Decoding New York City

Joe Paterno: Child Rape Coverup Artist

2011-11-09T17:05:00.000-08:00

“With the benefit of hindsight, I wish I had done more,” said Penn State child rape coverup artist, Joe Paterno.

Paterno did not have the courage or character to fully admit his role in the Penn State cover up when he released his sorry statement.

According the grand jury indictment, Paterno was told about the witnessed rape of a ten-year-old boy in 2002. This represents nearly a full decade of unimaginable silence where Paterno turned a blind eye to the sexual abuse of multiple children by one of his coaches, Jerry Sandusky.

According to the indictment, assistant coach Mike McQueary, then a Penn State graduate assistant, walked in on Sandusky forcibly raping a ten-year-old boy in 2002. The next day, he reported the incident to JOE PATERNO, who informed Penn State athletic director Tim Curley.

What did Curley do? He ordered Sandusky not to bring any -more- children to the football facility anymore. TRANSLATION - Please try not to sodomize any more prepubescent boys in the locker room, that would be great!

That’s it? Paterno told the athletic director?

Did any of these animals think to call the police?

Anybody?? Does anyone know the number to call for 9-1-1?

If you saw or heard about a child being raped – WOULD YOU CALL THE POLICE?

Would Paterno have called the police if Jerry Sandusky had raped his wife?

What if Sandusky had sexually abused one of Paterno’s five children?

Even after Paterno learned about these allegations:

Sandusky continued to bring children to football practice.

Sandusky continued to adopt children.

Sandusky continued to run his children's organization.

Paterno spent a decade or more covering up this child abuse so he could protect the legacy of Penn State – how’s that look now PaPa Joe?

"I am absolutely devastated by the developments in this case. I grieve for the children and their families, and I pray for their comfort and relief,” said Paterno.

Let’s break that down.

Paterno is devastated that he got caught.

He could care less about the children and their families.

What god does such an evil person pray to?

Would you let a rapist coach for you?

Fun at Newark Restaurants: Guns, Guards & Gazpacho

2011-07-18T14:44:00.000-07:00

You get more than a warm meal when you eat at a restaurant in Newark!

Try the tech nine special and some of that glorious hollow point gravy on the side. It appears that armed guards are on the menu for multiple eateries around the glamorous city of Newark, New Jersey.

The city recently passed a new law where patrons must enjoy a restaurant meal with armed security guards after 10pm. Guards will be packing gats to gut gang members before the appetizers come.

Imagine the possibilities for restaurant owners who must now bring in enough firepower to quell any of those Newark uprisings.

We offer the freshest, homemade murder free food in all of Newark. We know you'll appreciate the high quality of our armed guards and their marksmanship as they knock off the bad guys at better than 100 yards away.

That friendly Newark service and the value of having a crack-sniper at your table is sure to bring security to your table while enjoying gun battles in real time.

Our chefs/snipers prepare our dishes with only the freshest ingredients while taking out the bad guys before any drive-by really gets out of hand.

Each line cook knows the grill almost as well as the latest laser-siting technology needed to light up the undesirables and put them down before you can say, “Check, please.”

And don’t forget to ask about our top of the line silencers. Watch each firefight with the suppressed cough of each shot so you can head home with a satisfied stomach, not a headache.

Charting the Freedom Tower

2011-07-17T19:11:00.000-07:00

Useless Media Riding the Weiner for All Its Worth

2011-06-17T05:28:00.000-07:00

As the lines continue to blur between 60 minutes and Jerry Springer, American journalism took another huge step back in credibility during its latest news du jour, the Weiner Scandal. Just last week, 17% of all news stories revolved around one of the easiest targets of all time, former congressman, Anthony Weiner.

Journalists across the country embraced their inner Beavis and Butthead while trying to one up the other with Weiner jokes. This is the media’s finest moment because its true colors have never been more apparent.

Don’t get me wrong, Weiner jokes are great – but who knew that the self-declared “Fourth Estate” was actually just another version of “Laugh In?”

Here is a brief list of Weiner headlines from our finest journalistic outlets:

NY Post: Weiner Explodes

Seattle PI: Obama gives Weiner a very hard nudge

NY Daily News: Squeezed out: Anthony Weiner resigns

NBC: Weiner Can't Withstand Pushes to Resign

Forbes: Anthony Weiner Comes Clean About Dirty Photos (NASTIEST)

Huffington Post: Wiener's Limp Support

ABC: Comedians, Minus Stewart, Roast Weiner After Resignation

UPI: Steny Hoyer joins push to force Weiner out

The Right Perspective: Weiner Pulls Out

Fox News: New Weiner Photos Trickle Out

CNN: New York Media Buried Weiner

The Right Perspective: Pelosi Spits Weiner Out, Calls For Resignation

Leno: "I guess he realized he couldn't stick it out any longer."

Faces Frozen Forever onto the Real Housewives of New York City

2011-05-01T19:17:00.000-07:00

Those faces are frozen for a reason!!

If you are one those strange people who shove cosmetic needles and toxins into your face, this article will not evoke feelings of warmth and fuzziness.

I've always found the “Housewives of Wherever” genre to be overacted, tactless and without any redeeming value. But due to a recent Botox study released by the University of Southern California, I have discovered an aspect of the “Housewives of New York” that I cannot turn away from!!

The upper two-thirds of those "Housewife" faces DO NOT MOVE!

This is not a mean joke - these stiff and static grills are for real. Even during the "Housewives" commercials, there was always something that seemed a bit off. Now we know what it is, the upper quadrants of the "Housewife" faces are completely frozen from the jaw up.

Whether they are swearing, swinging or swooning, those faces are locked into the death-grip of cosmetic toxins. These "housewives" bare a striking resemblance to the Nutcracker puppets, because the only part of their face that actually moves is their jaws.

The study that drew me to this facial phenomenon deals with people who get Botox injections and subsequently lose their ability to convey emotions. The study, released by the University of California, explains that these toxic shots, freeze facial muscles and deaden the face’s ability to display emotions.

Here’s the best part – you can watch any episode with the MUTE button on. There’s no need to hear what insidious venom they are spraying at one another. The only way to read their emotions is by activating the closed-captioning function.

These stone-faced housewives strike an eerie resemblance to the old South Park characters before they switched to computer animation. Forgive me for not knowing the names of all the housewives, but I came up with a South Park character key.

Numbered left to right…

#1 – Kyle

#2 - The Baroness would play Mayor McDaniels

#3 - The redhead looks like Mr. Garrison

#4 - Bethenny (ex-housewife or not) bares a striking resemblance to Wendy Testaburger

#5 - The crazy bug-eyed housewife is a dead-ringer for Cartman

#6 – It’s a tie between Tweak and Butters

Deadly Wiffle Ball, Terrifying Tag Banned at NY Summer Camps

2011-04-19T05:19:00.001-07:00

Wiffle Ball! Kickball! Capture the Flag, Oh my!!

Wiffle Ball and capture the flag are just some of the lethal activities that NY State Lawmakers have deemed too dangerous for kids to participate in at summer camp.

This 2009 law also lists tag and dodgeball as treacherous activities that “pose a risk for significant injury” to children. So once again, as lawmakers try to regulate every facet of every day life, common sense has been critically injured.

Don’t get me wrong, I remember taking a wiffle ball to the face once, and it damn near left a welt on my cheek.

I also remember being tagged during tag, the humiliation was so complete, I got hooked on bazooka bubble gum and had to spend minute after minute chewing it.

And dodgeball, I hit a kid above the shoulders once and got yelled at by my gym teacher. I never liked her anyway.

Don’t even get me started on “capture the flag!”

Given that these kid games have been proven too deadly to play, what are some of the alternatives?

There are always video games and television, but then you run the risk of childhood obesity, a condition that has been firmly linked to premature death.

I guess drug dealers get a fair amount of exercise while walking the beat in the hood or running from law enforcement. But they also have a high mortality rate due to conflicts being solved with gunplay.

Forget swimming, did you ever see the movie Titanic?

Biting fingernails is fun, but God knows where those hands have been – then you run the risk of infection.

Kids could spend all day texting, but wait, they do that anyway.

Since the brain surgeons in Albany have outlawed fun, maybe they might offer some suggestions on what SAFER summer activities children might participate in before they start looking like Zach Galifianakis in Hangover Four.

Pregnant Woman Clashes with TSA to Avoid X-Ray Body Scan

2011-04-14T11:38:00.001-07:00

My wife is six months pregnant. Can somebody please explain to me why she has to fight the high and mighty TSA at the Dallas/Ft Worth Airport to avoid a full body X-Ray scan?

This government organization needs to be reigned in before they seriously hurt somebody. How is it that the TSA has the power to subject pregnant air travelers to questionable amounts of radiation?

When a pregnant woman in her early 30’s tells a TSA agent that she does not want to subject her baby to any excess radiation, how the hell does this become an argument? We don’t know if these X-Rays are safe for regular people, much less for an unborn fetus.

This hack in Dallas curtly told the pregnant woman, “Let’s go, it won’t hurt the baby.” REALLY, IT WON’T??” Thank you doctor, but I want another opinion.

After going round and round with this TSA power monger, he finally relented and allowed her the sweet humiliation of undergoing the full physical body search instead of a radiation cocktail for the baby.

Multiple scientists have already raised caution flags about the amount of radiation these body scanners emit and worry that the scan could be harmful to children. However, the TSA has no problem subjecting an unborn child to a potential radiation issue.

Dr David Brenner, head of Columbia University's center for radiological research, says more tests are needed on these X-Ray scanners to determine the way it affects specific groups who could be more sensitive to radiation. (LIKE CHILDREN or BABIES)

Another researcher, University of California biochemist David Agard, says the radiation emitted by the scanner can’t simply be dismissed. "While the dose would be safe if it were distributed throughout the volume of the entire body, the dose to the skin may be dangerously high,” said Agard.

Agard says at this point, the potential threat has yet to be determined. "Ionizing radiation such as the X-rays used in these scanners have the potential to induce chromosome damage, and that can lead to cancer.”

TSA Rocked by Tiny Stone

2011-03-30T19:34:00.000-07:00

The TSA's sentinels of security continue their nationwide assault on basic common sense and good manners. I recently had the pleasure of their company when my bag caught the attention of one these eager beaver TSA agents.

My bag had just traveled through the conveyer belt when I heard the shrill and excited cry of “SIR, is this your bag?”

Armed with cheeto-scented breath, a young woman informed me, “Your bag has been flagged for enhanced security sir, you’ll need to come with me to a private screening area.”

We walked about 8 feet over to a table where we began our modified screening procedure.

“Do not touch anything I take out of the bag – do you understand?,” she cautioned.

“Yes ma’am, I sure do.”

Oh no - they were on to me! How will I ever get out of this one?

Like any well-trained officer with a keen eye for detail, the agent reached into my diabolical bag of tricks and plucked out a sealed bag of Chips Ahoy cookies. Let’s face it, too many chips in every bite is almost always a threat to national security. Thanks alot, Bin Laden!!

Once the cookies came into view, a male supervisor decided he had seen enough and it was time for him to step in and set things right. With the smell of cookies in the air, who knows what else might be lurking in that terror-filled bag.

I could feel the beads of sweat on my brow as the supervisor began rumbling through the bag. It was only a matter of time before this defender of democracy had the goods to lock me away in Leavenworth.

As he probed the bag more deeply, a small devious smile spreads across his face – Triumphantly – he pulled out the offending object (roughly the size of silver dollar and asked, “Sir, what is this?”

“Um, a rock,” I answer stupidly. I withered under his steely gaze as I watched the tiny smooth rock in his mighty palm of justice.

Then the supervisor barked, “What are you doing with this rock?” (Pictured below)

Is this a trick question?? - I collect small rocks, but should I confess this despicable crime to this Vanguard of Democracy? Then it came to me, like the player who has fumbled one too many footballs - It was time to give up the rock.

“Dude, why don't you just keep it, I have a plane to catch.”

Lord Vader looked at me smugly, as if to say, "I find your lack of faith disturbing."

Satisfied that I had succumbed to his powerful will, the agent handed the rock back to me - apparently ending my advanced security screening and preserving the empire for future generations.

Thank you Captain America - you have proven once more, that with great power, comes great responsibility. My hero!!!!!

Charlie Sheen, Chris Brown Gnarled in Love Triangle With Giraffe

2011-03-23T10:15:00.000-07:00

Chris Brown Breaks Mirror –

How Can This Possibly Be National News?

What was the number one news story this week?

Japanese people struggle with spreading radiation.
Soldiers still dying in Iraq.
U.S. Stock Market all over the place.

Nope – The most published story by the National Media was that some dopey rapper broke a mirror.

FOX NEWS:
Chris Brown Could Face Charges Following Alleged Violent Outburst at 'Good Morning America'
CNN:
Pop star Chris Brown stormed off 'GMA' set, network says

That's right, the thug who beat up his girlfriend a couple of years ago, is now dominating domestic headlines because he recently beat up a mirror.

USA Today:
Angry Chris Brown smashes window at 'GMA'
Washington Post:
Chris Brown reportedly loses it after GMA interview

‎I won’t bore you with the details – but if you read the news, you couldn’t miss the story. Why is the national media dishing this crap out to us? What did we do wrong?

Here’s my Headline:
Charlie Sheen, Chris Brown Gnarled in Love Triangle With Giraffe
It’s a little more original, it’s certainly more interesting and perhaps even a bit more classy!

The FDR - Fast and Furious in New York City

2011-02-10T08:44:00.000-08:00

NASCAR – not impressed…
Indy Racing, Formula 1 – forget it…

If you want the PURE racing experience – hit the F-D-R Drive running along the East River in New York City.

Rubbing is racing on the FDR – Complete with break-neck speeds, nerves of steel and some of the most reckless idiots ever to have been awarded a driver's license. There is no trace of civility, maturity or common sense in these very special motorists – just pure adrenaline coupled with the IQ of a bruised apple.

No gap is too small, no lane change too ridiculous.

A great deal of this fun takes place at the Brooklyn Bridge approach. As you approach the bridge, there is a well-marked and clearly defined exit lane on the right. However, these Brooklyn-bound monsters of mayhem choose to ignore the lane altogether while following a Charles Manson-like set of instructions that are somehow burned into their collective psyche.

Step I: Speed up the left lane at 90 m.p.h. and then without warning – LOCK IT UP!

Step II: Plunge through two lanes of heavy traffic and begin shouting matches with all the cars and drivers in a 30-foot radius.

Step III: Continue vital cell phone conversation while spreading mass death and destruction behind you.

Step IV: And this is the most important part of the equation – NEVER, under any circumstances, EVER – let anyone squeeze in front on you. Who the hell do these people think they are???

This tried-and-true formula is obviously a success, because accident rates on the FDR Drive are always on the rise. The entire stretch of asphalt from the South Street Seaport to the George Washington Bridge becomes part of the FDR Parking Festival.

But don’t worry --Even accidents don’t quell this special brand of New York Road Rage. Cars still slash in front of one another even though their top speed is only about 3 mph.

“Way to go guy! You’re the WINNER!"

Subway Pianist: Play It Again Sam

2009-07-10T09:04:00.000-07:00

You can always count on two things when riding the New York Subway System:

1) There is always some type of unpleasant smell waiting to assail your senses. The source of these odiferous emanations most often come from those who never mastered the concept of bathing, never heard the news about deodorant or those who choose to use the subway as their personal toilet. You rarely witness the act, but the nose knows.

2) You can also count on some type of music from any wide variety of instruments or recording devices. This includes portable stringed instruments, drums and most often a couple a heavy-duty buckets and couple of wooden sticks.

But last night, as I walked off the train at West Fourth Street, it sounded like someone playing the piano. Of course, it seemed highly unlikely that someone would actually wrestle a piano onto the platform, but this is New York.

As the doors closed behind me, I realized that whoever was playing this music had some kind of classical training. As the train started to roll, the sound of the music disappeared. But coming around the stairs, I saw that the musician had indeed managed to get a piano onto the platform and was gently playing some classical piece written by Brahms.

The music was beautiful and the piano, well – it was a piano, not a mini, not a laptop keyboard or a Casio, but the real deal. As he tickled the ivories, I asked him how he had gotten the piano all the way down into the bowels of the station. He held up his right arm and made a muscle and smiled down at it. I laughed and said, “Really Piano Man, how did you get the piano down here?”

He told me he rolls it down a few times a week and then takes it back up at night. The pianist also says he used to leave it down here on the platform, but the police don’t let him do that anymore.

I dropped a buck into his bucket and finally said good night to the piano man.

An Unwelcome Handful of Meat

2009-06-12T05:52:00.000-07:00

I was on my way to a meeting on the Lower East Side, when I chanced upon a very unlikely damsel in distress. OK, she wasn’t exactly a damsel. Young maidens are damsels and this woman was neither young nor was she a maiden.

She appeared to be in her late sixties, sporting medium-length white hair with some purple and pink highlights sprinkled in near the front. Since I never learned this woman’s identity, I have to assume her name was Gladys.

Gladys was standing close to a black iron fence in front of a famous New York graveyard called the Marble Cemetery. I could see right away that she was a multi-tasker. She was fumbling through her purse, trying to keep an umbrella upright and handling the reins of her two wild Pomeranians.

The second she saw me, she started yelling at me like we had some previous engagement, “Come over here please, I need your help! C’mon, C’mon.”

She put down her umbrella, secured the two pet Pomeranians and reached into her purse.

“Hold your hand out,” she ordered.

“Umm, what are you going to put into my hand?” I asked sheepishly.

“Don’t worry,” she assured me, “It’s just meat, do you know the legend of the Raven?”

I didn’t know about the raven, but ever the wiseass, I answered, “Doesn’t everyone?”

I held out my hand and she put a very suspicious looking piece of meat-like substance into it. As I eyed this meat-glob with some dismay, she reached into her purse and added a dried out piece of roast beef.

“I can’t throw very far,” Gladys explained. “Can you fling it over the fence towards the giant tree?” "You have to get it near the tree so the "raven" can get it."

I fired the meaty contents of my hands the instant she finished the sentence. The meat rocket sailed over the fence and landed right next to the giant tree. She was pleased, I was a bit nauseous, and she began speaking to the poms as if I had already left. I never saw this mysterious "raven" but I'm sure it could find better things to eat than that mess I had fired over the fence.

Life is like a handful of dirty meat in New York City, you never know what you’re going to get.

Summer Stunner - Bottoms Up at Grand Central Station

2009-05-18T11:50:00.000-07:00

Just the slightest hint of summer weather sends New Yorkers into the kind of delirium that has to be seen to be believed. A typical morning in Grand Central station was turned upside down by half naked women spilling about the place.

Sure it was warm and humid outside, but inside clothes were falling off left and right as seen below.
The event was called Bahama Fridays and it was promoted by making Grand Central Station look more like a giant “Bunny Ranch from the Dark Side.” Whatever happen to no pants, no service?

Cameras were out, tongues were wagging and police were on hand to make sure this little stunt didn’t take on a more sinister form. Many tourists seemed stunned by the scantily clad ensemble and were not sure whether or not this spectacle was part of the norm in New York City.
Some girls stopped to pose for pictures while others strutted around trying not to catch a cold from the ancient building’s air conditioning system.

I stopped and asked one of the, uh, models, what they were up to. She told me that it was Bahama Friday and that I should check out her website to win a free vacation trip.

I would have asked for a brochure, but I was pretty sure she had no pockets or anyplace else to hide anything in her current state of dress.

Homeless High Jinks in the House of Holy

2009-04-20T09:29:00.001-07:00

Interaction with homeless people takes on a whole new dimension when you attend church in New York City.

Some of the homeless greet you during your arrival and departure from church, while others sleep in the pews during each service.

I get to see some of them so often, that I have coined nicknames for each of them.

One of my favorite guys at church is ZZ Top. He sits over by one of the confessionals and is always sporting the Billy Gibbons look. (Gibbons is the lead singer for ZZ Top) He isn’t what you would call a “Sharp Dressed Man,” but "ZZ" has a very distinctive snore and always seems annoyed by the singing of the congregation.

--Billy Gibbons sporting cheap sunglasses--

During one Sunday service before Easter, I noticed that "ZZ" kept waking himself up with a dry cough. After the service, I fetched a cup of orange juice for him.

“Excuse me, sir." (No, I didn't call him "ZZ!")

He looked up and I offered the cup of juice to him.

“Is it drugged?” ZZ asked me.

“Nope, it's just orange juice.”

He thanked me, slugged it down and handed the cup back.

As I made my way out of the foyer, I ran into a different bearded homeless man (Not ZZ) who was a bit more on the aggressive side. "C'mon man, you got some money for me?"

I had a dollar ready for him, but apparently this donation was not acceptable.

“A dollar, a damned dollar? Unreal. Cheap man, real cheap!”

I smiled and nodded at him, not realizing that our paths would be crossing again very soon.

I walked down the church steps as he glared down at me.

The next week was the Easter celebration that actually took place on a Saturday night.

I was to take part in the Easter service by being confirmed with a group of other people at the front of the church.

Several members of the congregation moved to the front of the church to witness the ceremony.

When my turn came to be confirmed, I noticed two people carving a path through the crowd. Wouldn’t you know it -- it was the “dollar guy” from last week! The "dollar guy" was munching on a large bag of lays. He cut right in front of the priest and gave me a little grin though his chip-spackled teeth.

New York is funny that way.

That kind of interruption would be highly disruptive in almost any other town in the country, but in New York City, it added a little bit of extra flavor and charm to the evening.

The priest and I shared a brief laugh and the ceremony continued on like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Far From a Dog's Life In New York City

2009-04-16T11:07:00.001-07:00

There are those in New York City that live a life of privilege and entitlement. They are of superior breeding, well aware of their elevated status. They sport the latest fashions and are more than happy to let the little people clean up their latest mess.

They come in all shapes and sizes, but their attitudes are all the same. Yorkshire Terriers, Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, Boxers and Bernese Mountain Dogs. They are the most pampered species in all of Manhattan.

Many people decide that their dog’s feet are far too precious to touch the ground. They get wheeled around in baby carriages that have been renamed “PET STROLLERS!”

These members of the Royal Canine Family race around the city in golden chariots for all to admire. Tourists trying to catch a peek at the baby in a stroller are suddenly face to face with a Lhasa Apso who wouldn’t notice them even if they were a fire hydrant.

Her Majesty patiently waits for the push

The pups that actually have to touch the ground don’t walk, they delicately prance. And it’s the little ones that have the real street creds. The big dogs want no part of them.

I watched a 4-pound Dachshund at 66th and 3rd do everything in its power break free from it’s owner’s arms to launch itself onto a 60-pound Boxer. The boxer literally yanked its owner into traffic to put some distance between him and that little savage.

But the best part is the outfits. Almost every dog on the Upper East Side has a matching hat to go with his stylish pullover.

In my building, I witnessed a young woman with no protection from the rain putting individual matching rain booties onto her Pomeranian that already was already wearing a custom-fitted bright yellow raincoat.

I looked at her questioningly. Surely she wasn’t dressing that little guy this way so she could walk out into a driving rainstorm with nothing more than a hoodless sweatshirt for herself. She looked at me and said, “What?”

I replied, “It’s raining pretty hard out there.”

She looked at me like I was an idiot, “I know, That’s why we have to make sure Pookie stays nice and dry.” She looked at Pookie and said, “Yes, we do.”

“Um, ok.”

With that, she led the Pookster into a driving rainstorm, while sheltering him (not herself) with a skimpy little umbrella. I never found out for sure, but I think she drowned and Pookie used her corpse as a life raft until he could get to higher ground.

Steel Balls Rain Down on Bryant Park

2009-04-14T09:38:00.000-07:00

One thing you can always count on New York City is that nearly everyone is willing to share their opinions and offer free unsolicited advice.

I ran into a telling example of that yesterday when I decided to have lunch in Bryant Park. The park has scores of steel picnic tables and when the weather is nice, people from all walks of life converge on the area for a variety of activities.

I was eating lunch close to the entrance of the park when I noticed a homeless gentleman heckling a city worker who was in the process of emptying the trash. It seemed that the homeless man didn’t think that the parks and recreation employee was moving fast enough.

He started urging the employee on saying,” Let’s move it, c’mon, c’mon, I got a schedule to keep!”

“Step it up, step it up, you’re putting me behind!”
Bryant Park's Motivational Speaker

To his credit, the city worker never batted an eye and continued to work through the strange words of encouragement that were befalling him.

Venturing farther into the park, I witnessed a group of about twenty people lobbing steel balls into the air. I picked one of ball-chuckers and asked him what he was doing. He sat down and explained the legend of the French game called “PETANQUE!”

He said that city officials were getting bogged down by complaints because people were betting big money on Speed Chess in Bryant Park.

In an effort to squelch the "Betting on the Bishops issue," the city yanked up the tables engraved with chessboards and replaced them with a pair of Petanque fields???

That’s right – PETANQUE!

One of two petanque fields at Bryant Park

It’s a French version of Bocce Ball bringing together New York locals and French Immigrants onto this shaded field of battle. They toss metallic balls at a smaller ball known as the jack or as the French say, “cochonnet.” Each person has his or her unique stance and it brings out a large audience of French-speaking people.

Striking the PETANQUE pose

My only question is --- what’s supposed to keep the chess gamblers from infiltrating the Pentanque Park? I think the authorities thought this one out. Angry French guys schooled in the art throwing large steel balls should be more than enough to keep out the riffraff, even in New York City.

Warmer Weather Unleashes Odd Spring Fashion

2009-04-03T07:05:00.001-07:00

Rainbows, Ruffles and Vitamin Water

I could tell spring was in the air when I tried to get onto the "F" train yesterday morning.

“Move it honkey!” was the greeting I received from a gentle soul muscling her way through the crowd to get onto the train with me.

I can only assume that this kind-hearted woman who uttered these sweet words was some type of motivational speaker getting ready for another day on the circuit.

Most of us on the train rode in silence as the woman muttered profanities to herself.

I emerged at Union Square with the sun shining and my spirits soaring. One of the first things I noticed was a throng of people rushing towards the end of the park where some type of rally was taking place.

The potent combination of great weather and free stuff is a mind numbing aphrodisiac for most New Yorkers. Hordes of people swarmed a Vitaminwater10 rally hoping for a shot at the grand prize.

Vitamin Water Feeding Frenzy

People got free samples of Vitamin water and waited in stunning lines for what must have been the chance of lifetime.

A prize so unexpected, so mind-bending, that life as we know it would be forever changed. Take a guess at what the grand prize was...

Money? No, think bigger.
An exotic vacation? No, think longer.
The Key to eternal enlightenment? Close...

It’s a year’s supply of Vitaminwater10!!!

Bingo Baby! Game on – call Crowd Control.

This celebration of the 10-calorie water brought out people from all walks of life including a human-skittles-rainbow-dress-wearing dude. (pictured above holding his vitamin water) When I pointed my camera phone at him, he giggled and chirped, “Strike a Pose!”

I can’t tell you who actually brought home the gold at this Pastel Water extravaganza, but I’m sure the winner is bathing in a sweet vat of triple antioxidant acai-blueberry-pomegranate vitaminwater at this very moment. I kind of hope it’s the rainbow dude.

Colonel Sanders Battles Discrimination on the Upper East Side

2009-04-02T02:57:00.000-07:00

To write this entry, I have to admit upfront that not only do I enjoy fast food, but I love KFC. I love Burger King even more, but that’s another story.

That having been said, I should stress that there’s not a high concentration of fast food restaurants on the Upper East Side. When I first moved to New York City, I thought I remembered driving past a KFC close to home.

I locked into my mind that it was on 2nd Avenue, but I couldn’t remember the cross streets. Driving is not an option. If you own a car in New York, you rarely take it out unless you are actually leaving the city that day. This is a walking culture for just about anything under 10-15 blocks depending on time constraints.

I set off on my journey up 2nd Avenue in search of that hallowed KFC. After about ten blocks, my faith was wavering. “Was it really on 2nd Avenue? Did I dream all of this up? Did Oswald act alone?”

I realized I was going to have break down and ask someone. The woman walking next to me seemed pleasant enough, though her jewelry was a bit ostentatious.

“Excuse me, I know this is a strange question, but is there a KFC around here?”

She seemed startled. “A K—F—C—?” She snapped each letter off as if she couldn’t believe her own ears. What was this deranged person asking of me, she pondered.

“I’m sorry, a Kentucky Fried Chicken?”

She snorted with unmistakable contempt. I might have gotten a warmer reaction if I had just robbed the neighborhood wine shop at gunpoint. “HEEERE, Oh no, no, no. You won’t find one of those here.”

“Alright, well thanks,” I said sheepishly.

Sure enough a block later, the object of the women’s disgust was sitting there on the corner just across the street, luring me in like a beacon of greasy hope and justice.

I looked at my newfound friend with a Cheshire Cat’s grin and in the most sincere voice I have ever delivered -- I announced, “Oh thank God, there it is, thank-you so much for your help and have a nice day.”

MMMMMMM, greasy bits of chicken ---

Not All Quotes are Designed to Inspire

2009-04-01T09:21:00.000-07:00

Famous quotes are used for a variety of purposes. Many quotes elicit emotion, create inspiration and motivate people to action. Other quotes are designed to enflame passions or gather up support.

In New York City, there are a few infamous quotes we hear almost every time we walk down the street or hop onto the Subway. These quotes are usually not found in books and can sometimes carry a subtle threat.

On the subway system for instance, many of us enjoy the mono-toned and bored delivery of the candy bar salesperson. It goes something like this: “I am NOT a criminal, I am selling these candy bars so I don't have steal from you.”

Now that’s true salesmanship -- Who can walk away from a sales pitch like that? Buy some candy so I won’t be forced to whack you on the noggin with an armor-plated Kit Kat bar.

Famous quote number two is actually a question. There are sets of young men in their 20’s standing back to back in several areas around the city carrying clipboards. They leap out at people and ask, “Do you have a moment for gay rights?”

The best reactions come from the conservative older women who do a stutter step and an ankle-breaking maneuver around their opponent that would leave any NFL running back green with envy.

The “deer in the headlight,” reactions are priceless. Some people stammer and others just slightly nod their heads as the young men break into their well-practiced spiel. Some people get nervous and try to explain why they have someplace else to be while beads of persperation break out onto their foreheads.

Another quote is one that portrays a starling honesty that prompts you to reach for your wallet at the same time you start shaking your head. Some of the most successful homeless people in New York are the ones that practice this entertaining breed of honesty. Their written and spoken quote is, “Why lie, I need a beer.”

This approach takes away the scam aspect. New Yorkers are very accepting of this particular approach and seem much happier to know where their money is actually going to be spent.

Private School Education Overrated

2009-03-24T07:24:00.001-07:00

One thing that grabs your attention in New York City is when someone comes running up behind you. A tall, gangly teenager wearing an ill-fitting private school uniform was enjoying his little jog through Midtown. Sure he was startling some as he passed, but I suppose it was all in good fun. He was around six feet tall with bright orange hair and not a lick over 150 pounds. A dead ringer for Napoleon Dynamite.

He was not the most coordinated lad, but he was having the time of his life zigging and zagging between the pedestrians. He dashed across Lexington onto 48th when a cup sitting in the middle of the sidewalk caught his eye.

I had no idea what might be in the cup, but the prancing prince was determined to find out the hard way. Just before he was about to pass the cup, he cocked his foot back and gave the cup a mighty kick.

A stream of some type of icy red slurpee/smoothie liquid shot skyward covering the teen from crotch to hairline. He stopped, stunned by the misfortune that was shining down upon him. He seemed unable to piece together what had happened.

First he tried to stare down the cup and then the people who were watching him. His head was darting back and forth, but I couldn’t be sure exactly what the kid was looking for. He even looked up, still not fully contemplating the events he had rained down upon himself.

It was obvious that the boy had transferred all the contents of the cup onto his darkening navy blue uniform and he was in search of someone to blame.

He finally let forth a little high-pitched growl, snorted and kicked at the air before stuffing his hands into his pockets and stomping off down the street. The sad part I noticed as he marched down the block was that the offending cup had actually landed upright in the same position it was in before Napoleon had delivered his punishing kick of death.

NYC Mass Transit Workers Must Have Wings

2009-03-17T09:56:00.000-07:00

Roosevelt Tram crossing the East River

You have to keep your eyes open at all times in New York City and be ready for a quick double take. There is a Tram that crosses the East River from Manhattan into Roosevelt Island and back.

I see the tram on a daily basis and it is an impressive site. It rises 250 feet over the East River and runs more than a hundred times each day.

Like anything else, you get used to seeing it. However, on one particular morning, there was something different and I almost missed it.

My peripheral vision picked up the tram, I took a quick glance and continued to go about my day. My mind told me what I had seen, but somehow, I nearly chose to ignore it.

I looked up this time and registered four men walking along the top of the moving car. The car is moving at a pretty good clip and the men on top of the car are causing it rock back and forth as they walk across the roof.

I’m sure they were up there in some type of official capacity. The tram operator who pilots the vessel back and forth had to know they were there.

But these guys are sashaying back and forth over this pitching piece of tin suspended hundreds of feet in the air like they were in a kiddy pool.

You see a great deal of window washers and construction people in New York City, but this was more akin to a vampire movie where these guys could jump off at any time and fly safely to the ground.

I couldn’t see any hooks clinging to these guys, so I can only assume that mass transit employees in New York City have either made peace with their makers well in advance or actually are actually hiding a sweet pair of wings underneath their jackets.

New York Finest in Need of Driver’s Ed

2009-03-12T10:18:00.002-07:00

Those high-speed police chase scenes you see through the streets of New York are about as realistic as a Bernie Madoff innocence plea. I found this out firsthand after an undercover New York City police officer managed to tag the back of my car in a low-speed rear-end collision. Now that's what I call "City-Driving."

My wife and I were about two blocks from Ground Zero traveling south on the Westside Highway when driving Miss Daisy managed to plow into our car after a different vehicle stopped short in front of us.

I got out to look at the damage when Inspector Gadget flashed his badge and barked at me to pull off the road. I must be getting the hang of this New York thing because I fired back a pointed comment regarding his lack of cognitive skills.

We pulled onto a side street and broke out a disposable camera I keep in the car in case some rocket scientist like this one forgets where the brake pedal is. Sheriff Bart emerged from the offending vehicle just in time for me to snap a picture of his happy little face. Then I moved on to snapping pictures of the damage he inflicted on both vehicles.

As I continued with my photographer routine, he started lecturing to me how that in New York City, when a third car is involved, what happened between us was actually a no-fault accident. This prompted me to tell him that he was full of substance that sounds very much like the word “ship.”

This angered him and several other officers who were in the vicinity for a grand-Sunday Cub Scout parade. One of New York’s Finest broke away from the parade route and planted his grill in my face. This prompted me to say, “Smile!” as I snapped his pretty picture.

He let loose a guttural growl and told me, “You better watch it!”

I laughed and asked, “Are you going to Rodney King me in front of the Cub Scouts?”

He walked away while letting loose a string of obscenities that would surely get him booted out of any respectable boy or girl scout troop.

Finally a uniformed officer, a female sergeant started collecting my information and repeating the same Disney story about how this accident was no one’s fault. I didn't believe her fairy tale for a second, but our car only had minor damage and I don’t have the time or energy to fight City Hall.

I have to admit though, the photos were fantastic and really brought out the blue in their eyes.

Common Sense Slips in City Snowfall

2009-03-11T13:26:00.001-07:00

It’s a given that New Yorkers are always in a hurry, but self-preservation seems to be in short supply when the snow piles up in the Big Apple. There’s a fundamental concept that most pedestrians seem quite oblivious to when crossing the snowy and icy streets of Manhattan – vehicles don’t have that funny little quick braking capability.

Droves of people braving the snowy weather seem very happy to saunter out in front of oncoming cars regardless of how slippery the roads are. Quick tip: If cars are fishtailing or sliding in front of you –
that’s really not the best time to cross.

The stream of people hell-bent on crossing the streets honestly believe that the “DON’T WALK” signal is not applicable to them. At the same time, cabbies are determined to break the land speed record despite the people trying to cheat death in the middle of the street. This leads to an epic New York ice show complete with people of all shapes and sizes sliding and diving for that saving sliver of curbside.

Having gotten my fill of the sidewalk follies, I made my way down to the subway station at 59th and Lexington. It’s important to note that when it rains or snows in New York, the station there collects anywhere from 1 to 5 inches of water on the floor.

As I made my way downstairs, I encountered a very well-dressed man going toe to toe with a MetroCard Vending Machine. Judging by his colorful language, it appeared that the machine was getting the better of this particular transaction.

I settled in for a closer look and realized that the machine wasn’t taking his credit card. In an inexplicable act of frustration, the man launched a round house kick at the machine.

I can only assume that he did not compensate for the inch of water on the floor as the kick lifted him far into the air and planted him squarely on the "old tookus."

Several witnesses stared at the man whose finely tailored jacket was now dripping an unspeakable sooty and dark liquid. Unimpressed by all of the attention he garnered, the ninja master marched over to the next machine and quietly completed his credit card transaction.

In the city that never sleeps, there is never a shortage of true entertainment.

Short-Shorts Tennis Warrior Besieges Riverside Park

2009-02-27T08:27:00.000-08:00

Playing tennis in New York City is very similar to digging bread out of a plugged in toaster with a metal fork. It’s a perilous journey fraught with stupidity, confusion and pain.

I’ve played on courts all over the island of Manhattan and there’s always one or two vicious players that feel the amazing need to somehow involve themselves in your match. These clueless Ninjas are easy to spot. They dress in the latest 1972 tennis fashions including the shortest short-shorts, black socks and running shoes.

Ignore the fact that you have never met these people in your life – they are ready for combat.

I was playing with a young guy named Clay in the shadow of the Riverside Church near Columbia University. On this morning, we signed up on one of the most undesirable courts. Our strategy was that no one would want the damn court and we would be able to complete our league match without interruption. (Cue the maniacal laughter!!)

It was 9am and Clay and I were the only people playing at the courts. That means one court is occupied and nine of them are empty. Clay is just about to serve, when I notice a very ancient pair of shock white legs speeding towards our court in short pants that would make Larry Bird blush.

Just as Clay strikes the ball, Old Man Winter pipes up, “I signed up for this court – Move it!” His voice was labored and straining against the chokehold his tiny britches had on his package.

I saw a look of disbelief in Clay’s eyes. Grandpa snausage paused for two seconds and then sauntered up to Clay and told him, “Let’s move it!”

Clay stepped up into the man’s face and growled, “Are you (expletive) kidding me?”

New Yorkers are such a fascinating species. Here you have a seventy-plus year old man wearing cocktail shorts and he’s ready to mix it up with a big 25-year-old kid with some unresolved anger issues.

Wanting to finish the match and not wanting to see my opponent end up in jail, I said Clay, "It’s not worth it, let’s just move to another court."

We start packing up our gear and Grandpa comes out with, “That's right, get off, let's go, let's go.”

Now I’m wrestling Clay off the court before the elderly abuse can really catch fire. We left the court as skimpy britches kept volleying verbal assaults our way. His friends begged him to shut up, but he was more interested in talking than playing.

You can’t blame him though, if I ever managed to squeeze into shorts that tight, I’d be a man on mission to get on and off the court with as little movement as possible. This would hopefully allow the ambulance time to cut away my offending garments before several amputations were necessary.

Gender Bender at the Food Emporium

2009-02-25T07:33:00.001-08:00

The Food Emporium Super Markets in New York City offer much more than just your typical groceries.

There’s one store underneath the Queensboro Bridge that’s designed to blow your mind upon entry. Twin escalators going the wrong way present your first point of interest. The one on the left goes up and the one the right goes down. It does not take long for the chaos to get rolling.

Unsuspecting shoppers who are chatting it up on the cell phone while loaded down with groceries find themselves fighting for survival against the runaway rogue stairs.

Even the most sophisticated and beautifully tailored Upper East Siders slip into a frenetic seizure-like break dance to avoid that pending escalator ass-kicking.

After making my way past these entryway hi-jinks, I made my way to the produce aisle. Upon approaching the tomato section, I noticed a very tall woman dealing with what appeared to be a wardrobe malfunction. She had her back to me and was involved in some type of tug-of-war with her little black dress. Her actions indicated that her dress was perhaps a little shorter than anticipated.

I returned to my shopping and the women in the dress moved closer to me. I assumed she did this to get a better look at the bruised yellow squash. This assumption was actually my second mistake. It became instantly clear to me that my first mistake was assuming that the person in the short dress was a female.

At this point, I also now understood why the dress in question was a wee bit too short.

He looked at me past his long dark hair, stuck out his hand and said, “Hi, I’m Leather.”

“Ummm, yes, you are,” I stammered.

He, She, I mean the person in the dress told me that I was very cute and asked if I lived in the area. I assured the person in the receding black dress that it was my first time in New York and that I was not allowed to talk to strangers.

I made a bee-line out of the store, abandoning any further attempts at shopping. Wouldn't you know it -- I barely escaped serious injury after racing onto that dreaded wrong-way escalator at about 40 miles per hour.

Now I know why everyone in this city is in such a damn hurry.

Fake Fendis Drive Street Vendors to the Brink

2009-02-24T10:39:00.001-08:00

You don’t have to wait long for action in New York City. Some people like to purge that early morning aggression before they’ve pushed that first faux Fendi into the arms of a wide-eyed out-of-towner.

Coming down Lexington from 54th, a pair of hyped up street vendors shattered a seemingly calm Monday morning with a rash of broken obscenities.

The spectacle intrigued many onlookers as each of the angry gentlemen gestured wildly across the table full of knock off designer duds.

Both of these spirited high rollers were sporting the latest homeless fashions with stained t-shirts, unkempt hair and unshaven faces. When it comes to rip-off purses, it’s obviously survival of the fittest and it didn't take long for hotter heads to prevail.

The vendor on the sales side of the table was considerably larger than his opponent. He was shouting at the fat man across the table in some sort of English-Arabic hybrid. It was hard to make out, but I understood him to say, “Kind sir, why do you vex me so? Please desist!”

The smaller, yet rotund vendor was obviously a man of action. He displayed this by launching himself over the row of knock off purses to engage his adversary. The vendor on other side of the table managed to catch his attacker in a mid air chokehold.

Designer handbags took flight as the vanquished vendor kicked wildly in an attempt to free himself from the grip of the man he had tried to assault. Somehow, in the midst of all this activity, the folding table was holding firm despite the added weight of the attacker.

After 30 seconds, the events had seemingly reverted back to where they began. The chokehold had been released and the smaller man took this to mean that he had achieved some sort of demented victory.

Before taking his victory dance down Lexington Avenue, the choke victim snatched one of the handbags and fired it into the path of an oncoming taxi.

It’s never easy to tell who the winners and losers are in New York City.

Fear Radiates in Small Packages

2009-02-23T06:31:00.002-08:00

There are many perils to be found in the New York City Subway System. The smells in each station are enough to bring the most hardened combat veteran to tears and there’s quite a scientific array of unidentifiable stains and liquids on every other seat in the subway cars. However, all of these plights pale in comparison to the big-bag toting short woman.

These barbarians stand somewhere under 5 foot six inches tall and pack the bite and temperament of piranha pool.

The rush-hour crowd boarding the 6-Train at 68th and Lexington lives in mortal terror of these beings as they push, bully and glare their way onto the packed cars.

Passengers already on the train do their best to stick to the walls as the Subway Succubus marches on to the train bludgeoning all in their path with their evil brick-filled bags.

Incidental contact with one of these predators leads to broken bones and laser like eyes of fury that sometimes pierce through the steel doors of the subway cars.

Don’t make eye contact and more importantly never smile. The bag that breaks your nose is the one you never see. They are cunning and quick. Once they see a target, that bag of tricks is swinging at you like a spider monkey.

The New York Attorney General has posted advisories everywhere in the five boroughs listing the following steps:

Startling a Subway Shorty:

1) Try to direct her fury onto another victim.
2) Throw a piece of freshly killed meat as far away from you as possible.
3) Make your peace with a higher power.

If at all possible, improve your survival chances by launching yourself into the path of an oncoming train.

Carnage at Kinkos -- Man vs. Machine

2009-02-23T05:28:00.000-08:00

There is one attraction you won’t find on the tourist maps in New York City, but if you want experience the bizarre behavior New Yorkers deal with everyday, I highly recommend the volatile and slightly dangerous neighborhood Kinkos.

I know what you’re thinking, why would you waste your time in such a ridiculous place unless you had to? I actually ask myself that every time I gather up the courage to walk into one.

I had a great deal to print and not wanting to tax the old home printer, I ventured into a Kinko’s in the low 20’s on the West Side.

I was banging away on one of those Kinko’s keyboards when the young man of questionable character next to me started yelling, “Hey man, this damn machine dun stole my money!”

I found this hard to believe for several reasons.

1) He had been sleeping on the keyboard when I arrived.
2) He was never actually logged in.
3) Most importantly, you have to have a Kinko’s card or credit card to activate the machine and I’m pretty sure he had neither one of those items.

Perhaps he just had a bad dream. However, he would not be deterred from demanding his money back from the machine that had practically mugged him in his Don Quixote like state of mind. The man unleashed a flood of obscenities at the savage computer, but still it refused to refund his money.

Left with no other choice, the slighted man shoved the offending machine which quickly produced an angry tank like manager of Eastern European descent.

For just one moment, I thought the two might join forces and vanquish the thieving computer, but instead they trained their anger on one another. The man from the Gulag began yelling and swearing in what I believe was his native tongue and reached for the computer pirate. Now we’re getting somewhere I thought.

Each warrior sized up one another and the computer victim decided he was not yet ready to take a shot at the title. He fled the premises while the manager let forth with a guttural cry of, “Geeet the hell outov heer and downt comebacka.”

One of the funniest things about New York is how quickly things go back to normal. Komrade Krazy was muttering angrily to no one in particular when he returned to the register and started helping the next customer.

I’m not kidding, go to Kinkos!