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Showing posts from 2008

Bukowski Would Kick My Ass

Or so he would think ... I heard his voice through a degenerate video-poker drunk who was knocking back Black Russians while the bartender snuck breadsticks on a butter pat, "I've never seen anyone eat chicken wings with a knife and fork," he said as he whispered "f--kin yuppie" under his breath and rather than point out that I was eating boneless tenders smothered in hydrochloric acid, I snarled at the decrepit, toothless son-of-a-bitch and said, "If you live long enough, you'll see a lot of things." He left. Bukowski would have taken a swing. And, after he was bloodied, he'd go home and call his woman a c--t.

Alan Fishman Fleeced WAMU for $7.5 Million

As the dust continues to settle around the annihilation of Washington Mutual by Jamie Dimon's JPMorgan Chase, common stockholders of WAMU should be readying the pitchforks and torches and hunting down the directors who so shamelessly abandoned the company in a week of a panic leading up to the congressional rescue vote. A good place to start the effigy is with replacement CEO, Alan Fishman, who stands to make $7.5 million in a signing bonus for two and half weeks worth of "work." Fishman, who seems more interested in not spilling martinis on his evening wear than mulling through stacks of 8-Ks and 10-Qs, may have orchestrated this so-called run on the bank by phoning Treasury Secretary Hank Paulson and blowing the whistle to facilitate a fire sale of the nation's largest thrift. In my opinion, he should be sued and shamed far worse than Martha Stewart was for her ImClone dealings. While Washington Mutual's loan portfolio stunk worse than a wino smeared in his

Tuesday, Sept. 11, 2001

My lungs burn with the ashes of the desperate, The last gasp stretches across the river and into Brooklyn, From the roof, the triumphant towers' boastful predecessor, Green on St. Patrick's Day, purple for Gay Pride, Red, white and blue on the Fourth of July ... Now black, The Empire State in mourning, The wondrous skyline, majestic, awe inspiring, Raped while I watched helplessly, Now thousands of people all looking to help Thousands of people who can no longer be helped, New York, New York, the city so nice They built the tallest building twice, A master plan destroyed by a mastermind, Newly fueled jets, United, American, Strike the heart of money and American defense, Allies of Israel, enemies of bin Laden and the Islamic zealot, Thousands of refugees on the Manhattan Bridge, I stopped and stared, the Mona Lisa lost her nose, The masterpiece wrecked, the smoldering tragedy, unequivocal, A ferocious bite taken from the Big Apple, The restoration and mour

Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail 2008

In the spirit of our great departed Doctor of Divinity, the founder of Gonzo, I fear Sarah Palin because she is sexy and can herd sheep that bah she sounds like my sister when we talk on the phone . You knew McCain wasn't going to go out with the weakling Lieberman or the buffoonish Giuliani -- no, McCain can only be slew like the 18-0 Patriots. If you recall your Scorsese, to kill a king, you must do it in open court Bill Clinton is prescient, Obama is on the right side of history and like Eli Manning he will have to orchestrate a fourth quarter drive, complete a miracle, and throw a perfect spiral before he and Michelle can move into the White house. And then, four years from now, when John S. McCain is shelved by the GOP like Bob Dole, Palin can run with her VP, another staunch example of family values, Mr. Tom Brady.

I Hate Valentine's Day Films in Brooklyn

For two weeks this summer our neighborhood was transformed into a movie set once again as Nia Vardalos and John Corbett of My Big Fat Greek Wedding were seen daily on Prospect Park West shooting scenes for their upcoming movie, I Hate Valentine's Day . Production began at Terrace Bagels, a neighborhood standby that stayed open to the public so that I was able to get my morning coffee with the minor inconvenience of having to step over a power cord. The next day, however, after picking up my dry cleaning, I nearly tripped over a boom when Nia came storming down the sidewalk shouting reasons why she hated Valentine's when I realized the bum I had taken for granted on my way in was actually an actor. Up close, Nia was thin and reaping the benefit of her professional hair and make-up and I wondered how I might look if a team tended to my appearance with such care, surely better than the usual cross between Charlie Brown and Bob Dylan, who, as it happens, will be performing at

Chinese Herbal Medicine

Heavy eyes and brain booze-addled again in a world of magic and tragic ends of meandering man-made waterfalls forged like talent captured by sellout crowds who can define this life of ours by hours of whores and bores and the money honey exchange among the tyranny of bleak bloodshed that will not dwell in the lap of melancholy beauty surrounded by well wishers and sentiments from another year with golden-haired princes arriving at her shore covered in the wretched stink of desperate designer perfume and the unyielding cool of boundless possibilities bound like bosoms in a black brassiere of politics and pendulums that govern brave brains who dare produce light from the electric shock of the fragile mind which beckons like Ahab and Hemingway to chase the invincible Mexican goddess thrashing about in the evening surf amidst the terrible stench of decaying print smothered in hibiscus to kiss the harsh minds and terse verse of a curse cast upon a pallet of pure blond beauty in a pale cockt

The Kid From Buffalo

I was on the express train from DC to NY when the news caught up to me that Tim Russert had died. A great shock to us all, but fitting that he was doing what he loved, having just spent time at the Vatican with his family. Tim Russert was a journalist's journalist and we mourn his loss. I shall dedicate my plate of hot wings and cold pitcher of beer in honor of the kid from Buffalo while I try and figure out how to get through this election without him.

Eat, Drink, Fuck

Caution dear reader, the following is an exercise in futility, a bslog, if you will: Eat, drink, fuck -- our fate says so and then blames us for stretchy pants, cirrohis, and the herp lip. Bliss be damned. Luck rhymes with fuck. Take Sarah Jessica Parker and Robert Downey Jr., who lived together in L.A. over 20 years ago and now share fame in largess, which is a word I've yet to use in Scrabulous. Breathe too much, you'll hyperventilate, think too much, you'll go insane, dream too much and you just might change the world. Type like shouting epithets down an empty hall, vain and sustained like carvings on a cave wall. Excavate is to Big Brown what Scrabulous is to Triple Crown. Genius is overused like Google and the word like . The world is a monster, so I say eat, drink and fuck to your heart's content, cause you're gonna die alone anyway.

Congressman Vito Fossella Arrested for Drunk Driving in DC

Congressman Vito Fossella from Staten Island, N.Y., was arrested for drunk driving the morning of May 1 in DC after leaving Logan Tavern with his "pal" Brian, who fell face first through a table, breaking the stand in half. I actually helped carry Brian's drunk ass out to the street where Vito waived off a cab we hailed for them and slid away with his mummy in tow. Here's the coverage on Eyewitness News: And here's the scoop from an actual eyewitness: I joined my colleagues Chelsea, Meghan and Meghan's friend R. at Logan Tavern around 10 p.m. not long after Chelsea was sure she spotted Taylor Hanson of boy band fame at a nearby table in the outdoor section. A bit later in the evening, Chelsea departed and Meghan, R. and I moved to the bar indoors to escape the evening chill. Then Vito Fossella walked in with his pal, Brian, who was evidently drunk. R. recognized Vito through his invol

Brooklyn’s Best Burger, Maybe New York City’s Best Burger, Can Be Found at The Dram Shop Bar

As May is indeed the month of the hamburger, it’s the time of year when a man must ask himself, where do I go for the best burger in town? To me, the Burger Joint in Le Parker Meriden and Corner Bistro in the West Village spring to mind, then off course there’s the surf shop Island Burger in Hell’s Kitchen. I dare not argue or presuppose what ingredients are required to make the best burger, rather I rely on one simple rule: If it tastes good, it usually is. And the tastiest I’ve had in a while was at The Dram Shop Bar in Park Slope, Brooklyn, located on 9th Street between 5th and 6th Avenues. The bar is elegant and high-minded with a pool table located in back, a shuffleboard on the side, TVs and lights fixed appropriately, so they’re easily found, but not in your way and music that is familiar and new and in a word, cool. The Dram Shop Bar has a selection of good, not obvious, beers on tap with fine whiskeys and vodkas decorating a bar, whose mirror the mighty Jack Nicholson c

Hyannisport Holiday

It was the summer of 1997 and my friend Tom invited me up to the Cape for a weekend to see some of his old college buddies and attend the Robert Malfi Third Annual Summer Extravaganza, where the boys played soccer on a lawn over looking the ocean and the girls pranced around the ample grounds in summer dresses, drinking catered cocktails from bendy straws. On the drive up from New York, panic set in when I asked Tom what time bars closed in Massachusetts and he wasn't sure if it was one or two. I suggested we stop in a package store where we picked up a case of beer, a bottle of Jack and a bottle of Absolut. We would, after all, be spending the night. Tom and I checked in our ram shack, rent-by-the-hour motel, complete with mirrored ceilings and a rather large bureau and vanity mirror. We unloaded our stash into styrofoam coolers and doused it in ice to keep it cold, then we drove to a clam shack and had a bucket of steamers and a couple of cold brews amidst a cool sea breeze.

Nothing Says Marijuana Party Like Dave Dowling

Goodness gracious, great balls of Google! My Canadian campaign has come to light: Dave has spent the last few years working with the Federal Marijuana Party of Canada as a candidate’s official agent in 2000, and ran as a Candidate in the 2004 Federal Election. By why should I listen to him? Dave has been quoted on CNN at least 50 times. He has also been interviewed numerous times in newspapers, been on a multitude of radio shows and been seen on many television stations. Did someone say Barack Obama? Dave Dowling knows that rights and freedoms are to be there for all, and that children should have educational and economic opportunity, wherever they reside in Canada. The Citizens of Edmonton, Alberta and Canada and their children deserve this. Poverty, the homeless, hemp, healthcare, education and other such issues affect all levels of Governments. This is why Dave runs in Elections, to raise awareness on the real issues. Dave sticks to poverty type campaign budgets to show

Are Bill Ritter and Liz Cho in Love?

For several weeks now, I've noticed Liz Cho of Eyewitness News hasn't been wearing her wedding ring. There was idle speculation that it may be due to weight she put on during her pregnancy, but that was months ago and she has been in fighting shape for a while. Hard to remember now, but I do think it was there when she returned after Labor Day. Of course it was clear from the start that Bill had a thing for Liz. Why not, most of us do, but what was it that put him over the edge? Does Liz actually look up to him, respect him as a venerable newsman, or is it simply the fact that work is an easy place to fall in love. During this evening's broadcast, their was a tender moment revealed when Liz finished reading the Valentine's Day Health Alert. After she said "most people do not actually pursue their ideal mate, suggesting that we often think with our hearts," Bill looked at her tenderly and said, "Who would have thought that?" and she echoed the sen

Hillary Clinton Is a Bigger Man Than Terrell Owens

Somewhere Fred Exley is smiling. Eli Manning's 47-second scoring drive will come to be known simply as "The Drive" among fans of Big Blue. Mr. Jacobs nearly shattering the playclock coupled with Osi Umenyiora's dominance of Flozell Adams in the fourth quarter was a sweet sundae on Sunday complete with cherry on top. Just when Hillary thought she had softened her image, she now looks like Ray Nitschke compared to the blubbering Owens. Go forth Big Blue to the wild tundra of Green Bay and battle the immortal Favre. Know that we stand behind you and that your legacy is etched in the withering Botox jowls of Jerry Jones. Let's win one for The Gifford .