It must suck for Roger Daltrey now that Daughtry is around.
Read MoreTag "observation"
Why are public bathrooms the only place you’ll find toilets that feature the toilet seat gap? I’d like one for my home. Though I don’t quite understand the benefit of the gap- assuming it’s so my pee pee doesn’t touch the seat- I know I want it. But as I went about looking for a replacement toilet seat for my own little boy’s room, I stumbled upon something else. Something wonderful.
I’ve often spoken about “Recycled Butt Heat” (RBH). Yes, I really have spoken about “Recycled Butt Heat”, often. That unpleasant surprise you get when you settle down on a public toilet and realize it’s warm. Someone has done their business here. And recently! You’ve just recycled that butt heat. The Irony of RBH is that you are fully aware multiple asses have probably parked on that seat today. However, as long as that seat is cool to the touch, you turn a blind anus.
Oddly enough, a warm seat after a hot shower is also disgusting. Giving credence to the notion that maybe its not just the thought of someone else’s ass that is so oft-putting, but rather, a toilet seat should not be warm under any circumstances.
In my quest for the Toilet Seat Gap, I found something far greater. A happy accident. Behold the Thermochromatic Toilet Seat. A seat (with a gap) that changes color with heat. Yep. Hypercolor for your bum. A change in color should notify the user to: “Hold up- take a lap and come back. Someone was just here and this seat is warm as hell.” You’ll take comfort in knowing that that pew is ready to be prayed on without the shock of RBH.
Sorry for the lack of updates. I went to Washington to see the Inauguration. It was a great experience. Not much to say that hasn’t been said. It was a moment.
The post X-Mas comedown. It’s over. New Year’s came and went. The chain of events that started while passed out on a couch watching football on Thanksgiving- finally ended with an emphatic thud today. Since NYE landed on a Wednesday this year, many businesses closed on Thursday AND Friday. Giving everyone another long 4-day weekend. And I’m exhausted.
With my beloved tree lying lifeless on the curb, today was the first day back to the real world. Or at least it should have been. But last night, as I prepared myself for a new year at work, I heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway of my apartment building. Heavy footsteps. Lots of them. I opened the door to see what was the matter and find attached to those footsteps are 6 or 7 Firemen. They move past my door to the floor above. Gas masks and oxygen tanks in tow. Clumsily bumping into the hallway walls with their bulky appliances. My next door neighbor has come to her door to check out what is going on.
When they come back down, they explain a carbon monoxide detector was going off upstairs. They’ve turned off the gas to that apartment. We’re all safe. Rest easy.
That is… until the gas company shows up.
About 45 minutes later, the gas guy, or a gentleman whom is a master of the gaseous arts, knocks on my door. With his gas sniffing doo-hicky… “Hello.” It instantly beeps.
He says, “Oh, it’s coming from this apartment.”
As he walks towards my bedroom the thing in his hand goes off like it’s had a pair of Red Bull Vodkas.
“It’s coming from YOUR boiler.”
He goes to my water heater which resides in a room inside my closet. (I call this my Panic Room.) He discovers the flu that vents carbon monoxide to the outside, has rotted away. -rotted away- CO rises and it was rising right into my neighbor’s apartment upstairs.
“That guy was lucky. That CO detector saved his life. He would have died tonight.”
Cozy.
How, you ask, has my water heater come to such disrepair? I have no fucking clue. But I know that I was almost responsible, at least in part, for killing the nice gentleman who lives above me. I’ve had the building maintenance guy and the gas company here on a number of occasions regarding the smell of gas. (The most recent being New Year’s Eve!) No one seemed to take notice of my rotting water heater? It makes me angry.
I’ve made several resolutions this year. The standard eat right, do more exercise one of them. However today I’ve decided that in the new year… I’d like to savor more. I’m so quick to consume that I’ve forgotten how to really enjoy a moment. It is a resolution that is infinitely scalable whether it be a book I’m reading, food I’m eating, or the smile on her face. I feel this has the potential to improve my existence more than anything else this year.
Here’s to a fresh start. Happy New Year.
If you’re anything like me, you’re completely consumed by all of the pirate talk. News stories have increased exponentially over the past few months documenting pirate adventures…err crimes. These are real honest to god pirates…Not some scene from The Life Aquatic.
Well take that pirates! This is America! I was absolutely delighted to see this story when I woke up today. Apparently some Somali pirates (they all seem to be from Somalia) attempted to hijack a US. cruise liner in dangerous waters off the coast of Yemen. What the ship was doing there is beyond me. Luckily, the pleasure cruise captain managed to outrun the bad guys, even while taking fire. So cool! I’m fairly certain some bloated Americans aboard thought it was a really good re-enactment of Pirates of the Carribean, The Ride.
Next year’s Talk Like A Pirate Day is gonna be awesome.
Arrrrrrrrrrr.
Read More
I dig Busking. Buskers are street musicians or performers. Buskers are providing the service of entertainment. They are not begging for your change. It is unfortunate that they get associated with the transients that usually occupy the same spaces. And although they’re usually too frickin’ loud during my afternoon transfer in Union Square, I really do appreciate them for attempting to enrich my commute with song and dance. They turn a cold and damp subway station into a little Lilith Fair!
On Saturday, I was coming home from a party and took the L train at Bedford Ave. As I got down to the platform there was a dude waiting there, wiggling a styrofoam cup at people. 20 feet behind him was a woman playing Dylan songs on a beat up acoustic. And just to prove a point to the ether, I gave her a whole dollar. Paper. Entertain me.
My favorite busker is Natalia Paruz, The Saw Lady. She’s based in New York, but has busked throughout the world. More importantly, she totally owns the musical saw. I have one of her haunting cds (yes its true, buskers have cds). I long for the day I’m walking through the catacombs of Herald Square and hear the weepy sounds of that saw. I’d miss a transfer for that.
Read More
I went as Joe The Plumber this year. A couple days earlier a friend of mine said that it was an un-original costume. Everyone is going to be Joe The Plumber. I defended the attack. Obviously there would be a few people dressed like Wurzelbacher, but I thought it was unique enough. Everyone loves the witty, original costume, but I didn’t care. This was pretty easy. I was making a statement!
The first hurdle was the bald cap. This was the centerpiece of the entire get-up. And no easy task. I wanted it to be good. Even bought spirit gum to help keep it on my head properly. But this was a mighty struggle because I’m currently rocking a nappy-headed ‘fro. Luckily I bought two, because I tore through that first latex dome in minutes. I did not stand in line at Ricky’s for nearly an hour for this to fail. After several variations, I finally got it to look somewhat realistic to the point where I could take off. Grabbed my hoodie, put the hood up, and ran out the door.
I get on the relatively uncrowded early-evening L train and have a seat. At this point a dude sits down right across from me wearing… a Joe The Plumber costume. I say “Hey nice costume!” and he waves his plunger at me. I make a stupid joke that the bald cap isn’t working and I’m thinking about just shaving my head. He looks at me funny. His costume is better.
Right now I’m still just a guy in a T-shirt and jeans wearing a bald cap improperly. Luckily there’s a CVS as I get off the train. I go in to buy a plunger and those name tag stickers that say HELLO MY NAME IS:. The illuuuusion is nearly complete.
After arriving at my first party, I ask the host to help me trim out the ears from my bald cap. I wasn’t able to do this by myself at home. She’s busy doing another girl’s make up so I’m stuck sipping grape Hi-C and vodka with a condom covering my head. She’s finally ready for me and cuts the ears out so it looks and feels a little better.
I stay at the party for another 45 minutes and leave. I’m meeting my two friends who are dressed like John McCain and Sarah Palin in Hoboken. We’re a trio and going to a party at the Irish bar below where Palin used to live. The party is being hosted by her cousin whom I don’t know. I’m somewhat familiar with the bar and know it’s on First Street. Once I get into town, I walk down and reach Mulligans. Seemed like an Irish bar.
Walk up to the bouncer and say, “I’m here for the party – $30 open bar?”
He responds, “Alisha?”
“Yeah, that’s it.” I had no idea.
Hand him my $30, I get stamped and walk in. The bar is nearly empty. I don’t see my friends. They aren’t picking up their phones. So plunger in hand, I walk back outside. Down the street I see a line at another place. It becomes apparent to me that that’s O’Donoghue’s. The bar where the party is taking place. And at the back of the line are my two friends. After I yell at them for not picking up their phones, I have to go back and reason with the kindly bouncer that I’m an idiot and went to the wrong bar. Could I please have my money back?
“I apologize man. I’ll rub out this stamp right now.”
“Yeah, rub it out in front of me.” That came out funny. We both chuckled. Got my money back.
The line for the new place is long. Like 45 minutes long. After a stretch of being impatient and frustrated with my lame, un-original costume, I defiantly tear off the bald cap and throw it in the garbage. It didn’t even make it inside. It never once looked right.
The party is packed with Jersey revelers. One guy is Michael Phelps wearing only a speedo. Since we got a late start and the open bar is only until midnight, we attack the drinks right away. I get drunk pretty fast.
It’s loud and a good time. I love people who get dressed up and think they have to act out the character they are dressed as. Girls who are dressed as sluts get extra slutty. (Halloween is a pervert’s holiday.) The Jokers were acting villainous, causing mayhem. Hulk Hogan was screaming his “Demandments” all night. I asked him if he was going to take on The Ultimate Warrior – who was bartending – Wrestlemania 6 style. The white guy dressed as Mr. T has blackface all over his face. That is funny.
We’re there for about two hours. Fading as the night progressed. At one point we’re sitting at tables in the front and I become fixated with this thing dangling on the wall. It’s just this box literally dangling there. I obliviously begin to fiddle with it and continue with my conversations. I finally look down and sneak a peak. It’s a fire alarm.
I hold it up.
“Hey guys, look at this!”
Five seconds later, the fire alarms go off at the bar.
Uh, was that me? I didn’t pull the fire alarm. People look around confused. My friends are laughing hysterically. Wait, I can’t say that were laughing. Maybe that was anger? People begin to calmly walk outside. It was a coincidence! It had to be. Granted it doesn’t help my case that I was actually handling the fire alarm as the alarms went off. But I am fully confident that I did not pull that alarm.
We shuffle out ourselves and go to some other other Irish bar up the street. I run into some people I haven’t seen in a while and meet some new friends. And that’s where my night ended.
Read MoreIt is a morbid day here in NYC. Windy, wet, cold. Disgusting. And to think they tried to play a World Series in this… it boggles the mind. It’s gross out. But such weather leads to some fun.
I find it fun to watch people struggle with their umbrellas. You can pick out which umbrella is about to turn inside out with the wind. Consequently, it’s also amusing to watch people try to turn those things right side in again.
My favorite thing to do, is watching the umbrella dance on crowded city sidewalks. You know this one. It’s that awkward move when two people weilding umbrellas are headed straight for each other. One umbrella has to go way up and the other one has to be lowered in order to pass. Usually complicated by scaffolding and other foot traffic. It’s a difficult dance. People usually get poked in the eye or at least dripped on.
Good times had by all.
Read MoreWhat really sucks about the proliferation of the in-ear bluetooth headset is that now I can’t tell who the crazies are anymore.
Folks, I’ve noticed within the past week, more and more guys are wearing the cowboy hat on the streets of New York. Not quite the urban sombrero, but the Imus look. What’s going on here? Am I more aware of it or something? Like a big fucking cowboy hat with jewels and stuff around the brim. Is this in now? Confused.
Read More