Birthday Blog

Today is my birthday. Yes, Halloween. It marks a quarter century of life in this United States. This birthday went by as most of them do for me without the usual fanfare associated with birthdays.

I woke up this morning around 6:30, took a shower and headed to an outpatient surgical center to have a swollen lymph node removed (a biopsy). This was not the first time I have been operated on (and not the first time I've been operated on on my birthday). Twelve years ago I had arthroscopic knee surgery on this day.

Potentially having cancer notwithstanding, any day with general anesthesia and codeine is a good one. I even got to have a few Amstel Lights this evening with my sister and her new fiance. (Shhh, I told my mom I only had one.)

I did make the nurse laugh by spewing out some bullshit right after I came out of the anesthesia by mentioning that I was a card-carrying member of the infamous gang - The Bloods. When she inquired about my work, I said that I was a clam shucker in Nova Scotia (which is something I tell people quite a bit these days). She did not believe any of this tomfoolery.

Then I went home and took a long nap.

Tomorrow I am off to the Baltimore/D.C. area for the weekend so you will not hear from me until next week. I-95 is calling my name. And I get to see my beautiful and talented girlfriend, so I am excited. See you next week and be safe out there on All Saint's Day.

Less is more when responding to Craigslist apartment ads.

Based on the bizarre nature of the Craigslist ad I put up regarding an available room in my Red Hook, Brooklyn apartment, I have gotten a few unusual responses. I had a little open house on Sunday to show the space. Out of the five people that showed up, two seemed quite interested.

One gentleman really wants the room. Although he is very nice and somewhat interesting, his initial email was a bit too much to take. Here are a few excerpts (in italics) that I found to be potential red flags. My responses are below in parenthetical phrases.

Summer of ‘06 I was working on an off-grid chocolate farm in the Corcovado rainforest of Costa Rica. This was before I interned for a local-scale biodiesel plant in Asheville, NC

(Oh really?)

25 year-old male of mixed Caucasian heritage

(Could you break that down for me into percentages? Like 25% German, 25% Lithuanian...I'm sure you have some Native American in you too, right?)

I grew up in a geodesic dome on the side of a mountain in rural North Carolina. My parents are still in love with one another and along with my sister and her husband we form a fairly functional post-nuclear family that seems all-the-more rare these days.

(How is this relevant? I am glad though that everything is so honky dory down there with the family. They sound like delightful people; give them my best the next time you talk to them.)

I have curly hair and my eyes tend to change color.

(I don't give a flying fuck what your hair looks like - tell me what your credit score is. That's all I care about at this point. But maybe I could spend my idle hours gazing at your ever-changing eyes.)

I get along well with both multi-billion dollar asset managers and gutter-punk anarchist freegan kids.

(You seem very well adjusted, but what in God's name is a "freegan?")

I am not profoundly religious or politically-affiliated, but I am thankful for the many culinary, artistic and cultural provisions that spiritual and ideological devotion have given us as a united people since time immemorial.

(Dude, I'm looking for someone to rent a 10x12 space in my apartment for a few months, not a life-partner.)

This last weekend I went upstate to a sweat lodge and took unexpected trapeze lessons in New Paltz, NY to get some fresh air.

(Well, who DIDN'T do that last weekend?)

I periodically fast and cleanse only to turn around sooner or later and cater to my vices and guilty pleasures. It's a fun little dance I do.

(I don't want to share a bathroom with someone who fasts and cleanses, no matter how much fun the little dance may be.)

Music is good.

(It is indeed.)

I once had a MySpace profile, but I am in the process of dissolving my ties to online social networking sites in an effort to reconnect with real communities, rather than experimental, existential ones.

(Okay.)

I was once the captain of my high school wrestling team, could party my friends under the table and was one step away from attending the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis. Now I practice yoga, as well as moderation in most things...

(Objection! Relevance?)

Okay, I feel like I’ve written a lot and I don't want to come off as being self-indulgent or lose your attention, so I’m going to stop.*

(No, please don't stop! You haven't told me about yourself yet!)


*He proceeds to write five more detailed paragraphs following this sentence.

Queens: A Great Place to Retire

One of my favorite pastimes is getting people all riled up and annoyed. I actually enjoy it.

As an individual who works in the publishing industry, I get to attend many a trade show and have the opportunity to meet and talk with all different types of people. This past Saturday at an exhibit in Lower Manhattan, I spoke with an educator who mentioned she lived in Queens, one of the outer boroughs of New York City.

I decided to have a little fun with the middle-aged woman and tell her that Queens was a place I had never heard of. The conversation went like this:

Me: Queens? Where is that?
Her: What?! You don't know where Queens is? Where do you live?
Me: Brooklyn.
Her: For how long?
Me: A few years.
Her: And you've never been to Queens? Where did you grow up?
Me: Jersey.
Her: And you've never heard of Queens...
Me: No. Is there an airport or something there?
Her: (Angrily) Yes, there are two!
Me: Oh, I think I know where it is. What is Queens like? Is it little?
Her: No! It's huge!
Me: Is it quaint?
Her: Some parts.
Me: Is it dangerous?
Her: There are all different parts - some nice, some not!
Me: How do you get there? Are there roads and trains?
Her: YES!
Me: What kind of people live there?
Her: All kinds! It's a melting pot.
Me: Is it mostly retirees?
Her: What the hell are you talking about? There's all kinds of people of all ages.
Me: Is it very rural?
Her: NO - it's part of the city!
Me: Are there like a lot of farms and stuff?
Her: THERE ARE NO FARMS IN QUEENS!
Me: Do they observe daylight savings time there?
Her: I'm finished with this discussion. Get in your damn car and take a ride through if you're so interested!

That was the highlight of my day. She walked out of there agitated and convinced that I, an individual that lives in Brooklyn and grew up in the greater New York City metropolitan area had no idea where Queens was and knew nothing about it. At least she had a story to tell her friends last night over dinner at a Greek restaurant in Astoria. I can picture her now talking to her friends. "There was this IDIOT representative at this exhibit this morning who lives in Brooklyn and has never heard of Queens! He was asking the most asinine questions..."

I don't know why I decided to do that to her, but these shows can be boring and I get my kicks by being sarcastic. For the record, I know Queens fairly well and visit quite a bit.

The Gentrifier of Oz

I've been watching reruns of the HBO original series Oz and I must say that I think I would adapt well to prison life (maximum security). Everything about it seems okay besides the sodomy and lack of decent meals.

Obviously I would be upset about not seeing my parents and my girlfriend and everyone else, but I think I could get into it. I would definitely join one of the cliques such as the black Muslims (I like the hats) or the Aryan Brotherhood. Or perhaps I could start my own - the Gentrifiers. There seems to be a lot of pride in these gangs, a lot of camaraderie.

Most of all, I would have a wide audience in which to share my humor. I could be the prison jester. I would dazzle the inmates and guards with witticism after witticism and they would love me. Everyone would want to be my cellmate and everyone would want me in their clique. I would bring everyone together with my pleasant disposition and my versatile sense of humor. I could make jokes about "the hole" and tell stories and discuss all my views and opinions. No one can leave - they would have to listen. After the first few beatings, I would start to grow on people (much like I do in the outside world) and I would be one of the most loved and respected inmates to ever grace the hallowed halls of a federal penitentiary.

Plus I would have a lot of time to catch up on my reading and work on my blog. (I wonder if they have wireless.) And I could finally establish what religion I actually want to participate. As mentioned before, Islamic fundamentalism is a strong possibility, but I would consider others.

I could teach my fellow inmates things they never learned on the street such as how to enunciate, while they teach me how to protect myself and how to make weapons out of ordinarily harmless materials. It would be a positive situation for all involved. The bonds formed in prison must be stronger than any bonds one can form on the golf course or at the wine bar. These would be friendships I would cherish for life. And the stories? Oh there'd be stories to tell forever. I would never run out of things to talk about at parties or on line at the DMV. I could start sentences with, "When I was in the joint..." or "Yeah I spent some time inside." I'd be the coolest guy anyone ever met (and probably the most pleasant ex con around)!

Unfortunately, as a non-violent, non-drug abusing/dealing individual, I will most likely never see the inside of a maximum security prison. I got a small taste of the criminal life when I spent my Memorial Day at Brooklyn Central Booking, but I was not there long enough to really get anything from the experience. But even in that short period of time, I could sense that people were starting to enjoy me by the end of the day. A long term sentence could only make me more likable. (I bet they would deny me parole just because they were so charmed by me.)

If parking tickets and generally being an asshole were more serious crimes, I would definitely have a realistic shot at my dreams of long-term incarceration.

Who wants to live with me?

My roommate announced today that she will be leaving for greener pastures (Williamsburg) next month, so I am in the unfortunate position of looking for a roommate. Here is the ad that I put on Craigslist. Please forward it to anyone you think might be interested in moving into my apartment. Thanks.


I have a room available in my 3 bedroom 2 bath duplex in Red Hook. If you have never heard of Red Hook and have no idea how to go about getting here, the neighborhood is probably not for you. It's a great neighborhood with restaurants, bars, cafes, galleries, parks, piers and the Fairway supermarket... BUT there is no direct subway access here.

However, the bus will take you to the subways (and you get a free transfer).

About the room: About 10x12,very sunny, decent closet, hardwood floor, leads to a huge terrace with a beautiful view of the Statue of Liberty. The sunsets are amazing. (My room is all the way down the hall so you will not hear my religious chants at 4 am on Tuesdays.) The room has a pullout sofa in it but can be moved to make way for more traditional bedroom furnishings. The closest subway is a 25 minute jaunt through the Red Hook projects (you can find hookers and drugs there). The bathroom is right next door and is shared with a somewhat persnickety individual who enjoys French lavender hand soap. The bathroom is nice and has a large tub.

You need to take the bus or walk a long way to get to the subway.

Downstairs is another bedroom, bathroom and a nice kitchen with a dishwasher and a fully furnished living area. The place is pretty new and the decor is neutral. There are hardwood floors throughout, high ceilings and plenty of sunlight. The roof deck just one flight up is awesome. The views are inspiring. We also have central air and heat.

There are no plans in the near or distant future to extend a subway line into Red Hook.

About the roommates: Me, 25, male, quiet, clean, respectful, laid back, yada yada yada. I'm very pleasant to deal with and can get along with all sorts of people. I am sarcastic and somewhat wry, but not in an obnoxious Charles Dickens character way. No subway lines serve this neighborhood. The person that is not me - 30ish, female, quiet, clean, respectful, laid back, yada yada yada. She has a cat who is...what's the word...supercilious.

The subway is not convenient.

I smoke outdoors and expect you do to the same. Crack may only be smoked on the premises as part of a religious ritual (documentation is needed).

You will have to take the bus more than you are used to. I'm looking for someone for December 1st.

I've been burned before (not with gonorrhea) and don't want to wind up on Judge Judy so I am asking for 1st month, last month and 1 month security. Let me know when you'd like to see the space and we can arrange something. You will not be taking a subway all the way to my address; you will need to transfer to either the B-61 or B-77 bus. It's not that painful. You will not be able to reach Red Hook via subway.

P.S. Religious fundamentalists are encouraged to apply!

If you know anyone let me know.

My Bed & Breakfast

Life is about compromise, especially when you're in your twenties like I am. A major compromise that non-Wall Streeters and non-trustfunders have to deal with is sharing living quarters.

I am pretty lucky to have a 1400 square foot duplex with two full baths and two roommates that are barely around but...

I've had it with my one roommate's hippie guests. For about a week last month, she had a group of about six or seven of them inhabiting my usually immaculate living room. These people (who are in some band) were really not house-trained. They were used to living in a van and didn't know that it's just not acceptable to leave food on the counter and toothbrushes on the coffee table. They were very pleasant and respectful, but maybe they could have asked if they could use my computer before taking it over for a three days straight. And perhaps they could have locked the door behind them (or even closed it for that matter - a stray cat made his way into the apartment*). I know they weren't used to the opulent luxuries my apartment had to offer such as running water and lamps and unlimited pens, so I cut them some slack for the first few days.

But I'm sure even Forrest Gump knew enough to HANG UP HIS WET FUCKING TOWELS in the bathroom. They will never dry in a pile on the floor. And if you're gonna smoke pot in my home: a.) ask permission (it's my name on the lease) and b.) offer me some.

I realize that I, with my five figure salary and my health insurance and fancy indoor plumbing, probably have more money than they do, but they could have at least offered to replace the Gerolsteiner mineral water they consumed after smoking too much of the aforementioned illegal herbs. (It's $1.69 a bottle and they're in limited supply at Fairway).

I was sure that they would clean up after themselves at least, but they did not do so to my satisfaction so I spent an entire beautiful Saturday afternoon scrubbing and sanitizing.

Fast forward a few weeks and two more people arrived to stay over at my humble abode, this time for only a night. But see, they opened up the pullout sofa THE VERY DAY AFTER I JUST PUT A NEW SLIPCOVER ON IT! I am not very handy. It took me a long time to put that fucking slipcover on the sofa and in one fell swoop, they removed it and placed it on the floor! The next morning I was kind of queasy when I saw what they had done, but I dealt with it like a man and quietly put it back on.

As I type, a young man is sitting in my green recliner about 15 feet away from me. Like the other guests, he is hippie/hipster-ish and polite. But this guy is a little invasive. He has felt the need to make small talk each and every time I have passed by. When I asked him how long he was here for, his response was, "Till around the 30th or so." Oy vey.

Here is a list of rules for guests staying in my home.

• You must be accompanied by the person with whom invited you at all times.
• You may not utilize the kitchen for cooking purposes if you do not LEAVE IT EXACTLY THE WAY YOU FOUND IT when you are finished.
• If you plan on bathing, make sure the shower curtain rod doesn't fall. If it does, try to put it back.
• Please pick up towels off the floor and hang them up.
• Clothing belongs in your suitcase (or trash bag), not on the floor.
• No food or beverage (perishable or non-perishable) is to be left on the kitchen counter for more than a few minutes.
• Smoking is permitted on one of the three outdoor terraces the apartment offers. Please use an ashtray.
• Lights are to be turned off when not in use.
• I paid for the toilet paper with my own money. It may not be recycled earth-friendly paper. Get over it. And for the love of God, put it on the with the flap in the front!
• Please ask permission to use my computer.
• If it is a week night, please keep the television down and the conversation to a minimum.
• If it is a weekend, please keep the television down and the conversation to a minimum.
• Please keep toiletries out of sight and off the coffee table or any surface I may touch.
• Don't touch my shit.
• Don't eat my food or drink my Gerolsteiner.
• Don't be invasive.
• Don't ask personal questions.
• Don't sleep with the pillows on the sofa. It's not sanitary.
• Do not speak unless spoken to.
• Don't look at me like I'm Hitler if I eat meat or use mass-produced shampoo.
• Those who maketh garbage should taketh garbarge out.
• DON'T TAMPER WITH THE GODDAMN SLIPCOVER!

I really don't think these are unreasonable demands.

*This is how people get rabies.

Cocktail

For a short stint, I was bartending (sans license) at an establishment in the less gentrified part of Carroll Gardens. Somehow the owner took a liking to me and she put me on some Wednesday and Thursday nights last winter. I would receive no base pay but could imbibe in as many beverages as I wished and collect tips.

Well, aside from a few patrons that were respectful and normal, tips were not something to expect in large quantities. Not to stereotype or anything, but certain types of people simply do not believe in the concept of tipping.* Even after I made a triple Long Island Iced Tea with Grey Goose, Patron, Bacardi and Sapphire and only charged $5. No tip. In fact, the person ordering kept telling me I was being stingy with the Grey Goose. If you can't afford a premium drink, don't order one. And if you can't afford to tip your bartender, stay the fuck home.

What about the guy sipping Hennessy all night and telling me how much to pour in his snifter each time? Apparently I was being "cheap" again. Did he leave an extra nickel for my efforts? Nope.

And the guys playing pool that I provided quarters for all night long ordering six Heinekens at a time, which were delivered immediately and with a smile. All night long, at least five rounds. Surely they would leave a dollar at the end of the night, right? Absolutely not.

Then there was Puerto Rican Beavis and Butthead. These two talked all night, but no human could understand what they were saying except for "Budweiser." They were the most annoying men I've ever dealt with in any situation in life.

It's not just the fact that they didn't tip, it was their overall demeanor and lack of politeness that drove me to quit. For people who had no money and were negotiating drink prices, they sure were demanding. "I said I wanted a lemon, not a lime! Make me a new one!" "Yo, bartender, get me another Couvessier and fill it up to da top this time!" "Yo, you ain't give me nothin' on the house yet tonight? I been drinkin' all night."

Now I've never had any formal bartending training nor have I ever even worked in a restaurant or in any service capacity, but I do not think that it is customary for a server to give you a free drink if you haven't tipped once (or even paid full price for a drink for that matter). And it's ridiculous to think that I'm going to wash your glass every time you need a refill of Hennessy if you do not tip.

And I don't care how well you know the owner - if she's not here, I'm in charge and you're not drinking for free all night. And stop smoking in the bar. I know she allows it, but Mayor Bloomberg would be disappointed if he knew what was going on in here.

I put up with a lot at that place and on my best night (working from 7 p.m. to 4 a.m.), I made $17. What is that per hour if you deduct the three Stellas I drank? I don't really want to know.


*And these people, as far as I know, ain't from Europe.

Question of the Day

Does anyone actually like the taste of candy corn?

You might not be a gentrifier if...

A few weeks back I did a list of "You might be a gentrifier if..." Now I am going to do the opposite. So here goes.

You might not be a gentrifier if...

• You make lots of noise in public (i.e. subways, movie theaters and restaurants).
• People can hear the bass thumping from your car from four miles away.
• You live in squalor but have still drive a $70,000 car.
• You smoke menthols.
• "Shorty" is a predominant part of your vocabulary.
• You're excited that a Dunkin' Donuts is taking over that cutesy little coffee shop on the corner.
• You have a very thick accent.*
• You really like bling.
• You could care less about organic produce.
• You consume more orange soda than water.
• You don't have health insurance but you have all the cable stations.
• Your subjects and verbs often do not agree.
• You wear a do-rag.

*Excluding most European accents

These Dreams

Due to the myriad of different medications I'm on (Zoloft, Xanax, Ambien...), I have some pretty uncomfortable dreams at night. While they are not quite nightmares, they are just plain awkward. They feel real but not real in typical dream fashion. No monsters ever chase me and I never feel like I'm falling down 50 stories, I just wake up every morning with a feeling of discomfort.

For the past few years I've been having a recurring dream about missing classes or important tests and not being able to graduate. This dream occurs nearly every night and I'm frankly getting tired of them because I did complete my studies. I won't bore you with the rest of my dreams, partly because I barely remember them, but also no one wants to hear about the dreams of other people. They're just not interesting.

I'm not sure if my dreams are in color or in black and white and I don't know how long they last. What I can tell is that the characters that live in my dream world are pretty unsavoury. These are people that I know and love - friends and family (some that have even passed on). But in dream land, they are on the evil-hearted side. Everyone is just a little worse in my dreams than in real life. I guess it's a good thing that I'm not surrounded by people that are so malevolent, but it is disconcerting that my subconscious mind looks at them in that light. I just can't seem to get anyone to compromise in my dreams. In other words, my charm just doesn't work. Maybe I'm even more of a prick in my dreams than I actually am in real life and people are treating me accordingly.*

Considering that we sleep between six and hours per night and probably dream half that time, I am spending more time with these people than I actually do in real life. I don't see my friends every week and I don't even see my family. I see my dry cleaner and the UPS delivery guy more in real life and I don't recall any dreams about them.

Just for the record, I love my family and friends but would appreciate if they were a little more understanding, a little more compassionate and less evil-hearted in my subconscious mind. I really need to get back to therapy I think.


*I highly doubt this.

The Rape of Prime Time Television

Law & Order SVU is one of the most popular shows in America. I guess the American public has spoken and they really like rape. Dateline NBC also ran a recurring special called "To Catch a Predator" featuring real sex offenders on the Internet getting caught in a sting where, instead of meeting the 11-year old girl of their dreams, they meet Chris Hansen (who is attractive and charming in his own way) and a team of armed law enforcers.

We are fascinated by these deranged rapists, child molesters and their ilk. Why? Why do I not tune in to other Dateline exposes with the same vigor that I do with the Predator one? Why is Law & Order Criminal Intent just not as good as SVU? I guess we want to see rape and lots of rape. My girlfriend and I even enjoy watching while we have dinner and we're not particularly perverted people.

The thing about rape is: You can't really joke about it.* All other crimes are joked about. People will tell you they will kill you in jest constantly. "I'll kill you if you wear that sweater again." "I'm gonna kill A-Rod if he strikes out again." But no one talks about rape in the same manner.

Imagine if people went around saying things like, "My dad is gonna sodomize me if I don't get at least a B on this geometry test." "I was ready to rape that man after he said that to me." "Be careful kids, you're gonna get molested if you play in the street." The world would be a pretty interesting yet disturbing place.

Movies and television programs about murder and violence have been around forever. But rape on prime time network television? This has to have started recently.

Law & Order SVU is a great show but Christopher Meloni's character is humorless and Mariska Hargitay (or whatever her last name is) plays a very insipid and somewhat cold detective. Richard Belzer is bitter and sarcastic in a Charles Dickens character way and Ice(d?) T is speaks a little too harshly for my taste. So we are obviously not watching the show for its compelling and likable characters. This is not exactly the cast of Friends we're dealing with here.

In fact, you can watch reruns of the rape show about nine times a day on USA, not including the new episodes on NBC. I'm not sure if that's a good thing for America. And it might be giving would-be perverts ideas.


*Unless you are Sacha Baron Cohen

In case you were wondering about Syrian Jews...

This is a great article that truly gives insight into the little known world of Syrian Jewish culture along Brooklyn's Ocean Parkway.

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/10/14/magazine/14syrians-t.html

Enjoy.

Welcome To Brooklyn: We Don't Have Everything

If you ever drive in to or out of Brooklyn, you'll find some interesting welcome signs. We have the following signs welcoming you to (or telling you you're leaving) this most illustrious borough. Borough President Marty Markowitz has a sense of humor and it shows.

• Welcome to Brooklyn: Home To Everyone From Everywhere!
• Welcome to Brooklyn: Believe The Hype!
• Welcome to Brooklyn: Like No Other Place In The World!
• Welcome to Brooklyn: Not Just A Borough, An Experience
• Leaving Brooklyn: Oy Vey!
• Welcome: Brooklyn’s in the House!
• Leaving Brooklyn: Fugheddaboudit
• Welcome to Brooklyn: How Sweet It Is!
• Welcome to Brooklyn: Name It…We Got It

I pretty much enjoy all the signs and they are pretty true, but the last one (Name it...We Got It) got me thinking that, while we do have quite a bit in our borough, I can name some things that we do not have. Prepare yourself for another list. And I don't mean to sound pedantic.

What we don't have in Brooklyn...

• Fjords
• A restaurant that specializes in Danish cuisine.
• Pelicans
• Ample parking
• Great public schools
• A "Little Lichtenstein"
• Breakfast tacos
• Nascar fans
• Wal-Mart
• Legal brothels
• Fado (Portuguese folk singing)
• A championship golf course
• Bush supporters
• Palm trees
• Vineyards

Everything else we pretty much have.

Don't Murder Me

The murder rate is up in certain precincts in New York City and I don't give a fuck. Why should I? Most murders in our large cities are gang-related. I'm not in a gang and I generally don't hang out in those circles, so why should I care?

I know I'm gonna sound like the bad guy on this one, but when some thug kills another thug in the Mott Haven section of the Bronx, is it really a loss to society? Should we really care? No! That person was doing more harm than good to society and now he is in hell while his murderer is behind bars. Just like that, we've taken care of two miscreants.

New York City is a relatively safe place to live. If you're looking for trouble though, it will find you. My advice is: Don't look for trouble. We're all going to get mugged at some point while we live here, but we have a better chance of getting run over by the M42 bus than getting caught in a drive-by shooting. It just ain't gonna happen folks.

I'm a generally nice individual who cares about others, but when it comes to gang members, I really don't give a flying fuck whether they live or die or rot in prison for the rest of their lives. It's not just because they are criminals who cheat the system and live a crime-ridden life - it also has to do with the fact that they wouldn't care if I lived or died or rotted in prison. And in all likelihood, they are not sitting around on a crisp autumn Friday morning blogging about the fact that they don't care about me and my ilk.

Life is too short to care about the bad guys. They don't care about us, so we shouldn't care about them. Let them riot and smoke crack and shoot each other till kingdom come. As long as we don't have to hear it in the wee hours of the morning, it's fine with me. Murder rates are just statistics. We the gentry needn't worry.

Have a great weekend.

Baba Booey to y'all.

I'm a sick person. It's not just because I listen to Howard Stern on a daily basis, but I actually participate in the show. I sit in my car and actually make humorous comments as if I were actually on the show. I pretend that I'm part of the gang and interject when I feel it is appropriate. Sometimes I'll throw in a "hey now" or "Baba Booey" randomly.

When the show is not on, I often practice my greeting if I were ever to call the show. Here is what I have come up with so far.

"Hey Howard, I'm a big fan of the show."
"Long time listener, first time caller."
"Hi Howard, hi Robin."
"Howard, I was watching ___ last night and he mentioned ___."
"Yeah Howard, could you play that clip from ___ for me?"
"Howard, how are you?"
"What's going on Howard? I just wanted to say..."
"Howard, what's happening?"
"Howard, I was reading about the Sirius-XM merger and..."

In order to be a good caller to the show, one must get to the point immediately and say something relevant. My ultimate goal is to call in with a topic that starts a lengthy discussion (that keeps me on the air for several minutes). Then I will feel as though I have contributed to the show.

See, I don't really listen to Howard for the sex and the stripper interviews; I listen because I value his opinions. The show is at its best when it's just Howard and his crew bullshitting about mundane topics. (The news segment is awesome too.) The show has lost a bit of its spontaneity since it left regular radio, but the vibe is still the same. When he was on K-Rock, it was fun to listen to him complain constantly about the FCC and management and to see just how far he could push the envelope. At Sirius, he's pretty happy with everything and he can push the envelope as far as he wants.

Unfortunately, Howard isn't as miserable as he once was and that has made the show suffer. The show was truly at its peak when Howard was married and spending most of his time in his basement being miserable. Now he has a fiance that he loves deeply and actually leaves his house once in a while. Hopefully, when he gets married, he will revert back to his old ways. He still claims to be miserable, but it's just not the same. I really don't want Howard Stern to be miserable, but it did make for excellent radio.

The show also lost some of its magic upon the departure of Jackie "The Joke Man" Martling. It wasn't necessarily great then because Jackie was funny (he often wasn't), but the amount of harassment directed toward Jackie was hysterical, particularly the falsetto imitations of his voice. On more than one occasion I had to pull the car over because I was laughing so hard. I still long for those days.*

It's just not the same with Jackie's replacement, Artie Lang. Artie has some funny observations, but he never shuts the fuck up. He also agrees with everything Howard has to say, unlike Jackie. So I say, F Artie, bring back Jackie!

No matter what, I will remain loyal to the show and maybe one day I'll be a guest (or at least a caller).


*I still do on occasion, especially when Gilbert Gottfried is a guest.

Oyster Wars

Apparently they are making a movie about the Notorious B.I.G. (I heard this from my number one news source - The News with Robin on Howard Stern.) Why did this young man die at such a tender age? Was it his cholesterol? No, he was killed in a drive-by shooting, which seems to be the number one killer of rap stars today. Evidently they didn't like him because he was an east coast rapper. This was only a few months following the death of west coaster Tupac.

Much like the situation in the Middle East, I'm not so sure if I really understand what this hip hop rivalry was about. I mean, rap is rap, right? Apparently it goes a lot deeper than that and feelings get hurt and people die.

I wonder what it would be like if people were so militant about their choice of oysters. Oysters, like rap, are an east coast, west coast thing. I wonder if there have been any documented cases of violence over the difference between Blue Points and Baron Points. Some may like the brininess of Malpeques (PEI) versus the sweetness of Kumamotos.

I'm sure there are people out there that would get all riled up about oysters and what conditions make them taste different in different types of waters. Some say that Pacific oysters are better than Atlantic oysters because they have a higher mineral content and are creamier. But Atlantic oyster fans might say that their oysters are better because of the texture and saltiness.

As the gentry seem to have more and more time on their hands, it only makes sense that a war on oysters be started. So the next time you are dining alfresco and eating your Wellfleets, some maniac from Tillamook, Oregon in a Saab could pull up to your table and shoot you with a 9mm. So be careful and discreet with your choice of oyster. In fact, it might just be safer to eat shrimp.

You might be a gentrifier...

In the tradition of Jeff Foxworthy's "You might be a redneck if..." skits, I have compiled my own list for gentrifiers.

You might be a gentrifier if...

• You spend a lot of time at the the food co-op.
• You feel as if your child is highly gifted even if she's average or just plain dumb.
• You feel that NPR is a pillar of objective journalism.
• Your parents helped you with your down payment for your brownstone in Park Slope.
• You lived in Williamsburg at some point after college.
• You recycle.
• You are vehemently against anything corporate but still go to Starbucks if it's convenient.
• You carry around a New York Times and quote articles verbatim.
• You call yourself an artist.
• You spend more money at the farmer's market on Sunday than your cleaning lady makes in a week.
• You refuse to eat at McDonald's or any other fast food establishment.
• You spend your weekends visiting art galleries.
• You have a car, but only because you "need it for the kids" or to "transport your art around in."
• Said car is a Prius, a Volvo, a Saab, a VW or a Mini.
• You have claimed to be "bohemian" at one point in your life.
• You wish you could pursue a career that is creative.
• You respect the hell out of minorities but get irritated when they make a lot of noise past 9 p.m.
• You attended a small liberal arts college.
• You've been to that new wine bar down the street and you liked it, but wish they had a better selection of Syrah.
• You feel as though the lottery is a regressive tax on the poor.
• You donate to various charities as long as they are secular.
• You love the fact that the neighborhood you currently live in used to be a haven for drugs and prostitution.
• You found your apartment on Craigslist.
• You go abroad at least once a year.
• You have at least a few homosexual friends.
• You listen to indie rock.
• Your girlfriend has tattoos that she covers up when she visits your parents in Connecticut.
• You take your dog to the local bar, which is dog-friendly.
• You eat out at the trendiest restaurants and find flaws with all of them.
• You dedicate at least 45 minutes a day to reading blogs.
• You like to tell people that you don't own a television.
• You know a lot about the situation in Darfur because of what you read in the Times last week.
• You breastfeed in public and encourage others to do so too.
• You spend rainy Sunday afternoons reading at the Tea Lounge.
• Your friend is in a band that plays in Williamsburg.
• You named your baby Miles.
• You purchase soy milk.
• You've been to a loft party in Bushwick - you took the L there but a car service home.
• You got rid of all your CDs when you got an iPod.
• You spent the night in jail for something silly and then blogged about it.*

More to come later I'm sure.

*I did this, along with a lot of other things mentioned above because, well, I'm a gentrifier.

Hey, it's ok...

I'll admit it: I read Glamour sometimes. But my rules on reading Glamour are similar to my rules for smoking weed - I only do it when I have nothing better to do and I never pay for it.

My sister has a subscription and my girlfriend's former roommate had one too so I was able to get my fixes in those two places. I also will read it in airport newststands.

I do enjoy Glamour, particularly its "Dos and Don'ts" and the hilarious monthly segment entitled "Would you dare?" which features a pictorial of a young woman performing daily tasks in public with cum on her face or something to see if anyone notices. But my favorite is the "100% Guilt-Free Page!" On this page, Glamour editors tell the women of the world that it's ok to have whole milk once in a while or to call in sick when you have your period. I have written by own little guilt-free page for you gals out there.

Hey, it's ok...

• To fuck the entire defensive line of the New York Giants...it is football season after all!
• To have another baby just so you can stay on welfare another year.
• To blow a few lines of coke now and then...you do need your energy!
• To evade your taxes and pretend that you didn't know that you had to pay them...if you're cute, the IRS will understand.
• To leave your 3-month old in the car with the windows closed when you shop like a diva for four hours...the kid wouldn't have any fun in Barney's anyway!
• If you love your cat so much that you touch him in ways that may not be considered "appropriate"...he is your best friend after all.
• To have sex with your 12-year old student...all those other women are doing it!
• To knowingly infect others with herpes...a girl's gotta have fun!
• To have that sixth cosmo and drive home and pretend to the cop that you thought it was a Shirley Temple.

Maybe Glamour will hire me to write next month's column. I think I already wrote it.

Are you willing to settle for mediocrity in your life?

Everybody knows someone who does that knife selling scam. Cutco. It's always the annoying kid next door or your annoying little cousin who thinks he's doing something entrepreneurial.

In my family, there's a cousin - who is really not a cousin, just the son of a woman one of our cousins married - who is involved with this knife selling shit and let me tell you something: It's irritating. The kid brings these knives everywhere he goes trying to con people into making appointments with him. And it's hard for people to say no. He brought the knives to my dad's 60th birthday party and to our cousin's 25th anniversary. I'm just waiting for him to show up at the next funeral demonstrating how the Cutco 975Z can slice through a mahogany casket.

It's just inappropriate and very tacky to show up to family events with potentially dangerous objects. I won't dispute the quality of the product - it's a fine product, but you can buy knives just as good or better in the same price range without giving some idiot high school senior the satisfaction (and commission). But who is to blame? Is it the kid, the parents or the company?

I think it's a combination of the three and I truly believe that Cutco brainwashes their employees. My non-cousin uses a lot of phrases that indicate that he may have been brainwashed, such as "are you willing to settle for mediocrity in your life?" The answer to that question is YES! I would rather settle for mediocrity than to buy these knives from you. Henckel makes an excellent product without the annoying marketing tactics. (I'm not sure if their scissors can produce a corkscrew out of a penny and I frankly don't care because I already have a small corkscrew that I keep in my glovebox.)

I also hate the way Cutco recruits employees (which I am sure are referred to as "associates" or "team members"). They put up extremely vague ads all over the internet, newspapers and on fliers on college campuses. The same ad will appear over and over in classified sections (in all different categories). All the ads sound pretty much the same:


Jumptstart your Career! $18/hour base pay. Perfect for college students! Make a fortune and have a blast doing it! Take charge of your life - call 212-555-4908.


It sounds like the perfect gig, right? So you call the number and you are immediately invited for an interview (or a demonstration workshop) as long as you are at least 17. (I called after my senior year of high school.) But wait, what does the job entail? They will tell you that it is a marketing position that involves sales of different types of products for different types of purposes. Wait a minute, is this the knife thing? No answer. "You will be marketing housewares and sporting goods to a wide variety of different people. It will be better explained in the interview."


So finally I blurt out, "IS THIS OR IS THIS NOT KNIFE SALES?"


"Well technically, we market products that may or may not include devices that are used to assist in cutting items..."

After a few more minutes they finally admitted that they were indeed Cutco and I hung up without saying my perfunctory goodbye.

So the moral of the story is: Don't work for Cutco (or Vector Marketing), don't buy Cutco products even if the lady you play Mahjong with has a grandson who is embarking on an exciting new career and don't associate with those who sell or use said knives, even if it means settling for mediocrity and not being able to make corkscrews out of pennies.

Eye of the Tiger

Tiger Woods is not normal. He may not even be human. I just can't picture him performing mundane daily tasks and interacting with people like the dry cleaner.

Watching him play is enough to make one cringe. The guy is uncomfortable to watch, but you still root for him. You route for him because he does not lose with grace. He always seems to be disappointed (even when he is playing well and does win). I don't think Tiger will ever be satisfied because there is no such thing as perfection and no one, but no one has ever or will ever truly master the game of golf. It can't be done.

Someone once asked Arnold Palmer if he ever though he had mastered the game. His response was, "Once, for about nine holes." It's not enough for Tiger to be the number one golfer in the world. He also has to beat his own personal bests.

Most PGA golfers relax after a long tournament. Tiger goes back to the practice tee to work on his mid-irons if he felt they were lacking that day. (I bet he even practices the night after a win.) I just can't picture him kicking back in the clubhouse with the guys drinking a few Sam Adams.

Why do we all root for Tiger? Is it because he's ethnic? I think that novelty wore off about 10 years ago. He doesn't seem to be a particularly pleasant or humorous individual. Not that he seems like an asshole - he just does not seem very likable. Other modern golfers such as Phil Mickelson think they are likable while others just go with the fact that they are assholes, like Vijay Singh and Jim Furyk. Tiger fits neither of these categories. He's way too politically correct to outwardly be a prick. (Although you can see him mouth the word "fuck" from time to time.) Nike and Buick have forced him to smile, but it's pretty safe to say that Tiger wouldn't crack a smile on the golf course after a 50-foot eagle putt on the final day of the Masters to take the lead.

The best players in the world that precede Tiger had a similar way about them, except for Arnold Palmer. Bobby Jones, Ben Hogan and Jack Nicklaus were all selfish perfectionists who viewed this game as the single most important thing in the world. They did not get along with the other guys on the tour either. (Tiger pretends to be buddies with them, but I can't envision him and Stuart Appleby going bowling on Tuesday nights together.)

I just feel bad for his child. I think it's a girl. I am sure the child, who is only a few months old, is already a huge disappointment. She has not advanced in the way he would like her to at this point. I envision bad things for this child - a life of constant pressure from her father to succeed. I'm sure it would be alright with him if she isn't interested in golf, but she goddamn better be interested in something and she better be the best in the world at whatever that may be. If she wants to play the clarinet, she better be the best clarinet player to ever live. This child be be on a lot of medication before she hits puberty.

The other thing about Tiger is that the guy is squeaky clean. When are we going to hear about the time he snorted coke out of a stripper's twat or got drunk and crashed his Buick LeSabre into a kindergarten classroom? Most other supposed role model superstars have had some scandal in the past.* Michael Jordan with his gambling, Bill Cosby with his illegitimate children, Jerry Seinfeld dating a 17-year old, Martha Stewart with her little problem. And figures throughout American history starting with George Washington chopping down the cherry tree and Thomas Jefferson boinking his slaves. What about Tiger? When are we gonna hear anything bad about the guy?

I don't think we will ever hear about such things about him because he's too busy being perfect. It's just not normal. But I hope he continues to win and break Nicklaus' record of 18 Major wins. It's too uncomfortable to watch otherwise.


*Except for Will Smith.