Garbology – July 2007

Tuesday, July 31, 2007

But Ma, It’s Not My Blood II

Category: Games

Death with his grimy paws… Death is not all that interested in his current victims. He’s more about getting to you while you’re living. He wants to get under your skin and make you realize he could be around the next corner… Death is the end of you thinking about living and about doing things… Death is…  Death is all about the fear of death and I was fearing it now.

My father asked me how the fried calamari was and all I kept thinking about was that damn song on the last episode of The Soprano’s.

“Fuck,” I said.

Both my parents waved their finger at me. I felt like I was seven years old again.

“Randazzo’s has the best fried  calamari,” I said. “But hanging out with you here, makes me nervous.”

“Nervous? Don’t be ridiculous. No one would dare hit me here. Everybody loves the fried calamari here too much. Randazzo’s is like Sweden during World War II. The only thing that would kill you here is if you have high colesterol… You’re a middle aged man now, how is your colesterol levels?”

“I can’t afford to go to the Doctor.”

“I got a gypsey who can help you with that.”

“I’ve been trying to get him to a Doctor. He doesn’t take care of himself. He just works and takes care of the kids. Who knows what his wife is doing all day. I don’t see her doing anything.” My mother sipped on her glass of boiled water. She drank hot water with a sugar cube in her mouth. Russian tea she called it.

“O.K., I gotta know why after forty years, I’m sitting with my folks and getting lectures. Dad why did you pick us up and bring us first to Coney Island and now here?”

“Marsha, go out and give Leo this to go bag of calamari. We’ll be out in a minute.”

My mother picked up her glass of boiled water and slammed it back as if it were a shot of whiskey,”I’ll be outside but I’m not carrying that bag. It’s not kosher and Leo doesn’t look in the best of health. If you want to kill your most trusted worker, that’s your business. Don’t make me your messenger of death.” She stormed out.

“Your mother is going to make a great Dominatrix. I could tell you things about her…”

“My threshold for my family is limited. Why am I here?”

“It’s actually your mother’s idea.”

“What she called you to come to the shrink and pick us up.”

“She didn’t know when. I figured I haven’t seen her since the wedding.”

“You weren’t at the wedding.”

“Yes, I was.”

I scratched my head.

“Anyway, my mother tells me you still have weird sick thoughts.”

“I go to a shrink. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m not worried about you. I want to hire you as a creative director for my guys. They’re losing touch. I need someone who can come up with creative ideas for putting the fear of God in people. I need a Propaganda guy. Will You be it.”

“A P.R. guy for the Mob.”

“We’re not the Mob. Coney Island is changing and I’ve got to think of ways to move with the times.”

“And my sick thoughts will keep things straight?”

“Yep. What do you think?

END PART II

DON’T STOP, BELIEVING. DON’T STOP THE BLEEDING!

Tuesday, July 31, 2007

But Ma, It’s Not My Blood

Category: Games

So, my Dad is part of the traditional old school Jewish mobsters in Brooklyn. You don’t hear much about them. Exactly. Jewish men are not supposed to become “obvious” criminals. We are supposed to become Doctors and steal from the insurance company, or Accountants and “doctor” books, or best of all become lawyers and do whatever you want as long as you’ve made a document to cover your ass.

In general Jewish mobsters have shame.  My father has shame about being a mobster. My mother won’t even acknowledge that he even is a gangster. She still thinks that his interstate trucking business is legit.

My folks have been divorced for forty years. That’s a long time. My mother still has shit to say about my father but no matter what evidence you present to the woman about her ex-husband, she would never agree that Sol could be in the mob. She just calls him a momma’s boy.

The truth of the matter is that my Grandmother ran that trucking business after my Grandfather died and that she sent her boy out to do some dirty work.

I got glimpses into the family business more after my folks seperated.For example, my father came home from work all bloodied. My grandmother, yelled at him when he came home covered in blood, “I just bought that shirt for you,” My father’s response which I bet you can guess was, “But ma, that’s not my blood.”

I remember her calming down after hearing that. Not because it wasn’t his blood  and she was worried about her son but because she knew he was just taking care of business and the price of a shirt could be  claimed as a write-off. This was a very cool family. I don’t mean cool like beatnicks. These were calculating, primitive folk.

Now, my mom’s side of the family were exactly the opposite but the same. My mom’s family survived the holocaust by hiding. They hid 18 months in a hole in the ground, dug in a barn in Lithuania.  My grandfather stole food at night. He was the only one who left the hole. Three of the children survived. There were others but nobody’s talking. My mother, her sister and her brother are weird. That hole was too much for too long not to come out of it weird. In today’s world, if you get stuck in an elevator, you’ll be going to therapy for thirty years. These people came out of the hole and ended up in America. So, they have their real cool side to them too.

Both my parents had family secrets and so when the butcher in Monticello introduced them to each other, it was secrets at first sight. The Butcher introduced them to each other and neither one of them said, “This is a bad omen.” Instead, after a few dates, they married. A few dates!

Well, here I was reunited with the happy couple on the way to Coney Island. My father picked my mother and me up at the Shrink’s office. He said he wanted to talk to us. He didn’t say why. I assumed it was because my mother had a film crew following her around because at the age of almost seventy, she was embarking on a new carreer as a Dominatrix.

MOBSTER PLUS DOMINATRIX EQUALS JUNKMAN

It all does make sense when you put it together. It truly is a simple math equation. So, instead of going home and taking care of my kids and my family, I had to first deal with my mom’s bullshit. She brought me in to her shrink in order to accuse me of being a anti-semite. And now, I have to deal with one of the scariest, most dangerous men you could meet. Nice.

“Dad, tell me what the fuck this is all about or I’ll jump out of this car.”

He opened the door for me. The driver named Leo snickered. This was a Limo we were in and my father sat opposite me.

“I’m taking my family out.”

“When you say you’re taking us out, does that mean in a mobster way or in a traditional family outing?

“Traditional family.”

“I only eat kosher now.” my mother said.

“She might go the mobster way.”

My mother snickered, “You boys and your fantasies… Grow up.”

“Leo, take this back to the city. We’re dumping the broad back in Chelsea.”

“No. I want to hear what the momma’s boy has got to say. I want to know why after all these years, you need to see me and talk to me. And you haven’t seen Larry for a couple of years.

“Actually, I talk to dad every couple of weeks.”

“You talk to him more than you talk to me., Now we have a problem. Take this car back uptown to the shrink’s office.”

Leo said, “What do you want me to do boss?”

“Stay on course for the amusement Park at Coney. We’ll go on the Bumper cars and everybody can get their aggression out there.”

“I’m not going on that, I have a bad back.”

“What’s so important about Coney?”

“I’ve got an important job there to do and I need you guys to do it.”

END PART I

Sunday, July 29, 2007

Your Mother Wears Combat Boots II

Category: Life

I was grateful that Bingo and Jeffie’s family were even later than mine to the park. If Bingo or Jeffie were there when the Polish people were turning over the picnic tables,there would have been bigger problems. I’m crazy but more of the goofy kind of crazy. Jeffie kind of likes violence. Bingo is on medication for depression and likes to instigate violence. Really, I mean they used to. I came of age with these kids. We came out of the Punk, hardcore scenes in this city. Me more Punk, Jeffie and Bingo more Hardcore. Jeffie and Bingo came running towards me with babies under their arms like footballs. Heads bouncing and arms flailing. Their wives came running after them to tackle them and grab the babies. They took the babies and went over to my wife and the other combat boots by the swings.

“What the hell is going on,” Jeffie asked with his eyes bugging out of his head. He was still snorting from running. Bingo hunched over and vomited.

“Great, good morning middle aged punks who can’t run the hundred yard dash without keeling over. Relax. We are going to fix this,” I said looking at the beautiful statues from World War I.

I have to say I was relating the events as General Patton may have to his field operations officers. Jeffie continued snorting as the story progressed to the tables being turned over by some Polish men who wanted the tables for themselves and their party.

“We should call in NYHC to get in here,” Jeffie said.

“Bingo,” Bingo said. Bingo said “Bingo!” alot. That’s how Bingo got his name-oh.

‘We should not call in NEW YORK HARDCORE. the idea here is that our kids feel the can play safely in the park without being terrorized by the Polish kids.Jeffie some of our friends still scare me. I still don’t understand what some of those tattoo’s mean.”

“Let me explain it to you once and for all…” Jeffie showed me his arm and pointed to a tattoo.

“Not now  Jeffie. Let’s get our kids to have a party. This is not about ego. This is just enjoying the day.”

Bingo said, “Those Polish guys look big.”

“They are big. That’s why you are the one who is going to get this problem resolved.”

“Me,” I’m the smallest one here. Why me? Not that I can’t kick their ass. I’ll stuff that kielbasa up their ass. I take their pierogi’s and eat them as I make love to their grandma’s. I’m kind of small though. Just tell me what to do.”

It was true. Bingo was the smallest of all the men in our party group but he was also the only Hispanic member of the group and I had a plan. I whispered in his ear.

“Oh, I see,” he said. He pointed at me, “Bingo.” he said

Bingo took off  and talked and laughed with the Hispanic group of guys who were back playing cards and listening to their loud salsa music blairing from their bikes. Bingo made sure the Poles watched Then the five guys playing cards picked up the table and moved it towards the picnic tables which now the Poles were setting up for their party.

Bingo and the Hispanic men walked over to the picnic table. Everyone in the park was looking  to see what would happen next, except, that is, for the people in the dog run.

All the mothers in Army boots stopped pushing the swings and even the two and three year olds had their heads turned so they could see what would happen next. I walked over to Dawn and told her to get the kids over to the picnic table for the party.

“No fighting?”

“Nope.”

The rest of the morning and afternoon, the Polish folk stayed to themselves eating Kielbasa and other polish treats. My little group shared the Cuban Roast Pork and stuffed tomatoes I made with the Puerto Rican men. . The kids danced. Even the Polish kids danced. Bingo was touted as a diplomatic hero. People came over to him and gave him all kinds of attention. He said “Bingo” a lot during the day.

When it was over, I walked over to the people and dogs in the dog run and asked them if they wanted the big bone for their dogs. No answer. Finally, a anorexic hipster girl said,”I’ll take it for my guy.” I gave it to her. I didn’t know if she meant for her dog or her boyfriend.

The End PartII

Sunday, July 29, 2007

Your Mother Wears Combat Boots

..>..>

A

I assumed it was going to be a boring day. I was looking foward to a boring day. I don’t have enough boring days. I woke up early, or I should say the boy woke up early. I changed him and fed him and began my elaborate cooking for the big party in McGolrick Park in Greenpoint. We live a few blocks away and friends of ours were having a birthday party for their son in the hundred year old park.
As you know the store is in Bushwick, but we live in Sewage Central Greenpoint.Read these next couple of lines outloud as if you were a circus barker:  See the largest Sewage Plant in North America!, Smell the oil toxins rise from the ground! Hear the sound of machinery hoist large slabs of prefabricated Condo’s  into the sky.The Flim-flam man sure has done a number on Greenpoint residents. By Flim-Flam man I mean realtors, landlords and politicians and the flim-flammed wealthy people who get suckered into spending a lot of money for not so much space.

The reality of Greenpoint is gentrification is at the point of violence.  I’ve seen this before. I’ve been chased out of a couple of neighborhoods throughout this city because kids don’t like losing at musical chairs.They start kicking.

The kicking over of the three picnic tables in McGolrick Park began before my family and I arrived. We were late because having two kids will make you late everytime. Screaming and yelling by the two year old, the three month old boy wanting a last minute nip of the nip, and me juggling a Cuban Pork roast and a dozen stuffed tomatoes with corn made us 45 minutes late.

I noticed a commotion in the park as soon as we juggled into  it. The regular layout of the park was different; the Polish drunk hobo’s were not at their regular park benches by the dog run. The older Puerto Rican dudes with their  dominoes and cards left their “soupped” up Schwinn bikes alone and cheap cigars smouldering .  The bikes being left alone meant trouble.They cherish their bikes. The only people who weren’t over by the overturned picnic benches were the dog people. The dog run people always keep to themselves and keep the focus on their dogs and their egos.

The Poles in Greenpoint aren’t crazy about us.Who is “Us”? “Us” be a combination of transported  white folk; artists, musicians,and writers.Then there are people of color with education, and inner city combinations of the above. So,Dawn and I would be an inner city invaders to Greenpoint. We both come from other parts of the city. Bingo and his family are Puerto Rican bohemians from here and Jeffie and his family are from here and his wife is from Texas.The other members in our group are mix and match of the above. We also all have kids. So, we’re different than the Hipster kids who are also moving in, though most of come from counter culture backgrounds and on our own, walking without kids in our arms we could be confused for Hipsters or even… Yuppies…

So we were late. We arrived to three picnic tables overturned.The  babies were screaming thr mothers were crying and food was all over the place on the grass. The pigeons and the homeless were picking at it.A homeless guy was eating potato chips and dip, and then he took a big swig of swill.
“Oh shit,” I said. It was obvious what happened.

A Big young Polish Dude came over to me. He knew me from the store when it was in Greenpoint, “We meat. Me meat. You meat,” he said with a stick of kielbasa in his hand. He kept flailing his arms and I watched the kielbasa in his hands like a maestro of the Philarmonic. I had no idea what he was trying to say at first. Then I realized that what he was trying to say was that his family also came for a party and that my people wouldn’t share. Things got out of hand and now the Poles were kicking us out

In my most spaghetti western Clint Eastwood voice, I said to Dawn,”Take all the kids and bring them to the swings. We’re going to settle this one way or the other.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m not going to jail. I’m going to make friends with these folk. I’ll be diplomatic.”
“Don’t you lie to me.”

I called this story,’Your mother wears Combat boots.’ because most of  the mothers wore in combat boots in the story. You see, a bunch of the mom’s came out of the same Punk or Hardcore scene as I did.Their husbands were as well known and established assholes as myself. In particular this wasn’t going to fly with Bingo and Jeffie. Am I clear. Jeffie grew up fighting on the streets of the Lower East Side and Bingo loved instigating fights. He especially always loved fighting guys who were at least a foot taller than he was. I always backed Bingo, even though sometimes he was wrong, or in the wrong or over-reacting.I actually hated fighting but this city…
A small detail I’ve noticed growing up in New York is that periodiaclly, I’ve had to fight for territory in parks throughout the boroughs. This was another one, I didn’t see  this one coming. Fighting for three year olds to have a party in the park without incident, didn’t occur to me when I was seventeen and drug dealers tried to push us out of Turkey Park in Flushing.. I just didn’t see this coming but I knew what it was, as soon as I saw it…
A beautiful day in the park was going to be ruined by ego’s. This park should have a dozen picnic tables, The city didn’t have the money or want to monitor more homeless or more teenage kids hanging out. Whatever. That’s not what was going on here.You don’t need tables for three year olds. They don’t give a shit about tables. Tables are for fat ass adults with egos.
So, how was I going to fix this and I was the man who was going to fix this.I’m not the smartest guy, I’m not the most diplomatic guy but this was my kid’s park now. I’ve got two kids who are going to be going to this park for a long time. This thing had to be resolved now. Now. The Polish people had to be taught that they can’t just turn over picnic tables. There already was trouble between our kids and theirs, The Polish kids keep to themselves and will not play with our kids. They tend to push and shove our kids. I looked over at my wife pushing our kids on the swings. She was giving me the hairy eyeball. She wanted revenge. She wanted me to fight if I had too. She also didn’t want me to fight and to have a nice family outing without incident with the family… What to do. What to do?

End Part I Part II in two minutes

Saturday, July 28, 2007

Take Me In To The Ball Baste

Category: Goals, Plans, Hopes

For thirty five years, maybe a little longer, Bingo and I have been gate crashing Shea Stadium. Thirty five years of figuring out different schemes in order to get into that stadium to watch Met games. Sometimes, the schemes were so elaborate, it cost more money in costumes and time spent. Sometimes, we spent more time in trying to break into that Fort Knox, then in discussing the Met season. During losing seasons, of which there are many, we tried to come up with more and more elaborate entrances. Once we showed up in an ambulance. We insisted that the Doctor was inside. We made it in with no questions asked. Remember, it was a losing season and the place was a ghost town. Security, couldn’t give a shit if we got in and wasn’t supposed to be there.

After nine eleven we stopped for a couple of years. We weren’t scared of getting caught, our hearts weren’t into it… We’re back.

With Shea stadium closing, Bingo and I are on a tear…

The other day was Camp Day, and we decided to go traditional. I had the whistle around my neck and Bingo was dressed as a kid.

“You know,I’m not that small of a guy.”

“We’ve been getting into Camp Day since you really were in Camp. You haven’t grown an inch and you still only have peach fuzz on your face. I bet your boys will hit puberty before you.”

“Can we just do this please.” Bingo hated dressing up as a kid. I did not feel bad. On more than one occassion I dressed as a woman to get in. People thought I was Divine when I dressed up in drag.

Bingo tapped me on the shoulder,”Divine is at the stadium.”

What the hell are you talking about ? And can you please put your baseball glove back on, the tattoos on your knuckles are  showing. Why did you have to get tattoos on your knuckles for?”

“I’ve only had these tattoos for twenty years. And why did you bring Sadie’s pink baseball mitt. Where’s your baseball glove?”

“I don’t know where Dawn put my stuff. Everyday, I open a drawer and my shit is gone and there’s more kid’s stuff there… Put the glove back on. Oh shit. Divine is at the stadium.”

John Travolta and Robin Williams were outside their trailers signing autographs. They were filming some new movie at Shea and there they were in the flesh.

“I don’t want to walk up to them like this. I look like an idiot.”

“This is your opportunity to meet a sweathog, and one of your favorite comedians. You’re going to miss it because you’re dressed like a schmucky kid.

Bingo gave me the hairy eyeball, “Bingo. Don’t you remember? We already met Robin…”

I picked Bingo up and threw him over my shoulder. Bingo started crying and screaming. I wasn’t sure if he was serious or going into character but I knew we’d be able to cut through all the autograph hounds. People parted  for us. Maybe it was because of Bingo’s screaming or maybe it was because I was also yelling, Let me through, ‘My boy is going to be sick!’

As soon as I put Bingo down in front of Robin Williams, Robin took one look at us and screamed, “Security.”

Bingo and I were surrounded and held down on the ground of the parking lot.

Travolta came over to us and said, “They look harmless enough.”

Williams said, “That’s the most dangerous kind. Thirty-five years ago, these two stole my suspenders.”

“I forgot about that,” I turned my squished face on the ground to Bingo.”

“Bingo, Bingo said.

“Bring these two into the trailer,” Travolta said to security. I want to talk to these guys. He was laughing.

“Williams muttered something about how thirty-five years doesn’t change people and that he was making a mistake.

Williams forgave us finally. We gave him some pointers on hitting and gave him and Travolta some background  on the Mets and Shea stadium.

Bingo had a bat and was showing Williams how to bunt.

I said, “There’s a Met puppy named Carlos Gomez and he sniffs the bat before he hits. If you could put this sneezing powder on the bat of his in the dugout. That would be great. I don’t know if his bats will be there because he’s on the DL right now…”

Travolta looked at me and said like Vinnie, “Dee Elle?”

“Oh boy,” I said. “How do you make a movie about baseball and know so little?”

“Thirty mil,” he said.

“Well, crap my pants.”

“We’re bringing these guys in with us,” Travolta said. Williams looked unsure, even though he was happy with Bingo’s hitting instructions.”Just don’t get us in trouble,” he said. Last time I ran into you thirty-five years ago, I had to hold my pants up for the entire set.”

And that’s how we got into Camp Day. The Mets lost to the Pirates and a lot of kids were crying till Reyes hit a homerun. The Mets still lost 8-4 but the kids will remember the homerun to Reyes and Sadie will have a pink glove autographed by Travolta, Robin Williams and half the 2007 Mets team.

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

But Ma, It’s Not My Blood

Category: Life

Truth be told, going to my mom’s shrink to be humiliated by my mother by her accusing me of being anti-semitic was still a night on the town.

This is how difficult it is to raise a couple of kids in this city. Let’s face it, I’m a hairy, fat, Jewish, middle aged guy with a dinasaur of a business, a wife  and two little kids. So, my mom  becoming a Dominatrix and  a film crew following her around and  me getting some attention out of it was somewhat thrilling… It’s also annoying. Still it was diversion from changing diapers and doing dishes.

I said to Dawn, I have to go see my mom’s shrink,”

“Why?” she asked reasonably.

“Because she thinks I’m anti-semitic.”

“Get the fuck out of here! How do you know that that’s why she wants to see you?

“Because Old man Rabbi Lipschitz told me.”

“The Rabbi told you, your mother wants to accuse you of being anti-semitic?”

“Yes,”

“So, the whole congregation, now thinks you are some kind of Nazi?”

“I know, it’s all very Larry David.”

“You’re not making this up to go to a Met game with Bingo?”

“By the way, Bingo and I are going to a Met Game next week…”

“You can either go talk to this shrink about your anti-semitism or you can go to the Met game. Which form of torture would you choose.”

“Hey, don’t talk that way about the Mets. The Mets are doing good. They’re not as good as last year but they are good.

“The Mets suck.”

“Must we go through this again?”

“You go through this every year. Last year, I started to believe you. Didn’t I watch Beltran look at a third strike right down the middle? The guy never took his bat off his shoulder.What the hell was he thinking?”

“He was thinking about the meatball on the first pitch that he should have swung at.

“The Mets suck.”

“I can’t do this every night.”

“I can’t listen to the games every night.”

It was nice and cool in my mother’s shrink’s office. The film crew was there chattering away. My mother’s life was obviously the talk of the town. Press was coming her way as well as money. She had on a new outfit and her hair was in some sort of bee-hive. She’s a little woman and her hair was going the way of Marge Simpson. Oy.

The shrink opened the door and pointed at the lights which went on from the camera crew and he said,”No camera’s. Larry’s anti-semitism is to be discussed in private.” The camera crew shut the lights and camera, but the crew had big smiles on their faces. They got the anti-semitism quote and they were happy. They were High-fiving each other.

My mom’s shrink, Doctor Fagelman, was somber and serious. He  was also a child of a Holocaust survivor. No joking here…

I began, ” I know why my mom feels that I’m anti-semitic but I think she’s wrong. Am I a self hating Jew? Sure, but that only makes me more Jewish. Being a self hating jew is at the top of the list of things that define us. Jews never really feel good about themselves. Now Puerto Ricans feel good about themselves. When they have a parade, they are honking the horns and waving the flags. Do Jews honk their horn and wave flags ever?

“You are making light of a serious issue.”

“And what is the issue?”

“It’s not whether you are anti-semitic but why you don’t call your mother enough.”

“Excuse me, what? Are you kidding me? My mother accuses me of being anti-semetic and its because I don’t call enough.”

My mother who remained quiet all this time, began to cry.

“Oh just great.” I said

“Tell Doctor Fagelman what you want to do with all the Jews.”

I started laughing, “Oh, I get it. I have some wacky ideas about Israel and Jews and so that’s why she thinks I’m anti-semitic.”

The Doctor and my mother waited.

“O.K. I have thoughts and they can be outrageous but I’m not going to do anything about my thoughts. It’s just a way for me to handle the stress of being a Jew.”

Silence

“I just say wacky thoughts but I don’t mean them.”

“Like?”

“Like, since it took so long for Jews to walk around in circles for forty years, why don’t we just tell Israel that they walked too far and that Arizona is Israel. We could have Hollywood build a fake Jerusalem in Arizona and move all the Jews there. Just so they’d feel at home we’d throw in the once a month suicide bomber.”

“And this helps you with stress.”

“Yes, the stress of being a Jew. It’s not easy. Let’s face it, I’m a Jewish ,white, male New Yorker.A lot of people have a lot of ideas about what that means.”

“What does that mean?”

“Bottom line?”

O.K. bottom line.

The bottom line is that I’m never totally trusted. There’s something smart ass about being a Jew.

“Is that true?”

“In my case it is true. A lot of my friends are smart asses. We grew up in this city during the  punk years. Being Jewish has or had a stigma attached to it but I don’t give a shit. I know I’m Jewish and that I don’t have a choice. I don’t follow doctrine, I have tattoos. I have mixed feelings about what should happen with Israel and Palestinians but I always know I’m Jewish and proud of it. I’m just never going to honk my horn about it.”

“And how do you know you like being a Jew?”

“Because, I know my last words on this planet when I’m dying.”

“And what will that be?”

“I want a pastrami on rye with mustard. It can be fatty today.”

Dr. Fagelman cracked a smile.

Somehow, I survived that session. In the end… who knows what my mother thinks. She probably just saw this session as a way to see me. We hugged as we exited the office. Doctor Fagelman held the door open for us and then as soon as we were out the door he gasped. I figured he was grateful the session was over. No, he saw who was waiting in the office for us… He quickly locked the door.

The office was mostly silent. What happened to the film crew? Oh, I looked at my father who was sitting and reading a Fashion magazine in the corner of the room. Dad came a knocking.

My mother gasped.

My dad had blood on his shirt.

“Oh, this. Don’t worry mom, its not my blood.”

“What did you do to the movie people?”

“I turned them into reality.”

My mother gasped again. I swallowed. Turning people into “reality”, my father’s “reality” could be a last rite situation.

I heard Doctor Fagelman from behind the door,”Should I dial 911?”

“It wouldn’t do any good,” my mother said.

“Don’t worry Doctor Fagelman,” my father said. I’m just taking my family for a ride. I’m taking them to the cyclone at Coney Island.”

“I have a bad back,” my mother said.

Damn, I was supposed to be home in a half hour t to change diapers and put the kids to sleep. My wife was going to kill me. That is, if my father wasn’t going to do that first. Of course, I do love Coney Island and every Friday night they had fireworks at the baseball stadium.

“Let’s go,” Dad said. I knew he was packing a gun and my Dad never packs a gun. Usually, there were guys around him who carried his business calling card for him.

The End?

Monday, July 23, 2007

Your Mother Wears Army Boot II

Category: News and Politics

Bingo and Jeffie show up. I filled them in on what happened, “Apparently, a couple of the wives from our group got here early to secure the picnic tables.”

I have to say I was relating the events as General Patton may have to his field operations officers. Jeffie began to snort as the story progressed to the tables being turned over by some Polish men who wanted the tables for themselves and their party.

“We should call in NYHC to get in here,” Jeffie said.

“Bingo,” Bingo said. Bingo said “Bingo!” alot. That’s how Bingo got his name-oh.

‘We should not call in NEW YORK HARDCORE. the idea here is that our kids feel the can play safely in the park without being terrorized by the Polish kids.Jeffie some of our friends still scare me. I still don’t understand what some of those tattoo’s mean.”

“Let me explain it to you once and for all…” Jeffie showed me his arm and pointed to a tattoo.

“Not now  Jeffie. Let’s get our kids to have a party. This is not about ego. This is just enjoying the day.”

Bingo said, “Those Polish guys look big.”

“They are big. That’s why you are the one who is going to get this problem resolved.”

“Me,” I’m the smallest one here. Why me?”

It was true. Bingo was the smallest of all the men in our party group but he was also the only Hispanic member of the group and I had a plan. I whispered in his ear.”

“Oh, I see,” he said. He pointed at me, “Bingo.”

Bingo took off for a Hispanic group of guys playing cards. Bingo made sure the Poles saw that they were laughing loud as they listened to a Salsa on a big radio box. Then the five guys playing cards picked up the table and moved it towards the picnic tables which now the Poles were setting up for their party.

Bingo and the Hispanic men walked over to the picnic table. Everyone in the park was looking  to see what would happen next.

All the mothers in Army boots stopped pushing the swings and even the two and three year olds had their heads turned so they could see what would happen next. I walked over to Dawn and told her to get the kids over to the picnic table for the party.

“No fighting?”

“Nope.”

The rest of the morning and afternoon, the Polish folk stayed to themselves, my little group shared whatever food didn’t get destroyed with our Hispanic card playing friends and Bingo was touted as a hero and said, “Bingo,’ a lot during the day.”

Sunday, July 22, 2007

Your Mother Wears Army Boots

Category: News and Politics

I assumed it was going to be a boring day. I was looking foward to a boring day. I don’t have enough boring days. Think about the last couple of weeks I’ve had? My mother is becoming a Dominatrix, when most women her age are looking for a glass to put their  teeth into… I’ve got a shop covered in blood because my employee Antoine decided to operate on himself with a Junkie as an assisstant in the store after he got shot at, and believed it would be quicker to DIY rather than wait in the emergency room. I’ve got the t.v. people following me around, and asking me questions about my mom for their new reality show about her becoming the Dominatrix. Quite a week, and of course during all that time I’m working ten hour days. Anyway, I wanted a nice quiet boring day with my family… Not in the cards.

The store’s in Bushwick, but I live not far from the rat house in Greenpoint, by McGolrick Park. Great beautiful park with a couple of old War statues.It was party time in the park for one of the invader kids. What is an invader kid?  The neighborhood is Polish and Hispanic, mostly Polish. We, my wife and I and the kids, and the other educated musicians, artists, and knuckleheads, who came here to the city, or, are from here, but can’t afford to live by any of those big museums in that Manhattan borough, get shifted and pushed around by gentrification.  Every couple of years, I have to move to another part of the city and make it more safe for Real Estate folk to sell. Then I get priced out. I’ve been priced out of three neighborhoods in this city. So, I’m the inner city invader.

The Poles in Greenpoint aren’t crazy about us; except for the Landlords who love the invaders who drive up the prices. This push me-pull you Doctor Seuss animal, almost caused a riot in the park today…

Again, one of the inner city invader families was throwing a shindig for their three year old in the park. Great. Great Park. It’s ten degrees cooler in the park because of all the great old trees and today was beautiful anyway.

It takes Dawn and me  an hour to get out of the house. I’m no great help. I prolong the process. I sit and pick at my feet and space out. Dawn calls this Toe meditation… She’s packing up th kids and breast feeding.

So we were late. We arrived to three picnic tables overturned with babies screaming and food all over the place on the grass, with pigeons picking at it.

“Oh shit,” I said. It was obvious to me what happened.Blubbering mothers ran to Dawn…

In my most spaghetti western voice, I said to Dawn,”Take all the kids and bring them to the swings. We’re going to settle this one way or the other.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m not going to jail. I’m going to make friends with these folk. I’ll be diplomatic.”

“Don’t you lie to me.”

I called this story,’Your mother wears army boots.’ because of all the mothers in army boots in the story. You see, a bunch of the mom’s came out of the same Punk or Hardcore scene as I did.Their husbands were as well known and established assholes as myself. This wasn’t going to fly with the two fella’s I came of age with as well as the other dad’s who weren’t as used to fighting as I was or Bingo or Jeffie. Am I clear. Jeffie grew up fighting, and Bingo instigated fights. I always backed Bingo, even though sometimes he was wrong, or in the wrong or over-reacting.I actually hated fighting but this city…

A small detail I’ve noticed growing up in New York is that periodiaclly, I’ve had to fight for territory in parks throughout the boroughs. This was another one, I didn’t see  this one coming. Fighting for three year olds to have a party in the park without incident, didn’t occur to me when I was seventeen and drug dealers tried to push us out of Turkey Park in Flushing.. I just didn’t see this coming but I knew what it was, as soon as I saw it…

A Polish family wanted to have a party for their three year old too. Now there are only three picnic tables and three tables is what you need to have a party for three year olds.Not!! You don’t need tables for three year olds. They don’t give a shit about tables. Tables are for fat ass adults with egos.

Certainly, Bingo,nor Jeffie were at the park when this shit went on. You already know how I was home doing my toe meditation. So, how was I going to fix this and I was the man who was going to fix this.I’m not the smartest guy, I’m not the most diplomatic guy but this was my kid’s park now. I’ve got two kids who are going to be going to this park for a long time. This thing had to be resolved now. Now. This thing was going to be resolved now, but you are going to have to wait till tomorrow to see what I did. I’m tired and there’s blood on my shirt.

Dat Larry de Junkman

Saturday, July 21, 2007

Don’t You Wish It Were The Time Before The Bible?

Category: Jobs, Work, Careers

The city blows off steam and so do I. If my mom was going to accuse me of being anti-semetic, I was going to give her a piece of my mind. Last night I went for that damn appointment with my mother’s shrink. My mother as you know is training to be a Dominatrix. My mother wanted me to talk to her Rabbi, I went. My mother wanted me to go speak to her shrink, I went. That’s it. I’m done, I’m finished. She can do whatever she wants.The truth of the matter is that I never blinked when the film crew came into the store yesterday, and asked me all kinds of questions about my mother learning the S&M Bondage trade.

This is what I said to them,”I’m a working stiff. I’m a Blue Collar worker  and that’s like saying I’ve got one foot in the grave. I only have my wit and my brawn to get me through the day. I have no other clout. The world around me pounds away. If I get killed in a steam bath, who can I go to to complain? If a terrorist picks on me today, I am a perfect target, I’m a white Jewish Male New Yorker,second Generation Holocaust survivor who lived in Israel. More than half this country hates me, let alone the rest of the world. I am a blip on the screen to the lowest common denominator. I know my position in life and I know that the only thing I can do for my family and whoever else wants to listen is teach them some survival skills… If it were the time before the bible, I could gather my apes and teach them to pick up sticks. It’s too late for that. The bible is here and it has put me in my place… I have  spent my life going from the sneer of contempt to the frivolous smile. And that is my revenge. What better way to live is there. I have something that some of the richest most powerful men on the planet wish I had, a serenity and acceptance to this mess, so I ask you if my mother wants to become a Dominatrix, that is her business.

The Director of the Reality t.v. that my mother was now a star on said,”Cut. We can’t use any of that stuff he just said.” His rubbery face got real close to me,”Listen, can you say something that shows concern for your mom. That’s what the people want to hear about.”

“The truth is no good?”

“Come on Larry, this is a reality show on t.v. Not a reality show in reality.”

“O.K. I’m ready. Roll the tape.”

The camera rolled.

I said, My mom is a Holocaust survivor, she lived in a hole for 18 months the size of a grave with the rest of her family; her mom, her Dad, a brother and a sister and then there were two other kids that didn’t make it. If my mom, finds some release  from pain from this world by becoming a Dominatrix, so be it. Maybe this will be the perfect job for her. She can punish men who punished her and they want to be punished because they know they’re wrong.”

“And Cut.”

I guess I never got to the shrink appointment iin today’s blog. It probably is too painful. I’ll tell you what. I’ll write it tonight after I take care of the kids. I promise. It’ll be Saturday night and I’ll leave a little present for you about my going to my mom’s shrink to discuss her becoming a Dominatrix after you come home from going out. Isn’t that what people still do? Go out and engage. Everyone out together. Fireworks  and other steam pipes blew in that shrink’s office. Now that was engaging

End of Part one

Friday, July 20, 2007

Antoine Gets Shot, Takes Bus to Hospital

Category: Jobs, Work, Careers

Antoine is the kind of guy who spins his wheels, gains momentum and then crashes into the wall. He stands up, brushes the dirt off of himself and then goes and looks for another set of wheels to crash, sometimes into the same wall.

He used to be a Junkie but he was only a Junkie because he was caught up with looking for a wall to hit. If you’re looking, you can find a lot of walls. He’s a man addicted to the walls.

Antoine always has an excuse for why the most demented I Love Lucy meets Charles Manson type stuff can happen to him. Now, I know a lot of stuff happens to me but…. Well, anyway listen to what happened to Antoine yesterday.

Antoine is a basement boy. A basement boy is someone who is in their thirties or older and still lives in their parents basement. The basement boy has a stunted growth stuck in his head.Mommy, will still do the laundry. He’ll owe a lot of people money. He is socially awkward and usually does not have a girlfriend. He may have a nice car or expensive electronics. This is Antoine.

So, he lives in the basement and hears the rain start. He left his boots out in the yard and he went to retrieve them because of the heavy thunderstorms beginning. The door slammed behind him and locked. He was in the heavy rain , in his boxers and boots. He climbed over a neighbors yard and was shot in the leg. The gun was a small caliber. He freaked out and went running into the street. He knew that he needed to get to the hospital but instead of using a public phone to call 911 he went to the White Castle for change of a twenty which hew kept in his boot, to catch the bus to Woodhull hospital.

While he was already in White Castle , he ordered five cheese burgers and a vanilla shake. So, he gets his change and gets on the bus which finally shows up. He tells the driver that he’s been shot,

The driver is watching him eat his burgers and drink his shake.

The driver makes all his stops. Antoine complains but the driver points out that it can’t be that serious if Antoine was willing to stop at the White Castle and get burgers and a shake. Antoine shrugs.

So, Antoine stays on the bus and now the bleeding is getting serious. He finally gets to the waiting room in the Emergency and instead of signing in, he meets an old Junkie friend of his who says that he can remove the bullet from his leg.

Antoine brings him to the Vortex and the guy fishes out the bullet in about 2 hours of screaming and mayhem. I get to the store and see all this blood. Antoine tells me the events which led to  this insanity. I tell him to put on some pants and get some Hydrogen Peroxide and real bandages…. Anyway, if you came to the store yesterday and was surprised that it was closed. It was due to inclement thinking.

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

My Mother’s Rabbi Eats Spam For Breakfast

Category: Jobs, Work, Careers

“It’s not kosher and it shouldn’t be in a shul. Spam is a pork product. I want you should wrap it up and take it with you,” the elder Rabbi Lipschitz gesticulated.

“Rabbi, the spam is not food. You’ve been pushing every button and allowing every virus into this computer. It’s only two weeks old and it’s acting like it’s a hundred years old,” the poor kid technician with acne said.

“With age comes wisdom.”

What an idiot I thought. I’m glad I brought Zane with me. He was acting as a buffer between the triangulization which both the Rabbi and the techy wanted from me. I wasn’t falling for it. None of my business. In fact, I thought I was going to see the younger Lipschitz, who I grew up with. In fact, the elder Lipschitz blamed me for the younger Rabbi’s early years of rabble rousing.  Sammy Lipschitz the son was on summer vacation.

The young twitching techy said, “You are the ground zero for computer age.You are going to bring us back to the stone age.” I thought the kid was going to cry as he sat at the keyboard and kept slamming away at keys, How did you do this?”

“I opened it up and I took it out and then I put it back.”

“What are you looking for?

“Terrorists, there’s terrorists in this machine.When ,I’m on the street and I meet up with a terrorist, I use my mace. With computers, I want to send my army in and see what kind of monster I am dealing with.”

The kid shook his head and looked at me. I bounced Zane on my lap and made googily sounds. Not my business.

“Please, stay off the porn sites and the weird stuff. Your son is coming back next week and I promised him a fast speed computer.

I missed Rabbi Sammy Lipschitz. I don’t get to see him enough. Old friend, we were bar mitzvahed together. We also went to Queens College together, before Sammy got the calling.

“The only reason I went on these places was to understand the young ones. I don’t understand even more now.I don’t even recognize the sex. It looks different from what I remember.

The kid teckie did not know what hit him. He did not understand our tribe. He said, Can I get paid now? You still owe me for the other two times I came here.”

“I told you when my son gets back. He’s allowed to go on vacation. Every Rabbi  is entitled to a little time off. After all, we even work on the Sabbath. We’re the only ones. The big boy even takes the day off. So, can you blame my son for taking a  vaca…”

He got cut off, ” I have to go back with some money.

The old man looked my way. He wiggled his fingers at me. I stood up and fumbled for my wallet, as I juggled Zane. Finally, I grudgingly pulled out a twenty.

He jiggled his fingers for more. I pulled out a fifty and handed it to him. Before, I could ask for the twenty back, the money was in the kids hands and he shot out the door.

“So, how are you and the kids?”

I sighed,”Having two is more trouble than I expected.”

“Listen, this is not about you and what you think. I know how you rabble rousing self hating Jews,with your tatoos and your pork eating, think. This is not about thinking. This is about your mother and the new business she’s starting. I know nothing of these Domino tricks, but I know she has a bad back and arthritis and these dominoes are small and cumbersome.

“Domino tricks?”

“Are you stupid. I always thought you were stupid. Even as a kid, you had a mule way about you.”

“You’re just still mad at me for the Lips Shits joke you heard me tell the kids on my Bar Mitzvah.”

“I don’t know any… What joke is that?”

“I said to the kids,’If his lip shits, my ass talks.”

“Do you think I didn’t remember that?”

“Then why did you ask me?”

“I thought maybe by now you would have shame about the joke, I’ve had to live with that joke  for seventy two years with this stupid joke. You think you made that up. Every gangster in the Lower East Side used to say that to me and I kicked the shit out of them. You want to fight? I’ve let it go for thirty five years. My son heard you tell that joke too.”

“He was laughing.”

“He was laughing because you were turning him into a junkie.”

“It was 1973. We ate some Hash brownies.”

“You’re a trouble maker and you’ve always been a trouble maker. Did the boy have a bris?”

“Yes, a beautiful ceremony with Doctor Meyer.”

“Doctor, what do you mean Doctor? Not a moyal?”

“She was a Doctor and a Moyal.”

“SHE? a woman performed the ceremony? We’ll come back to this. I don’t have all night.”

I figured he wanted me out of there so he could do his research on porno for his congregation on the Internet.

“Your mother’s new career. How could such a nice woman like your mom think that she can start to do domino tricks. She’ll have to be on her hands and knees all day.”

“She’ll have slaves to do whatever she says.”

“Mexicans?” he seemed perplexed.

“Alot of people will be willing to do whatever she says.”

“She does have a dominating way about her. Maybe you’re right. She  said she already bought the outfit. It was quite expensive and she said a camera crew is doing  a t.v. episode about her. Is she out of her league? She’s just starting. Will she fall flat on her face.”

“I think you and I both know that my mother is in a league of her own, and if she falls flat on her face, they’ll be others underneath her to catch her.” This was fun. I am a troublemaker.

Good, good,” Rabbi Lipschitz said now distracted by his computer. I was almost out the door. I started packing Zane up to get home and get some sleep.

“Your mother wants you to meet with her and her shrink at her next appointment.”

“Huh?”

“She told me not to tell you but I’ll tell you. She wants to discuss your anti-semitism with her shrink.”

“My anti-semitism?

“Yes, for thirty years, since your ‘ass talks’ days and the drugs in cake and your meshuganah tattoos of Alfred Newman. At least, it wasn’t Adolph Hitler. Still a Jew with a tattoo that says,’What me Worry?’ is worrisome and not so Jewish. Show me a Jew that doesn’t worry. Go on show me ‘Ass talks’. I’m from the Lower East Side. I kicked Lepke’s  ass. I kicked Meyer Lansky’s ass… I kicked alot of ass. I  can kick “Ass talks’ ass.

“You’re serious?”

” I can  definately kick your ass.”

“No, I mean about going to her shrink?”

“You’re appointment is on Friday. Now, on another topic. Where is the babies foreskin?”

“We buried it in McGolrick Park in Greenpoint in a nice ceremony under a beautiful tree.”

“Well, go dig it up. If you don’t want your mother to think you’re not anti-semetic, go get that foreskin. It shouldn’t be buried with the Poles in Greenpoint. You must dig it up, and send it to Israel as a sign of support to Israel and your mother. It must nurish a tree in Israel.”

“Do other people do that?”

“We’re not talking about other people. We’re talking about your identity.”

When I got home, I handed off the baby to Dawn. My head was spinning.

Dawn asked,”How’d it go with Lip Shits?” she knew the joke.

My sorry ass had nothing to say.

Friday, I go to my mom’s shrink. Stay tuned. It should be interesting

Monday, July 16, 2007

I find a Finger with a Nice Ring on it

Category: Jobs, Work, Careers

Beware of what you wish for, you may not get it, and then you’ll be bummed.

There is a schizm amongst my spacefriends. Half of you want more Woody and the Stuffed Shirts stories and half of you want constant updates on my mother’s introduction into the bondage world. Maybe those makeover t.v. people know what they are talking about, and my mom will have a hit show with her becoming a Dominatrix in her retirement years. My mother made me go with her to get bondage clothes and later this week she wants me to discuss her bondage career with her Rabbi. As you can imagine, I’m really not looking foward to that. Tonight, I thought I’d tell you a little story about Woody and our first Holmesian type mystery. We solved a bunch of crimes in the East Village when we worked together in the Junkshop. Of course, at the time, I did not know Woody was an Agent Provocateur. We would bet money on cases as to who would solve them first.Woody always won. I had no idea he was getting information from the FBI, the CIA and any other intelligence agency in the world. I was getting information from Crack Whores, Junkman, Bohemians and a whino cop. Who’d you put your money on? I held my own, but to this day I still own Woody money. A considerable bit. I’ve decided to welch on paying Woody because of his dirty little secrets. He suggests I pay up.

A little background on Woody : His physique is slight, He stands five foot eight inches in his top hat  and he always wore his top hat. Do not be decieved by his slightness for he has a sleight of hand  as well. He also had a considedrable punch. Let’s not forget that Bruce Lee was a little guy as well as Buster Keaton.

Woody, also  lived his life in another time zone. Agent Provocateur or not, Woody lived in a different time zone and though he moved very slowly, or not at all, he was able to cover a lot of ground. He almost sounds like a superhero. So be it, Woody had superhero qualities. Good and bad. Let me give you an example

Woody’s training as an Agent Provocateur allowed him to stand in one place for considerable lengths of time without movement. Imagine, the turn of the 19th century when a photographer made you stand and wait for a flash. That was Woody. Now, as you know, I can chatter incessintly about nothing important but I like to think it’s clever. So, do you have the setup? We were like a strange vaudeville act. He stands there with no movement and my arms are flailing excidedly as I gesticulate about chicken ass, “Now, Woody you can go to the supermarket and buy every imaginable bag of chicken parts. You can buy your chicken feet, you can buy your chicken gizzards, you can buy twenty pounds of chicken liver for a quarter a pound, but no shop anywhere can you buy chicken ass.”

Now, when I’m riffing like this and there are other people in the store, Woody barely breathes and I’m flying. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a beautiful girl standing there with her jaw dropping. Now, I see this as an opportunity to show off, or what I think is showing off.  We’re like Penn and Teller. I feel like I have this woman in the palm of my hand, “Now, chicken ass is way under rated. They usually throw no part of an animal out. What are they doing with all the chicken ass? Answer me Woody, what are they doing with the delectible chicken ass?”

Barely moving, “I am a vegetarian, but you may be the only one concerned about chicken ass in this day and age.”

The beautiful blonde screamed,”I thought you were a crazy man talking to a mannequin and then he moved and talked. She turned and ran out the store.

She’s mine I thought. She dropped something on her way out the door. I went to pick it up and jumped back as if it were a snake hissing at me. It was a finger with a ring on it. Suddenly, Woody was in motion. He picked up the finger with no hesitation. He was more interested in examining the ring than the finger. The finger was stiff and he put some muscle to the ring and finger and seperated the two. He flipped the ring to me and threw the finger in the garbage.

“That’s your reaction? A woman drops a finger in the store and your reaction is to seperate the two and throw the finger out. I’m sure there’s someone very interested in that finger.”

“The finger is no good. It’s too old and Flip doesn’t even want the ring anymore. He told me so himself this morning at five thirty.”

Wait… What am I missing here? You know the owner of the finger and the ring and it doesn’t matter?

“That is correct.”

“How can that be correct? How can someone not care about his finger?”

“He told me his finger was getting in the way anyway.”

“Getting in the way of what?

“The rest of his hand.”

“Woody, I feel like you’re fucking with me. Just like they don’t sell chicken ass in the supermarket, you are making a hard sell on Flip’s finger.”

“Last night Flip threw up in the wrong girl’s mouth and then his finger was cut off and he was dragged down to a stop sign on Avenue A and tenth street and duct taped to that stop sign. I cut him down with the other Stuffed Shirts at five thirty this morning…”

“What! What are you talking about. I want to go talk to Flip and give him his ring back.”

“We can go talk to Flip because I still need some information from him but he doesn’t want the ring.”

“Chicken Ass,” I said.”

“He doesn’t want it.”

“Why not?”

“Its cursed.”

“What do you mean he threw up in the wrong girl’s mouth?”

“He’s missing his finger right.”

End of PartI  We talk to Flip next time

Sunday, July 15, 2007

My Mother becomes a Dominatrix: Part II

Category: Jobs, Work, Careers

My mom showed up at the dungeon I was cleaning out, unannounced.

“Mom, what are you doing here?” I told you I’d bring Zane over to your apartment when I was done working.”

“Is this a wine and cheese cellar?” my mother asked, looking around at all the contraptions and the Boar’s head on the wall.

Wicked Wanda chimed in,”Oh most definately cheese and yes most definately whining going on.”

My mother tried catching Zane as he spun around on the cucking stool. She couldn’t reach him and as Zane spun around the room and got close to me, I gave him a harder push and cranked the lever higher, so that my mom would never be able to reach him, “This boy does not sleep. I have found an ancient machine which has spun him into dreamland. I want this kid sleeping. As I’ve told you many times,’Do not shit on my dreams and I don’t shit on yours.’ “

“Such language,” my mom said and started to cry.

“Cool it with the language Daddy-O,” Wicked Wanda said. “This is your mother.”

I was in shock. Wicked Wanda was taking my mother’s side. So in a calm voice, I turned to my mother and asked, “How did you find me?”

“I called Dawn, and told her that you told me to meet you at the Wine Cellar, and that I lost the address. I’m here because I want to see my grandson and you keep him away from me. Hand me my grandson.”

I slowed down the contraption and watched Wicked Wanda giving me the hairy eyeball. Now, Wicked Wanda has been eyeballing me for twenty years. For many years, I believed she had a thing for me and man she is knock out beauty queen gorgeous.Tall blonde, smart with a great body. So for years, I was always impressed with how hard she looked at me. I thought she wanted me for my brains and how hard a working stiff I was. Over time, I realized she might want to eat my brains and the only thing she wanted was to slide her hands over my very hairy body because… she had a thing for hairy bodies and I’m the man… or cro magnon man when it comes to hairy. It’s hard to see skin on my body. I’m the cousin It man. Wicked Wanda wanted to skin me and hang me on her wall, right next to her Boar’s head. Maybe I should suggest this to the decorating show which was coming to do a makeover on Wicked Wanda’s  Dungeon.

My mother, now holding Zane who was wide awake, continued to harrass me, “You look terrible. You need a haircut. You’re hunched over. The boy is getting dirty down here. You shouldn’t bring him with you to work. Doesn’t Dawn do anything?”

“Dawn and Sadie are fine too,” I said, pretending my mother was normal and asking normal questions. They’re home together doing mother, daughter bonding. Sadie loves her brother but doesn’t get as much attention as she was before Zane was born.  So she acts out a little. She’ll throw shit all over the place…”

“Language!” Wicked Wanda said to me sternly.

“I like this woman, she’s got pizazz,” my mother said . My mother was tring to figure out Wicked Wanda’s outfit.  Wicked Wanda was in a  laid back, day off  from the S&M world kind of rubber bondagie kind  of outfit. Red and blacks

“Your mom’s great.”

“Can you turn down the air conditioning and turn on the heat?”

“Of course.”

I continued working and now I was sweating from the heat being turned on ,on a hot summer day. Wicked Wanda, my mother and baby Zane were actually sitting and eating nice wine and cheese. Lots of laughing, some hooting and hollering. Finally, I was done. The makover people from the t.v. show were coming over to the dungeon and I wanted to take my kid and my cucking stool out of there, before they got there… Too late. They arrived and they all sat and had a good ole time. More wine was served and I just shook my head.

I walked over to Zane who was crying and changed him. My mom was passed out in a chair,”O.K. Wanda, I’m done here. Thanks for being so nice to my mom. I know she can be difficult.”

“She’s perfect. She’s just what I’ve been looking for. She’s going to come work for me.”

I stood there dumbfounded. I had no idea what she was talking about.

“Your mom has agreed to go into training with me, in order for her to become a Dominatrix.”

How can she be perfect. I mean she’s been torturing me my whole life but…”

“Exactly, she has experience. Life experience in S&M is gold. The makeover people want to put her in the show and watch her progress.”

“What kind of fucking show is this?”

“No cursing,” my mom slurred as she lifted her head and then dropped it back on the ground. I heard it bounce.

“Who are her clients? Who wants to go to a Baubie. A jewish Grandma. She’s seventy years old. What is she the Baubie from Stalag 13.”

Wendy went running for a pen. Great name. I saw the t.v producers writing it down too. I accidentally had  christened my mom her Dominatrix name.

“Who would want my mom as a Dominatrix?”

“Are you kidding, look at her?.”

I looked at my mom passed out on the ground with drool coming out her mouth. She’s a small jewish Holocaust survivor. She has a small frame. She’s in good shape but I wasn’t getting it.

“Who doesn’t want your mother. She’s going to be in hot demand. The city is full of Israeli’s. She speaks hebrew. There’s Russian jews, she speaks Russian. She’s dark skinned, so she looks Middle Eastern., I could dress her as an arab…  She speaks yiddish. Do you have any idea how many Rabbi’s come to me? The Germans will love to be punished by her. The Poles, they are cheap though… She’s going to be a Dominatrix star. Everyone will want to be punished by your mother.”

“You mean, I won’t be the only one anymore.”

“I’m sure she’ll still punish you for free.”

I looked at the t.v. producers smiling up at me and giving me a thumbs up. I looked at Wicked Wanda who now was rubbing my hairy arm and looking as if she was going to skin me alive. I looked at my mother passed out on the floor. I looked at my boy Zane and said, “Don’t shit on my dreams and I won’t shit on yours.”

“No cursing,” everybody screamed at once. Zane’s eyebrows were furled.

End Part II More to come next week

Saturday, July 14, 2007

My Mother becomes a Dominatrix

Category: Jobs, Work, Careers

A beautiful Saturday in New York, but I have to spend half the day in Wicked Wendy’s dungeon in Chelsea. I’m working, cleaning out Wicked Wendy’s dungeon for a new interior design show. Wendy is an old friend of mine and she’s very excited that some new show is going to “pimp” her dungeon. I kind of liked it the way it was. Simple torture devices, weird, ancient looking contraptions like a cucking stool and stock. Standard, “Pit and the Pendulum,” ropes and blades, old candlesticks and a Boar’s head on the wall. Love it…Just what exactly “pimping a dungeon means in today’s Crate and Barrel world does not sound horrible but does sound safe.

The first half of the day is the easy stuff. I could clean out Wicked Wendy’s dungeon out with my eyes closed… To tell you the truth it was very dark and quite cool in there.I couldn’t see much and I felt like going to sleep in one of the gyrating cucking stools.

I brought my 3 month old baby boy with me; to help me of course. This boy does not sleep, he does not sleep and he does not cry. He constantly feeds. So, to give Dawn a break, I brought the boy with me,and I brought plenty of pumped breast milk. The boy is developing fast. He has a maniacal smile like his dad and kicks a lot in his sleep, as does his dad. I left my beautiful two year old daughter at home. I would only have brought her to this job, were it a demolition one.She is not  a terrible two, so much as a Ivan the terrible two. She slowly is breaking down the parents will to live as she smotes down her enemies in exhorbitant numbers.Mahem, mixed again with her father’s maniacal laughter. She will be quite a force to deal with for years to come.

The second half of the day will be the killer job. My mother lives in Chelsea, and I will walk over to her building for a visit with the boy. Work is the easy part of any day. Other people are stressful. My mother is a handful. You’ll see. Let’s move on a little with the first half. Um… Not yet.

First, let me tell you about my intimate relationship with the good folk of S&M. Whenever, I clean out a Funeral Parlor, the S&M crowd my store as if it were Black Friday at Macy’s. There’s a feeding frenzy till every last casket, and ghoulish ancient medical instrument is gone.  If  this were a football game,  I would be the quaterback  hero  who threw the winning touchdown  pass. Of course, the Horror  folk are there as well. I haven’t had a good Funeral Parlor in a couple of years. I must find a Funeral Parlor getting ready to get “pimped.” They can have their Ikea caskets. I’ll take Victorian anyday.

So, the job was moving along. Some good stuff for the store and Ebay. I mostly held Zane, but when I needed to change him, I put him in a small contraption. I guess it was a cucking stool but it had a whirligig gizmo that spun the boy around in many different directions. I slowed down the machine and changed the boy. I noticed a big smile on his face, so that after I changed him and fed him I put him back in this whirligig gizmo cucking stool and cranked it up. It had a wooden gear and a clicking sound as the gear shifted.

The boy flew around the room and was very happy… and then he went to sleep. The boy went to sleep. This ancient contraption was coming home with me. Dawn and I would have our sleep. This boy Zane would no longer have the cult like control over our lives. Yes, this contraption would take up most of the apartment but it would be worth it.

My good fortune. Oh, my good fortune. Sing it sister. Then the second half of the day began before noon.

Wicked Wanda came into the room, briefly watched Zane shuttle around the room and announced, “I don’t know how, but your mother is here.”

“My mother is here in the dungeon?

” Yes, she just got here and already is asking that I turn on the heat for her bones. It’s July.”

“She has arthritis.” I said defensively and then wondered what she was doing here and how she got here.

My mother pushed her way into the room,”Get that boy out of that shit. He’s not in Coney Island. You look terrible Larry, that woman does not take care of you.

End, the very End of Part I

Friday, July 13, 2007

Frydazed the thirteenth

Category: Goals, Plans, Hopes

Have I not had a rough week? I drank polluted water, trying to retrieve money my wife hid from me, in urns I threw out in the East River… I just wanted to do the laundry yesterday and instead I get kidnapped and brought to a doctor for his first vasectomy and certainly my last. So, today I wanted to lay low. I’m not a superstitious person but if you’ve been reading about my life, laying low would be a good idea today… Not to be. Today was the weirdest day of all.

Me and Antoine  were running the shop in the morning and then I was going to take Dawn to see Harry Potter. She loves Harry Potter. She’d be a witch except she doen’t have the patience or time to learn the craft. ( Sometimes, I catch her casting spells on me.)  My mother- in- law was coming to the house to watch the kids, and Dawn and I were going to go out for the first time  since… we were going out, about seven years ago.We’ve been very busy domesticating  ourselves and learning to piss on paper. (I don’t know exactly what that means.) Let’s cut to the weirdness of the day shall we. That’s what we are here for .

Cut to the chase: So, the upstairs tenant comes running down into the store screaming that the heat is on in her apartment and it killed her old dog. She’s screaming and carrying on, as I call the landlord to see what’s going on. I tell Antoine to go upstairs and report back to me. Is the dog dead?. Are the heaters on?. What the fuck is going on?… I want to go to an air conditioned movie house and chill. I mean for two and half hours, I want that Harry Potter to have more shit happen to him than what happens to me in a week. I was looking foward to someone else having problems that seemed unholy. I don’t want to deal with dead dogs in the heat and crazy old ladies carrying on. Is that too much to ask for? Yes, my friends that was too much to ask for.

Antoine is a really good guy, but he used to take a lot of drugs. A ton. A lot of heroin but that’s not all… He’s a big gawky burn out from too many years of day in and day out trying to score drugs. That my friends is a twenty four seven job. I don’t think it’s the drugs which ruin you so much as the trying to acquire the money for the drugs and then the actual acquiring of the drugs. I’m sure the affects of drugs have a part but I’m not so convinced that the drug ruins you. It’s all the running around

Anyway, Antoine comes back downstairs white as a ghost, “The dog is dead. The heat is on, and the lady is hysterical.”

I finally get ahold of the landlord who informs me that the boiler room is acting up. Something about the water in the radiator never got drained and so the hot water  is still running through the radiator pipes.

“The plumber will be there tomorrow.”

The old lady came back down into the store wailing away. She collapsed on the ground.

“Antoine, we can not have this lady lying on the ground in the store.

Go to the deli and get a couple of empty boxes, a case of Brooklyn Brown Ale and five bags of ice.”

Antoine made a couple of trips back and forth from the deli,”Now what?” he asked.

Get the birthday wrapping paper from the back of the store.”

“Now what?

“Take the lady upstairs with you and the ice. Get her drinking water. Turn the fans on and have the ice in front of the fan. Take the dead dog and put him in this box and bring it downstairs to me, I’ll call ASPCA to come get him or whatever agency it is. Hurry up because Dawn will be here soon and it will be my only half a day off this year.”

Antoine took off with the box and the ice and the old lady. I was feeling pretty smug about myself. What a great troubleshooter I was. And now for my piece the resistance. I put my six pack in a box and then put wrapping paper around it. This is how I have always been able to get beer into a movie theater. No one ever asked me to open up a box which was a “present for a party after the movie.” Sheer genius.I used to sneak chinese food into a theater that way too.

Antoine finally came back downstairs as I held onto the phone trying to get some agency to take the defunct animal away.

“I gotta talk to you,” he said

“Yes,” I said. “Is the lady o.k.?”

“I wrapped the dog in plastic and put it in the box like you said.”

“I never said anything about plastic, but I guess that was smart with the heat and all.”

“When I picked him up to put him in the plastic he was warm.”

I dropped the phone,”Where’s the box, where’s the box1.”

“I wrapped the plastic pretty tight.”

I stopped in my tracks when I saw the box. Antoine had wrapped the box with wrapping paper, “Why did you wrap the dog in wrapping paper?”

“Why did you ask me to get wrapping paper?

“Not for a dead dog. That was for my beer, so I could get my beer into the movie theater.”

“How could you be multi-tasking in the middle of a crisis?” he asked sincerly.

“Well, the dog is dead now… Don’t you know rigor mortis sets in pretty quick in a little animal. The dog was overheated or in a coma but not dead. There’s no way the dog wouldn’t be stiff . She said he died last night. We killed this dog.”

“It’s the ladies fault.”

“An animal is not dead when its warm.”

It’s over a hundred degrees in that apartment, the ladies screaming and wailing. It was a very difficult situation for me to be in. She said the dog has been dead since last night. Why wouldn’t I believe her?.”

Dawn walked into the store,”Now what?” she asked. We’re going to the movie right?”

“Yes, but its going to be a double date.”

As the lights went down low, I shifted the box to my lap and looked at my wife who was esctatic to be at a new  Harry Potter movie. I looked to my left at the old lady next to me. She had calmed down but was still wiping her nose with a very ratty tissue. Antoine was next to her, gawking at the screen. I went to open my beer and then had a fleeting worrisome moment that the box on the sidewalk for the animal people had a six pack of beer in it and the old ladies very dead dog was in my lap. Nah. I ripped open my present and opened up my six pack. I passed one to the old lady and one to  my wife but never to Antoine.

Friday, July 13, 2007

Robot 7 and Lobster Bisque

Category: Jobs, Work, Careers

This is a complicated story for a junkman. I do not like complications. I really want you to understand everything I relate to you. Its important to me. The story about Woody and his Stuffed Shirts will take years to explain. So first, let me just outline and flush out the characters involved.

1) In the early nineties I had my first store in the East Village

2) A  young man wearing pancake make-up and a suit off of a corpse from the 1890’s called himself Woody approached me for work. I gave it to him instantly. The P.T. Barnum aspect to my personality  recognized I had a gorilla act thrown my way for free. Not that Woody was a gorilla, but more, me standing alongside Woody’s slight physique in his get-up would encourage people to throw peanuts our way.   He would look like my trainer and my burliness needed no suit.

3)Never did I suspect that Woody and His Stuffed Shirts  were Agents Provocateurs. My own innocence. Their constant chatter about Robot 7 and Lobster Bisque should have tipped me off. It took me years to understand that Robot 7 was their code  name for me. I was the mechanical man which would lead them to other undesirables in the city. Lobster Bisque was code word for  undesirables they were trying to round up. Was I not such a foodie, I might never have figured out their status with the government as goads to arouse other rabble rousers, in order to form a list of people the city no longer wanted in their city. Gentrification had stung hard in the East Village and government agents and Real Estate Moguls were behind Woody to incite devilry and flush out the non desirables out of Manhattan and at least push them into Brooklyn or preferably Jersey. They succeeded

4)You see, complicated. Let me simplify. Woody and His Stuffed Shirts was not a bonafide rock band. Woody, Pall, Dandy- Doah, and Schnauzer were government agents and Real Estate lackeys, who ended up making quite good songs with a snappy beat despite themselves and what they were hired to do for considerable amounts of money.

5)You see complicated… Every time I hear those words, Robot 7 and Lobster Bisque I think about what a fool I was. Yet, still I never turn down a well made bisque of any kind and always enjoy it.

6) Years of deception later, I am able now to put the pieces of this puzzle together and relate it to others. My recomendation to you is that after you read a Woody and His Stuffed Shirts story, you immediately roll the paper into a ball and eat it. Bon Appetite.

7) Next Week, Woody and his Stuffed Shirts  are introduced to a Documentary Director and The Stuffed Shirts must figure out how to discourage any positive publicity coming their way in order to keep their  cover  as agents provocateurs  secure

Thursday, July 12, 2007

My Laundry With Harvey II: Shanghai Vasectomy

This is how Harvey shanghai’d me to get an emergency vasectomy yesterday during the heat wave. First he sucker punched me with a fancy bullshit speech…

“I know a lot of criminals. I know the smart ones as well as the dumb ones. Most are dumb, I made sure to go to a federal pen, so that I could meet some of the smarter ones. I was tired of petty criminals, I wanted to meet the masterminds. The thing about most criminals is that they are stupid. Yet, these stupid motherfuckers hardly ever get caught. I mean stupid criminals always get caught because they don’t know when to quit  and they hardly ever have a plan. Yet, they have to commit a hundred crimes, sometimes commiting as many as a dozen stupid things in a day, day after day. Look at Chucky for instance.  still he goes unnoticed for months or years…

“Chucky almost killed me before the fourth. He had these vintage fireworks and I banged my head on his truck and was bleeding and then he drove around with me in the back,in the heat.”

Harvey ignored me, “Most criminals constantly are commiting crimes. So, imagine if you are a calculating criminal. The problem of course for the masterminds is  when they become too smart for their own good and forget that they can make a mistake.”

“Harvey, I don’t know where you’re going with this, but I’m not getting involved with any mastermind crime you are planning, I just want to finish the laundry, kiss the babies goodbye and go to the junkstore before it gets too late.”

We finished our laundry and Harvey sucker punched me, “Listen kid I know you wanted to go to work but I’m having a heart attack.”

“You really don’t look like a man having a heart attack.”

“Are you taking me or not?”

“How can a man having a heart attack, be so calm.”

“If I get excited, I could die.”

“Shouldn’t we call an ambulance?”

“I got my ambulance around the corner.”

“What do you mean, you have your ambulance around the corner?”

“Instead of a limo with a driver, I own an ambulance with a driver. I never have to wait in traffic, and on occassion I’ve been able to save a life or two.”

“Wow! You are a mastermind.”

We went around the corner and lo and behold, there was an ambulance with a driver. It was Chucky from the neighborhood.

“Oh no. He’s a dumb criminal,” I said. What happened to your masterminds?”

“You got to start somewhere,” he said as we  entered the back of the  ambulance with his little bag of laundry and my three large bags.

Chucky turned on the siren and instantly began weaving in and out of traffic heading over the Williamsburg Bridge. I have to say, I was really into the ride. I felt like I was in a James Bond chase scene. Chucky had found his true vocation, a truly great ambulance driver.Harvey offered me oxygen. I declined. He sucked it up in this mask, “You’d never believe how great breathing oxygen could be.”

Something was wrong but how could I guess that my wife orchestrated this insanity, so that I could have a vasectomy. She knew I was busy just trying to work and help take care of the kids but she was ready to start having sex again , and didn’t want any more kids. She knew that I would never make the appointment with the Doctor for the snip snip. Dawn is the true mastermind. I would have to watch my back with this woman.

Harvey, dropped me off in front of my apartment and threw the three laundry bags out into the street, as I hobbled off the ambulance.

“See you next week at the laundry,” Harvey said. Chucky took off, before Harvey could even close the door. He almost fell on his ass into the street with my laundry bags. “I have to find other masterminds,” he said as he finally got his balance and closed the doors. The sirens went  screaming into the future.

From the window, my two year old girl saw me and  said, “Daddy, daddy,” and then added her own language gibberish which she was beginning to teach the two month old baby.

Dawn greeted me at the door, “It was the only way…And the Doctor and Harvey came free. I only had to pay Chuckie fifty bucks.

“Why was the Doctor free?” I asked as I put the last bag of laundry down and groaned.”

“He’s practicing, He only had performed a vasectomy on a corpse and he wanted to try it on a working stiff.”

“Wow.”

“How many cups of Dreft did you use on the kids laundry?” Dawn asked,as she smelled the kids clothes.

I would have to watch this woman closely from now on.

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

My Laundry With Harvey

Category: Life

I do my laundry with a mastermind criminal. Harvey isn’t really much of a mastermind criminal but I don’t know many guys who have tried to rob a bank with a bomb in a suitcase, and then when the bomb went off, he told the F.B.I. that there  was another bomb planted in the city if his demands were not met…

He did seven years in a federal prison. That was his mastermind plan. He wanted to get in a Federal Pen, so he could meet all the really important criminals. He wanted to meet the white collar criminals, so that he could work the system. He didn’t want to work, he wanted to scheme things out.That’s how he got into politics.

I do my laundry with him  and he’s a kind of mentor to me. The, “My Dinner With  Andre,” aspect to our relationship does not elude me…

Listen, I’m tired, I’ll get back to Harvey tomorrow. The guy tricked me today to go to a hospital. He told me his heart was bugging him  and instead of  going to work, I ended up  getting a  vesectomy.Granted it was for  free and that was part of what he was trying to teach me. Like I said, I got to rest now. Tomorrow , I’ll tell you all about my little operation and how my wife got Harvey  involved in her little plan. My wife says we have enough kids. See, what I’m saying. Tomorrow you’ll understand.

I got to go, I’m sure there’s a diaper or two to change before I get to go to sleep.

May all your dreams be multi-colored and filled with explicit sexual  intercourse

Larry dat Junkman guy

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Trust Everyone,But Cut The Deck Of CardsII

Category: Jobs, Work, Careers

So, I’m still kind of dizzy from jumping into the East River.I’d prefer not to got to a hospital yet. I’m sure I’m just tired from dragging the East River looking for those fucking urns, I mean loved ones.Well, at least I found them, and retrieved the money my wife hid in them.( I gave myself a reward). Anyway, now these urns are still back in the house  and now they stink. There is something green growing on them… There’s a fungus among us… Which reminds me of another story…

I was on Long Island at a flea market. Two other junkmen were scrambling around,”Where’s the t.v.? Somebody stole that little t.v.”

I looked around and saw a big lady wobbling off. I suspected the television was between her legs. I suspected she pulled down her panties and stuck the t.v. between her legs. I told the junkmen my suspicions. They nodded, “Let her keep the t.v.”

That was not good enough for me. I trust my detective abilities and ran after her…She wanted to give me back the t.v. but I suggested she just give me some donation. I went back to the Junkmen and handed them twenty.They only wanted fifteen for it.

We watched her mosey off into the sunset.

“Where’s the t.v. antennae,” one of the junkmen said, as they scrambled around looking for it.

I didn’t even want to venture to guess.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Trust Everyone,But Cut The Deck Of Cards

Category: Jobs, Work, Careers

I cleanout apartments and houses after people die. Sometimes, there are no relatives. There’s always a lot of garbage, but how can I throw out their remains. So I don’t. I bring them home and my wife just shakes her head.

We have a new baby boy in the house and the apartment we’re in is getting cramped. Every kid I have, means I have to get rid of 100 boxes of stuff. So, I figured it was time to get rid of these loved ones; the wife didn’t want them and I could count these guys as two boxes of stuff  off my list. I didn’t want to throw them out. So, I pondered and decided that they should be buried at sea. I didn’t just want to chuck them from the shore, so I took my inflatable raft and went about fifty feet into the East River from the Greenpoint side. I came home feeling pretty good about the loved ones…

My wife was ghostly white, “Where are the guys?”

I thought she was going to thank me,”Its o.k. hon, they have a new home.”

“You ass. Those guys had money in them. I’ve been saving money in them.”

“Well, they’re in the East River now.”

“Well go get them. There’s alot of money in them.”

“How much?”

She wouldn’t say. I know why she wouldn’t say. If she told me how much, I might just come home with that amount by selling something good. She kind of figured that I wouldn’t want to go diving in the East River. The other thought I had was that she didn’t want me to know just how much money she was taking from the business without telling me. How much could it be. 500 bucks, 5,000 bucks,50,000 bucks. How much could it really be. So, that’s how I ended up in the East River today. I had to know what my wife was saving.

I was scared to go into the East River. The Greenpoint side is polluted. I know that sounds weird but the Greenpoint side had that oil spill fifty years ago and from what I understand if you fall in, one is recommended to go to your local hospital. Of course, I would rather die than go to Woodhull hospital’s emergency room,(Woodhull is the local hospital) where one may die just waiting to be saved.  So, I had an extra hundred on me to give to the ambulance driver to make sure I get into a Manhattan hospital if I needed it. So, as you can see I had a plan. I had a boat, I had an anchor, I had balloons to float the guys back to the surface. How deep could it be? It was a day at the beach.

It was hot today, so I tried to convince myself that the water was just going to cool me off.

A couple of Polish old guys were fishing when I got there and I tried to explain to them that they shouldn’t eat the fish they catch but they were too amazed by my orange raft and scuba gear,”Police business,” I told them and they high tailed it out of that area.

The water felt great. I was all sweaty and the water felt cool and fresh. A little bit like a dirty bath but not too bad. Tourist boats and barges created ripples in the water and shifted me around. I kept thinking that I might find a body in the water and then I would have to explain how I was in the water to find my dead guys but this arm was not part of my guys.

I found my guys pretty fast surprizingly. The boxes were covered in green whatever. It wasn’t seaweed. It was green whatever, I’d rather not think about it.

Success, until my raft started sinking. Damn. I dumped the anchor and somehow got it all ashore where my biggest nightmare was waiting for me…

Cops.

Cops are my biggest nightmare. If the military would have been waiting for me there would be some explaining to do but I ‘d get out. Sometimes, cops can be a drag. I never understand why. There are so many cops on t.v. and movies that I’ve loved. Columbo, Kojak, really the list is long. Yet, New York cops can be dense. Only what they say to each other is funny or meaningful.

I had an edge. They did not want to cuff me or bring me into a car. Quite frankly, I stunk. I think there was even shit in my hair. What a break. I knew they wanted to believe any story I told them as long as they didn’t have to touch me.

I said, “Taking these samples in for the city to determine the pollutants in order to get some fiscal increases for the coming year.”

Cops are so underpaid in this city that they just nodded. Everything they do is because of money and fiscal bullshit.

They looked a little irritated, “Have someone call us ahead of time,otherwise we get calls about terrorists.”

“Sorry about that, next time my supervisor will call, I’m just the underpaid lackey.  Listen, can you guys help me bring these sample cans of irritant pollutants to the van.”

“No!” They both said and turned to go back to their car.

When I got home, my wife was waiting for me at the door, “So did you find all the guys?”

“All but one,” I said.

“How much money?”

“About four thousand dollars?”

“The last one had another fifteen hundred in it.”

“We’ll just have to work a little harder,” I said and gave her a big stink hug.

She gasped.

Monday, July 09, 2007

Garbology

Category: Jobs, Work, Careers

I don’t ever mean to do anything criminal. It just happens.

So, years ago I’m hanging out at Manny’s and I hear about a record collection that went to a flea market. My car was towed because my ex-wife, who was my wife at the time, didn’t tell me about the tickets she was getting on the car. I was about to call a cab to get to this flea market when Manny chimes in, “Spanish Eddie will drive you. He needs some extra cash.”

When I have to pick up stuff, that’s all I think about. So, I was already on the road with Spanish Eddie when I noticed all the broken glass under my feet, “Someone break into your car?”

“No, I just stole it. Listen, I need to get an advance on the trip.”

Now, I could have gotten out anywhere. I’ve been stranded in many places in my life. Its not a big deal for me to get out anywhere in this city. I’ve done walkabouts all over this city, not unlike like the movie The Warriors. I wanted to get to my big deal, so I gave him twenty bucks up front and stuck in the car.

He did not want to get breakfast. The money was for dope. So we had to stop at some bodega. Then he had to shoot the dope , so we stopped at this apartment house in Ridgewood. There was nobody home, so instead of moving it along, Spanish Eddie opened the trunk and found a crowbar to break into the apartment.

I still was not flipping out about these criminal offenses, I just wanted to get that record collection.

Before he could break into the house, his girlfriend came out and they scooted inside screaming at each other as two beat cops came around the corner.

Finally, Spanish Eddie came out pin eyed. He drove like a nut and I got my record collection. I gave him another twenty and sent him on his way. I took a luxurious car service home.

When, I saw Manny next, he was laughing, “You want to dig a  hole with Spanish Eddie? He’s around the corner.”

“Now, what is Manny getting me involved in?” I thought to myself.

Around the corner, Spanish Eddie was hired to dig out a basement. He was putting all the dirt in this car which he stole. Oy.

Later, I saw that car in the neighborhood, filled with dirt.

When I saw Spanish Eddie next I asked him, “Everybody saw you filling dirt in this car which you stole a few blocks away. Then you moved it only a few blocks away. Why didn’t you at least move it out of Ridgewood and drive it to Forest Hills or somewhere far?”

“I didn’t want to walk back and I didn’t feel like stealing another car. I was finished digging out that basement?”

What could I say to this. What I will say is that I’ve seen a lot of stupid criminals commit a lot of stupid crimes before they get caught.

I have since let collections go before engaging with criminals. Its just not worth the embarrassment of explaining to a judge what I was doing in that car. Would you believe me if you didn’t already know how stupid I could be?

Sunday, July 08, 2007

Rat On Brother!

Category: Pets and Animals

So, I’ve got a few rat stories. Rat stories are tricky. Rats are primitive animals which outnumber and have slaughtered half the population of the world on a few occassions. Still , they can be a hoot. Here’s one for you.

I was living in my warehouse in Ridgewood. I had a nice shower . Somehow, when I got out of the shower I had no towel and no clothes. I can’t remember how that could even happen, how did I enter the shower which was a good thousand square feet away from my room without a towel or at least boxers. I can’t remember. What I do remember is running out of the shower and making a dash for my room. When I made the corner turn, there was the hugest beast, this guy was big and chomping at the bit. He wanted to eat my dick for sure.

I did not want him to eat my dick, so still dripping and maybe dripping instant sweat and pumped with adrenaline, I slowly backed up.I considered climbing a wall, the walls didn’t reach the ceiling but then I’d have to jump quite a distance. Didn’t want that broken leg. In the room I backed into, I had some vintage farm tools. I picked up the pitch fork and screamed my death charge. May the better animal win.

I whacked the shit out of this rat who must have either been sick or not understood what anybody could do to him with a pitchfork. He  kind of took it in without much of a fight. Adrenaline was pumping, and so I smooshed him about fifty times. I flattened him flat. It was a situation like a guy with a knife. Once he starts stabbing, it may be fifty times before he stops.

Primitive situation. I got some clothes on and grabbed my flattened friend with the pitchfork. I walked him to the garbage can outside my warehouse. My landlord was looking at me strangely. Im a hairy guy who was just in boxers in the middle of winter. The rat too may have shocked him. He might not understand that the rat was flattened and he may think that his building has super rats. Then again, I was in an old neighborhood in New York and I had a pitchfork in my hands. Maybe the combination.

Wednesday, July 04, 2007

Hunting For The Apple That Eve Bit

Category: Jobs, Work, Careers

There most definately is a quality of gambling to what I do for a living. I’m out there on this treasure hunt everyday. I am looking for the apple that Eve bit. Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not a religious man. In fact, I wish it were the time before the bible, I am after all a primitive man.

So, give me that apple that Eve bit and  the first thing  I would do is take a bite. Let’s see how fruit tasted back then. Let’s see how much smarter and what kind of knowledge I would have. I would not be ashamed of my body and dress in clothes. It’s too hot for that. I would bring that apple to the Antique Roadshow and the first sucker which offered me a million bucks in single unmarked bills, I would grab it. I’ve got a family of 4 to feed. I don’t have time to think about its significance. I need to cashout.

Damn, how did I get on this topic. Oh yeah, I was going to talk about how when I wake, I don’t know what I’m going to buy or where I am going to end up. I ended up in Dallas a couple of weeks ago, schlepping a mattress to the curb. I realized I better call Dawn and tell her I’ll be late for dinner. I live in Brooklyn. (I was buying a 45 record collection and the old guy wanted his mattress thrown out. I helped him out. I took a plane in the morning on a lead and I never got a chance to tell Dawn what was going on.

Damn, this is still not what I wanted to tell you about. Sometimes, my life feels like a spiraling ball of rubber bands. I have a lot to tell you and I want to get it all out at once. I want you to hold the rubber ball in your hands, and each color of the ball will tell a different aspect of my story. I want you to see it all at once and that is not possible.

Tomorrow, I’ll tell you what I wanted to tell you today.

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One comment on “Garbology – July 2007

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