My girl's lil bro is a archictect.

Tonight I shared with her how one evening I ran of theatre 80 (St Marks) before the jury dropped the verdict on Howard Rourke. She focused on the part of the story where I was alone with a forty in a movie theater rtather than my desire to avoid ruining the book I hadn't finished.

So tonight I dropped into B&N for a copy of the Ayn Rand polemic (f*in altruists!) to mail to bro in the auld country.

They were selling paperback copies for $20. What a crime.

I scooped up the $8.99 version.


He ain't even gonna read it.


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we were sharp 

Billy Joel appeared on Conan. I watched from my couch next to the dry cleaning pile. Billy informed the faux-incredulous Conan that he (Billy) was Jewish. Billy explained that he had Italian friends, that he went to mass when he was bored on Saturday (really, I think he said Saturday, so he musta been being honest), and that every girl that broke his heart was Irish.

Conan dropped really dropped the ball when he failed to follow up with a Christie Brinkley question.

Say what you will about Billy. He wasn't hawking a Christmas album.


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hamsun's nato beachboys



Please, please, please, convene a new two-year grand jury after 120 days. Then she can pose her self righteous look-at-me-and-my-media-covering-media-exposure pose as she protects Mr. Roves's chess piece employees for another 24 months.

Press confidentiality is a loud trumpet when you are protecting the whistleblower against the man, but when you are protecting the man from retaliating against the whistleblower, well?

Judge Hogan better fine the Times (part-owners of the Red Sox) up the whazooo!


people you meet 

Today I met the fat white Sikh guy who works as a conductor for the MTA.

I wouldn't have noticed him if he hadn't slammed his gian bag into my shoulder while opening the very last door of the 4 train door in order to save his large body a few steps.

Here he is.

people you meet 

Today I met Leslie Crocker Snyder. She was campaigning outside the 86th Street Lexington Avenue line for Manhattan DA. When they asked me if I was a registered Democrat, I told 'em I recently moved to the Bronx.

Leslie stuck it out in the rain. I know because I waited out the rain in the Barnes and Noble.

Morgenthau, who is made of cardboard, could never have accomplished that task.

Morgie is like Castro: you can wait for him to die, but just how long are you gonna live.


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rare auld times 

Has Bernardino turned into Chico Bail Bonds' Bad News Bernie?

He looked sloppy and bored and silly out there today. But who don't like Bernie?

I support Bernie like all the doofuses that yellow ribbon 'support our troops' magnets on their vehicles. Actually, I lend Bernie more support than the magnet buyers support the troops. I pay money to watch him not pay attention. I scoop up cheezy merchandise and wear some of it. I also buy a whole lotta $8 beers and $4.50 peanuts. I even contrbute to the Jeter meter by screaming inadvertently at other fans when Jeter is at bat.

The Yankees. Tough right now. I remember way back when - before Bernie started, when the Yankees were painful to watch. The attraction was hitting the biggest bar in NY and watching the freakshow unfold. That was when the Yankee Tavern was a step away from whatever shitty dive it used to be. Now it is all pre-fabbish instnato dive decor. Maybe YT was the same years ago and I just saw it as an old man Stan's as I stood forty in hand before he game.

You could just walk up to a game, grab a free ticket off someone, smuggle in a six pack of Coor's Extra Gold long necks and smoke whatever you wanted in the upper deck.

Now you gotta jump thru hoops and pay through the whatoozie for tix.

Part of me wants the Yankees to be losers so I can get my Stadium and team back from all the front runners and away fans who buy tix online so they can come visit the Bronx.

Bernie, we wif you. Now quit space cadetting out there in center and get with it.


I met the brother of some rockstars and he got me into their show and was very nice.

He was not very rockstarish.

He was kinda like an Ewok version of Jack Osbourne, but a bit more schlubby.

Nevertheless, he did hook it up and was very nice to me and mine while we floated on his dime.

Unfortuately, I didn't get a chance to really meet him. I was twisted and kept yelling at him that he should come see a Yankee game with me, or at least a Cyclones game.

He dealt adeptly with my slovenly screaming in his ear and feigned interest in my slurred attempt at dialogue. I guess he's an alright fellow.

As for his musical siblings, they went through the motions with nothing extra than the music. Less enthusiasm then this year's Yankee pitching staff.

If I had paid for my ticket...

you got a Lucozade problem? 

My friend just asked me if I was addicted to Lucozade.

I have several empty bottles around the house.

At $1.75 a bottle it would be expensive habit.

Pricewise/Highwise you may as well go with the heroin.

The larger size bottles of Lucozade turn instantly flat upon opening. You can't even pour one glass with bubbles.

I stick with the small $1.75 jammies.

I don't know if I have a Lucozade problem. I ocassionally drink alot of them to stock up on empty bottles. The wide mouth bottles serve as excellent empty smoke butt receptacles.

You see, I smoke on my small sad excuse for a porch on the second floor of a big house and throw my butts into a Lucozade bottle.

Following my recent drought in Lucozade intake (always too sweet, sometimes too bubbly, Arabs in the corner stores ran out and I wasn't buying it at a $2.50 clip from the extortionate Irish Diner -- see I ain't no junkie), I tried out a small Poland Spring water bottle as a butt recepticle.

Tonight I placed the Poland Spring bottle in my special wind resistant corner of the porch/perch behind the gutter drain thing.

Alas, the wind was too strong.

The gail blew the bottle off to the slanted roof and the bottle rolled off onto the stairs and onto the landlord's car and out onto the sidewalk in front of my home.

I looked around.

No one.

I thought about it.

I went down the stairs.

I picked up the bottle.

I took one or two last drags.

I opened the bottle, dropped the spent smoke in, and walked back up the stairs.

On an unrelated note, I just heard the Edmund Sisters singing "I Don't Like Crying" (or something like that) on WFUV. Now they are playing blues.

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Fred votes guilty. Posted by Hello

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