Wednesday, March 30, 2005

A Man of Respect

Here is an online job advertisement that I spotted while browsing TV jobs in NYC's Craigslist:

Are you a man of respect?

New Harbor Entertainment and Juniper Place Productions is casting for a real-life wise guy to host an unusual television series for a major cable network. Our leading man is in his 40’s or 50’s. His is a strong commanding presence with a palpable subtext of gentle menace. What he thinks and says in conversation is felt and understood by all.

Our man is wise to the ways of the streets, and his opinions about what is right and what is wrong are not based on social mores, or any legal code, but more on what is honestly just. He is also as well dressed as he is well versed in human nature. This is not an acting job. There is no script. We’re looking for a personality rather than a performer.

Our host needs to be quick on his feet, and as wise as Solomon. He is a no-nonsense thinker who can see both sides of a problematic issue and intelligently find a solution. His opinions about human nature will figure strongly in the success of this series. A genuine real life connection with this culture of honor is a strong asset for our leading man. We are looking for a strong commanding presence on camera, and the wisdom to back it up.

This is a non-union arrangement and will be shooting in New York. We are casting now for a May, 2005 production of a pilot episode.

Please contact: **********************************

Now that is Genius!!! What kind of HR person writes shit like this? I love "His is a strong commanding presence with a palpable subtext of gentle menace". What kind of streetwise Meathead knows what "a palpable subtext" is?

I can just imagine the cover letter:

Yo Douchebags,
I gotta a proposition for you! You understand right? Give me the fucking job or I'll break your fucking legs! Fat Fucking Frankie said He'd break yo Momma's legs too.

Yours sincerely

Mook

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

McMills & Boon

Okay so Mills & Boon are a load of shite (I know because I was forced to read one for a "Critical Analysis of Text" class when I was at college, not because I like to read about strapping hunky rich men and horny underclass women getting it on!) but this article in the Scotsman made me laugh! It seems American readers are into hunky Scotsman that live in castles and have a large salami in their kilts! It's all true I swear! Anyway I thought, anyone can do this:

"As Lord McHardick pulled out of the driveway of his tall stone tower at Couchnocker. There was a quick spurt from his hard rubber tires as his kilt flapped in the wind blowing through his BMW convertable. Miss Emily Faintalot sighed dreamily as she imagined what she could do if she could just persuade him to leave Dolly.

"It'll never happen" realised Emily as she was just a servant girl, Dolly was a 5 time Sheep of the Year Gold Medalist! "How can I compete with that!" thought Emily Faintalot.

Later that afternoon when Lord McHardick had finished hunting the Loch Ness Monster in his 200 ft Schooner equiped with the latest radar gadgets and the biggest shiniest harpoon Scotland had ever seen. He jumped ashore, ripped off his shirt and sprinted across the glen not minding the hard bracken and heather that was tearing at his athletic legs beneath the kilt. He waved heartily to the friendly shepards Ben Doon and Phil McCraken whilst at the same time taking a wee nip of whiskey from the flask in his sporran.

It was a quick run to where he had parked the BMW. It was time to visit Dolly, she had to be given her daily massage, you don't get to be a 5 time gold medalist just by standing around in a field filled with other sheep you know! Because of this McHardick had given Dolly her own 100 acre field to saunter around in and seperated her from all the other sheep. Despite this however, Dolly had been depressed lately - he could tell because she hadn't tried to bite him lately when he was massaging her from behind. It occured to McHardick that maybe all she needed was a female friend to hang out with, none of those dam rams that had caused him so much trouble in the past".

Yadda yadda yadda and so on and on until Dolly ends up in a Scotch Pie down the Scotia Bar and Emily Faintalot becomes Lady McHardick (although she later changes her name to Emily Screamalot after a long protracted divorce in which she wins control of Counchnocker). Lord McHardick moves out to a croft on the land that was formerly his and starts a relationship with Dolly's sister Molly.

Monday, March 28, 2005

Deacon Brodies

Has the globalisation spread to the world of the pub? Well we all know that no matter where you go in the world now you will probably find a Scruffy Murphy's or a Brazen Head to sell you your pint of Guinness with a shamrock poured into the top of it. We also all know that these so-called Irish pubs have the same atmosphere as going on a trip to Burger King for Christmas dinner! Oh, and the shamrock on the Guinness is more likely to look like mutant penis with a pair of odd shaped balls on top of it!

So imagine my surprise on Friday when I stumble across a pub in Hell's Kitchen called Deacon Brodies and it actually turns out to be okay. Firstly, it's named for a Scotsman (and a famous Edinburgh pub) but it's owned by an Irishman. The pints are American 16oz pints and not Irish and British sized 20oz pints. I can make a 16oz pint dissappear in 2 gulps!

Despite these misgivings it is still a good pub. It has huge windows in the front and the back that allow you to sit and watch the hustle and bustle outside, this more than anything made me feel like I was in an Edinburgh pub.

The owner is a happy-flaky Irishman named Liam who calls everybody "Buddy". If you are one of these people who like their barmen surly and unfriendly, this is not the pub for you. All in all a good experience and one I'll go back to again.

Friday, March 25, 2005

Does Humour belong in art?

It seems so. Yesterday a British graffitti artist broke into 4 major NYC museums and displayed his own pictures on the wall - including this great Andy Warhol piss-take.




You can read the story on the BBC here and check out the artist's website here!

16 Years of Sheep Shagging

"My name is Frankie and I am a violent man", so says the main protagonist in Richard Jobson's "16 Years of Alcohol" which Alma and I dragged our hung-over arses down to see last night. It's a gloomy movie but if you've ingested 16 years worth of alcohol the night before then it fits your mood perfectly; I think it was Scottish writer William MacIllvaney who said the when you are hungover "even the weather is subjective to your mood", well films work like that too. Try watching Miss Congeniality after skulling 15 pints the night before and you'll puke!

I loved the film even though I've always thought the director was a prat in real life. It's the story of a dying man and his piss-poor attempts at redemption; it draws heavily on The Clockwork Orange (in fact some scenes are directly copied from that film and there is a big Clockwork Orange poster on Frankie's Wall - subtlety was never Jobson's strong point!). Critics here in the USA also said that it reminded them of Trainspotting but that's just journalistic laziness, yes two of the Trainspotting actors appear in it (Kevin McKidd and Ewen Bremner), and it's set in Scotland, that's where the similarities end. Trainspotting was a full in-yer-face trip, this film is more transcendental. See it if you can.

So apologies to all in Scotland and Europe who probably saw this film last year when it came out there, but this is the run up to
Tartan Day here in NYC and I'm on a promote Scottishness bandwagon this week.

"Whaddya mean you don't know what Tartan Day is?"

"What is it?"

"It's the first Saturday of April when all the ex-pat Scots living in the US get together and have parade down 6th Avenue in Manhattan. At the front of the parade are a line of wobbling wooly fat sheep, the Scotsmen walk closely behind, lifting the front of the kilt in the air, screaming "Fr-e-e-e-e-e-dom" at the top of their lungs! You haven't seen this? Really?".

Alright so this is a wee bit of an exagerration but there will be a lot of kilts in town for this officially SBTSTO (Sanctioned by The Scottish Tourist Office) holiday. It means nothing other than the excuse for a good piss-up and that's fine with me.

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

The End of the World is Nigh

I joined a gym and have been sore in muscles I never knew I had until Monday. I am the guy who vowed never to run unless I was being chased by an angry mob armed to the teeth with cricket bats with long bloody nails sticking out of them. I am the guy whose idea of working your biceps was lifting a pint glass from the bar to my lips. I am the guy whose idea of stomach crunches was bending over to puke Budwieser out a cab window... you get the idea!

So imagine my surprise when I find myself working with a personal trainer and he's saying "Give me another 20!".

"Fuck you" I'm screaming inside, "Fucking Gym Nazi!".

Thank Christ the introduction session was free and I'm not actually paying to flagellate myself. I work out with the guy for an hour and step outside into the rain and briefly consider fucking it all up by going for a pint. I don't. I go home, eat salad, much on a few carrots and go to bed. Two days later (after a cardio workout yesterday) my muscles are still feeling sensitive. I'm not sure I'll be able to lift a full pint glass - better stick to bottles or halfs!

Meanwhile two guys were caught shagging up a tree in Central Park. You gotta love New York!

Sunday, March 20, 2005

Not a Dry Eye on St Paddy's (Except Mine)

So as I mentioned before I had an eye test on the morning of St Paddy's. Thankfully this is my last test for another year (now comes the fun part of getting all sorts of people involved in other aspects of my life now I am officially legally blind), but it was the freakiest test I've ever had.

It's basically and ERG of the eye, they attatch electrodes to you temples and mesure the electrical response of different parts of your eye. I've had this test before but this one had a new component: contact lenses with very fine wires attatched to them, you can see a picture below.





Of course I'm joking, that's a picture from the movie Clockwork Orange. However the contact lenses were real and they make it extremely uncomfortable to close your eyes, the consequence of which is that your eyes dry up like mad. I spent the rest of the day rubbing them and I can still feel it 3 days later as I write this. The results of the test were pretty dry too; there was all but no electrical response in my peripheral vision, my central vision is holding out though (for now) so that's good.

Meanwhile Satan appreared on a Turtle Shell in Indiana after burning down a pet store. You'd think Satan would better things to do! Lazy Bastard!

Surviving St Paddy's

So I'm walking through Times Square subway station at 5 o'clock in my kilt on St Paddy's Day and this guy points to my blind cane and ask me "What's that?".

"It's a cane, I really don't see to well"

"Wow, is it like a martial arts thing?".

"No, actually it's part of my traditional Scottish dress that you might notice I am wearing. This 48 inch long cane allows me to poke sheep from a distance and test them for suppleness before I decide if I want to shag them or not!"

"Cool, can I see it?".

I hand him my cane and he starts bending it and looking at it from all angles, or at least as many angles as you can stare at a straight line anyway.

"Wow! Cool Man!".



And there you go. St Patrick's Day in NYC is a very fucked up event with some very freaky people squeaking out of the woodwork. I was up early because I had an eye test in the morning (more on that later) so I get down the pub at about 1030AM and there is already a guy in a plastic green bowler hat slumped drunk in the corner. All of the seats have been removed from the bar to create more standing room (or staggering room) so the poor guy is on his arse on the floor looking like the victim of a drive-by shooting.


I only stick around for 3 pints as it gets too busy and I start to see leprechauns everywhere, that is small people with small livers who are going to transform into arseholes after one more Vodka-Red Bull lunch. It's going to be a long day, need to pace myself, so I head home for a bit.
Against my better judgment I change out of my jeans into my kilt and a Celtic top and head back into town and on up to Perdition in Hell's Kitchen thinking it might be a bit less nuts. Wrong! Sure, there is room to move but the kilt starts attracting all kinds my crazy people including one revolting couple from New Jersey who I suspect might be members of the NJ Fat Swinger's Club. The husband comes upto me and tells me to come over and talk to his wife because the kilt is getting her all excited. She is all "Ohh" and Giggly, I thank fuck they are too drunk to remember my face when I leave and go to the bathroom.


I had a lot of conversations that I can't clearly recall (thankfully) and a good time was had by all. That's what St Paddy's is supposed to be all about. He might have driven the snakes out of Ireland but he'd be fucked if he tried to run them out of New York.

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

Thoughts on Florida

Florida is the real USA. The whole state is on a mission to cut down every tree and drain every swamp in the name of ugly real estate and big cars. The laugh of it is - every new development you see is usually named after an animal that lived in the habitat the developer slashed and burned to build "Falcon Towers" or "Manatee Crescent", you can bet those animals are long gone....

What's left of the wildlife in FL is amazing though: alligators, wild pigs, turtles, eagles, vultures, pelicans, sharks, frogs, snakes; all call the state home. The human wildlife is pretty amazing too! Dumb Fucks that drive at 35mph in the fast lane and brake every 30 seconds, Old biddies that run you down with their shopping carts in the supermarket because you are not entitled with age, Trailer Park Trash, Hells Angels, Spring-Breakers, Jesus-Freak-Holy-Rollers, Survivalists (we saw a family of two kids and two adults in camouflage, armed to the teeth, walking off into the Everglades), KKK, and plenty of Pro-Lifers (this is an independent study of mine based on bumper stickers, not an official study endorsed by anyone other than Me!).

There are almost no towns in Florida, everything begins and ends with a strip-mall and one of the before mentioned "Bald Eagle Condos" sub-divisions that will include a country club and spa (in case you want to get your leathery sun-damaged skin stretched like a balloon and pinned to the back of your head). Everyone drives SUV's or Minivans or Hummer's. I loved the sunshine in Flori-DUH but I hated the vibe of the State.

It seemed almost like a depressing glimpse of the future. If we all keep shopping at Squallmart and ignore the little Mom and Pop businesses around us, we can all expect to be driving to the Freedom Mall soon enough.

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

Bush, Hugo and Che

So the Bush tapes are locked away in the vault along with all the records from when he was Governor of Texas that have been sealed in his Daddy's library. As much as I can't stand him, this Fucker really is a genius when it comes to hiding the dirt. No President in history has gotten away with as much as this cold-blooded killer. We know Roosevelt hid his wheelchair for years and now we are talking about the fact that Lincoln may have been a homosexual, Bush is a pot-smoker and cokehead, oh wow, big fucking deal!!! Well, it is a big deal actually if you are attacking your opponents for the same thing but we'll let that slide.... How about talking about the fact that he is a killer, and I'm not just talking about the people of Iraq here. Just look at this list of the people he executed in Texas when he was governor. I knew he'd set the record for the most executions carried out by a Governor in US History but the dates still shocked me - there are sometimes 2 or 3 deaths in a week.

God, what a time we live in. My Brother said to me not long ago: "We are living through history", I suspect he is probably right. 100 years from now, the last 5 years and the next 5 years will be seen as a period when everything started to change (depending on your point of view, maybe it should be "when everything started unraveling"). Karl Marx predicted that one day Capitalism would collapse in on itself under the weight of it's own greed, that day seems to be drawing closer.

I read with interest that Uruguay has elected it's first ever Socialist President, and that along with Brazil's Luiz Ignacio Lula da Silva, Venezuela's Hugo Chavez and Argentina's Nestor Kirchner, Latin America is starting to line up the Lefties. Che might be dead but his dream lives on. I think we all might owe a debt to Hugo Chavez in the end, he has survived CIA-led coup attempts and various assassination threats from Washington and he still has the balls to tell the World Bank to go fuck itself. You can read Greg Palast's excellent story from Venezuela here.

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

Phonophobia

March 1st blows into NYC with another 5 inches of snow. Will winter never fuck off? It could have at least waited until next week when we are down in FL to dump more of Allah's dandruff on us. Hopefully this is the last gasp and we'll soon see the trees and people coming back to life.

I roll into work listening to "Blood on the Tracks" by Dylan on my ipod and grab a cup of coffee that smells more like burned popcorn than freshly brewed java. "Idiot Wind" is just kicking in as the phone starts ringing:

"Idiot wind blowing every time your move your mouth

Blowing down the backroads heading south
Idiot wind blowing every time you move your teeth
You're an idiot babe
It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe".

I try to be as positive as I can be when I first get to work after a 2 hour commute in the snow. However, when you know that everytime you pick up the phone that the person on the other end of the line will be a moron, it wears you down. I've developed a pathalogical hatred of the telephone and find myself cursing that wee Scotsman who invented the fucking thing!

I do admit to a smidgen of regret though when I read that AT&T's merger into SBC Communications spelled the end of the name. AT&T was the world's first telephone company, a direct descendant of the Bell Telephone Company, formed by Alexander Graham Bell in 1877. You can read more about it here.