http://www.hulu.com/watch/64784/charles-in-charge-pilot
ck
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
03-30/Meet the Mets
Half the people that went to the first game of baseball at Citi Field, will tell you that they were there first, since they don't have tickets to Opening Day. The one good thing about their operatives will be the relay of the facilities, especially as my mother asked my sister,
"Did you look at the bathrooms?"
The greatest intel that has come out so far is that the Lite Beer selection has been lowered to 5 dollars. I am more excited to see what kind of exciting new salads they have this year. There is nothing like yelling, "Go Team!" with a big hunk of romaine in your mouth.
I think they should also open up a club at the new Citi Field for good looking people where the players hang out too, called "3rd Base." For those that can't get in there, you can go to the sister club, called "Single A." Even a gay club would be nice named "Bats and Balls."
I look forward to checking out the facilities anyway. It will be nice to try out all the fun.
ck
"Did you look at the bathrooms?"
The greatest intel that has come out so far is that the Lite Beer selection has been lowered to 5 dollars. I am more excited to see what kind of exciting new salads they have this year. There is nothing like yelling, "Go Team!" with a big hunk of romaine in your mouth.
I think they should also open up a club at the new Citi Field for good looking people where the players hang out too, called "3rd Base." For those that can't get in there, you can go to the sister club, called "Single A." Even a gay club would be nice named "Bats and Balls."
I look forward to checking out the facilities anyway. It will be nice to try out all the fun.
ck
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
03-25/Thank You for Being a Friend
I've come to a crossroads in my life, where TV provides so much fulfillment to me that without it, I'd be like separating from drugs. Except in this environment I would probably just drink instead.
I realized that I could have easily played a character on many TV shows and made plots that could have been spinoffs to my own show. For example, all the dreck special episodes from the Golden Girls are with weirdo guest stars, except for Leslie Nielsen.
I think that if I would have played Coco, the gay housekeeper, he would have never been written off. But even without that, I think I could have been the neighbor's kid or something. Always dropping by with David Leisure, to help the Empty Nest spin off, I could be getting into wacky situations.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vZs3wyzH5xs
Maybe one day I could be in Blanche's bedroom looking for something and I come across a big black sex toy of some sort. Then I show it to Charley, and he follows up with his one liners as he walks into the kitchen with it.
I think we should re-create the Golden Girls with ourselves as the main characters. I guess Fabian could act as the Rose character, Phil as Blanche, Colin as Sophia, and I'll be Dorothy since I look like a man playing a woman anyway.
We all can't sleep one night so we meet in the kitchen for midnight steamed wontons and beer. Phil starts talking about the date he had that evening.
Phil "We went to that new place on the corner of Magnolia and US1."
Colin "Thats a good place, close to where you picked her up" (incinuating its a prostitute.)
Me (slamming my hand on the table and turning to Colin)
"Collllllllllllllll !!!!" (sounds like a long "caahhl")
I would love to write myself into Gossip Girl as well. I want to be the desperate to maintain his youth-history teacher, who also coaches baseball. When Blair does something sinister I am the one the always foils her plans, but she never retaliates because she secretly has a crush on me.
It wouldn't be weird like when Dan was banging that young teacher, because I would never give in to her. I'd be more like the Bob Golic character from Saved by the Bell College years - just looking after the kids, and teaching baseball. Eventually attention would be turned on me when Stanford tries to recruit me as the new baseball coach, but everyone tries to keep me at St. Jude's.
All we really need though is to just put us back into St. Francis Prep and throw in some video cameras. The opening credits would always be our friend Steve making a typical one liner and then proceeding with an illegal u-turn to get a spot closer to the school. The word's "herb" and "nerd" being used to no end.
I wouldn't have much for Fabian - he would just always be with the TL crew making rap music outside with a big Fresh Prince type boombox on the basketball court.
Phil would be the nicely dressed popular guy of the school, president of course. If only we could find the tape of him interviewing me as German Club president played throughout the whole school.
I'd just have shots intermittently of John in the background talking to people in his cor.
The show would end with "Introducing......Mr. Wolfgang Hiller as Himself" then he would lick his lips and cross his arms in his flawlessly unwrinkled shirt and blazer. Then finishing the opening credits with a frames of us in the library, buying a boatload of food for one dollar, and me embarrassingly undressing for gym class.
The final frames would be and upset Mr. Hiller running after all of us for some zany! prank as we get out the doors of the school, and the Grand Prix racing off. And a Bonneville I guess.
"I got what I wanted from her!"
ck
I realized that I could have easily played a character on many TV shows and made plots that could have been spinoffs to my own show. For example, all the dreck special episodes from the Golden Girls are with weirdo guest stars, except for Leslie Nielsen.
I think that if I would have played Coco, the gay housekeeper, he would have never been written off. But even without that, I think I could have been the neighbor's kid or something. Always dropping by with David Leisure, to help the Empty Nest spin off, I could be getting into wacky situations.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vZs3wyzH5xs
Maybe one day I could be in Blanche's bedroom looking for something and I come across a big black sex toy of some sort. Then I show it to Charley, and he follows up with his one liners as he walks into the kitchen with it.
I think we should re-create the Golden Girls with ourselves as the main characters. I guess Fabian could act as the Rose character, Phil as Blanche, Colin as Sophia, and I'll be Dorothy since I look like a man playing a woman anyway.
We all can't sleep one night so we meet in the kitchen for midnight steamed wontons and beer. Phil starts talking about the date he had that evening.
Phil "We went to that new place on the corner of Magnolia and US1."
Colin "Thats a good place, close to where you picked her up" (incinuating its a prostitute.)
Me (slamming my hand on the table and turning to Colin)
"Collllllllllllllll !!!!" (sounds like a long "caahhl")
I would love to write myself into Gossip Girl as well. I want to be the desperate to maintain his youth-history teacher, who also coaches baseball. When Blair does something sinister I am the one the always foils her plans, but she never retaliates because she secretly has a crush on me.
It wouldn't be weird like when Dan was banging that young teacher, because I would never give in to her. I'd be more like the Bob Golic character from Saved by the Bell College years - just looking after the kids, and teaching baseball. Eventually attention would be turned on me when Stanford tries to recruit me as the new baseball coach, but everyone tries to keep me at St. Jude's.
All we really need though is to just put us back into St. Francis Prep and throw in some video cameras. The opening credits would always be our friend Steve making a typical one liner and then proceeding with an illegal u-turn to get a spot closer to the school. The word's "herb" and "nerd" being used to no end.
I wouldn't have much for Fabian - he would just always be with the TL crew making rap music outside with a big Fresh Prince type boombox on the basketball court.
Phil would be the nicely dressed popular guy of the school, president of course. If only we could find the tape of him interviewing me as German Club president played throughout the whole school.
I'd just have shots intermittently of John in the background talking to people in his cor.
The show would end with "Introducing......Mr. Wolfgang Hiller as Himself" then he would lick his lips and cross his arms in his flawlessly unwrinkled shirt and blazer. Then finishing the opening credits with a frames of us in the library, buying a boatload of food for one dollar, and me embarrassingly undressing for gym class.
The final frames would be and upset Mr. Hiller running after all of us for some zany! prank as we get out the doors of the school, and the Grand Prix racing off. And a Bonneville I guess.
"I got what I wanted from her!"
ck
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
03-24/"I'll have the 81st and Amsterdam"
I paced around looking for something to do. It was Saturday, and I needed a plan. Here were my tools to chose from.
2 full boxes of strawberries
A clean shirt that needed to be ironed.
my sister on an Asian bus to Mohegan.
a late flight to Boston.
I desperately wanted to fly to Boston, but I knew I shouldn't give in to the price.
I knocked the Mohegan choice quickly out of my head. I figured there was no way I was coming back on that bus without either having to pee 35 times, or so hungry/drunk that I would steal one of the Asian's sushi medley, resulting in an international incident. I also figured there was no way I could keep up with my sister and her boyfriend playing every slot machine the casino could offer.
I also didn't need my sister to have to call up my mother and advise her that,
"Chris bought Blu Blockers and is dancing in the 'Casino of the Water' fountain with a feather boa. I think he went to the bathroom in there."
So I moved on to the strawberries, and decided I was going to make a strawberry tart. Just then I received a call from Paps that we were going to hit the town. Sure!I said and I went and ironed my shirt.
Soon I was off to the train where I settled comfortably into my usual seat, in the smaller compartment. I noticed how dry my skin was. The right headphone kept buzzing with static when the decibels would be too high.
We arrived at Penn, and I began my usual fantasy, striding along to Kings of Leon, "Sex on Fire."
Off to the 1 again, and uptown we went. I escaped the subway at 72nd, wondering why I didn't wait for the 3. Either way I exited and went to our sports! place, Blondies.
Entering the bar I looked around for Paps and the group. The tables were arranged tightly, so I didn't want to wander around. Due to an unfortunate early departure of my right contact for the day, I had to shed the other one before I left the house. I was stuck in the corner, squinting through each table looking for the party.
Making eye contact with a few people, I would hurriedly avert my eyes to the numerous sports screen, and make a silent fist pump. I tried to look as if I wasn't just locking eyes with the patrons, but watching the sports awkwardly from the corner. I would look at my watch, and make head nods to the other room, so that the people would think I wasn't alone and was just waiting for the bathroom or something.
Then Paps called, and he told me he wasn't there yet and that the other group had already left. OK, time for awkward alone activities again, but at least Paps was around the corner.
The next 2 hours consisted of me getting something on my shirt, considering going to Filene's for a new one, deciding to go to Duane Reade for a Tide Pen, then stumbling out of there to meet a friend of Paps celebrating a birthday.
We entered the next bar, Paps' friends crew owning most of the corner. Ah, a safe haven. I moo-ed my way to the bathroom, and on the return I encountered an unexpected event.
"Hey," accompanied a tug on my shirt. The ringleader of the girls sitting at a table said,
"My friend likes you."
Going through pages and pages of awkward grammar school and high school situations of confronting girls, I actually stopped and instead of saying, " Hey, my name is Chris how is everyone?" I blabbed out a loud,
"Whoo?"
She pointed to her friend in the corner who wouldn't make eye contact. Shy, I thought in my head. It still didn't matter because I was already planning on pretending someone called me from the corner, and was going to make a ballet move out of the situation.
Something like that ended up happening, so I continued on my merry way of making fun of people throughout the bar.
Later on, the girls were looking at me again, so out of respect I went over. The one ringleader tried to get me to talk to the girl in question, but she desperately tried to stay locked in talking to a waitress. Odd, I thought, but once again, I knew this wasn't going anywhere, even though I wanted the story.
I sat back down at the table, and started getting mouthy about a patron wearing a Phillies hat. Then out of nowhere the girl in question walked over.
Shit, I thought. This girl is going to ask me out, what am I going to do. I have to pick up dry cleaning, write blogs, eat sandwiches - I don't have time for this.
"I'm sorry about my friends...." she slowly started.
Oh boy, here is comes. How am I going to let this little phillie down....
"I just went through a tough loss in my life, and my friends just want me to have some fun. I hope they weren't a bother. Sorry." And she left.
If ever I was able to get a chance to do the Austin Power's "Ah." Here it was. I was all prepared to give the old, "Listen sweetheart.." speech, used to having to fight the ladies off with a stick. But this was much....funnier.
And it was fantastic. She walked away and I felt silly, but after a few moments, relieved. Another close one avoided. Paps and I got into a cab, where he asked the driver,
"Can I have the 81st and Amsterdam?"
Poking through a few bars up there, we found nothing but an Australian, and a girl in red. Time to go home.
I ended up falling asleep on the railroad and missed my stop on the Pt. Washington line for the first time in my life. Ending up on Bell Blvd, my drunk feet pulled me toward White Castle. I knew this wasn't going to end up well.
Actually just settling for a simple snack, I still decided to punish myself by walking to my car at Broadway. I settled back into my movie role, and hit play on the IPod. Sashay-ing down Northern Blvd at 430 am, I felt pretty good. The music was nice, I felt vindicated of my crappy eating by challenging myself to the walk.
Everything was.....not bad. Not bad at all.
Then some people yelled at me from a car.
Goodnight.
ck
2 full boxes of strawberries
A clean shirt that needed to be ironed.
my sister on an Asian bus to Mohegan.
a late flight to Boston.
I desperately wanted to fly to Boston, but I knew I shouldn't give in to the price.
I knocked the Mohegan choice quickly out of my head. I figured there was no way I was coming back on that bus without either having to pee 35 times, or so hungry/drunk that I would steal one of the Asian's sushi medley, resulting in an international incident. I also figured there was no way I could keep up with my sister and her boyfriend playing every slot machine the casino could offer.
I also didn't need my sister to have to call up my mother and advise her that,
"Chris bought Blu Blockers and is dancing in the 'Casino of the Water' fountain with a feather boa. I think he went to the bathroom in there."
So I moved on to the strawberries, and decided I was going to make a strawberry tart. Just then I received a call from Paps that we were going to hit the town. Sure!I said and I went and ironed my shirt.
Soon I was off to the train where I settled comfortably into my usual seat, in the smaller compartment. I noticed how dry my skin was. The right headphone kept buzzing with static when the decibels would be too high.
We arrived at Penn, and I began my usual fantasy, striding along to Kings of Leon, "Sex on Fire."
Off to the 1 again, and uptown we went. I escaped the subway at 72nd, wondering why I didn't wait for the 3. Either way I exited and went to our sports! place, Blondies.
Entering the bar I looked around for Paps and the group. The tables were arranged tightly, so I didn't want to wander around. Due to an unfortunate early departure of my right contact for the day, I had to shed the other one before I left the house. I was stuck in the corner, squinting through each table looking for the party.
Making eye contact with a few people, I would hurriedly avert my eyes to the numerous sports screen, and make a silent fist pump. I tried to look as if I wasn't just locking eyes with the patrons, but watching the sports awkwardly from the corner. I would look at my watch, and make head nods to the other room, so that the people would think I wasn't alone and was just waiting for the bathroom or something.
Then Paps called, and he told me he wasn't there yet and that the other group had already left. OK, time for awkward alone activities again, but at least Paps was around the corner.
The next 2 hours consisted of me getting something on my shirt, considering going to Filene's for a new one, deciding to go to Duane Reade for a Tide Pen, then stumbling out of there to meet a friend of Paps celebrating a birthday.
We entered the next bar, Paps' friends crew owning most of the corner. Ah, a safe haven. I moo-ed my way to the bathroom, and on the return I encountered an unexpected event.
"Hey," accompanied a tug on my shirt. The ringleader of the girls sitting at a table said,
"My friend likes you."
Going through pages and pages of awkward grammar school and high school situations of confronting girls, I actually stopped and instead of saying, " Hey, my name is Chris how is everyone?" I blabbed out a loud,
"Whoo?"
She pointed to her friend in the corner who wouldn't make eye contact. Shy, I thought in my head. It still didn't matter because I was already planning on pretending someone called me from the corner, and was going to make a ballet move out of the situation.
Something like that ended up happening, so I continued on my merry way of making fun of people throughout the bar.
Later on, the girls were looking at me again, so out of respect I went over. The one ringleader tried to get me to talk to the girl in question, but she desperately tried to stay locked in talking to a waitress. Odd, I thought, but once again, I knew this wasn't going anywhere, even though I wanted the story.
I sat back down at the table, and started getting mouthy about a patron wearing a Phillies hat. Then out of nowhere the girl in question walked over.
Shit, I thought. This girl is going to ask me out, what am I going to do. I have to pick up dry cleaning, write blogs, eat sandwiches - I don't have time for this.
"I'm sorry about my friends...." she slowly started.
Oh boy, here is comes. How am I going to let this little phillie down....
"I just went through a tough loss in my life, and my friends just want me to have some fun. I hope they weren't a bother. Sorry." And she left.
If ever I was able to get a chance to do the Austin Power's "Ah." Here it was. I was all prepared to give the old, "Listen sweetheart.." speech, used to having to fight the ladies off with a stick. But this was much....funnier.
And it was fantastic. She walked away and I felt silly, but after a few moments, relieved. Another close one avoided. Paps and I got into a cab, where he asked the driver,
"Can I have the 81st and Amsterdam?"
Poking through a few bars up there, we found nothing but an Australian, and a girl in red. Time to go home.
I ended up falling asleep on the railroad and missed my stop on the Pt. Washington line for the first time in my life. Ending up on Bell Blvd, my drunk feet pulled me toward White Castle. I knew this wasn't going to end up well.
Actually just settling for a simple snack, I still decided to punish myself by walking to my car at Broadway. I settled back into my movie role, and hit play on the IPod. Sashay-ing down Northern Blvd at 430 am, I felt pretty good. The music was nice, I felt vindicated of my crappy eating by challenging myself to the walk.
Everything was.....not bad. Not bad at all.
Then some people yelled at me from a car.
Goodnight.
ck
Monday, March 23, 2009
03-23/Hot Dogs and Oil Changes
Six, Seven, Eight, Triple Nine, Eight, Two-One-Two.
I always like arriving into Penn Station. With the invention of the Ipod, and the combination of drinking allowed on the LIRR, I feel like John Travolta at Penn. When I ascend the staircase, and my knee pops from the steps, I wind up and I head toward whichever subway I'm going on.
Then it begins.
"Bittersweet Symphony" My feet start moving to the beat and I'm rolling along through the corridor. Confidence beaming, I pass the shops and visions of sugarplums and pizza in 5 hours dance through my head. It's no "Stayin' Alive" but by no coincidence my pants and shirt are just as tight as Tony's.
Rolling past all the people hustling and bustling, I put a swagger on and intentionally drive my feet outwardly as if I'm walking through Brooklyn with paint cans in my hand. At the moment, I'm the king of Penn.
Heading uptown on the 1, I meet Paps and we head out. Poking around to no avail of some of the Upper West Side's staples, we saddle up at a brewery/grill type place near the Beacon. Tonight - The Allman Bros. We acquire two chairs toward the end of the bar, and watch the end of the late basketball games.
Knocking wood on the bar, I declare Ohio State the champion, and then they lose. A Central American native next to me celebrates nothing by ordering another rum and coke. Obviously passed his limit, he continually falls asleep at the bar. You couldn't wake him up with a two by four over his head, but for some reason he intermittently wakes up and starts staring at Paps. I was providing the buffer between the two, but his eyes burned right through me to the other side.
Then the flood gates open. The Allman Brothers show lets out and every biker wearing their nicest jeans and leather vests enter the bar by storm. The music turns to Allman Bros. I'm guessing life still has no law against how many times in an hour you can hear "Ramblin' Man" and "Sweet Melissa."
All of a sudden I look behind me and a pool table has appeared. The native next to me is still staring. Someone is working on a motorcycle. Before long its time to go - Friday night has ended.
Tomorrow, Boston.
After another wonderful night's sleep I wake up in the morning ready to attack another day. It's driving to Boston day. Secretly I check last minute flights, and nothing short of a stagecoach is going to get me up there for under a hundred bucks without me driving. I consider having a morning cocktail to get me over the hump of buying a plane ticket, but it's no use. I head to the quick oil change/car wash/hot dog place for a quick lube.
I figure this will be at least 20 minutes, so I head to dunkin donuts for a nice coffee and minutes of people watching. After I've had my fill of the asian owners yelling the orders, quite similarly to the chinese take out style, I head back to the shop.
Hanging outside, I watch the different types of cars going through the car wash. It seems that the car wash had become so backed up that they had to stop the machine itself, running out of room to dry the cars. It's now about 30 minutes into my oil change, and I look inside. Hood still up - maybe they got to it later than I thought. Oh well. Arrival in BOS looking like 300 or so, no big deal.
An hour into the service I decide to go into the lounge. Perusing the different air fresheners, I briefly consider buying a registration wallet. I head over to the restroom, and I find a flatscreen TV over the urinal. Wonderful, if I would have known this, I could have easily ran up that hour in style.
An hour and a half later, and the hotdog stand now oddly on the corner closer to the car wash, I started to get nervous. Approaching two hours, and the hot dog cart now rolling back and forth past the window where I was sitting, I was definitely nervous. The hot dog man started to stare at me, and would look away quickly when my eyes met his. At one point, I think he put a dog in a bun and started to dance with it.
No time for that now, I decided to walk into the shop and look at what was going on with my car.
As I approached the opened hood, I wasn't prepared for what I was about to see. The cover to my engine was off, and a Spanish speaking fella had a towel over the inside similar to the way a sheet is thrown over a dead body. Not willing to learn a foreign language in 2 minutes to converse with the gentleman, I left him with a hearty, "Huh."
Checking in with the friendly mrs. on the inside, I said I've been here for two hours and wondered if there was a problem. She asked one of the attendants. I was unable to see his face or hear what he said, but she responded to him with a surprised, "Oh.."
"There was a problem with the oil filter, but they are fixing it right now. It should be just a few more minutes," she said reassuringly, as if she never had that exchange with the mechanic two seconds ago.
Sure enough it was done two minutes later, and we rolled out of there. Boston ETA was now 445 without traffic, but I started having premonitions of me sitting on the side of the 95 eating combos and waiting for a tow truck. Then multiplying that to an awkward ride in the cab of the tow truck with the driver and his dog, stinky. Then ending the thought with me having drinks in a bar with said tow truck driver asking me if I had a place to stay that evening.
Back to my chair in the basement, and to the drawing board with how I was going to attack the rest of the weekend.
ck
I always like arriving into Penn Station. With the invention of the Ipod, and the combination of drinking allowed on the LIRR, I feel like John Travolta at Penn. When I ascend the staircase, and my knee pops from the steps, I wind up and I head toward whichever subway I'm going on.
Then it begins.
"Bittersweet Symphony" My feet start moving to the beat and I'm rolling along through the corridor. Confidence beaming, I pass the shops and visions of sugarplums and pizza in 5 hours dance through my head. It's no "Stayin' Alive" but by no coincidence my pants and shirt are just as tight as Tony's.
Rolling past all the people hustling and bustling, I put a swagger on and intentionally drive my feet outwardly as if I'm walking through Brooklyn with paint cans in my hand. At the moment, I'm the king of Penn.
Heading uptown on the 1, I meet Paps and we head out. Poking around to no avail of some of the Upper West Side's staples, we saddle up at a brewery/grill type place near the Beacon. Tonight - The Allman Bros. We acquire two chairs toward the end of the bar, and watch the end of the late basketball games.
Knocking wood on the bar, I declare Ohio State the champion, and then they lose. A Central American native next to me celebrates nothing by ordering another rum and coke. Obviously passed his limit, he continually falls asleep at the bar. You couldn't wake him up with a two by four over his head, but for some reason he intermittently wakes up and starts staring at Paps. I was providing the buffer between the two, but his eyes burned right through me to the other side.
Then the flood gates open. The Allman Brothers show lets out and every biker wearing their nicest jeans and leather vests enter the bar by storm. The music turns to Allman Bros. I'm guessing life still has no law against how many times in an hour you can hear "Ramblin' Man" and "Sweet Melissa."
All of a sudden I look behind me and a pool table has appeared. The native next to me is still staring. Someone is working on a motorcycle. Before long its time to go - Friday night has ended.
Tomorrow, Boston.
After another wonderful night's sleep I wake up in the morning ready to attack another day. It's driving to Boston day. Secretly I check last minute flights, and nothing short of a stagecoach is going to get me up there for under a hundred bucks without me driving. I consider having a morning cocktail to get me over the hump of buying a plane ticket, but it's no use. I head to the quick oil change/car wash/hot dog place for a quick lube.
I figure this will be at least 20 minutes, so I head to dunkin donuts for a nice coffee and minutes of people watching. After I've had my fill of the asian owners yelling the orders, quite similarly to the chinese take out style, I head back to the shop.
Hanging outside, I watch the different types of cars going through the car wash. It seems that the car wash had become so backed up that they had to stop the machine itself, running out of room to dry the cars. It's now about 30 minutes into my oil change, and I look inside. Hood still up - maybe they got to it later than I thought. Oh well. Arrival in BOS looking like 300 or so, no big deal.
An hour into the service I decide to go into the lounge. Perusing the different air fresheners, I briefly consider buying a registration wallet. I head over to the restroom, and I find a flatscreen TV over the urinal. Wonderful, if I would have known this, I could have easily ran up that hour in style.
An hour and a half later, and the hotdog stand now oddly on the corner closer to the car wash, I started to get nervous. Approaching two hours, and the hot dog cart now rolling back and forth past the window where I was sitting, I was definitely nervous. The hot dog man started to stare at me, and would look away quickly when my eyes met his. At one point, I think he put a dog in a bun and started to dance with it.
No time for that now, I decided to walk into the shop and look at what was going on with my car.
As I approached the opened hood, I wasn't prepared for what I was about to see. The cover to my engine was off, and a Spanish speaking fella had a towel over the inside similar to the way a sheet is thrown over a dead body. Not willing to learn a foreign language in 2 minutes to converse with the gentleman, I left him with a hearty, "Huh."
Checking in with the friendly mrs. on the inside, I said I've been here for two hours and wondered if there was a problem. She asked one of the attendants. I was unable to see his face or hear what he said, but she responded to him with a surprised, "Oh.."
"There was a problem with the oil filter, but they are fixing it right now. It should be just a few more minutes," she said reassuringly, as if she never had that exchange with the mechanic two seconds ago.
Sure enough it was done two minutes later, and we rolled out of there. Boston ETA was now 445 without traffic, but I started having premonitions of me sitting on the side of the 95 eating combos and waiting for a tow truck. Then multiplying that to an awkward ride in the cab of the tow truck with the driver and his dog, stinky. Then ending the thought with me having drinks in a bar with said tow truck driver asking me if I had a place to stay that evening.
Back to my chair in the basement, and to the drawing board with how I was going to attack the rest of the weekend.
ck
03-23/Plain White T's with a ketchup stain
Tracks from the new album they are working on.
"My car is an automatic"
"I like pizza with pepperoni"
"Hold the tomatoes"
"I love to eat cereal in the morning with you"
"I put the seat down because i love you"
"What should we bring to your parents for the dinner party"
"You can hold the remote"
"Let's go see a chick flick"
"Hang the picture over there"
The music video they are working on is couple's ordering at McDonald's, " Ill have the number 4, two straws please"
ck
"My car is an automatic"
"I like pizza with pepperoni"
"Hold the tomatoes"
"I love to eat cereal in the morning with you"
"I put the seat down because i love you"
"What should we bring to your parents for the dinner party"
"You can hold the remote"
"Let's go see a chick flick"
"Hang the picture over there"
The music video they are working on is couple's ordering at McDonald's, " Ill have the number 4, two straws please"
ck
Thursday, March 19, 2009
03-19/Ho-Broken, Chapter 3
The three of us began our Wizard of Oz-like quest searching for the house party. I was the bloated tin-man, Phil was the thin green t-shirt wearing scarecrow, and Colin was just known as "The Face."
We walked through the forest of puke, then the forest of piss, then the forest of drunk 15 year olds. Fighting our way through, we could finally see the Emerald City, or I believe it was called Hoboken Manor. As we approached the locked fence, our first Rose of Tralee appeared.
She was guarding the gate, looking for a cigarette. After she declined our alternative, we threw her on the ground and approached the gate. From the ground she yelled in a leprechaun voice,
"Stawwwp!! Or yee shall go to jail and perish!!"
Phil had noticed the gate was unlocked and was already way inside the courtyard. But he heard the word jail, and ran back towards us. The leprechaun demon vanished back to leprechaun hell, leaving behind a trail of ashes, oddly in the shape of a letter C.
We walked around the building and found our way to the real gate. Waiting for us there was our host, who brought us in. The building was party central - the lobby filled with good looking professionals, draped in green. I took the service entrance.
We went to the terrace courtyard, walking through the gym. Admiring the equipment, I asked one of the die hards working out,
"What you got on there, 45? I usually go with 47 and half. It's no big deal."
I spotted him real quick, then I secretly wished that he would eat a ridiculous amount of Corned Beef later.
We went outside. It was lovely. The warm, sweet air reminded me of a long safe embrace of a loved one. I opened my eyes and let go of a now frightened and scarred Colin. I grabbed a beer and commented on how pretty Newark looked for such a dumpy city.
"For a dumpy city Newark looks pretty."
"That's Jersey City."
I paused.
"Jersey City looks pretty."
We gathered in the corner of the courtyard and gazed out at the world to the east. NYC could be seen in the background, laughing at me. I was sneering back at it, when I realized the ruckus below.
A drunken gentleman was being restrained through a headlock from attacking another friend. Just then he got away and squared up to his friend as if he was going to wrestle him. Sure enough, they started wrestling. Phil came moseying on over, and his eyes lit up when he saw the sight below.
The drunk had his friend in "the sharpshooter," prompting Phil to scream from the terrace,
"He's got him in the sharpshooter!! Sharpshooter! Sharpshooter!!"
A small crowd had amassed below, and one of the dudes heard Phil's exclamation. You could hear him from the street chiming in, "Yeah, Sharpshooter!!"
Then Phil yelled, "Boston Crab!! Boston Crab!!"
After we had enough with wrestlemania, we collectively decided to go upstairs to the host's apartment. Gathering around the coffee-table we started playing drinking games. I tried to sink into the couch because the family dog kept eyeing me. I can't lie, there was some chemistry between us, but there really wasn't any privacy.
We kept on drinking and laughing, fun times. To make things better we ordered 2 of the world's largest pizzas. I proceeded to have a pizza eating contest with myself. Unfortunately, I lost.
All of a sudden I heard, "Nice watch" in the background. The next thing I knew I was on the Path with Colin pretending that we were very masculine lovers.
It was another nice day with friends. Good times, fun, grand.
The sun set that night on Hoboken, only to rise with an order that the city would never host that parade again. I doubt that next year, a lack of a parade will keep away the party-goers that so desperately need this holiday to prepare for the summer.
Summer, where every weekend and Tuesday/Wednesday is a holiday.
ck
We walked through the forest of puke, then the forest of piss, then the forest of drunk 15 year olds. Fighting our way through, we could finally see the Emerald City, or I believe it was called Hoboken Manor. As we approached the locked fence, our first Rose of Tralee appeared.
She was guarding the gate, looking for a cigarette. After she declined our alternative, we threw her on the ground and approached the gate. From the ground she yelled in a leprechaun voice,
"Stawwwp!! Or yee shall go to jail and perish!!"
Phil had noticed the gate was unlocked and was already way inside the courtyard. But he heard the word jail, and ran back towards us. The leprechaun demon vanished back to leprechaun hell, leaving behind a trail of ashes, oddly in the shape of a letter C.
We walked around the building and found our way to the real gate. Waiting for us there was our host, who brought us in. The building was party central - the lobby filled with good looking professionals, draped in green. I took the service entrance.
We went to the terrace courtyard, walking through the gym. Admiring the equipment, I asked one of the die hards working out,
"What you got on there, 45? I usually go with 47 and half. It's no big deal."
I spotted him real quick, then I secretly wished that he would eat a ridiculous amount of Corned Beef later.
We went outside. It was lovely. The warm, sweet air reminded me of a long safe embrace of a loved one. I opened my eyes and let go of a now frightened and scarred Colin. I grabbed a beer and commented on how pretty Newark looked for such a dumpy city.
"For a dumpy city Newark looks pretty."
"That's Jersey City."
I paused.
"Jersey City looks pretty."
We gathered in the corner of the courtyard and gazed out at the world to the east. NYC could be seen in the background, laughing at me. I was sneering back at it, when I realized the ruckus below.
A drunken gentleman was being restrained through a headlock from attacking another friend. Just then he got away and squared up to his friend as if he was going to wrestle him. Sure enough, they started wrestling. Phil came moseying on over, and his eyes lit up when he saw the sight below.
The drunk had his friend in "the sharpshooter," prompting Phil to scream from the terrace,
"He's got him in the sharpshooter!! Sharpshooter! Sharpshooter!!"
A small crowd had amassed below, and one of the dudes heard Phil's exclamation. You could hear him from the street chiming in, "Yeah, Sharpshooter!!"
Then Phil yelled, "Boston Crab!! Boston Crab!!"
After we had enough with wrestlemania, we collectively decided to go upstairs to the host's apartment. Gathering around the coffee-table we started playing drinking games. I tried to sink into the couch because the family dog kept eyeing me. I can't lie, there was some chemistry between us, but there really wasn't any privacy.
We kept on drinking and laughing, fun times. To make things better we ordered 2 of the world's largest pizzas. I proceeded to have a pizza eating contest with myself. Unfortunately, I lost.
All of a sudden I heard, "Nice watch" in the background. The next thing I knew I was on the Path with Colin pretending that we were very masculine lovers.
It was another nice day with friends. Good times, fun, grand.
The sun set that night on Hoboken, only to rise with an order that the city would never host that parade again. I doubt that next year, a lack of a parade will keep away the party-goers that so desperately need this holiday to prepare for the summer.
Summer, where every weekend and Tuesday/Wednesday is a holiday.
ck
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
03-17/Ho-Broken, Chapter 2
I stepped off the Path and followed the crowd upstairs. Noticing that there was only a handful of people boarding the train, I wondered if the crowd had already dispersed. As I reached the upstairs area, it was a different story.
The crowd was being restrained to behind the turnstile, and the cops were only allowing a handful to rush to the platform as soon as a train had entered the station. It reminded me of a movie where people were being evacuated as time was running out!
I walked upstairs to pure pandemonium. I checked my voicemails from all the people that were wondering where I was - Phil - and tried to establish contact. I had expected random rolling shopping carts filled with beer or Jameson wandering the area, but there was none that I could see. I also assumed beer cans would be flying randomly through the air, like shooting stars. None.
I started my journey to meet Phil and Colin. We were going to a house party! - and I had the most important task of bringing beer. First stop though, random port-a-potty.
"Hi guys!" I exclaimed. They all responded, "Hey there! We are a traveling singing family band here for St. Patrick's Day!" Just then some girl with shamrocks on her face puked all over Susie, the 3 year old tambourine player for the band. Putting a flask back into his green polyester pants, the father grabbed his guitar and started playing "Has anyone here seen Kelly?"
The above scene was actually a bandana wearing dad, playing guitar with his daughter of 8ish, and his son 3 ish playing an awful one beat on the drums. They actually were limping through "Crazy Train," but it didn't matter how badly they were playing it because of the dynamic of the trio.
I made it to the port-a-potty where I met a nice group of young chess players from Stanford University waiting to use the facilities. We talked politics, and the economy, and also shared some recipes for baked apple struedel, the old fashioned way of course..
The above scene was actually consisting of
: A group of girls telling another drunk girl inside the potty " No taking shits!!"
: The same group of gals rocking the potty while the girl was inside.
: Said girl exiting the potty, not knowing who or where she was.
: A group of guys behind me yelling randomly across the street , "Nice Lime shirt!"
I entered the un-holy vessel, and in all my years of reckless and random drinking, I had never seen such a disaster. NEVER. I was curious to see what my fate would be from the hooligans outside, but it turned out to be nothing.
We still had one problem, I was still sober.
I found a bicycle unattended, with a sign on it that read "Use me ONLY for transportation to beer stores." I obliged and went on my merry way waving to the crowds
"Nice Bike!"
"Thanks fella!"
I drove my way to the beer store. If I was a cop, I would have known where the crime scene was by just following where everyone was coming from with beer. I layed the bicycle on its side and entered.
"Hi!" I said
"Hi!" They waved back.
Surprisingly the store was crowded but not running out. It appears that the store was much more prepared than the Port Authority Path Train. I purchased the beer, and gave the clerk a hearty handshake.
"Thank you sir!"
"You're welcome Chris, Haaaaaave a wonderful day!!!!"
"I will Alejandro!"
Just then, Phil and Colin walked up,
"Hi friends! Are you guys ready to get fucked up?"
ck
The crowd was being restrained to behind the turnstile, and the cops were only allowing a handful to rush to the platform as soon as a train had entered the station. It reminded me of a movie where people were being evacuated as time was running out!
I walked upstairs to pure pandemonium. I checked my voicemails from all the people that were wondering where I was - Phil - and tried to establish contact. I had expected random rolling shopping carts filled with beer or Jameson wandering the area, but there was none that I could see. I also assumed beer cans would be flying randomly through the air, like shooting stars. None.
I started my journey to meet Phil and Colin. We were going to a house party! - and I had the most important task of bringing beer. First stop though, random port-a-potty.
"Hi guys!" I exclaimed. They all responded, "Hey there! We are a traveling singing family band here for St. Patrick's Day!" Just then some girl with shamrocks on her face puked all over Susie, the 3 year old tambourine player for the band. Putting a flask back into his green polyester pants, the father grabbed his guitar and started playing "Has anyone here seen Kelly?"
The above scene was actually a bandana wearing dad, playing guitar with his daughter of 8ish, and his son 3 ish playing an awful one beat on the drums. They actually were limping through "Crazy Train," but it didn't matter how badly they were playing it because of the dynamic of the trio.
I made it to the port-a-potty where I met a nice group of young chess players from Stanford University waiting to use the facilities. We talked politics, and the economy, and also shared some recipes for baked apple struedel, the old fashioned way of course..
The above scene was actually consisting of
: A group of girls telling another drunk girl inside the potty " No taking shits!!"
: The same group of gals rocking the potty while the girl was inside.
: Said girl exiting the potty, not knowing who or where she was.
: A group of guys behind me yelling randomly across the street , "Nice Lime shirt!"
I entered the un-holy vessel, and in all my years of reckless and random drinking, I had never seen such a disaster. NEVER. I was curious to see what my fate would be from the hooligans outside, but it turned out to be nothing.
We still had one problem, I was still sober.
I found a bicycle unattended, with a sign on it that read "Use me ONLY for transportation to beer stores." I obliged and went on my merry way waving to the crowds
"Nice Bike!"
"Thanks fella!"
I drove my way to the beer store. If I was a cop, I would have known where the crime scene was by just following where everyone was coming from with beer. I layed the bicycle on its side and entered.
"Hi!" I said
"Hi!" They waved back.
Surprisingly the store was crowded but not running out. It appears that the store was much more prepared than the Port Authority Path Train. I purchased the beer, and gave the clerk a hearty handshake.
"Thank you sir!"
"You're welcome Chris, Haaaaaave a wonderful day!!!!"
"I will Alejandro!"
Just then, Phil and Colin walked up,
"Hi friends! Are you guys ready to get fucked up?"
ck
Thursday, March 12, 2009
03-12/Ho-Broken, Chapter 1
Gallantly skipping along Newark St. looking for my pals Paps and Dools, I stopped to pick a flower. The flower smelled sweet, as sweet as the onset of spring. Today was particularly warm, a beautiful March reminder that we are not too far away from the salvation of warmth. Then a stream of urine overflowing from a random Port-a-John hit my shoes. It's St. Patrick's Day in Hoboken.
My journey to one of my favorite-est, favorite-est places on earth, started with me taking a tour of the Path train network. I suppose my previous visits to Hoboken were successful because I had been pretty lucky on those days to have selected the correct train. Not so much today.
My journey to one of my favorite-est, favorite-est places on earth, started with me taking a tour of the Path train network. I suppose my previous visits to Hoboken were successful because I had been pretty lucky on those days to have selected the correct train. Not so much today.
I always get on the Path at 33rd street and the blue line is supposed to take you direct to Hoboken - but be advised, lurking at this station is the "yellow line" that takes you to Journal Square. Well, I guess my fluency in hieroglyphics were a bit rusty, so getting a train that had "HBK" illuminated on it apparently was the wrong choice.
Pausing Kelly Clarkson, I looked up at the map when we had stopped at Pavonia/Newport - I appeared to be on the yellow line and "HBK" stood for "Hot Buttery Knish" not Hoboken. Once again my sub-conscience was making the decisions.
Getting out at Grove street I figured all I had to do was get back to Pavonia and take the green to Hoboken. The first train that arrived had HBK illuminated, but it didn't feel right, and for all I knew this stood for "Hello Bathroom Killer". So I watched it leave. The next one I got on, and then they said the next stop was "Exchange Place." This was the f'in red line. I dashed towards the exit and got out just in time, but my purse stuck in the door just closing behind me.
I tried desperately to look confident in my decision to leave the train at the last second, and pretended like I just changed my mind in which rad! party I was going to. Loudly yelling into my phone with zero reception, "Nah man I decided I'm coming to the Boken bro. I just decided it at the last second bro. The doors were closing bro. How the girls there bro. Ok bro, on my way bro!"
The next train came, and it was to Pavonia, Yay.
Getting to Pavonia, I assumed I had to wait for the green train. Then I saw a sign that said all Hoboken trains are on track 2, but I just got off track 2. I gave up and decided to ask the conductor.
"Are you going to Hoboken?" I asked confused.
"I don't know yet. I'll let you know when I find out"
"Ah." I replied.
The track worker the conductor was talking to suggested I take the "Light Rail." I had done some Hoboken transportation research years back, so I was somewhat familiar, however I mumbled something about Secaucus in a question form to him. That didn't help either of us in the conversation, but luckily I was saved by the conductor telling me the train was now going to Hoboken. I jumped on squeezing in between the door and 2 left coast looking gentleman who had fancy shell necklaces. I wanted to lean in and listen to the ocean.
Apparently Hoboken was broken. The city had been raided like never before, and the Path train system was all messed up. Even though my day was beginning, it was ending for a ton of Bridge and Tunnel, and the good folks at the Port Authority were left on their haunches. Hire Me.
ck
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
03-10/Sundance and the TI Song
Chapter three of "Here's Proof That My Life is Not Great" takes us on a journey of going to a dive strip club on a random night in Suffolk County. My supporting cast included good friends from Suffolk, one wearing a hat, the other asking what type of 18 year old Scotch they have.
As we nestled into the stools, I already became uncomfortable with my surroundings. My friend was asked to remove his hat, and he became quite agitated. I cleverly positioned myself between my friend and the winner of a Bill Gates look-alike contest. I figured this way an employee would not be able to wedge herself between the two of us to start "talking."
As much as I like to pay for someone's affection, I was not interested in doing so this evening, especially since my body understands fake-ness, more than I wish to describe on the internet.
I do understand, and believe in paying for services rendered, especially when entering one of these establishments. Exotic dancing is quite cultural, and they should be reimbursed for their creativity.
Interpretive dances to songs such as Guns and Roses, 'Welcome to the Jungle,' require death defying moves, like the "run and jump onto the pole and then spin around" move. Sara Mappell invented this move in 1956 at the Chattanooga Shoe Shine, the show me state's first gentleman's cabaret.
In this particular club, the stage was behind the bar, and midway between the song, they collected their tips. I remembered commenting on how marginally unattractive the first dancer was, and how she resembled the upside down face boy on Family Guy. Then I imagined what she must be thinking,
" Ugh, I got to go over to Quasimodo over there with the detergent stained Met's polo. F my life."
She came by and summoned me to put a dollar between her breasts, and I awkwardly obliged. I ended the transaction by mumbling, "Thank you, ma'am." - not knowing what else to say.
The next dancer was a little more portly, and I was amazed at how limber she was. I also could imagine what she said to her colleague,
"Is fat neck Met's guy a good tipper?"
Well made her way over to our area, and I wanted slide the dollar across the bar, not having to go through the motions that Bill Gates so lovingly enjoyed. The dancer also invited the tip between two large bosoms. I once again, reluctantly obliged.
This time however, my whole hand disappeared into the flesh, where she squeezed them together almost breaking two of my fingers. After a physically exruciating 2 seconds, I started to panic as I pulled my hand out of the cavern with some force.
"Easy, that's my pitching hand," I said. I already worked up a story that I was in triple A ball (and not on an amateur men's team that plays on high school fields.) I also had a story in my pocket if one of my friend's were to be a hero and buy me a private dance.
Since I don't "enjoy" these private dances too much, I had come up with a few doozies over the years.
"I'm sorry, you're very pretty, but I'm on medication for this football related knee injury"
"You're doing a great job, but I just found out my wife was cheating on me with a midget"
"Oh boy, you're a lovely gal, but I'm soooo drunk"
"You're very good, I'm just very in love with my wife"
After the woman had sucked in my friend's hand, we both looked at each other and decided that we were ready to go, and that this was just a waste. Finally. The third friend had been entrenched in a conversation with a dancer that was soliciting a dance for a good half hour. Satisfied with getting her real name and her number, he decided it was a "win" and that it was ok to leave. He never bought a dance from her.
Bill Gates had two girls around his arms and I realized that this was my league. Super. I quickly became excited that 24 was on that night, and that I couldn't wait to watch it.
Stay tuned for chapter 4, when I go to IKEA to look for dressers.
ck
As we nestled into the stools, I already became uncomfortable with my surroundings. My friend was asked to remove his hat, and he became quite agitated. I cleverly positioned myself between my friend and the winner of a Bill Gates look-alike contest. I figured this way an employee would not be able to wedge herself between the two of us to start "talking."
As much as I like to pay for someone's affection, I was not interested in doing so this evening, especially since my body understands fake-ness, more than I wish to describe on the internet.
I do understand, and believe in paying for services rendered, especially when entering one of these establishments. Exotic dancing is quite cultural, and they should be reimbursed for their creativity.
Interpretive dances to songs such as Guns and Roses, 'Welcome to the Jungle,' require death defying moves, like the "run and jump onto the pole and then spin around" move. Sara Mappell invented this move in 1956 at the Chattanooga Shoe Shine, the show me state's first gentleman's cabaret.
In this particular club, the stage was behind the bar, and midway between the song, they collected their tips. I remembered commenting on how marginally unattractive the first dancer was, and how she resembled the upside down face boy on Family Guy. Then I imagined what she must be thinking,
" Ugh, I got to go over to Quasimodo over there with the detergent stained Met's polo. F my life."
She came by and summoned me to put a dollar between her breasts, and I awkwardly obliged. I ended the transaction by mumbling, "Thank you, ma'am." - not knowing what else to say.
The next dancer was a little more portly, and I was amazed at how limber she was. I also could imagine what she said to her colleague,
"Is fat neck Met's guy a good tipper?"
Well made her way over to our area, and I wanted slide the dollar across the bar, not having to go through the motions that Bill Gates so lovingly enjoyed. The dancer also invited the tip between two large bosoms. I once again, reluctantly obliged.
This time however, my whole hand disappeared into the flesh, where she squeezed them together almost breaking two of my fingers. After a physically exruciating 2 seconds, I started to panic as I pulled my hand out of the cavern with some force.
"Easy, that's my pitching hand," I said. I already worked up a story that I was in triple A ball (and not on an amateur men's team that plays on high school fields.) I also had a story in my pocket if one of my friend's were to be a hero and buy me a private dance.
Since I don't "enjoy" these private dances too much, I had come up with a few doozies over the years.
"I'm sorry, you're very pretty, but I'm on medication for this football related knee injury"
"You're doing a great job, but I just found out my wife was cheating on me with a midget"
"Oh boy, you're a lovely gal, but I'm soooo drunk"
"You're very good, I'm just very in love with my wife"
After the woman had sucked in my friend's hand, we both looked at each other and decided that we were ready to go, and that this was just a waste. Finally. The third friend had been entrenched in a conversation with a dancer that was soliciting a dance for a good half hour. Satisfied with getting her real name and her number, he decided it was a "win" and that it was ok to leave. He never bought a dance from her.
Bill Gates had two girls around his arms and I realized that this was my league. Super. I quickly became excited that 24 was on that night, and that I couldn't wait to watch it.
Stay tuned for chapter 4, when I go to IKEA to look for dressers.
ck
Friday, March 6, 2009
03-06/Team Opi-Techla
Breakfast:
Techla talking about her grandaughter-
"She likes to eat, just like you!!" Gobble gobble gobble
Opi talking about how the banks are responsible for the economic crisis-
"Those bankers in charge should all be put in concentration camps."
"Your grandfather needs his BLUE jeans, he's a cowboy."
"It's a variety-like show."Opi added.
Ck
Techla talking about her grandaughter-
"She likes to eat, just like you!!" Gobble gobble gobble
Opi talking about how the banks are responsible for the economic crisis-
"Those bankers in charge should all be put in concentration camps."
"Your grandfather needs his BLUE jeans, he's a cowboy."
"It's a variety-like show."Opi added.
Ck
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
03-04/Happy 100th Post
100 Posts, I have listed my five favorite.
http://cornerbar-cwk.blogspot.com/2008/10/barbershop-blog-2.html
http://cornerbar-cwk.blogspot.com/2008/10/pizza-man.html
http://cornerbar-cwk.blogspot.com/2008/10/elbows-and-assholes.html
http://cornerbar-cwk.blogspot.com/2009/01/01-08here-is-your-zen.html
http://cornerbar-cwk.blogspot.com/2008/10/photo-of-week-1.html
ck
http://cornerbar-cwk.blogspot.com/2008/10/barbershop-blog-2.html
http://cornerbar-cwk.blogspot.com/2008/10/pizza-man.html
http://cornerbar-cwk.blogspot.com/2008/10/elbows-and-assholes.html
http://cornerbar-cwk.blogspot.com/2009/01/01-08here-is-your-zen.html
http://cornerbar-cwk.blogspot.com/2008/10/photo-of-week-1.html
ck
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
03-03/People Eat Prime Rib, and I SING
We lost another show last night, the season finale of ABC's the Bachelor. This was a warm hearted tale of a young professional, Jason Mesnick, who could not find real love, so he did what anyone else would do - turn to network TV and be served good looking and nice girls to choose from.
I know that some will disagree, but I believe that this was partly scripted. I don't think the whole show was a sham, but I can see the directors and producers nudging it in certain directions. Even the ending, and the 'after the last rose special,' just seemed a little too interesting to me, especially for it to be real.
I was lucky enough to obtain an interview with Jason to get to the bottom of this all. His people picked me up by helicopter in Santa Monica, where I was choppered over to the John Wayne County Airport. When I took the blindfold off I stepped out onto the Tarmac to meet Jason standing there with a huge smile.
"Hello," I said.
"Hello, to you too, Chris." Then he handed me a rose. I was taken aback, but then my shock turned into laughter as we both giggled and bro-hugged. He stepped back and put his hand out,
"After you," he said gentleman-like, as we walked to the Citation X Jet awaiting.
I stepped into the jet, said hello to the crew, and sat down on one of the forward facing leather seats.
Jason followed suit, and he sat facing me, opening a bottle of champagne.
"My favorite. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to ask you the tough questions in this interview!!!!" I said through nervous laughter.
"Ask me anything, Chris," a comforting smile flashing across his face.
"We both know how tough it is out there to find the right one, are you happy with going on TV and reminding people that a good looking guy can make a game show out of finding a wife?" I asked, resting the pencil on my slightly parted lips.
"I'm falling for you." he said.
"What?"
"I'm falling for both of you."
"Who?"
Just then Pat O'Brien came out of the bathroom of the jet.
'This is so tough for me, I'm falling for both of you."
"You just said that." I said annoyed.
"Jason, I want this interview so bad. We've spent so much time together, I know I can deliver your story the best." Pat said pleadingly, as Jason looked on. Then, with his hands folded, Jason raised them to his mouth and turned toward me.
I started to cry, " Jason, I know we just met, and I have no credentials to be doing an interview, and this is only going on a blog that 6 people read (Hi Rico). But if you give me a chance, I'll write it well."
The plane had never left our parking spot. Jason began to tear as well.
"I need time to think. I'm falling for both of you."
Then we got out and the butler escorted me and Pat to a limo, where we had more champagne.
We sat in silence, until I played with the radio, and Flo-Rida's "Spin me Round" came on. We looked at each other and then the tension broke. We both laughed.
As the laughter slowed, I whispered, "Good luck."
"You too," he mouthed, and grabbed my hands. "We should have dinner sometime - you, me, Betsy..."
Then the door of the limo opened, and the butler said Jason was ready for us.
"One of you is going on this jet and doing this interview, the other is going back in this limo, with me. It's up to Jason."
Jason looked pensive, and after a while of thinking he said,
" You both mean so much to me, and I'm falling for both of you. But I can only do an interview with one of you. I know that Pat and I had that wonderful pre-interview in the hot tub, but I can only give my story to one of you. Pat, will you come take this recorder."
I started to cry, and I said thank you for your time. I also said my goodbye's and I got into the limo, where the butler was going to take me back to the hotel in Santa Monica. As we pulled away, Jason started running after the limo. As the limo stopped, I rolled down the window and stuck my head out.
Jason reached into his pocket,
"You left your keys on the seat, bro."
I never found out if the show was real or fake.
ck
I know that some will disagree, but I believe that this was partly scripted. I don't think the whole show was a sham, but I can see the directors and producers nudging it in certain directions. Even the ending, and the 'after the last rose special,' just seemed a little too interesting to me, especially for it to be real.
I was lucky enough to obtain an interview with Jason to get to the bottom of this all. His people picked me up by helicopter in Santa Monica, where I was choppered over to the John Wayne County Airport. When I took the blindfold off I stepped out onto the Tarmac to meet Jason standing there with a huge smile.
"Hello," I said.
"Hello, to you too, Chris." Then he handed me a rose. I was taken aback, but then my shock turned into laughter as we both giggled and bro-hugged. He stepped back and put his hand out,
"After you," he said gentleman-like, as we walked to the Citation X Jet awaiting.
I stepped into the jet, said hello to the crew, and sat down on one of the forward facing leather seats.
Jason followed suit, and he sat facing me, opening a bottle of champagne.
"My favorite. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to ask you the tough questions in this interview!!!!" I said through nervous laughter.
"Ask me anything, Chris," a comforting smile flashing across his face.
"We both know how tough it is out there to find the right one, are you happy with going on TV and reminding people that a good looking guy can make a game show out of finding a wife?" I asked, resting the pencil on my slightly parted lips.
"I'm falling for you." he said.
"What?"
"I'm falling for both of you."
"Who?"
Just then Pat O'Brien came out of the bathroom of the jet.
'This is so tough for me, I'm falling for both of you."
"You just said that." I said annoyed.
"Jason, I want this interview so bad. We've spent so much time together, I know I can deliver your story the best." Pat said pleadingly, as Jason looked on. Then, with his hands folded, Jason raised them to his mouth and turned toward me.
I started to cry, " Jason, I know we just met, and I have no credentials to be doing an interview, and this is only going on a blog that 6 people read (Hi Rico). But if you give me a chance, I'll write it well."
The plane had never left our parking spot. Jason began to tear as well.
"I need time to think. I'm falling for both of you."
Then we got out and the butler escorted me and Pat to a limo, where we had more champagne.
We sat in silence, until I played with the radio, and Flo-Rida's "Spin me Round" came on. We looked at each other and then the tension broke. We both laughed.
As the laughter slowed, I whispered, "Good luck."
"You too," he mouthed, and grabbed my hands. "We should have dinner sometime - you, me, Betsy..."
Then the door of the limo opened, and the butler said Jason was ready for us.
"One of you is going on this jet and doing this interview, the other is going back in this limo, with me. It's up to Jason."
Jason looked pensive, and after a while of thinking he said,
" You both mean so much to me, and I'm falling for both of you. But I can only do an interview with one of you. I know that Pat and I had that wonderful pre-interview in the hot tub, but I can only give my story to one of you. Pat, will you come take this recorder."
I started to cry, and I said thank you for your time. I also said my goodbye's and I got into the limo, where the butler was going to take me back to the hotel in Santa Monica. As we pulled away, Jason started running after the limo. As the limo stopped, I rolled down the window and stuck my head out.
Jason reached into his pocket,
"You left your keys on the seat, bro."
I never found out if the show was real or fake.
ck
Monday, March 2, 2009
03-02/We've Got Letters, Lots and Lots of Letters
Dear Suffolk County,
I just wanted to write to you to inform you that there was a snowstorm last night into this morning. If you don't mind, can you ask one of the three snow plows in front of McDonald's to maybe plow the highway? I know that it's not necessary because no one goes to work on Mondays, but any assistance would be greatly helpful. My snowmobile is in the shop and I have work at 8 am.
Also, the on/off ramps need to be cleared as well, for us non-flying cars.
Thanks
ck
Dear Volkswagen,
I think that you should post a warning on your cars that say, "Be a real man and buy a truck" so that when driving backwards down the highway, you can reminisce about driving successfully on top of snow. I feel passing cars while backwards gets more face time to chat with other drivers on the road, but it makes it difficult to take the exit ramp.
Thanks
ck
Dear Laws of Physics,
I did not receive your newsletter on trying to get a car out of a snowbank. Spinning wheels on ice buried in 2 feet of snow did not magically burn away the snow, but almost made my car explode. It was nice to finally be that guy that makes that awful spinning noise for an hour at 7 in the morning.
I also realized that trying to push the car out by holding the driver side door frame and rocking it back and forth does not work, and only makes large trucks stop and stare at you. Just because I have boots on, it didn't help when I slipped and fell almost having the car roll back on me.
Please resend me a copy of the newsletter.
Thanks
ck
Dear Gloves,
I miss you. I wish I never lost you, you mean so much to me. On days like today, it hurts being without you. I'm numb without your touch.
with love,
ck
I just wanted to write to you to inform you that there was a snowstorm last night into this morning. If you don't mind, can you ask one of the three snow plows in front of McDonald's to maybe plow the highway? I know that it's not necessary because no one goes to work on Mondays, but any assistance would be greatly helpful. My snowmobile is in the shop and I have work at 8 am.
Also, the on/off ramps need to be cleared as well, for us non-flying cars.
Thanks
ck
Dear Volkswagen,
I think that you should post a warning on your cars that say, "Be a real man and buy a truck" so that when driving backwards down the highway, you can reminisce about driving successfully on top of snow. I feel passing cars while backwards gets more face time to chat with other drivers on the road, but it makes it difficult to take the exit ramp.
Thanks
ck
Dear Laws of Physics,
I did not receive your newsletter on trying to get a car out of a snowbank. Spinning wheels on ice buried in 2 feet of snow did not magically burn away the snow, but almost made my car explode. It was nice to finally be that guy that makes that awful spinning noise for an hour at 7 in the morning.
I also realized that trying to push the car out by holding the driver side door frame and rocking it back and forth does not work, and only makes large trucks stop and stare at you. Just because I have boots on, it didn't help when I slipped and fell almost having the car roll back on me.
Please resend me a copy of the newsletter.
Thanks
ck
Dear Gloves,
I miss you. I wish I never lost you, you mean so much to me. On days like today, it hurts being without you. I'm numb without your touch.
with love,
ck
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