perpetual memory loss

This past Tuesday, Veteran’s Day, I decided to go to Manhattan to meet up with some other veterans to mark the occasion.  Unfortunately, they were all meeting up on the lower east side.  I, on the other hand, had to travel from BFQ (bum fuck Queens) so it was quite the long haul for me; I might as well ride the subway to the moon.  It’s not that bad; it’s just that when I make these social visits to the city I always travel sans ipod and book.  That means that the hour and a half trip feels like three days.  Inevitably when I make these trips I hope for something cool or random to go down.  Usually nothing does, and I end up staring at the person across from me–making them feel exceedingly uncomfortable–or reading the same dumb advertisements over and over and over again.

Instead of taking the E-Train, like I normally do, I decided to take the F all the way, that way I wouldn’t have to switch trains at Washington Square.  It was lucky for me that I decided to do that otherwise I would have missed the craziness.  One stop before Washington Square, 14 St., some raggedy-ass bum got on the train, and started yelling:

“I’m homeless, I don’t have a home, give me some money.  I’m homeless, I don’t have a home, give me some money.  I’m homeless…”

Seriously he just kept up the same chant over and over again, and he didn’t walk down the train he just stood at the far end yelling.  It was kind of funny, well, as funny as a homeless guy can be.  Eventually he started to take some baby-steps down to the opposite side of the train continuing his mantra:

“I’m homeless, I don’t have a home, give me some money.  I’m homeless…”

He kept going on and on with the homeless thing, and nobody really gave a shit.  Everyone just kept doing their thing.  Then he got to me, and realized the futility of his mantra so he called an audible, and started freestyling:

“I’m so hungry I haven’t eaten in 5…6 days.  It’s been so long I don’t remember how long it’s been.”

“Did you know today’s Veteran’s Day?  Well I’m a Veteran, and I’m homeless and hungry.  Give me some money.”

I started laughing after he said that one and dropped a “Bullshit!” on him, but he kept trudging on until he was in front of these two older ladies (50-60).  By that time he had reverted back to his original mantra, and he was standing right in front of these ladies yelling it:

“I’m homeless…”

One of the ladies looked at her friend and whispered innocently, “What is he doing?”

Well he wasn’t about to allow these two ladies to question him.  So he turned around, crouched down into this pseudo three-point stance, while holding onto the vertical bar and yelled, “What am I doing?”

“What are you doing?  You think I am your fucking child.  No, no, no, no, NO!  Fuck you! I am not your child.  I’m fucking old.  Ancient like the Earth.  You don’t ask me what I am doing.  I ask you what you are doing.  You fucking understand me?  FUCK YOU!

(By the way he wasn’t that old, and he was definitely younger than the ladies he was antagonizing.)

Well these poor older ladies turned toward each other, and tried to will him to disappear, or to turn into a pillar of salt, or anything just so long as he left them alone.  Meanwhile I leaned back, and enjoyed the show, because he wasn’t done yet.

He stepped even closer to them, and tried to crouch down so his face was right at their level, and let loose with a masterful verbal tirade.

“You know how old I am bitch?  I’m so old you could be my child.  I should be wondering where you are going, and what you are doing; but I don’t cuz I don’t give a fuck about you.”

And here he looked up, and looked at everyone on the train.

“I don’t give a fuck about any of you.  Fuck all of you.  I’m fucking older than all of you.  You should all be giving me money.  Fuck you, you know what? Fuck you.  I don’t want none of your money.  Yeah, that’s right.  I haven’t eaten in 7 days, but I would take shit from any of you.”

Finally the train hit Broadway-Lafayette, and he scurried towards the door, but before he left he looked back and yelled, “Fuck all of you, motha fuckers.”  At this point I was laughing pretty hard, and I realized that the next stop was mine.  It’s amazing how quick that last part of the train ride was–it just flew by.  If only crazy ass bums could yell at people more often on the train; then my sojourns into the city would be much quicker and way more entertaining.

Ok so I’m drunk, but I just randomly hooked up with this chica that told me I have an accent of a “super white boy.”  Well that is the first time someone has ever told me that before.  She acted like being a New Yorker was akin to being God’s gift to the Earth, and that I wasn’t a true New Yorker.  Funny that even though I wasn’t a “real New Yorker” she enjoyed the fruit of my looms haha.  Whatever I really don’t care I just find the hypocrisy he-fucking-larious.  She can pretend what she wants, but in truth she knows that she wanted the kilbasa, and if I was a bit sluttier I could’ve bent her over a stool and fucked the shit out of her–literally.

Me luv you long time.

The term red light district usual connotes a district or neighborhood where prostitution runs rampant.  The origin of the term is not completely agreed upon.  Some think that it is an old railroad term, while others claim other explainations.  Whatever the explanation it is pretty much certain that around the world the color red connotes prostitution, drugs, or both.  As I have traveled around the world, both on my own and in groups, I have had a lot of varied experiences.  Some have been recorded here, but most of them are known only to me and a few others.

If you know me in person or you have been reading about some of my random encounters on this site, then you probably know that I am a magnet for the weird and random.  I once had dinner with a drug dealer in the Czech Republic, been offered Heroin in Chicago, Hamburg, Scotland, and in Iraq.  I have also had discussions, and sometimes a few drinks, with prostitutes in Munich, Australia, Mexico, Singapore, and Hamburg.  These are just some of the experience I have had that have educated me about the seedier side of life, and have provided me with some great stories.  So what’s my point?  I’ll get to my point shortly, but I feel like I have a pretty good idea of what happens in the underground lifestyles of the world.  Dostoevsky spent tons of time hanging out with alcoholics, prostitutes, criminals, and addicts so that he could write about them with realistically.  You don’t have to partake in a lifestyle to know it, you just have to observe it learn the traits, and then when you see if you will know it.  My own varied experiences have led me to have many encounter with these shady characters, and because of that I trust my gut instincts.  I have, at times, had to navigate some precarious situations, in varied random foreign countries, without any help.  I have come through these situations mostly unscathed, and with plenty of experience and a total trust in my instincts.  Which brings me to my point.

When I was in Singapore the whorehouses were all in regular ass neighborhoods.  They looked just like any other house in the neighborhood except for one tiny detail.  At night when the front lights came on the house number instead of glowing white, glowed red.  Now I have lived in my neighborhood here for a year, and when I first moved in I noticed that one house in my neighborhood had red numbers out front.  It struck me as odd in this neighborhood, because of the high police presence and school security officials.  From day one I have had it in the back of my head that this house could be a whorehouse.  I have rarely if ever seen anyone ever coming in or out of the house (the few I have seen are women, and I believe Asian women, but it is usually dark), and the shades are always drawn closed.  The last few months, however, I have had more time on my hands, and I have been walking around the neighborhood a lot more late at night.  (Sometimes when I have been writing too long, and I am stuck and don’t know what to write next, I go outside for a walk to clear my head.)  I have been observing the house more and more and still the shades are drawn shut, and there is very little traffic coming in and out of the house.  I have also noticed lately that often there is a car that sits outside the house with the engine running, and last night I saw one Asian girl go up to the house and knock on the door.  She stood there for a bit and then from around the corner an NYPD van came rolling up–with three people inside of it–it stopped in front of the house, and they shined a spotlight on the girl.  She knocked frantically, and as soon as the door opened scurried inside.  The NYPD van rolled out, and the parked car in front of the house took off in the other direction.  So I’m thinking that the police are either finally wise to the house or have almost enough evidence to make some kind of bust.  I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure I’m right.  If I am right then I think there will be some kind of drama going down in the neighborhood soon.  I’m going to keep taking my late night strolls to check out the hood, and I will keep you all posted if anything goes down.

I have finally returned from Houston and what a trip it was.  The good part of the trip was that I got go to two ball games at Minute Maid Park and watch the Mets vs the Astros, I partied a lot, and I ate some great Texas BBQ and Mexican food.  The bad part of the trip was that the Mets showed their ass and I had to listen to a bunch of hick-ass Texans taunt me repeatedly.  Thank you very much Billy Wagner, you can now add another log to the fire of my burning hatred for you.  The entirety of my trip was one big blur of drunkenness, and amazingly nothing crazy or out of the ordinary happened.  I was kind of dissapointed, because I was hoping for some random encounter to happen that I could write about.  Plus it had been awhile so I knew I was due for something weird to happen.  Well lucky for you, my readers, I did have a crazy random encounter.

My original flight out of Houston was canceled because of Tropical Storm Eduardo so I ended up leaving a day later than I was supposed to.  I got dropped off at Hobby airport around 8:30 and I was through security by 9:00.  I still had over two hours left until my plane was scheduled to depart so I decided to grab some breakfast.  The breakfast restaurant was called Pappas and it was decorated with the typical southwestern style decorations: horseshoes, saddles, western paintings, and other paraphernalia.  It was also on the complete other side of the terminal from where I was supposed to be, but, like I said, I had plenty of time so I wasn’t worried.  I walked over to the restaurant and got a table all the way in the back of the restaurant where I had my back to the wall.  I already knew what I wanted so when the waitress came over I ordered the Trail Blazer–eggs, bacon, sausage, potatoes, and toast–and coffee.  The waitress brought me my coffee, and I started to zone out on my coffee just looking down at it staring as the steam came rolling off of the coffee.  I was really into this because I was tired and bored, but then I noticed someone approaching the table.

I didn’t think much of it because there were a ton of empty tables so I just figured they were going to sit at a table nearby.  I kept watching the steam roll off of my coffee when the chair in front of me was pulled out, and someone asked “is anyone sitting here?”  I glanced up slightly and saw a black woman pulling out the chair across from me.  She had dark skin, a broad flat nose, she was kind of chunky, but without being fat, she had fucked up dyed red hair that was half-braided, but nevertheless looked trashy, and she had a few inches on me.  Plus she had what looked like National Geographic flap-jack titties–which is never a good thing.  However she was not a complete hag, she had some nice qualities, but she was definitely not the type of girl you bring home to mommy.  She carried herself in a very skanky way.  Anyways I told her no that no one was sitting there, and then my face looked visibly upset when she actually decided to sit down.  I looked around and noticed that there were at least 50 other possible empty seats in the restaurant, and immediately I knew something was up.  At first I thought that maybe she wanted a piece of my Harry Ballkowski, but I quickly changed my mind, and figured it was some sort of scam.

“So what are you up to?” she asked.

“Well,” I started to respond visibly perturbed, “I’m waiting for my food and then I’m going home.”

“Where’s home?”

“New York.”

“Are you here by yourself,” she quizzed me.

“Yep, just me.”

“Sooo no wife or girlfriend here?”

“Yeh, like I said I’m here alone.” It was here that I changed my mind again and decided that this was some type of airport sex thing, but I started thinking it was a set-up, and that maybe she was a cop.  She didn’t have the physique of a cop though, but you never know these days.  They let just about anyone become a cop.  It was also at this time that my breakfast came, and I noticed that I had completely lost my appetite.  Regardless I started to pick at my eggs, pushing them around my plate, and once in awhile actually taking a bite.  “Are you angry” she asked “because you look angry.”

“No not angry, that’s just how I always look.”

“Well you really look angry.”

“I can’t help it I have an angry face.”

“So you like to drink,” she abruptly changed the subject.

“Sure I do but it’s 9:00AM.”

“So that doesn’t matter.  You want to start drinking?”

“Naw it’s a little early for me today, and I’m still recovering from a long week of drinking,” I stated.

“Do you mind if I drink?”

“Knock yourself out, you don’t need my permission.”

Continue reading

There haven’t really been that many good entries lately, but this week the folks over at Overheard in New York, and as usual I sorted through the trash to bring you the gems.

Guy from Michigan: That stripper robbed me.
Cop: How so?
Guy from Michigan: She said if I gave her $150 she would jerk me off. I payed her the $150 and she didn’t do it. I want her arrested.
Cop: Is everyone from Michigan an asshole or just you?

Dad: So what’s that thing you want for your birthday again?
Little boy: A Wii.
Dad: Wii? As in wee-wee? Gross!
Little boy: You’re immature.
Dad: You wet the bed.
Little boy: You’re immature.

Pretty girl looking in mirror: My eyebrows are too small for my face.
Queer friend: My penis is too small for my ego. We learn to deal with it.

Creepy guy: I was in Japan and went on this rampage and slept with this woman who was 38 and had a kid and was married. Her husband had a bad back and couldn’t have sex with her, but he was fully aware I was sleeping with her. I was kind of doing him a favor.
Creepy guy’s date: Did he watch?
Creepy guy: No, but he wanted us to videotape it. So somewhere in Japan there’s a video of me doing it with an older woman.

And lastly a couple quotes making fun of Williamsburg, which is infested with hipsters, and is generally a shitty place to go.

Young girl: I’m Middle Eastern, and I swear to god if I see another honky wearing a keffiyeh I’m going to commit fucking Jihad on Williamsburg.

Visitor, looking around in bewilderment: Why is everyone trying to look like they’re poor?

Bearded guy to female friend: I went to Williamsburg and was like: “Who *are* all these people that look just like me?

Young hipster: Let’s face it, at some point I’m gonna be homeless.

Girl to her friend: Where are we?
Old man passing by: It only gets worse…

I was lucky enough to be given a ticket to MLB All-Star Fan Fest here in NYC.  I went on Friday hoping to escape the horrendous crowds that would invariably be congregating throughout the weekend.  Even though we managed to miss the big crowds there were still thousands of people crawling throughout the convention center, and the lines for most of the attractions were still fairly long–at least 45 minute waits.  It was a long journey to get to the Jarvis center, but it was well worth it.

Upon entering Fan Fest we were greeted by an old time band.  These guys were awesome, and I don’t think I heard them stop the whole time I was roaming around the convention center.  It was the perfect soundtrack for checking out all kinds of baseball exhibits.  It made me feel like I was in the movie 8 Men Out.  We were also given a credit card by MasterCard that we could take to different kiosks to swipe and try and win a prize.  You get 3 swipes (strikes) to try and win (get a hit).  With my first swipe I hit a Home Run, and the girl seemed genuinely surprised, and told me where to go to claim my prize.  My eyes were alight with the possibilities of what my prize might be.  I mean it’s a home run, and really the only thing better is a grand slam (they weren’t making distinctions between solo, 2-run, etc.).  My brain was abuzz as I was considering the possibilities.  We walked over to the booth so that I could claim my prize, and I see all this cool stuff everywhere: clocks, baseballs, and other items.  The guy sees my hat, and goes “Oh a Mets fan huh!”  Yes Captain Obvious I am, hence the hat.  Anyways so the douche bag pulls out a Mets pennant and gives it to me, and I stood there waiting for something else until I realized that that was my prize.  What a ripoff.  I think i got jobbed, but what can you do.

The first thing we checked out was the baseball auction.  There was so many rare pieces–or what I thought was rare–of memorabilia I was astounded.  I counted 8 baseballs signed by Babe Ruth.  Of course with this being in NY it was heavy on the NY baseball memorabilia–mostly Yankees.  There was tons of autographed pictures, bats, balls, gloves, awards, baseball cards, and other quirky items like credit cards.  Some of the notable player represented were Whitey Ford, Joe DiMaggio, Mickey Mantle, Yogi Berra, Keith Hernandez, Gary Carter, Tom Seaver, Willie Mays, Jackie Robinson, Duke Snider, and a bunch of others I have forgotten.  One of the coolest items for sale was the 1986 New York Mets World Series trophy.  If only I had money to burn, I would have bid on that item.

The next section we went to was the a small Cooperstown collection.  For most of the first few exhibits I had forgotten that I had brought my camera so I completely forgot to take pictures.  Seeing these display cases just intensified my desire to go to Cooperstown sometime soon.  They had a lot of great items.  Mostly jerseys, hats, replica plaques, bats, and programs.  I am still always amazed by the size of some of the old time gloves.  One guys glove–I think it might have been Dizzy Dean’s–was so small that it wasn’t much bigger than the gloves we all wear on a cold winter day.  Ridiculously small, and they were usually pretty tattered from use in multiple seasons.  Phil Rizzuto’s glove looked like it had been attacked by a doberman.  Highlights for me was checking out the Babe Ruth items and Roberto Clemente’s jersey.

Continue reading

I sort the wheat from the chaff, check out their site Overheard in New York.

Hobo: Hello.
Girl: Um… Hello.
Hobo: (gives girl some coins and smiles) You look like a nice girl. Don’t become a whore.
Girl: Um… Thanks, I guess.

–6 Train

Old woman: Take a picture of me with Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie and their son.
Young woman: Mom, the black kid isn’t a wax figure.
Old woman: Well, she just keeps adopting them, I thought it was her son!

–Madame Tussaud’s

Five-year-old boy to mother: It smells like penis in here!
Embarrassed mother: “Peanuts”. Honey, you mean “peanuts”.
Five-year-old boy: No. Penis! (points to his crotch)

–Duane Reade in Penn Station

Big black guy #1: Yo, does anybody know where we get off to go uptown?
White passenger: The next stop.
Big back guy #1: Yo, everyone shut up and listen to the white nigga! He’s givin’ us directions!
Big black guy #2: Ain’t no such thing as a white nigga, fool!

–F Train

This one isn’t funny it just pisses me off.  It’s amazing how many stupid people end up in college–when they don’t deserve to be there–just because daddy hooked them up with a trust fund.

Frat guy #1: So how do you think you did on your history exam?
Sorostitute: I don’t want to talk about it.
Frat guy #1: Oh come on, it can’t be that bad.
Frat guy #2: She thought World War II happened in the 1970s.

–NYU

The newest edition of Overheard In New York.

Drunk guy: It was incredible. He puked and then he just disappeared. I’ve never seen anything like it. He was like the Criss Angel of puking.

–Outside Lombardi’s

Girl #1: So, you didn’t go to the show?
Girl #2: Hell no.
Girl #1: My boyfriend tried to make me go.
Girl #2: Why would I want to go? I’ve slept with like, everyone there. Like I need to see a close up of all of the STDs I’ve narrowly avoided?

–Double Down, Houston & A

Goth girl talking loudly to goth friend: It just sucks that everyone is such a toolbag. Like everyone. That guy right there. Toolbag. You. Toolbag. Everyone is just a toolbag. Like seven out of ten people are just tools.

–LIRR

This afternoon as I was getting ready to head out for the day–around noonish–my doorbell went ape-shit.  So I ran downstairs expecting either the UPS guy or that it was my downstairs neighbors’ kids pranking me.  I walked outside and only saw my neighbor standing on the grass, he waved and told me it was a mistake.  I thought nothing of it and walked back upstairs, but I heard the whisper of walkie talkies.  I didn’t think anything of it and finished getting ready.  About fifteen minutes later I walked back outside, and realized that they were cops around my house.  My neighbors’ wife was talking to one–and her face looked red like she had taken a backhand–and my neighbor was talking to the other.  He told me sorry about the doorbell being rung and that he was “having problems with the wife.”  Umm yeah that’s pretty obvious I thought.   I told him no problem and walked away as fast as I could.

So I just get home around 6 hours later and it looks like round 2 took place while I left.  There is a patrol car here with two new cops, and an ambulance to boot.  I now have to wonder if he decided to throw her a real beating because she called the cops the first time.  If that’s the case I don’t want to be around for Round 3.

Great new quotes from Overheard in New York.

Little tourist boy: Mommy! Look, that lady is a Nazi!
Frazzled tourist mom: What? Oh… Honey, that nice lady is hailing a cab, not Hitler.

–Bowery

Girl: But my gynecologist loves my vagina! She says it’s very tan!
Guy: Yeah… tan and leathery.

–New Amsterdam Theatre

Girl in line: And that’s when I told him that if he’s going to keep masturbating in a glass box, at least I shouldn’t have to… (stops, realizing everyone is listening)
Guy in line to friend: That is so going in my blog.

–Kimmel Center, NYU