But bot butt, no straw, tall, ice, splash of tonic. Know what? FUCK THE ICE.

Trying to post from SoHo with a blog bot. Can't wait to see how this works out. Could be dangerous. Mayhem, decadence; blood and weird bands forsaken by the gods everywhere. Be careful or you'll end up in my next book. Yup, that's right. Next.

Careful.

Or don't be--those are the more fun people, anyway. Like Heather, Vanessa, Amy-ie (x3), Tom and Pete. (What happened 30-or-so years ago to make so many Amys?) (hey, PK, that last parens sentence had a nice lilt to it! Possible Pogues lyrics!)

Tasha!

LuLu, Jude. Joe. Roxanne (haven’t figured her, yet).

And, particularly, Ann.

One in the bag, names changed to protect the guilty, truth told to protect me from criminal prosecution and/or civil liability. (My lawyer insists on this Fair Balance language, she knowing the difference between smart and retarted cops where I live.)

I can't believe I'm being encouraged to build a career out of misery and debasement and rapture. And I’m not being thrown into some rabbinical silo. I’m a Christian-raised agnostic facing this future in the eye and not backing down like some pussy. Yes, Heather, I'm circumcised. (Sound's like the first words to a familiar Santa Claus book...)

Slow down, PK, ease into your new – air quotes – domain. Or so say Wendy and Max, the tenders of bar where we sit. Me with my new to be scrbbled upon tablet, but un-Mac, PC. 'Tis cool being in the Saatchi pilot tech test team. All the tech you can eat, and all the beer you can watch make ice melt. Lots of guac and chips, though. Plus, I get to hang with the finance guys, who feingly promise to express my expense checks. They tell me I'm a profitible unit. I take that as sad.

Here comes tender-of-bar Wendy weilding fierce fingers ready to type. OK.


Hi. I’m WendymA x is making get beer for yous. I get it lime no straw, tall.


That is the first, and perhaps last, anyone besides me will blog on my dumb blog. I can’t believe she rehearsed for that line of type, air quotes and all. At least I get powerful stuff here. And by stuff, I mean stuff. She is an NYU film student. (Who, under 25, is not, in SoHo?) I say she's a future porno queen. She's comfortably cool with that. Judging by the sudden spikes under her tank top, and twinkle in her eye, we believe her.

Free round. Sambuka.

Where’s a decent cameraphone with a decent memory chip when you need one? Oh, great, now I sound like Ed Grimley, typing, don’tcha say, decently.

Let it be known it was Wendymax. Sounds like an aerobix drill. Or a diet plan.

A Strange Pair

OK, the HST bio was cool. Reminded me of things I'd long forgotten, which is weird because I got a slew of emails today from old college friends blaming ME for long-dead brain cells.



The other, an Oliver Sacks memoir, is about long-alive, still thriving brain cells. I think it's reviving some of mine. Believe it or not.

The Dead

Norman Mailer died. Roxanne just told me.

He was a brilliant man. The Naked and the Dead, The Armies of the Night, and a couple of Pulitzers. Not to mentioin about a billion well-thought words. Not bad.

Bless? ewwwwwwwwww

That damn lady on the train, with her goddamn sneezing fit. She has now infected us all. What finishing school did she go to? Obviously not a top notch one, as I would have gone to. For now I have the flu, or something dreadful, shooting out of my small, god-constructed nose, an apparatus never meant to do anything but breathe healthy air.

From now on, when ever anyone sneezes, please say "Ew" instead of "bless you". That will do more to stop the spread than all the medicines on the planet.

Breath rhymes with death

Wow. I'm still breathing. If y'all only knew...

Busy Signal

Maybe it's like what Red said about Andy in the Shawshank Redemption.

"Either get busy living, or get busy dying."

It's one of those movie lines that burrows into your mind and hides for awhile. Today it came up for air on the corner of Houston and Hudson while walking through a revolving door. How fucking slap-in-the-face symbolic is that? If it takes something that obvious to wake me up, I must be oblivious to something.

Going through the motions

Maybe I should listen to Ann. For once.

I fell asleep on the train this morning and it was only a kind-hearted commuter that kept me from ending up in the railroad service yards. As it turned out, I zombied my way through Penn Station, got lucky and made the 1 Train downtown before 9. And it wasn’t nearly as fun as it sounds.

The same thing will probably happen tomorrow.

If I put as much effort back into piecing together some of my own crap instead of schlepping my way to inevitable burn-out status through commuting and advertising, maybe things would be different. Maybe.

Cut and paste from an old blog, circa August 2005

(From my old AOL blog...)

FYI, for now I am back from ESPN Sports Center and listening to Afghan Whigs and wondering, yet again after listening to this disc a million times, how Greg Dulli nailed my bio.

When Grandmom dies, I will probably turn inside out. And start making my blog interesting. Today she asked if I had a black suit. And if I didn't she would buy me one.

Morbid.

I countered with the fact that she helped raise a boy who got money and bought his own $1,200 Calvin Klein black suit. How nice of me.

(Grandmom died a week later that year (August 21, 2005). Add two years to that. Perhaps that's why I feel a bit lost.)

Boylston St., October 30, 2007

By the way the RED SOX WON the series. Guess who was at the PARADE?

I'm in there somewhere.

I seem to have found a niche making business and pleasure intersect.
Fortune like this never lasts for long.

Conundrum

What does it mean when you open a fortune cookie and it says "Try Again"?

A similar thing happened to me, except I ate a snail.

(Variation on a Mitch Hedgeberg joke)