PGA Tour Rugs

I take a lot of pride in vacuuming my bathroom rugs. I won't be satisfied until I step out of the shower and feel like I'm playing the links at Pebble Beach. Look at that double cross-hatch pattern! You don't get that in most restrooms. "Hey Will! Is that your bathroom, or the Greater Hartford Open?" Good question. It's hard to tell, isn't it?

Eau de toilette. That's what I'm talkin' about.

It's amazing what artisanal feats can be achieved with a dustbuster. It just takes focus and a fully-charged, cordless Shark--with the pet hair attachment--and you can bring miracles to your toilet area.

Greg Norman would feel at home in my bathroom.

Greg Norman. Arnold Palmer. All the big names would be impressed by what I have done.

I'm an artist.

Food Driven

They didn't plow my road. They don't really plow in New York, I guess. Weird. I kind of like it. I don't drive, so it doesn't really make a difference to me whether or not they plow. It just seems like they might have felt obliged to plow.

My dog doesn't like rock salt. It gets in his paws and makes him very uncomfortable. I suppose I have no choice but to get him little dog booties. How embarrassing.

I fed my dog a couple of Belgian waffles this morning. He liked them, but I think he found them a little dry, because he drank a few gulps of water, afterward. Then he helped himself to a waffle nap. I got this great new waffle iron for Christmas. It rotates and makes two one-inch-deep waffles at a time. In the future, I see my dog and I enjoying many a waffle together. He loves that sort of thing. He loves anything involving food. In his mouth. He can't get enough of the food in his mouth. He'll just keep eating, really. If you put the food in front of him, he'll dispose of it, summarily. I respect that.

In case you were wondering what it sounds like when large pieces of plastic are blown around on the side of a building, just visit the construction site behind my apartment. It's a somber, inauspicious flapping, and it doesn't stop.

Iron(ic) Gym

I impulse-bought the "Iron Gym" (as seen on TV!) at the drug store. It was incredibly easy to assemble. It still has a little play in the middle socket joint, though. No matter how much I tightened the screws, I couldn't get rid of that play. It's probably fine. There is no chance the "Iron Gym" will collapse while I'm trusting it to safely facilitate my doorway pull-ups. There's no way the molding will rip off the wall, causing me to plummet, knees-first, into my kitchen's marble threshold. I couldn't possibly get into the best shape of my life, only to cripple myself in an embarrassing home accident.

My goal with the "Iron Gym," besides getting ripped beyond recognition, is to use it regularly, forever, until it falls apart, while I'm using it. All too often, people impulse-buy these gimmicky fitness devices, use them for a month, and then forget about them, letting them turn into clutter. It's sad, really. And it won't happen to me. The "Iron Gym" will be a part of my life, in perpetuity. I already tested it out. It has an endearing wobble. I even used the "dips" function. The experience almost moved me to tears.

The "Iron Gym" is great, because it's like going to the gym, except you don't have to be around a bunch of H-phobes. I look at the "Iron Gym" dangling securely in my doorway, and I see the promise of a new me, a ripped, shredded me, using my newfound upper body strength to deftly control my wheelchair.

Don't Even Bother Reading This Piece of Crap Blog Entry

Man, I'm telling you, I cannot get enough of this David Copperfield. In today's reading, young Davy and his love interest, Em'ly, kiss outside of a church while Mrs. Peggotty and Mr. Barkis are getting married. After their kiss, ten-year-old Davy explains to Em'ly that he will never love another girl, and that he will not hesitate to shed the blood of any potential suitors.

I didn't know David was so badass. If only he could stand up to his abusive stepfather, Mr. Murdstone.

David Copperfield is making me laugh, out loud, more than any book I have read for a while. And I am not making fun of the book, either. Charles Dickens has made me laugh intentionally and unintentionally, many times. It's good stuff. Great storytelling.

Ah, yes, the classics. There is nothing quite like reading a soft-cover, Norton Critical Edition of a literary classic. The old, college "Used Book" Norton Critical Edition reading experience. That's a classic way to read a classic, I think. Those essays in the back are gonna be the shit.

The version I am reading was edited by Jerome H. Buckley, who is some scholar guy. He also wrote the Preface, which is awesome, because he uses the word, bildungsroman. The novel is a bildungsroman, indeed.

There's probably nothing more exciting than reading this crappy blog entry. Disgraceful. I should have stopped after the first paragraph.

You Can't Heal Death

So, I mentioned in my last blog entry, that I am currently reading Dickens's David Copperfield. I'm into it. Check out this crazy thing that just happened: Young Davy is away at boarding school, and they call him in to speak with the head of the school and his wife. It's his birthday, so Davy expects a gift from Miss Peggotty, his friend/maid. Instead, the wife of the head of school says, "David, I'm afraid your mother is very ill." And Davy is like, "Wha?" "She's extremely, terribly ill, my boy," she adds. And Davy responds, "Oh no." And then she says, "Your mother is dead."

What kind of a way is that to break the news to the poor kid? I thought it was pretty hilarious. You have to be really, really ill to be dead. Actually, that's about as ill as you can possibly be. "Hey, Fred, how's your dad? I heard he's sick." "Oh, yeah, Tim, he's horribly ill, still. He can't even move." "Really? Oh man, I'm sorry to hear that, Fred." "Yeah, it's pretty bad. He's dead." "Ooh. No bouncing back from that sickness, eh?"

My father's German Shepherd recently passed away. He told me about it yesterday, over the phone. He said, "Adrian passed away last week." I felt for him. I am glad he didn't say, "Adrian is horrifically ill...she's dead," because then I just would have felt confused.

Some 4th grader was having a devastating asthma attack today, and I was asked to go into the bathroom with him, because he felt sick, but I didn't know what to do to help him, so I just watched him gasp and puke into a garbage can. When I asked him if he could breathe, he shook his head "no," and I was like, "Aw man," and then I just continued to watch him gag and wheeze. I am certified to perform CPR, but that only helps after the victim has collapsed and turned purple. It may have seemed like I wasn't helping, but rest assured, if that kid had flatlined, I would have been on top of him in two seconds, cracking his ribs with my two-handed chest pump, keeping that precious blood flowing to the brain.

His puke was surprisingly unscented.

He's dead, now.

(not really)

Particularly Psyched Out of My Mind

I am about to go to the grocery store. I can't wait to trample someone on the way in. A store entrance stampede is pretty much par for the course, these days.

I've been reading David Copperfield, by Charles Dickens. It's enjoyable. I haven't read it for about a week, though, so it is just sitting there on the table, looking really heavy and hard to crack open. One of the great things about reading really old literature is that you learn all these funny, outdated words and turns of phrase. For instance, instead of saying, "Hey Suzy. Wow, what a pretty dress you have on, there," you could say, "Hey Suzy. Wow, what a bewitching dress you have on, there." It may not seem that cool if you read it, here, but if you said it in real life, people would think you're a class act.

I like the movie, Scrooged. I can't get enough Bill Murray. I hope to catch that movie on TV at some point in the near future. I think I have a good chance. It's the Christmas Special season.

I am getting more and more into the movie, Elf. That's a good, new Christmas classic. I like the part where the dwarf says he's "particularly psyched out of his mind" about some of the ideas he has for children's books. I also like Will Ferrell, in general.

I also like Bing Crosby.

Grimalkin

Busybody old ladies make me mad. I had a little encounter with one, today. My dog took a dump next to a tree, and she yelled, "Get a puppy bag! Get a puppy bag and clean up after your dog! Don't mess up our neighborhood!" Then I assured her that I would clean it up, and she ignored me. What a moron. I wanted to chuck the poop bag at her head, so that it would slap against her wrinkly face, shaming her in front of others.

Curmudgeonly old men are kind of funny, but busybody old ladies have no redeeming qualities. There's nothing worse than an old lady that gives you the hairy eyeball, because she disapproves of what you are doing. Oh man, that really gets me going.

A poem about that old lady:

Hi old lady from earlier today.
You're an idiot.
My girlfriend is in the store right now,
getting a bag for my dog's poop.
So you don't need to call me out, in public,
and wrongly accuse me of dogshit delinquency.
Now go home and choke down some oatmeal,
you confused, creaky antique.
Nice outfit.

Japan

I'm drinking a big, gigantic beer. It is important for everybody to know that. I spent my day doing laundry, 'n' stuff. I really feel like I have nothing to offer the readers, tonight. Nothing at all. I feel a little pissy, to be honest. Peevish and pissy.

I took my dog for a walk, earlier, and he tinkled on a tree and also in some crunchy leaves. He took a tinkle. He piddled all over some dirt.

I am reading a memoir, by Haruki Murakami, called, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. It's cool. One of the things I really like about that author is how he makes regular exercise a part of his life. He's got the right idea.

I recently finished his novel, South of the Border, West of the Sun. It was okay, but I lost interest in one of the female characters when she became ill and needed medication. She suddenly became unappealing to me. Also, the author kept describing her thin lips and red lipstick, which grossed me out. I used to hate when my mother and I would be at the movies, and she would take a sip of my soda and leave red lipstick on the straw. Gross. And in the book, the protagonist finds it sexy how this woman leaves her lipstick-stamped cigarettes in the ashtray after they have had a flirtatious encounter, and I couldn't relate to that.

I'm psyched about the new Conan show. Conan's funny.

Garlic Knot: "I'm Like That"

My dog never gets sick of eating chicken. The guy couldn't care less. I respect that.

My girlfriend is gone, tonight, so it's just me and the guys in the apartment. Guys' night in. Me, my cat, and my dog. Just sitting around and sniffing stuff and preening and dozing off. We're really something, the three of us. Just guys.

Tomorrow is picture day at school, and I am in serious need of a haircut. I fear that my picture will be an abomination. My wardrobe has really gone down the tubes, this year. I am wearing stuff from my 2008 line. It's boring, but I am broke and short on time. My shoes are scuffed up and look like they belong on an old man. I really need to clean up my act.

I saw Jackass 3D. It was like any other Jackass movie. I enjoyed it. I saw it with a couple of friends. We went to the Beekman Theater, on 66th and 2nd Ave. That theater rules. It's slightly hidden and only has two screens, but it's big and clean and new, and it doesn't get too crowded (it seems). After the movie, I gave my friend a flask that's shaped like a cell phone and filled with J&B scotch. Then we tried to find a basic pub so that we could eat and drink a little, but the upper east side offers no such thing. They just have Italian restaurants that charge $30 a plate, and fancy bistros. We walked around for 45 minutes and eventually gave up. If you don't have a lot of money, you can't hang out in that neighborhood, unless you are going to the pharmacy or a standard pizza place.

Once my friends and I parted ways, I went to a standard pizza place, and this lady kept offering me her garlic knots. She was very gracious. I accepted, and as I was putting the garlic knot into my mouth, she said, "I put salt on it." I was repulsed. But I choked it down, out of respect. As I swallowed, I thanked her. She said, "No problem. I always share my food. I'm like that." Then, this drunk young guy came into the pizza shop and started asking the guy at the counter if the cookies and other pastries were real. Then, he said something to the garlic knot lady, and she said, "Oh I know you're not talking to me!" And he walked out and said, "This guy gets it," and he pointed at me. I replied, "Yeah, I get it," and then I almost said something like, "...I get that you're stupid," but I held back, and the garlic knot lady said, "I get that you're stupid," and then, to me, "He walkin' around drunk, livin' off his mama." The whole situation made me feel nothing, really, but that lady was very nice to share her food.

The moral of the story is, Don't go to the upper east side on a Saturday night, because you'll end up with a boring story to tell.

The Hag

My girlfriend made the chicken parmesan meal I was talking about. I guess I have to see Paranormal Activity 2 with her, now. Shit. I'm doomed. I'm doomed to fear demons for 3 weeks straight.

The chicken parmesan came out pretty good. She cooked the chicken perfectly. I was impressed. The penne pasta tasted delightful, as well. You know what doesn't taste delightful? Demon breath, as the demon pins you down while you're sleeping. The hag demon. God, how I fear the hag. I hope to never be victimized by the hag. Have you ever heard of the hag? That's the old lady demon creature that climbs on top of you when you're sleeping and makes you feel paralyzed. The hag is so selfish. The trick with the hag is that you have to blur your vision and look at her another way, and she looks like a pretty young woman. Not everybody knows that, though. I saw a lady on TV who was tortured by the hag for years, and the only way she could make it stop was by receiving therapy from a shaman. Get a load of that, huh? I never want that to happen to me. So unfair. Demons have extraordinary superpowers and signature moves.

The worst part is, the more you think about the demons, the more you let them into your home. It's like that movie, Skeleton Key, where the lady is in the house, and she doesn't believe, but then she believes a little, which causes her to eventually host the fiery demon. That's why I don't want to see Paranormal Activity 2. If I see a movie like that, I'll think about it all the time for the following 14-21 days. My girlfriend can watch that sort of movie and immediately move on with her life. I watch a movie like that and I need a shaman to deliver me from evil.

I hope I am never possessed by an evil spirit. Body possession is immoral. It's a form of bullying, and I won't stand for it.

We Are Monsters (Living in a Monstrous Home)

My girlfriend and I live in squalor and filth, so we decided to spend the evening eating brownies and pizza at my friend's place. It was nice. They have a cute French Bulldog. I guess the little guy recently got jumped by a larger dog, during some sort of Milkbone dispute, so now he's got one eye that's red and a bloody lip. Poor little guy. His spirits are high, though, which is important.

When I saw my friend tonight, I got nostalgic, because he and his wife are about to have a baby, and time just goes by so fast. Then I fantasized about saying something poetic and profound to him on his deathbed. Is that a normal fantasy? I don't know. It made me feel good. I pictured myself saying something like, "Life just goes by, and then you're dying and almost dead, and look at you, looking at me, the guy you went to college with, a much older guy now, by comparison, but, in many ways, the same man, yet different. Life plays out the story of you without you even knowing it, and then, all of the sudden, you realize you've been playing a certain character for quite some time, and maybe you like the guy you've played, or maybe you don't, but it doesn't matter because you played a necessary role, my friend. I look at you, dying, an old man, frail and wrinkly, and I still see my good pal from days of yore. I remember your youth, my friend. I remember you when we played intramural basketball, and you tried to fight that Turkish dude. It's cool, man. You were an English major, and you probably read the Iliad one too many times. I know I did. It's cool. Have you ever seen Basketball Diaries? Good flick. Leo was young when they shot that film, as you were once young and pugnacious. Freakin' Leo. Good actor. I hope heaven has an intramural basketball team, and I'm on it, along with Teen Wolf. Sleep now, good buddy. Sleep unto your death. Sleep."

I don't know. Is that normal? I think it is a good fantasy. It's powerful. It moved me to tears, almost.

The apartment is dirty. My girlfriend and I are monsters, living in a monstrous home.

Eat the Chicken, Fear the Demon

Lately, I have had an unnatural urge to refer to cupcakes as brownies. You know, Shakespeare believed that even if you call something by the wrong name, that something is still the same thing it always was and will be. "If you call a rose some other name, it's still gonna be a rose and smell good," Shakespeare said.

I usually bring Crumbs cupcakes home on Tuesday nights. Pow. Then my girlfriend and I eat them. One each. It's a nice little treat. You have to treat yourself.

Halloween is approaching. My girlfriend wants me to see Paranormal Activity 2 with her. I am scared to see it. I watched Paranormal Activity 1 last year, and it made me afraid of demons for 3 weeks. That sucked. The worst part about demons is that you can never defeat them or outrun them or anything. They're just too powerful. It's not a fair fight. So, I told my girlfriend that I will see Paranormal Activity 2 with her as long as she cooks me chicken parmesan with penne pasta. This way, I will never have to see Paranormal Activity 2, and I can avoid fearing demons.

I don't fear aliens because I think they're fake.

E.T., for example, is fake.

The Big Bad Wolf

I guess New York City just gets tornadoes and golf ball sized hail now. I guess that's just a part of daily life in today's NYC.

Tonight, a tornado flew past my apartment. A tornado. Probably. I don't really know, okay? But it looked--and felt--like a wild vortex was twirling down my street and spitting chunks of hail all over the place. I was afeared. I had to stop making pasta e fagioli for a second and observe the scene. When I looked out the window, I saw high winds and bizarre precipitation. My dog's primal senses were on red alert. He bumbled around the house and ran into stuff with his big head. My cat was also really nervous, but he just sat there with this expression on his face: "What in heaven's name is going on out there on the streets? I'm a cat and I'm afraid that I am about to die."

So I guess I just have to watch out for tornadoes, now. That's great. They say if you're in the eye, nothing happens. It's supposed to be peaceful in the eye. The only way to find out if that's true is to watch the movie Twister.

I felt pretty safe as the tornado passed by, because I live in a sturdy, brick building. If you don't live in a brick building, watch out, because a tornado might touch down and blow your body to pieces. We've all read the Three Little Pigs. There's an important theme in there: Live in a brick house, otherwise, you might be swept into the heavens by a funnel cloud and torn to ribbons.

I'm drinking a delicious tap water. These tornadoes better not screw up Brooklyn's tap water recipe.

Sleep Words

My girlfriend has been studying jurisprudence a lot, lately. Too bad for her that I'm above the law. She probably finds that alluring.

I am reading Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man. I just started. The opening pages are pretty powerful. Then it gets a little trippy. I am giving myself the month of October to read this book. If you see me reading it after October, accost and ridicule me for not reading regularly.

To me, Manhattan is a magical city of lights. That's where the big things happen. I like stopping off in Manhattan, after work, and walking the streets, just waiting for a bigtime agent to approach me and give me some sort of big break.

I am so exhausted right now that I am not even sure what I am writing. Falling asleep will not be a challenge, tonight.

If you push "delete" and a letter at the same time, on your keyboard, delete wins. Delete overpowers the letter. It's like pressing a car's gas pedal and brake at the same time. Brake wins, I think.

Bleern!

Like a Bowie Knife

I finished reading Lord of the Flies, by William Golding. It is a parable that tells us, "Hey, people are naturally evil and want to destroy shit." I liked it. There is some good boulder-rolling in that story.

I guess I totally skipped September in my blog, here. September is a tough month for me, since that is when school is getting underway, 'n' stuff. I am excited, because this year I have an advanced clipboard grading system. Each year, I hone my pedagogical craft, like a bowie knife. Each year, like a bowie knife, used in a duel, I draw my teaching skills to a sharper edge, an edge that slices, like a bowie knife. Picture a bowie knife being flourished wildly in the face of a bandit--in much the same way do I brandish my whetted teaching prowess. Watching me teach is almost like watching some big dude with a bowie knife wave his bowie knife in the face of a villainous attacker. My lesson plans deliver a virtual bowie knife assault to the head.

Bowie knives are awesome, but there are plenty of other types of knives that are also cool to use, unless you play the video game Double Dragon, where there is just one type of knife. But in that game you can throw cardboard boxes and use a bullwhip. So it evens out.

Get Litigious

My girlfriend sure reads a lot, now that she's in law school. What a dumb type of school to attend. I would never go to law school.

One time, when I was pedicabbing, my customer kept urging me to go to law school, because there is no money in teaching. He said, "No, really though, you should go to law school. You'll never make any money in education. I went to law school, and now I make great money." I tried to explain to him that I really could never go to law school, but he kept advising me to go, as though it's just some type of school anybody could attend. If I went to law school, I would just not do the homework and eventually flunk out, mostly due to lack of interest. That guy was a real piece of work.

My tooth is throbbing, and I want to rip it out of my jaw with a pair of needle-nosed Vise Grips.

I bought my girlfriend some beautiful birthday flowers, but now they're all withered. That probably means we're going to break up. Damn it!!

It's going to be hot this week. That means I'm going sleeveless tomorrow morning, during my commute. Let the AM excitement continue. I have been waking up so early, lately, that it sort of makes me want to cry.

I'm gonna go relax and eat snacks. Adieu.

Lifted to Safety

It appears I am staying up too late, again. My beard is staying up late, too. My beard is too long, and it needs to be groomed. I am a hideous mess of a man.

I took a nap and dreamed that I was messing around with Pamela Anderson in the ocean. She was nude. I found the dream to be very pleasant, overall. Not too shabby, huh? Good old Pamela Anderson. Remember when she was on Baywatch? Good program. I used to watch that show on Sunday nights while doing my English homework. My dad would be lying on the couch, and I would be on the floor, making a poster about a vocabulary word, like "adroit." I guess the assignment was effective, because I still remember what "adroit" means: adj. clever or skillful in using the hands or mind. Yup. I actually just looked that up on my desktop dictionary, but I remembered the definition as something like that. I swear.

I boiled a chicken and fed it to my dog. He enjoys eating the meat of another smaller animal. My dog enjoys ripping apart the flesh of another animal and wolfing it down.

My cat is obese and lumbers around the house with a cranky attitude. His stomach is very pink and tender. I like him, even though he is a jerk.

I had a daydream the other day: Some apocalyptic event has occurred, and I am escaping, with my girlfriend, in a helicopter, and we are flying close to the ground, and the enemy is firing at us, but I hang out of the chopper and extend my hand, calling to my pets, as they run alongside the aircraft. Franklin's tongue is flapping wildly, and he's barking. Superman is lagging behind a little bit, but he is somehow able to move his furry mass at a considerable speed. His eyes are blood-red and bugging out of his small cat skull. I am able to grab Franklin and bring him into the helicopter. Soupy, on the other hand, is still too far behind. He needs to hurry up. Then, with a nitro boost, he springs toward the chopper's landing ski thing and hooks into it with his trusty claw. He hangs there, body dangling, the wind blowing through his fur, a look of alarm on his face, as we ascend ever higher into the firmament. Soon, I grab him by the meat of his nape (like his mother used to do) and lift him into the helicopter, where the rest of us are safely seated. That's it.

I also had a subsequent daydream, with an alternate ending, in which neither of my pets ever made it into the chopper, and we had to leave them down there to fend for themselves in a maelstrom of bullets. This alternate ending made me sad.

Hair Paint

I just got back from a vacation in Puerto Rico. It's a beautiful place. My girlfriend and I went to a destination wedding at El San Juan Resort and Casino, in Isla Verde. The accommodations were sumptuous. My favorite part was the $15 breakfast buffet.

I used the hotel gym a couple of times, and it was weird yet awesome. My friend, Jeremiah, has taught me to enjoy the weird/awesome parts of hotels, such as the gym facilities and the free apples. One time, at "the W," I was hanging out with Jeremiah near the lobby bar, and he casually grabbed an apple out of the bar's fruit basket and began to eat it. I was impressed. For some reason, I guess I never took that sort of fruit basket seriously. Or maybe I was afraid to make myself look desperate by taking the free apple. I don't know, but ever since I saw Jeremiah do that, I never hesitate to avail myself of free produce. Also, during the same hotel stay, Jeremiah would wake up early and work out in the strange complimentary gym. Again, I was impressed and wanted to be like Jeremiah. And look at me now. I used El San Juan Resort and Casino's gym twice in three days, and it felt spectacular. Thanks, Jeremiah. You're an inspiration.

Also, my new thing is that I pack all of my stuff and clothes away in the closets and drawers of the hotel room. I used to just live out of my suitcase when I stayed at hotels, but now I have learned to use the storage space that comes along with the room. It's great. It soothes me. It makes me feel organized. It's simply the right thing to do.

I got a haircut at the resort salon, and the lady used little pink clippers to trim my eyebrows, without even asking. She just assumed I wanted my eyebrows to be shaped. I was aghast. It turned out fine, though. She also used black hair paint to make my thinning hair appear more voluminous.

Physical Fitness

I'll tell you, there is nothing nicer than a brisk exercise session, with your pet dog, in the park. It's very primal. Very primal. I have been going out every morning, with young Franklin, to Prospect Park, where we jog and sometimes caper. Also--this is new--we have been riding bikes in the park. I ride my bike and attach Franklin's leash to my seat post, and I max out his top speed. It's totally satisfying to watch your dog reach his max speed, especially after he has been stuck in the doggy crate the whole night. In case you're wondering, Franklin's top speed is 19 mph. I feel like he could go faster if his wind-dragging tongue weren't hanging from his mouth. When my dog's tongue is hanging out of his mouth, he looks goofy. When he keeps it in his mouth, he looks handsome and austere.

Franklin's least favorite part of the morning exercise sesh (or, as I like to call it, "gym class") is when we stop at the hobo beach and I do push-ups in the dirty sand, among the goose droppings. I tie Franklinstein to a pole and he watches me do the push-ups. It's not much fun for him. Cesar Millan does not mention anything about push-ups being a natural dog need/tendency. Franklin just sits there and whines a little bit, while I perform reps and say "No!" to him, utilizing a calm, assertive tone.

This reminds me of a funny Mitch Hedberg joke: "Dogs are forever in the push-up position." Indeed. And mine has to watch me do push-ups in goose shit.

If I saw Cesar Millan in person, I would go bananas. That guy's awesome.

My Pets' Paws Almost Touched

It's nice to watch my two pets sleep so close that they almost touch body parts. It warms my soul. It makes me wonder how many other types of animals can get along with each other. I suppose it is time for me to open my apartment's doors to a hyena. If my cat and dog can get along in the apartment, surely the next step is to introduce a hyena into the equation. A totally wild hyena. I want to own a pet hyena and release it in the dog park. "No, he's fine. He's a good boy, he just looks like he's engineered to kill. Relax."

My dog tends to be a little aggressive toward other dogs, so, at times, other dog owners act like I am walking around with a pet hyena. It's dumb. My dog's just a little rough around the edges, that's all. He's great with cats, though. I'll bet most of those "well-socialized" dogs I run into are horrible with cats. Next time another dog owner looks down upon my pugnacious shelter dog, I'm going to say, "Hey, pal. My dog may have just tried to murder your dog, but I'll have you know that he's more of a cat person than your dog could ever hope to be. You should have seen the other night when his paw almost touched my cat's paw. It was precious."

We can't really go to the popular, cleaner doggy beach in Prospect Park, because lots of other dogs are there, so we go to the beach on the other side--the one with the garbage and the sleeping hobos--and I watch my dog frolic amongst the pollution. He's cool with it.

Today I attempted to glue together my cat's broken food dish, and I ended up gluing it to the dining room table. Gorilla Glue is amazing.

Grip the Floor Properly

I took a couch nap. It was solid. I think I have recovered from it, now.

I think today I will buy some fancy dog food and complete some household tasks with my girlfriend. I have to install some curtain rods. Booyeah.

Haha. My dog just tried to lick his hind quarters, but he was unsuccessful, because he couldn't get a proper grip on the floor, and his paws were sliding all over the place. That guy is a real card, I'll tell you.

There are a lot of great shows happening in Prospect Park, these days. Last night, while riding through the park on our bicycles, my girlfriend and I stopped to watch a performance. A band was playing, called Bomba Estereo, and let me tell you that they certainly made a splash in the band shell. There was a huge crowd there, too. The band sounded great. I enjoyed the various rhythms and rhymes they were deploying into the audience. They're from Bogota, Colombia. My middle school Spanish text book always mentioned Bogota, Colombia. It never mentioned this band, though. What a useless text book. There should have been a whole chapter on Bomba Estereo and band shell concerts where people dance around with brewskies and their kids and dogs. I wish my dog were there to see it. Instead, he was at home in a crate. If he were there, I would have slashed him open and sacrificed him to the band. Just kidding. I would have just stood there and watched the show with him.

Kablamski.

Swan Puppies

Today, my girlfriend and I rode our bicycles to the Red Hook community swimming pool. We did some laps. Then we went into the play section, where a young girl told us to stop laughing. (We couldn't help it; she was funny. She kept asking us if we knew how to jump into the pool. Then she went underwater and told me she saw my body. "I saw your body!" she said, "I saw the boy's body!")

While in the play section, we experimented with buoyancy and gravity. You can pick up most anything when you're in a pool, so my girlfriend picked me up and held me close, making me feel like a safe child in his mother's arms. It was a nice role reversal. Then we played a game where I pretend to be a sea parasite that attaches itself to its host with suction cups and drains the life from it. That game was fun. We played all sorts of games in the play section.

The lifeguards like to blow their whistles a lot at the Red Hook pool. They blew them on a regular basis. Little, sharp tweets. Then, there was this really long tweet, and we all had to get out, because someone had thrown a bag of dog shit into the pool. The guy next to me in the locker room, who happened to be the father of the cute little girl who told us not to laugh, said, "Can you believe what happened? Some kid troo a bag of dog shit over the fence inta da pool. Now who would do somethin' so stupid? Sheesh." "Yeah," I replied, even though I did stupid pranks like that when I was a youngster.

I took the dog for a long walk this morning in Prospect Park, and we saw swans. We also saw swan puppies, which he was excited about. I think my dog likes looking at stuff more than any of his other hobbies. He loves just looking around at things. We saw some guys in the drum circle, in Prospect Park, and he didn't look at them for as long as he looked at the swans.

Then we went into a wigwam built by white people.

My Cat Punched My Dog

In case you were wondering, there are definite parallels between my bedroom and the deluxe suites available at the W Hotel. First of all, the AC feels incredibly refreshing after a long day of inner city travel. Also, there's a bed and some pillows and shit. What is more, there is a television with all the latest TV channels and HD quality. Moreover, there's a clock radio.

You might ask, "Hey Will, what's that large, furry beast walking around in your home getting punched in the face, repeatedly, by your jerk cat?" Well, my girlfriend and I have purchased a fully grown dog from the no-kill animal rescue shelter. I am so happy we bought this dog before he was not killed. He cost 200 whole dollars, but we could have paid for him with 400 half-dollars if we wanted to, and gotten away with it. That's pretty much what you'll pay, these days, to adopt a forlorn, wretched canine. When you walk into the kennel room, they look at you with the sad eyes. It's pretty heart rending.

We took this one beagle, Benny, for a walk, but he was disagreeable and hyperactive, so we rejected him. Then we walked this guy, Franklin, and he was cool, so we decided to take him for a sleepover party at our place. (They let you keep the dog overnight, to test him/her out). At first we were concerned the dog would clutch our cat in its jaws and shake the life force from his fluffy body, but that didn't happen at all. What happened was my cat punched the dog in the face as hard as he could while making primordial survival noises. My cat is well-sized and curmudgeonly, so we weren't surprised to see such a beat-down. My cat looks like a linebacker and often bites into the meat of my leg. My cat's a bit of a bully, and I think he owns a Bowflex.

So anyway, this dog has been cool so far. He makes cute faces 'n' stuff and has a curlicue tail. And he's nice and quiet. There is no chance he will one day have a violent flashback from his painful abandonment and turn on me while I'm letting him lick my face. That could never possibly happen.

Who wants a turkey sub? Probably my dog.

Franklin's only flaw is that he sometimes wants to murder other dogs. When you walk him, fifty percent of his interactions with other dogs will be positive, but the other fifty percent may lead to a grisly bloodbath. No biggie.

Diagnosing Idiotic Old Lady-ness

My bedroom can be accurately compared to the Radisson. This is due to the AC. It feels great. Last night, I even had to use a blanket, for warmth.

Today, I had my first summer class. I have to take classes this summer for my teaching certification. This particular class lasts for one week, and it is called Diagnosing Reading Problems, or something. It wasn't too bad. They give us a lot of breaks, which is nice, including a one-hour lunch break. I had a wrap.

There is an annoying old lady in the class. There always has to be an annoying old lady in the weird graduate course. That's always the case. She's very high maintenance, and she doesn't pay attention, so she misses stuff and then asks you what she missed, thus distracting you and sucking you into her idiotic oblivion vortex. "Don't bring me down with you, lady." That's what I should have told her. On numerous occasions, the teacher would say that she was going to give us the answers but not repeat herself, and the high maintenance old lady would ask her to repeat herself. The teacher did a good job of sticking to her word, and replied, "I'm not repeating. I shouldn't have to say it twice."

During a group discussion, the annoying old lady was pontificating about literacy in city schools, and she argued that kids struggle with reading because they have no desire to learn. Then she explained how kids in Poland all know how to read perfectly by middle school. That sounds like a bit of an exaggeration. And I hate when people have the "they don't want to learn" attitude. All kids want to learn, they just like playing video games better. Duh. Obviously no kid wants to learn from your old-school self. I can't picture that lady making a text relevant or interesting for today's youth. I'd rather play Marble Madness than listen to her teach.

She was wearing a short jean skirt, and I thought that was a strange wardrobe choice for an elderly lady. I looked at her legs a couple of times. They weren't bad. A little splotchy, but surprisingly toned.

During the last hour of the class, I made a doodle of a tractor trailer truck. I was behind the wheel. I also drew an anthropomorphic bird. I also drew a swirl.

It's Difficult to Leave This Place Before 5pm

My bedroom is definitely reminiscent of a Comfort Inn and Suites. Very nice. There is absolutely no way the air conditioning unit is going to fall out of the window and crush a child. Never gonna happen.

I am drinking a smoothie that I made yesterday. I'm telling you, the great thing about these smoothies, besides that they're crisp and refreshing, is you can drink them the following day, and they still taste fantastic. There is no way this is just a phase; I am going to make smoothies every day for the rest of my life, guaranteed. Mark my words. Mark my remarks. My middle name is Marc. Mark Cavendish won stage 5 of the Tour de France, today. Remarkable win.

My goal today is to make it out of the house by 3pm. It's going to be tough. Lately, I haven't been able to leave the house anytime before 5pm. This is what happens to me when I am off from school. I become stuck in my apartment.

Next week, I begin a class that I need to take for my teaching certification. Yay, New York State! Thanks, New York State, for putting me through hell for no reason! Yippeee! I plan to raise my hand in class, often, and say stuff like, "Hey Teacher, when are we gonna learn something cool?" and, "Yeah I didn't do it." and, "Can we watch The Goonies?" and, "Can I get a drink of water?" and, "When are we gonna learn how to put big kids in submission holds 'n' shit?"

It's going to be great.

Deluxe Accommodations

You're lookin' at a guy who installed an air conditioning unit in his bedroom window tonight. It was quite a success. There is absolutely no chance the unit will slip out of the window and go crashing to the ground, killing an alley cat. My girlfriend supervised me as I strained to fit the machine into the window frame, and she assured me that it is fine, but I can't stop envisioning the air conditioner falling out of the window and plummeting toward the ground. The thing weighs about 300 pounds. I'm just glad we didn't install one in one of our front windows that looks out toward the sidewalk.

The air conditioner works great. My bedroom feels like a bed and breakfast. Whenever I enter my sleeping chambers, I feel like I am on vacation and enjoying one of the numerous amenities a guest expects from quality lodging. Now all I need is a mini-bar. I feel like I am at the W. This is awesome. I think there is some sort of Old Lady/Lawn Chair convention happening in the main lobby, downstairs. I should stop by and say hello on my way to the fitness center.

I am looking forward to watching the next stage of the Tour de France, tomorrow morning. Today's cobblestone stage was a doozy. Guys got all bloody. It was exciting. I love watching the Tour de France. It gives me a summertime feeling and inspires me to ride my bicycle. I wish I had a better grasp on the rules of the Tour and the point system. It sort of baffles me. I sort of understand the different colored jerseys, but, at the same time, I don't quite get it at all. I suppose I could use the Internet, which is right at my fingertips, to find out some of this information, but I don't want to do that now.

Instead, I will hit the hay. I am looking forward to it, because the temperature in my bedroom is so nice and cool. I feel like I am at the Super 8 Motel. I can't wait for tomorrow morning's continental breakfast. I am going to eat cereal and pour my own belgian waffle.

Beach Cookie

Hey now, for certain. I have clearly experienced the beach today. I can tell, because I feel well-sunned and reborn. Nothing like that moving water and brackish air to bring a sense of renewal to those that need a good molting. During our bus ride home, I even noticed my skin peeling a little bit on my forearms. This made me know I had done something right. Like a serpent, I was shedding my skin and leaving it on the floor for others to tread upon, while I moved forward, a new man. Unlike a serpent, I walked off the bus.

"Which beach?" you might ask. Rockaway Beach. Totally a good beach. I can't believe that beach is a part of New York City. I dominated that beach, because it was askin' for it. That beach is so nice it's just beggin' for my silverback status to be asserted all over its sandy expanse. I made that beach my bitch. You don't even know.

At one point, a wave knocked me off balance and I floundered, ignominiously, in shallow water while scratching my knees on small, jagged seashells. My girlfriend witnessed this episode, and I felt shame, but I arose from the surf's foamy clutches, and although I had sand all over my disheveled swim trunks, I gave the raging sea another go. (It had hit me from behind, by the way. That's the only way it could have ever taken me down like that.) I find that the waves at Rockaway Beach are big and powerful, but small and weak compared to me, so I never let them take me down again. Thorough, overarching dominion, by me, over the frothy ocean.

I bought a couple of icies from the icy guy. The icy guy at Rockaway Beach is not as good as the icy guy outside the McDonald's near my apartment. I bought the white icy, and I thought it would taste like citrus (which would be refreshing), but, instead, the flavor was coconut, and this displeased me. Then it melted and began to drip into the sand, after cascading down my knuckles. I hate that. I didn't complete the icy.

The biggest highlight of my day was the chocolate chip cookie I bought from Lord's Photocakes in Midwood. I purchased the cookie, stored it in the cooler, and ate it on the beach. The cookie was fantastic, and it was huge and round, so I was able to share it with my friends. Are round things easier to share? Possibly. I wish I had another one of those cookies right now.

Great beach day, though. Whenever I go to the beach, I am reminded of Paddington Bear. One of the most memorable Paddington Bear books, for me, was the one about his trip to the beach. He gets into all sorts of trouble and wears inflatable arm floaties.

Paddington Bear is a good bear and a great children's book. He's way better than Curious George, who's a bit of an a-hole. Curious George wants so bad to be Paddington Bear, but he can't, because he sucks. I love Paddington Bear and his quest for marmalade. I respect him. I also like Corduroy and The Berenstain Bears. There's some great children's reading out there that involves bear characters. Nice. Way better than Curious George, who has a retail store in Harvard Square, and would be the type to have such a store, because he wants to make a profit from his cheap merchandise, because his books aren't good enough to stand alone.

Gummy Bears are a good snack and a good cartoon. Take that, Curious George, you bastard. No one likes you.

Good beach day, though.

Paddington Bear rules. Read him to your kids.

The Texture is Soft

My girlfriend and I now have a new couch. The thing was quite a steal. We bought it from a musician person in the Upper East Side, which is a very nice neighborhood, indeed! That means the couch must be perfect and couldn't possibly contain a demon. (I've seen Paranormal Activity; I know what demons are capable of. I also know that demons are cowards.) I'll punch a demon in the throat.

Raise your hand if you've ever seen a demon. That's what I thought.

So this new couch is really something special. It feels very soft. The texture, I mean. The texture is soft. The cushioning is soft, too, but not too soft, if you know what I mean. I don't like couches that are too soft, because they can be uncomfortable. A little bit of firmness is nice.

My girlfriend and I traveled to the top of the Empire State Building. It was stellar. I suggest going at midnight, then you avoid the extreme crowds and insufferable line. At peak times, that line will kill a man. We're talking a three hour wait, at least. Go at midnight; you'll wait 30 minutes, max. And get the "Audio Tour." It gives you all types of interesting trivia. For instance, I learned that that slanted Citigroup building was originally supposed to have solar panels on the slanted roof, but then they never put the solar panels on there. Pretty cool, eh?

On your way to the top of the Empire State Building, they force you to pose for a picture. We posed. Then I decided to buy the picture, on our way out, for approximately $23. Total rip-off, but now I have a sweet magnet frame, with a cool picture inside of it, that can always remind me of my journey to the top of the Empire State Building with my sweetpea.

I was riding my bicycle through the Bronx on Saturday (I had taken this CPR course at my school), and I rode past those Israelite Church of God in Jesus Christ guys. I have mentioned them before in this blog. They hate white people a lot. As I rode my bike closer to the guys, I heard them explaining how white people are dogs and how we smell and look like hell. I rode my bike past him, and this little kid ran in front of me in the crosswalk. I thought about how bad the timing would have been if I had struck the kid with my bike. The Israelite Church of God guy would have been like, "You see! I told you! The devil!!" Luckily, I didn't hit the kid with my bicycle, at all.

I have a comedy show coming up on Thursday, July 1st. I'm excited. I haven't performed for a real crowd for so long. I plan to blow the roof off that place. Kapow!

Office Space is a hilarious movie. I like when they beat up the fax machine. Haha. That movie just keeps getting better and better for me. I like when movies or songs improve with age.

What age are you? Mull that one over for a second. Grow a mullet for a second.

Sun-tired on the Sluiceway

I certainly went to Six Flags. Now I'm sun-tired. And I have sun burn. The sun burned me from really far away, because it's extremely powerful.

It turns out that I could not really handle the G-forces of many of the bigger rides at Six Flags. I didn't even try to go on the bigger ones. I was maxed out after Blackbeard's Lost Treasure Train, the first ride I went on. It's one of those small, "family-style" roller coasters. It was supposed to be my warm-up ride, but it actually turned out to be quite challenging for me, and I was dizzy and slightly ill afterward. I basically sat the bench for the rest of the day's rides, lest I make myself even more sick with a larger roller coaster. I did get on the Saw Mill Log Flume, toward the end of the afternoon. That ride is so classic. It hasn't changed a bit since I was a youngster. My students kept putting their hands in the water, while we were moving, so they could splash each other. I admonished them: "Get your hands outta the water before you get your fingers chopped off!" I'm surprised more people don't get their fingers completely chopped off on the Saw Mill Log Flume. I'm surprised I didn't see more fleshy phalanges floating around in that sluice.

Freakin' sluice. Sluiceway.

Oh yeah: I won a plush toy in that watergun squirt game. I am going to give it to my girlfriend as a present.

I didn't ride on Kingda Ka, but I looked at it.

Ronnie's Freaking Skull

Here's me, sitting at my desk, at home, missing out on Sunday, because I need to grade papers. Blammo. I don't even want to talk about it.

I did some laundry. I was able to squeeze that into my schedule. We have a nice laundry machine set-up in the basement of our building, so I took advantage of it and put my dirty laundry inside the machines and let them do what they were built to do.

I can't believe people can build certain types of stuff. Like laundry machines. That's impressive. I could never build a laundry machine that actually works. I could build one out of cardboard that's just for show, but I couldn't build one that actually performs a function. Some people are so smart. Probably because of MIT. MIT gives people the ability to be brilliant and make stuff.

I used to work at MIT. (Temp job status, nothing permanent or full time.) It was a fun place to work. I attended a couple of lectures, if I do say so myself. I know stuff that you might not know, because of those lectures. Did you know that MIT is famous for having a lot of food trucks around campus that sell inexpensive meals? I didn't learn that from a lecture. I learned it from walking around the campus. They used to send me on little missions, where I had to drop off documents at different buildings.

My favorite place to go was this one department where this guy Ronnie worked. Ronnie had had a lobotomy a few years back, so he had an interesting disposition, and a bad wig. He was like Phineas Gage, but the opposite. Instead of being angry and bilious, he was unusually affable and sedate. He seemed really medicated. He worked at the front desk in this particular building, and he had all these knick-knacks that were perfectly arranged in his workspace. I would enter his department and we would say hello to one another, and then he would walk me to whomever I needed to deliver the document(s) to.

One time, as we spoke, face to face, a ball of lint flew out of his left nostril. It was funny, because the lint, coupled with the vacant look in his eye, made it seem as though he were rotting from the inside out. Then, a spider crawled out of his wig and walked across his face while he was speaking to me. He was unaware of the spider, and I didn't know how to tell him it was there, so I just listened to him while the thing traversed his visage. He eventually felt the spider and wiped it off his face, but I don't think he knew he was wiping a spider off his face. I think he thought it was a gnat or a stray hair, or something. Ronnie's head was like a haunted house. Ronnie was a gentle man with an empty attic of a skull.

Spelling Challenges and Six Flags Are Exciting

Very well, then.

I did the Woodshed open-mic today in Brooklyn. I have never done a Saturday open-mic before. There were 38 comics signed up for it, so they had to cut the time and give each comic only 2 1/2 minutes. I was fine with that. I was feeling unprepared, anyway. My set went poorly, and my timing was all messed up because I got the light so early. What can you do? There were some funny comedians there, tonight, though the crowd was pretty tough. It was one of those open-mic situations where the crowd is sort of excited at first, and then, after a couple of people bomb, the audience never gets its juice back.

I am stressing out over these leftover essays I need to grade. It's pretty painful to be grading these puppies right now. I am just forcing it out, like a turd. I should be done by midday tomorrow. I just double-checked the spelling of midday. I got it right. Yes!!!!! Yes!! I like spelling and spelling challenges. I don't know how I feel about spelling bees, though. I like being able to write down a challenging spelling word and squint at it to see if it looks right. That's part of the fun for me, and that part of the fun is not honored or accommodated at spelling bees.

I rode my bicycle today. It felt great. Nice day out there. This summer thing is really working out so far. I haven't ridden my bike for a while. She's a good vessel.

On Monday, we have a big field trip to Six Flags. I am predicting fun and excitement. Possibly, also, there will be fried dough. So flavorful. I might go on a roller coaster. Who knows? I haven't been on a roller coaster for ages. I am thinking of going on one that goes upside down in a loopty-loop. I have never experienced such a thing before. I suppose I'm ready for the G-forces. I want to play the throw-the-dart-at-the-balloon game and win. I feel like that's my event, though I regularly underperform in it. Possibly, on Monday, I will shine and win a cheap plush toy.

Wish me luck.

Bear No-show

Boo-yes. I went to the Bronx Zoo yesterday. It was superb. The sea lions are the best part. They bark a lot and jump up on the edge of the pool, ten feet away from the spectators, and bark some more, fiercely. It startles the crowd.

I saw tons of lemurs. They were okay. The bear didn't show. The hyenas were cool, but I only saw them from afar. They looked sinister. The gorilla kept his back to us the whole time. He was pretty far away, too. At one point, a guy walked into the gorilla observation zone, grabbed the telescope thing from one of my students, and said, while peering intensely through it, "I got this! I'm an ex-marine." Then, of course, the kids asked him a bunch of questions about his time in the service, and he told them that you need a lot of math skills in the marines, and that they need to stick with the math. Too bad I'm their English teacher. Now I just have a bunch of students that hate my class and are good with a scope.

It's amazing how a trip to the zoo will bring out the best in your students. When we were looking at the snake exhibit, Troy, who has had a tough year in school, seemed to be glowing with inspiration. It was clear that the natural world had moved him in some way, and he opened his mouth to speak. "If you poop in your dream you poop for real," he said. Then, a reprise, this time while sauntering away: "If you poop in your dream you poop for real." Just in case no one heard him the first time. It was profound. That's the thing about teaching: You can't save all the kids, but if you can just get that one kid to explain the dream-to-reality poop crossover in public, unprovoked, you're a success. Thanks Troy.

I ate waffles and fried chicken at Sylvia's Soul Food Restaurant, in Harlem. It was tasty. I also ate coconut shrimp. Big first for me. I felt slightly ill afterward.

My Cat Can't Do Keg-stands

My cat just sits around the house, looking like a real a-hole. He probably has no idea what's going on in the world around him. Shouldn't he be all happy, since he's all ignorant 'n' stuff? What the hell? Instead, he's just a cantankerous curmudgeon. There is no curmudgeon I want to bludgeon more than my cat, sometimes. Look at him, just sitting there, with his fur. I want to give him kisses, but he jilts my affections. Yesterday, he swiped at me for no reason and snagged the skin of my forearm with his claw. Two days ago, he bit into the meat of my tricep. He seemed to do this with malice. Or was it pleasure? Who can really know? He definitely has some emotional problems, but he's pretty cool, otherwise. I guess I'll stay friends with him.

Tomorrow, we are taking the students on a visit to Fordham University, in the Bronx. I feel like everyone tries to make college seem like it's so hard, when really it's easier and more fun than secondary school. I plan to drive this point home to my students, tomorrow. I want to encourage them and get them excited about college, not scare them. I hate when grumpy people try to teach kids about how life sucks more and more as you get older. True. Many people become unhappy as adults, but life doesn't need to be like that, and it shouldn't be like that. It should get better as you grow older. Once those kids get a couple of keggers under their belts, they'll know what I'm talkin' about, eh? Eh? You know what I'm sayin'. The keggers. I was all about the keggers in college. Just ask my college buddies. Nuts. Case race, dude. Friggin' case race.

Beer pong, even? Probably.

My cat wouldn't know the first thing about college. He hasn't the foggiest idea what the word college even begins to mean. He only understands kitty prattle. What a dunce-wad. He's cute, though. He looks like Falcor, from The Neverending Story.

Philbert Takes a Shower

They changed the baked beans at my favorite diner, so now my Cowboy Burger is not quite as delicious as it used to be. What can you do?

It's a hot one out there tonight. Not too hot, though. I like it. It reminds me of summertime. Speaking of summer, it's almost summer, and I'm psyched. I like what summer's all about. Summer is much better than winter, and that's that. Everything's easier in the summer. For instance, dressing. It is easier to dress and undress in the summer, because less clothing is involved. I hate dressing and undressing. I'm sick of it. I've done it so many times.

I hate fine clothing that's not durable. What the hell? Useless. I hate stuff that's dry clean only. Thanks for making laundry more complicated than it already is.

My girlfriend just called me Philbert. She has a bath towel on her head, because she just took a shower. I need to take one of those. I'm bored of showers just like I'm bored of laundry and dressing and undressing.

I'm not bored of chocolate chip cookies, and I never will be.

Be a winner.

Tom Cruise 'n' Crenshaw Boulevard (Ice-T's a Pimp)

Not that I told you or anything, but Tom Cruise is totally cool and radical. How could you not like that guy, as an actor? He can't be stopped. I can't think of one movie with him in it that I don't like. He's dreamy. He's a charmer. He really is. I want to see that new Tom Cruise movie.

Speaking of movies, my girlfriend and I watched a movie last night called Something New. It's about the rigors of interracial love. There's this beautiful, business-minded black woman named Kenya, who is having trouble finding a man, and she ends up dating her white landscaper who has a golden retriever and likes nature and plant life. It's good. The best part is when he asks her to take her weave out. She gets really upset and kicks him out of the bedroom. What's funny is that, when she does get her weave removed, her new hairstyle just looks like another weave (or, if it's her hair, it's the type of hair that would make her not want a weave in the first place).

I want to cruise down Crenshaw Boulevard in a stripped-down Jeep with a golden retriever and my black girlfriend. That would be something.

I don't know anything about Crenshaw, except what I've seen in the movies. I know that I love the movie, Boyz N the Hood. Cuba Gooding Junior. That guy's great. Ice Cube. Ice Cuba Gooding Junior.

It turns out that Darryl Strawberry is from Crenshaw. I love it. Just love it. I love the 1990's Yankees. That was baseball's golden period for me. That's back when I used to go to Yankees games every once in a while. Totally fun. I used to have a baseball that was signed by Darryl Strawberry and Dave Winfield 'n' stuff.

Then I moved to Boston, where everyone hates the Yankees, because they're drunk.

Jeter swallows. V-Tek's a beast.

Baby Thighs

I have been feeling infirm for the last couple of weeks. I have this head cold that has been just sticking around. It's been stickin' to my ribs. It's gross. The weather has been nice, too, which makes it worse, because I wish I could have been outside more these last two weeks.

I got rained on, on Wednesday. That didn't help my condition. My girlfriend and I went to the baby store to buy stuff for my friend's baby shower, and it was raining like hell, so we got all wet. I hadn't brought my umbrella, and I refused to buy one of those street umbrellas, and my girlfriend's umbrella was too small to share, so I just tried to take the rain. I just let it hit me. It was fine at first, but then the temperature dropped, and I became extraordinarily uncomfortable. It was pretty nasty. I hated it. The worst part was that we stopped at one of our favorite diners, and my meal didn't astonish me. Usually, when we go to that diner, my meal astonishes me with its toothsomeness, but not this time. It's because I got the waffle. I am sticking with the french toast from now on. Their french toast is amazing. And they have a great fish tank. It's this place in Chelsea.

Chelsea, Massachusetts is a lot different than Chelsea, Manhattan. You should visit both and compare. Actually, don't visit Chelsea, Massachusetts.

There is a parade outside, right now. I'm missing it! I'm missing it! Oh wait, it's some church parade. No biggie.

I'm going to a baby shower, today. I'm looking forward to it. There should be some great food there. I like baby thighs. Not as a food, just in general. I think they're great. They're all squishy. How big is a baby's knee cap? Is it approximately the size of a dime? That's my guess. Dime-sized. Baby skeletons are cool-looking.

Jake Jillenbush

I had a pretty nice little open mic, tonight. When I was walking to the place, I bumped into my friend, Jon, on Bleecker Street. It was something else. He looks like Jake Gyllenhaal. Every time I go to say "Jake Gyllenhaal," I want to say "Jake Jillenbush," but then I remind myself that that's not the actor's name. It's because my friend Jeff always calls him "Jake Jillenbush." But my friend Jeff wasn't on Bleecker Street tonight, Jon was, and I commented that he looks like Jake Gyllenhaal, and he explained that he gets that about once a week. So Jon decided to come watch me and the other comics at the open mic. He was a good audience member.

I have to sing in front of 8th graders, tomorrow, at 8am. I am singing that song from the tournament montage in The Karate Kid. I am still trying to memorize the words. You're the best in town (FIGHT!). I love that movie.

I keep playing with my beard and falling asleep. Okay, goodnight.

Neville! Neville!!

Be careful when you use a swingset, because you might not be in good enough shape to handle it. You need to warm up to it. Work at it a little bit each day, and then go for those super-high swings.

I swingset-swung today for the first time in at least ten years. I was not physically prepared, and now I am paying the price, with my life. Or, at least, an aspect of my life has been exchanged for swingset-swinging: my physical comfort.

Let me explain. My girlfriend and I took a bike adventure out to Governor's Island. We used the ferry and everything. After we debarked, we walked our little bicycles over to a big map of the island, where a nice young man, who worked for the Park Service, helped us figure out where in the devil to go for a couple of freakin' hot dogs or maybe a cheeseburg. The guy gave us all sorts of information about the historical military buildings on the island: Fort Jay; Castle Williams; The Barracks. He also told us about how the garrison that was garrisoned on the island helped keep the enemy away from New York City, back in the day (the War of 1812?). But there was something strange about the map. There was one whole part of it, in the middle, which was completely grayed-out, like there was something secret in there, or something ignominious. So I asked, "Hey, what's that big gray area?" And he responded, "Oh, that's just some baseball fields that are rented out to little league teams 'n' stuff." Then I said, "Oh. Huh," but I knew something was amiss. What were they concealing? All I knew was that these people, with their lies, needed to be stopped, and I was going to be the one to stop them.

We went to Fort Jay first. The lawns were nicely mowed, and there are probably ghosts in that place. I fear ghosts, especially demons. We capered through the fort for a spell, then we went to the castle.

The castle sucks. You can't even go inside of it, and it doesn't even look cool. The most pathetic part about the castle is that it took four years to build. The sign says, "Commenced 1807, Compleated 1811." C'mon. You can't come up with a better castle than that after four years? The Empire State Building was constructed in just over a year, and that thing is world famous. I don't understand the logistics of building a castle during the early nineteenth century, but I know they could have done better. There aren't even any towers. How do you build a castle with no towers? There was one mini lookout tower, but it looked like it was just for decoration. Bunch of crap. "Wait, this is a castle? Where's the portcullis? Oh yeah, I forgot, this castle sucks!" Try building that castle in Wales, pal. Ha! It'll be the laughing stock. That castle stinks. I should have peed on it. Then at least it would have had a moat.

So then we went to the concession stand. We got hot dogs and cheeseburgs that were wrapped in foil paper. We people-watched (great people-watching on that island, by the way). We disposed of our trash.

Then we left the "Historical District." I was excited to uncover the mystery of the gray area. As we pedaled along on the bike path, I suddenly felt as if I were in rural North Carolina, not because carports were being sold straight off the lot for $699.99. No. 'Twas because we had entered the land of the forgotten. Run down, defunct, overgrown military housing was everywhere. It looked like a long-abandoned college campus. Tons of broken down apartment buildings and housing developments occupy about 45% of the land on the island. Actually, no. They occupy less land than that, but it seems like that, because they are all that you see for half the time. There is even one part of an apartment complex that has been blackened and blown-out by fire. The informational sign says that the abandoned apartments were used to test new fire equipment. New fire equipment, indeed! We all know that something strange and scandalous happened on that island in the 1960's. We all know about the zombies, perhaps?

In all honesty, I love the fact that Governor's Island has a post-apocalyptic theme. I think it looks cool. It totally makes up for the disgrace that is Castle Williams. I don't know why they highlight Castle Williams on the map and obscure the I Am Legend part. It should be the other way around. "Oh. Yeah. Up there, in the gray, is Castle Williams. It sucks and doesn't even have a drawbridge. But, see here in this big red area that takes up 45% of the map? That, my friends, will make you feel like you're in a zombie movie."

Anywho, let me get back to the swingset. We Mad-Maxed ourselves through the wasteland on our dusty, matte black bicycles, and eventually arrived at the picnic area, which is totally sweet. They did such a nice job with the picnic area. It's impressive. Picnic tables. Comfy chairs. Hammocks. Freakin' pristine. And then, Pow! A huge swingset zone that faces the water and the Freedom Statue. We swung and laughed and our heads got dizzy and we felt nauseated, but it was fun and we did it for a while. Now, at 1:50 AM, I still feel nasty from that damn swingset session, combined with the cheeseburg. Next time I'm stretching first.

By the way, Governor's Island is shaped like an ice cream cone that's holding a melting scoop of ice cream. Good thing flight wasn't invented yet, during the war of 1812. That would have been embarrassing. You know what was invented, though? Dungeons and trap doors. Two things Castle Williams doesn't have, for some reason. That castle is stupid.

Too Much Freakin' Pizza (Stratego Rules!)

What do you get when you gobble down treats? Hmm?

Treats, indeed. I certainly have eaten too much pizza this week. I am a hateful pizza abomination. I'm surfeited with dough. Dough and sauce and cheese. Ughhh. I've had too much. Too much, altogether.

I am glad tomorrow is Friday. I will be TGIF-ing myself all over the place tomorrow night. Watch out for me, with my 9:30 PM cut-off. It's tough for me to party past 9:30 or 10:00 on Fridees. I just don't have it in me.

I haven't ridden my bike all week. It sucks. It doesn't feel good. I've been sick, though, so I guess I am stuck on the train. The train isn't so bad, but it makes me bleary-eyed and fatigued.

Stratego Club was awesome, today. I love watching my students get all excited about Stratego. This one kid, Ronald, was sitting there, playing Stratego, wearing prescription basketball spectacles (the ones that are shock proof and have a strap that goes around your head). I guess his normal glasses are broken right now. It was a hilarious sight. He's a cool kid. I pretty much think that all my Stratego players are the shit.

Squats.

Hellmaster G

Well, June has certainly been my kind of month so far. Nice and hot. Sunny. A brief rain blast. I'll take it.

I watched the spring music concert at my school, tonight. Very nice. Some kids played the shortest pieces ever on the piano. It was funny. It was like this:

"Now, we have Jon Mendez performing Larry Schnitzelman's 'Blah Blah Concierto in C Minor'":

Honky tonk, tink tonk, tinkle dee tonk, tinkle winkle smear, klonk, tonk, blonky tinkly blonk! Blonk!

Then we clapped.

There were a few short ones like that. One kid did a sweet rendition of "Paparazzi." That one was a bit longer, and I enjoyed it.

On my way to the train station tonight, I encountered those crazy, sociopathic Israelite Church of God in Jesus Christ guys who believe the white man is the devil. It was awesome. I was in the periphery of a conversation with my colleague and some students and their parents, and the head crazy guy accosted us with his minions and started ranting at my coworker. Then he cast aspersions upon me and gave me the hairy eyeball. I stared at him, simpering, and said nothing. It would have been pointless to argue. It's weird how, in his life story, I play the role of "the devil." That's flattering. I'm a dark prince. I didn't know I was that important. In my life story, I'm just some basic white dude walking around. I'll take the promotion.

Phil Collins rules.

Nantucket Diarrhea Discus

Wowzers! So many basic topics to be discussed in life. For tonight, let's discuss the discus. Did you know that the discus used to be used as a weapon, but now it is just used by high school students that go to a school that can afford to have such bizarre equipment? It's true. I was on the track team in 8th grade, when I was a full-on, skinny dweebstick. I was totally frail, yet I chose the following events to compete in: discus; shot put; long jump. Big wow. Long jump might seem reasonable to someone who doesn't know just how bony and knock-kneed my legs were, but no. I sucked at it. I was never very swift on my feet. I had big feet attached to spindly legs. In 6th grade, my friends used to yell, "Run, Will, run!" just to incite me to run, so that they could laugh at my pathetic, gangly strides. The first time I did it, I thought they thought I was cool, but then I realized they were laughing at me and how I looked like a doofmaestro. It cut my insides asunder to know that I was being gibed in such a manner. Where be your gibes, now, guys? Huh? Now look at my legs and thighs and stuff. So nice and everything. I still lack running prowess, though.

One time my sister got diarrhea in Nantucket. She went to Nantucket and received a stomach bug. I was there. It was very embarrassing for her. She was approximately twelve years old.

I remember waking up in Nantucket one night, and I was stuck in the weirdest, most frightening half-asleep nightmare state, ever. I still remember the images. I thought there were all these beach bugs in my bed, and I was tearing at the covers like a damn wildman, and I kept seeing the beach and knowing that the beach bugs were out there, teeming and clicking and digging away at the grainy shore. It was something. I always liked going on family trips to Nantucket, because I got to feel like a hip, knowledgeable mainlander. Actually, I may have only felt that way once I reached my angsty life phase. Before that phase, I sort of just liked going there and riding my bicycle while wearing fluorescent sunglasses with a croakie. The croakie had dinosaurs on it and went great with my mullet.

Chances are very high that I will be eating a TimTam tonight. I love those things. I'll have a TimTam or two. I'll take a tally of the TimTams I eat tonight and tell you tomorrow.

My girlfriend looks pretty doofy on the dumb couch right now. I want to spit a dead monkey at her, like that part in Anaconda. Good film. Good use of primitive computer graphics. I think they used an abacus to animate that snake. I wish I were the first person to make an abacus joke; then that joke would be a real zinger!

Floss tonight? 50% chance, as usual.

Poop cat turds.

Mr. Slice

I learned about the comic/actor, Joe Rogan, tonight. I was watching UFC on Spike, earlier in the day, and I was thinking, Gee, it's weird how Joe Rogan used to be a comedian, but now he is a UFC commentator. So I asked my girlfriend about Joe Rogan, and she explained that he still does stand-up, and that he fights for comedians' rights by heckling Carlos Mencia for stealing jokes from people. I had never heard about that whole scandal. So I went on YouTube and watched a video of Rogan calling out Mencia on stage at a comedy club. It was interesting. Rogan seems like a good guy, and I like how he handled the confrontation. I guess it's easy to confront people when you're all UFC'd out. I wouldn't fuck with Joe Rogan. Next thing you know, you got Kimbo Slice comin' atcha with threshing fists, giving you a mouse under your eye.

Sometimes I picture calling out sick for work and having Kimbo Slice sub for my classes. That would be sweet. Give the kids a good scare.

I killed a house centipede tonight. I don't like killing those, because I respect them, but it needed to be done. I have a duty to defend my girlfriend against all bugs, because they bring her overwhelming terror. I respect house centipedes, because they are our friends, and they eat many common pests, such as the cockroach. I also think that house centipedes have beautiful, long legs that are delicate, yet powerful. They have venom, you know. They need the venom to expunge their prey. They can live for something like eight years, I think. That's crazy. I respect them profoundly, like I do spiders. Very impressive creatures of the world. You know that part in the movie, Dune, where the guy rides on top of the worm? That would be me, on top of a house centipede, if they became giants, and if I had the spice. That would be me, feeling a bond with the centipede and riding proudly on its powerful torso, its blurry legs rippling on either side of me and carrying us along at high speeds.

The movie, Dune, is weird. I think it has Sting in it. And force fields. And a talking baby. And a fat guy that hovers.

Wax and Wane, Perhaps?

I haven't seen the moon for quite some time. It probably hasn't changed a bit.

Tonight, my girlfriend and her friend got intoxicated and showed up at my comedy open mic. They were good audience members. After we got out of there, we went to Taco Bell and ordered some tacos. They were actually really delicious. I hadn't been to Taco Bell for so long. Run for the border. Then we went into Filene's Basement so that my girlfriend's friend could use the restroom. Then we went to a pizza joint. I had a Fresca.

Sleep's coming at me pretty hard right now. I'm gonna sleep hard tonight.

Captain's Blog: Star-date 5/27/10. Uhp, I just fell asleep while writing that. I'm out.

Double-bowl of Golden Grahams

Big wow. Golden Grahams are delicious. Have you ever had a big bowl of Golden Grahams? Jesus hell, those things are toothsome. I just had a big bowl of Shredded Wheat, then I followed it with a double-bowl of Golden Grahams. Triple threat. Now I feel unwell.

Tonight, my girlfriend accused my cat of having knobby knees. She said he mounted her and poked her with his knobby knees.

I did some dishes tonight, and a lot of laundry. That's it. That's all I did. When you do laundry, your night is blown, and you might as well not try to do anything else.

I think I need to retire for the evening. I sense the Sandman.

Feed flapjacks to a bunch of jocks (before the big game).

Park Slope Sanctimoniousness

Booyeah!!!

I bombed at tonight's comedy open mic at Puppets Jazz Club, in Park Slope. Apparently, people in Park Slope are too good for poop jokes. Or crude humor, in general. That makes sense, since Park Slope is Opposite Land. You tell some vulgar jokes here in Krap Slope, and people will just love it. Actually, I believe my jokes would be unfunny to most of the people in Krap Slope, too. Blam! One great thing about tonight is that I am getting better at bombing. I can handle it better, now. That's key.

My girlfriend wants me to watch Glee with her. That show is good. I like it. But I felt inspired to sit in the study and blog. Yessss! She just tried to give me the middle finger with her toe, but she didn't have the motor skills. She wants me to watch the show and--get this--blog at the same time. What? C'mon! Not all of us have a gigantic corpus callosum that allows for multitasking. I'll just sit in here, thanks, and mono-task.

I just ate a perfectly constructed turkey sandwich, which featured cracked pepper turkey. Oh yup! I think I need another.

I rode my bike today. It was pleasurable.

Sucks I couldn't see Mike Birbiglia tonight in Brooklyn. He performed at Union Hall, but the shit was all sold out. That guy is funny as heck. "Heck" is my favorite curse word. Go to heck.

I finally finished reading Gravity's Rainbow, by Thomas Pynchon. What a nightmare. That book did not go down smooth at all. I believe I started reading it six months ago. I definitely missed the basic concept of the text. In addition, I definitely had no idea what was going on in the story 90% of the time. I plowed through it, though, like an angry yak. Grrrrrrr! I basically just read the words on the pages until the story was done, without experiencing any sort of story, whatsoever.

Bleh.

Brittany Murphy is Dead

Guess what? Brittany Murphy died. Only, it happened five months ago. I am bad with current events. I found out about it on the news tonight, while watching a news story about how her widower husband just died. Weirdness.

I am really pushing it tonight with my bedtime. Dammit! I've really just painted myself into a sleep corner, again. Now I've done it. I pounded two whole Red Stripes tonight. Red Stripe is a decent lager. I like the pudgy shape of the bottle. The shape of the bottle makes me want to bottle someone. You know? It's all little and easily concealed, like a Saturday Night Special. It's like that part in A Bronx Tale where the kid is like, "This gun makes me want to fuckin' shoot somebody," or something like that.

You know where you can buy Red Stripe? The local Pioneer supermarket! Yes, you may! It's probably virtually impossible to find it elsewhere. So just head over to Krap Slope, "Kra-Slo," to the corner of Parkside and Ocean Ave., and stop in and make the freakin' purchase. And don't even try to get it at the Park Slope Food Co-op, because they have never heard of it. That shit is so underground, you can't even begin to know what it's like to hear of it. Listen to me when I tell you how much people in Park Slope haven't heard a sound about it.

The chicken in the KFC commercial looks dry. I like the commercial, though. And the chicken, I think.

I seem to be blogging myself to sleep, here. My girlfriend is trying to fall asleep next to me, because she thinks she's cool or tired or something. What a jerkstorm. I just gave her the finger and she doesn't even know.

I never understood why Al Bundy didn't want to have sex with Peggy. She was totally a sexpot. I could never suspend my disbelief enough to buy into that part of the show.

I am yours in the bowels of Christ. Be well.