HOOTY HOO

Uncle Urban Wants You!!! To Buy Ohio State War Bonds.
T Minus 24 Hours

MO CLAW

The night of January 3rd, 2003, is not a night that lives in infamy. Although my grasp on self control may have been tenuous at best and more realistically ungrasped, frayed and fluttering away from me in a strong wind while I shuffled after it, it still is one of the best nights. Ohio State played Miami for a National Championship that night.

The game was very even. Neither team could do much with the ball. A couple eked out points here and there would be a very apt description of it. My strongest feeling at the outset was the inevitability that Miami, a team that hadn't lost a game in years, was going to sooner or later do something to crush Ohio State's chances. But as the game wore on, that wasn't happening. The teams were too evenly matched. And then Ohio State's QB threw an interception to this destroyer of athletes, Sean Taylor, who used to make even the biggest baddest players in his future cut short career in the NFL look like little school boy bitches. Taylor was racing up the sideline, I was slowly sinking back into my seat, thinking that whatever sea change was occurring was not a good sign for Ohio State, when out of nowhere, Maurice Clarett ran Taylor down and snatched the ball out of his hands like Taylor was some drunken fool that doesn't need his last beer as much as Clarett did. It is my favorite moment of any sporting event that has ever happened and may ever happen. The unlikelihood of it ever happening in the first place is so remote and outlandish, that all anyone really could do was sceech like I do when I encounter a spider by surprise.

And that play also probably sums up why I love college football so much. It is chaos theory. If the NFL is the control in an experiment, then College Football is the variable. I don't know if that metaphor actually works because I am not a scientist, as much as it sounds cool to be one. But it sounds good so I am not deleting it. Maurice Clarett should have by no means been able to track down Sean Taylor on a football and stolen the ball from him. But it happened. And something like that happens most every year. And I can't wait for tomorrow when it starts.

PS: Ohio State won that game fair and square. Fuck all y'all that say otherwise.

An Exploration Of The Turkey's Nest

According to my Encarta 1998 CD, Turkey's Nest was already standing fully built and operational, waiting to serve its customers huge beers in styrofoam cups and overly strong margaritas in styrofoam cups, back when the first NYC settlers started venturing across the East River to Brooklyn in the 1700s. Since then the price for beers and margaritas has only risen by $1, which if you calculate for 300 some years of inflation, is pretty damn solid. 

Today, Turkey's Nest isn't in line with the current culture of Williamsburg, which means it isn't hip or expensive or new or faux dirty or dark or anything else that comes with the Williamsburg experience. It is a bar that you could walk into in any town in America. It has a lot of older drunk townies, it has a lot of younger drunk townies, it has a lot of people that aren't looking for a niche to their bar. Unless the niche they're looking for is the bar that completely and utterly doesn't give a shit about who it is attracting in through the door.

And that's why I like it so much. There is no uniformity to who and what is inside the place.  Everyone is there because it's cheap and there aren't any heirs being put on. There is also more than one TV, which helps when you want to watch sports and that sport isn't specifically a goddamn Yankees game.

Some people I know won't step foot inside Turkey's because it's a speck dirty and outdated, which to me almost makes it even more enjoyable, if that's even possible. The place just don't give a fuck, which is something more places need to embrace instead of struggling towards some utopian vision of a bar that attracts people with money and class and some other indefinable characteristics that are only a fleeting thing that you won't be able to bottle up for more than a week or month or two. You can never bottle cool for very long in a town like NYC, because it's a constantly shifting, utterly pointless thing in the first place. Turkey's Nest has the right idea of never ever changing or trying to be something it isn't. It does it and nothing else.

Heatwaves

Today is the first day that I worried about attempting to put my AC Unit into my bedroom window and having it fall on someone on the street below, which means it is officially summer. This will be my fifth full summer in the city. And I honestly think it's the best season to be around here.

Spring is great and everyone always says its the best time of year, but it also is a little undeserving of the love. It's like you've been in captivity for months by the cold mistress Winter, and then this fresh, warm, hopeful lady Spring lets you free. Yeah, you're gonna probably love Spring just for being the one to let you out of the icy frozen depths of Winter. But it's a what-have-you-done-for-me-lately kind of love.  After the honeymoon period, you realize Spring is always raining and every once in a while reveals glimpses of the Winter you escaped from. The love with Spring doesn't last forever. At least for me. 

Summer though. Oh man, Summer is where it's at. There are so many great things about Summer that I'm only gonna go through a couple of them.

First off, all the unseemly rich motherfuckers in the city clear the fuck out to their respective summer towns to frolic in their little mini valhallas. I like this because my ideal vision of bars and restaurants are ones where I never have to wait for a drink or a table. Lines are something I don't cotton to. Especially when whatever I am about to not wait for is not free.

Secondly, Summer heat also gets in people's brains and makes them a little crazier, and more entertaining. People are just wilin' in the summer. You'll see a lot more disrespect for laws, for dress codes, for whatever societal conventions don't fit in with whatever they're about to do. It's funny. I basically am sweating for three months straight in the summer I have stopped giving a shit a long time ago that I have weird large wet areas on my shirts and my face looks like its trying to rid itself of some fatal toxin in its epidermis. If you care about that then, well, good luck leaving your place or ever dreaming of entering into the jungle subway.

(I have to laugh at the ridiculousness of people saying in mid summer that they can't wait until it's Winter again. I will take wilting from the heat over shivering in the cold every moment for the rest of time. I mean if the sun is too hot, take off your shirt and put on a goddamn sombrero. It's not that complicated.)

Thirdly, drunken ocean swimming. There are few things better than gettin tipsy and then running full steam into the ocean, only for it to tumble your ass end over end until you don't even know which way is up or down. NYC to outsiders is just a bustling, dirty nightmare with nature to escape to. But if you look at a map, NYC is basically sticking out into the Atlantic. You can get to the Rockaways in 30 minutes. And once there, it is Beach Thunderdome. The gay beach there has its level of fabulous set so high that you don't know how it doesn't topple over at any moment, teetering between the edges of delirium and insanity. I have witnessed a man covered in large colorful feathers with multiple birds perched on his shoulders. I can't stress how amazing people-watching that section of the beach is. And outside of that everyone else seemingly does whatever the hell they want as well. Ain't no one hassling you as far as I have seen. I can't wait to get out there just thinking about it.

So right now, I'm sweating, sitting on my couch writing this. And even though it will probably seem like the air is heavier and hotter than sitting in a steam room most of the time this summer, I'm still looking forward to it. Sometimes you just have to embrace the whole idea of getting nasty. I kinda want to call the fire department and request they pop the fire hydrant in front of my building right now.

Nat Grid - You're Something Else

National Grid called me a little bit ago. I pick up because a couple months ago we had our gas turned off for like five days and my roommates (cough cough warm water needer Steph cough) were not amused by the lack of hot water and heating in late February. As soon as I answer the phone I am blasted by an automated on-hold lady, who tricks me into saying hello twice because I thought, you know, they called me, I assume someone wanted to tell me something important and I would be talking to someone right.

Nah, that ain't how they roll. Automated lady tells me over and over again on a 15 second loop to remain on the line for about five minutes. Then the National Grid Rep finally deigns to talk to me.

Nat Grid Rep: Hello Sir, we're calling to tell you that you have an overdue gas bill.

Me (having already pulled up my last email from Nat Grid from a couple weeks ago): Yeah, that's funny though, because I'm signed up for the DirectPay option, where, you know, I don't have to pay over the phone.

Nat Grid Rep: Yeah, I can see you are signed up for that, but it hasn't gone into effect yet. So you can pay your past due balance or your total balance right now over the phone via check.

Me: Sure, whatever. So you need my routing number and account number right?

Nat Grid Rep: Ummm, yeah, just a sec. Things are a little wonky here. Since you enrolled in the DirectPay program you can't actually pay via check over the phone.

Me: Okay. So credit card then?

Nat Grid Rep: Yeahhhhhh, credit card or debit card. There is a fee we charge for this sort of payment though.

Me: How much?

Nat Grid Rep: (Mumbles something) Twenty Five.

Me: HOW MUCH DID YOU JUST SAY?!?!?

Nat Grid Rep: Sorry, $2.25.

Me: Okay. So let me get this straight. I enrolled in your DirectPay program at the beginning of the month. It hasn't taken effect yet, so I need to pay over the phone. But I have to pay a fee to pay over the phone. Because your DirectPay system is moving too slow processing my account or whatever? Is this happening right now?

Nat Grid Rep (short laugh): Yeah, if I was in your position I would be asking the same questions. I'm sorry about this.

Me: It's not your fault. It's Nat Grid's DirectPay processors.

Nat Grid Rep: Yeah. Well on your account here there hasn't been any stop order put on so you could just wait until the next billing cycle and DirectPay should be in effect by then.

Me (laughing): Then why are we talking right now? You guys will call or email if you're about to cut off my gas right?

Nat Grid Rep (laughing): Yeah. We send a notice via email.

Me (laughing): Well, good talk then. I'll see you out there.

Nat Grid Rep (laughing): Yeah, it's been fun. Have a nice day.

Me (laughing): You too.
 

Staring Into The Sun

I've seen multiple people write things about them trying the Bud Light Lime Presents Straw-ber-Rita. So I figured I'd put my two cents in since I've had a couple of these bad boys recently.

First off, the can is art. Like, Louvre-quality Can work. It is basically a siren singing just beyond the rocks to come dock your boat on this beach made of a giant buoyant Stawberry and sup on the nectar of the gods. Only in this case when the siren song shipwrecks you...it's in a good way. Who needs a boat when looking at this Can makes you soar up into the stars? So yeah, I like the can.

On to the actual drink though. Once you open the tab you get a good whiff of one of the most alluring scents known in this astral plane. It smells like a mix of freedom and jasmine. If you haven't put on deodorant you could pour this drink out, rub it on your armpits, and then never have a B.O. problem again. I've started using it as my body wash and shampoo in the shower.

Some people may want to pour this god-like substance into a glass as the Can so provocatively shows. I prefer to drink it straight out of the can for fear that glass ware may shatter under the immense pressure of holding such a glorious substance. And once you actually swallow those first couple ounces of Straw-ber-Rita, well, it is special. I personally was transported to a different place and time altogether. It was like I had boarded a spaceship bound for the year 1978 and I was smack dab in the middle of the disco. This drink "rang my bell" so to speak. It tastes smart. It tastes like winning the lottery and buying a fleet of speed boats and then ramping one into the air and wrecking it into a gold plated helicopter. It tastes like America at its finest. Ice cold, sugary, delicious, and drunken.

All these people outchea that are hatin on the Strawb's need to be e z. Nahmean.

My fellow Straw-ber-Rita-er, Andy Vadas, had this to say, "Straw-ber-Ritas bring you to the top and whisk you away on a fruity dream."

Certain Facts Show In The Muck

I've been to three muddy concerts in my life. The first was a hip hop (Up In Smoke Tour?) concert with Jay Z, Snoop, 50 Cent, and others in Cincinnati. It down-poured the whole concert, and the security tasked with guarding the pavilion were overrun by people not fucking around about getting out of the rain while still getting to see the show. It was packed and everyone was a tad reluctant about losing their precious toehold on the couple inches of breathing room they had. Lots of slow territorial expansion through the repositioning of your feet that no one ever openly acknowledges at concerts but is a driving force behind people that are too stoned kind of losing their shit about how uncomfortable they are. Also, I think Jay Z had a bunch of sandbags on stage for some sort of military theme, or maybe he was worried and very prepared about flooding from the Ohio River?!? I can't remember exactly, because I was really really stoned (High school! What up!).

The second muddy concert I went to was at All Points West (or East?) right outside NYC. That one only got muddy for me and my friend because we unknowingly set up shop in what would become the mosh pit area once Tool came on stage. Of the three muddy concerts this one pissed me off the most because Tool was awesome but I just wanted to hear them obliterate everything in their path without having to fend off violent fast moving human projectiles every couple moments. You may be saying, why the hell didn't you just leave the mosh pit? Well, that was the simple answer, but the people behind us were not too keen on having their buffer zone removed from the mayhem. So when we tried to leave we encountered a Spartan-like phalanx of concert-goers that could not be breached without one of those mega-drills Cartman uses to get to the stage in the hippy episode of South Park. A brief side note of this concert - This was one of my more ambitious booze smuggling forays ever. 10 airplane bottles of Beam in my socks, all of which was confiscated while I said, "Well, you caught me" while chuckling with the guards, who were filling out forms so that they could keep the contraband. Don't worry about that though, booze was for sale inside.

The third muddy concert was this past weekend at Jazzfest in Norleans. My friends and I went to see Fleetwood Mac, because duh, Fleetwood Mac. And our hosts' friends already had a spot set up at the tent they were playing at. To get to that spot though, you had to traverse what could be accurately called a deep mud thoroughfare. On the way in to the spot there was a little room on the outside of the thoroughfare to move along it. So I was mostly unscathed by the time we got to where the group was posted up. The concert was great. The people watching involving the mud thoroughfare was very funny. There is something life-affirming about watching someone slip and fall in a bunch of mud while not spilling their beer. But then near the end, we wanted to go see some of Frank Ocean's show, so I had to abandon the relative safety of simply staying in one spot. And I knew, and remarked to a friend, that all those laughs I got from other people struggling to stay upright was going to come back on me as soon as I ventured out into the muck. At the start of the concert their had been a path you could take where you could avoid a lot of the deep mud, but that path had been swallowed up by the growing crowd. So when I wanted to get out, I was in a 10 inch ocean of brown suction. Things did not go great. I didn't go down per se but I did have to put a hand down to steady myself against a much worse fall. And when I finally did somehow get to pavement my entire lower legs and right hand were covered in some smelly thick sludge.

This is all to get to a point about New Orleans though. After that happened, my psyche didn't break into pieces. I didn't have to leave immediately. I brushed myself off the best I could and went about the day of having fun. I didn't see a single person at Jazzfest who gave a rats ass about whether they had gotten muddy or not. Everyone was just having a good time and not worrying about something trivial like how much of this mud is actually horsehit considering that this area is usually a horse track and there are stables right there, and it sure smells like horseshit. Nope, those thoughts got pushed aside. I don't think I even washed my hands before eating a bunch of crawfish right after we left the fairgrounds (Where you at e coli, I ain't scared?). New Orleans puts you in a state of mind that makes you feel like nothing should bother the goal of having fun. Laws and Police? Non existent as far as I could tell. People giving a fuck about what you're doing? Nope. Judgement from establishments? Only when you haven't bought a drink and it's 5AM and you are slowly drinking a cocktail brought in from another joint and talking coherently is something suckers do. Still though, not that much judgement even in that much circumstance. Just a blunt reminder that if I was about to go to sleep that I would have to take it somewhere else.

New Orleans is like a place someone made up in a story about how a town should be when you want to have a good time.

The Week That Is

So this week has been rough. The Marathon Bombing. The West, Texas Fertilizer Plant Explosion. The Marathon Bombing Manhunt. The continued violence in Chicago. The anniversary of the Oklahoma City Bombing. The anniversary of the Virginia Tech Shootings. An Elvis Impersonator sending Ricin to Obama and some other shitbird of a politician. Senators showing how incontrovertibly fucked we are, and how warm and comfortable they are in the pocket of the BIG GUN Lobby. BEES DYING BY THE COLONY, AND NOT VERY MYSTERIOUSLY. The list can go on.

I, personally, have not been affected by any of it beyond the creeping feeling that things are not going well at the moment in our country (and this isn't even mentioning how dark the whole world is becoming). And I just wanted to say that too often I still need to remind myself of how lucky I am. I should have a sunshine-on-my-goddamn-shoulders rosy disposition compared to a lot of people throughout the U.S. But I don't. Little things make me mad. I pick at my psyche for no reason other than habit. I ain't shit basically. And when it comes down to it, that shouldn't be the case. I live in America. I'm not being crushed by debt. I have family and friends. I basically have no real problems.

So this is just a reminder that things could be way way...way worse, so I and everyone else who's in my boat should enjoy things while they last.

Spielberg's Finest Cut Of Ham

So who wants to find out what I think about Saving Private Ryan? No one! If you haven't seen it yet, well go to your nearest theatre and ask when the next showing is. They'll likely say 1998. But don't be deterred, there is probably some theatre in Zanesville, Ohio playing it for the first time. Just go there, and PRO-TIP - stop by the Lee's Fried Chicken food court on your way. Anyway, this is liveblog of the movie. I will not be providing time markers because I'm not a camera.

- Alright, I'm starting this about 45 minutes in because I was eating delicious rotisserie chicken from a place in the ghetto around the corner from me.

- I'm confused, in Saving Private Ryan, all da germans needed to do to win the war was kill the last ryan brother, right? Zilly germanz!

- Tom Sizemore collected all those dirt cannisters to create Versailles, Indiana. Right?
- Alright, I just found out how Breaking Bad ends. Walter White builds a time machine, starts cooking meth in an army barracks. Gets his arm blown off in a freak cooking accident, then becomes a two star general that is grievously emotionally hurt that Ms. Ryan has lost all but one her sons on D-Day. Sounds like a horrible ending, but you know, Breaking Bad knows what they're doing so lets see how it plays out.
- Apparently Vin Motherfuxxxing Diesel is Eye-Talian in this movie? Caparzo? Cpme on.
- Don't listen to Paul Giamatti!!! He is still drunkenly bemused from drinking that rare bottle of red wine in that one movie everyone acts like they liked but was in fact just so so.
-  Why's this french guy ranting about Bas Rutten?
- Vinny 6 Fast 6 Furious Diesel learned a valuable lesson in that rainy french town. Never try to adopt a little french child when there is German sniper in the building down the street. German snipers are stridently anti adopting little french children. But oddly enough, German Snipers are stridently pro accessorizing their weaponry with fur trimmings.
- BARRY PEPPER IS THE REAPER! 
- BAD WALL! VERY BAD WALL! NO BEGGIN BITS FOR YOU!
- Ted Danson does. not. fuck. around.
- Oh shit Ed Burns is slowly starting to see the ludicrousness of this plot/movie. Take it up with Spielberg, Burns. Not Tom Hanks, he's just following orders and trying to keep his men alive.
- Danson understands why this mission is so important. He has brothers himself. Wait, what if he's lying? It could be a trap! Danson is a sleeper cell! They just cut that part out of the movie because it was already 45 hours long!
-Why does everyone think Sizemore is a weirdo now? Something about stalking Heidi Fleiss or something?
- Too much introspection. I don't care about Giovanni Ribisi being cold to his mom. Spielberg be Spielbergin.
- I wonder why TV Execs haven't engineered the swapping of audio between two channels. So instead of listening to their stupid dialogue in this movie I could be listening to Nancy Grace talk about important shit. BIG TV is lessening my viewing experience because of a, um, conspiracy, or something.
- Yeah, if I was a jew in WWII I wouldn't just be showing captured German soldiers my David Star, I'd be conducting a full on seder and singing the marriage song and toasting La Chaims to everyone.
- SHITBIRD. Great word.  
- TURNING POINT! Guy with tenitis knows where Jimmy Francis Ryan is. Cue the uplifting music. Cue the huddle up and strategery. Cue the final act of this goddamn great american patriotic rock flag and eagle movie!
- Cinematography game is air tight Spielberg. I will begrudgingly hand that over to you. 
- Watch out for the seemingly random placement of a german anti aircraft machine gun. It knows you're there, and it wants to feast on your innards.
- Tom Hanks sees the bigger picture. He will take out that frickin gun come hell or highwater. 
- Run the Hook and Lateral! Wait, no, run The Annexation of Puerto Rico! 
- Lt. Frank Winters would have taken out this gun much better. Textbook maneuvers on a fixed position shit.
- And Ribisi is down! Who medics the medic? Everyone! Because too many cooks always makes the broth much better! One. Two. Three. Teamwork! Scratch that, Ribisi is medic'ing himself to wildly unsuccessful results. 4 out of 5 medics agree, morphine is the best cure for a fatal gunshot wound.And for trying to relax after a long day of work. What I'm trying to say is...mmmmm...morphine.
- BARRY PEPPER WILL HAVE HIS VENGEANCE. IN THIS LIFE OR THE NEXT. 
- Dig you german son of a bitch. Ahahhaha, he just figured out that the grave he was digging was for himself.
- Ahahhaha Sizemore is a deranged ass G in this. 
- You ain't a schoolteacher Tom Hanks, you are a problem solver! And a leader. And a damned fine soldier.
- Spielberg be spielbergin. Shadowy shot. Everyone comes around to give Hanks a hand dragging the body while piccollo's play a little ditty. 
- The sunflower field is trap! I repeat. The sunflowers are spawning german tanks out of thin air. Proceed with caution.
- Gotdamn, that is how you kill a tank. 
- AND WE HAVE OUR JAMES FRANCIS RYAN! OH HE'S JUST A GOOD OLE BOY. ALL SMILES AND JOKES!
- Shoot the scene from behind the barbed wire to impart the perilousness of the situation Spielberg. I see you. 
- Goddmanit Matt Damon, your orders have been superceded. Tom Hanks just want to get home to his wife. You're gonna make him die on the bridge. Gahh. This liveblog is over because I don't want to fuck around during this last scene. Too much glory to be watched. 
- Actually one last thing, the homemade sticky grenade bomb they make using their socks and black tar heroin to stick on tanks is baller as hell. Alright, I'm out. 
- Actually, one last thing. What if they remade the movie so that Tom Hanks was trying to Save Private Rya...from going to hell by taking Jesus into his life.

Staring Into The Void

Ohio State plays Arizona in the Sweet Sixteen tonight. I hope OSU wins, but it isn't the end of the world if they don't. I mean, with a loss my whiskey intake will spike dramatically at the end of and immediately after the game and I'll briefly want to burn things, domestic things like couches and lamps and finery. But then I'll go to bed shortly after and when I wake up the sting of the loss will be a numb memory like when you keep absentmindedly feeling for a bad tooth that just got removed. And then you'll think about how that tooth was lucky, and damnit, what was I thinking getting rid of it IN THE MIDDLE OF THE TOURNAMENT. ABSCESS IS JUST ANOTHER TERM FOR CHAMPION. Nevermind that though.

I'm more worried about what lies ahead if they don't win. Mainly, the college sports nothingness that follows the end of their basketball season.  I don't want them to lose tonight, because losing means there are no more Ohio State games to watch and get excited for until football starts back up in September.

There is the NBA, which I will watch plenty of in the coming months to sate my viewing appetite for sports. But I'm more of a neutral observer with that considering rooting for the Knicks is like hoping the ravages of time and wind don't erode some big rock formation out in the desert (optimism, I have none). And there is of course baseball, which, guhhh, just thinking about it makes me want...to.........so....tired....all...the...sudd...zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

So I want Ohio State to win so I can briefly stave off, at least for one or a couple more games, what comes next. The long space voyage filled with inky blackness and brief far away fragments of light. The travel might be rewarding and I might come across some awesome glowing space rocks that explain how they built the AgroCrag, but it will also definitely be more boring without getting interplanetary messages about the team I root for and care about. So tonight, go Buckeyes or I'll see you around the moon tomorrow.

First Day of The Tourney

I'm gonna put down some notes on this most glorious happy day of basketball. It most definitely could get dumb around here.

• What's for lunch in this bitch? $1 to the kid that exclaimed, "All your eggs and spicy italian sausage!"
• While the grill pan gets hot, let's see who the first game is...Valpo and Michigan St...Valpo is like the word cloud jumble of Alpo and Valtraxxx. So many x's, that's how you know that shit works.
• I dropped a little soy sauce on my scrambled eggs like my Grandpa did when I was a youngin. Damn, this is some good nostalgia eatin.
• Michigan St attempts and fails a wade to lebron-esque alley oop. The announcer groans in displeasure, because he's old and doesn't like exciting plays. Fuck you old man. Calling it now, this will become a trend throughout the day.
• 10 minutes later, I'm done with the dishes, come back and the announcer is still getting little digs in about the failed alley oop just in case any old viewers need their opinions validated about everything that's wrong with basketball these days (here's a hint about their opinions, it's too black). 
• Michigan St is a lot better than Valpo. Uh oh. This might turn into Beat 'Em Down Mode very quickly. 29-12 MSU.
• Let's get this second game poppin on the oft skipped over TruTV. I thought this channel would be in the Direct TV hinterlands, but to my surprise it's been hiding in plain sight right in the murderers row of TNT, TBS, FX, and MALL. MALL is currently playing one of my favorite shows, Dr. Ordon's Secret. A riveting documentary about looking visibly younger through a couple easy tricks! 
• Anyway, TruTV has Butler vs Bucknell. We've got a barnburner folks. 9 to 8 after 9 whole minutes of play. At this rate, if we extrapolate the final score, carry the 2, double check my work, the final score of this game will be about 25-24. 
• Sooo many white players on the floor. So scrappy. Everyone has the lunch pail out on the floor right now, which is dangerous as shit.
• SCORING FLURRY! 13 to 10 Butler with 7 minutes left in the first half.
• Guhh, horribly low scoring clankfest or blowout? When's the 3rd game start? 1:40?!?!? That's 32 minutes away. Welp, Dr. Ordon's Secret it is. 
• Butler's Golden Boy (TM) Rotnei Clark is brickin threes like he's scared someone is going to take them away from him.
• Bucknell has a white guy named Casper. 
• So many commercials, so little time to zone all of them out.
• NAPA KNOW HOW Commercial without the guy singing is like flinching before getting hit by something, and then not getting hit by it.
• Michigan St is up 41-20 a little bit into the 2nd half. So far, even though not a single game has been decided yet, my all Big Ten Final Four is still intact!
• 5 minutes until Wichita St vs Pittsburgh starts. Law of averages says that it has to be a much better game than the other two currently playing. Law of averages also has a crippling drug problem, so it is wildly unreliable to count on for anything besides trying to steal quarters from your apartment.
•  WICHITA! One of my favorite places I will never ever go to but love saying out loud.
• Also, why is it Wichita State? Is it a State of mind?
• Tens of DOZENS of people at this game.
• Wichita State's nickname is The Shockers. And Silk the Shocker is their coach?!?! And their starting point guard is a 6 foot tall stun gun?!?! 
• Yep, third favorite team behind Ohio State and Cincinnati. 

Like A Bear In The Stream, Chompin On Fish

With the NCAA Tourney starting tomorrow, I figured I'd remind everyone about one of the biggest badasses ever to grace a basketball court. But before that, here is an off the top of the head history of basketball in Cincy.

Back in the day the city of Cincinnati had a fine basketball heritage. In the late 50s and early 60s the Bearcats went to 5 straight Final Fours and won a couple National Championships with the likes of Oscar Robertson and Jack Twyman. And then Robertson went to the pros and was the best player in the world for several years with the Cincinnati Royals. The Royals unfortunately left town for browner pastures at some point in the late 60s, early 70s. I'm not doing research on when or where they moved because I don't see the need, but if I had to guess not very educatedly, Milwaukee or Sacramento or somewhere in South America, like Portugal. Then there was a lull for a couple decades while the Bearcats wallowed in mediocrity.

Cat Chat Part II - Ted Talks Popes

Ted and I talk to each other too much. Mostly while he stares at me through the porthole shown in the picture. I like to think of it as a Tim "Toolman" Taylor - Wilson the Neighbor relationship. Today he wanted to put forth his nominations for who should be Pope.

Ted: Oh man, I am wound up today. All this talk about who should be pope on cable news shows started getting me thinking about all sorts of things.

Me: Why? Who cares?

Ted: I care, Paul. You might not be as "in the loop" as me because you're so fat and dumb, but I like to keep up on important events outside this rinky dink hovel we live in. So anyway, all the pope talk had me riled up, cause I've been a catholic my whole life...

Me: Two something years then? The concave thing has taken longer than your whole life.

Ted: 19 cat years! Ass! And I will concave your skull, ya ignorant motherfucker. Like I was saying, I'm crazy devout. Why do you think I've been eating all this tuna lately? I gave up kibbles for Lent.

Me: I'm pretty sure you're just a spoiled little shit and tuna probably tastes better than dry food.

Ted: That's a baseless accusation! Fish and Loaves motherfucker. Anyway, so I was praying earlier about who was going to be the pope and I thought about it and I know who it should be!

Me: First of all, where do you pray? And secondly, all I saw you do earlier is eat a bunch of cat nip, run laps in our apartment, and then try to claw my face when I bent down to scratch your chin.

Ted: You are so dumb. I do the cat nip to equalize my positive and negative energy...

Me: That sounds like some godless hippy talk, I'm not sure how the Catholic Church would fee...

Ted: Just shut up, I can quit whenever I want. But seriously, y'all need to re-up on my bag. Shit's getting a little low. Where was I, oh yeah, after the nip puts my mind at stasis, then I retreat to my litter box to conduct a moral inventory of my life and then repent for my sins in the presence of god.

Me: Hah, I'm pretty sure you just said all you need to about catholicism by using your litter box as your place of god.

Ted: Just...guh...I hate you so much. But today, when I was thinking about the new pope, I had a great idea bout who it should be!

Me: Who?

Ted: My chair should be Pope!

Me: Your chair?!?! You mean the one I found on the street years ago and can't wait to get rid of?

Ted: What did you just say?

Me: Ummm, nothing. Why should the chair be Pope?

Ted: We're going to revisit what you just said later, don't worry. My chair should be pope because even though someone else might be sittting on it sometimes and I can't luxuriate on it the way I was meant to, I know that it will always be there for me afterwards when they get up. Just like my faith!

Me: I agree, Ted. Totally agree. (And then under my breath) Until I throw that piece of shit out next week. You're gonna need a revival after that.

Rising Tide Lifts All Boats

My friend had me listen to an old thing on Jerry Springer this morning and it got me thinking about how much or little people give back to society. One thing I didn't know about Springer was that in the early 70s, when he was a newly elected Cincinnati City Council member, he blocked Riverfront Stadium from being built with public funding.

Granted, back then it was definitely a different political and economic landscape. Owners of professional sports teams did not have their cities at gunpoint like they do these days. And I have a feeling the people probably had a different notion of what was more important, and were maybe more in tuned to the repercussions of handing over a gigantic chunk of their city operating budget to something that didn't directly impact the lives of their citizens. I mean, it sounds like Springer forestalled by about three decades what is causing so many problems in Cincy today (the Bengals Stadium deal).

Social Responsibility is a broad ass term. If I had to make it less of a generality, what, if anything, do you owe back to the community? Some see it as the most important investment towards the future. Some see it as bullshit, and to each their own. But I think most fall somewhere in the middle of the two.

There aren't many Gandhi's out there, giving all they have back the generations that come during and after them. And when you think about it, who really wants to be the next Gandhi? You're always hungry, you get your ass kicked by police all day long, and then eventually once the tide seems to be turning in your favor some asshole shoots you in the belly (this Gandhi history lesson was brought to you by my fading memory of the movie, which I saw a long time ago). But there are some people who give back way more than their fair share. It would be tough for myself to jump overboard for a certain cause or idea when their is no certainty that you're going to succeed or make any difference.

I though am cynical of what good can be done anymore, outside of marginal things that don't move the needle in the grand scheme. And I think that is where the idea of "You do you and I'll do me" came from that a lot of people carry around. You know, if nothing can be helped in this society, then why not just get what you can for yourself and then try to make the best out of it, other people be damned. My only problem with this line of thinking is that it doesn't account for those marginal good things you can do. Why not give a little?

The middle ground is constantly shifting, but it'll never disappear. There is no reason people can't be nice to other people in little or big ways. It isn't going to break you to give a dollar or a smoke to a homeless guy now and then. And raising taxes might affect your personal bottom line in the short run, but it will help a lot of other people in the long run. And at a certain point with taxes, the people that complain the most about them getting raised probably wouldn't even know the difference in their wealth if their accountant didn't point it out to them at the end of the year. I don't know where I heard the phrase but, "The money in your account is going to go up and down forever, but life is always going to keep moving forward. So there is no point worrying over it."

I don't see any reason to ever look at greed as a good thing. Not just money-wise, in all aspects of life.

The Midwest Is The Heart Of It All (Cough Cough Ohio)

I grew up in the Midwest. And now I live in New York. So only the most geographically astute even know where I grew up if they can't stare at a map with state names and cities for an indeterminate amount of time. I don't blame people for that though, because on the other side of the spectrum I probably wouldn't be able to delineate between Connecticut, New Hampshire, upstate New York or Vermont on a map. And even if on the off chance I could point out which state is which I would still feign ignorance just to let everyone know that their state isn't very important either. To people on either coast of the US, being a Midwestener means you are a backwater huckleberry. And, you know what, it's completely true!

Also completely true, we're FAT! But fat means we're jolly, which is never not a good thing. But hey, why do you think we're so fat. Because we eat good. The idea of Cincinnati Style Chili says all you need to know about how we do things food-wise. Not only is tomato sauce not acceptable for our spaghetti, we basically went the opposite way and said, fuck all y'all Eye-Talians, we puttin ground meat chili paste on our spaghetti with onions and a pile of shredded cheddar cheese as big as your face. And it is delicious. Anyone who says otherwise either has some unnamed ax to grind against Cincy, has never had Skyline in a proper environment, or probably thinks mustard is too wild to put on their hot dogs. Also, Chicago is in the Midwest, so any and all food arguments you may want to point out are invalid.

Once you get past the food though, some may say that the whole region is a burnt out hellscape that scares the daylights out of its residents and unlucky-to-have-gotten-suckered-into-going-to-a-wedding-there tourists alike. Well, some of it is! Mostly Michigan though! Ohio is like a floating Shangri-La on a cloud compared to Michigan.

What the Midwest really has shown to produce in it's people is a strong ability to be realistic and act rationally about sports (I'm joking and I'm not). I mean, we know our college football is subpar. Fuck y'all for rubbing our noses in it all the time. Our rusted and falling down society is apparently not as conducive to producing lightning fast gigantic HS football players as the South. Probably because the South's version of decay and decline is still at least warm most of the time. It's an advantage that's hard to argue with. The one thing schools in the Midwest could do to even the scales is to start paying coaches a lot more. The more godless robot coaches the North has the better the football will become. ROBO-B1G Baby! On the other side of things though, it does seem that the North gots all the good basketball players now. Probably has something to do with the best sport to play in the cold is a sport that isn't outside, like basketball.

I guess, in a nutshell, it's either too hot or cold most of the time. Things have gotten a little run down, but I'm pretty sure that can be said for all of America. And we are fat because we have the best food. Come at me about that.

Mikey Boy Brown

Pic courtesy of the obviously talented Rachel Shaw.

It's been a couple years since I've written anything about Mike Brown, the mesozoic creature that owns the Bengals. Mostly it's because I don't think about the Bengals much and I don't live in Cincy so his crimes against the city don't get thrown in my face on a daily basis. But since the owner of the Atlanta Falcons announced that they will be building a new stadium yesterday and as of now only 20% of the building funds are coming from the city, I felt it might be a good time to revisit some of the things Mike Brown should be known for.

First off, Mike Brown inherited the Bengals from his father, Paul Brown, one of the founders of modern football. Paul Brown was smart when it came to coaching and building a football team and he was also a shrewd businessman. In the early days of the Bengals there were several part owners of the team and Paul slowly bought them out one by one until his family had a majority share. Unfortunately for the Bengals, he only passed on the shrewd businessman (sort of) aspect to his son, Mike. The whole good football team thing is apparently not as easy to impart. Especially when your son is a jackass.

When Paul Brown passed away, Mike took full control of the team and immediately torpedoed the franchise through several bad personnel and organizational decisions. He let good coaches go. He let good players go. He decided he could do everything by himself with the help of a couple part time lackeys. It's sad and frustrating to think that I attended about 50 games in the 90s and I probably saw the Bengals win five of them. My brother calls Bengals fans like him and I who were brought into the fold in the 90s the Lost Generation. We got to witness Jeff "I've Been Sacked" Klingler, Head Coach and Restaurant Assistant Manager Dave Shula, the immortal Jeff Query, the Shake n' Blake years, Big Duddy, and a lot of other horrid desecrations of the game of football all in a tidy decade. And you know what Mike Brown had to say for himself after giving us one of, if not the losingest decade, by any pro sports team in America, ever?

He said he needed a new stadium to renew fan interest or he was taking his toy to another town. It wasn't his fault that he had rolled out a decades worth of football teams that could be compared less than favorably with Kramer's Beefarino Inspired Horseshit. It was the fans fault that they didn't want to pay to ride in the Hansome Cab that the horsehit wafted directly into. And because Ohio people are desperately in love with any form of football, be it good, average, bad, or Bengalian, the city of Cincy gave him his new stadium. The details of the new stadium deal were hashed out between Brown and Hamilton County Commissioner Bob Bedinghaus. And that deal now stands as the hallmark of how to fund a new stadium while simultaneously burning a city to ashes. "Coincidentally" enough, once Bob Bedinghaus' term was over as County Commissioner he landed softly as a feather in an executive position with the Bengals. Not fishy at all. I mean, Hamilton County should take its lumps for voting the stadium deal into existence but, come on, how many people really know more than a 10 second summary of what they're voting on? It's not like anyone except a very astute few probably saw the stadium deal for what it was. And what it was was a stone cold bushwacking. Now Cincinnati is broken because of it.

A person with a shred of civic guilt would have tried to rework some of the deal to alleviate the stress that it's lopsided nature has put on public schools and other underfunded aspects of the community. But that ain't Mike Brown. He wants his money, he wants his stadium upgrades, and if he doesn't get it he will make threats. Because the only thing Mike Brown has ever thought worthy of not cheaping on is lawyers. Assholes on the internet always counterargue that Mike Brown shouldn't have to give back anything to the community because he's a businessman, and making money is what he is about. It's a solid argument, in as much as saying that poor people shouldn't be allowed to receive unemployment or welfare, because, fuck 'em, basically. Well, I guess you can think that way if you want to be flint hearted and evil. What you really sound like is a person with no ability to see things outside your own point of view.

When it boils down Mike Brown is cheap and greedy and incredibly tone deaf to what social responsibilities he shirks every year because it might slightly effect his bottom line. I'm not saying anyone should actually do it but if the world were a just place he would get run over by a line of cars hurrying to get to a Reds game. And then hopefully and realistically he would have been too cheap to spend money on a real insurance plan so all his hospital bills would wipe him out and leave him destitute for the last couple excrutiatingly painful years of his life. Fuck him.

The Greatest Thing That Ever Happened

NASA had been preparing for months. Big Media had been easing the public conscious into the idea of it to the point where America was salivating over the chance to see it. Documentarists and Big Budget Action Movie Producers alike were throwing Fuck You Money around trying to get the best access. The President had already called it, "Potentially the most glorious moment in our nation's history." It was what one interviewee from the street called, "Something so good that I'm worried I might bust a stitch in my side from the hilarity." It was, The Greatest Thing That Ever Happened.

It all started with a comment Rush Limbaugh made regarding the President not having America's best interests at heart. His listeners latched onto it and started repeating it to the point where the Press Secretary had to refute the statement. That unfortunately gave the comment some form of stillborn legitimacy that Rush and his acolytes used as a torch for the next couple months to light their way of thinking.

The hubbub may have all wound down and gone away if Rush didn't build upon the comment by saying that the President was going to steal all the nation's money and flee to one of the "Secret Liberal Moon Colonies" that he and his cronies had been building for the last several years. For whatever reason, this incensed the President, maybe because he actually had been building these fantastic sounding moon colonies and was worried that Rush knew too much. So the President made an announcement and said that due to his newly minted extrajudicial powers he was going to do something to Rush that no one had ever thought possible before. Something wonderful and awe-inspiring and totally batshit crazy.

The President commanded NASA to start building the apparatus that met his specifications for the mission. He ordered Big Media to get their talking points ready for why this event needed to happen. And then he sat back and laughed, because this shit was going to be cray.

NASA built what he asked for. And the day came. Rush was brought forth from his secret illegal holding cell. He was hoisted into a giant cannon that could accommodate his fat ass. And they loaded the cannon up with super explosive firepowder and lit a really big fuse. Then the cannon fired him directly into the Sun, to the applause of all that watched. America reached it's Zenith that day.

I Like To Drunk

BLACK VELVET ANYONE?!?!?!

Everyone does the whole drinking thing their own way. Well I figured I might as well sound off about it and then have people read this and hold arbitrary opinions about me based on whatever bullshit I'm about to come up with.

You drink to get drunk (of varying degrees). I mean, I don't know anyone that ever sets out to drink and not get drunk. It would be a weird phrase to hear, "Yeah let's have some drinks, and boy oh boy I can't wait to be sober later!" Now obviously when you're on the whiskey river you ideally pull your funtimes canoe over to the side well before you get to the waterfall of immense drunkenness. But sometimes that doesn't happen, and you paddle yourself right off the cliff singing Bad Company and then just hope you don't drown in the murky blackwater rapids below.

Being an alcohol snob doesn't make you a better person, it just makes you a snob. There's a small but distinct layer of hell reserved for people who won't drink certain things because they have preconceived notions about themselves not ever deigning to drink a delicious Bud Light Lime. I like good expensive alcohol as much as the next fancy bitch, but that doesn't mean there is a single damn thing wrong with getting a little tipsy on Franzia. There are plenty of good things about the cheap shit that people could potentially miss out on just because in their heads cheap shit equates to them inching closer to their worst nightmare of becoming a hobo. Hobos are people too. They just chose to live life hard and fast and with no regrets, so who's to say they aren't the ones we should be learning more from.

I AM RON STRONG FROM MICHIGAN, HURRRR, AND I ONLY KNOW TWO THINGS. GIRLY DRINKS  WITH UMBRELLAS AND SHIT MAKE YOUR DICK FALL OFF. AND THE SECOND THING IS THAT IF YOUR DICK HAS FALLEN OFF YOU ARE NO LONGER A MAN. SO GET THAT GIRLY DRINK SHIT OUT OF MY FACE BEFORE I HAVE TO SQUAT THRUST YOU OUT OF THIS BAR BRAH. Ron Strong may have strong points, but look at it from this other better angle. Girly drinks usually taste good (positive feature). They sometimes are funny looking and easy to make jokes about (positive feature). And they let the ladies know that you're confident in your drink ordering abilities, "Can I get a side of HYPE with that Daquiri please?" (positive feature). Also, ordering one basically announces to the world that you like to party (positive feature).

FIREBALL. Fireball is that shit. I recommend everyone drink more of it.

Drinking 'n Clowning is more fun than being serious while drinking. I generally think making a big ole ass out of yourself usually reveals as much about other people getting offended over nothing as you being a buffoon. Ign'ance is bliss y'all. Get out there and have fun. People that have enough time to judge other people should also have enough time to worry about they own damn selves and not what you or my drunk ass is doing over here. Societal conventions sounds like some shit that Quakers made up cause they thought music was a devilish trick. AND R Kelly is the best drinkin music (especially Happy People). R Kellz is like the scientist in the lab mixing potions and centrifuging, isolating, refuting, and hypothesizing until he has the perfect mix of I'M BOUT TO DANCE IN HERE. 

CAT CHAT - PART I

Cat Chat is inspired solely by my roomate's cat, Ted. He's kind of an asshole. He likes glaring at me 98% of the time, especially when I'm sitting in "his" chair. This is his thought process.

"Hey fat boy. I know you see me mean muggin you. I'm only two feet away. Why don't you take your lazy ass out of my chair and deposit yourself on your shitty couch per usual. If you don't get up right now I'm definitely going to jump onto the top of the back of MY CHAIR and scratch it, just to give you a taste of what I could do to you. You won't like it. I know you're worried that one of these days I'm going to use your face as my claw strengthener. I haven't yet but that doesn't mean I'm not tempted every dog gone day to lacerate you for the crime of existing in my presence. Alright, not budging are you? Too busy gestating? Fine, I'm jumping up there. And when I do, I'll be roughly three inches behind your eyeballs, and you'll know I MEAN BUSINESS! Embrace the fear, BITCH!"

At this point I pick up his tin foil ball, wave it around, and then throw it out of the living room and through the kitchen.

"OH MY GOD! SHINY BALL! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? GAAAHHHHHHHHH GIVE IT TO ME! I MUST HAVE IT!"

Ted chases after the tin foil ball, completely forgetting about the chair for the near future.

(Editor's Note: Since originally writing this a while ago, Ted has decided to use my face as the proverbial scratching pad. I may be clairvoyant. Or more likely just an idiot.)

What’s Good About Having A Job?

I had a little downtime today while sitting in my office so I figured I’d semi rank what the best parts about having a job are(to me). Of course there is the other side of the coin where you could think about all the great things that not having/needing a job entails but that’s just too easy.  

Money. Let’s just get this out of the way quickly. Receiving a paycheck every two weeks or whenever is the best and most important part about having a job. It doesn’t need to be a giant sum of money or anything. So long as it pays the bills and allows you to enjoy yourself more than seldomly, then what’s cause for complaint. I didn’t mention saving money in there because that shit is for people that think they’re going to live forever. Our country/world is probably going to hell in a hand basket, so what’s the point of having all this money in the “bank” when the currency of the future will be clean water, bullets, and broken dreams.    

Competitiveness and Pride. When I’m working I always have a thought in the front of my head that I need to be the best at whatever I’m doing. I have had plenty of jobs since high school  and not once have I thought to myself, “meh, I’m gonna half ass this shit because who cares, it ain’t my company.” I’m not sure when that was instilled into me but I’ll be damned when I stop getting satisfaction from a job exceedingly well done. I really don’t understand people who have things they need to do (At work. ONLY talking about work here. Personal Life is a completely different story for me. Cause I kinda like watching things explode sometimes.) and somehow consciously decide that they aren’t going to do them, or put things off to the point where more work has come in and they are fucked for time. Internally, I get this fuse-being-lit feeling when I see people that work for me, or are my colleagues, slowly start to sabotage themselves by not staying out ahead of the proverbial work avalanche.

Contributing to Society in a Positive Way. Doing good is something that I sort of fell into backwards at my current employer. But it is nice to remind yourself every so often that even though things aren’t going exactly the way you planned, there are people out there benefitting from the things you do. It’s the counterweight to the utter despair you might feel when someone way up on the company food chain drops a giant piano on your head when you’re walking down the sidewalk.  

Social Skills. I admittedly can be a bit of surly from time to time with my friends and family. But working with other people when you do or don’t particularly like them gives you a lot better perspective on how people should treat each other. I mean, it’s common sense and everything, but being mean spirited to a coworker is maybe the dumbest thing you can do. Because you best believe you’ll end up needing a favor or have to work with them extensively sooner rather than later. And when that happens after hurting them, good fucking luck.

Problem Solving. Nothing keeps your mind sharp like having unexpected things happen to you at work, and then having to figure out what your best course of action is. Sometimes there is no solution to a problem, which god I hate that. But those are almost always the ones where you learn the most and end up gaining a shit ton of experience figuring shit out. Guh, I hate them initially though.  

Alleviating Parental Worry. My parents are going to worry about me one way or the other. But it helps my heart to know that they don’t have to worry about me struggling to make ends meet.

Free Time. I do not take my free time for granted when I have a job. That shit is like gold.

So, New York, Huh?

Whenever I go back to my hometown in Ohio or travel to other whereabouts I always get asked the same question, “Why do you like NYC so much?” And there are some obvious, rote answers that I could give if I wanted to end the conversation by steering it into a dead end street named blah. Things like, "It’s the capitol of the world." Or, "There’s so much to do that you’re never bored." Shit like that. Those answers would be disingenuous though. 

I don’t look at NYC as the capitol of the world, mostly because I don’t really think about macro, indefinable generalizations very often. It’s just kind of dumb to think that people outside the US even give a second’s (Is there an apostrophe in seconds there? No idea) thought to New York throughout their day.  They are too busy trying to get a hold on their own universe. Now, if all the sudden NYC took control of the world and told everyone that they had to wear dark colors and only use grim facial expressions in public, or else, then there might be some truth to the whole capital of the world expression. Because people would wake up in the morning and say, “Oh man, I hope I have a clean dark outfit to wear out of the house today because I’d rather not get tasered in the junk by the NY1World Police for breaking the Ten Black Commandments.” That would definitely change things. But as of now and hopefully for a while, that ain’t the case.  

The other phrase, there is so much to do in this city, is technically true. But it’s such a non-starter. Most people I know in this city (my self included) have carved themselves a niche, for better or worse, where they do the same things most of the time because they like those things. It’s just like any other town in that respect. You find what you like and you do it as much as possible. I don’t know a lot of people living here that have their Lonely Planet Guide To NYC Book out on a Sunday and are slowly checking everything off in the G section from the past week. Granted, there are a lot of things to do, but that doesn’t mean that people are going to want to do them all. I’ve never seen a Broadway show, and I don’t really foresee any sort of unfolding of events that would lead me into watching one. Other people aren’t food snobs, so the wonderfully overgrown population of good restaurants isn’t something that they care to delve into. I’m just saying that although the options are out there to do everything and soak it all in, only truly obsessed, borderline maniacal people try to do it all. Most people in NYC are still bored and end up watching Swamp People on TV and/or surf the internet for videos of Russian car crashes (It’s like they don’t even teach people the most rudimentary steps on how to drive in Russia. OR MAYBE, Russian auto manufacturers do not care about safety code or regulations. That bolt right there that secures the wheel to the rest of the car…meh, let’s just screw it in a little bit so that it will come apart after 6 or 7 kilometers). I’m just saying that just because the city offers a buttload of things to do, few exercise the right to do them all. 

The things I do say when asked that question, “what’s so great about NYC?” are more simple. The subway is my favorite answer for the most part. The other thing I like talking about is how other cultures bleed into your everyday life. 

I’m not as angry with the subway as some, but I agree that it has its problems. For the most part though, having grown up in an area of the country where the only way to get around was by car, the subway is a fucking godsend. The range of motion you can enjoy for basically $2.25 is not paralleled anywhere else in the US at least. My favorite thing to bring up though is that you never have to worry about what you’re getting into that day or night because of the Subway. If you want to have drinks across town from where you live until 3:45 AM, you don’t have to worry about getting home. Just throw your drunk ass self on the subway and don’t fall asleep before you get to the station closest to your house. And even if you do take a nap on your way out to Canarsie, no big deal, you just jump on the train back and chalk it up to wanting to see some of the beautiful East Brooklyn scenery. And if you get lucky the sun will be coming up at that point and you can take it as an omen that good things are rising up the pipe for your new life as a hobo subway rider. 

While I said how NYC is not the capitol of the universe or whatever up top (I’m way too lazy to look at my phrasing up there), it does accommodate basically every culture you could imagine. It’s a good thing to be reminded of all the time. The way I live is not the best way or the worst way, it’s just my way. And no one gives a flying fuck about it. And they also have zero fucks to give about how other people view their lifestyles. Everyone just coexists and doesn’t try to step on each other’s toes on the subway. Unless they are in a bad mood, then you’ll see people violently run into one another for no good reason besides the fact that they hate the world. I would call those the exceptions though.