What she has to put up with

Location: my desk
Mood: frick’n tired
Music: make me work so we can work it out

Homemade sauerkraut in NYC

Two months ago.

Her: Hey…have you noticed a funny smell here?
Me: Hmmm, I’m not sure. I did start making sauerkraut last week though.
Her: Where?
Me: Here. (pointing) In my bedroom.
Her: Oh – that’s got to go.
Me: Where’m I gonna put it?!
Her: Don’t know, but it’s not staying on the floor in your room.
Me: (grumble)

This week.

Me: Hey, I think my sauerkraut’s ready, want some?
Her: No.
Me: More for me then.

———-

Me: So what do you wanna to do?
Her: Let’s go on a date – all we ever do these days is sit around and frick’n yell at each other.
Drink in NYC

Make it alright

 

 

The unlucky are nothing more than a frame of reference for the lucky, Mr. Fisher. You are unlucky so I may know that I am not. Unfortunately, the lucky never realize they are lucky until it’s too late. Take yourself for instance. Yesterday you were better off than you are today, but it took today for you to realize it. But… today has arrived, and it’s too late, you see?

Lucky Number Slevin

So another kid – a girl – killed herself because of cyberbullying. Do you know about Lori Drew, the 47-woman that convinced this 13 year old girl to hang herself? She got off cause the laws never thought that a bored housewife’d torment a kid to death just for kicks over wire.

Always wondered what kinda douchebag you gotta be to torment someone just cause y’wanna and then hide behind a computer screen or cell phone.

It’s a bitter thing to read cause I’ve lived almost three times longer than her and still feel like I’m a kid.

Wish you waited. Cause you grow up and wonder why people you barely remember ever affected you so much. Then they find you on some social-networking site and you think, “Man, they look terrible!” and start to believe in karma but then change your mind.

Maybe that’s just me.

Honestly wonder what people like Lori Drew tell themselves to make it alright for them to sleep at night.

I’d like to know, because, man, I could use the rest.

———-

On a positive tech note, pretty jazzed that as many people gave as much as they did to Haiti via text – something like $30 million in just a few weeks.

Didja know that Americans gave $1.8 billion to the Asian tsuanmi? I say the measure of a society’s humanity’s how they take carea those not as lucky.

Yet another reason I love this joint.

Location: a light green couch
Mood: wired
Music: Same birds that followed me to school When I was young

Making, Moving or Thinking

Location: in fronta three glowing things again
Mood: busy
Music: don’t wanna be damned, oh, hell

clocks in NYC

Me
: Can’t speak for you but I spend 80-90% of my waking hours in fronta something that glows.
Her: What?
Me: The times I’m not in fronta something that glows – a phone, ipod, television, computer screen, camera screen – is vastly outnumbered by the times that I am.

In the last entry, told you that I had dinner with a buddy. During that dinner, mentioned this change in the law and how it affects ISPs. He’s a reporter and he actually wrote an article about it this week and he just told me that it’s their top tech/legal story.

Unfortunately, I’m not permitted to discuss the matter. But it’s strange reading your own words as an anonymous contributor to a decent-sized story.

Speakinga dinners, had dinner with someone else this week and I mentioned this quote by David Allen. Said that 50 years ago, 80% of us made our living by making or moving something. Y’knew when the job was done when there was nuthin left to make or move.

Now, something like 90% of us think for work. Or try to look like we’re thinking.

Point being that, it’s harder to know how to do the job and when the job’s done without having a final work product. Like if I write a legal memo, the thinking never ends.

Guess that’s why I like fencing or wrestling – cause, y’know right away if y’got the job done or not. There’s a definitiveness that I don’t get anywhere else.

So despite bein old’n creaky, get up every few days for some kid to beat the snot outta me.

In related news, I’m outta ibuprofen.

YASYCTAI: See if there’s a kali school near you. Y’might like it. (45 mins/1 pt)

Fatty of my own

Maybe someday

Townhouse in the Upper West Side, NY

 

Walked down to Times Square from the UWS to catch the da Vinci exhibit.

That’s a whole entry there but just lemme say that: (a) there was a time when religion, science, and art went together and (b) it strikes me as really strange that the same country that gave us da Vinci gave us the people on the Jersey Shore.

Speaking of giving us people, Bryson came by with his fatty today and she was the cutest thing. Make’s me think about having a kid myself. Then again, can barely take care of George and Harold. Still, think all guys start thinking about cranking out a few rug rats roundabout this time.

As I told you before, Bryson’s no joke – took the bronze at the Pan-Americans. But something about a kid mellows a fella out.

Cooked him up some wings and we kicked back a beer as she drooled happily all over him.

Then had dinner with a buddy that owns this jaw-dropping 4,400 SF pad and four kids a few blocks from me.

It’s cool, seeing your friends become men.

Like I said, maybe I’ll get a fatty of my own some day.

Location: three blocks away
Mood: stuffed
Music: Sleep tonight And may your dreams Be realized

Haiti/Pat, you viper

Location: in front of a busted HD
Mood: still annoyed
Music: baby stay with me, I love it

Snow on the 72nd Street Pier in NYC

If y’read the bible, you’ll see that Jesus only got pissed – seriously pissed – with one group, the Pharisees. They were the religious elite, the ones who looked down on those that weren’t doing the willa God. They said who was good and evil.

And he said to them, You’re nuthin but snakes and the childrena snakes. And you’re going to hell.

This isn’t a religious entry, just an observation of many of the world’s holy – irrespective of religion.

Which brings me to Pat Robertson saying that Haiti’s paying fora “pact to the devil.”

Pat, you self-righteous SOB:

  1. you snake, who the #$@! do you think you are?
  2. you’re going to hell.

Either help in some way or get outta the way.

———-

On the topic of help, how’s this for easy-peasy: text HAITI to 90999 and you send $10 for aid to Haiti.

Do it for yourself, if for nuthin else. $10 in exchange for feeling like you’ve helped in some way is a bargain, man. It’s a steal.

———-

Returning to our regularly scheduled nuthin, feel like I let y’down Jaerik, writing two ranty blog entires in a row.

Sorry dude. I’ll stop now. To make it up to you, I’m gonna pimp your new game – which is honestly, quite awesome.

If you’re on FB, do a search for “islandlife” and prepare to be impressed.

Speakinga pimping; had this hidden entry where I asked people to send in a pic of themselves singing for Caffeineguy, who also let me know of the Snopes link above.

Here’s what he did with it, the talented bastard:

The chick at 0:12 is my fave part of the vid.

YASYCTAI: $10 bucks! The costa two burgers and fries at McD. Do it. (1 min/2 pt)

Bully/I remember you

Me 25 years ago

Was recently mocked for being a 36 year-old man that carries the baggage of his 17 year-old self. Probably true.

Heard on the news that the woman that Roman Polanski raped when she was a child forgives him. Wonder what the child version of her would’ve thought.

There’s this line in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn that says of kids tormenting other kids, exactly as they themselves were, They learned no compassion from their own anguish. Thus their suffering was wasted.

To paraphrase my friend Somena, the hard part of life’s knowing much of your past to bring with you into your future. Enough so that you’re better for it, not so much that it hollows you out.

Finally realized why I detest Heartgirl’s creepy friend, Shawn.

Cause he’s a minority and, I suspect, probably a geek as a kid. And we minority geeks are bullied in the most spectacular fashion. Emmy award winning. Yet he’s learned nothing from it.

Never did tell you what happened, did I?

Without her knowing, he picked up HG’s phone and randomly dialed numbers to make them think that HG was calling. And when they’d pick up, he’d essentially just laugh at them for thinking a pretty girl would call them.

Recall saying to him, Not sure y’know who I am.

Guessing he didn’t think I’d end up her boyfriend.

He’s awfully brave for someone on the phone. Told him I hoped that he’d get the opportunity to say to my face what he said on the phone. And of course, he’ll say what they all say, I was drunk, I was kidding, blah-blah-blah.

Funny – been hammered enough times, and yet not once did I turn into a lout.

Still, just to refresh his memory – and cause he just happened to move a block from me – he’s said I’m not a man. And he’d show me what a real man’s like. OK, I’m in.

Cause an old bully’s the worst kind; the kind that’s taken none of his torment with him.

Evidently, the socially correct way to deal with this type of situation is to just let it slide. Not mention it again. As luck would have it, never had many friends growing up so I never learned that.

Look, can’t let it slide. Cause I owe that fat kid y’see up there. Call it stupid or insane, but I owe it to him to remember what it was like to be tormented. I owe it to him to remember him.

So yes, Shawn. Show me what a real man’s like.

Without a hint of sarcasm or irony, I’d like to see that.

ME now

Location: a block away
Mood: indignant
Music: Somewhere inside my childhood I missed

Serif/Bad, H&M, Bad…

Location: my cold home
Mood: annoyed
Music: in your eyes All your promises were lies

NYC at night

Her
: (writing on my hand with her finger)
Me: “I love you?”
Her: (exasperated) Finally! How does it take so long for you to figure it out?
Me: Let me try. (start to write on her hand)
Her: I…L…O…wait, you can’t write what I wrote. Write something else.
Me: OK, let me try again.
Her: S…E…R…I…F. Serif?
Me: Yes.
Her: I write “I love you” and you write, “serif?” SERIF?
Me: (pause) In my defense, y’told me to write something else.

Suspect that, in some way, 2010 may not be all that radically different from 2009.

Ran out to Queens to chase down some scratch. Frick’n cold; the typea cold where y’notice if you’re not wearing the right socks.

Speakinga socks, not shopping at H&M; until they sort out their moral compass. Sucks for me since they’re the only ones that make long sleeve tees that fit me right.

They say that they donate to charity but – just cause I’m a geek and insomniac – did the math; they donate .000056477 of their annual revenue across 5 years. That’s 10% of 1% of 1% of their revenue annually, kids (.000011294 – correct me if I’m wrong).

They’re also saying that they didn’t know what their flagship NYC store was doing.

I’m saying that someone’s $9.99 pants’re on fire.

YASYCTAI: Boycott companies that’re just in it for the money. It’s easy if you star recycling properly, for example: 4 year old boys toy ideas can be made from already owned items, and we are all children at heart right?  (1 min/1 pt)

Finding things that are appropriate for you

Client meetings all morning. 2011 is busy already.

Student: Where do you want him at?
Instructor: (stopping class) “Where do you want him at?” We don’t end sentences with a preposition here.

There’s a nerdiness that permeates my life. Take my wrestling class. Buncha sweating guys ostensibly trying to do harm to each other. But our instructor’s a Jewish guy that’s a Japanese scholar with an masters from Columbia University. And he’s a monster on the mat. He scolded someone for cursing the other day and again for the above (more in a funny manner than a mean one).

There’re wrestling classes much closer to home for me and some that’re cheaper but there’re none that are as appropriate for me. Finding stuff that’s appropriate for you in life is a bigger thing than y’might realize.

———-

Jon Rognerud, the author of Ultimate Guide to Search Engine Optimization wrote me an email thanking me for my review. Nice fella.

My last book review made the front page of the New York Journal of Books. It’s spurring me on to finish that manuscript this month.

Gotta get it done; there’s a fine line between a writer and a nutjob that just tells himself stories all day.

Location: 11 AM, surrounded by papers on all sides
Mood: relaxed
Music: yeah, I’ve got to go home, ten minutes to go
YASYCTAI: How are we doing on those resolutions/goals? (time/1 pt)
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Technically…

Location: a law firm off Grand Central
Mood: excited
Music: Don’t you know that the years will come and go?

Bar at the Soho Grand in NYC

Brother
: Remember when he says, Now everybody’s talking about this new decade – that was 20 years ago.
Me: Yeah I remember. Was a freshman in college.
Him: (laughing) Well, now it the start of a new decade again.
Me: Technically next year’s the start of a new decade.

Nuthin exciting to tell you about the past week. The lady and I went out for a fine dinner and were in bed by the time the ball dropped.

What’d you do for 1999? Don’t recall it at all myself. Hafta add that to my lista fuzzy memories.

This time however, woke up early the next day to see the rents – they showed the lady picturesa me when I was a fatty-fat-fat. Hadta drop off the car; too expensive to keep a car in the city these days so that was onea the things that had to go for 2010.

Wrestled with a kid that was born the year I went to college. Demolished me, course. Spent the resta the weekend popping ibuprofen. Did manage to have a drink at the Soho Grand.

The “00s” are ending and the “10s” re beginning. It’s a sobering thought but I’ll never see the “00s” again.

Him: Technically, every year’s the start of a new decade. S’like that Mitch Hedberg joke when a guy says to him, Lemme show you a picture of me when I was younger. And he goes, Technically, every picture of you’s a picture of you when you was younger.

Today, start working at an office for more scratch. Still eat-what-you-kill but with a better view.

Lotsa changes for this new decade.

I’m still around, though. See you Thursday.

YASYCTAI: Write down whatcha did for 2009. Cause you’re gonna forget (10 minutes/1 pt)