Sleep Tight Children, The Bogey Man is No More. For Now

So they killed Bin Laden.  Big deal.  Truth is, most people have figured the man to be dead for years.  Or no longer a threat of any kind.  This doesn't include those that never really thought the man was dangerous to begin with.

Let's assume, for the sake of this entry, that he was killed some time in the last week or two.  Do we really need the media coverage to play this up like we just took Hitler out?  I don't know what the news looks like anywhere but here in NYC and, to be honest, it's been disgusting.

Cockroaches

They say that cockroaches can survive in almost any environment.  When I was a kid, I remember hearing how, after a nuclear holocaust, there will be nothing left on earth, other than cockroaches.  The nasty little fuckers will rule the planet.

So, aside from a crunchy squish, one would imagine that, offing a roach would be a difficult task.

Unless you're the guy in the office next to mine.

What's the point?

I work 15 to 20 hour days, 7 days a week, for months.  Why?
After sitting here, my ass slowly fusing to the chair under me, for weeks on end, I decided it was time to figure out what I'm going to owe on Monady.

Big fucking mistake.

Rest In Peace

It is with great sadness that I type these words out.  Today, April 12, 2011, Floogin McNoogin passed away after a long fight with an ever increasing pile of shit on his desk.  He worked 15 to 20 hours a day, 7 days a week, since February, only to come to the sad realization that there was no fucking point.  Nobody was grateful.  There was no medal to be had, no slap on the back, not even a hair toussling "good job."

So, he did the only thing he knew to rid himself of the never ending work.

He's threw every last fucking piece of paper from his window and then, after the pile was relocated, he doused himself in alcohol, and ignited his whithered frame before leaping out the window, onto the pile.

Fortunately, it was raining and the water and wind combination snuffed the flames and the soggy pile of paperwork cushioned his fall, allowing him to escape from a 20 floor tumble, physically unharmed.

Sadly, as he staggered from the pile, smiling with the knowledge that, perhaps, there is a god and that there are good things in store for him, he was run over by a city bus and, thanks to the well moving flow of traffic, several other cars managed to crush his corpse before it was discoverd that he was smeared all across 34th street.


Floogin was a good man.  A great father and a decent, at best, husband.

Random Winning! and Losing!

If Charlie Sheen can spew forth a litany of incoherent, unconnected thoughts and concepts, so can I.

First, on the topic of Charlie, do we really need to boost his ego, further fueling his downward spiral, by watching as he rapidly unravels, turning himself from handsome pinup boy to Nick Nolte's crazier brother?

It was fun to watch for a minute but, like gore porn, there comes a time where you realize you have now moved beyond the norm and have entered dangerous territory.

Turn off your internet Charlie.  That's how you win.

I'm Definitely Old

As my birthday approaches, I'm noticing how fucking old I feel of late.  The thumb has, finally, stopped aching whenever it rains and it no longer feels sore but, thankfully, I've got a slew of other odd aches and pains to offset the relief of not being achy in the thumb.

Doodie Doodie Doodie

We've all seen Caddyshack.  If you haven't, you shouldn't be reading this.  Go, watch the fucking movie, get a sense of humor and then you can return.  Anyway, the scene at the pool, when it's open to the caddie's is, by far, one of the funniest ever put on celluloid.  Sure enough, we had our poop in the pool moment at the water park.

It's been a long time

I know I haven't been coming here and adding my dazzling wit with any frequency.  Fuck frequency, I haven't been coming around and I actually miss it.  I'm not sure if it's the fan mail I get, or all the comments and responses or the accolades from other bloggers but I miss it all.

So, I'm going to make a concerted effort to return and update nobody with my life.  A lot has gone on, some of it kinda funny so, if I can find the time I shall regale you with the grossest vacation I've ever taken.

Two days in water park hell. 

Yes, we had a shit incident.

No, it wasn't mine.

More to come, I promise so, please, stop sending all that mail and posting all those messages.

Thoughts That Came To Me On Vacation

Rather than go into excurciating detail about my trip to my mother outlaw's, I have decided to focus on a few random things that came to me while I was away.  It's far better this way, believe me

Strange Dreams

Last week, my secretary dropped references to the movie Secretary a half dozen times.  So, it's only natural that, being the pig that I am, my mind started conjuring up all kinds of scenarios to explain her sudden interest in the movie.

These images have seeped into my dreams.

Stripper Punishment

Last night, I got a call from a friend.  He was in the city and wanted to get together.  I agreed to meet him, and another friend, for a few drinks.

A few drinks was an understatement.  I feel like death.

Ouch

I feel like someone opened my skull, took a massive dump between my ears and screwed my head on backwards.

Floogin's Father

I work with my dad.  Well, I work.  He comes in and hangs out.  Yesterday, he called me into his office because he wanted me to see Ice Road Truckers.  The truckers were in the Himalayas I think.  Crazy ass shit.  Great show.  Anyway, the old man loves having my secretary help him with his computer problems, which he seems to have quite a bit of for a guy who uses a computer to access his AOL email and check his stocks.

Today I found out what the issue really is.

So Ya Thought Ya Might Like To Go To A Show

Roger Waters has been touring the country, playing The Wall, in its entirety.  I contacted a friend with connections and asked if I could get tickets for myself, my wife and, if possible, two more for friends. The show was on November 6th and I had been on the list for over a month.

This past Tuesday he told me I was on a very long wait list and, odds were, I wasn't going.  Friday after noon, my wife made plans for the 6th (Saturday) with another couple. 

At midnight, the email comes thru - two tickets for tomorrow.  House seats. 

At first, I was thrilled.  My wife and I were going to see an incredible show.  I've heard that it's life altering, incredible, insane etc.  I contacted my friend and told him we were so excited.  His response:

"It's you and me bud, I'm in."

Fuck Me.

NYC, You Suck

As is always the case, I wound up donning a costume of sorts to give the kids an extra halloween thrill and, of course, to allow myself the fun of the holiday as well.


In the past I've done all kinds of things. Pig nose and wings last year in honor of the Swine Flu (swing flew get it?), Bloody nail thru the head the year before that. Always something a little fun, a little odd. This year, with the kids getting older and the masks and whatnot no longer scaring them, I decided to go with something a bit more nasty. I slashed my throat.


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My wife was with my daughter and her friend, getting manicures so, while the boy watched some tv, I locked myself in the bathroom with a fake wound, spirit gum and stage blood. I applied the wound across the neck, added copious amounts of blood to my neck and shirt and staggered into the living room telling my son I cut myself shaving.


This is how I looked:

My son looked up at me and gagged before telling me I looked gross and he didn't like it. He then asked if it was real. I told him it was not and he laughed and asked if I was going to wear it to soccer practice. I said I was.

So, we packed up our stuff and headed to the nail salon to pick up my daughter and her friend. On the one block walk, not a single person smiled, laughed, pointed, grimaced or blinked.

We walked into the salon and wandered to the back, where my daughter and her friend were drying their nails and my wife was getting her toes done. My wife looked up and said we needed a couple more minutes so the girls' nails would be fully dried. Not a word about the blood on my shirt, the slash across my throat. Then the woman painting her toes looked up. And screamed. Everyone in the salon looked at me. There were gasps, and laughs and my daughter looked up and told me it was disgusting and she loved it.

We packed up the kids and went out on the street. Two blocks walked to get a cab. Nary a nod or a smile at the slashed throat.

We got out of the cab by a hospital which is across the street from the entrance to the park. Nobody noticed.

At the soccer game, a few of the kids said something but, until they did, not a word from the parents or coaches. So sad.

After soccer, I took the kids home so they could get their costumes on and I ran out to grab some lunch for them. 4 blocks walked to a bagel store. Nobody noticed.

Went to a drug store to get a few things.

Nobody noticed.

What the hell is wrong with people? Are we all that cold, that detached from our surroundings, that we fail to notice a man with his throat cut?

Walking back to my apartment a small group of tourists notice me, laugh and ask if I will take a picture. Of them, not with them.

Head to the halloween party and, finally, a local adult notices the blood and gore. Have my picture taken a few times. Do the trick or treat thing with the kids and get a comment or two from the folks wandering the buildings, seeking treats with their kids.

After dropping the kids back off at the apartment with my wife, I head back out for pizza for the kids. In the pizzeria, the guy behind the counter asks what I'm having, doesn't register the blood and gore. As I'm paying, a japanese woman in front of me bumps into me, turns to apologize and screams. Upon seeing that I am, in fact, not dying, she turns to her companion and shakes him, pointing at me. They both say something in japanese, smiling and laughing and walk away.

On the walk back, again, nobody notices.

What's wrong with my city? Are we so afraid to look at people? Are we so accustomed to death and gore that, even if we do see someone, we don't register it? Are we afraid that, if we say something to a stranger, they might take it the wrong way?

I need to move. Find a place where people care. Where someone will notice a guy when he slashes his throat.

Here's another, better shot of the gore.

Seriously.  How could you not, at the very least, acknowledge that?

It's Tricky to Walk This Way in Run's House wearing My Adidas

A friend of mine recently took over the position of President for one of the myriad of cable networks available on most sets.  He's been involved with number of relatively well received reality shows, geared towards women, over the years and this new position is a reward for all his hard work with the other networks owned by the company he works for.  His first new show on this network is launching in a few weeks and last night they had the launch party to celebrate said launch.

I was there to soak it all in.

A New Kind Of Hell

Tax deadline day and this past week was a doozy.  Normally, 5 days before the deadline and I'm up to my ears in paperwork, phone calls, client visits and a variety of other hell.  This year was rather tame in that regard.  The larger, more complicated returns were done a few days earlier than normal and, thanks to my oddly proactive work ethic towards the end of the summer, a bulk of the work was completed earlier than normal.

So, by this past weekend, I was sitting around, calling clients, prodding them to get their shit in sooner, rather than later.  For the most part, it worked.  Clients sent stuff in earlier or ignored me.  By Wednesday, I was leaving at humane hours (9PM) and the work was moving quickly off my desk and out the door.

Then something happened, ruining the flow, destroying my mood and creating hell in the workplace.

Revenge, Floogin Style

I put up with a lot of shit, primarily because I can't be bothered with things but, from time to time, something done to me gets on my nerves enough that I retaliate.  When I do, it's usually childish and cruel.

So, this past week, I was pushed, once again, by an associate and the situation called for a bold statement.

I was happy to oblige.

The Tailor Crushes Me

So, I picked up a couple of suits a few months back and, thanks to a long summer of heat and lots of walking around, the pants are now falling off me.  I've got this incredible tailor who works out of an office where I work.  The guy does tons of work for movies, broadway and tv, along with making clothes, and altering clothes for normal folks to wear in normal situations. 

The guy's incredible and his prices are pretty fair so I brought my pants in to work today to let him fix them up for me.  Instead, I got my ego crushed.

She Just Can't Leave Me Out Of It

As I've mentioned plenty in the past, my daughter is very mature for 7 (soon to be 8) and talking to her is like talking to an adult.  She gets it, she's ultra aware of everything and she is very capable of making the proper assumptions and capturing the underlying emotions in people's comments.

So, when I found out my daughter went out to dinner, alone, with my mom, I knew I'd be dealing with all kinds of bullshit when I got home.