Sunday, March 01, 2015

Goals. I Have Them.

I'm gonna write a screenplay just so I can include the running joke of a father threatening his two kids under 5 "keep it up and there'll be NO Springsteen in the car!!"


The first love letter I ever wrote to my high school girlfriend began with the first line from Hank Williams' suicide note:
"We met, we lived and dear we loved..."
Unfortunately, the whole thing ended worse for me than it did Hank. Sigh.

Anyhoo, my for a great burger led me to this little tidbit from a best burger in every state list:
Burger Bar (address and info) Bristol The burger: I Can't Help It
When Hank Williams sang “I Can’t Help It if I’m Still in Love With You,” we’re almost positive he was singing to this 8oz, American-topped, griddled bacon cheeseburger. After all, the singer is thought to have died in the back seat of his pink Cadillac after stopping at the Bristol burger joint. Heartache from driving away was most likely the cause of death.

A Question of Tact

How do you tell a 5 year-old that you don't ACTUALLY give a shit about the video game she's playing & don't need a play-by-play? #killmenow

Thoughts. I Have Them.

The only thing louder than kids at the crack of dawn are kids at the crack of dawn who are trying to be quiet. #incrediblyloudwhispering #irony

Saturday, February 28, 2015


I enjoyed the TGIF mozzarella sticks massacre post when it came out last year, but in re-reading it now I feel like 1) is 32 sticks in 14 hours impressive? hmm. 2) letting management in on your little stunt is kinda cheating. No?

Mark Halperin Sucks

I've long hated the whole Halperin/Heilemann matrix of stupidity, including a few years ago when their "book" came out, but Gawker nails Halperin's bullshit re: style vs. substance vs. he's an idiot here:
Mark Halperin does not understand politics. The worst thing about Mark Halperin is not that he's a soulless, cynical hack who portrays Washington as a clash of personalities rather than a clash of interests. It's not that he ignores substance and finds the results or efficacy of policies to be less interesting than determining who's "winning" and who's "losing." The worst thing about Mark Halperin is that he's not even good at doing those things. The most offensive thing about the existence of Mark Halperin is that he's the worst possible version of himself. Overall: F.
If you're gonna be full of shit, at least be better at fooling us, for fuck's sake. Pathetic.

Thursday, February 26, 2015

The Return of A-Rod

Grantland can't seem to go a day with a post about A-Rod, and now they've cycled to he isn't enough of a dick:
In 2004, Bill Simmons wished for a Kobe Bryant heel turn, and Bryant eventually obliged. If only A-Rod had learned the same lesson. Instead, he’s once again acting contrite, doing inadequate damage control with a handwritten apology that has little chance of changing anyone’s mind. We’ve settled into a cycle where A-Rod does something innocuous, a writer makes it sound selfish, and readers shake their heads at everyone involved. Rodriguez could spend the rest of the spring saving 8-year-olds from oncoming traffic, and people would blame him for trying to cheat death. So why resist the resentment? Why not steer into the scorn?

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

George Harrison

The greatest tribute was of course Prince showing up and blowing the fucking roof off of While My Guitar Gently Weeps with the greatest guitar lead of all time.

Happy Birthday George

Here's Paul totally crushing your signature solo song.

Happy Birfday

To George Harrison, the Tea Party Beatle and Godfather of Kickstarter who broke the ice with George Martin.

And this always fascinates me:
Finally, the film really never investigates the real mystery of Harrison: What was he so morose about?...Harrison... has always had a sense of the aggrieved about him. I just don't know what the source of it was. In Harrison's mini-autobiography at the front of I Me Mine, the unasked-for collection of his song lyrics, he seems mostly unhappy about … the travel indignities he suffered during the Beatles years.
Besides having the best Beatles solo record with All Things Must Pass, which includes superslices What is Life?, Apple Scruffs, Waiting on You All and the title track, my top 5 George songs with the Beatles are:

Here Comes the Sun
I Want to Tell You
While My Guitar Gently Weeps

The single most UPLIFTING moment in any Beatles song might have actually come from the Dark Horse himself, ie coming out of the middle 8 of Here Comes the Sun. Kills me every time. Beat t

Downton Potter

I don't know anything about Harry Potter, but this still cracks me up for some reason.

Well, I guess I know SOMETHING about Harry Potter:
I was just telling Buster, my stuffed lamb, how much I'd rather have a squirrel play speed-bag with my nuts than hafta read a Harry Potter novel when I was reminded of a time I almost did.  Ten years ago I was teaching 6th grade in the projects down in Far Rockaway, a real crack-den dropoff for kids. Concurrently, I was having my heart ripped out on a daily basis by a girl I was madly in love with; I could not go to bed until I had completely humiliated myself in some sort of screaming through her window in the rain/Cusack with a boom box way. It was, unfortunately, the only time I've ever showed any persistence at all; for once in my life my policy of instantly giving up would've really come in handy, as opposed to this new "Live to be completely humiliated another day!" one.

So one day I'm in class at was even more bent out of shape/lovestruck/depressed than normal. Hell, I'm surprised I even showed up, but I guess that just shows my dedication to the kids (DON'T start that "Xmastime, you're a hero!" shit - that's for history to decide, not me.) I decide to take it easy on myself I'll just read them the fucking Harry Potter book. So I start and by the end of the first page I'm even more depressed - oh good, the parents are dead, nobody likes the kid, I guess he's an asshole, and the walls I'm in are painted gray and I'm hungover and why doesn't she love me wahhhh waaaah  wwaaaaaaaaaah. So finally I say fuck it just read it quietly to yourselves, and I'm helpless to not lower my face into my hands for a few seconds, in absolute surrender to grief (grief such that it seems at the time but is of course laughable now.) Finally I slowly raise my head again, and realize most of the class has crowded around my desk.

"Mr. Wilson, are you okay?"

I was both ashamed at my open display of sadness and touched by their (rare, such that it was) concern, and was about to speak but was cut off before I could start.

"Yeah, Mr. Wilson, are you - ohmygosh Mr. Wilson, you gotta clean your fingernails!! Daaaaaaaaaaaamn!"


And later, I took them to see the movie, where they surprised me again:

3. Harry Potter is introduced in 'Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone' (2001)
When this movie came out I was teaching a class in some Bed-Stuy projects, real crack-babies cum crazed, uncontrollable delinquents, and I don't mean "stealing candy from the counter." I had a class of 6th graders and I spent most of my time yelling and screaming "shut up!!!  shut up!  sit down and shut up!!!" (some of you sexier readers might recognize that as my "go to" move when I'm in "the home stretch", heh heh heh.) So one day the principal tells me we're taking the kids to see the Harry Potter movie. Since, you know, if the NYC public education system cant help a kid from the projects learn to read or write or add 2+2, maybe a mystical story of a wispy little faggy white kid from England with magical powers wearing a robe can do the truck, right? So we get to the theater, and I'm thinking there's no WAY these kids are gonna sit down and be quiet for one second - they don't do it in the classroom, and now they're gonna be quiet when the light go out? I'm expecting a massive orgy of pre-teen sex and drugs to break out before the goddam previews start. We all sit down and as the movie starts I'm on the  edge of my seat, crouched and ready to spring up and start shouting at the kids to sit down and shut the hell up. All of a sudden, after a few minutes, I realize you can hear a pin drop. I look around - every single kid is sitting in their seat, not moving a muscle, staring at the screen hanging on every word from these fucking wizard kids. I slowly slide back into my seat thinking "...what the fuck..." Finally after a few minutes I relaxed and figured shit, they're behaving. So then I start watching the movie, and I realize I had missed the first coupla minutes and had no idea who was who or what the hell was going on. So I started trying to ask the kids around me, who recoiled in horror that their attention was being taken away from the screen, and with every question I asked I got buried more and more underneath a flurry of "SSSSHHHH!!!  Mr. Wilson!! Be quiet! SHHHHHHHHH!" I was stunned, and sat there in silence, happy as a clam for the next hour and half. Until, of course, the lights came back up and all hell broke loose and I got shivved. Looking back now, maybe we shoulda just had all the lights turned off in the classrooms? Maybe these kids' batshit buttons were controlled by light?

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

Xmastime Movie Memory

Almost Famous.

Two days a week I get on a bus at the GW Bridge and take about a 10-minute bus ride to the building where InTouch magazine is. Just to be close to the magazine. No no, of course I work there. One stop after I get on, a large group of Mexicans get on the bus; at this point the bus is almost perfectly divided between the Mexicans, and white people like me going to InTouch or one of the sister magazines in the same building. And I've noticed that there is zero interaction between these two groups. We each sit on our respective sides of the bus not looking at each other. Where the fuck am I, I thought the other day. Selma, Alabama, ca 2009 1950? For once, instead of waiting for someone else to break through the wall between us, I decided it was up to me to broker some common geniality.

But how? I am a simple man. And I don't speak Spanish. How could I get through to EVERYbody, not only the Mexicans on the "other side"?

Then it dawned on me exactly what to do.

I leaned my head against the large bus window, and looked bleakly out at Ft. Lee as we drove through it. The bus was almost completely silent. And then from my seat, against the window, a quiet voice started slowly rising.

Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band
Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man
Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand
And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand

I didn't even look around, I kept looking out the window, knowing that someone on the other side would know when to come in.

Jesus freaks out in the street, Handing tickets out for God
Turning back she just laughs,
(CUE! come in, someone else!! Now! MAGIC TIME!) The boulevard is not that bad

Hmm....nobody joined in. Total silence. I continued; maybe they were waiting for a different line?

Piano man he makes his stand, In the auditorium
(someone shouts out "shut the fuck up!" But this person was from my side of the bus - hey dude, I'm not singing just for you!! I continued)
Looking on she sings the songs, The words she knows the tune she hums

At this point someone from the other side of the bus shouted something at me. But as I said, I do not speak Spanish, so I have no idea if it was "shut the fuck up!" or "when should we all come in??!" So. I continued.

But oh how it feels so real, Lying here with no one near
Only you and you can hear me, When I say softly slowly

Okay, nothing so far - but here comes the chorus! There's no WAY they'll be able to resist the chorus; by the end of it we'll all be singing together, slapping each other cinco! This is it!!!! I stood up, turned to look at everybody, and fucking belted it out at the top of my lungs

Hold me closer tiny dancer
Count the headlights on the highway
Lay me down in sheets of linen
You had a busy day today

I stopped singing, breathing heavily, sweat beading, and opened my eyes...and all the Mexicans were streaming by me, not even looking up at me, filing off the bus as per usual. I looked around to "my team." Zero eye contact. So I slumped back down in my chair, head against the window, looking out. And wondering what will I do tomorrow to bring these groups of people together once and for all. Sigh.

Obama's Ripping Me Off!

Monday, February 23, 2015

Thoughts. I Have Them.

I  just realized I've owned Buddy Holly cds for more years than he was alive. Trippy.

A Few Thoughts on This Week's Downton Abbey Because AAARRRRRGGGHHHH!!!!!

Robert, who couldn’t sleuth his way out of a paper bag, sniffs out that Marigold is Edith’s because…she looks like Gregson? Someone he hung out with for maybe 10 minutes? Wouldn’t it make more sense, or actual sense, if he was reminded of Edith? For fuck’s sake. Atrocious.
I see they’re running low on money again OH LET ME GUESS Matthew, dead for years now, will receive yet another inheritance.
Oh look, it’s Tony! Of COURSE Tony’s there! Wait, why is Tony there? He even has the wherewithal to ask every time “Am I welcome here?” and still keeps showing up. Of course. Wtf - does this actor have pics of Julian Fellowes micro-penis or something?
We know Violet hate Greek drama, where all the action is off-stage, and yet the only action that DOES seem to make it onstage is the fucking Bates shit and Branson "leaving" for America. Meanwhile, Atticus' proposal, the wedding announcement, Isis dying, Marigold moving into the house etc etc takes place off-camera. Can't we finally open an episode with "ah yes, shame about Bate & Anna being eaten alive by wolfpups. Tally ho!"?

OOOOOOOOOH I see from the previews that my boyfriend from Brideshead Revisited, Matthew Goode, will be appearing in the finale next week! Nom nom nom!!!!

"When's Xmastime getting here?"

State du Moi

I only recently realized what the inside of a furnace looks like. And so now I'm totally freaked out that at all times, there is a small fire inside my apartment. I mean, wtf?

Sunday, February 22, 2015

The Absurd Red Carpet

Looks like some folks are starting to notice what pigs we are when it comes to women on the red carpet:
As Hadley Freeman wrote in The Guardian, "This is a strange pocket of the Western world, where it is still deemed utterly acceptable to take smart, successful women and reduce them to beauty pageant contestants."
"But Xmastime", you say in the voice of Craig “Ironhead” Heyward from those soap commercials (RIP), “didn't you call this bullshit eight years ago?"  

Sigh. Yes, faithful readers. Yes I did:
I would think sometimes women get a little fed up with the red carpet treatment; ie dress up in something sheer and sexy, showing your wonder-bra'd rack so that the world can ogle you. You're a brilliant actress/director/producer, you spent a year working on the script working 16-hour days developing a story, you've reached deep into your own soul to pull out emotions you didn't even know you had...and now your shining moment at the end of all this comes when you paint on something that shows us if you wax and you smile your face off while the cameras pop and we all sit back and judge "hot" "not hot" "fat." Do women really like this? I understand wanting to see the fashions, but the parading?

But the best part is I also notice that at some point every woman is asked to turn around, take a spin so we can see the back. What? So she turns around, basically saying "look at my ass." How do we pull this off? Brilliant. No where else can I say "It was nice meeting you, that presentation was great and we'll definitly crunch the numbers, now why don't you take a lil spin so I can check out them hind parts?" I mean, are women okay with this?

Friday, February 20, 2015

Sweet Kid.

First it was that she shot me, then she chained it to stabbing me to death. Great. #littleWatty

Thursday, February 19, 2015

In America

We're fat-shaming people we're executing now?
...cornbread, buttermilk, two [Burger King] Whoppers with cheese and all the trimmings, two large orders of French fries, cherry vanilla ice cream, popcorn and lemonade. She also wants a salad with boiled eggs, tomatoes, bell peppers, onions, carrots and cheese to be topped with Paul Newman buttermilk dressing.
Hey, at least she had a salad!

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Holy Crap

An entire hour of Tommy Ramone talking about producing my favorite Replacements album, Tim.
"These people are really talented."
Always shocking that Bob Stinson showed up in the studio for exactly one day.


I read this article earlier about A-Rod and have to agree with this guy - it made you wonder if it's okay to like him:
Moehringer's story is a profile of a man who's been torturing himself over his mistakes, and there are many scenes like the ones above, which are laid on so thick that it's hard to remember just how truly minor Rodriguez's transgressions are; he didn't hurt another human being or defraud anyone. He's just one of the many pro athletes to haven taken PEDs and then lied about doing so, and yet he's out here getting banished to the woods by his therapist as if he's a broken man who needs to be reborn. A-Rod is a weird dude and a cheater, but he's far from evil.

Wait, What du Jour

The summer Bill Murray played minor-league baseball because, you know, he's Bill Murray.
Bill was completely in. This was before he’d done"Caddyshack" and "Ghostbusters" and all that. He was still sorta making his way. So he loved being with the guys, because nobody was after anything. All the players would have fun, and he loved that part of it. He would ride on the bus; he did all of it. That was his favorite time, for sure. He would relax.

Sunday Softball

I guess while the rest of us spent our time fucking shit up at The Turkey's Nest after games, this guy was practicing.
It is an old baseball tale, a fable that's periodically realized into truth. A young dreamer develops his game at a backwater outpost, one where his talent far exceeds his surroundings. He plays on torn-up grass fields or cracked asphalt, in a land where outsiders may not understand the local customs, language, and dress; he hopes that one day he'll get his shot, but he knows the odds are long. There is no walking off Long Island, after all, and when was the last time a pro scout came to Brooklyn to watch a game between the bar-sponsored softball teams of Williamsburg.

He, the legend in right field, is Bo Schultz, 29, believed to be the only player to ever rise from McCarren Park Softball to Major League Baseball. 

"I'll say, first, only, and forever," says Heller.
Softball memory lane:
Here's me in 2007 ripping into Watty, really letting him have it after we lost in the finals to Black Betty:


Tuesday, February 17, 2015

It's Official: Joe Biden Is a Badass

Who else can stare down the leader of the world's most powerful military while pawing his wife? Whole thing HERE. Awesome.

Hysterical du Jour

6th-grade recruiting by
Probably better as a DL because of stiffness in the hips when trying to change directions during Duck Duck Goose.