Wired

Re-watching The Wire with my two roommates this week. One of the best shows I've ever seen. Better than American Horror Story. Even better than Fraggle Rock. Remember that intro?

Anyway, I've started using phrases like "the produc" to describe Bermuda to journalists at work. "You wanna' know more about the produc? See even when the economy doing bad, we still doing pretty good. Everyone still needs a vacation. Caribbean islands man...that shit is forever."

I often find myself whistling while walking around the office, peering into offices and giving people strange glares when I need a monthly report done or a newspaper scanned. Monooo comin'.

I even told my roommate that a girl at the bar looked "right." "She was right, man." Unfortunately, she thought I was wrong.

Not sure what it is that makes me bring out these wire-esque lines. Could be the fact that I'm presently watching The Wire (definitely the case). Or maybe it's because I'm from the dirty Waterbury, where the water's brownin' and the economy drownin'. Maybe it's living in Spa-Ha with the wonky-eyed bodega owners and rats feasting on cats? Sheeeeeettt man. Guess I'm just a gangsta, I suppose...

Rock the Casbah

I just wanted to post this song again. Incredible, funk-filled beat. It's been in my head all day. I actually wrote "Rock the Casbah" as a press release title three different times today.

The song is so good Big Will made time to sample it on Willenium. Which version is better? I can't be the judge of that.

GivingThanks

What am I thankful for this year? Global Warming? Tim Tebow? Having a job? Yes. Definitely having a job. A very important component to living in New York City and being able to frequent the bars, neighborhoods and dining establishments located throughout this great metropolis:

Turtle Bay on 42nd and 2nd continues to be one of the greatest drinking dens this side of the Equator. The sweet smells of Bukoff Vodka and week-old vomit offer a strange feeling of comfortability seen nowhere else in the city. You can also count on Pitbull, Ne-Yo, Maya being played at least 26 times throughout the night. Take a picture of that with a Kodak.

Iggys, a karaoke bar on the UES, is the house where angels sing every Friday and Saturday night. 80-year old women dance to Britney Spears and young men sing Hall and Oates until ears bleed.

Spanish Harlem remains one of the great neighborhoods in the big apple. Ample bodegas and halal street food are probably the two predominant reasons. Halal, how are you?

But everyone can read more about NYC and all its treasures at www.CityPath.com! One of the greatest web sites for finding what's really good in your hood. Check it out. Phenomenal writers.

Anyway, here are few other things I'm thankful for this year.

RageFacing

Clever Girl? If you haven't raged, you haven't lived. RageFace is an i-phone app that uses outlandish and almost demon-like faces to symbolize emotions. Lonely - pictures an overweight oaf watching a static TV in the dark. Sorry - depicts a toothless woman begging for forgiveness. Many of the expressions are downright creepy, making them hilarious to text to senile grandparents, unbeknownst girlfriends and 3 am love interests. It's one of the best apps to ever hit the I-phone. Better than Facebook. Better than the I-phone itself. Honestly, I wish I just had a rage face machine instead of a phone. I rarely use words in texts anymore. AWWWWW YEAHHH!!

Old Mix CDs

Have you ever found an old burned CD from high school/college? Maybe one you made during prom season or for a big party or sporting event? I have a bunch that I've made over the years with names like "Springtime 09," "Will Smith & Friends" and "Lonely Mix." Not sure when I made Lonely Mix? Maybe after the Mets collapsed in 07'? I was pretty lonely then. It does have some gems such as "Lonely" by Akon, "Tired of Being Alone" by Al Green and half the Donnie Darko soundtrack. Could serve as a quality powerhour playlist.

Anyway, I found a blank CD labeled "Ultimate Mix" in my sister's car this past weekend and it was in fact one of the greatest mixes I've ever heard. Will Smith, Boys are Back in Town, Rolling Stones, Madonna. Legendary. It had me crying, laughing and yelling at different points throughout. I even started sending sporadic RageFaces to express my emotions. I was zonin' all over Connecticut.

Sweatpants at the Bar

Although I didn't actually see someone sporting them during break, I heard from a trusted source a woman was in fact wearing a pair. Word has it, she was dressed in an entire grey sweatsuit at a Thomaston, CT karaoke bar while singing "Rock the Casbah."

Sweatpants in a bar takes guts and a certain self-confidence/self-deprecation that is unique to find. It's a look that is comfortable for you but uncomfortable for others to look at. In college, I loved wearing sweatpants to the bar. No belt, no wrinkles, no care. Glad it's a trend that's still surviving. I may sport them out this weekend. Hope Turtle Bay allows for it.

BIG PAPA

Larger than life. No regrets. No complaints. My grandfather passed away early last week and with it will leave a large gap in family reunions, holiday gatherings and my heart. 99 Restaurant may go out of business. Bleacher basketball referees will lose one of their more devout members. The makers of honey mustard pretzels should see a huge drop in sales. Golden Retrievers will see an increase in average life expectancy.

Losing my grandfather has been different than any other death in my family. He was a guy you loved to see and who loved seeing you even more. His stories were legendary and carelessly exaggerated. Almost Big Fish-like:

His grandchildren came before anything. He was kind to all walks of life and could pick up a conversation/develop lasting relationships with anybody--whether it was the waitress at Century Buffet, my sister’s middle-school boyfriend or my high-school Spanish teacher.

He thought of others before himself and never, ever complained. That’s probably the most important thing I think I took from him and I try to reflect each and everyday. No matter how difficult the situation, there are people who are worse off. Don’t complain. Just push on through (maybe with the help of few martinis)

When I think of Papa or say his name to my Mom or Dad, it’s hard to believe he’s not around anymore. Then I suddenly realize he’s gone and choke up at the thought. I’ll miss the big man and his stories. I’ll miss the smell of cigars coming from his Buick as a kid. I’ll miss him backing out of our driveway and clipping our hedges with his back bumper. I’ll miss going to Bradley Street and hearing his bellowing “Hello!” when I walk through the door. Although I know that wherever he is now he’s making new friends and not complaining. I know he’s fine and happy because he always has been.

http://www.grantland.com/story/_/id/6769890/on-whiskey-grease

Another Night in Spa-Ha

Lynch and I were up on the roof enjoying an ice, cold bohemian-style beer; courtesy of the hardest screw that ever walked a turn at Shawshank State Prison.

Shoot, sorry! Got carried away. I mean we were drinking a warm Coors Light after our first softball win. We had 10 run ruled a team and walked off Randall's Island with our heads held high. A feat that is very rare when entering or exiting the former NYC landfill. Home to about 30 softball fields, abandoned factories and a mental hospital, there's not much to be happy about on the island. With the infrequent bus schedules, frequent crackheads and isolation from Manhattan, you sometimes feel as if you'll never get off Randall's ever again.

I've had a similar below conversation with Lynch while sitting in the dugout during a tough loss.

But, we made it off the island and everyone was excited. Lynch and I were reviewing our base hits and staring into the foreboding Spa-Ha night.

Then we heard it.

Boom, Boom, Boom!

We figured it was just a car backfiring and continued analyzing our victory. Then we heard screams. People scattered back and forth across the street about a block north of our apartment. Shots fired in Spanish Harlem!

About 10 cop cars rolled up with detectives and yellow caution tape. The deli owner below us (who honestly probably was the one who committed the murder) was being questioned at the scene of the crime.

We're not sure why there was a shooting or what the ultimate verdict was but c'mon Spanish Harlem. Stop the shooting. Stop the looting.