15T12:42:00.000-04:00

I nearly peed myself on Tuesday when I watched this on The Daily Show.
Honestly, that's a huge improvement over the original ad.

In case you missed it this week: Argyle Dreams come true,
Toby Keith is a Democrat, New York City dog owners are insane, and I slept through 9/11.

Have a great weekend!

Dreams Do Come True

2006-09-14T11:58:00.000-04:00

Last night, I had a dream that I wore my argyle sweater to work. In the dream, I was complimented on my keen fashion sense.

So, this morning, I dug around my closet to find my only argyle sweater, and wore it to work.

Sure enough, as I walked into a co-worker's office this morning, her first words were, "oh! You look so cute this morning! I love your sweater! It's so... collegiate!"

I wish I had dreamed up something much better.

Still Working Out the Kinks

2006-09-13T15:57:00.000-04:00

This promo is running in between segments of today's Today Show on the MSNBC website.

Wait a minute... wait a minute! That's not Meredith Viera!

Turning My World Upside Down

2006-09-13T15:07:00.000-04:00

I nearly fell off my treadmill on Sunday morning when I heard these words on CBS Sunday Morning:

"It's amazing how many Republicans call me for support. And then they go, 'You're a Republican right?' And you go, 'Well I'm actually a lifetime Democrat.'"

Do you know who said those words?

It couldn't possibly be the singer/songwriter who sings the outrageously ignorant lyrics "and you'll be sorry you messed with/the U.S. of A/cause we'll put a boot in your ass/it's the American way," could it?

Oh, it could.

Toby Keith said those words. And now, I can finally justify my enjoyment of Honkytonk University to my friends.*

Oh, and Toby: sweet mullet, circa 1993!

*Yes, I, a New York City resident and blogger, just admitted to liking country music. Is that a crime? If so, what is the punishment? Will I be forced to listen to TV on the Radio on repeat while locked in a bar that only serves PBR and whose clientele is exclusively faux-hawked hipsters in ironic t-shirts?

Dogshit Crazy

2006-09-13T08:22:00.000-04:00

I have a confession to make: I hate dogs. No, I don't hate dogs. I hate dog owners.

To be honest, I actually like dogs. I mean, how can you say no to a face like this?

But I was walking around Sunday morning at the ungodly hour of 8am. What was I doing? Was it a walk of shame? No, I wish. Who would voluntarily wake up so early on a Sunday? Answer: no sane person.

As I looked around, I realized that the only other people casually on the street at 8am were all doing the same thing: walking their goddamn dogs. How much must it suck to have to wake up at 8am on a Sunday just to put a leash on your obnoxious yapping dog so it can go outside, take a shit, and make you pick up said shit off the sidewalk?

This is why dogs do not belong in urban environments. If your dog wakes up yapping in a suburban or rural home at 8am on a Sunday, there is a simple solution: you get out of bed and let it out into the yard, where it can run around barking and annoying your neighbors. Then, you crawl back into bed. If you tried to do that in New York, you would probably be shot by your neighbors, and your dog would be kidnapped.

Dog owners in New York are absolutely nuts. Rather than forcing them to be subservient to humans, New York dog owners are subservient to their dogs. Now, I like dogs, but not to the point where I will cater to their every need, like $200 groomings, skin exfoliation treatments, and nutritional counseling. Yes, and don't get that precious fur dirty on those stinky, dusty dog runs! That's the place where every one of your neighbors' dogs will try to hump each other, because they all live in the city and have no other means of expending their energy. And thanks to the apparent need to outshine your neighbors and their dogs, the New York city dog owner's needs apparently include doggie strollers (because your dog is too good for walking), gourmet dog bowls, and couture doggie sweaters. These people are seriously batshit crazy... no, dogshit crazy. Hell, Barbara Walters thinks her dog talks to her! Need I say more?

Look, to each their own, but you will never find me owning a dog in New York City, nor will I ever date anyone with a dog. I don't want no baby mama drama, whether it's in human or canine form. If I ever wake up from a hookup with a fucking bitch licking my face, I really will be taking that walk of shame at 8am on a Sunday. Unless that's a bitch in the figurative sense. Then I might think about it, but even that is pretty kinky, and borderline dogshit crazy.

Grammar Police on Patrol: Early Edition

2006-09-12T11:36:00.000-04:00

I was always under the impression that journalists were smart, thorough writers, who would never do something so careless as confuse "then" and "than"...
...but I should've assumed that's not the case at a free newspaper.

Earlier: Grammar Police on Patrol: Union Square

Are You Ready For Some Football Graphics?

2006-09-12T10:53:00.000-04:00

Every single network that airs football had new graphics this year. CBS and FOX added some fancy new graphics. ESPN created a package unique to Monday Night Football. And NBC had to start from scratch for Sunday Night Football. At first glance, they all look pretty decent:

Not terrible, right? Well, here's the problem: the designers of these graphics don't seem to understand how so many people watch football. I watch football in a bar on Sundays. I've got six screens laid out in front of me, and I've probably a got a nice beer buzz going. But if I want to see what the score is on the TV that's six feet to my right, I'm screwed. My vision is blurry, and the graphics are just too damn small. This is how I would see those screens from a distance:

What's the score of those games? How much time is left on the clock? I have no fucking clue. Especially on FOX. Could you make those numbers any fucking smaller? Way to go, assholes.

Now, ESPN's Monday Night Football has gotten a lot of flack for their new "score widget" and its awkward placement:

But anyone who thinks these graphics suck needs a reality check:

1. The graphics are at the bottom of the screen, which make them closer to your eyes when you're looking up at a TV.
2. The graphics make it abundantly clear who has possession of the ball, who got penalized, and who just scored.
3. The score is remarkably visible, even from a distance. In fact, even the clock is easy to read from a distance. ESPN's new graphics are like the large-print edition of Reader's Digest.

Of course, ESPN has no need for these graphics: when they're airing an NFL game, there's no other game to watch, so you're much more likely to be close to the screen. Not to mention that their game is in primetime, when elderly football viewers like Mike Ditka, Don Shula, Jimmy Johnson, and my dad are already asleep. But thanks, ESPN, for leading the way in bar-friendly sports graphics.

Five Years Ago

2006-09-11T11:21:00.000-04:00

I was in college on 9/11. My first class on Tuesdays was at 6:30pm.

Breaking News: Football Preempts Trivia

2006-09-11T08:43:00.000-04:00

I mentioned last week that I'd be hosting trivia tonight at Professor Thom's. Well, Trivia will be played tomorrow, Tuesday night, at 9pm instead. There's a very special Monday Night Football tonight. I think this is the one where Tony Kornheiser learns a very important lesson after a life-changing meeting with an actual Arizona Cardinals fan. So, trivia will be Tuesday instead.

And besides, I need to keep an eye on my fantasy football team (Ricky's Royal Canadian Reefer) - I'm down three points with Santana Moss and Keenan McCardell set to play tonight.

So, to repeat: Mourning, remembrance, and football tonight. Trivia tomorrow night.

I, For One, Welcome Our New Facebook Overlords

2006-09-08T17:56:00.000-04:00

Everyone bitched and moaned about Facebook's new feature, saying it's akin to stalking. What the 700,000 signers of a petition seem to forget is that all of this information was available before on Facebook, just not all in one place. Sure, it makes stalking easier, but if you're going to stalk, nothing is going to stop you. Now that they've added more privacy options again, you'll have to go back to stalking me the old-fashioned way: on MySpace.

The new feature on Facebook that I was really excited about was the prospect of adding candidates for public office as "friends" in a new Election 2006 category:

How do I know Eliot Spitzer? Oh, let's just say I know Eliot Spitzer! Poke Eliot? Ooh, can I? The possibilities here are endless. If only I could add Jim McGreevey as a friend.

Friday Funnies: Crazy Weathermen

2006-09-08T09:58:00.000-04:00

A friend of mine from New Hampshire always talked about the avant garde meteorologist at the local station there, WNDS. Well, for the first time, I finally saw him in action. His name is Al Kaprielian, and his delivery style is a bit... different. Flamboyant? I don't know if that's the word. Whatever the word is, here he is, in all his glory.

Crazy weathermen are everywhere. First, there are the wannabe crazy weathermen in small markets who have no clue what they're doing:

And then there are the real batshit crazy weathermen - the guys in big markets who are probably on some sort of drugs and are eventually fired:

The forecast for the weekend in New York calls for HOLY SHIT IT'S GONNA BE BEAUTIFUL partly cloudy skies and a HERE COMES THE RAIN AGAIN chance of rain, with highs around DAMN THERE AIN'T NO NEED FOR A JACKET TOMORROW 80 degrees. Enjoy the weather.

Apply a Blunt Object Directly to My Forehead

2006-09-07T10:35:00.000-04:00

I could use a whole lot of HeadOn this morning.

On a completely different note, be sure to come down to Professor Thom's (2nd Ave. between 13th and 14th Streets) on Monday night. I'll be hosting trivia night starting at 9, filling in for the venerable John Quinn. Drinks will be had, questions will be asked, prizes will be awarded, football will be aired, and other passive verb phrases will be acted out. Be there or be square. Unless you're a total trivia nerd... in which case, be there and be square.

I Am Now Dumber For Having Read Your Bar Review

2006-09-06T11:12:00.000-04:00

I've never been a huge fan of the L Magazine, mainly because it's named after the subway line that gives me daily panic attacks. But the information is fairly useful, and sometimes entertaining. In fact, I'm a huge fan of Fare is Fare and Tips for Tips, two of the more entertaining sporadically-published short-form fluffy features in free alternative news-periodicals.

If you're looking for some recommendations on places to drink in The L (and who isn't?), don't even bother. Audrey Ference, you're on my list. You write a page-long review twice a month that somehow finds a way to tell me absolutely nothing about the bars you're reviewing. I always thought that a bar reviewer wrote about bars. And occasionally, I thought a bar reviewer even gave details of the bars she reviews! In the last few months, you've discussed how you've never been to Red Hook, how much you hate the heat, and how to dress like a non-tourist. These are great topics for a blog - but not for a person whose job is to provide editorial descriptions of drinking establishments.

Here is one example of Audrey's brilliant summary of the two bars she reviewed last month:

How about Vegas? They’ve got a pool table, a decent jukebox, and enough sense to keep the door shut and the lights low. Or, if you’re a Manhattanite, maybe Ace Bar. Again, pool table, decent music, some darts and pinball. Whatever. Just go somewhere near your house, because only a crazy person would be walking around in this heat. The important thing to remember is that eventually August will end and you can be a human again. Until then, stay inside, stay hydrated, and stay a little tipsy. Like I even had to add that last part.

So, Vegas is dark and has a pool table and jukebox? And Ace Bar has the same, plus some darts and pinball? Those are some amazing observations! I'm totally convinced that I should go to both of these bars right away!

Thanks for nothing, Audrey. Next time you go to a bar, I'd recommend staying there for more than 30 seconds. I bet you could learn a lot about a bar that way! You might even discover that they serve this stuff called "beer" - there are thousands of different varieties!

You Couldn't Pay Me $15 to Ride This Bus

2006-09-06T09:51:00.000-04:00

Is anyone surprised that a Fung-Wah Bus crashed yesterday? Okay, let's think about this for a second: this is a "discount" bus company that operates out of a storefront in Chinatown, where buses occasionally never bother to show up, run at "excessive speeds," take eight hours to drive what should typically take four hours, and have drivers who Police say can't speak English well enough to drive a commercial bus. Why is this a surprise? I thought we all figured this out years ago.

Let's face it, $15 may sound like a pretty fucking good deal for a bus ride to Boston. But is your self-esteem so low that you believe your life is only worth the $20 you'll save over Greyhound? $15 is cheaper than the gas it would take to drive up there yourself. What, exactly, do they use for fuel? Super-low-octane-gasoline? Cooking oil? Small children? Is $15 worth the risk of spontaneous combustion? Is it worth sacrificing the apparently special amenities that other commerical bus lines provide? You know... "heat," "air conditioning," and "restrooms."

Lately, I've seriously considered taking Limoliner to Boston. It's a bus with personal TV, satellite radio, newspapers, wireless Internet, food service, and movies in English! Sure, a one-way trip costs three times as much as a round trip on Fung-Wah (still cheaper than Amtrak), and Fung-Wah may erratically pass you (and/or sideswipe you) on the way, but you'll be watching the terrified faces of Chinatown Bus passengers while comfortably reclined in your leather seat!

Grammar Police on Patrol

2006-09-05T11:51:00.000-04:00

I have never been to Toasties in Union Square. In general, I don't usually trust an establishment that uses the Comic Sans font in their logo. But mainly, I don't patronize Toasties because of the grammar crime it commits on the sidewalk of Union Square West. This banner has been hanging by Toasties' outdoor seating for nearly a year:

A Brooklyn Lager sounds mighty tempting... especially when accompanied by a lovely view of Union Square Park. But until that God-awful banner is taken down or corrected, Toasties is on my list.

Toasties, YOU'RE in New York. Stop embarassing us.

Letter From a Jilted Lover

2006-09-05T06:09:00.000-04:00

Dear Williamsburg,

We're through. I used to like you. Hell, I used to live with you. But after flirting with Manhattan for the last six months and dealing with you over the weekend, I don't think we should see each other anymore.

It's a damn shame. I used to defend you to all my friends. I would tell them about Barcade or the Brooklyn Brewery or McCarren Park. When friends of Manhattan badmouthed you about how remote, inaccessible, and boring you were, I insisted you were nearby, easy to reach, and pretty damn fun to be around.

But you've done me wrong. Friday night was the last straw. I was fooled into believing that because there were no service changes on the L train, I wouldn't have any problems taking the L train. But, my dear Williamsburg, after having a blast with you, the L train decided to stop running to Manhattan because of a "switch malfunction." Now I was trapped with you, in the pouring rain, with three broken ATMs on one block, and no open cabs to be found. Worst of all, I had to pee really badly. This was the nightmare that all the Williamsburg-haters have feared, and it was happening to me.

You wouldn't let me leave. I was soaking wet and a twenty-block walk from the nearest train to Manhattan. I had to walk down deserted streets, across seedy parking lots, through bus depots, and under highway underpasses. I had to wait on a cold, unsheltered elevated subway platform for fifteen minutes. I came back to Manhattan drenched, cold, hungry, and dejected.

Williamsburg, you've let me down for the last time. I think should really see other people. I hope we can still be friends. I'll remember and cherish the times we shared and every time I drink a Brooklyn Lager, I'll think of you.

Love,
Chris

Man Down! Man Down!

2006-09-04T12:11:00.000-04:00

I've seen my roommate do some pretty not-so-bright things when he's drunk (and sober, actually), but this little surprise in my refrigerator this morning nearly made me shed a tear:

A wounded soldier in my fridge? NOT cool.

Don't Catch a Wave

2006-09-01T11:43:00.000-04:00

Last night at Giants Stadium, I saw something I had never seen before, and never want to see again.

The Wave is something you expect to see at a sporting event. It's a necessary evil - it's a way of keeping the crowd occupied during a slow part of the game. During the third quarter of a preseason football game, where third string players are out on the field playing the sloppiest professional football outside of the CFL, I guess I should not have been surprised that The Wave got started.

I hate The Wave with a passion. Not only is it pointless, but it distracts both fans and players, and obstructs my view of the game. Some stadiums have gone so far as to ban The Wave. Of course, it's hard to control the actions of 40,000 disinterested fans who don't even know who's on the field.

But The Wave would not stop. The Wave kept moving. It was getting out of control. Five laps around the stadium. Seven laps around the stadium. The Giants turned the ball over and the crowd died down, but The Wave kept going. Ten laps. At this point, the upper deck of the stadium, which had been indifferent to The Wave for the first few laps, started their own wave. Now, there were two staggered waves moving around the stadium simultaneously. The Wave could not be stopped. Fifteen laps. People in my section were tiring of The Wave, and a few sat out the next two laps. Seventeen laps. Finally, on the opposite side of the stadium, The Wave was wearing down. Sections 120 to 125 heroically put an end to The Wave. The rowdy group in our section, who apparently started The Wave in the first place, booed loudly, and tried to start it again, but thankfully, The Wave never again made it more than halfway around the stadium.

Seventeen laps around the stadium, lasting nearly the entire third quarter: a sports travesty. Please, God, don't make me ever have to see that again.

Things You Can Do This Holiday Weekend

2006-08-31T13:25:00.000-04:00

Given the great weather forecast for this long weekend, here's a list of things you can do to celebrate the last unofficial weekend of summer:

Paddle your kayak down the scenic West Side... as in, the flooded West Side Highway.

Play "Whose Sneakers Are More Absorbent?" You and a friend weigh your dry sneakers on a scale, then run outside into the flooded street for a few minutes. Whoever gains more weight in their sneakers wins!

Go to Central Park and attempt to read an entire book from beginning to end... before the ink runs.

Bring some friends and play Marco Polo at the underpasses on the FDR.

Put several buckets on the fire escape for a few hours, then pour them into an inflatable pool and BAM! Instant indoor pool party!

Play chicken with the giant puddles on street corners. Try to get as close to a car's splash zone without getting wet.

Drown yourself... in alcohol.

Enjoy the long weekend!

Do Not Look Directly at the Burrito

2006-08-31T10:24:00.000-04:00

Before a bar crawl on Saturday that spanned ten bars over ten hours, I stopped by Chipotle. It was the equivalent of a marathon runner preparing for the race with a big bowl of pasta. It wasn't long ago that I used to go to Chipotle for lunch at least twice a week. I was in an afternoon food coma that left me lifeless, but at least I was filled to the brim with burrito goodness.

These things are delicious. They are addictive. But they are dangerous; all bets are off once you become aware of the nutritional facts of a Chipotle burrito. If you eat Chipotle more than once a month, it's best not to click on that link.

For the record, here's the dirty facts on my meal on Saturday:

Nutrition Facts
Serving Size: 1 Burrito Bol

Amount Per Serving
Calories 1010 Calories from Fat 452

Total Fat 51g
     Saturated Fat 19g
Cholesterol 144mg
Sodium 3018mg
Total Carbohydrate 78g
     Dietary Fiber 9.5g
     Sugars 8g
Protein 58g

Vitamin A 125%
Vitamin C 109%
Calcium 34%
Iron 6%

My stomach is crying. But on the bright side, I got my daily fix of Vitamins A and C!

Having That Kind of Day

2006-08-30T14:05:00.000-04:00

Note: It is best to utilize this anti-stress device only on paper. Smashing your head into the flat-screen plasma monitor at your desk may cause more stress.

Manly Drinks

2006-08-29T14:26:00.000-04:00

As a man, it's hard to convince yourself to order a mimosa with your Sunday brunch. That's why I am a huge fan of the Manmosa, which Heather introduced to me at Boss Tweeds on Sunday. The recipe is simple:

- 1 can of Beer
- 4 oz. Orange Juice

Believe it or not, it's delicious. Perhaps the most amusing thing about the Manmosa is that it's considered more "manly," despite the fact that it contains less alcohol than a mimosa.

This got me thinking: are there other drinks where we can replace key ingredients with beer to make them more masculine? Here are some suggestions:

Drink: Long Island Iced Tea
New Name: Guido Iced Tea
Ingredients:
- 1 part Vodka
- 1 part Tequila
- 1 part Rum
- 1 part Gin
- 1 part Triple sec
- 2 parts Beer

Drink: Cape Codder
New Name: Cape Codder, Hold the P-Town
Ingredients:
- 1 can of Beer
- 4 oz. Cranberry Juice
- 1 wedge of Lime

Drink: Tom Collins
New Name: Chuck Norris Killed Tom Collins
Ingredients:
- 2 oz. Beer
- 1 oz. Lemon juice
- 1 tsp Sugar
- 3 oz. more Beer
- Garnish with cherry, orange slice, and a roundhouse kick to the face.

Drink: Cosmopolitan
New Name: N/A
Ingredients:
- Sorry, there is absolutely no way to make a cosmo masculine.

A Lingering Question

2006-08-29T05:45:00.000-04:00

It's nearly September now, and there's one thing that's been on my mind all month. It has really been bothering me, and honestly, I just want to know the answer to the one question lingering since the beginning of August:

What was in Chantal's Big Box?

The world may never know.

Previously: Worst Radio Station Contest Name Ever

Going Postal

2006-08-28T12:15:00.000-04:00

I finally realized what causes postal workers to go crazy.

On Thursday, I got a pink card in my mailbox saying that I would have to come pick up my mail at the post office "after 9am" because of my "broken mailbox."

Strange. My mailbox wasn't broken. I even double-checked the lock to make sure it worked. And Friday and Saturday, I got mail. But the Thursday mail was still at the post office, including an unlimited Transitcheck Metrocard to replace the one I lost last week. So, this morning, I figured I'd try to pick up the mail before I headed to work.

I stand in line for nearly forty minutes with just five other pink-card holders in front of me. When I finally get to the front of the line, where a goofy-looking man with thick glasses called me forward. I hand him the card and my ID. "Hello, I'm picking this up," I tell him.

"Okay........ let's see here........ okay." He looks confused. "Oh........ oh....... now wait a minute here....... wait just a minute."

Okay, I'll wait a minute.

"No........ no........ you can't do this........... this is broken-box mail. Broken-box mail can only be picked up from 11 to 2." He points to a small sign in the window that I had apparently not seen while waiting in line.

I try to reason with him. "I work all day, about 40 minutes away. How am I supposed to pick this up then? Isn't the mail already here?"

"Yes....... but that's the rule. You can't pick it up before 11."

"But it's been here for three days. Why can't you just get it for me now?"

"Because that's the rule. 11 to 2."

Seeing my displeasure with the situation, a female postal worker comes over to the window. "So, you're telling me, my mail is here, but you can't give it to me because the rules say you can't."

"That's the rule," the new postal worker says. "You can come and pick it up after 11."

"But I work during those hours every day." Apparently, postal workers are not aware that many people, like them, also work 9 to 5.

"Our office is open until 7pm tonight."

Problem solved. Why was I not made aware of this? "Can I pick it up then, though?"

"No, you can only pick up broken box mail from 11 to 2," the man repeats, in a zombie-like tone.

"Why is it different from any other mail that requires this card to pick it up?"

"Well, that's just the rules," the female postal worker says. "I can get a postal supervisor for you, but they're just going to tell you the same thing."

I ask her to get a supervisor. The supervisor tells me the same thing. I am dumbfounded.

I still don't have my mail. The US Postal Service is holding it hostage. Its release can only be negotiated by the unemployed, and second and third-shift workers.

I wish my job worked this way:

"I'm sorry, but I can only fulfill requests made by my clients between 8 and 11pm."

"But I don't work then!"

"Sorry, that's the rules."

Chasing Cars

2006-08-28T00:08:00.000-04:00

Dear Chris,

On Saturday evening around 6:30pm, you heard "Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol blasting out of a vehicle parked at the corner of 48th and 8th. What type of vehicle was that? Was it a VW Jetta with New Jersey plates?

No!

It must've been one of those cars from the suburbs still all decked up from a high school graduation, driven by a girl from Rockland County who's listening to Z100 and can't get over the fact that all her friends are going off to four-year schools and she's going to community college.

No, but a good guess. Try again.

Was it a limousine filled with rowdy members of a bachelorette party?

Wrong again.

Wait! I've got it! It was the La Rumba Express!

Nope. But SO CLOSE!

I give up. What vehicle did you hear "Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol blasting out of at 6:30pm on a Saturday evening in Hell's Kitchen?

This one!

A New York City Sanitation Truck.

Hey, garbagemen have feelings, too!

Keep It Clean

2006-08-25T09:21:00.000-04:00

I was at work until midnight last night. It was actually one of the later nights I've ever had at work, despite working in an industry known for late hours (I've been known to get e-mails from co-workers that are time-stamped at 1:30am).

Working this late, I finally saw my company's cleaning ladies in action for the first time. Many times, I had seen them preparing for their all-night gig as I would be leaving. But around 11:00, as I was trying to put the finishing touches on my work, they brought out the vacuums. In my state of insanity, I asked with a sarcastic smile, "do you think you could do the other floors first? I heard the 7 1/2th floor needs a good vacuuming."

No reaction. They looked at each other, and then continued their vacuuming. Either they took my comment seriously, or they didn't get the obscure Being John Malkovich reference. Or, maybe they didn't speak the language. Being a cleaning lady is not a very glamourous job, nor is it often taken by American-born native English speakers with good taste in movies, especially in a city rife with immigrants.

I used to exchange a few words in Spanish with our cleaning crew at my last job in New York, but these cleaning ladies were definitely not speaking Spanish. To be honest, I can't even tell what language my cleaning ladies speak. I do know that they all speak the same one. At first I thought it was Portugese, but I know some Portugese. Then I realized it might be something Eastern European... which makes me feel like a moron for somehow confusing Portugese with, say, Hungarian or something equally obscure.

When I moved to Vermont and was first burning the midnight oil in the office, one of the members of the cleaning crew came into my office to empty the trash.

"Hey man, how's it going," he asked.

Stunned silence.

"That good, eh?"

I was in complete shock. Not only did the cleaning crew here have a firm grasp of English, they actually tried to strike up conversation with employees who were staying late. While I'm sure they were nice people, when I'm stuck at work at 9pm and just want to get the hell out of there, I don't really want to spend time in conversation with the people who clean my office - or anyone, really.

I'm glad to be back in the city where the cleaning people leave you alone - even when you're trying to talk to them.

I Got Nothin

2006-08-24T20:10:00.000-04:00

I am swamped at work, and to top it all off, I'm not at my best today. Not even close. I've got nothing. As in, no time. As in, no energy or motivation. As in, no brain cells that survived last night's boozefest. But here's my lesson of the day:

These chips may sound appetizing. And in fact, they typically are appetizing. But they're not nearly as appetizing when you're hungry at work, nursing a nasty hangover, and their taste reminds you of the exorbitant amounts of beer that caused you to puke last night.

Seeing as how it's 8pm and I'm still at work, these chips are probably the closest thing I'll get to observing "Thirsty Thursday."

Great Moments in Bingo History

2006-08-24T16:16:00.000-04:00

An amazing feat took place last night at Professor Thom's. I call it The Great Bingo Miracle of 2006. Every Wednesday night, the barkeep puts on his angry persona to call a few rounds of bingo. I go nearly every week, and never had a victory until last night.

The win came through unbelievable circumstance. It was "The Immaculate Reception" of Bingo. It was "The Shot Heard 'Round the World" of Bingo. It was the "Do You Believe in Miracles?" call of Bingo.

They called just five numbers. And I had all five numbers on my board. In a row.

This luck has followed me for a few good days now: I found a $20 bill in the gutter on my street Friday night. I drew the first pick in my football fantasy draft. And I've managed to not fall asleep at work today, despite operating on about three hours of drunken sleep.

Now that I've mentioned it, I'm sure my good luck streak will be over. But the history of it had to be preserved for good measure.

Happy Wednesday! .5 of The Week is Over!

2006-08-23T12:01:00.000-04:00

Sometimes when I'm at work, I feel like I'm aimlessly rushing around a dark, drab maze, taking pills along the way, repeating the same phrase mindlessly, and getting numbers thrown at me while an angry, intimidating tornado scrutinizes my every move, grumbling at me if I'm right, and sucking me into his giant vortex if I'm wrong.

I Am Now Dumber for Having Read Your Message

2006-08-23T01:17:00.000-04:00

Many of my female blogging friends (fellow blerds (TM)?) have documented cases of super-skeevy messages from random guys on social networking sites.

For the most part, the messages I get from random women are just space to sell their webcam sites. Those are skeevy, but they're spam. But while women deal with the repulsive come-ons from guys, we men have to face our very own unwanted messages:

From: ♥♥Brookie♥♥
Date: Aug 22, 2006 12:06 PM
Subject: hey
Body: haha hey i was wonderin if ithaca is really like in american pie?..lol well hey hope to hear back from ya..ttyl byebye!

Yes, there were really hearts in her name. Multiple hearts.

My brain hurts.

My CD Collection at 16: I Make Fun of Myself So You Don't Have To

2006-08-22T12:56:00.000-04:00

After Kate took a little trip in the Internet Wayback Machine yesterday, I decided to dig up some of my old web pages on Prodigy.

In my time-travels, I had the misfortune of finding a list of the CDs that I owned, circa junior year of high school. Apparently, I was so proud of this collection at the time that I posted it on my Prodigy web page. The list is so embarassing now that it could be potential blackmail material. Many are relics of my mid-90s angry rock obsession, followed by my mid-to-late-90s angry chick rock obsession, followed by an ex-girlfriend who, well, softened my musical tastes. I'm not proud of this, but I must not be ashamed of my past.

So, rather than make excuses, I'll encapsulate my likely reviews at age 16:

Tidal, Fiona Apple
Oh my God! Greatest CD ever! She's so deep and her lyrics cut straight to the bone! And I'm not just saying that because my girlfriend told me to!

Desireless, Eagle-Eye Cherry
This guy is gonna be HUGE!

Tubthumper, Chumbawumba
Spice, Spice Girls
Ladies and Gentlemen, watch out! The new British invasion has begun!

Fairweather Johnson, Hootie and the Blowfish
Sooo much better than Cracked Rear View! Who said anything about a sophomore slump? I will NEVER get tired of this band!

Galore: The Singles 1987-1997, The Cure
Eh, this CD is all right. Nothing special, though. I don't even remember why I bought it. It was probably on sale at Newbury Comics. And I probably only got it for that "Friday I'm in Love" song.

Yourself or Someone Like You, Matchbox 20
These guys rock hard! They're totally edgy. "Push" really "pushes" the envelope. I heard a radio station banned that song because it was about domestic violence.

Celebrity Skin, Hole
I have so much respect for Courtney Love. She's really cleaned up her act.

Under the Table and Dreaming, Dave Matthews Band
Personally, I celebrate the man's entire catalog. To me, it doesn't get any better than when he sings "Lover Lay Down."

Tragic Kingdom, No Doubt
Gwen Stefani is so angsty and passionate! She's the kind of artist that will never sell-out to the man! Also, SKA RULES!!!

It's funny, because last Thursday night, amongst other bloggers, I mentioned that the first CD I ever bought was Counting Crows' August and Everything After. While others had the shame of Ace of Base or La Bouche, I had a nice, solid selection. But apparently, it all went downhill from there.

Behind the Scenes in Ben & Jerry's Marketing Department

2006-08-22T08:48:00.000-04:00

Marketing Guy #1: So we have a completely bland mass-produced product that we call a "milkshake in a bottle."
Marketing Guy #2: Yet it has none of the characteristics of a milkshake! It's not frozen, nor is it made with ice cream! Brilliant!
Marketing Guy #1: Now, how can we get this product out to the public?
Marketing Guy #2: I know! Let's deface an historic building in New York City with huge, tacky banners!
Marketing Guy #1: And give away tiny samples of these crappy milkshakes!
Marketing Guy #2: Yeah! And put shills out on the street to hawk our product!
Marketing Guy #3: Um, guys, I don't think this is what Ben and Jerry had in mind.
Marketing Guy #1: Hey, who let that hippie in here?

Don't Look at Me, I'm Hideous!

2006-08-21T16:40:00.000-04:00

The Terry Francona termination countdown stands at: 42 days

I am humbled. This is the second worst time I've been a Red Sox fan in New York (naturally, it still won't top 2003). Don't pity me. Our collapse is comical at this point. When I saw that Manny Ramirez left the game hurt in the fifth inning, I actually let out a yelp of laughter in the office.

At least there's always the Mets.

Once You've Seen One Shadowy Figure, You've Seen Them All

2006-08-21T09:56:00.000-04:00

Something always seemed strangely familiar about the Johnnie Walker subway ads...

Grand Central subway station, 4/5/6/7
...but I couldn't quite put my finger on it, until it hit me this past weekend:

Prince Street subway station, N/R/W