23!!

I say, TWENTY-THREE!! That's the age an ACTUAL 23-year-old guessed me as today. Oh, my God, THIS is the best YET! Mind you, I think he's fucking nuts and told him so, but he stood by his assessment as being totally believable. Ending June on a high note, baby!!

Tropicana's shady 89 oz. scheme

These fuckers think the public's stupid? Well, yes. And they're actually often right. But not Gary! Tropicana's the latest to "quietly" downsize their product. They used to have 96 oz. OJ...so what's this 89 oz. bullshit I first saw last weekend at my New England getaway? You can be sure it's the exact same price, though. More for less. And then tonight, a "well aren't they clever" moment as I clipped last Sunday's coupons. There's a dollar-off coupon for their NEW! Tropicana 86 oz. EASY POUR PITCHER. So they're distracting the public with a NEW! and EXCITING! product that'll...um, make it easier to pour. Yes, because on so many mornings of my life, i've cursed and sobbed over the arduous task of POURING ORANGE JUICE. WHY, WHY is it so hard?! Can't they PLEASE reduce the ounces in this jug, charge the same price, but make the task of POURING easier for me?! And their genius idea was to attach the cap. THIS is what constitutes EASY pouring. I guess far too many American families were misplacing their orange juice caps and then had to dump the OJ down the drain. This will now ease that burden. Thank you, Tropicana. Working hard to squeeze all the juice it can from our wallets behind the guise of a stupid ass gimmick.

Here's another word I hate...SON, as in...

...when males in their 20s and 30s refer to one another in greeting as SON. "What's up, SON?" "SON, I think it'll be a good time this weekend." "Ready to hit the gym, SON?" Holy FUCKING shit, it aggravates me so much. You'd be correct if you were wondering if Dipshit says this (would you expect any less?), but he wasn't actually who inspired this rant. I don't know, saying SON is just so fucking...aching to be using hip phrasing? Phrasing that absolutely would've annoyed me just as much, by the way, if I were currently seventeen. Just say "WHAT'S UP?" Or append their actual NAME to your fucking greeting. Only my father, older family members, or avuncular figures are allowed to call me SON. Like if I ran into Walter Cronkite or Jimmy Carter. Do young women prowl the town calling each other DAUGHTER? No, no they don't. If anyone addresses me this way, I should start replying by calling them DAD. Or even better, DADDY. Or how about POPPA?

I saw Jesus tonight!

Literally...as in my FRIEND Jesus (you know, pronounced HAY-sooce) from 8th grade. We met tonight for the first time in YEARS. He was most resourceful in tracking me down with a shocking phone message last Sunday. Talked for about an hour mainly on the delightfully rural-esque "back road" behind his house. Felt like I was in high school. I was briefly in his backyard for the first time since his 8th grade party. All very, VERY surreal...in a good way, mind you. We made plans for a more lengthy townie bar crawl ASAP. Add this to a couple of guys I've found on Facebook whom I've known since age FIVE (!?!), and it's been quite a Crazy Retro week. Look at me bringin' BACK the friends!

I know I shouldn't talk, but does Gavin DeGraw EVER take off his hat?

HOUSE FLIPPING...don't you mean SELLING your house at a profit?

This is the latest term to get under my fucking skin. You buy a house, maybe fix it up a bit, then sell it quickly to make a profit. THAT'S what you do. It's been done as long as there's been housing. You're not FLIPPING it. Trust me, this phrase wasn't so casually used by people (aiming to impress upon others how savvy they are) a mere decade ago. UGH, I so detest hip/cutesy words and phrases. Give me time and i'll compile a list of them. There's WINGMAN...

$1 flip flops this Saturday at Old Navy!!

And here I thought the four pairs I have for $2.50 each were an incredible bargain! Hmm, I already have gray, black, green and brown. I guess I could use a blue...and maybe another gray, since the Original Gray is used solely for gym and swimming locker rooms. And perhaps one of their patterned ones. A DOLLAR!!!!!

My 2nd trip to Coney Island!

What a wonderful day! Alone, of course. But it's better that way. Allowed me to walk endlessly, to the west end of the boardwalk, to this bizarre community called Seagate, which is, well, GATED and by the sea. Like, you can't even WALK in. Sorry, something VERY weird about that to me in 2008. There's fucking BARBED wire running the length of the street and onto the sand, on top of high fences and brick walls. And a front gate with a guard. And inside...what? Utopia? Very, very SECT-like, if you ask me. I'm all for peace and quiet and security and safe neighborhoods, but c'mon...to have to go through a police gate EVERY time you leave or enter your nabe? Who'd WANT to live that way? Anyway, this isn't the point. My point was that I went to Coney Island, enjoyed the sun and sand, boardwalk, and Nathan's.

I finally went to Nathan's! And, wow, the 2ND good hot dog i've had this season from a famous hot dog place that I expected to deem wildly overhyped! AND I paid less than half-price...twice! You see, I had a 99-cent hot dog coupon...which the first girl inexplicably gave back to me. So I felt compelled to shove another dog in my mouth right before I left for the subway. SO good! The fries...eh. But a very good hot dog. I yearned to sit at one of the many outdoor tiki-type places and get drunk...but what fun is that alone? I also stared longingly at the Cyclone, ALMOST going on...but then pulling back. Unless my parents are cheering me on and waving every time I go by them, I don't find solo amusement park riding very fun. Hmm, something that I DO find odd doing alone...interesting. Mental note, Gregoire. So I believe this is the last year for the Cyclone before they either close it for good or shut it down for a couple years while they renovate the area, SO...I'm gonna need a coaster co-hort. ASAP. Spread the word.

I actually liked Coney Island more this time than the first time I went 2 years ago...maybe because it was a random Wednesday and not Memorial Day weekend like last time. Less infuriating chaos. Oh, I got wrestled into doing some promo for rappers boxing somewhere...I really have to read the flyer they gave me. God knows if, when, or where I'll be on your TV saying, "GUNS DOWN, HANDS UP!" It all happened so fast...only afterwards did I realize I was being used to urge rappers to end their gun violence. Look at me, Suburban White Boy intervening...awwww. I just hope I look good on TV if they air it. That's what REALLY matters. A very fine excursion.

Lessons from my restorative weekend in well-mannered, upper crust Fairfield County, CT...

1) Rawhide dog toys are made out of pig dick. *Though when I googled this, I kept coming up with BULL PENIS. Oh, and pig dick is shaped like a corkscrew...I also learned that.

2) It's best to know how to get to your destination before you get in the car.

3) GPS devices (and, um, haven't I said this 237 times?) are NOT comparable to the human mind and will sometimes take you for miles down an unpaved road in the woods.

4) New England breakfasts are always better when fresh berries are served.

5) No amount of mold is EVER acceptable in a jelly jar. Do NOT eat such jelly!

6) Mexican meals are always better when accompanied by costumed singing guitar duos.

7) Said costumed singing guitar duos would appreciate it if you looked at them and registered any kind of emotion while they stand next to your table singing to you.

8) There's only so many ways to make your back deck roomier without adding on to it.

9) Toddlers should be tended to by an endlessly patient and nurturing third party while their parents sit down at length to discuss new kitchen fixtures at high-end stores.

10) If your slow-moving marine craft is nearing a speeding one, stop movement or retreat so as not to risk severe, capsize-risking rocking from the sudden high waves.

11) The pungent smell of marijuana mixes unevenly with the invigorating, salty ocean air.

12) When docking a boat, all parties should be prepped and alert to avoid smashing into a neighboring one. If not, screaming and profanity will ensue.

13) There's only so many shades of blue and white paint swatches one can stare at before wanting to scream I DON'T FUCKING KNOW!

14) Disobedient dogs will suffer the fate of an electrified fence...usually set up as early as possible on a Saturday morning.

15) Asian delivery men need assistance finding houses on unlit winding roads.

16) Pregnant women late for their doctor's appointment will think nothing of illegally pulling up onto the sidewalk at a busy intersection when dropping you off somewhere.

*I'm sure there's many more lessons, but these are just off the top of my tired (but in a good, Puritan work ethic way) head.

An old note from my college DJ program director

Just found this in one of my college scrapbooks...

"Gary, it has been requested that you please redo your promo. Everything but the moaning and the line THE FOREIGNERS BRING ME FRUIT is OK."

Yes, I recall I'd inserted a "sample" (read: copyright infringement) of Robin Quivers vividly recreating an orgasm on THE HOWARD STERN SHOW as background noise under my zany narration for a radio show promo. I also innocently and factually told of how two of my favorite foreign exchange students, Sandra (from Germany) and Merei (from Sweden, I believe), had come to my live show bearing fruit for their American College Radio Boy. Sweet precious darlins', they were. Somehow this was too racy to be heard over the local airwaves, which caused me great grief, as I so loved boisterously touting the foreigners' many talents and services. Wow, who'd have thunk when I woke this morning that I'd end the day thinking of Sandra and Merei? This will, of course, spur a renewed effort to find them online...

Erections that last more than FOUR hours?

I'm so amused by these boner-helping drug commercials and their potential adverse side effects. I just can't even fathom a 240-minute erection. A 120-minute one, sure, but DOUBLE that?! What if you need to leave the house? I guess dress in layers. Or use duct tape in a whole new way.

Perplexed by the Pussycats

I can't for the life of me figure out how many Pussycat Dolls exist. Weren't there anywhere from 6 to even 8 of them at one point? NOW, in their latest video, there's definitely just FIVE. In fact, in other videos, it seemed to me that the number of them varied from shot to shot. Of course, NONE of them matter beyond the lead singer anyway, so it's REALLY like what the fuck's the point of the others? Why are they even there? They're truly just like backup dancers. And let's discuss this lead singer, Nicole Scherzinger. Most reading this will be stunned I even know her name, but she's actually become reasonably well-known to anyone who follows music. She even was supposed to have a solo album out at the end of last year. I recall seeing TWO different videos at like the same time...which, to me, screamed "the first single failed, so Holy Christ, let's try THIS one!" But neither single made any impact, and the album never materialized. What the fuck? And now she's back with her other Pussy mates for a new album...presumably only because her solo leap failed miserably. I mean, I remain stunned their one album did so well to begin with...this group that began...um, as some random burlesque act with Carmen Electra, no? I guess that's just it...I've always been baffled by WHAT THE FUCK exactly they were. All too manufactured for me. Same way I felt about The Spice Girls...like they JUST weren't worthy of being on the radio. OK, well, that's just about enough wasted life time on THIS subject...

About George Carlin...

1) I'm more heartbroken by the hour that his voice has been silenced.

2) He was so much more than his "Seven Dirty Words"...though anyone smart will realize that.

3) Read BRAINDROPPINGS, people. You'll laugh out loud while furiously nodding your head in agreement.

4) Sacrilege Alert: I see a lot of myself in him. A LOT. I'd fully flesh this out if I wasn't falling asleep at the keyboard. Many things he has said or written are things that would totally come straight out of my mouth...the profanity and the opinion combined into one scathing comment. Like what I heard tonight on a clip from one of his HBO specials about the fucking idiots holding up checkout lines by paying for something like a $2.00 bag of candy with their fucking credit card.

Carlin's general disgust for stupidity, his questioning of society, his curiousity, his razor sharp mind, his vicious profanity and pushing boundaries of good taste not SO much to shock (though that's fun, too) -- because any worthy provocateur has a raging intellect to COMPLEMENT the curse words -- but to reveal truth and hypocrisy, his Irish Catholic background...these are all things I have in common with Carlin. But you know what else? As his daughter and brother pointed out on Larry King tonight, DESPITE his cynical, profane, confrontational "work persona," Carlin was one of the kindest, most thoughtful people they knew one-on-one...and, yes, I'm the same way. Honest. I swear to you i'm not some hard-to-stand obnoxious fuck. Unless i'm right and you're wrong, and you JUST won't admit it.

Now I realize how nauseatingly self-congratulatory this all is to say. I know many will want to smack me. I understand. But it's MY blog, MY head of thoughts...and right now, i'm discussing why I love(d) George Carlin so much, so forgive my indulgence. And, yeah, I'm gonna toot my own horn now and then. I wouldn't have this blog in the first place if I didn't have a huge ego. But I think I back it up far more often than not. And i'm POLITE in person!! Carlin's death has me thinking. But, anyway, I'm gonna go read some of BRAINDROPPINGS now. Thanks for the trailblazing inspiration, George. Rest as well as you can.

Mr. Chubby delivers!

MMMM, the endless joy my tongue had licking and darting at the chocolate sprinkles on the vanilla soft cone. I couldn't get enough! Indeed, soft serve ice cream was what I needed today...after the pancake, sausage, and berry breakfast...and Mexican explosion lunch (accompanied by 2 costumed men with guitars)...and so-icy-it's-wrong Pacifico beer...

George Carlin dead at 71

Thanks, Yahoo main page, for the cheery late night news. Christ...the good times just continue to roll, don't they? I greatly admired this man. He was a visionary -- incredibly sharp, very funny, cursed like a sailor...what's not to like? This man loved LANGUAGE...as do I. He appreciated its absurdity...and more so the absurdity of the human race who so often mangle it. Holy Christ, what a loss. Let you forget his classic Seven Dirty Words, here they are...SHIT, PISS, FUCK, CUNT, COCKSUCKER, MOTHERFUCKER and TITS. All my favorites! They ARE interesting, aren't they? Piss and tits? Really?

I have a special personal connection to these famous words. Back during the start of my storied college radio DJ career, during one of the always deadly serious DJ meetings, our draconian Program Director (who was actually a good friend, and in "real life" a profane pistol of a girl) handed out a list of these Seven Dirty Words...I believe partly inspired by some "lesser" offensive ones slipping on MY show, like ASS, HELL and DAMN. I think the Lord's name in vain was also a lightning rod. And, of course, it was also about "repetition" of these words. Once "every now and then" it'd be OK to say HELL or DAMN, but not regularly. As soon as I got back to my dorm room, I taped this delightful paper up for all visitors to see. Oh, the JOY of the word CUNT blaring up at unsuspecting eyes. I still have this handout in one of my Special College Mementos envelopes. All thanks to George Carlin...a brilliant, challenging, contrarian mind gone far too soon.

A diary milestone

Summer began today...as it did Way Back When in high school when I started my black-and-white diaries on this date. It's hard to wrap my head around it being so long ago, and yet, it's kind of perversely comforting that I'm still doing something the exact same way I did it at fifteen. To be sure, this blog is much more my "diary" now than a notebook. The handwriting aspect picks up now and again, though...and I think now is an ideal time for another spurt. It's just too aggravating to me in general, though. Typing is so much easier. It's interesting, though, how much HASN'T been written in recent years. And let me assure you again...MUCH isn't. No matter what I write on here OR in notebook form...trust that an abundance of Gregoire isn't revealed. And it's always interesting to me how I choose to edit myself. So, thank you AGAIN, Mr. Murray, for that summer assignment to keep a diary for English class. No one else seemed to take it seriously, but I dutifully noted my dull 15-year-old life for you to page through come September. And i'm still doing it.

Quiet cars on Metro North

Imagine my stunned delight/horror this evening when I realized my friend and I were the only 2 in the entire train car TALKING. I just thought it was some kind of absurd luck to finally be free of the Idiot Yammering Public...but he soon advised me to "keep it at the level we're talking now" because we were in some Quiet Car. I remain unclear on whether it was actually designated as such or if this was just some natural commuter-born code of conduct. I DO know I was mortified at the idea that I was the one irritating OTHERS, thus quickly stifled our conversation and immersed myself in the NY Post, followed by "Look, everyone, I'M reading" The Economist. I also know EVERY single train or bus in the nation should adopt such a policy, or at least shove the infuriating cell phone users and obnoxious high-decibal finance co-workers excitedly recounting their arduous trading day into one tightly-sealed car. I rode for almost 90 minutes in almost absolute silence...the perfect soothing commute. Thank you!! *PS...bonus points for being allowed to get liquored up.

A toast to spring from my rooftop

Twas a productive, interesting Spring '08. To honor its last night, I slid up to the roof with my Yuengling and gazed upon the twilight of NYC. Ahhhhh.

The Gloucester, MA high school "pregnancy pact"

Um, how to say this nicely? Stupid fucking bitches. Sorry, no sympathy. "Yeah, so our lives are miserable, stuck in this dead end, economically depressed hellhole...how can we better our situation? OMG, I know! Let's all have babies together while still in high school!" Dumb whores. Enjoy your lives!

*DISCLAIMER...perhaps my harshness results from recurring bitterness over the way some white trash female cop (think ROSEANNE's "Jackie") treated me in nearby Salisbury Beach, MA in 1999, ticketing me for parking in a metered spot for all of 2 minutes while I stepped out to put my feet on the sand and view the ocean. Yeah, FUCK YOU!

One of life's small joys...

Walking into the PSE&G office at heavy volume lunchtime, ON "payment due" day, expecting to be infuriated by an incredibly lengthy line comprised of slow-moving, confused dolts, many with space-clogging strollers containing screaming toddlers...but seeing NO ONE. Instead, I walked right to the front of the line and was handled immediately...at about 12:58pm, which SHOULD register as June 19 and NOT "June 20," as I've concluded paying past 1pm does. Which, of course, INFURIATES me when I get my statement. Not that there's a fine or anything, but i'm sure it'd be noted on some Secret Federal Credit Watchlist that I had a late payment...WHEN I WAS FUCKING THERE, YOU SLIPPERY, SHADY MOTHERFUCKERS, PAYING ON TIME!!!!! Oh, my Christ, that is SO very agitating. I want no dumbass, crafty explanations...you should be able to pay things up until 11:59pm of the due date for ANYthing without monetary or credit-hurting penalty. Is anyone else with me?!!?!!?!? And, as always, telling me "that's just the way it is, dude, deal with it" is NOT an appropriate answer. It is WRONG. Oh, but wait, this was a HAPPY, GIDDY, CAREFREE post...why am I suddenly angry?! I need more tea and poundcake...

Tim Russert

I can't possibly add anything new to the avalanche of praise...all deserved. It's just such an immense loss. He's one of those people I honestly never gave much thought to while he was alive -- I enjoyed his analysis and didn't DISlike him, but I wasn't some MEET THE PRESS fanatic or owner of his books -- but, yeah, as soon as I heard he died, I realized I took him for granted, both as a broadcaster and a human being. His son, Luke, appears to be his father's greatest success. How Luke could be so composed and eloquent giving his father's eulogy is beyond me. ALL the eulogies were excellent...an Irish celebration of a life well lived. I'm grateful the public was allowed to share in it.

For seemingly the 9,372nd time, I just feel like the smart thing to do is to learn from this. In ANY way, small or seismic. But above all, just be cognizant that tomorrow is guaranteed to no one. And go from there in deciding what's important...and what's not.

Tonight's sinful dessert

Four scoops of French vanilla Turkey Hill ice cream with a drizzling of straight-from-Hawaii Kona coffee liqueur spread seductively over the refreshingly glacial creamy mass.

I was on stage once with Don Rickles at Caesars in AC

Got a bottle of champagne with a sketch of Don's face on the label for my improv efforts. Wild applause. Crowd loved me. Elderly from small town USA seeking me out after the show. My friend and I surely stuck out...the only early 20s guys in the room. Don's a lifelong role model, so it's still amazing to me that it happened. Damn, i'm full of anecdotes.

Hey, Circuit City, would you just go bankrupt already?!

You SUCK! I go to this store for new music (and I mean THE DAY AN ALBUM COMES OUT) sometimes because it's relatively local...and has that fantastic $9.99 CD price for new music. Yet EVERY time, it's the same insanity. I walk in, go to the music area, look...and look...and look. And NOTHING. I painstakingly search through every endcap, along with the regular aisle section. NOTHING. What. The. Fuck?! Shouldn't the new music arrivals be heavily promoted somewhere?! So roughly 15 minutes goes by...as I'm LOATHE to ask salespeople for help anywhere, me being of the mind that i'm smart and have vision, thus i'll fucking find what I want by myself. And ESPECIALLY when it comes to music, salespeople are bloody clueless. You need to hit upon a savvy one...which I did today once I caved in. I'm pacing the store, cursing out loud, about to scream when I finally asked some dude if they had the new Coldplay album. He started stammering...uh...uh...ummmm....ummmm. My eyes started to roll, my mouth started to foam. Luckily, full seizure was averted when his mercifully attentive co-worker chimed in..."IT'S BEHIND CUSTOMER SERVICE."

The sad thing is...i've been through this bullshit with them before, so should've gone RIGHT there. In fact, I kinda did a scan of behind the counter, but I tell you, there was NOTHING advertising Hidden Products. WHAT THE FUCK?!?! WHY IS IT BEHIND THE FUCKING COUNTER?!? AND NOT EVEN DISPLAYED?!! You would NEVER find that album in that store unless you asked. WHY? Why, dammit, why?! Doesn't the store want sales? And non-agitated customers? It is INEXPLICABLE. You go to ANY other music store on Day One of an album release and there's big ass promotional posters and displays and tons of copies of the album easily within reach. Not at Circuit Fucking City. They are the WORST. Awful. Best Buy is SO far superior in every way. Circuit City is a junky, cluttered, poorly displayed store...that I predict is ever closer to the end of its road. Gary endorses Best Buy!!

**OH, and Coldplay's VIVA LA VIDA is another instant favorite. Melodic as ever, but with a bit more ambition laid upon the basic Coldplay blueprint, a bit more spring in its step. Less funeral procession, more post-burial "carry on" toast.

SIMPSONS quote of the day

"I rented MAN WITHOUT A FACE...I didn't even know he had a problem!"

*Probably has to be seen and heard in its proper context for Full Hilarity Effect.

Headline of the day

High heels for babies: Are infants being sexualized?

Yo, Anonymous Assfuck...

As part of your latest eloquent obsessive rant/love letter to me, you wrote, in part...

"My line of work "could" compliment an avenue that this Gary might be looking towards..."

Well, I think you mean COMPLEMENT. Check your grammar, SON. Now I really wish you'd just accept that i'm The Master and you're a Fucking Douche, and deal with your shattering self-image issues in a more constructive manner than writing me and wasting my precious time.

I/We need to start using the word DICKWEED more

Thank you, Lance

I couldn't have said it better myself. Appreciate the defending. I'll remarkably leave it at that.

Name brands vs. generic store ones

I can't believe I haven't covered this in all my discussions on supermarket savings. In the escalating reporting done on how to save money on groceries, the "genius" idea to go generic has come up more and more. But you know what? Fuck that. If you're smart, you can totally have a name brand collection of food and household products...all bought at a drastically reduced price. Yet again, i'm mystified at the public's stupidity...and the media's, for that matter. Just yesterday, I stood and watched a woman buy BLAH ShopRite brand pasta for more than a dollar...while right next to it was Ronzoni on sale for 77 cents a box. I RARELY buy generic. Here's what I buy generic...milk, eggs, vinegar, tissues, toilet paper, paper towels, bacon bits, cooking spray. Yup, I think that's it. Oh, wait, vacuum bags. You know, ALL the shit for which there's ZERO difference between name brand and Piece O'Shit Generic. And please don't wax snobbishly about how only a Charmin product has the finesse to touch your asshole. I'd wipe mine with a bag of leaves if they sold them, they were reasonably thick, and they were priced right. I HAVE bitched before about Dipshit buying super thin toilet paper, but you can definitely find a generic thick brand that your hand won't go through. So, yeah, fuck the generic brands...they DO taste worse than the name brands. You can't fool ME with a blindfolded taste test. Simply buy name brands on sale and use coupons. It's still that damn simple.

My newest inspiration...

The 91-year-old British woman now living in Iowa, who was forced by the flooding there into a shelter. Upset? Nervous? Sobbing? Not at all. Instead, she found the whole ordeal "exciting" and "an adventure." GOD FUCKING BLESS HER. I say it all the time...one MUSTN'T lose childlike enthusiasm. Tim Russert had it, this 91-YEAR-OLD woman STILL has it. And so do I. And I know I always will. And it infuriates me to see others, especially others MY age, so irritatingly dull and negative. Yup, this is me again saying that i'm actually very optimistic...though curious and interested in life are actually better adjectives. By the way, I spent about 15 minutes before crouched on my bathroom floor, terrified my house would be hit by lightning, it being the highest house on the block, and I being on the highest floor...and the lightning being UNRELENTING for a good hour, crashing all around me. It was rather scary. Go ahead, laugh. But I felt safer in a windowless small room. It was an...ADVENTURE!

OK, let me be the first to say it...

Tim Russert wasn't Jesus Christ...but you'd never know that from MSNBC'S NONSTOP coverage. My 2nd blog in as many days that I hesitate to write, as I DO think Russert was an institution whose shocking death certainly warrants extensive coverage, and those who knew him are understandably stunned and grieving. But there has been NO other news on MSNBC all damn day!!!!! NOTHING! I know, because aside from my shockingly early 9:45am trip to ShopRite, I've been inside watching it. I mean, not even a 2-minute "news brief" on the other issues of the day. NOTHING. I mean NO disrespect here, and i'm not trying to be "edgy." Just writing what's in my head. It's almost in HONOR of Russert that I say all this, as I think he'd be the first to say the 100% devotion of a news channel to his death is absurd. His NBC colleagues like Andrea Mitchell sit there saying how his death should be a lesson to other Type A media types to live a more balanced, healthy lifestyle...but I think Mitchell sleeps on a cot below the anchor desk, she's on so damn much. Hey, it's a heartbreaking loss, and I understand the impulse for his colleagues to honor him. I'm just speaking objectively...there's been ZERO balance.

I love how in Mariah's new BYE, BYE video...

...she finds a rationale for completely gratuitious shots of her frolicking in a bikini on the beach, despite the song being about DEATH, and despite the fact that the REST of the video largely consists of her sullen or sobbing, along with real photos of dead people flashing by. "Well, can't there be ONE scene where i'm giggling on a beach in a barely-there bikini?" Um, sure, Mariah, we'll work that into the storyboards.

So CVS and Rite-Aid have been charged with massive "past the sale dates" violations...

OK, yeah, fine them, sure. But this is the part where I go, "um, but the stupid fucking idiot public should be looking THEMSELVES for sale dates ALL the time, EVERYwhere, on EVERYthing." Like I do. The price and the sale date go hand-in-hand on MY trips to the market. Who the fuck's buying milk with a sale date of two weeks ago? A stupid fucking moron, that's who. You deserve to vomit for hours if you're too dumb to do that checking. Or past-the-expiration medication? Say it with me...A STUPID FUCKING MORON, THAT'S WHO. STUPIDITY...there is absolutely no end to it. NO. FUCKING. END.

What to do with my OBSCENE RAGE?

I will ramble now. Had a pretty great day...the beach...in Hoboken. Yup, there's a beach there. A small one, but a genuine beach...hidden for years until redevelopment recently. Went to bed at dawn, yet wasn't that tired. A throng of 8th graders came by, goofing off, even throwing a football over my head AND hitting me with it at one point...but none of this really bothered me. I found it all kinda amusing. My point is how good my mood was. Then I went for a long walk along the water, shirtless because, well, why NOT while I can I still inspire envy? And I wasn't ALWAYS so free with the shirtless thing...hideous teen that I was. So it's fun.

THEN I get home after all that...learn Tim Russert's dead. WHAT?!?! Now I wasn't a HUGE fan or anything...but I liked him. And no matter what you thought of him, he was a huge PRESENCE on television today. Not to mention only 58. And now he's dead. Suddenly. No warning. And this jarred me. Ruined my mood. I've already had one death this week, someone I actually knew well. I'm trying to get beyond the Death Dwelling. Now it's back. I'm sick of death. Can I PLEASE go one FUCKING year sans wake and/or funeral?!

I decided last night I will SWIM tonight! I had this whole day planned out. Sunning, water, swimming. Haven't gone swimming in 2 months. SO...an hour ago, I left to go swimming at the Stevens pool. And my rage began...as I had death and the preciousness of time weighing on my mind. And as my rages grows, I'm thinking of the tug of war going on here...ENRAGED by people wasting my time...but worrying that I'M gonna drop suddenly dead from a heart attack while still in my prime DUE to these UNSPEAKABLY infuriating dolts. And I REALLY don't know what to do. HOW many times can I utter the words CUNT, TWAT, and endless variations of FUCK?! I say them so much they've almost lost their power. Almost. I can't fucking stand it, though...people wasting my time.

And here's what the issue was...this dumb fucking young bitch making me catch not one, but TWO lights on my way to the pool. Four young chicks in the car...likely from the suburbs, likely doing their weekly drawn-like-a-magnet migration to Hoboken to behave like dumb drunken sluts at the same old dumb fucking bars. Likely doing the same completely non-savvy and non-urbane hunt for a parking space. I HATE YOU FUCKING SUBURBAN DOLTS! STAY THE FUCK IN MORRISTOWN!!!!!!

Sadly, it's impossible to recreate the reasoning for my rage in print, but again, seriously, she was moving SO slowly that TWO lights turned red that BOTH of us should've been able to go through easily. She then proceeded to go the length of Sinatra Drive at 15 mph. FIFTEEN MPH!! The speed limit is 35mph. I wanted SO badly to slam into her and push her violently into the Hudson. I'm NOT kidding. I won't even add what other thoughts I had, but they're EVIL. I felt like crying. I was screaming in the car, wildly gesticulating, wildly tailgating her. To no avail. No pulling over on her part. No speeding up. She then got me stuck at a THIRD light. I'm spent. I'm done. I just don't know what to do. I VALUE MY TIME ON THIS EARTH...DOES NO ONE ELSE?! Waiting pointlessly at lights is so OBSCENELY unnecessary. Tick, tock...la, di, dah...here we are, sitting at a light...isn't this fun? We have ALL the time in the world! We're all living till we're 150! "OH, WE'LL GET THERE...WHAT'S ANOTHER 5 MINUTES?" If one more FUCKING person tells me that, i'm gonna knock their teeth down their throat.

There is NO solution to this. None. That's what's so vexing. Well, here's a solution...don't leave the house. Or if I do, never drive. Or move to Montana where there's more speeding and surely less dumb whorish cunts from the suburbs slowing me down.

It's at this time, I feel compelled (AGAIN) to say this...1) I do NOT drive like a maniac and 2) I'm NOT this unstable, angry person. Well, OK, i'm angry, but justifiably. My point is that I hate how I come across after I write these things, or even after some people get a first impression of me in person. And as for driving, I drive REASONABLY and smartly...and am aware if someone's on my ass. I don't go 90mph. God, now I wanna erase this whole blog, but I just don't know what else to do. I've now wasted ANOTHER hour on this DUMB FUCKING CUNT who's now giggling with her whore clit pals and doesn't know me from Adam. I'm so fucking fed up it's not even funny. I hate everyone. WHY was I born smarter than most?! I'm DOOMED to be edged closer daily to a heart attack...despite the fact that I really, seriously, honestly am the MOST laid back person on earth. Sadly, most are too dumb to realize that. OK, i'll end this blog now, as there's only so many ways I can say i'm bright and everyone else is a moron.

Actually, I really wanna say this to sum it all up...I really do equate sitting at a red light with death. It's time ticking away. EVERY time you sit at one. Adding up. Every day, week, month, year. THINK about that. And while I get that we need lights, to sit at them NEEDLESSLY is what grates. So, dear morons who can't drive, why don't you value your fucking life a bit more? And press that thing called a foot down just a bit harder on the gas pedal when you see the "don't walk" sign flashing. What's the reason you WOULDN'T? REALLY, TELL ME. I have no doubt I'll be laughed at by the idiot masses, who'll have some "snappy" retort about how light-sitting should be the LEAST of my time-wasting worries. But you're wrong, and i'm right. And that's the way it is. YOU MOTHERFUCKING IDIOTS.

Dodging debris, racing to beat the tornadic winds!

Quite an evening. My brother has no electricity, as all the wires to his house were ripped off of it by a tree...that smashed onto his roommate's car. And I had a harrowing time myself, racing from my parents' to my apartment...lightning flashing, very conscious of the line of bright red I'd just seen on the radar to the west. Within minutes of my house...the wind picked up and it was like a sandstorm. Debris everywhere. Garbage, branches strewn onto the roads. Nervous a tree would fall onto the car, I raced past any sign of greenery. It seriously was pretty damn impressive a storm. I raced inside before any downpour, but fearful a lightning bolt would kill me in place. Then came my bro's phonecall. Wow.

Antidisestablishmentarianism

I just flipped when i heard a little kid utter this on a Dairy Queen commercial. I was probably in the 2nd or 3rd grade, tops, when I came upon my back hallway blackboard with this word written on it. Mom's doing, always honing my superiority over others. I promptly memorized it, becoming the latest dazzling example of my mastery at spelling. You DID know I got a 100% on every single spelling test through 5th grade? That's right, not a single word wrong in 6 years. Can I put this on my resume? You so rarely hear this pointlessly pompous little word. God, that is SO funny that it's now on a national commercial...and uttered by a little kid like I was at the time. To this day, it's a word i'll doodle in my stunning, nun-taught handwriting when i'm bored somewhere. Thanks, mommy!

Gary entertains a court of law

Jury duty today in Jersey City. And yours truly found yet another audience to entertain. About 10:30am, I was one of 35-40 people called into a courtroom to fill out like a 15-page questionaire relating to our case, which involved some lady slipping on ice and suing the condo owners. There were a lot of ?s about our views on frivolous lawsuits and if we've been in accidents or broken bones...or if anyone we knew had. Which is why I mentioned my broken left wrist of August 1983. More on that in a minute.

So once we're done the questionaire, we were free for a half hour, then reconvened for a few minutes...before the judge FINALLY walked in. The regal, middle-aged, black (I refuse to say African American) female judge. She really DID look like someone right out of Central Casting. We're soon told that we'll be called up INTO the jury box to answer questions on a screen, followed by questions from the 3 lawyers and judge. At this point, I'm wondering "hmm, ALL of us are gonna go through this?" There WERE close to 40 of us there. They already had 6 jurors and only needed 2 more. This could take all damn day, I was thinking. And, yes, I was hoping to God I wouldn't be called upon to reveal personal details to a courtroom of strangers. So, naturally...I was called. FIRST.

Up I went, imagining (yet again) I was in a GENERAL HOSPITAL scene. And from the get-go, light comedy, as I wasn't sure what seat to sit in, started sitting in the wrong one, and was told "no, here!" by 2 other jurors. And then the list of questions. Name, where I was born, where I live now, shit like that to start. Then what I do...it starts to get interesting. Then who I live with...I nearly burst out laughing as I wanted to scream DIPSHIT, YOUR HONOR. Ugh, that I even had to reference him! And even where HE worked! It finally wound up with my hobbies. Fave TV shows...I LOVED saying "THE SIMPSONS and cable news shows." As much as I loved saying HOWARD STERN was a favorite radio personality. And HOW great that my ECONOMIST came in perfectly handy to answer as a "fave mag." HOBBIES?! By this point, I noticed many in the room already had smiles on their faces, even the lawyers...all wildly charmed by my witty, thorough, strongly voiced delivery. Amazes me that some people JUST don't know how the fuck to SPEAK UP. So, for hobbies, I rambled about the beach, biking, reading...nothing alarming, but amusing in the way I said it.

NOW it's time for the regal judge to quiz me. She wouldn't let up about what i'd repeatedly written about feeling "the system is flawed." And how I take things on a case-by-case basis. And she PRESSED for an example of what I found to be a frivolous lawsuit...I was blank, stammering, coming up with nothing on the spot. Then it came time for me to rehash in front of everyone how I hit a girl on her bike with my car years ago. Yeah, charming. I was mortified at this point. I vigorously lobbied, though, to fully explain the situation...IT WAS THE GIRL'S FUCKING FAULT!! I did everything right at the time...it was simply an accident, largely caused by a stupid 12-year-old girl. Ugh. But I even made this slightly comedic.

I quickly redeemed myself -- and got a laugh from even the stern judge -- when she asked how I broke my aforementioned wrist. "I fell on my roller skates." It was a struggle not to reveal my Rain Man-like memory by stating that it was Friday, August 5, 1983 at about 7:30pm...and how mom didn't believe I was really hurt until I was still sobbing in pain about 10pm. But the whole court loved this little life snippet. The BEST, though, was saved for last. And unintentional. Just Humorous Me. One of the lawyers asked for Juror #3 to be removed. I LEAPT up, asking out loud to anyone who'd listen, IS THAT ME?! Again, the other jurors frantically sat me down, telling me I was Juror #6. Dammit! The entire court burst out in giggles at my CLEAR yearning to get the fuck OFF the jury panel. The judge, laughing again herself, told me "you're not getting off THAT easy!"

Two more prospectives were called to ramble...and MUCH less was asked of them. I mean, I was literally grilled for like triple the time of the next two. I got very nervous when the lady lawyer, representing the defendant, announced she was satisfied with the jury. But in the next moment, I was saved by the plaintiff's lawyer, asking that "Juror #6 be removed, your honor." YAY! I made one last Look At Me! display by confirming with the judge that I was to then go back to the jury management room.

So I made the most of my chance for the spotlight today. Fun shit. Though I was weary the entire day. And most annoyed that I DO have to return tomorrow...though, mercifully, not till 9:30am. That extra hour of sleep is CRUCIAL. And I can't forget THIS unbelievable occurrence -- I'm sitting there about 9:20am when I look at my cell, on vibrate, see that I had a text message. "TURN AROUND, LOOK BEHIND YOU," it commanded. I can't even begin to express how surreal that moment was for me. I was briefly panicked and confused. Scanning down to see the name, it was just one of those dumb moments where you KNOW what has to be going on -- a good friend just happened to be picked for jury duty the same day! -- but you text something back like, "you're HERE?" Uh, NO, dumbass. When I DID turn around, I couldn't see my friend. And I felt like a freak repeatedly turning to scan everyone behind me, so I just stopped for a bit. But FINALLY, I saw her. SO fucking odd. Took jury duty to see a good friend for the first time in more than 4 months. Funny. So that's my epic recounting of jury duty for you. How i'm still conscious is beyond me. Me need bed. Or another Pepperidge Farm apricot-raspberry Verona cookie.

Barack Obama wins the Democratic presidential nomination

Historic, yes. Impressive, for sure. It really IS something else...and at any other time, i'd be ecstatic. But i'm not. I'm beyond aggravated. Oh, look, Hillary Clinton wins the South Dakota primary tonight! To the bitter end, supreme eye-rolling irony. I can't quite process the endless points I wanna make...i'm too distracted by the dizzying historic political things happening tonight. Not to mention too tired.

*Actually, i'll say one thing...only because I just heard Jeffrey Toobin on CNN say the same thing I was thinking. The speech McCain just gave -- on this historic night, when he should be coming out FIGHTING and showing how VITAL and CLUED-IN he is -- was FUCKING AWFUL. Like breathtakingly awful. On so many levels. Like, seriously, if the media ran with this, this speech could singlehandedly be The Point he lost the election. He looked like an old man lost on the highway. His entire team should be fired. What was with the pathetic turnout and weak applause? Appalachia school board meetings are more raucous. HORRIBLE. HOLY FUCKING SHIT. And, for the record, I thought he sucked on SNL last month, too...but I've heard no one else say this.

But I wanna end with this...I'M STILL SMUG. I'm gonna sit back and watch everything unfold...and at SOME point -- no matter how long it takes, how many YEARS maybe, and i'm not even sure about WHAT yet -- but i'm gonna say I TOLD YOU SO about the ramifications of this election. CHANGE!

Alabama slammers

This was one of my favorite mixed drinks when I was underage. I got it at my junior prom afterparty at a now defunct NYC club. How this drink found its way to my mouth, i'm not sure. Did someone recommend it? Did I pick it at random? Did the person buying the drinks pick it and I drank whatever was handed to me? Who knows. Seventeen and waltzing around with a cocktail in my tux in Manhattan. Wonderful, wonderful memories. So much so that I always get nostalgic when I hear or read about this drink...as I just did.

I was reading a front page story in The Star-Ledger about a 70-year-old Atlantic City cocktail waitress...one of those profile things...certainly not front page "news." Very interesting, though. And, yeah, sad...as she spoke about her job as the longest-serving waitress in A.C. helping her "not to think" about the deaths of her daughter, mother AND husband over the past 4 years. And then she mentioned one of her regulars who gave her and her late husband jewelry as parting gifts...parting because he was dying. She never even knew his name. But she remembers that he drank Alabama slammers.

FUCKING jury duty

I really can't emphasize how much I resent having to go tomorrow to "serve my civic duty." Fuck civics AND my duty. I just fucking did this barely more than 3 years ago, and I did it in September of 2000, too. THREE times in less than 8 years. The upshot is that then it'll be over with for at least another 3 years. Back in 2000, I somehow only went for one day...can I hope for the same miracle this time? Conversely, in 2005, I got picked for a jury and was there like 4 days. I can still see the defendant's face in my mind...well, kinda. Bearded little runt.

Jesus, the last time is SO clear to me...HOW has it been 3 years and 3 months?! I hope the sardonic, condescending announcer lady is still there...admonishing people on their cell phones to shut the fuck up and reminding them that no one wants to hear the details of their life. So, SO rarely I get that immense satisfaction.

GOD, I'm pissed off I have to wake up early for this fucking shit. The Morning People strike again. I ask you...WHY can't we meet at, say, NOON for this bullshit? And not 8:30am? WHY, MOTHERFUCKERS, WHY?!?! You'll have no answer for me other than "because that's the way it is." I LOATHE you early birds who define the daily timeline of this life more than I can possibly express.

Wow, so i'm not alone?

I'm always exuberant like a small child seeing Santa Claus when I come across information that shows I actually have kindred spirits out there in the world. It's a shame they're not anyone I know, but I take comfort where I can find it. Thus, I give you this article about an increasing number of men -- AND women -- perfectly fine with staying single. Because I tell you...I'd be out of an aggravating marriage in a heartbeat. There'd be ZERO working on it." I don't WANT to work on it. Life's too short. Also, as I've said since about 8th grade...people need to fucking start learning how to be by themselves.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20080602/lf_nm_life/books_bachelors_dc

Honoring June's arrival with a walk down Brooklyn's Myrtle Avenue, then into Vinegar Hill...

I continue to be fascinated by Brooklyn. I found what I read months ago is Brooklyn's smallest house...on Concord St., right off bustling Flatbush Avenue. There's also some bizarre tiny car/golf cart-like thing parked in front. I'd love to know who lived there. Before that, I discovered Fort Greene Park is rather mountainous and also that I CAN successfully walk through Bed-Stuy without being shot. I wound up my jaunt by thoroughly examining Vinegar Hill, which is a super small and out-of-the-way section between Dumbo and the Navy Yard. There's cobblestone streets and houses that date to the 1800s, not to mention empty storefronts that appear frozen in time after the owners just fled. The icing on the cake is this elegant white Navy mansion behind closed gates, complete with 1940s automobile. I felt like I was in a WWII movie. All very bizarre and fascinating. And THEN I was thoroughly exhausted...much like the 1:43am Panting Jogger sounds now...so I rewarded myself with a coffee frapp from the Dumbo Starbucks, which was so fucking tasty it ain't funny. I could've chugged a gallon of it. One F train to West 4th, one Gray's Papaya dog, one Benny's mammoth size pizza slice, and one long bike ride later, I reached home, vowing I'd finally turn in at a normal hour. And here it is, 1:48am, and I'm still up. Hello, June!