My Rapture Bunker

Not my actual Craigslist Bunker, but you get the idea

Okay, it's been awhile since I have written, but I had been preparing for the rapture like any person who doesn't believe in this crap by going about business as usual. It's been 5 days since this shit was suppose to go down and my mangina is having a fissy fit because it and I are still roaming about New York City. I have to tell you that I feel slightly cheated since I went about purchasing a rapture bunker on Craigslist and now I have to potentially wait until October to get use it.

As I scoured Craigslist in search of my bunker, which by way is now collecting dust, I began to ponder the validity of the situation. How did they know back in the day about pacific standard time when most who roamed the earth believed it to be flat? (I mostly likely haven't a clue about what I'm talking about, nor do I care.) I would have to imagine that if the rapture were to go down, it would have to be 6pm in the middle east (all that bible talk happened there, no?), considering that America had yet to be discovered. None of that matters because my contemplation turned into giddiness having found the perfect bunker listing for the right price.

Not actual Zombies,
but close enough for 
the sake of humor

I suppose that being raptured would have been cool and all, but so is chilling out in a bunker preparing to slay zombies (braaiiiinnsss) as I watch the cable I'm stealing from the bunker next to mine (up until that time Oprah was still on TV, can't miss that). Seriously though, would I want to be high above the clouds with all of those goody too-shoes, or would I want to be roving the land with a posse of zombie killers ready to slice and dice? (By the way, the bunker only fits about 8 and so my posse is kind of small, I only had so much bunker money to spend). I really hoped to peer out it's windows and watch people float into the sky as I shoot at them like clay pigeons.

Nom, nom, nom

Well, since you are reading this, then you know ye old rapture never unfolded. I was actually having a beer when the clock struck 6pm and at that point was oblivious to the rapture that was not taking place. Basically, I now have bunker for the new and improved upcoming end of the world, which takes place this october (I hope all of those pb&j's that I made don't go bad), thus giving me plenty of time to revamp my posse list, so you better be nice to me (now that Oprah's show is no more she is off the list, so you're now on it Chris Rentner @thepipebit).

Now that summer has arrived reader, go out and enjoy yourself, but bear in mind that you should make the most of the summer because October will not be too far behind and so you better be prepared. Don't come crying on my bunker door when a gang of bible thumpers zombies come running after you to drag you into the afterlife. No pb&j's for you, I say good day.

No Handle on My Bars

This is how I found my bike last Friday

There are only a few things in life that are worse than having to go to work Monday to Friday, only to repeat the process after two short days of relaxation. This past Friday what I thought was the start of a fine weekend turned to sadness as I exited the revolving doors that is the entrance and exit to my servitude and freedom. Low and behold what did I find waiting for me as my smile turned upside down, my bicycle. Normally I love seeing my bicycle after a long day of being tethered to my desk, but today when I gazed out like I normally do to my bike locked up on the rack I realized something was amiss. Turns out some asshole stole my handle bars and stem off of my ride.

As the two of you along with @thepipebit who read my blahg, I commute to work by bicycle. I have been commuting for at least two years since the MTA along with our Rat overlords decided that they would raise the fair to the point where a guy living alone making an honest earning can't afford to ride the train every single day of the year. When I moved to NYC in 1999 the fair was less than two dollars, now it is two fifty with talks of raising the fair again perhaps earliest as next year. Once you do the math, you'd see for a year that it's a ridiculous amount of money to throw at our public's failing mass transportation system, hence commuting by bicycle. Either way I love riding my bicycle, so it's a win for me.

This has nothing to do with this post,
 it was dinner the other night

I work at one of the busiest intersections that I am currently aware of in the city (I could be wrong on that assumption) which normally has a police presence all day either directing traffic or watching the hooligans leaving school after a hard day of preparing for summer school by failing while their pants sag (kind of like their future). So in broad daylight a thief rolled up on my bike and ripped me off in the same spot I've been locking my bike for what ever amount of time I said in the previous paragraph. So walking out of work and seeing the situation laid out before my eyes, I was angered to say the least especially with such a heavy police presence.

with new handlebars

Basically having no choice in the situation, I strolled down Park Ave. with what was left of my bike minus handle bars. I did receive some odd glances from people looking at me and my violated bicycle as they passed me, and I wondered to myself if they felt sad for me or they thought I was stealing my own bike (which of course they didn't know was mine). Either way I was determined to make it to the Bike shop before it closed at 7, and so with bike in tow I scurried along (not unlike our rat overlords).

In the end, I made it to the bike shop and dropped more money than I wanted to spend to get my bike back on the road. I was able to ride back to Brooklyn, but not without catching a flat tire (the 2nd one in two days). I have to admit I am currently nervous about locking my bike in front of where I work, and so I am looking into securing my handlebars and stem before I resume riding to work. I just want to say thanks to that asshole who stole my cockpit, I really hope you get doored and then immediately have taxi run over your shitty ass, you ass.

Snowbraaaaa!!

This has to be the worst blahg post I have written so far. Enjoy!

Glad my station is underground, haha!

Since time has sprung forward dangling a carrot of warm weather in our
faces making most New Yorkers as well as myself begin to think that Spring has begun to blossom only for this morning to be surprised and taken for a ride (but only if you didn't watch the weather). No sooner than writing a blahg post yesterday involving the subway the weather once again has turned dreary and the city is facing a potential blanket of snow.
It's almost as if the MTA called mother nature on her iphone and struck a deal with her to throw a tantrum and act miserable forcing me to ride the MTA miserably.

The 80's

You would think with our advances in technology, we would at
some point attempt to harness and control the weather like Cobra Commander tried to do during the 80's with his weather dominator
(The real 80's were awesome like Cindy Lauper to the left there, unlike the 80's revival we have been experiencing?). Watching the snow fall toward the sidewalk as I walked to the train this morning really makes me wish Cobra Commander along with his weather device were here to vanish this dismal weather. Unfortunately, Cobra Commander is a cartoon character and I'm simply day dreaming, wishing for better weather enabling me to bike to work, thus not granting our rat overlords (have you bothered to read that post yet?) a visit on the subway.

The Commander kicking it

Upon remembering Cobra Commander was in fact evil and would have jumped at the opportunity to join forces with the MTA and Mother Nature to ruin my day, I boarded the train hoping to not witness anyone shoveling pasta in their face while riding into Manhattan. Last thing I need is the inability
to move my arms on a packed train while having a food fight break out. Luckily no food fight broke out, but there was the infamous backpack guy, that person on the rush hour train who refuses to remove his backpack making less
room for those around him. Although if I had to choose,
I would prefer to have his backpack jammed into my back like a shiv than having to endure someone's stank pasta all over my face.

Normally when the weather is horrible as it is today, making it into work on time is thwarted like Cobra Commander's continuous attempts to rule the world. Why should any day be different. If I don't encounter any set backs while riding the train then it takes about the same amount of time it takes eating a bowl of cereal while watching an entire episode of
G.I. Joe thrashing the Commander himself. It's almost like setting a DVR to record your favorite show and then watching said show only to have the DVR cut off the last few minutes, but in the MTA's case they add minutes. Seriously, both instances are absolute
let downs.

Anyways, did any of this happened today? Maybe, maybe not, who am I to say. Does it snow in the city, does Cobra Commander always loose to G.I. Joe and when riding the train does it take longer than it should? The answer is yes, yes, and yes. Well now you know and knowing is half the battle.

GO JOE!!

St. Paddy's Day Past

I have returned. I felt I needed to stop writing for a while because of the events taking place in Japan. Watching everything unfold on television really makes anything I have to say trivial. Still I hope for Japan to have a speedy recovery. They are a strong nation and I know they will pick themselves up and recover. Still my thoughts continue to go out to those that have been affected by this travesty.

 St. Patrick's Day by Amauri Aguiar at flickr via Gothamist

This past Thursday was St. Patrick's Day, or St. Paddy's (not Patty with two T's) for those who are too lazy to say Patrick. As usual, I normally prepare for this occasion by taking the day of and the day after off. Why not take the day after off, I need to recover from a holiday that centers not around St. Patrick driving the snakes (no he did not speak parseltongue, and the snakes were actually pagans) out of Ireland, but of the time honored tradition of binge drinking. 

This year, the holiday started off with the consumption of an Irish Breakfast with my drinking crew. To my amazement it was rather delicious, just don't ask what black and white pudding is until after you eat it. Oh, be wary of any coffee drink that involves the addition of liquor to it because your coffee may turn from two dollars into twelve (yes, I was equally as shocked). With bellies now satisfyingly full, we were off and on our way.

After traveling via everyones' lateness provider known as the MTA, we arrived on the scene. If you simply enjoy watching people wave as they walk, then this is most certainly the parade for you. Everyone is Irish at the parade on St. Patrick's day including all of the revelers that douched their way in from Long Island, making the parade what it is today, Mardi Gras part deux.

via www.life.com

As is with every year, the parade was packed and a washed in a sea of green. This sea of green is mostly formed by drunken (understatement) roving packs of ____________ (insert your own made up name for these people) decked out in Irish Mardi Gras type beads, stately tall jester hats reminiscent of a Guinness and plastic bowler hats (I hope no ones head got caught on fire). By the way, I wore my own silly hat for the occasion. The only thing keeping these people from making it a total Mardi Gras type situation was the absence of boobage on display (this non-showing of the twins actually let me down).

I myself, unlike most I encountered during the holiday, enjoyed the day with pints of Guinness (nothing reeks of Irish more than Coors light, but who am I to judge). I will admit, I do feel on St. Patrick's day, drinking an Irish beer is the course of action, luckily for the Kegs and Eggs sect (link is slightly NSFW), Jameson is readily available, which more than makes up for their consumption of B(cr)ud and Coors as well as PBR for any boozed out hipster-chauns. For me and my own crew, a flask of 12 year old Redbreast was our whiskey on board. Mmmm, mmmm smooth!!

We hopped around to a few bars, never making a scene or asses out of ourselves. We found out that the Dropkick Murphy's and Flogging Molly along with the Pogues were the choice of many a bars music selection. We got to hang out with a real piper on 14th street, and made it home before the real danger set in, the 6pm fresh out of work crew and the 2nd wave of college drunken kids.

All and all, it was an enjoyable St. Paddy's day. Slainte!!

This MTA Subway Isn't Eaten Fresh

Well, the rant I served you on a moldy platter yesterday has burned up in flames since I've discovered last evening, the Dropkick Murphy's show at the Roseland Ballroom is still going to transpire. This fabulous news meant that my commute to work would not be the normal commute by bicycle consisting of dodging pedestrians who can't turn their necks to see if a cyclist is rattling towards them in the bike lane, cabbies who love to pull in front of you hoping that you and your bike will slam into their trunk, or Johnny Law, whose ticketing blitz has all nyc cyclists on edge looking over their shoulder at every intersection. No, today I descend into the realm of our Rat overlords to ride the excuse the capitol of the world calls a subway, the MTA.

There is nothing like waking up in the morning knowing that even though you will leave your house on time, you will still arrive late for work. I occasionally think that I should just take the time, sleep in and watch the continuing cover of the upcoming royal wedding that I don't even care about than rushing only to be tardy because of the MTA. There is no better way to begin your commute to work than to be stuffed in an over crowded train car like a sardine ready to be opened and noshed on by ravenous Norwegians banging their heads to
death metal.

Via: Gothamist

With a plethora of odors emanating from every nook and cranny of the subway system, I am truly baffled when I see people eating in the catacombs that make up our dilapidated subterranean transit system. It saddens me at times, when I see on the L train a mother feeding potato chips (I prefer rippled) to her one year old "baby girl", then simply tossing the empty bag under the seat as if the world is her oyster and the train, her waste receptacle. Eating Mc Donald's (love me some fries) is bad enough as it is, but to be seen devouring Ronald's burger on the subway truly gives me the impression that you have given up on life.

via College Humor

Forget trying to grab a seat or grip a pole on this throttling cattle car to hell that's slower than an old man with a walker.
I would not want to be a small child when I see someone in sweatpants lean back on the pole right around where that child would grasp, only for the pole to disappear in the backdoor of their sweaty nether region, that pole must have more fecal matter on it than our national currency. (yes, wow indeed). The seats are not much better, perhaps if you are lucky you'll only sit in the sticky residue of some dried up soda, rather than some homeless persons left behinds. For more info on the homeless experience check the blog post of rich gone.

I can't even go into the situation of the stations themselves, or how disgusting people are, throwing any regard for those around them out of the closing door of the train car. Hey, mister, how about you blow your nose with a napkin or your sleeve instead of your hand before you grab something to hold on to as the train exits the station? Nothing better than being smashed up against some one while trying to play solitaire on your iphone one to have them breathing hot breath (I prefer cigarette breath over coffee) down the nape of your neck.

Traveling first class

Anyways, I've written this entire thing waiting on the L train in the tunnel connecting Hipsterburg to Manhattan, and it's begun to slowly move forward once again. As I patiently wait to get off the train, I can only think about the Dropkick Murphy's show tonight and be happy in the fact that soon enough I will return to my regularly schedule program of commuting by bicycle. Enjoy the train ride folks.



On a side note: I would like to thank the readers in Europe, Singapore as well as Vietnam who have continually been checking out my blog, I very much appreciate it. I'm amazed that someone around the globe has actually been reading the hot mess that I have been writing.

Fire Fire Roseland on Fire

Photo via @BalzerDesigns

Last night while laying in bed like I do every evening, I watched the news as I slowly passed out, purposely leaving the television on to increase my electric bill (I'm all about helping local businesses). I'm not entirely concerned if a fire burns down a building unless of course, it kills someone or leave a person homeless (neither are a good thing), but if it gets in the way of my obese American way of life then I have to take issue. The news stated, the Roseland Ballroom in NYC, was on fire which means the possible cancellation of the Dropkick Murphy's show I am to attend this coming Thursday. This news does not sit well with me at all.

Could use some ketchup

I get that cavemen accidentally discovered fire a few years ago, even though Billy Joel said "it was always burning since the world was turning". According to creationists, this discovery made cavemen extremely happy since it was now possible to burn the flesh off the dinosaurs who lived along side them, thus enabling them to consume their souls. Personally, if I were a caveman when fire was discovered, I would have been absolutely ecstatic knowing that I would  no longer have to ingest my triceratops deluxe burger (hold the onions) raw while catching a show at the Roserockland.

Hey scout want feel, I mean hear a story?

From bar-b-cues to marshmallows to torching of witches at the stake, fires have been blazing a path of destruction for quite sometime since its discovery by cavemen. Fire is an enjoyment for many people, for example: the Boy Scouts (total homophobes), who enjoy sitting around a hearty fire telling ghost stories and roasting the before mentioned witches, I mean marshmallows. Once the weekend hits, people (both legal & illegal) living in the city, enjoy a nice jaunt to the park and engage in the art of  the bar-b-cue, then literally
proceed to litter our parks with trash and dump burning embers which come from, you guessed it, Fire, destroyer of worlds.

Fire does indeed heat our homes and light our way in the dark when we have forgotten to pay our electric bills from time to time, but it doesn't need to light up the mezzanine at the Roseland. We use fire to light candles to remember our loved ones who've moved on into the afterlife, as well as light candles to be romantic, bringing the possibility of creating new people in the current life (should have used a jimmy). We light a fire to enjoy our addiction to nicotine or observe the national past time of 420 (Fire, don't harsh my mellow, puff puff pass, don't bogart that....).

My mind is a battlefield where a fight rages about whether to unfriend Fire on Facebook or not. After watching the countless times the devastation Fire has left behind, I'm at least considering to block it from my newsfeed. Now with Fire potentially ruining my plan to take my girlfriend to the Roseland so she can see the Dropkick Murphy's for the first time, I'm starting to not like Fire more and more and may have to end this friendship.

(Note: Don't get me wrong and although I write my blog at an "attempt" to be humorous (I say "attempt"), there is absolutely nothing funny when any life is affected in a bad way due to fire.)

Shorts, Brah!!

This past Saturday, the temperature was rather awesome for a day in March. I walked around the Lower East Side in Manhattan soaking in all the people scurrying about like our rat overlords to consume brunch and nurse their hangovers via unlimited mimosa's or bloody marry's. As I walked, I turned a corner and low and beheld my first sighting of the year 2011, the white guy in shorts, a miraculous creature indeed.

flexing of the guns

Usually hibernating through the winter, this special creature will normally climb forth from it's "man cave" at the moment the temperature rises at least 1 degree above 45. They are heavily into homoerotic sports such as tackle ball, and enjoy flexing their "guns" while manscaping in front of their bathroom mirrors. Though owning a tough exterior, they are quite sensitive and will lash out and threaten anyone who encroaches on their beer pong table.

The marking of the white man in shorts are quite distinct: hooded sweatshirts, backwards facing sports cap and of course what makes the white guy in shorts the white guy in shorts: basketball shorts (or the occasional cargo shorts). The hooves of these animals are often adorned with slip on flip flops exposing their grizzled, gnarled toes for all to see. Although, during times of the mating hunt, they will trade in their hoodies for vertical striped shirts and their flip flops for pointy loafers. Of course off go the shorts only to wearing some trendy god awful trousers with too much embroidery on the back pockets.

Drinking of the beers, Brah!!

Quite often, white guys in shorts douche about in packs. The migration of these beasts normally involve a plastic cup with matching bracelet which they will use while migrating from bar to bar drinking some watered down weak ass excuse of a beer such as Budweiser (I'll drink Bud too if its the best thing available). While Grazing at pizza parlors (dollar slice anyone?) these animals enjoy stuffing their faces while harassing people passing who are simply trying to live their normal mundane lives.

Through out time white guys in shorts have developed their own form of communication (brah, chillax, yo yo). They communicate via grunting and sports statistics, while eagerly expressing their desire for their team to win, how much they've drank and especially their desire to procreate. Also when excited, they will scream about and give each other what is known as a "high five". They will chatter as if they are rappers, not realizing that real rappers are more than likely making fun of them while taking their money via record sales.

If you are curious and would like to learn more about the wonderful world of white people in shorts or white people in general, then check out the bible on all things about white people: http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.com/ for further reading.

Bedbugs are #winning

My exoskeleton would seriously be quivering in pure anger right now if I were a roach, knowing that with all the attention bed bugs have been receiving in the media, that some serious shit is about to go down. I'm not really sure how long roaches are going to idly sit there, putting up with the attention bed bugs have been recently receiving in the media (Gothamist, NBC, just to name two), but it can only be a matter of time before their worlds collide. Seriously, you would be angered too if you worked hard for many years to obtain the status of pest numero uno, only to have some bed bug that sleeps around coming in and stealing your thunder.

Knowing roaches to be the true New Yorkers that they are, I'm sure they are already working on a course of action, these guys don't have the ability to survive an apocalypse for nothing. Since roaches are able to associate the scent of vanilla and peppermint with a sugar treat, then it's only a matter of time before they start setting up Facebook pages and Communicating via twitter to move their anti bedbug agenda forward. I'm pretty sure they have been participating in community board meetings as well as solidarity walks to thwart the rise of these pesky bedbugs.

You can't blame roaches for hating on those pervy bedbugs. You don't see roaches sleeping around jumping from bed to bed like some free loving hippie. I would not want to be a bedbug having to sit there every night and wondering if my bedbug queen was out there having her royal crop plowed by someone outside of our swarm. You just don't see a good wholesome roachs partaking in such activities.

Bedbugs are arriving daily to the big apple gentrifying the city one bed at a time. Whether hopping on a train like a traveling hobo, arriving via bicycle, or now taking to the air as the newest jet setters in this larvae laying insect world, they are encroaching on the roaches turf. Soon enough these stowaways are going to want voting rights and equal employment opportunities.

bedbug bin laden

What side will you be on when tensions erupt this summer between roaches and bedbugs? Will you remain loyal to those who only eat your food or will you side with the those who snuggle up next you like a warm fuzzy cat, only to turn around and eat you? I'm quite sure if any roach catch you with their large compound eyes sleeping with the enemy, that any coexistence you were forced with them is off the table. 

Will you stand up and speak out against bedbugs even if your property value may decrease? Or will you in a desperate New York time, stand up along side your fellow New Yorker roach and come together in solidarity to fight these bedbug bin ladens that are trying to take away of freedom of sleeping comfortably?


(note: after writing this whole thing a friend of mine told me the Onion wrote a story about roaches vs bedbugs. you can read it here : http://linkee.com/62xnHV)

Rats live on no evil star

Since having now fully recovered from all of the Oscar after parties I didn't attend nor was invited to, this F-list non celebrity can now resume the normality's of his mundane life. Luckily for me, thanks to Entertainment Tonight, I am reliving all of the kick ass pre/post Oscar moments that I can't seem to erase from my mind. While watching the show, I realized that since I didn't bother to drink at any of the parties I didn't attend, I know why my mind remains intact like ET's own uncircumcised Mario Lopez (what?) and I'm not hung over in the least bit. I am sure to be saved by the bell as my alarm clock rings, alerting me that a: I haven't turned off my alarm, and b: to change the damn channel. (remote, click).

Look at our cute overlords

As people scurried like rats to catch a glimpse of their favorite movie star strut Sunday night down a carpet the color of crimson, which incidentally is dyed from the blood of child laborers who make costumes for all 3D animated movies, so too have NYC's own rats been scurrying about due to the wonderful weather we're experiencing. No, not the rats who tattle on their capos to escape a life of incarceration along with games of dropping the soap. I'm talking about New York's other famous rat, our brown furry friends who rule the subways with a furry fist. These guys have been long before us and will be here long after they have enslaved us for all eternity, or at least until the sun burns out and goes into it's red giant phase.

Definitely not his pet

As we enjoy the slowly warming weather, so too are the rats enjoying the warm temperatures as they climb out of their wintery nooks. They are out there, taking NYC by storm, especially lately by appearing in online videos. This is precisely the thing we don't need. Next thing you know they will be at the Oscars being interviewed on the red carpet raving about the baby they've recently adopted from some impoverished country (this seems to be the rage amongst celebrities at this moment). Don't you have enough mouths to feed rodent (nom nom x12)?

Rats have become very brave too. While you wait impatiently for the MTA to deliver you to work late once again, the rat will nonchalantly roam around your feet expressing no fear, even once in awhile taking a train ride uptown. Seriously guys, could you least pretend that you are afraid of humans?

I knew we were in trouble when I saw these guys working the kitchen in Muppets Take Manhattan. I just didn't fully realize due to adolescence, that they were slowly working towards becoming our overlords. This is beginning to make me think they must be excellent cooks since they also appeared in Ratatouille (how did i spell that right on the first try? see what they are doing? Fuc.......K). This could explain why they are always nibbling away in our garbage. They are learning our eating habits by sifting through our garbage. Isn't this in some odd way making sense? This is the method in which they will take us over. The best way to a man's heart is through his stomach.

I'm not even going to go on about the amusement park led by the dark lord M.M. (I use his initials because is He-Is-Who-Must-Not-Be-named) I bet that place was entirely set up to funnel our money to use against us in our eventual slavery. It's all brain washing I tell you, and it begins when we are old enough to watch cartoon movies about wooden boys who become real because of a wish.

This is all of our fault too. Perhaps if people actually used a trash can instead of the subway tracks there would be less rats. We can only... Shhh... did you hear that? I better go, I'm beginning to feel that they are on to me. Big Mouser is watching you.

#FroggerNYC

This is actually a post that I had posted yesterday, but due to my stupidity, I lost the entire thing. I lost the draft, the post, and the images I used, so I've had to go and rewrite it as best as i could remember, and so here it is, once again, for your reading enjoyment.

An overhead view of my ride to work

Cycling to work at times or anywhere can be a hair raising experience, especially when you are living in the Capital of the world. At various times, it reminds me of the 80's arcade game Frogger. Each day I ride represents another level of the game. It's almost like Ground Hog Day, where I continue to relive the same day over and over. Poor Frogger has to dodge obstacles while on his way from point A to point B, and so too does the NYC cyclist. Even though NYC is becoming a safer place to ride, even as the days are pushing us toward our impending doom in 2012 (thanks myan calendar, you're such a downer), we still have to deal with obstacles in our own real life game of Frogger, and although I am not a frog, I do occasionally look like one as I am pedaling down the street.

The Taxi Cab

One of the most dangerous characters to look out for in this game is the Taxi cab. Off the bike, the taxi can be your friend, taking you home late at night when you're too drunk and don't have the patience to wait for the train, but while on your bike, the taxi has great potential to kill you. They regard the rules in the same manner that pirates observe the pirate code, more like a set of guidelines than actual rules, and they are more than willing to parlay with your life. The taxi will without any given notice, pull into the bike lane ahead of you and instantly open its door like the claw of a crab. The taxi will then proceed to release its clutch of passengers, spilling them into the street causing you to swerve out into traffic or into a parked car to avoid collision with them. The cabbie will then look at you, smugly roll his window up, and quickly speed away in his banana colored car with beaded seat cover, leaving you to inhale his exhaust fumes. Hey taxi, nice dice on your rearview mirror.

The Delivery Man

Now the delivery man, happens to be one of the more dirtier players in the game, partly because he himself is a cyclist. Normally, he can be seen on a mountain bike, but lately as China becomes a world super power, they can be more frequently seen coasting around on electric steeds. Delivery man has a job to perform and nothing is going to stop him from acheiving his goal of delivering that hot pizza in 30 minutes or less. I can't blame him though, like a momma bird regurgetating food for  her babies, so too does the delivery man have a flock of mouths to feed. He will come out of no where, cutting you or anyone off while riding on the sidewalk. He will display no concern as he travels the opposite way up any street or bike lane, so beware of him. Sometimes, I won't even notice him coming at me until he's almost on top of me. Please delivery man, attach some lights on your bike, I can't see you in the dark.

Notice the blank stare of the pedestrian

The Pedestrian

The third and final character that I will write about today, is the pedestrian. What makes the pedestrian scary is they possess characteristics of both the taxi and the delivery man. The pedestrian is slow like a turtle, but will freeze up like a deer in headlights when you are moving towards them, Even if it would be fun to run over them, I would never intentionally hurt any pedestrian, though at times I may have thought about it (almost like how motorists wish to run over cyclists). They will pop out of no where like a whack a mole, right into your damn path making you either swerve into traffic like the taxi does, or forcing you samsh into the back of a parked car. As if the lane is an extension of the sidewalk, they will stand smack dab in middle of the bike lane as they wait for the light to change. They become very snarky when you ask them to watch out as you ride in the very place you are suppose to be. You know pedestrian, we wouldn't interact as much if you followed the rules like you would like me to do.

Those are just a couple of things cyclists encounter living in their own game of Frogger. There are many other things I can bring to light such as pot holes, ice, homeless people, snakes on a plane and garbage trucks that can join in for game time. Oh, and don't forget to add cops to this ever growing list, but I will definitely wait for another time to write about them, they probably deserve their own post.

Wow, another level/day draws to a close. I have made it safely back to my lily pad, having dodged cars, delivery men, and pedestrians. I have crossed the river and can now relax. I may have lowered my power level on occasion by being involved in minor accidents, but I have yet to loose my life and restart the game (yes, I know we can't hit restart after we die). And so I look forward to waking up and playing the game all over again tomorrow.

Riding over the Willy B, Part I

Photo from: http://www.nyc.gov/

As I sit on my sofa, I am forced to listen to my landlords spawn run rampant in their apartment above me. Every night when I return home from a long day this scenario will play out at least until 9:30 at which point I believe they go to bed. As they toss out the window any concern about whether their noise bothers me, I begin to think about my day's ride home from work.

My commute for the most part is relatively flat, except for when it comes to the Williamsburg Bridge which happens to span the East river. The Williamsburg, though not as famous as the Brooklyn bridge, basks in its own awesomeness as it connects Hipsterburg to Manhattan. The view while crossing the bridge to Manhattan or neighboring Brooklyn are an amazing site to behold, not unlike the awesome parade that happens ever year over in the West Village.

Photo from: http://www.untitledname.com

Wooo, double walk path all the way across the sky, I mean bridge. (see what I did there?). One path is for cycling, the other for pedestrians, although the walkers prefer to use the bike path while listening to the hottest band I will never hear of in headphones made from unicorn horn. Also, there are people who will spread out taking up the entire width of the paths while walking over the bridge, but I'll leave them out of this.

Many a PBR swiller travels over the bridge to and from the city, skip hopping on their track bikes to their barista, or arty type jobs. I honestly haven't a clue where they work, but for the sake of this blog, they are all baristas. To be honest, I too, am guilty of skip hopping down the bridge on my way to my deluxe half cubicle in the sky (not so Good Times). Though I can easily lump myself into the same group as the swiller, I am but chunky and also drink a higher quality of beer (to each their own). We all have messenger bags slung over our shoulders, but there are actually very few us out making deliveries. Maybe, it's times for backpack.

Night time, I usually can fly over the bridge, mornings not so much. In the a.m., I possess neither the energy or the desire to quickly go up the steep Brooklyn side of the bridge. I used to enjoy trying to pass people on the bridge, but screw that. I'm not a road or alleycat racer. I don't wear a king of the mountain jersey nor do I collect UCI points. I'm not being paid to pass a person who isn't even aware they are loosing a race that is transpiring only in the chasm of my mind. This means I'll never stand on a podium and spray champagne at reporters. I'll leave that to the Ivan Bassos and  Cavendishs' of the world. (By the way, I totally love watching cycling races, which is why I know those two names).

Photo by: Daniel Schtwen via wiki 

Even though I try my hardest not to race, it still remains enjoyable ride over the bridge, especially at this time year. There are not too many people who ride in extreme cold weather, because it can suck worse than a surprise drug test you know you're about to fail, and so, many people avoid winter cycling. I can still enjoy stealing glimpses of people riding the JMZ, knowing the MTA is about to make them late for work. The auto congestion on the bridge gives me satisfaction as well, as I know I can get to the light at the bottom and be on my way before cars can finish a top 100 commercial break. These are just a couple things that keep my mind off my burning thighs as I muscle my way over the bridge. Oh, the joy.



And so goes another trip across the bridge. To be continued....

Cycling to work

My bike waiting for me to finish work.

I came to the realization that riding my bike to work is like eating dinner, but in reverse. I don't mean the obvious, in which riding to work occurs in the morning and dinner takes place in the evening. I mean work is like brussel sprouts, you must eat them and finish your plate before you can move onto dessert. To me, Cycling is my dessert, and work represents the sprouts on the plate I don't care to finish. Basically, I eat my dessert and then have to sit at my desk and stare for eight hours at a plate that I don't want to eat.

Currency is needed pay to bills whether it's rent, or supporting a hobby like bicycling. And so, sitting at a desk (or dinner plate for 8 hours), being told what to do by people you would never consider speaking to or noticing in everyday life, is just something we all have to do in order to succeed. And, so we trudge along Monday to Friday in a repetitive fashion so we can pay those bills and support our habits, which for me is my bicycle.

Then again, you could very well be one of the inhabitants of Williamsburg, who enjoy dessert all day long living off a trust fund or off their parents, while galavanting around in tight pants thinking they're some amazing artist, playing kick ball in the park. Unlike them, I'm too fat and not able to wear skinny girl pants like those hipsters and not look bad (although guys in girl jeans look bad no matter what), and so I have to roll my pants leg up while I ride to work. Incidentally, I would trade places with any one of them for any given summer just be able to skip dinner and eat dessert (riding my bike) all day.

So flip the coin now if you will. It's now the end of the day, I have written a pointless blog and I have worked hard. Now, I have all evening to eat dessert, or in this case ride my bike. How lovely is that? It wasn't all that bad. Of course, it's only Wednesday and so the process repeats all over again tomorrow, but at least I can ride my bike to and from work.

Face covered to protect the innocent
Notice the needle?

On a side note...
I know that people in other countries eat things that Americans do not. Hey, who am I to judge. I am very sure that I eat things that other people would find disgusting. This morning, as I was walking my girlfriends dog like I normally do, a gentlemen (who in this case looks like he would eat strange things, as well as hail from a country where their gymnasts lie about their age at the Olympics) walked past me staring at the dog. I thought to myself "Man, this guy's looking at my dog as if she looks delicious?" Is it wrong for me to think this way, or have I just seen too many things on television that I can not unsee?

Candy Bars and the Knicks

Car(a)mel(l)o

Since I live in the Rotten Apple I suppose I should be ecstatic about the Knicks signing Carmelo. As reality has it, basketball does not capture my attention in the least bit. Though, now when I hear Carmelo's name, instantly I crave Caramello's. Caramello's are those succulent Chocolate candy bars filled with chewy caramel. Caramello's should not be mistaken for Carmelo, who incidentally, not filled with caramel, but with blood, organ, and bones, like a hunter's garbage can after he has gutted a deer and thrown away the entrails, but both I assume are of equal chocolatey goodness.

I will say, New York is a large city. I'll even go as far and say that according to wiki, Gotham is the most populated city in the United States. So it's about time Gotham has the calibre of a player like a Kobe beef or a Shake Shaq dribbling that orange ball up and down the lane for the Knicks. For this, I extend a congratulation to New York!

As all this excitement over a basketball player whose name conjures thoughts and cravings for the before mentioned candy bar, New York continues to trudge through a rough winter. Today's no different, it's literally 17 degrees outside and this really makes me wonder why any of us would continue to live this far north. I guess we all have our own reasons: the culture, the night life, job opportunities, running from the law, too broke to move out of the city etc...

Since the snow has finally melted from the blast we received the day after Xmas, I have continued to ride my bicycle everywhere. Is riding my bike a love, or an addiction? I definitely love riding my bike. On the other hand (it would be my right hand since I'm left handed), could say I am addicted to riding, not in a Charlie Sheen addicted to coke and hookers addiction, but in way where you just have to do it because it just makes you feel good (though that sounds similar to a coke and hooker addiction). Plus, as we all know, you don't have to deal with tardiness of the MTA. Besides, it's enjoyable, to watch the city wake up as you ride to work, as opposed to being stuffed inside a cattle car like box, knowing you will most likely wind up late for work.

Like I said, people are addicted to various things. Like I mentioned before, I am addicted to riding my bike and Charlie Sheen is addicted to hookers and coke. Some people (as am I), are addicted to chocolate. Chocolate is considered an aphrodisiac. Now, as I satisfy one addiction by cycling work every morning, I will also satisfy, not only my chocolate addiction by eating a Caramello, but I will think of Carmelo and the Knicks as well.

And so as winter rolls forward, I will ride my bike and more New Yorkers will be watching more basketball because of the newly acquired addition of Carmelo. Everyone will be happy, well except for those people riding the MTA who will most likely be late for work.

Brrr, Saturday, you were cold.

Ahh, Winter, old friend, you have returned once more. I knew that everyone (myself included), joyous over the Spring like weather, were about to have our realities reintroduced to us. See, it's still February and we still have at least another month and a half of winter ahead of us. We still have March marching towards us and sometimes, actually most times, this is not a good thing, since March is one of the coldest months of the year.

This past Saturday, indeed Winter returned in all it's glory. The wind, strong enough to push a boat crafted from an old Volkswagon from Cuba to the sandy shores of freedom known as Florida in one mighty blow, blew upon us all day long. This wind created tiny tornado's of trash that twisted itself down the streets of Greenpoint in amazing fashion, spreading itself about to only beautify the neighborhood that much more. This scenario made the bike ride from my house over the Williamsburg bridge into the East Village even more enjoyable, though I complete my journey unscathed.

As the sun set and day faded into the night, so too did the temperature drop only making being outside that more unbearable. After eating Ramen and traveling to Whole Foods with my girlfriend, we slowly navigated our way back towards her home. On the way back we stumbled upon a group of girls not from the city, but from Jersey. I knew they were from Jersey simply because the tags on their car stated they hailed from the garden state.

There is nothing wrong with traveling to the city to enjoy an evening out on the town, even if you traveled via bridge or tunnel, my friends from Long Island do this all of the time. What amazed me about seeing these girls was that even in 20 degree weather, with the wind blowing as it was, these girls were in mini skirts and high heels. I was amazed at these girls, because even if I was nuts, which I am sure I am at least semi nuts, I would never be able to walk around like that. I don't mean walk around in skirts, I mean I would never be able to walk around in this weather with my legs exposed.

This made me realize how badly people want Spring to arrive. Trust me, Spring will arrive, just not as quickly as we would like it to arrive. I think people are simply fed up with winter, and like an ex lover that continues to cling to you after you have broken up with them, we just want winter to move on and find happiness elsewhere. So people, please stay warm, and Spring will be here shortly.

Winter's hidden gems

Picture via http://www.mommygoggles.com

I am a dog walker, in as much that when I am at my girlfriend's house I walk her dog. As I walk the love my girlfriend's life (which isn't me by the way), I tend to look at the ground a lot since my girlfriends dog is small. I would say she is small as in the size of a chihuahua is small. I have noticed, along with the Gothamist, that as the snow melts away from December's post Christmas snow dusting, many a things are being uncovered.

As Zeus released the Krakken, so too as the snow has melted, released hidden gems buried beneath it's white fluffiness that's now covered in filth and grim. It reveals that people are more dirtier than a sow rolling around in it's own feces. Garbage, a glove now missing it's significant other, and used heroin needles are just a few of things that you will find under the melting snow.

What gets to me most about whats being discovered under the snow, is that when it snows, people forego picking up after their pets. As embarrassing as it can be, I will pick up after my girlfriends dog after she does her business. Not only do I want people not to step in it, but it's the law to pick up after your dog. No one wants to step in doggy deposits, and I'm sure this includes those who don't remove their own dog's deposits from the streets. Don't the soles of peoples shoes suffer enough?

It's almost as if people will let their dogs do their business and then simply brush their pets deposit under nature's winter carpet of snow. This is just disrespectful to the people around you, like when Urban Athelete's go to the Turkey's Nest, then leave their styrofoam cups littered about McCarren park after an adult game of kickball. Better yet, like when someone is eating Mc Donald's on the subway and then simply tosses their garbage under the seat. I'm sure they frown at people doing these things, so why do it themselves?

I would love to ask everyone, if you are going to own a pet, take responsibility and clean up after your pet. Karma is like a woman, in that she will take something that you did, store it away in her mind for months, maybe even years, and then when you least expect it, she will pull it out of the blue and make you suffer for it. So, to the people who think the sidewalk is their trash can, when you aren't looking, Karma will be paying you a visit.

Huff and Puff and inhale some Dust OFF

Not the actual can used.

Yesterday, as I waited for the L train at the Bedford stop, I noticed no trains were entering or leaving the station. What is going on here?

Eventually, a train did arrive, but failed to find it's way out of the station. Out of no where walks this couple just staggering along followed by two officers of the law, giggling (the couple, not johnny law) as they were were being escorted towards the Drigg's entrance to this Hipster infested station.

Perplexed about what was going on, and watching the events before my eyes unfold, I noticed in one of the officers hands, a can of Dust Off or the equivalent of Dust Off. Busted, silly kids.

This scene laid out before me made me chuckle. Realizing at this point, these two kids were huffing air in a can on the L train, as well as delaying all of the trains. Anyways, the police simply kicked them out of the station and threw the can of air in the garbage and things were normal once again. I have never seen this situation before.

I found this all to be very amusing, but kids do this stuff at home, or in your friend's basement or maybe even in some wooded area, but not on the L train when I'm trying to get my girlfriend's dog back to her.