Just like Ronnie sang, Bea my little baby...

What kind of person, fan, friend am I for not paying homage to a very dear friend that recently passed? There has been an outpouring of anger for this blatant neglect, and people, I sincerely apologize. Bea, we will miss you! For some reason I'm feeling Eddie Money is perfectly fitting for paying tribute to our fallen angel. You know this whore will be a hot bitch in hell.

Anyway, enjoy here:

I feel a hunger it's a hunger

That tries to keep a man awake at night

Are you the answer I shouldn't wonder

When I can feel you whet my appetite

With all the power to release it

It isn't safe to walk the city streets alone

Anticipation's running through me

Let's find the keys and turn the engine on.

I can feel you breathe

I can feel your heart beat faster.

Take me home tonight

I don't want to let you go till you see the light

Take me home tonight

Listen honeyJust like Ronnie sang

Bea my little baby...

Heil Pitler

Ruth, Velez and I went out for a few cocktails on Saturday night. At one point Ruth lifted her arms to tousle her hair, and Velez thought he noticed a mark of ill repute. Of course, it wouldn't be unheard of and naturally he thought it was a bruise. Ruth was concerned it may have been a spot missed from her first shave since winter. I thought it looked like a mustache. Hitler's. Although, that was a picture of Pringle. I just didn't feel like including a pic of Hitler. I like Jews.

(The fine print says: RELAX. It's just my armpit. And that's all it is folks. Ruth's mark by the way, fortunately turned out to be only a shadow.)

Fromoutta - not fromunda - Fromage

I had the pleasure of spending this past Friday evening with my dear friend Sally - whom I sat next to for three years at Charles Schwab in San Francisco - and her good friend's Linda and Scott - whom I'd like to think of as my friends now. We had dinner at John's in the East Village. The biggest surprise of the evening was the Spedino Mozzarella Romana. (Sally would gladly debate the grammatical gender correctness of the name, but hey, that's how they had it listed on the menu.) It's a baked and deep-fried mozzarella loaf with caper and anchovy sauce. Holy cow! It's from out of this fucking world, and now I crave nothing else. I plan on eating this as often as possible. I also plan on having a heart transplant.

(Honestly, it was the perfect combination of savory and sweet. Like a doughnut with cheese and the perfect sauce. Exquisite photo by Sally. Old elbow in background by Tony.)

P Fucken U

My salad just farted when I opened it. Imagine what's going to happen after I eat it. Seriously. For lunch I went down to our cafeteria - The Lodge - and made a salad from the salad bar. Granted there were some unusual ingredients in there like chili fried tofu and curry cauliflower. Well. I brought it up to my desk, sat down, opened it, and it socked me in the face like a fat fucking fart. Wow. You know you're in trouble if your food farts before you eat it.

(Heh. The things you can find on the ninnernet. I was searching for funny salad farting pics, and this came up in one of my searches. Pretty disturbo.)

Do these look like the toes of a homeless woman?

There's this homeless lady that suddenly has become a fixture of the neighborhood. Sometimes she sits on the stoop and begs for money, and often I give her a little somethin' when I walk past. I must say if it keeps up, I may claim her as a dependent on my next tax return. (See? I can have dependents too!) Anyway, I just went out to walk the dog, and I overheard her saying, "Oooooohweeeeee. Oooooohweeeeee. I Like the summertime. I liiiike summertime. Allll the handsome men walking by." Meanwhile, it was just me and like two other homeless dudes. The clincher: she WASN'T talking about me...and I give her money! The fact of the matter is I'm not fully convinced that she's homeless. Yes, she's a mess, but I recently caught a glimpse of her toes. How many homeless women wear sandals and have nicely pedicured toenails? Can't be more than ten percent, right? So then, I guess maybe.

This story is not funny.

But the way it was postioned in this newspaper is. This is from AM New York, a free daily commuter paper in NYC. Upon first glance it struck me as funny. Briefs. Suitcase killing suspect...and I'm not even talking about the rape part. I envision a curfuffle at the airport; things getting out of hand at the metal detector. Suitcase slaps Briefs in the face for a foulmouthed comment about her squeaky roller wheels. Briefs pulls out a straight-razor from his waistband and cuts the bitch.  Suitcase, packing heat, reaches for her gun and shoots Briefs in the ass before bleeding out and dying. Of course this all happened well before passing through the metal detector. Otherwise it would be totally unbelievable.

(The real story here sickens me. I wonder what the motive was. Has anyone tuned into Nancy Grace to find out?)

Lifting Cars

So Ruth called me yesterday to tell me there was a "one million priest" march going on outside of her office window. She then proceeded to say she was "lifting cars" over it. I immediately responded, "Ew!" She didn't quite remember the meaning of the saying, but she did remember I had shared it with her. I don't recall where it originally came from, but I never forgot what it meant. It means you're horny and that you have blue balls. Blue balls must have been in the air because although I'm sure Ruth was not lifting cars over the priests, I bet the priests have been lifting cars over something or another for a lifetime. We hope.

Spongebob Square Whats?

Oh my, cartoons certainly have changed.

(Not that most of these aren't true because they are, but true story. The receptionist at my doctor's office did not know that I worked at Nickelodeon, and yet she told me I looked like Spongebob. That's sort of weird, no? She said it was in the eyes. Do you think?)

Carmella's Hands

Maybe Sopranos is yesterday's news, but I'm just finishing the series now. Late bloomer? Arrested development? Whatever. (AD, btw, best show EVER!) I know I touched on the allure of watching series TV in one fell swoop on Netflix DVD in an earlier post. Simply the best! You catch so many things that you probably otherwise would not have. Case in point: Carmella's hands. They have a starring role of their own, and in my opinion should get billing in the opening credits. I can watch her sculpted nailed, bejeweled fingered, robust hands sort through mail, prepare a lasagna, open a jar of mayonnaise all day and all night. Captivating, mesmerizing, soothing. An entire cable network should be devoted to those hands alone. That's all.

(About the Artwork:  Leonardo Da Vinci, The Study of Female Hands Drawing, The Royal Library, Windsor)

Thank You for Being a Friend

This is going to be a serious post. A serious post about something I feel strongly about, something I hold dear to my heart, something so important I feel the need to spread the word. I'm going to admit this something, I'm going to admit it once, and I'm going to admit it here. I own the series box set of The Golden Girls. Yes I do. I love it. I watch it. I quote it. There are so many reasons why I hold it dear. I can't do it justice, but I'm gonna give it a try. For one, in high school, I watched it every Saturday night - 7pm - with my mom before I went out. Yes of course I would get tomato faced with embarrassment upon the mention of the granny g-spot. We would laugh nervously, but it connected us. Sweet. I know. Now I throw it on to cheer me up when I'm feeling down. Sad. I know. What can I say? It cracks my shit up. Blanche: exquisite beauty, confident woman, whore inspiring (and that's better than awe). Sofia: wise, foul mouthed, gutter minded, saggy-boobed spitfire. Tell me a fucking story, Rose: dumb as a box of hair yet smart as a whip. Make that a container of Cool Whip. And of course, my rock, my gal, my Dorothy Zbornak, or as Blanche says, Dar-a-thee: sensible, smart, pragmatic. And that's just her wardrobe alone. They sure don't make 'em like that anymore (the wardrobe and the show). Well written. Timeless. Risque. Poignant. Bring that shit back on HBO, and let's see what the GG's were really up to. I want granny panties, Depends mishaps, and denturless head. I want profanity, sacrilege; true tasteless, offensive old lady hijinx. Fuck Sex and the City! I want Sex in Dade County. Trust me. Tune in. Treat yourself. Laugh. Learn. And listen to how Dar-a-thee says die-a-purr. It's often. Too many to count, and enough to base a drinking game. Okay. Enough. For now on I'll try not to get so serious here again, but just felt the need.

Walk like a Man

Dude look like a lady. Fine. Dude walk like a lady. Not so much. I'm sorry if any of you suffer from this completely benign, yet still very unfortunate - dare I call it a - disorder. I truly am. Even if you are a ladyboy, it would be unfortunate for you to have a lady walk. I'm just sayin'. Walking the other day I got stuck behind this large man. He wasn't large as in fat, and he was masculine. See? Looked like your typical glory days guy.  Probably played football, in high school of course. Am I right? Anyway, I couldn't really see past him so I got privilege to study his walk for a good avenue or so. He was a large man with a lady walk. Need I say more?

(Camera phones do not do real life justice.)

Food Poisoning?

My dog and I both had diarrhea this morning, but I really don't think it was anything we ate. We each ordered something different from the menu. Hmmm.

(For real, my dog was slightly ill this morning, and it was sort of sad. I can't imagine dealing with sick children.)

A Country Wettin'

I just thought of the best title for a country wedding song:

"Whiskey Dick and Chicken Fingers"

(That oughta get Jessica Simpson signed back onto her label.)

Holding on for a Hero

My last post made me think of this. I saw a really funny thing on the subway one morning. The train was pretty packed, and I had a spot leaning against the doors between the seats. Across the way there was a little, older Asian woman holding onto the overhead handrail. Remember, the train was packed. Well, the lady was holding on for dear life, eyes closed, and she was TOTALLY getting thrashed around. I braced myself and looked around, but EVERYONE was peacefully standing like the train wasn't even in motion, even the people who were not holding onto anything gracefully reading newspapers. I wanted to walk over and tap the lady on the shoulder and ask, "scuse me, are we on the same ride?"

(Even with all the possibilities I couldn't find a suitable pic for the post. I like this though.)

Observation

Smack dab in the middle of Times Square is Military Island. I pretty much walk through this mess every morning on my way to the office. This morning, as usual, there were a slew of pigeons milling about. I found myself weaving through them like I was in a video game. I thought to myself, "I could easily punt one of these winged rats right now." I played the scenario of successfully making contact complete with bystander reaction through my head, and thought better of it. It was the likely crowd reaction that ultimately influenced my final decision. As I continued on I overheard a kid who looked about eight say to his cohort, all bright-eyed, sinister and serious, "we should kick a bird." It warmed my heart as I continued on, chuckling.

(Neat perspective, huh? Photo by Alis Cummings.)

Obrouhaha

I don't get all of the hullabaloo over Chia Obama. Honestly, I don't think racism is involved. Simply put, Obama sells. My friend Kelly bought me a Chia Pet in the early 90's. It was a headless, reclining, naked woman. The plant grew in the pubis. It was called Barbara's Bush. Nobody was up in arms about that!

(Photo by Infinite Magic. His stuff is great. Also, do you know that eating Chia seeds is healthy. Huh. I could have eaten Barbara's Bush, and liked it.)

Change

Recently I received a Facebook message about saving The Sears Tower. I'm from Chicago, so I freaked. "They're demolishing the tallest building in the world?! How?!" I couldn't wrap my head around it, and quite frankly it scared me. I wanted to get the word out; scream from the rooftops. "Help! We cannot do this!" Then I thought, "WTF, why haven't I heard this on the news? This is HUGE." I soon got distracted. I quickly forgot. That night laying in bed I was listening to NPR online, and I heard it was a fucking name change. So I went back and read the FB message and it said save The Sears Tower (name). (In parentheses, name. How lame.) No. NO WAY! Change that motherfuckin shit to The (whatchoo talkin' 'bout) Willis Tower. Way cooler.

Eat a PETA

What do you guys who don't eat meat and throw red paint on fur do to furburgers?

(I know. Terrible. Photo by Agnes Kunz. AMAZING!)

Forty Spices, my ass!

A few moments ago I was eating hummus. The flavor...Forty Spices. Tasty. Tried to figure out the spices. Couldn't. Looked at the ingredients. Eleven.

(This is the graphic on the label. What is that? Hot pepper, mary jane, clubbed footed baby leg, and tube steak? Yum!)