Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Achievement Unlocked: Brooklyn Bar

I have found my home bar in Brooklyn.  Its a lovely place, only a short 40 minute walk from my apartment.  They don't serve Captain, so I guess I'll survive on whiskey.

Drinking alone is still...meh.  In addition to attending things that Colleen invites me to, drinking alone seems to be the one other thing I'm supposed to do in order to meet people in a new city.  And, other people are probably great at it.  Maybe everyone else on the planet was born with this social gene that makes it really easy to make friends in bars.  Me, I show up in a bar, and there's like 3 people there.  Like in the entire building.  Including the cook.  Sometimes one of them might want to talk to me, a little.  I don't know.  I'm tempted to read but I've been told not to do that.  The apex of my socialization is often a short chat with the bartender about whether the Gimlet I ordered is going to be more of a Gin or more of a Vodka kind of situation.  And then that's pretty much it.  I stumble home a few hours later, sleepy, $80 poorer and wake up to a terrible hangover the next day.

So, next goal:  find a home bar in Manhattan, so that I can start drinking before I even get on the train.  I mean I also need to ramp up salsa dancing more, start going to a martial arts class (preferably a flavor of karate that is effective against cops), and maybe start climbing again.  Oh shit, and something about volleyball.  We can call those stretch goals though.  I should also probably take up Colleen on one of her invitations, but so far I have misunderstood or forgotten every one of them, so her patience is probably gone where I'm concerned.  I'm pretty sure she's only trying to hang out because she doesn't remember how annoying she thinks I am.

p.s. I was exaggerating earlier.  There's usually like 5 people in the bar, not 3.

Monday, December 15, 2014

Inconvenient Truths

Alright.  Brooklyn--or at least the part of Brooklyn where I live--sucks.  The bars anywhere near my apartment all close before midnight.  If I walk really far, I can go to a real bar, however most of those are cash only.  While I empathize with people who evade taxes and/or need to launder money because they have taken up the noble profession of selling drugs, I also expect to pay for my fucking drinks with a fucking credit card, you fucking losers.

However, I've already signed the lease, so what's done is done.  I can move out of this bullshit next September.  I have found a somewhat..."local" bar...it only takes me 30 minutes to walk there.  They are open after midnight and they take credit cards,

For the record, this is what it takes to be a decent bar:

  • does not close before midnight
  • takes credit cards
  • does not use the word "artisinal"
  • drinks cost less than $10
  • is near me
Yeah, that's pretty much it.  I would add "stocks Captain Morgan" but bars that claim to be cocktail bars seem to have an aversion to stocking it.  Which is retarded.  I've tasted high class, top shelf rum, and its still not as good as Captain.

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Note to self

Next time I go to a protest carry a blade for those plastic cuffs.  Also fuck Ferguson leos.

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

[fiction] Damaged Goods, Part ?

The rain came down in heavy sheets.  The two officers were soaked, and had to constantly brush the water out of their eyes as they gazed at their...suspect.  The man was on his knees, bound to a tombstone with heavy chains.  His shirt was gone, showing the deep cuts that were still oozing blood that washed down his chest and collected on the ground in red pools.  They took turns punching him.  Good Cop Punches that would make Dirty Harry proud.  One of the officers occasionally gave the suspect more lacerations with a straight blade.

Across a sea of death stones, Snow stood in the unkempt tallgrass next to a white marbled tombstone, in the shadows.  He wore a manta ray hat that--bonus--was water proof.  Rain ran off the floppy wings in little streams.

Snow turned his head and smiled.  Atop the gravestone was a bird.  A big, black, dark, scary looking bird:  a Crow.  The crow cocked its head and blinked.  Snow held his fist out, and the crow pounded it with one of its feet.

Together, they both turned their attention back to the torture.

Thursday, November 13, 2014

Leveling Up

In Seattle, I decried ineptitude and dishonesty of Fountain Court Apartments at 4th Ave and Battery, but even though they lied to me repeatedly (teaching me the hard way about getting things in writing), it is true some of my rent checks were, in fact, 2 or 3 days late.  So I guess trying to trick me into losing thousands of dollars is a fair reaction.

The people who ran Crest Apartments on Melrose in Seattle were also lying assholes.  They increased my rent, failed to increase the direct deposit draft, and then started sending me backdated eviction notices (that isn't even the 'lying' part--when I moved out they invented fraudulent move out expenses to overcharge me with the security deposit).  To be perfectly honest though, if I had gone out of my way to double check the amount they were drawing from my bank account, I may have had a 48 hour window in which to inform them of their mistake before they threatened to evict me.

In NYC, wanting to set a better precedent, I have done my utmost to be a blameless tenant or customer.  So, upon moving into my apartment and creating an account with Con Edison for the electricity bill, I wasted no time in making my first payment, immediate, and in full, with a credit card.  In response, Con Edison sent me three service shutoff notices for non payment.

When I grow up, I want to own a monopoly.









Saturday, November 8, 2014

[lyrics] The Joker

the mountains have their clouds
and the minotaurs their cows
but wary on a sharp cliffs edge
the dragon stands alone

the farmer has his family
the tax collector his levy
but all along the watchtower
the thief stalks alone

the knights have their maidens
the bishops their formation
but all across the marble floor
the joker bows alone

the kings hold their courts
the politicians their retorts
but far atop the inner walls
the ninja climbs alone

the tower has been saved
his enemies in graves
but despite his narrow victory, the
gunslinger's still alone

the captain has 'is 'tennants
and the master's got his mates
but all along the quarterdeck
the doctor walks alone

the directors have their actors
and the producers their detractors
but books are quite a different lot
the author writes alone

the minions have their plans
and the leadership their scams
but aloft in exponential space
the coder flies alone

the humans have their allies
and the aliens their spies
but seflessly in neutral space
the android dies alone

Sunday, November 2, 2014

Close-Hauled

This is who we are
This is what we've got
No it's not our paradise
But it's all we want
And it's all that we're fighting for


Just as girls complain about the boys not reading their OkCupid profile, so I am frustrated by the craigslist programmers who did not actually read my post for a part time android contractor.  I'd be happy to expound on the details, but lets keep this classy.  So I guess its a "numbers game" for them.  Bitches.

I missed another great halloween opportunity.  The thursday that was the night before halloween I was out searching for a new home bar to replace Front Towards Enemy, and ended up drinking way too much at a place that doesnt have Captain.  The next day, Friday, Halloween, was the day I should have been out sitting around in various bars in my Waldo Costume systematically meeting all of the silly people who love to scream "I found you!"  But I didn't do that.  I spent all day hung over and staying late at work wondering why the test software was crashing on the amazon kindle hdx without a stack trace on the last day of the test pass.  Fuck amazon, and fuck their devices.  Then I came home by myself and nursed my hangover.  I had no food so I ended up going to rite aid after midnight where I bought a jar of pickles.  Eating all but two of them made the hangover go away.  Despite this setback, it has occurred to me that next year, despite being forced to adopt a different costume among my friends by the rules of social convention, there is nothing that prevents me from switching back to waldo and going out to a bunch of bars by myself.  I mean I'm totally not going to do that.  I'm just saying I could.

The next night:  Halloween party in Philly.  It was pretty awesome.  I had forgotten how easy and fun it can be to meet people in or around Philly.  In my opinion, the best conversations happen just as the party has reached its apex, when people start leaving and everyone is very tired, very drunk or very sober.  Thats when the conversation flows the easiest.

The Finnish metal band Nightwish is coming to NYC and to Philly in April.  Nightwish is difficult to talk about because I have to resist a strong urge to say "you probably haven't heard of them" -- which is true, but because they are a foreign band and not because they are some lame ass indie hipster band.  So while at the party I hunted down my one and only friend in the entire country that has heard of them.  I attempted to recruit her to attend the concert with me, though I think her enthusiasm was two parts politeness.  Who cares.  There's no reason I can't get stoned out of my mind and go to both concerts by myself.  Call it making up for lost time.

Tonight, I met some of the other residents on the unlit, unheated rooftop deck of our building.  Huddling in the suddenly chill weather that was colder than the wine in our glasses, we made brief introductions and traded notes on our brand new apartments.  For example I learned that the place where we dump our trash is "the creepy place."  I love it.  Then we went to an expensive ass bar, then five guys, and then another bar. It was a pretty bitching start to the new neighborhood.  I'm not sure I remember any of their names though.

Volleyball continues.  Salsa is in progress.