double drat - know your place, shut your face!

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placid reflux

god damn it. i braved through my nausea, flop sweat and the confluence of beautiful people congealing at the whole foods at the afterwork rush only to have my quart of cucumber soup come undone in the brown paper bag as i hurried to unload my bounty into the fridge. i considered the possibility of eating it from the bottom of the bag as it leaked onto my leg and down to the floor but instead stuffed it into the garbage can still reeking from the last rancid gathering of the unconsumed.

on the bright side, seemed like a lovely day from what i could glean from my furtive glances at the eloi polloi.

plumbum

so my shower is backed up and everytime my upstairs neighbors shower or use the bathroom sink my tub fills up with grayish suds. ive been bailing since tuesday night while waiting for my landlord to resurface. he would pick this week to sneak away. and, of course, since hes older than methuselah, it wouldnt occur to him to check his answering machine messages remotely, as if he knew you could, or bother to get a cell phone. no chance somethings going to break down. these buildings are rock solid. hold on, ive got to turn the air conditioner off so i can boil some water for coffee.

so since i have plans to vacate away the premises next week i figured i should perform my due diligence and call a plumber so as not to flood out the lower east side in my absence. and im sure i called the most expensive service, the one with the memorable jingle, but i punted when it was time to pay the piper, so to speak. even after offering a 10% discount once my anguish was palpable, i couldnt be responsible for a $450 rooting of a simple drain. admittedly the pipework is less than straightforward but i doubted that more than an hour would be required for the process to run its course.

so while the repairman waited for my jaw to be reset after scraping along the floor i called my neighbor whose water ive been keel hauling all week. and as he is a congenial sort, and nor poundfoolish than i or my pennywise landlord, he agreed to bail in my absence so that the landlord could summon his own snake wrangler on his own dime and i could avoid trying to explain to him that my actions were in his best interest or that he had shirked his duties and therefore reaped what he did sow. still, ill have to surrender my key while im away and place my trust in others which i was trying to avoid. at other times this would have taken precedence but i think i can handle that at the moment more than my landlords rheumy reproach. close call though.

did i happen to mention that i was skipping out on the second bachelor party (the weekend in panama wasnt enough?) for my congenial neighbor on this very day? that didnt make it more awkward, did it? strip steaks and strippers just arent my thing though. that the night out would cost about as much as the plumber was hardly non-trivial but i think i would have done my best to avoid it at all costs.

now ive got to get back to my bootleg copy of leatherheads (dont bother). george clooney is just about to get the girl, but i think he can do better than renee zellweger if you ask me. he can do better than this entire movie, in fact.

jokeasta

What’s the perfect joke?

Freud said that jokes should be the absolute minimum number of words. Even two words. The only one I could think of was, “Pretentious, moi?”

luxury tax

The fellow written about here Friday, the gent who was a Mets season ticket-holder since Shea opened in 1964, made up his mind Saturday he's not renewing. His four box seats cost him $5,837 in 1993, $11,836 in 1998, $23,702 last year and $33,300 this season.

Last week, the Mets informed him that comparable seats next year will cost him roughly $60,000. That's it; he's done.

onanism

read a book last week. little trashy but you gotta start somewhere.

smoke stack

Human Smoke: The Beginnings of World War II, the End of Civilization
by Nicholson Baker

stalking, pray.

“Hit it there,” Tiger said, and he pointed toward the fairway. They asked him again, and Woods again refused. After a few more requests, he did step into the bunker for a photo, but even then he refused to have a golf club in his his hand, and he refused to hit a golf ball out of the bunker. He said he would not hit one out during practice either.

Why not? Because, he said, he had absolutely no intention of being in that bunker. Ever.

“Why bring negativity into your thoughts?” he asked, and nobody had a good answer for that one.

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