The following is a complete and unedited stream of consciousness a la Jack Kerouac, although I believe he was on benzedrine when he wrote On The Road and I just have a bad sinus infection and a roofie colada of uppers and Emergen-C and homeopathic remedies (no homo). Remember the first time I led off a blogpost with a video? No? That's because you just came to this site by googling "maury bus old navy store" (which, you are correct, is information available on this site) and you haven't read my other highly informative posts, which include the two most offensive ways to say "abortion", both of which are in American Sign Language. But now I've got another baby-related video for you that will have you re-evaluating "the miracle of childbirth."
Yeah. So, there's that. WAIT! Turn down the volume, that video is really loud! Too late? Sorry.
Next, Tyra Banks Tweets like my mom texts. My mother feels the need to sign "Love, Mom" like each text she sends me is a birthday card. SO DOES TYRA! Look:
stressed spelled backwards is desserts? THIS is why i should join twitter? kill me
Seriously, I'm just adding this to my unwritten list of reasons I do not like Tyra Banks. Of course, I know in the end that her signing tweets and being afraid of dolphins and saying all sorts of inane things on camera will never take away that she has done shows of people with strange eating habits, including the woman who uses cigarette ash as an ice cream topping and the one who eats toilet paper.
(Thank you Carlen for letting me use your the image you showed me.) Plus Tyra did a show that one time featured this hometown hottie:
talk about a woman after my heart
Of course, since I've found my way onto this the topic of bathroom reading material, AdAge recently published a story about people using cell phones in the bathroom, a practice that my brother all-too-well knows I approve of. Here's a pie chart (interesting graphical analysis) of its widespread use:
What else have I been thinking about today? Colloidal silver, an apparent natural antibiotic; beets and broccoli; olive leaf extract, grapefruit seed extract; and Afrin (which works pretty well, I must say). That's because I feel like crap. You wanted stream of consciousness, you got it. Oh, you didn't? Sorry.
Here's a photo of the winners from the pinball tournament I played in late last year.
pimps in they own rhyme
Do you like pinball? I did. At least, I did until I stood in a darkened bar in the middle of the day for the Brooklyn Pinball Championship. As testosterone perfumed the room like B.O. (actually it was mainly B.O.) I played pinball for FOUR HOURS which included about 45 minutes of actual game play and 3 hours and 15 minutes of waiting, of which 75 minutes were devoted to avoiding the guy who roid-raged when his machine tilted. I "finished" somewhere around 30th place, got a participant's medal and got the hell out of there. The true athletes were able to block out all the negative energy (and farts) and come out victorious; they are pictured above. Congrats guys, it was like being on an episode of StarWars Survivor where the only food available was a crate of beans, cabbage and Doritos Nacho Cheesier that washed ashore.
OK, I think I'm done. WAIT, no, you have to check out Max Capacity's Animated Gifs on Flickr. They are amazing. Choice cuts include Wil E. Coyote, Mike Tyson's Punchout, and White Noise (now in Technicolor)... on Flickr dey move 'n' stuff...
Without my sitemeter showing it, I think some of the Greenpoint street residents are catching onto the fact that I am not indeed lost, staring at Google Maps on my phone and wondering out loud "Where is Oak Street?" but, in fact, desperately trying to get my phone to autofocus so I can capture their soul in a photograph because I am a mean sour-turd who half-believes he can sell trading cards of homeless people and then donate that money to charity.
For example, one woman who was particularly insane yelled at me that "there are no trees in Hollywood", perhaps an allusion to the fact that I was wearing wayfarers at the time and my hair looks like a blind person styled James Dean with leftover grease from Jimmy Dean sausage.
she was once a famous southern californian arborist
Another woman must have sensed that I was paying some sort of attention to her and actually started talking to me as we waited for the light to change on the corner. Apparently she had been at the church all morning, because (and this is verbatim; I wrote it down immediately) she said:
I've been praying all morning for my leg to heal. It's no good. Might be broken. Praying not working today. I might change to Orthodox. Not Jewish. I mean Roman.
I was taken aback and struggled for the right words — and also a little weirded out how quickly she was to say she wasn't Jewish — which came out as "I hope your leg feels better" as I smiled and crossed the street. Anyway, it made me feel kind of crappy so I really want to get these things made. It's been so horrible outside and no one should have to sleep on the street. I figure 15 cards, maybe 12, will be enough for a pack. I'll probably have to sell them online with a FAQ page that looks like this:
Q: Do you have blood and/or a heart with which to pump blood?
A: Yes.
Q: How can I help (expedite your death)?
A: You can help by purchasing these cards, as all proceeds will benefit the Greenpoint homeless community.
Q: Where do you live, I want to burn your house down?
A: Please don't hurt me. I'm trying to help (in a funny way).
OK, and now for something really interesting else:
This is an amazing video from a couple of weeks ago. DO NOT BE DECEIVED! Even though this bunny is very young and cute, he has a rap sheet a mile long and is known by the street moniker "HawkEye", because of this:
oh, the things this eye has seen
My magically talented Jewish Female SoulBrotha Carlen does a great job of telling HawkEye the business, and I do a tremendous job of looking like a gay pirate and dropping in some sort of dim-witted reference to the Lionhead Breed Standard.
Also, what the hell does this mean?
We need to get lionheads recognized as a "real breed" by the American Rabbit Breeders Association, and there is discussion of Carlen and I leading the charge quite literally by driving to Ohio and whining and maybe getting a VHS camcorder and taping it.
i don't know how to act — in real or fake situations
The show is called "My Life As Liz" and is (I guess) a reality show(?) and this was undoubtedly the worst episode because it featured "real people" like me who weren't alerted that they wouldn't have a trailer, go to makeup and would have to brush their teeth/chest hair/wear a clean shirt/underwear/deodorant on their own the day of the shoot.
Surprisingly the crew and that girl Liz were very nice, sociable people. Usually production crews seem rife with incredible wastes of space possessing incomprehensible god complexes and feelings of superiority: People that were bullied enough in high school to become traffic cops but lacking the body type to pass a police physical exam. Not these guys though, they were alright.
Back to my fame/shame, I know that face I'm making: They made me turn off my music so that they could film the "dialogue" and so I had to sit in boredom and silence for about an hour. I was forced into Marlee Matlin moments. But there was some entertainment in the form of a drunk, dapper homeless Polish man who refused to get off the bench outside once he found out cameras would be rolling. This guy was hilarious, and I wish I had a photo of him. I'd still recognize him to this day and would love to make him a Homeless Trading Card, but I assume he's left Greenpoint and gone on to at least some stardom like that Ted Williams guy did before relapsing. This hobo hit on every production girl with a clipboard in drunken, slurred, but very charming Polish-English-Smirnoff dialect, a box of Hortex-brand beet juice and vodka in one hand and a plastic bag filled with various "possessions" in the other. (If you don't know, Hortex is this Polish brand of strange fruit juice combinations that are in every store in Greenpoint. Please visit the website if you are a fan of insanity, Joanna Newsom and bad MIDI rip-off instrumentation, because that is apparently what entices a bunch of blond people to mix plum-cabbage nectar and muskrat sweat with vodka.)
something creepy about the packaging
For the record, the Hortex "Leon" kids' juice boxes are pretty good; I like the one that's like banana, pineapple and orange liquid. Anywhooo, this guy was wearing a tan seersucker blazer, a fedora and had a lovely singing voice, which he showcased by stepping in front of the cameras and belting out some Polish showtune every time they started to film. And they filmed, A LOT, for a 2 minute clip. This show is less like the freeforall MTZ meme — which is feed people grain alcohol and see what happens, or, in the case of Teen Moms, see what happens after that happens — and more like a real, fake show. So it wasn't scripted, per se, but it wasn't exactly like following someone around with a camera.
Whatever. Everyone knows this already. I just wanted to tell the internet how grumpy I am, which is why I'm sitting inside in sweatpants, writing this and listening to '90s West Coast rap albums while the sun is shining outside on the nicest day in weeks. I gotztago get some vitamin D, for "DeezNutz", for sunshine, for NateDogg. R.I.P. N-A-T-E.
Some tributes:
Deez Nutz:
DJ E-Z DIK, One of my favorite songs of all time, and great hooks from NateDogg:
