Just Another Night

Saw your ad at quarter to four
And a half hour later I was at your door
Just looking for one more high
Before the sun comes up and I say goodbye

Took a cab to your projects on 135th and 5th
Climbed over the bodies and trash and filth
That filled your halls and my soul
Don't know why I'm here, feel so old

You pass me a pipe and bic
It's amazing what I'll do for my dick
Gone to those places I swore I'd never go
Drawn in by the broads, booze and blow

Anything to escape myself
Anything to forget myself
Caught up in this man-made nightmare
Determined to never be clear

And that fucking sun came up again
And I'm still here stuck in the same
And it's all bullshit, I'm just afraid
Taking the cowards way is just so lame

Swear I won't be back as I stagger to the door
Throw what's left of my bag on the floor
Staggering out into that cruel daylight
And back home, just another night.

504

I guess I passed the 500 post milestone the other week and didn't realize it. Not a whole lot to say about it. I'm glad I have this thing. It is helping me try to do more writing but I'm still a long way off. I need to really get back on it because frankly I need the distraction. I have no hobbies really or I should say the ones I do are the ones that I need to get rid of or else I'll have some real issues down the road.

Heading into a new year and I have pretty good reason to think it'll be a good one. Yes, it will be challenging and an emotional roller coaster but I think I'm headed down a road I want to go down. I hope I'm not getting ahead of myself but we'll have to see what happens.

I still have a lot of demons to confront but I've done pretty good against the big ones and sooner or later, and my hunch is sooner, I will go after the next big one.

I think I have found something. I think I have had that moment when suddenly things make sense. But at the same time, none of this comes easy to me.

I know I have to write something, finish something. I'm not sure what it is and therein lies the struggle.

Well, this is where my head is at today. I need to take a run now. Blow some of the tension out of my body.

Christmas Memories

It was Christmas eve and we were in her apartment doing lines. It was about 3 a.m. We'd been drinking and snorting for the last seven hours. Every part of us was numb except our hearts. Those were managing to squeeze out a few beats of tired blood despite of our best efforts.

Sooner or later we'd tire of our jaw clenching conversations about music, about families, about how wronged we'd been, about how misunderstood we were, about all the great things that would happen or about all the bad things that had already happened.

When we ran out of steam we'd end up in the bedroom and gradually poke and paw without really looking at each other, without really being there. We were just praying that maybe being inside each other would take away what the booze and blow couldn't. Alas, it never did.

In one of those moments of clarity I realized this was not really where I wanted to go. Maybe it was during the strains of U2's "All That You Can't Leave Behind," I really don't remember, but at one point I looked in her eyes and said, `I can't do this anymore. I need help.'

And she looked right back at me and said, `I can't help you.'

It was the most honest thing she'd ever said.

Keep Me Close

Twenty four days since I've seen you
Feels like twenty four years
So much has happened in that time
Gotten so much closer from so far away.

Am I pushing too fast
Or is the dream within my grasp
Am I saying what I mean
Or what I want you to hear

Think you know what love is going to be
Just want to get it back to you and me
Turn off the noise, shut down the lights
Let me hold you close in the dead of night

You're so near and yet just out of reach
And I'm doing my best to show you who I am
And I'll still be there when it hits the fan
Won't let you down like those who went before

Knew when I first saw you all those years ago
That you could be the one if I could step up
And I had to go to hell and back
To be that guy who's the guy for you

You weren't looking for me
But here I am and we're in it
I won't cut and run that I promise
Just don't leave me out when it hits the fan

Keep me close
Don't let me out of sight
Gotta trust that I'm here
Through the darkest night

Powerless

Just want to be there and get you through
Feel so helpless from here
I know this isn't really about you
But you're in pain which means I am too

Life isn't always fair
And sometimes people don't get their share
Of the breaks and the breath that we take for granted
As we all make our way through each day

No one seems to know what's wrong
Just because they're in a building and where gowns
Doesn't mean they have all the answers
Only means sometimes they don't ask all the questions

Wish I could chase it all away
Make all that pain just dissipate
See that smile back in your eyes
Hearing you laugh now would make me cry

Now we see what powerless is
On our knees looking for grace
So easy to get mad right now
But that's not what it's all about

We can't know where this will go
Can only do our part and hope
And no matter what happens in the end
I'll still be here holding you more

Worth All That's Gone

Still see those bruises on you
Why'd you stay there so long?
Couldn't stand to see him take you down
So I did what you couldn't
And he'll never touch you again

Think of me for the next twenty years
I wouldn't have it any other way
Just wish I had more time to hide him
But that's the way it got played
And now we'll just have to wait

Wish I could undo all he did
Take back every stitch and cut
Make you the bright shiny girl again
Instead of a scared lost waif
Looking to run from everyone

Hate what he did to you
Hate what it made me do
Stuck here staring at these walls
Shouldn't be here I know
But if I wasn't you wouldn't be out there

So I'll sit here and wait out my time
Don't need no visitors, no reminders
Just promise me when I walk out in twenty
That you'll be there with a smile and I'll know
It was worth all that's gone

Well, That's Different

Stumbled off this, uh, unique cover of one of my favorite Kink's songs. It starts out like "Heart of Glass" and then seems to turn into some sort of Eno/Roxy Music groove. It's growing on me.

Higher Power

Ignored all the warnings
Seen it a thousand times before
Yet I was blind when it showed up at my door
And now I got no more

Turned you into my higher power
Forgot what they told me not to do
And now I'm so lost in the idea of you
That I've turned back on all those rules

And it's got nothing to do with you
Wish I could lay it on your face
Easy to say some bitch knocked me off my place
Nice little lie to say she turned me back into a waste

But you've been a perfect angel
I'm the one intent on taking me down
Can't stop them voices from pushing me around
Don't know how to get myself off the ground

Convinced myself that I've got nothing now
You're out there in life and I'm here in death
Told myself that what I've built is stealth
Turned all my truth into lies and now I'm someone else

Smile

A guy I knew died the other day. He was not a good friend, but he was someone I knew and had done some work with on a regular basis. I don't know how he died. I'd seen him a few weeks ago and he seemed fine but what the hell does that mean anyway?

This is not a post asking for sympathy for the writer. As I said, I knew him but I wouldn't call us pals.

This is a post to remind all of us, mostly me, to try to smile and enjoy a little bit of each day no matter how bad things might seem or how awful we might feel. I can get my mind wrapped up in the stupidest shit in the world (see yesterday's poem) and totally miss out on how wonderful my life really is right now. I have a job. It pays me well. I don't go wanting for much. I'm in the beginning phases of a relationship that if I just let happen could be a wonderful thing. It's so easy to focus on what I don't have in life. It's so easy to be a negative, cynical jerk. It's been my go to move for years.

I've done a lot in the last few years to stop that kind of self-destructive, self-loathing attitude but it can still creep back in on occasion. And I also can sabotage myself and I really hope I don't with this relationship. It has enough challenges without my crazy mind mucking things up more.

To get back on point, if you are reading this blog you probably for the most part are doing OK. We don't get a lot of time on this planet and for we rarely get to decide when we leave. Even if life hasn't worked out quite the way you wanted, embrace what you have instead of bemoaning what you don't. I know I will try.

Rambler Out.

Screams

Mind racing in a thousand different directions
Feel like I just took a handful of speed and I want to punch walls until my hands break and bleed
Can't shut those fucking voices out of my head telling me to blow myself up

Don't know why I go there, especially when everything looks so bright and beautiful
But here I sit and I can't sit still
Here I stand and I can't stand still

I have no reason to feel this way and yet here I am. A loser. A fuck-up. A hater.

Want to slash my face until I'm scarred and bleeding. Want to rip my nuts off and throw them on the floor

I don't know how...

Air Disco

Rambler headed out west for the weekend and tried out Virgin. The price is cheaper than Jet Blue and they fly into LAX vs. Burbank or John Wayne down in Orange County. For Rambler's money, LAX is one of the easiest airports to navigate in and to get to from Los Angeles.

Anyway, upon walking into the cabin you feel like you are in a disco. The crew is dressed in all back and there's electronica/dance music playing and the whole place has this pink glow to it. You almost want to find a stall, whip out your straw and have some fun.

Like Jet Blue, Virgin has televisions in every seat. You can also buy movies for seven dollars a pop or watch cable for free. There is also a pretty decent music selection. I kept listening to Bizarre Love Triangle because a) it seemed to fit the flight and b) it most definitely fit my rare ecstatic mood.

They have food but unlike other airlines, you decide when you want to eat. Just order something off the screen at anytime during the flight and they'll bring it to you. You pay, of course but I've been giving this some thought and I'm not so sure that's such a big deal to me anymore. Hell, Amtrak never gave away food, why should the airlines?

The seats are quite comfortable. Even the middle seat didn't look so bad. And the pretape with safety displays was animated and very clever vs. the same tired staid tapes we hear on every other airline. I know, safety is not meant to be fun but this tape managed to be cute and funny without taking away from the importance of the message.

Overhead storage space seems better on Virgin then other airlines. However, they don't have a coat rack at the front of the plane, which kind of sucks. Truthfully though, that's about the only major flaw I found.

I know this is more of a Consumer Reports than a typical Rambler post but hell someone has a nice product out there so why not hype it.

Keep The Light On

Won't you keep the light on for me?
I'll be back in your arms soon
Leave that door open won't you please
I'm bruised, battered and bleeding

Need to see those green eyes
Feel your touch on my soul
Won't you keep the light on for me
And I'll bring you all you need

Hate that you're so far away
Both in mind and body
I'm crawling on my knees to get to you
Please baby, let me stay

Just hold me tight and let me heal
Feel your soft lips on my wounds
Let your blood warm me up
Won't you keep the light on for me?

I won't go again
I'm done fighting myself
So take me in I'm pleading
And leave the light on for me.

Here I Am

Haven't been posting as much lately. Partly because I don't have a hell of a lot to say at the moment and partly because I've been again working on a story only this one is in a notebook instead of being trotted out here where it dies an early death from lack of attention.

For once I want to try to finish something I start. And I think by writing longhand in a notebook, I stand a better chance of getting something done. I need to stop worrying about where it goes and just try to get there. I am a blow up the bridge before I cross it kind of guy and that means I think of ten reasons not to do something instead of just pushing myself.

With the writing that means I let the voices tell me this won't go anywhere or that I'm boxed in a corner or that I'm bored now but I'll come back later. Basically anything to stop from actually sitting down for say thirty minutes a day and just letting the shit come out.

And it's not like I'm trying to write the great American novel or something. Just some tawdry pulp. I just want to finish something and hopefully I'll get there.

As for not putting a lot out here right now, I want to get back on that stick too. It's too easy to say I'll take a day or two off from this. Before I know it, five days have past and it becomes all the harder to cut myself and bleed a little.

It's not that I don't know who reads what or who thinks what of what I write. Not to be all Ivan Drago here, but I do this for me. I hope some people like what I do or am trying to do. I hope that some identify with my shit and I LOVE when people post comments, even if its only to tell me my poetry is morose.

I'm trying to battle a few more demons these days. No, the old ones have not returned. But there are others that need to be dealt with as well or else they'll torpedo whatever it is I want for myself, both personally and professionally.

So that's where I'm at right now. And now that I've started this, I think I'll crank out one of those morose poems.

Fun Facts

In my sophomore year of high school I:

Cut geometry 15 times. Grade A-
Cut spanish 24 times. Grade C*
Cut biology 13 times. Grade C
Cut history 14 times. Grade B

In my junior year of high school I:

Cut spanish 14 times. Grade C
Cut drafting 14 times. Grade B
Cut history 3 times. Grade A
Didn't cut physics or english at all, those were the classes with the cutest girls, got an A+ and B, respectively.

*No wonder Mr. Martinez called me a `functional illiterate.'

Teen Angst Circa 1983

Rambler went home for the holidays and discovered this in a box of junk. It was written during freshman year at NYU. Enjoy.

October 23, 1983

As I sit in my room, I realize something. It's over. 18 years. A lifetime. Fun, memories, disappointments. Stuff that should last forever has ended. they say, now `you'll live.' I'd like to say that if this is living I'd rather be dead. No longer am i living for myself but for a system. A system to get a job, settle down and in thirty years ask if it was worth it.

Time flew in high school and all that came before it. It flew because it was freedom. It was fun. It symbolized the joy of living. Time flies here. It flies for different reasons though. Here is just a wait station for reality. reality being working for nothing and seeing that what one does doesn't change a hell of a lot in a world like this.

I'm not ready to let go of the past. Maybe in time I will be, but I'm not now. Especially when I'm letting go all alone here. From the looks of other people, I must be the only one who had a fun past. Or is it that I took it all too seriously? I guess it had to end. Now instead of constant joy, I, like the rest of the world, must find it in little spurts.

She

She makes me forget why I'm mad
She makes me remember who I am
She lifts me to places I've never been
She reminds me of a time when I believed in when

She makes me the man I want to be
She shows me what I could never see
She tells me I say what's right
She brings me closer to the light

Didn't think I'd get to that place
Where I didn't need the rage
To get myself through another day
Now I can just let myself go in your sway

Explaining Myself, Not Very Well

Xmastime wanted to know if I was glad that the city seems to be taking a slight downturn. While I responded to his comments regarding "Everything is just a little askew," I thought I'd take a whack at explaining myself here.

Of course I don't want a return of high crime, unsafe streets, dirty subway stations, homeless everywhere, men crapping on the streets (oh wait, that was me), etc.

But I also don't want more hideous hi-rises. I don't want Harlem to vanish into a sea of gentrification and corprification (that's my own word). I don't want a Duane Reade on every corner (I know, too late). I'm disgusted that Williamsburg and Green Point look more like Tel-Aviv these days with those awful glass buildings everywhere. I'm not against construction, but does every building that goes up have to be in direct contrast to what's already in the neighborhood? Does every architect think he's the new Howard Roark? Peter Keating is more like it.

So does this mean I'm against progress? I'm not sure how we define progress. If a city losing its character and color is progress, then yeah, I'm against it. I'm against turning Willets Point into a strip mall. I was against the westside stadium.

Am I one of those hypocrites who bemoans gentrification after they've gentrified? Probably. After college I made a beeline for Alphabet City and lived on 5th Street and Avenue B. This was 1986. Tompkins Square was full of tents, etc. I loved it. Not the apartment. That was an overpriced room ($520 a month, which was a lot back then)with a floor that you could skateboard on.

Now I look at the East Village and I literally do not recognize it. I dare say my Manhattan Valley hood (not the UES Xmastime, come on!) has more cred. But I played a part in all that by moving there when I did.

I want to see Danny Hoch's one man show on gentrification even though obviously some of that shit applies to me. That said, I won't be buying in Washington Heights or Hamilton Heights.

So what? Is no one supposed to move to New York? That makes no sense. Of course, it doesn't. What's changed is who moves to New York and why. New York used to be a creative and cultural hub as well as the financial center of the world. Now, more often than not, the ones who can come here and stay here are in it for the money. The rest can't make it here anymore.

I don't know where the hell this post is going. I'm sure my views have only become more muddled and I've set myself up for a verbal beat down.

But I'll still smile the empty apartments and retail space inside the two twin monsters on Broadway and 100th everyday on my way to work until the inevitable Whole Foods arrives.

And yes, I'm a hypocrite. I'm saying it now so in a few years when I buy some one bedroom in Hamilton Heights I've covered my tracks here.

But I sure will feel guilty about it.

Everything Is Just A Little Askew

Can't help but notice a little more grit on the streets. There's a return of graffiti at subway stations if not inside the trains. I'm seeing more homeless and more beggars and they are getting more brazen.

And I don't mind. Dare I say, I feel an edge creeping back in as the economy hits the skids. I know, way too soon to declare an era over, but I'll settle for at least a hiatus.

Career Choices

Not sure if I should hitch my wagon to you
Just don't know if that's the best move
You say all the right things
Paint a picture of a beautiful dream

But how do I know that once I get in the door
You won't keep shouting more, more, more
Lots of promises about freedom of thought
Want to believe it will be more than beat the clock

Lord knows you don't get anywhere standing still
That don't mean you grab every dirty bottle and take a swill
Thinking that will be the sip that makes me rich
But in the end I end up being your bitch

So maybe I toss away the chance at cash
Sit on the sidelines...finish last
I walk away from your prize
Because my gut says you're full of lies

Leave me hanging on the street
Just another stripped down piece of meat
Bet the house on your game
Taken again by another dame

I'm Ready For Football And That's All

Bad enough watching the Redskins choke their way through another big game. More annoying was NBC's halftime show which included a segment featuring Meredith Vierra babbling about the environment as part of NBC Universal's "Green Initiative."

You know what, when I'm watching football, that's what I want to watch. I don't want news on global warming at halftime. I want highlights of the games I missed earlier.

I also don't want to hear the latest Bruce song played over NFL highlights. Readers here know how I feel about Bruce's decision to play the Super Bowl so I won't reiterate it again here. But to not even have a live performance or a music video, just three minutes of Bruce over NFL highlights...pathetic. Must have been a hell of a negotiation between Jon Landau, NBC and the NFL.

Just show me the game and talk about the game. Is that asking too much?

Big D

So you're 52
Man that makes me feel old
I wish you could find that happy
Picture you alone at night up in Washington Heights
And it's just like when you were thirteen
Hanging in that attic all by yourself

I know you think you've got that inner peace thing going
But that beautiful rage is there waiting to explode
And all the meditation and all the circles
Can't lift that anger that is so deep within
Spend your days helping others who can't help themselves
And come home at night and no one's there to help you

I put too much on you back in the day
Made you play my dad when you didn't have one either
You were my protector and you were my light
And I was too little to see that wasn't right
When you took off on us all those years ago
A part of me died, just died

It wasn't fair and it wasn't right
But when you're little you don't know better
Thought you betrayed me, thought I wasn't worth it
You weren't running from me, you were running from you
Too much weight for any boy to carry
And now all these years later it seems you're still lost

Don't want that for you but I don't have a clue
How to get you where you deserve to be
Been 52 long years of desperation
Not much worth eating cake about
But man I love you and even if you never save yourself
You fucking saved me and I thank you

Tenure

The D.C. public school chancellor, Michelle Rhee, wants to do away with tenure. Big article on her in today's New York Times. Tenure is like rent control. If you've got it you love it and if you don't it must be abolished.

I have mixed views on tenure. As a product of said D.C. public school system I can tell you I had some dumb teachers who didn't deserve a desk and a chair. I barely did myself, but then I wasn't being paid to be there. There was my biology teacher who literally could not speak English. I had a math teacher who more often than not was feeling no pain during class. I had a gym teacher who weighed 300 pounds. You get the idea.

And all were no doubt protected by tenure. There were some good teachers too. Wait. Yeah, there might have been a few. Of course a lot of us students were no prize either.

Anyway, I digress. Rhee basically wants to give teachers who surrender their tenure big raises (for a year and then they basically have to reapply for their job) or at least lose certain privileges that go with tenure. Naturally she's run into a stone wall with the teacher's union.

I get why someone who devotes their life to education wants certain protections. I also get that we now live in a world where fewer and fewer people have or make that commitment. Rhee got into education by doing Teach for America for two years. Hey that's a great program and noble and I wish I had the balls to quit and give it a shot.

But I'm not sure if using that sort of approach is the long-term model. Randi Weingarten, head of the NY UFT, said in the Times of Rhee, `Michelle does not view teaching as a career...she sees it as temporary, something a lot of newbies will work very hard at for a couple of years, and then if they leave, they leave, as opposed to professionals who get more seasoned.'

She has a point (and believe me, it pains me to say that).

There has to be some sort of middle ground. There is no arbitrary one size fits all solution and yet more often that not this what we go for in this country. Take three strikes you're out. That sounds great on paper, but in reality it treats every felony the same and overloads and already pressed penal system. Don't even get me started on the drug laws.

Automatic tenure is something that needs to be reexamined. Too many bad teachers are hanging in there and while having no bad teachers won't suddenly fix all the wrongs of the D.C. school system, it'd be a nice start.

But be careful that the cure isn't worse than the disease.

Bloggers And Facebookers Need Not Apply

In a sign of the times, not only does Obama want the standard deep background info on potential applicants, he also wants to check out Facebook pages and wants to know what name you've used to post comments on various sites. Oh, and have you ever sent any email that might embarrasses the president-elect? Lets see, even if we are using Kwame Kilpatrick text messages as the barometer I'm pretty much fucked.

I'm not ranting about this because, well, they're right. But it will be interesting to see how this plays out, especially since I'm guessing that many of his third-tier and fourth-tier staffers will be of the Facebook generation (is that a term yet? if it isn't please lets not start using it).

Which is worse, having an uncle who worked at Freddie Mac or a wife who lobbies for investment banks or posting "nice tits" next to a friend's Facebook beach photo? We live in a world with little privacy left and yet rather than hold on to what we've got, many of us (sigh, me included) have decided to go the other way and put it all out there for the world to see. We think only our 500 "friends" see it, but there anyone who believes that may want to head downtown and inquire about the sale of that bridge to Brooklyn. Yeah, I'm showing my age with that one.

The kids in high school and college now may be the ones in for some hard lessons about their "openness" down the road. On the other hand, maybe not. Maybe in our post-whatever world, none of this will ultimately matter and life will one big Ally McBeal episode (I cite that show because of the coed bathrooms and to remind everyone yet again of my dated references)

As for me, hell whatever I do next in life hopefully won't be impacted by anything I've scribbled here. I think if I have a kid though, I'm keeping him off the grid as much as possible.

Realignment

The NFL's move to split into for divisions per conference definitely took care of some of the geographical silliness such as Arizona in the East and Tampa in the central. But there is one that still bugs me. I want Baltimore back in the east. I propose swapping the Bills and Ravens. Think about it. The Bills would do battle with the Steelers, Bengals and Browns. Four old school blue collar industrial (well once industrial anyway) cities doing battle. The Ravens become the old Colts (instead of the old Browns) and all those rivalries of the past return.

Yeah, I know the Bills won't want to let go of those AFC East rivalries, but I'll bet the travel costs go down. Same for the Ravens.

I'll put this in a memo and get it to Roger Goodell.

While We're On The Subject Of Rescues

How about a bailout of the Oakland Raiders? This is sadder than anything that's happening on Wall Street. Al Davis must go. Commitment to Excellence? More like time for him to be committed.

I know, what does a Redskin fan care about the Raiders? Well as a fan of the game, it's just bad to see the Silver and Black suffer. It hurts.

Motor City

Rambler doesn't usually weigh into politics much. Enough others making too much noise on that front. But I will say after some soul searching that Congress should help out Detroit. If we can bail out a slew of firms whose basic contribution, to paraphrase from Wall Street, is to live off the buying and selling of others, then we need to rescue GM, which actually creates.

A Forbes columnist hit it on the head:

"The U.S. is lending $120 billion to an insurance company. There's $700 billion set aside for banks and others whose leaders enriched themselves while ruining their companies and the U.S. economy.

The leaders of GM have made their mistakes--plenty of them--but they didn't enrich themselves beyond decency as those other executives did. Today's economic problems, brought on by subprime mortgages, credit default swaps, a credit freeze and a stock market collapse, were caused by those other folks.

The U.S. needs to decide if it wants a domestically controlled auto industry. We won't run out of cars. Toyota, Honda, Mercedes and BMW will make sure of that. But the auto industry created American society as it's known today. If this industry can't survive, what can?

We might ask ourselves if Japan would allow Toyota to go down in these circumstances or if Germany would let Volkswagen fail. The U.S. should also ask whether those companies will build the tanks and trucks that it might need someday.

A collapse of GM would bring a huge job loss, close to 100,000 people on its own payroll, plus hundreds of thousands of others in dealerships and supplier industries. The U.S. would pay a price for this in unemployment insurance, medical costs, the squeeze on schools because of tax losses and all the things that go with such devastation.

Maybe an American driving his Mercedes to work is thinking: `What has GM done for me lately? We're not a manufacturing economy anymore. We're technology, service, finance. Let those autoworkers, who make too much money anyway, get jobs at Wal-Mart.' But when GM gets killed, it's bad for business everywhere, and something needs to be done about it."

OK, so he lifted that last sentence from The Maltese Falcon. Dude still knows what he's talking about.

Saved Again

Driving down the ten, heading out to the sea
Sun in front of me, you behind me
If I turn the radio on loud enough
Will it make your voice go away

Want to out run you on the PCH
But everywhere I turn your there
Thought maybe this time I'd escape
But you always do me one better

Spun out and raced back towards La Brea
Maybe I can give you the slip on Stocker
Got caught up in some 18th Street shit
And now I've got more than you to answer to

I'm trying to save you the pain
Can't you take that life preserver
And get away from this sinking ship
This drowing man will take you down too

Get over thinking you're a rescuer
Sometimes you've got to let them burn up
Thought I'd lost you on Crenshaw but you're still there
And now my past is on your ass too.

Gave them the split at La Tijera behind the KFC
But you weren't so fast and you took the bullet for me
Isn't that the way it always goes
Saved by you again

Tears Won't Tell

She beat her baby to an inch of her life
What makes hate that strong?
That kid's brain is gone
And the cops don't even blink twice

A thirteen year old girl buried up to her neck in the dirt
While a gang hurls rocks at her head
Another hundred stand by to cheer her death
Her crime? Being raped by three men on her way to work

Another day
More gone
No say
No song
Blood pouring
Free from their hell
No one's mourning
Tears won't tell
Did nothing wrong
Another day

I Am Not Surprised

I am not shocked nor surprised that Obama won. I have often thought our country was a lot further along on race than the media, Hollywood or the extreme left was willing to admit.

Those that are expressing utter amazement at what happened tonight are usually the very same ready to always assume the worst of their country. Look how far this country has come in just forty years. In fact, a large chunk of Obama's support comes from a generation that has no actual experience of where this country was just a short while ago. To them it is history. To them the idea that color would influence how they would vote is absurd.

Now am I saying that the whole country has moved past race? Of course not. But obviously the majority has. Could a different black candidate with a different background have won? I don't know. All I know is this candidate won because a majority of the people thought he could do the better job, hopefully regardless of his color or how the rest of the world will now look at us.

This election did not show how far we've come. It shows how far we came. We were already there. And I am not surprised.

The Latest Belichick Bullshit

This is slightly more moronic than the freeze the kicker crap. Let's call it the twelfth man sting and keep an eye on it because I think it is going to happen more and more as these coaches continue to outsmart themselves.

I believe this actually inadvertently started with Joe Gibbs last season when he had the team in the hurry up offense and they turned the ball over. An eagle-eyed assistance caught the Vikings with 12 men on the field and the play was reversed and the Skins held onto the ball. It was a total fluke.

In last night's Pats-Colts game the same thing happened. The Patriots were in hurry up and snapped the ball quick and then challenged that the Colts had too many men on the field. In this case though, there was no turnover and I am 99% sure that Belichick intended all along to try to catch the Colts in this situation. It backfired on him when the refs ruled the Colts twelfth guy got off the field and the move cost the Pats a crucial time out.

As usual, none of the announcers picked up on what Belichick was up to but it seemed clear to me. And to me it's bullshit football. Win on the field. Cut the crap and play like a man.

Watch You Watch Paint Dry

I'd watch you watch paint dry
Listen to you read a book
Hear you whisper in my ear and tell me lies
Wherever you go is where I'll look

I'll follow you down a library aisle
Let you run your car into mine
Anything to hold your eyes for awhile
You're the one too good for my line

I'd watch you watch paint dry
Listen to you eat marshmellows
Sit by your window just to hear your sigh
And know I can do better than all your other fellows

Bought this new jacket for you to see
Shined my shoes for when I walk down your street
Got my hair cut right and I'm ready to be
The one those other guys of yours can't beat

My car is all cleaned and waxed
I got goodies for you in the glove box
Sprayed myself with a ton of Axe
You want to be the chain or the lock?

I'd watch you watch paint dry
Listen to you make a confession
Hear you tell them lies
And be my new obsession

Status Update

So it's been awhile since I've actually provided some sort of an update on Rambler. Not really writing much. Yeah sure, there's the poems/lyrics but no one is knocking with any music for them. Not that I make any effort to try to get published. As far as the fiction/noir, that well has been dry for awhile.

Work is still kind of sucky but considering how many people I know who are worried about their jobs and how many others who aren't working, I am trying to just be grateful for my gig. We too will be feeling the pinch and hopefully if I do leave it'll be on my terms. My not so new boss, who I've known for a long time, has no attention span. He can't even get halfway through a joke without forgetting what he is saying. It does not instill the staff with a lot of faith. He is all about the schmooze. Nothing wrong with that, but if you can't close a deal it really doesn't matter how gregarious you are. Hell, he can't even close the door to the restroom, much less a contract. More responsibility that front falls to me but I'm not a salesman. I could be, but I also don't want to be one. I have trouble with the whole lying thing.

I'm still putting together decent events but getting asses in the seat is getting harder. You'd think with all these people out of work and looking to network we'd be booming. Truth is, we skew old.

Anyway, bottom line is I have a job and should shut the fuck up.

With regards to women, there are some faint rumblings but nothing to get too excited about and as usual I always do things the hard way. The plus side is I finally kissed someone I've been wanting to kiss for about five years. Of course she lives across the country. Fortunately, I'm headed across the country soon so we'll see if there is a quick fling or something greater in the works or nothing at all. Whatever happens is what's supposed to happen.

That's my update. Not much. Maybe I'll just stick to telling it in verse.

Cut Me

Figure it'd be different this time
Figure I got it all thought out
But I'm just as lost as I was before
And now you've walked out the door

You said I held back
And here I was thinking I gave all
Don't know what more I could've done
And when you gave me that look it stung

So I'm back to the start
Another piece of me gone
And the window's shut tight
Can't admit you were right

Back to my books,
Back to my words
Back to my darkness
Can't admit you were right

Waiting here for the next show
Hoping this one will play out
But you're still etched in my brain
And I'm still tasting your rain

So I'm back in my corner
Trying to get up again
Cut me so I can see
Cut me so I can breathe

Am I The Only One?

Tired of Seth Rogen playing unlikely lead characters? Enough already. In fact, Rambler needs a break from the whole Judd Apatow crew for awhile.

Doug Williams, Jay Schroeder, And Me

Many of us come to a point in our lives where we are forced to confront what we try to keep buried deep inside. For me, it was the fall of 1987 and the quarterback controversy between Jay Schroeder and Doug Williams.

First some background. Schroeder took over as Redskins quarterback in most dramatic fashion. Joe Theismann's career ended on November 18, 1985 when a flea-flicker went horribly awry and Theismann's leg was broken while being sacked by Lawrence Taylor. It was a Monday night game and I was watching it in my dorm room with my best friend. As Theismann was wheeled off the field I figured we were fucked. Our back up was a second stringer from UCLA who had dabbled in baseball until settling on football. He had done a little mop up duty in the first game but that was it.

All that changed in Schroeder's second play when he hit Art Monk for a 44 yard gain, the exact kind of play that Theismann just wasn't able to pull off anymore. Schroeder led the Skins to an emotionally charged win that night and the team finished the season strong. The next season, the starting position his, Schroeder delivered a 12-4 season and a playoff run that ended in on a dark and bitter cold night at the Meadowlands where Taylor & Co. knocked him silly for four quarters.

Still, the future seemed bright and I was a huge Schroeder fan. He had a cannon for an arm. He was great at the fourth quarter comeback. The next season though he went down early in the first game and Doug Williams, the former Tampa Bay QB came in and led the Skins to a victory against the Eagles. The next week Williams played well but the Skins lost by a point due to an inept special team. After that the NFL went on strike and by the time the strike ended Schroeder was healthy and resumed the starting QB position.

But Schroeder was erratic when he returned. He struggled against the Jets, was great against the Bills and then awful against the Eagles. A week later when he was again performing poorly against the Lions Coach Gibbs had seen enough and pulled him. Williams came in and led the team to victory. The next week Williams again started, played well against the Rams and only two rare end zone drops by Art Monk cost him the win. In the week that followed, Williams back was hurt and Schroeder got the call against the hated Giants on a rainy Sunday at RFK. The Skins were trailing 16-0 and 19-3 when Schroeder caught fire and threw three second half TDs (how do I remember this stuff?) and the Skins won 23-19.

Williams was healthy enough to start the next game but Gibbs said he was going with the hot hand and stuck with Schroeder. Williams was devastated and much of Washington was divided over the decision. Washington Post columnist Juan Williams wrote that Williams was "getting jobbed" and raised the race issue. He pointed out that statistically Williams had clearly out-performed Schroeder even if the Skins had lost the two games Williams had started.

I wanted to Schroeder to keep his job. And I was afraid to admit to myself the reason why I felt that way. It had to be because the younger Schroeder had the brighter future vs. the journeyman Williams. Sure Jay had been a little shaky this season, but when the Skins needed a big win he delivered. That had to be my reasoning for supporting number 10 vs. number 17. After all, I was born in Detroit, lived in black neighborhoods for much of my life and was a product of the D.C. public school systems. The cliche "some of my best friends are black" was true in my case. Race couldn't have anything to do with it.

Or did it? After all, as a kid I spent endless afternoons pretending to be the QB of the Redskins and this QB sure didn't look like me. How could I pretend to be him?

Schroeder held on to his job and the controversy faded as he lead the the Skins to three wins in their next five games and they clinched a playoff berth. Heading into the last game at Minnesota though the Skins needed a win to keep their faint hopes of being able to host a playoff game alive.

Once again Schroeder was off. He threw two picks and was flat in a crucial game. It was at that moment I realized I no longer cared what the quarterback of the Redskins looked like as long as he could win and when Gibbs made the move to Williams again I cheered. I knew it was time to let go. Doug led the team to victory and then engineered the big upset in Chicago which led to the rematch with the Vikings at RFK in the NFC championship game.

Williams struggled mightily in that game but not once did I scream at the TV for Schroeder to replace him. I did scream at Williams to get his shit together and eventually he delivered, hitting Gary Clark with a bullet to put the Skins ahead in the fourth quarter and Darrell Green sealed the victory with his hit on Darin Nelson at the goal line.

In the Super Bowl, the Skins struggled early and Williams went out briefly with a twisted knee. Schroeder came in sacked and threw an incomplete pass and the Skins punted. The next time the Skins got the ball back Williams was back and on first down he hit Ricky Sanders with an 80 yard bomb and the blowout was on. It was appropriate that once again Williams shined best when he replaced Schroeder.

Schroeder was gone by next season and Williams never quite recaptured the magic of that fall but it didn't matter. He had left an indelible mark on the Redskins, the NFL and my own concept of what a quarterback is supposed to be.

Rambler's Rules

You've had a good night if when you get home and have no desire or need to rub one out.

For One Perfect Night

For one perfect night
One where there are no regrets
One where I'm desiring more
One where I'm at peace with less

For one perfect night
That didn't want to end
That reminded me why we're here
That showed me hope

For one perfect night
If it fades into oblivion
If it turns out to be a trick
If it was nothing it was worth it

For one perfect night
Showed me I can still feel
Showed me I can still give
Showed me I can still be

For one perfect night
And if tomorrow I'm back in hell
And if tomorrow I'm empty again
And if tomorrow the clouds return

It won't matter at all
Because for one perfect night
I knew the hunt was still on
The chase was still in me
That I was worth it
I could feel
I could be felt
I could breathe
That all that went before
Was just a prelude
For one perfect night

Things They Should Never Run Out Of At Starbucks

Spoons. Whole milk. Sugar. Especially the latter. How the hell do you run out of sugar? I know I'm an oddity. I use real sugar. I also tend to favor whole milk. Just call me throwback dude.

Oh, and toilet paper. Those napkins don't cut it

Got Me Again

I couldn't do it today
I tried to get up
Tried to go running
My body said no way

I climbed back in bed and shut the shades
I pulled a sheet over my eyes
And prayed for the voices to go away
It wasn't enough to stop the raids

They came from every angle, every side
Screaming and seething
Unrelenting and unforgiving
Won't they just leave me to die?

Can't stay here
Can't go there
These voices they don't stop
Can't lose these fears

Pushed myself out of bed
Raised the window
Walked on the ledge
What was it they said?

Will this make it stop?
Leave me at last
Only one way to find out
Got to make that drop

They got me again

My Six-String Razor

I should be (back) in Hollywood. Just last week I said to a friend that Life on Mars should use "All the way from Memphis" and lo and behold it's the first song in tonight' episode. If that's not scary enough, Ian Hunter is nearly 70. Next week I want The Faces' "Bad `n' Ruin."

That Looks Like Gub

Rambler's always had sloppy handwriting. It has been my curse. Even my print is messy. I'm sure there are plenty of deep-seeded psychological reasons for this but I don't have the time or the cash to figure that out.

But I will share how my bad handwriting has put me in a bind. My middle name is spelled differently on every piece of identification I have and that is a nightmare waiting to happen. I don't know how it started. At some point someone misread a `K' for an `H' and the trouble started. Later an `M' became an `N' or vice versa and now it's just a mess. Truth is, sometimes I wasn't sure how to spell my middle name. It's a grandmother's maiden name or something (thanks a lot, mom). I wouldn't notice the error until well after the fact and would just sigh and mutter `fuck it.'

None of this used to matter much but nowadays the last thing I need is to be bent over a table at security at JFK getting an anal probe because my middle name is spelled differently on two pieces of ID. Of course, if it's a hot chick doing the probing...

I also need to get a New York license. I don't want to do it and have twice tried to and then gotten pissed off and left the NYC DMV. I resent that New York illegally requires a Social Security Card in order to apply for a license thereby violating the rule that an SSN card and number is NEVER to be used as a form of ID.

But my CA license expires next year and while I could do what I've done in the past and just go out there and renew it, I've decided it's time to surrender. Now though I need to get my middle name situation fixed. I'll start with Social Security. They fucked up my new card a few years ago. Now in order for them to change it they need to see a picture ID with the name spelled right. I don't have one. Now I just got off the phone with SSN and they actually have the 1969 application with my middle name spelled right. Guess what? Doesn't matter. I'll get to make a trip over there and plead my case soon. I do have a copy of my birth certificate with my middle name spelled right.

Once I get the SSN taken care of, I'll go after the passport. From there the rest should be easy. I hope. Or I'll just renew with CA again.

As much as I want to bitch at SSN or all the other places, the truth is this is my fault. And it sucks to have to go around cleaning up my own messes.

Otherwise, this can happen.

Big Nothing

Thinking about that time when I mattered
Wondering if you think about those days too
Remembering when the day was something to live
Rather than just one more thing to finish
Now each day bleeds into the other
Nothing to remember, nothing to cherish

Just sitting in the big nothing
Waiting for the sun to fade again
Just sitting in the big nothing
Wondering when I'll reach the end

So yesterday I thought about going down
Take that 10:01 train and get out
Find you in your little world
And shatter that fucker wide open
Don't think I'm that angry anymore
But sometimes that bitch just shows up
And I get afraid that I'll take this whole place apart

Just sitting in the big nothing
Waiting for that road to lead me out
Just sitting in the big nothing
And don't it make you want to shout

If I could take my pain away
And maybe your pulse too
That might be my redemption
Or just another false promise in the big nothing
Not getting out of here today
Still got my dues to pay

Just dying in the big nothing
Ain't no reverse in that hearse
Just dying in the big nothing
And you know, things could be worse

Indian Summer

What do you think when you catch me trying to catch your eye?
Will you look at me and say `yeah, let's go for a ride.'
Or just glance past to the guy down the street ten years my junior?
And who's reflexes caught you sooner

Am I that one you want me to be?
Or just another you pretend not to see?
Do I have a chance to get into your head?
Or am I headed towards another night alone in my bed?

The Indian summer brings them all out
Keeps me glued to that corner watching their route
One last day for backless dresses and strappy sandals
One last night for no regrets and a throwaway scandal

Sat on that stoop from dawn to dusk
Watching my mood turn from love to lust
Spread what's left of my hair across my top
Flex my arms as if that'll make you stop

Blow two hours running and lifting in the gym every day
Not that it'll keep grim reality away
Got rid of the beer, the smokes and the wine
Like somehow that'll turn back time

Someone said this getting old isn't for cowards no sir
And I'm the living proof, that's for sure
Just about at the halfway point, maybe a little more
Is the fun part of this ride really over?

I got one more Indian Summer to sit and stare
Another weekend to be stuck in my lair
In my head we dance down the street
In my heart you make me believe

Not going to go away just yet
This heart's got one more big get
Get my self off this corner for just one day
And chase you down and make you stay

Life On Mars

Time for Rambler to play TV critic. I tuned into Life on Mars last night on ABC. The premise is that a New York cop in 2008 gets run over while searching for his missing cop girlfriend (played by a still hot Lisa Bonet) and wakes up in 1973 New York.

Of course I was going to be into this show, especially since it cast includes Harvey Keitel and Michael Imperioli. I'll touch on the plot a little but for now I'll focus on the show's look and feel since that is obviously its big selling point.

Even though they filmed a lot of it in New York, it still looked as if it was done on a backlot. Actually, it looked more like it was shot on the set of Sesame Street (see below). Because this city has changed so much in the last 35 years, most shots had to be very tight otherwise one would probably see a Starbucks logo or Duane Reade in the background. That's not the producer's fault but it did take away from the gritty look they were trying to convey.

Imperioli's character looked like a guy dressing up for a 70s costume party. Keitel, however, didn't pull it off. Honestly, he's too old for the role. He sort of resembles Mick Jagger these days and not in a good way. Neither his hair or clothes seemed right for the era.

Now what would've been funny is if the main protagonist actually comments on a Starbucks-free New York City or one where there aren't banks every 50 feet and the banks that do exist are Manufacturers Hanover vs HSBC and Chase. Maybe he can step in dogshit and be all `what the fuck???' It'd be more amusing than hearing jokes about Diet Coke that were played out in Back to the Future.

With regards to the plot, well the old bump on the head sent back in time thing seems a little tired and we're not really clear why he's there and if he is there to stop something he could do it easily enough by killing the little boy who later grows up to be the serial killer he's chasing in 2008. Oops. Well if you read this far you probably already watched the pilot anyway.

Me, I'd just bet people on the Mets battling their way out of last place to make to the series and make a killing.

Excellent!!!

In the spirit of the season, enjoy.

Tell The Teacher Moses Didn't Wear A Suit!

I was talking with my brother about his experiences with Hebrew school and our father and he told me this good one. My Dad was notoriously cheap and did not want to shell out the cash to buy my brothers sports coats or suits and ties to wear to temple. It was required and my brother says an instructor would often pull he and my other brother aside suggesting it would be more respectful if they wore suits to synagogue.

Not wanting to bring this to my father, who had an explosive temper in those days, my brothers dodged the issue. But it was stressing them out and one day my brother brought it up with my father who screamed, "tell the Hebrew school teacher that Moses didn't wear a suit."

You can't make this shit up.

Taming Of The Jew

I'll be at work Thursday. Just like I was last Tuesday and Wednesday. The charade is over for me. I have always struggled over whether to work on the "High Holy" days. Growing up, I went to Hebrew school three times a week so if I took those days off from regular school it was no big deal although more often than not I opted to show up.

Although I was raised Jewish, I never have felt embraced nor have I embraced the faith. This probably comes from a lackluster (that's an understatement) effort by my father to instill a love of the religion in me. My Dad didn't lead by example. He never went to temple but we had to go to Hebrew school. That breeds resentment.

My mom isn't Jewish. We were all converted. We are, my brother says, Sammy Davis Jews. At Hebrew school, I felt different from the other kids and also felt I was treated differently by the teachers who knew that I wasn't 100% Hebrew National.

My father always calls and asks if I've taken the day off. `You're a Jew, you shouldn't be working,' he'll say. I want to respond, `yeah, how was temple today anyway?,' but I hold my tongue.

My attitude is that since I don't go to temple and haven't been in one for years (except for the occasional funeral)it would be hypocritical of me to take those days. If I marry someone Jewish who does all those things, I will too.

None of this means I bear ill will towards the chosen peeps. My experience and issues have little to do with Judaism and a lot to do with my own family baggage. It took me a long time to realize that but there you go.

If you're looking for me Thursday, I'll be doing what I always do and probably eating as well. Fortunately, I only have to atone for half of what I eat.

Sit Down, Shut Up!!!

Rock critic Greil Marcus once wrote of Rod Stewart, “Rarely has a singer has as full and unique a talent as Rod Stewart; rarely has anyone betrayed his talent so completely.”

Replace singer with DJ and Marcus could've easily been talking about Howard Stern. Like Rod and Vanity Fair honcho Graydon Carter, Howard fooled us for many years. Once a down to earth satirist of the rich and famous, Howard has become what he used to mock. This is not a news flash. Howard long ago turned his back on his Long Island roots in favor of Nobu's and the fast lane. But the fait accompli was his wedding the other day to second tier model Beth Ostrosky at Le Cirque with Barbara Walters and Kelly Ripa (the exact type of celebrity that Stern used to mock) among those in attendance.

This is not about begrudging a man his success. He entertains millions and deserves his. This is about the disappointment when one sees what was really motivating the drive for that success. I miss the guy who ranted about his in-laws and who made fun of celebrities who left their first wives for bimbos. Howard would always express disdain towards them, which seemed real and envy, which seemed fake. Who knew we had it all backwards.

Marcus also wrote of Rod (and I'm paraphrasing here), that it appears all Rod wanted to do was fuck models and hang out with celebrities and if he had to become a great artist to do that, he was willing.

Sad to say the same can be said of Howard these days.

It's Complicated

The problem with dating is you actually begin to contemplate the consequences of your actions. This is different from how Rambler usually enters relationships which basically consisted of you liked my booze, you liked my goodies and I made you laugh and we'd fuck (you'd like that too) and then presto instant relationship.

Now I actually have to feel something for someone before I consider making a move. And I can't let it just be about the physical unless you say, `it's OK, just because we fuck doesn't mean you are somehow indebted to me for the rest of my life.' And strangely enough, without the chemicals, the physical desires aren't there without an emotional one as well. Weird, huh?

It's a whole new world out there.

And we have not got to allow....

I don't know where to start. I'm not sure when knowing how to talk in complete sentences became a liability. I can't figure out how anyone could watch that debate and not wonder what the hell McCain was thinking. I don't know if the media is just beaten down and afraid to state the obvious or if this strategy of lowering expectations actually worked on these bozos. Imagine if we applied the Palin standard to our sports teams. Wow, Andy Petitte did't bean anyone today. Woo hoo!!! Lets give him a Cy Young award.

Oy! McCain may be a Maverick, but Palin's a Pinto.

Mayor Mike's Backdoor Shenanigans

I am against term limits in any form. But twice New Yorkers have voted for them. If Bloomberg wants to run again, let the people vote to repeal term limits and run again. The way he is going about this is, for lack of a better word, bullshit.

What we're seeing is Bloomberg at his worst. This is not the reformer who isn't in any one's pockets. This is the guy who knows best for everyone. This is the guy who wants to tell us what to eat and how to live now telling us that this city can't go on without him at the helm. And he's so right he doesn't even need to bother actually trying to convince voters.

Bloomberg has done a lot right in his two terms. But there is an arrogance to him that is, in some ways, worse than his predecessor and this is the proof. Heck, Rudy only wanted a few extra months. Bloomberg wants four more years. Wonder what Ray Kelly thinks.

He'll win easily which makes his approach even more annoying. He could have done this the right way instead of the wussy way.

I'm just wondering what he'll ban in his third term. I'm guessing pizza.

10th Avenue Lame Out

So the rumors are confirmed. Bruce Springsteen will play Super Bowl XLXCVWHATEVER.

Bummer. Bruce doesn't need this and I'm not sure why he wants to do it. For a guy who admirably refuses to sell his songs for commercials or go corporate in any way, this is performing for the biggest commercial/corporate event in the world. Bruce will not grow his audience doing this and conversely the NFL actually needs to start thinking about their fan base that is under 35 when they book these halftime acts.

Of course, the NFL, still reeling almost five years after nipplegate, wants to keep playing it safe with MOR rockers (McCartney, The Stones, Petty). I know this will sting us Bruce fans, but that's what they see in him. He's not going to fuck up their party.

The set list will no doubt be "Born to Run," "Hungry Heart," "Badlands," maybe "The Rising." Forgot about anything remotely controversial or political. Just dance for the man, Bruce.

The Amazing Mets...

Watching the Mets blow it (again), I feel a little like Harvey Keitel in Bad Lieutenant. The only difference is in the movie it's the Dodgers who choke.

Throwback Throwaway

I know I ranted about this last year, but what the hell. The Jets have the worst throwback jerseys in the NFL. There is a reason they got rid of those uniforms. They suck. They look like a high school team. Here's a hint, if your throwback jersey looks nothing like anything your team has worn since wearing them over 40 years ago, keep them in the closet.

If You Watch The New Chris Rock Special...

Do yourself a favor and just listen to it. Rock did the same stand up in three locales wearing three different sets of clothes so the special always cuts to the different locales in the middle of the same joke. Incredibly distracting, annoying and completely unnecessary. Classic case of one those `wouldn't it be cool if we..."

No, just because you can do it doesn't necessarily make it a good idea.

You A Hustler, Ames?

So many great scenes who knows where to start?

This is far from his best work, but something about this scene always grabbed me between Newman and Forest Whitaker in The Color of Money. The cockiness, the anger, the vulnerability as he realizes that he's just an old man who got taken. But was is really amazing about this scene is that he gives it to Whitaker. A true star knows when to lay back and get the best out of his fellow performers and that's what's going on here.

Threats And Common Sense

Was the crazy dude hanging on the ledge of his apartment building naked really a threat to anyone? He could only do harm to himself. There was no reason for the police to zap him and they had to know he'd fall. Might as well cut the $10 million check to her mother now and safe the court fees.

Meanwhile though, we have the mother whose kid was accidentally guided onto a school bus and then let out two miles from home alone and a good samaritan (what we used to call a human being). took him home. Yes, a screw-up. But is this really worth a lawsuit? Sure something horrible could've happened, but it didn't. Sometimes in life people make mistakes but there was no intent to do harm here and this, to me, is not the kind of screw-up that will never happen again because of this lawsuit. And the kid will now go from having a minor inconvenience to thinking that he was somehow traumatized from all this and that something really wrong happened.

Another Moment Passed

We had a big shot in speaking today at lunch. He was asked about all the people coming out of college who want to be investment bankers just to get rich, not because of any love of high finance or doing deals, etc.

The guy, who seemed pretty down to earth for a multi-millionaire deal dude, said that if your not passionate about something you a) won't do it well and b) it isn't worth doing. He also said that if you can't get enjoyment out of even the mundane things in your job, find something else.

I wanted to put down my plate, walk over to him, shake his hand and say `thank you' and then walk out of the lunch and out of the building.

Man that would've been great.

Instead I kept chewing and nodding my head. The berries for dessert were excellent, btw.

Ghosts

Past another ghost today
Looked right through me
Those hallow eyes staring at nothing
Too tired to close
Innocence long shattered
Nothing keeping her together

Always chasing that first time
Never finding it again
See those ghosts all over town
Not dead yet, but they sure aren't living

Wish I could bring them back
Wish I could make them see
But the lure of that darkness
It's too hard for them to beat
Towels over the windows, shattered glass on the floor
Won't they get tired of being tired
No they just come back for more

Don't want to see anymore of these ghosts
Can't keep looking at them looking at the abyss
Want to smack your head into the ground
For what your doing to you is what you did to me
Don't know that yet, you're too far gone to feel

Don't want to see anymore ghosts today

This Is What Happens When You Listen To `Strawberry'

Pulled over at the corner and I got in
Two blocks later you're off on another run
And I'm ready to disappear into my skin
Yeah, time for some fun

Here we go again
Think we'll get it right this time
Here we go again
Back in the slime

Headed back to my block
And forgot all that stuff that was there a minute ago
Kept staring at the clock
Called the deli, got the booze to go with my new low

Waited for you to get here
Won't you get on for this ride?
Waiting for you and my beer
What? Aren't you on my side?

Fell down again
Woke up on the corner
Does it ever end?
Guess it beats the coroner

Might Want To Rethink That One

There's a girl on the dating site I'm currently striking out on who sent me a note and her profile name is "Spicy Tuna." This is why it's sometimes good to get a second opinion on these things.

Last Out

The bats are all put away
The gloves go back in the closet
The sunny Sundays will soon fade
And another season has set

Out there for 21 games
Couldn't quite make it to 22
The bats so strong went silent
The runs, once so many, were few

There will be head-scratching
And over analyzing
And the usual cries of next year
Inside the Nest, Matchless, and other houses of stale beer

But I only come out for fun
To run down the first base line
To slide into second
To catch a sinking liner, to score a run

Winning is great, don't get me wrong
And losing sucks
That said, I'd rather play and lose
Then sit at home all Sunday long

Crooked Pieces

Used to be so easy
Sit in the corner
Suck down my whiskey
Smoke up my Marlboro
Spot the prey from across the room, the one whose standards have just fallen far enough to be within my gravity
The one with the sadness in her smile as she looks to drown the pain
Charm her with my eyes,
Fill her with my lies

Fool each other that we've found each other
That at long last these two crooked pieces and have found their fit
And as we drift further away from what is real we'll convince ourselves that this is it
Suddenly the nightmare of our lives will feel some light
And we'll maul each other on the way back to the hole from where we came
And we'll reveal things no one knows
The scars, the pain, the shame, the hurt
Will all fade as we melt into each other

In the morning, we'll return to our shells
The walls will go back up
And we'll realize we've done it again
Gone down the wrong alley for the wrong answer
The hurt will be twice as bad
Gave away the only thing we had
To a stranger we thought could take it away
Now they're gone and we're here to stay

Losing It

I'm glad that Hannah Upp, the Hamilton Heights teacher who went missing a few weeks ago, was found alive (albeit floating in the river) and I'm dying to hear more about what happened with her. Did she stop taking meds? Have a complete crack up? What was it?

Part of me thinks, how wonderful that must have been. Just to lose it like that and disappear in one's brain. She had enough going on to know to use different health clubs to shower, but clearly she had some sort of mental break.

I'm sure it's nothing to romanticize. Still, to borrow from Bukowski, "Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must lead."

Go Gus

I have to admit that I was pumped to see that Gus Frerotte has been named starter for the Vikings. After 15 years, Gus is still out there playing. I have always had a soft spot for him since the Redskins picked him (7th round, Tulsa) back in 1994.

Heath Shuler was supposed to be the star but there was something about Gus. Pretty soon Gus had the job and the love of the fans. Now was he the star I and many other fans had hoped for? No. But he had a few good years, particularly 1996 when the Skins started out 7-1 only to fold in the second half of the season. That collapse wasn't on Gus. He lost heart breakers at home to the Cards and the 49ers (where he out-dueled Steve Young and the pigeons that we all over the field that day) and if the Skins had won either of those games they would've made the playoffs and who knows. He was also the last QB to start at RFK. Unfortunately, he will always be known as the guy who head-butted a wall.

He has bounced around the league as a backup (Rams, Lions, Broncos, Dolphins, etc.)and keeps collecting a pay check. I doubt he'll last the season as the Vikings starter, this is more of a move of frustration by their coach, but still for a guy who was an afterthought 15 years ago, he's shown how to last.

Enough With Dunkin' Donuts

I now have four, count them, four Dunkin Donuts in a 12-block radius. A new one just popped up on Broadway between 101st and 102nd. The space they took over had been empty for a very long time. Previous tenants were a nice Korean deli with good fruit and classical music in the background and a laundry. We now have Dunkin Donuts at Broadway and 89th, Broadway and 96th, Broadway and 97th and this latest addition.

I used to like Dunkin Donuts. Thought of them as a nice blue collar treat (and if that sounds condescending so be it). Now though they've decided to take on Starbucks and apparently are studying Starbucks game book and following that chain's misguided saturation strategy.

In the meantime, my neighborhood, which admittedly stopped being a neighborhood years ago, suffers. We have lost three laundries over the last couple of years. I now have to walk all the way to 104th between Broadway and Amsterdam. Of course, as more and more hideous hi-rises go up filled with the types of people who wouldn't deign to use a laundry, those of us who do will be SOL.

Still, they do make a nice cup of coffee.

The Conspiracy Continues....

Tuesday's New York Times had a column (Memo from Cairo)which reports the disturbing, but not all that surprising news that there are still those in the Middle East (and elsewhere) who think among other things that no Jews died on September 11, that the U.S. and Israel were involved in the attacks and furthermore that the Jews had received advanced warning to stay away from work that day.

I wish someone had sent that memo to my childhood friend and Hebrew school classmate. Maybe he’d still be alive today instead of dying in the Towers. Furthermore, I know the media is supposed to just report, but would have been that bad for the writer to point out in the story that Jews did in fact die on September 11? I’m sure getting the actual number of Jews who died in the attacks would not have been too hard for the paper of record.

Mr. Grossman

Watching Mad Men where Don buys a new Cadillac and I remembered our next door neighbor Mr. Grossman in Detroit. He owned this big Cadillac Sedan DeVille with the fins and everything. He would come racing out of that driveway like a bat out of hell every morning. At least it seemed like he was racing to my five year-old eyes. I steered clear of that side of the house until after 8:30. Man that was a great car.

Chasing Empty

Always racing off to somewhere
Never getting anywhere
Rushing to the train in the morning
Only to do it backwards in the evening

Spring into Summer
Summer into Fall
Always running
Hoping not to fall

Chasing that carrot
Trying to stay on the horse
Don't know how we bear it
And stay on course

Tomorrow will be today soon
And today will be yesterday
I'll still be in this room
Looking to make my way

Hoping each day that the answer will come
But instead we just find another reason to run

Waiting For You To Want Me

I don't get your look
Can't get you to see my hell
If I wore it on my sleeve
Would it make you bleed for me?

Yeah I'm not that guy you're supposed to steer clear of
I'm the one you really steer clear of
He looks like he's on the edge
I look like I'm on the ledge

If I came on to you would you take me in?
Or just pass me by because I don't look like I'm hurting?
If I looked like a train wreck
Would that get me into your bed?

But if I just hold my own and get by
It's like somehow I'm not tough enough for your eyes
Die to survive to live that lie

You got that thing
Want the one who's an inch above the ground
Never mind that he'll fuck you over
And never come around
You'll be left holding the bag
And yet when he slinks back to town you'll swallow him down

I'll be the one still there when he goes out again
I'm the one tough enough to do the time
While your boy keeps dropping dime

But you'll walk right past the one who can carry you
And race back to the one who hurts you
I'll still be in that room counting the years
While he struggles to count the days

He'll get your sympathy
I'll get your pity
He'll get your lust
I'll eat your dust

But I won't bleed for you
I won't go down to try to get you around
Can't get caught in that trap

So just roll by me again
Put it all down on that losing hand
And maybe one day when you tire of your yo-yo toy
When you're through playing with that boy
When it's the middle of the night
And you see he's never going to be right
Your dreams have been left for dead
And it's not even right in bed
I'll still be there
Where you can always find me
Waiting for you to want me

This Man Has No Dick

Word is a (another) Ghostbusters movie is in the works. Why? Can't they just leave well enough alone? If they do remake it, Walter Peck had better be in it.

Getting Lost

I've become obsessed with these guys. Just want this running through my head while I'm lying in bed rolling around getting my strange.

Pins And Needles

I want to escape
Take me please
Get me out of this place
My head

I keep thinking about that train
The one that takes me down
The one that goes off the cliff
And I want to get on it

Lose all I've gotten back
Just for an hour
Drift away from me
And get back to me

Feel the sky open up
Hear my brain shut down
Get that feeling out of my skin
Just me and me and all I can take

So get over here
And take me down to the floor
Don't ask me about tomorrow
There won't be one

Wouldn't that be sweet?

Vintage A-Rod

He just hit a solo shot with the Yanks comfortably ahead. One of his classic "pile on" home runs. Wonder how many of those 548 home runs actually meant something.

I Haven't Read This Book But That

Won't stop me from expressing an opinion. The book is Curtis Sittenfeld's American Wife, a fictional novel about a first lady that on the surface sounds a lot like Laura Bush.

By surface I mean that Sittenfeld took some basic well known facts about Bush and inserted them into her protagonist Alice Blackwell. Like Bush, Blackwell is a librarian who was in a car crash that took the life of a classmate and eventually ends up marrying a wealthy and somewhat wild scion of a political dynasty. Sittenfeld then crafted a bunch of fiction around it and viola, suddenly we have a bold, brave novel instead of laziness and a lack of creativity.

If not for that, would this book get any hype? If in fact, the author tried to write a story of a first lady that did use what I will describe here as "Google Research" and was not a (not even) thinly veiled version of Laura Bush, would anyone care?

This is not about defending Laura Bush. It's about a new form of literature. Whether it's The Devil Wears Prada (but at least that author worked for Anna Wintour) or some other piece of mock fiction, it's getting a little tired. Perhaps I'll do one on an author who has one idea for a book based loosely on their own experiences, then gets a book deal and puts out one piece of crap after another, usually loosely based on someone known enough to get knowing winks and nods from critics but without any real or deep insight at all.

I know, I know. Well, hotshot why don't you get off your ass and crank out some crap and laugh your way to the bank.

I would, but I'm pulling in too much cash with the porn work for now.

More Firsts

We are inching ever so closer to a president younger than me. My father was 62 when that happened to him. I might not make it to 50 before it happens to me. I still remember the first Playboy centerfold younger than me. It was Penny Baker, January 1984.

On a more positive note, we also have the first female vice presidential nominee I'd do. Sorry Gerry, nothing personal. I was a lot pickier in 1984. Sarah Palin is kind of librarian hot and she was a beauty queen and she can hold a gun. Bet she'd look great in leather. Picture her taking off those glasses, unzipping her top and letting her hair go wild--suddenly I'm in a "Hot for Teacher" video.

Young Love

More teen dating stories although this one is a little lighter.

When I moved to D.C. there was this girl who lived in my apartment complex. We gradually became friends. We'd hang out in the lobby or the basement or the roof. We'd watch television together in the afternoons, hang out in the drug store down the street. She was my first regular interaction with the female species and already I was deep in the friendzone.

I could live with that until a friend of mine from Jersey came to visit for a few days and they ended up making out. I upped my game only to discover I didn't really have a game yet. I do remember one weird afternoon with the three of us lying on a bed intertwined passing a bottle of Harvey's Bristol Cream. My friend later managed to rhyme Harvey's Bristol Cream in a love poem he wrote her so kudos to him.

After he left I was determined to make my move. Sometime later that summer, we were in the kitchen (mine I think) eating cereal when out of nowhere I kissed her. We started making out like crazy. It was kind of like when Andrew McCarthy finally makes the move on Ally Sheedy in St. Elmo's Fire, except they were good looking.

We became inseparable after that. We'd fool around in the laundry room (once she took my leather key chain, jammed it down her pants, rubbed it around and gave it back so I'd have her scent...jeez, how do kids think of these things?), the janitor's closet, the roof, and, of course, our own apartments. She also did a fair amount of dog walking in the building which gave us access to other strange bedrooms as well.

Of course, all we were doing was making out. I may have discovered Penthouse Forum, but I was not yet able to summon the courage to put those reading lessons into practice. For all her bluster and maneuvers with keychains, she too was still pretty innocent. Once we were fooling around in someone's bedroom and her head disappeared under the covers. I thought: pay dirt! At long last I would experience the joy I'd only read about. I waited. A few minutes went by. I kept waiting. A few more minutes went by. There was a hand down there fumbling around, but that was about it. A few minutes later (although it seemed like hours), I felt a single solitary lick. Then her head popped back up and she said, "phew, I didn't think I'd be able to do it."

Now, I had nothing to compare that to, but I was pretty sure from the literary works I'd been reading by college freshmen in small New England colleges that what I had experienced was not what they were describing. Unfortunately, it would be another few years until I was able to receive confirmation of just how shortchanged I had been.

Our relationship petered out when school started in the fall. There was one aborted attempt at intercourse in the bushes along the side of our building but technical difficulties prevented us from achieving liftoff. I've always been grateful that we failed because it would've been pretty awful and could have only led to disaster.

I don't know what happened to that one. The Google searches don't turn anything up. Although, to borrow from Bruce, she wasn't a beauty but hey she's alright, I was no prize either. There were worse ways to spend a summer.

The Date

When I was 16 and in tenth grade, I went on my first blind date. A friend of mine from the frisbee team said there was a girl who liked me. There were several women who hung around the team (our groupies) so I was pretty stoked.

I became more wary however when he would not divulge any information to me about this would-be paramour. My best friend also knew the secret identity but was keeping his mouth shut tight.

Although it should have been clear to me now that whoever this person was, it wasn't Amy, Jennifer, Cairn (yes, that's how she spelled it) or one of the other girls I'd been lusting after. But at 16, anticipation and imagination still trumped reality. I put on my best faded jeans and, jeez, I think a yellow shirt, hopped in the 1973 gray Plymouth Duster with the AM radio (dad was too cheap even for an 8 track).

I drove over to Choice Cuts, a record store at Tenley Circle in what passed for a mall in D.C. in 1981. I was there looking at records with Sarge, the guy who had set this up. He was still being coy as we waited for his girlfriend and the mystery woman.

Then he said, `they're here.' I looked up, turned around and said, 'you fucker,' or something to that effect.

Needless to say, the mystery date was not what I had been expecting. Actually, considering how Sarge and my friend were acting, it should have been exactly what I expected.

Sarge could hardly keep from laughing as they drew nearer. I couldn't run out. We went to see a movie (The Howling) and then I dropped everyone off. I think I said three words to her and everyone else the entire night.

Unfortunately, while I had a bruised ego, there was a completely innocent victim to all this and that was the girl. She actually did like me (although not too much after that evening). She didn't ask for any of this. I could have been friendly and gotten through the night just fine and moved along in life. Instead I was a jerk.

Through most of our lives there are a handful of incidents that stay with us. Things we'd like to change. This is one of mine. I knew as that night went on that the way I was acting was bad, but I did it anyway. I can't undo it. Karma's paid me back many times since then, but that doesn't really do that girl any good. And yes, I know what is supposed to come next.

I'll Rip Out Your Eyes And Piss On Your Brain

Trading Places was on tonight. That's my favorite line. But something about this movie has always nagged at me a little. As soon as Valentine (Eddie Murphy) figures out what the Dukes are doing and decides to team up with Winthorpe (Aykroyd) for revenge, he immediately starts talking street again. What was that about?

Summer Of Sam

So we've had our best NYC movies post. Time for our worst. I'll start with Summer of Sam. For all the shit Spike Lee gives Clint Eastwood, I wish someone had taken him for task for this piece of crap. If Clint can't direct a film about Charlie Parker, then why the hell should Spike direct one with a punk rock subplot?

In the movie, Adrien Brody plays a guido turned punker. We know this because he has a crazy spiky mohawk hair do and safety pins and all that crap. That'd be great if anyone in NYC scene looked like that in 1977. But no, actually everyone looked kind of like The Ramones and The Dictators. Long hair, leather jackets. Other bands such as Talking Heads had a preppy look. Bottom line, that British style did not show up in NYC until much later.

Funnier still though is Brody's character playing air guitar to Baba O'Reilly. Yeah, because those hardcore punkers were really into The Who. Boring old farts, anyone?

A Scriptwriter's Got To Know His Limitations

Saw a preview for Righteous Kill, the DeNiro-Pacino movie. Looks like they've taken Magnum Force and ripped it good. In one clip, DeNiro says, "nothing wrong with a little shooting, as long as the right people get shot." Clever right? Yeah, if Dirty Harry hadn't said, "nothing wrong with shooting, as long as the right people get shot." Oh and the plot is that killers and rapists who are beating the courts are ending up dead. Hmmm, that sounds familiar too.

The Art of Jaywalking

There used to be rules to jaywalking. You went for it if you thought you could make it and you came to a full stop before entering into the crosswalk against the light. Nowadays though, no one knows how to do it. In midtown it's not unusual to see dorks just walk through the red light without even looking and regardless of whether traffic is backed up or not. I am pretty much pro pedestrian. but these days between the cell phones, the blackberries and the Ipods, it's hard not to have sympathy for drivers.

Belladonna

She greets me when I come home
All I have to do is plug in
Belladonna waits for me all alone
Just wants me to sin

She's all covered in ink
And has that cute little gap
I'm all searching for that link
The one where you snap

Belladonna don't leave me
Don't think I can face someone real
Belladonna can't see me
But she knows my deal

Belladonna you're my escape
Because I can't escape myself
Belladonna you're safe
With you I won't hurt myself

I know one day you'll be gone
Out of my head, off of my screen
And I'll search the world long
for my Belladonna, nowhere to be seen

Where To?

Reading the New York Times Magazine cover story yesterday on the rebuilding of the New Orleans school system and I was once again struck with this urge to do something different with my life.

It's a feeling I've been getting more and more lately. So what holds me back? The velvet coffin I'm in for starters. I make good money and don't have to do too much except, oh yeah, look in the mirror and have some self-respect.

That's a little harsh. It's not like I'm a corporate lawyer or a gun smuggler. I'm just part of a big con. And as each day goes by it gets tougher to feel good about my place in the world. Yeah, I'm channeling Jerry McGuire, but I know the feeling. And hey, if I were content being an event planner at a wannabe think tank then none of this would matter. But I'm not. To borrow from the movie Metropolitan, "The acid test is whether you take any pleasure in responding to the question `What do you do?' I can't bear it."

Of course, if I had anything, anything at all, going on in my personal life then the work situation would not seem so unsatisfying. I've always put to much pressure on work to fill the void elsewhere. It's asking a lot. Still, one should get some fulfillment out of the thing they spend most of their waking time doing.

For twenty years I've toyed in my mind with the idea of teaching or social work or psychotherapy. Oh yeah, and rock star, but that one's not happening.

Yes, this is another Rambler's dissatisfied post. Maybe he'll get off his ass and actually do something then instead of wallowing in angst.

Maybe I will.

On a side note, I had totally forgotten how great Courtenay Cox looks in that Counting Crows video "A Long December."

On Vacation

Certainly feels that way. Like the whole world has started to check out. I have no big plans. It's a nice sunny Saturday and I'm sitting here. It's cool.

Work was deadly this week. Even I finally gave up pretending. Watched "Metropolitan" on Hulu. Another classic.

So I'm just babbling here. Nothing much to bitch about. Just thought I should put something in this space.

Oh, and go see Tropic Thunder. The shit's funny.

Almost Forgot

The Brother From Another Planet, another great, under-appreciated New York movie. The drug dealing subplot is a little heavy-handed but the two old guys in the bar bullshitting all day are priceless.

This preview is surprisingly cheesey and doesn't really do the movie justice but anyway..



This scene better captures the quirkiness.

Hey Leon!

Best New York Movies 1970s-1980s

1)Dog Day Afternoon
2)Serpico
3)Mean Streets
4)The Pope of Greenwich Village
5)After Hours
6)The Warriors
7)Sea of Love
8)Taxi Driver
9)Do the Right Thing
10)The Panic in Needle Park

"Oh God, They shot me with unreal..."--Leon in "Dog Day Afternoon."

Feel free to add your own.

The Box (Part Three)

In the middle of the night she woke up and thought she smelled smoke. She was alone in the room, he hadn't come to bed yet. She got out of the bed, grabbed a robe and padded downstairs, almost tripping over the cat who had taken to sprawling out in the middle of the staircase as a form of rebellion ever since they'd moved here from Michigan.

She made it down the stairs and all the lights were out except the little one over the kitchen sink. But she did see light coming from under the door leading to the basement. She bent down and sniffed under the door and again detected smoke. She went back to the hall closet, grabbed a Louisville Slugger and headed back to the door.

She opened it as quietly as possible and started down the stairs. She wasn't sure what to expect. Maybe the kids were getting high. Maybe that old dryer had finally caught fire. Maybe the neighbors were taking revenge for his complaining about their Sunday patio parties.

It was none of those things. He was standing over a garbage can burning the letters.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm getting rid of these things that upset you."

"In the middle of the night. In our basement in our old wooden house with our kids asleep? What, you couldn't just walk the box to the corner and put it in the trash."

"I wanted them gone forever."

She looked around the basement and then walked towards the lawn mower. She picked up the big can by the mower brought it back over to where he was lighting another letter with his Zippo and splashed him with gasoline. He screamed as he was quickly engulfed in flames. That was the great thing about Zippos, they didn't go out.

He continued to scream and burn as she backed up the stairs and shut the door.

"What's going on?"

She wheeled around quickly to see the ten year-old standing there holding his teddy bear looking frightened.

"Daddy's had an accident," she said. "But we'll be OK."

Thanks A Lot, Mo!

Good thing the Yanks took out Mussina after he hit the hundred pitch count last night. It's not like at 39 he hasn't shown he's got an arm that is not ready to give out just yet. But idiot logic dictates bringing in the bullpen to "save" a three run lead.

If Moose ends up with 19 wins this season, we'll know why.

And yeah, that's not a very team player attitude but fuck that shit.

The Box (Part Two)

He got home as usual around 8 p.m. That was the great thing about being a journalist. He could always claim he was chasing a story when most times he was chasing a skirt. But tonight he actually had been working late. One of those tips that sounds great but a dozen calls later he had nothing but hot air. Frustrated he headed out of the newsroom to the Port Authority to grab the 7:10 bus.

It wasn't even May yet and the humidity was already unbearable. He worked up a sweat during the walk from the bus station to the house. While walking through the park he spied some kids drinking beer in the woods near the brook. He was never much of a drinker but they sure looked free of worry as they passed a joint back and forth.

As he approached the house he noticed the car was gone. Good, at least the kids were out of the house. Hopefully she had his dinner ready. Maybe he'd manage to have a quiet night.

He walked in and announced his arrival. The cat looked up, yawned, and walked away. The house was strangely silent. He saw a dim light in the dining room. He walked in and saw his plate of chicken livers on top of a box.

"What's this, a gift?," he asked.

"Yes, it was the gift you left for me in the bedroom," she replied coolly.

"What are you talking about?" he said.

"Open it," she responded.

"Look," he said sighing, "I've had a long day so can we just cut through this and you can tell me what's going on?"

"They're the mementos of your conquests," she said, adding, "why don't you pour some ketchup on them and choke. Oh, and thanks so much for bringing them with us to our new house and leaving them out for me to find. That was so very special."

He walked over to the box, took the plate off and looked inside. Then he looked down paused for a second and started to walk towards her.

"Don't bother," she said.

"You're my wife and I love you," he said trying to keep his voice steady.

"Jesus, what is that? That makes this OK? What script did you steal that line from," she said.

He continued to walk towards her.

"I'm sorry," he said.

She looked down for a second then punched him in the eye, walked upstairs and slammed the bedroom door.

He headed to the kitchen, grabbed a Diet Pepsi and a bottle of ketchup, went back to the dining room, grabbed the chicken livers and headed to the little room to watch TV while he ate.