Friday, May 25, 2007
I used to be good at math
But these days, it seems like I can't count on two hands. For instance, this morning, I slept in a bit, taking an extra "after-breakfast" nap, then leaving later than usual. There wasn't really anything to do today, and everyone was going to leave by 2pm. I skipped my normal morning-coffee stop, because I didn't want to show up TOO late, but here I am now, it's not even 10 yet, and I have to kill my time by bringing you superimportant news & updates. And it's hard, because I already have to plug in Slayer to drown on the people around me. This is going to be the longest short day ever. And it's all because of math. Fuck you, math!
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
My playlist beats your playlist
And it makes me awesome. This is a formula for success. At the very least, it is a formula for tricking your brain into beliving itself to be awesome. Totally, totally awesome. HINT: set to "repeat-all", and play all day long.
1) James Bond Theme
2) Mission Impossible Theme
3) Theme from Metalocalypse
4) Knight Rider Theme (for being 20-some years old, this is still totally rad)
5) Superman Theme.
This began when my friend Ch0mb0 told me his tale of diving onto the Brooklyn Bridge roadway to recover the ipod he accidentally dropped down there in a fit of misplaced rage at it's disfuntionality. I told him he should've put the Mission Impossible theme song on the ipod before he went down. Then I decided to listen to the Mission Impossible theme song all day long and see what happened to me. Maybe I'd start sneaking around and clandestinely stealing things from people's cubicles. As it were, all I really did was feel rad, and play bike polo.
1) James Bond Theme
2) Mission Impossible Theme
3) Theme from Metalocalypse
4) Knight Rider Theme (for being 20-some years old, this is still totally rad)
5) Superman Theme.
This began when my friend Ch0mb0 told me his tale of diving onto the Brooklyn Bridge roadway to recover the ipod he accidentally dropped down there in a fit of misplaced rage at it's disfuntionality. I told him he should've put the Mission Impossible theme song on the ipod before he went down. Then I decided to listen to the Mission Impossible theme song all day long and see what happened to me. Maybe I'd start sneaking around and clandestinely stealing things from people's cubicles. As it were, all I really did was feel rad, and play bike polo.
My apartment isn't burning down, again.
Yet my landlord is knocking on my door at 6:15am anyway. It's funny, because when he knocked on my door at 6:15am yesterday, the apartment wasn't burning down either. My landlord is apparently a morning person. Fresh air. Relaxing jogs in Prospect Park. I can understand that. Except fuck no, and my landlord can't move faster than 3 miles per hour anyway, so that's out the door. Maybe he reads the newspaper. Except I'm pretty sure he's illiterate. I'm basing this on the fact that his signature looks like he shoved a pen up his ass and sat on my rent check receipt to sign it. Except I don't think he can bend very well either. But he gets his chores done in the morning. Like asking me to see the leaky kitchen sink (yesterday) and then asking me when I'll be around later so he can tell me it's been fixed (today). I'm glad he got me up out of my four-hour slumber, honestly, because I wanted to get up & go for a jog in the park myself. And by that, i mean punch myself in the face, repeatedly.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Bad things happen when you leave the city
There was almost a fight in the Port Authority while trying to board the last bus of the night at 11:30. For some reason, the bus driver boarded the people getting off in Clinton NJ before everyone else. A few people at the front of the line apparently weren't happy with that. Shouts were shouted. Shoves were nearly thrown. Four cops showed up. I ended up standing for the entire bus trip. An hour and a half to Easton, PA. It sucked, but it wouldn't have been nearly as bad if the fucking ride didn't take two and a half hours. It also wouldn't have been as bad if the drunk dude who barreled through the aisle of 15 standees on his way to the bathroom, which he spent the entire trip in, drinkin' 40's, hadn't been smoking cigarettes in there as well. And those preboarded passengers from Clinton, NJ? I don't know what was happening in the 10 minutes that we spent stopped in Clinton (after picking up even more people at the Newark airport), but it sure didn't look like anyone got on OR off the bus at that point. Then in Phillipsburg, NJ, at the stop behind the P'burg mall for those 6 minutes? No one got off there either. Oh, no, wait, they did...after we started moving again. She had been sleeping, and didn't feel or hear the bus stop, and wasn't bothered by the lights abruptly coming on either.
Phillipsburg is right across the Delaware river from Easton. Maybe 6 miles. At this point, I was seriously, seriously considering taking my bike from the baggage compartment (which it cost an extra $7 to load into), and riding the rest of the way. The dude was still smoking cigarettes in the bathroom. The immense Dinosaur Barbecue meal I had eaten immediately before boarding as a standee on the bus was swimming in my stomach. I was sobered up. I had listened to Yo La Tengo and Slayer. Both seemed appropriate. Some dude said "I'll give you $20 for that bike underneath the bus". I ignored him. He's also the guy who said "yuppers", when I said "watch out for my bag as you go to the front of the bus. It's in the aisle". No one who says "yuppers" needs to be paid attention to. (He was standing in front of me. The entire trip, I kept passing out until the tip of my nose brushed his jacket. I don't think he ever felt it.)
It was after 2am when we got into Easton. My Mom had been waiting there since 1am, and called when we were in Clinton, which was about 1:20. About that time, I had decided that I was going to go directly to Trexlertown. My Mom knew that I was going to borrow her car in the morning anyway. I told her, when she picked me up and asked me if I wanted to drive, "No. I don't want to drive right now. All I want to do is sit. But, thanks.... This is what I think I'm going to do though. I'm going to go home, use the bathroom (Dino BBQ wanted OUT), take your car, go directly out to Trexlertown, and sleep in the car. Otherwise, there's no way I'm gonna be able to get up in the morning." Somehow, she let me do this. A bit before 4am, I was fully passed out in my Mom's Prius in the parking lot of the Lehigh Valley Velodrome.
I woke up around 6:30, wandered around, looking for people I knew at the swap meet. It isn't uncommon for people to camp out overnight. The best deals & the best goods are sold before the doors even open at 9am. I got some coffee down the street. I ogled some bikes in the lot. I saw "Pops". I sat in the car some more. I wondered why the hell my feet were all wet until I remembered what "dew" was. I got out again and my friends from the city, Ceya, Sasha, Chris, and Rashid had just rolled up. Sasha got me into the swap early, with a $5 VIP pass. I made a quick loop of the goods in the hour before opening, looking for the track wheelset I was hoping to find out there on the cheap*. I came back to their vendor spot, and there, lying on the ground in front of Ceya and his cane, was exactly what I was looking for, which, he tells me after I helped him pay his back rent, had been in the Sale/Trade thread of a forum we frequent all too frequently for months.
Ironic.
OK SO THEN
I go back home, help my Mom with her yardsale, buy a decent outfit to keep at my her place, and take a nap. I ride around Easton, PA a bunch and unwind. That was the best part of the day. Then it had to go start sucking again:
My sister drove me downtown to catch the 10:15 bus. I called my friend Jon to tell him I was already on my way back to NYC and was sorry we couldn't get together. at 10:45, I call Trans-Bridge Bus Lines, navigate through the automatic menu, and dial "7 for the dispatcher on duty for emergencies only". I wondered if I qualified as an emergency, then decided I didn't care, and besides, what else could the dispatcher be doing at 11pm on a Saturday?
"10:15 bus? Downtown Easton? Hmmm...yeah...this has happened a lot," he patiently drawls, "The schedule might be a little bit misleading. We should do something about it sometime."
"dude. ok. bottom line. Is the 10:15 bus coming?"
"Hm. Oh. No. There is no 10:15 bus." There is no 10:15 bus. Not on Saturdays. Only Sundays.
I call Jon back up and meet him at the bar around the corner. I had begun rehearsing "give me a Maker's, neat, and a Bass". I locked up my bike and the two wheels to a parking meter outside "Drinky McDrinkerson's", the local douchetard hoochie "it's not New York, but we're totally trying - look at this wand were going to wave over you & test for weapons!" bar, and follow Jon inside. The guy collecting the $5 cover peers around my shoulder and says "Oh, sorry pal. Can't bring that bag in. it's too big. You can leave it outside"
(ineffectual argument follows, in which I try hard, real hard, not to lose my cool & prevent my entrance no matter what. Sob "missed bus" story works not on doorman/"owner" or meathead bouncer. Meathead bouncer actually kindly chatted with me once Jon had come back with keys to his friend's sister's car so that I could stash my bag in there. Meathead bouncer was alright. Dickbag owner can eat ass.)
I finally get in, despite my t-shirt, and their apparent dress code. I get all wanded & patted down, and I'm wondering why the fuck this douchey bar with this booty shakin' music and these skanks and douchebags in smalltown Easton, Pennsylvania needs to wand me and deny my entrance because of my man-purse. I drink, copiously, then wondering where I'm going to sleep & how I'm going to get to the Velo-City tour. I never made it to the Velo-city tour, but I slept on Jon's parent's couch, and even woke up in time for the 6:50am bus, which DID actually come. The shaken hangover came back by the end of the bus ride, and the ride back to brooklyn with a wheelset and a full bag wore me out. (I always pick up a few goodies at home. This time it was "In Cold Blood", which I've never read. And a pair of shorts.) Plus, I figured I should quit pressing my luck. It was 9:30, and prior to boarding the bus, I had mysteriously misplaced the "return" half of my round-trip ticket.
But Ceya's dura-ace hubs laced to Tubular Assos rims WITH the tires, plus the promise of a one-on-one "how to tubular" class was worth every goddamn cent.
Phillipsburg is right across the Delaware river from Easton. Maybe 6 miles. At this point, I was seriously, seriously considering taking my bike from the baggage compartment (which it cost an extra $7 to load into), and riding the rest of the way. The dude was still smoking cigarettes in the bathroom. The immense Dinosaur Barbecue meal I had eaten immediately before boarding as a standee on the bus was swimming in my stomach. I was sobered up. I had listened to Yo La Tengo and Slayer. Both seemed appropriate. Some dude said "I'll give you $20 for that bike underneath the bus". I ignored him. He's also the guy who said "yuppers", when I said "watch out for my bag as you go to the front of the bus. It's in the aisle". No one who says "yuppers" needs to be paid attention to. (He was standing in front of me. The entire trip, I kept passing out until the tip of my nose brushed his jacket. I don't think he ever felt it.)
It was after 2am when we got into Easton. My Mom had been waiting there since 1am, and called when we were in Clinton, which was about 1:20. About that time, I had decided that I was going to go directly to Trexlertown. My Mom knew that I was going to borrow her car in the morning anyway. I told her, when she picked me up and asked me if I wanted to drive, "No. I don't want to drive right now. All I want to do is sit. But, thanks.... This is what I think I'm going to do though. I'm going to go home, use the bathroom (Dino BBQ wanted OUT), take your car, go directly out to Trexlertown, and sleep in the car. Otherwise, there's no way I'm gonna be able to get up in the morning." Somehow, she let me do this. A bit before 4am, I was fully passed out in my Mom's Prius in the parking lot of the Lehigh Valley Velodrome.
I woke up around 6:30, wandered around, looking for people I knew at the swap meet. It isn't uncommon for people to camp out overnight. The best deals & the best goods are sold before the doors even open at 9am. I got some coffee down the street. I ogled some bikes in the lot. I saw "Pops". I sat in the car some more. I wondered why the hell my feet were all wet until I remembered what "dew" was. I got out again and my friends from the city, Ceya, Sasha, Chris, and Rashid had just rolled up. Sasha got me into the swap early, with a $5 VIP pass. I made a quick loop of the goods in the hour before opening, looking for the track wheelset I was hoping to find out there on the cheap*. I came back to their vendor spot, and there, lying on the ground in front of Ceya and his cane, was exactly what I was looking for, which, he tells me after I helped him pay his back rent, had been in the Sale/Trade thread of a forum we frequent all too frequently for months.
Ironic.
OK SO THEN
I go back home, help my Mom with her yardsale, buy a decent outfit to keep at my her place, and take a nap. I ride around Easton, PA a bunch and unwind. That was the best part of the day. Then it had to go start sucking again:
My sister drove me downtown to catch the 10:15 bus. I called my friend Jon to tell him I was already on my way back to NYC and was sorry we couldn't get together. at 10:45, I call Trans-Bridge Bus Lines, navigate through the automatic menu, and dial "7 for the dispatcher on duty for emergencies only". I wondered if I qualified as an emergency, then decided I didn't care, and besides, what else could the dispatcher be doing at 11pm on a Saturday?
"10:15 bus? Downtown Easton? Hmmm...yeah...this has happened a lot," he patiently drawls, "The schedule might be a little bit misleading. We should do something about it sometime."
"dude. ok. bottom line. Is the 10:15 bus coming?"
"Hm. Oh. No. There is no 10:15 bus." There is no 10:15 bus. Not on Saturdays. Only Sundays.
I call Jon back up and meet him at the bar around the corner. I had begun rehearsing "give me a Maker's, neat, and a Bass". I locked up my bike and the two wheels to a parking meter outside "Drinky McDrinkerson's", the local douchetard hoochie "it's not New York, but we're totally trying - look at this wand were going to wave over you & test for weapons!" bar, and follow Jon inside. The guy collecting the $5 cover peers around my shoulder and says "Oh, sorry pal. Can't bring that bag in. it's too big. You can leave it outside"
(ineffectual argument follows, in which I try hard, real hard, not to lose my cool & prevent my entrance no matter what. Sob "missed bus" story works not on doorman/"owner" or meathead bouncer. Meathead bouncer actually kindly chatted with me once Jon had come back with keys to his friend's sister's car so that I could stash my bag in there. Meathead bouncer was alright. Dickbag owner can eat ass.)
I finally get in, despite my t-shirt, and their apparent dress code. I get all wanded & patted down, and I'm wondering why the fuck this douchey bar with this booty shakin' music and these skanks and douchebags in smalltown Easton, Pennsylvania needs to wand me and deny my entrance because of my man-purse. I drink, copiously, then wondering where I'm going to sleep & how I'm going to get to the Velo-City tour. I never made it to the Velo-city tour, but I slept on Jon's parent's couch, and even woke up in time for the 6:50am bus, which DID actually come. The shaken hangover came back by the end of the bus ride, and the ride back to brooklyn with a wheelset and a full bag wore me out. (I always pick up a few goodies at home. This time it was "In Cold Blood", which I've never read. And a pair of shorts.) Plus, I figured I should quit pressing my luck. It was 9:30, and prior to boarding the bus, I had mysteriously misplaced the "return" half of my round-trip ticket.
But Ceya's dura-ace hubs laced to Tubular Assos rims WITH the tires, plus the promise of a one-on-one "how to tubular" class was worth every goddamn cent.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
