I don’t think I have one original tooth left in my skull yet I continue to have my “teeth” and head subject to dental radiation. I love lead drapery and genital protection as much as the next, but when I saw what I looked like this morning (see photo below), I knew that enough was enough. By the way, I start Invisalign next week!
Not exactly breaking news in the adult community, kids around the world (and some adults) celebrated the results of a recent study published in the journal of the American Society for Microbiology. The study claims that ingesting boogers can be good for teeth, as well as overall health as they are packed with a “rich reservoir of good bacteria.”
A rogue group of youngsters began smelling their butts and belly buttons hoping that this too will be borne out to be a healthy habit as well. One can only hope.
Fingerpicking is good for you too!
How a little boy ran onto the subway by himself and matured into a highly cautious adult
The part about the subway is true. So is the second part.
I recently joined Incestry.com to confirm my suspicions that something taboo went on in Eastern Europe generations ago. Thrice-removed cousins with pointy teeth and odd thumbs would have you do the same.
Thank you Mr. G. and the whole WPIX crew for the exposure!
Pretty amazing! First off, I’d to thank Jimmy and his tremendous staff at The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon. They were warm and welcoming to a relative newcomer who is experiencing a whirlwind of attention. The audience was so supportive you could not help but feed off their self-motivated energy. Paul and Gisęlle could not have been kinder to me. I am so grateful that my first cousin, my first cousin once-removed, her “friend” and other guy were in the audience cheering me on. Thanks guys (and other guy)! I will treasure this memory forever and ever!
A The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon VIP ticket allowed them access to the swanky Peacock Lounge before the show.
Swag for the talent with an excessive discount
I love the subway. I was the kid on the train with my grandfather staring out the window on my knees (I’m aware that the phrase “on my knees” is triggering to some. Stop it) and peering into the darkened tunnel. (I’m aware that the phrase “darkened tunnel” is triggering to some. Have fun). I love the rats (although my toes curl), the feculent track water, the third rail (yes, Mr. Blue) and the increasing stench of urine as you approach either end of the station towards the tunnels. I love how you can tell the time of day by the crowds. Somber and silent is a Monday morning commute. Loud and raucous is a Saturday night at midnight. I love when I can stare out of the front of train and watch as it glides along from the dark to the light of the next station. When I lifted up one of my kids to look out, I enjoyed it as much as they did. I love when I see another train next to mine and it’s either much higher or lower than my train or going at the same exact speed. I suppress the urge to wave. I guess what I’m saying is I love this city. Did I say I miss stepping in dog shit?
I’ll write about music soon but just got this sticker and put it on the case. Simple, true.
On the heels of a dead battery, the NYC tow pound awaits. I wait too.
While yesterday ended with a dead car battery, today ended with (drumroll, please) me having to retrieve the car from the NYC Tow Pound. I am not shitting here and believe me I can shit with the best and I have (I’m not sure what I mean by that). I go down around 5 PM (yes, in all day…working, no, not wanking) to look for a spot that is “good for tomorrow” and the car is not where I recall it being. Curious. Upon closer examination of the street signs, I knew I was pound-bound. Confirmed on phone. Zipping down the west side in a trad yellow, Trump buildings to my left (see where this is going, intrepid travelers?) which gradually morph into barricades with seas of protestors behind them cattle-like (bovine-like?), a sense of unease begins to set in. At the pound at Pier 76 and its environs, there is an overwhelming police presence. Holy fuck, Trump is in NYC and has an event at the Intrepid Air Sea Spaceship. I enter the tow pound and it is essentially a police station. It’s empty. Woo. I bound up to the window, present my papers, pay my $185 (if I picked it up tomorrow – only another $20! Bargain. I still owe $115 for the ticket.) I am told to head around the bend and see the concierge. The concierge? I present my papers to the obese, desk-bound traffic officer, I mean, concierge. I am now sent into the garage area which is a vast dusty hangar of cars and tow trucks. A golf cart and driver appear. Do I sit up front with him like a buddy or in the back as if being whisked to the 10th hole for a sudden death playoff? I opt for sudden death. Reunited with the vehicle (cop-speak), thankfully, the car battery has held its charge and off I head to the exit whereupon I re-present my papers to the boothed traffic officer, I mean, exit minister. Up goes the gate and out I head only to be stopped at the pound fence by a police officer. “You’ll have to wait, sir. The area is frozen for now. Please turn off your engine.” I slip easily yet shockingly into a state of acceptance. Politics aside, I am going to see the presidential motorcade up close. This excites me. No, not in that way. Well, maybe a little. Took video of the parade. I felt kinda bad for the last car. I’m sensitive that way. I waited about an hour before my release and headed back uptown. What? Nope. I couldn’t find a spot “good for tomorrow.” Thanks for asking.
The decoy vehicle passes by quickly and I can’t tell if Carrot Top or SpongeBob is the presidential stunt-double.
I know he’s in the shot. Shlomo? SHLOMO? He moves in slo-mo.
Now today was a day! The outdoor portion concluded with a 3 hour wait for my car care professional from Pop-A-Lock to jump the dead car battery discovered on a routine sortie to procure a parking spot that was “good for tomorrow.” No? It’s not good for tomorrow?” “Are you sure?” “Fuck!” “Wait. It’s not good for tomorrow and it’s got a dead battery?” “FUCKITTY FUCK!”
The day started with an indoor segment that required acknowledging the end of an approximately 2 year relationship. Some sadness, some gladness, centered around madness. To be repeated Friday. Confused? Join the club.
Included in the day: podiatrist visit-accompaniment, hospital visit, turkey sandwich. a few slices of fresh mozzarella (still have Italy on the brain), pizza (2 plain trad, 1 sicilian) – New York on the brain, a discussion of Fresh Direct vs Your Grocer (Quote of the Day: “Six heads of romaine is like 2 days for me!” Personally, I hate lettuce one-upmanship. Hate it. Since I was a kid!
“Lady! You can shove that lettuce up your ass!”
Historical note – In Brooklyn circa early 1960’s, you could say “Lady.”