Corkscrew

Once, in a bar, I saw an obese man become so enraged at another man that he tried to walk over a table in an attempt to get at him.

He managed to stand on the table just fine, but when he jumped off, his legs weren't strong enough to support his saddlebags, and he sunk into the floor like the hopes and dreams of all the local Long Island losers surrounding him.

Then he was stomped, and nobody cared, because an obese man walking over a table in a Long Island bar is so far gone that he's never coming back, if ever he was even there at all.

Do you ever feel like that man?

Cardinal Rules

One of the most important skills you can acquire in life is the ability to not trust anyone. This is very important.

You're not just born distrusting people. This is a skill that has to be cultivated over years of having various slapdicks, douches and pieces of shit do things you don't expect them to do. You don't expect them to do these things because you're naive. You're naive because you're an idiot. You're an idiot because of poor parenting. Your parenting was poor because your parents had too many kids and didn't have the time to portion out the things that needed to be taught to all of you, so you're lacking.

When you're lacking, you grow up to be fucked with. Sometimes you're fucked with by people you've known for years. When those people fuck with you, you begin to acquire the "skill" of not trusting people. That's when things get fun.

When you don't trust anyone, your relationships all turn nice and dysfunctional. You don't believe anything anyone tells you, because you think everyone else is going to turn around and do the same thing the aforementioned slapdicks, douches and pieces of shit did. You're gun shy, and you're angry, and you say and do things designed specifically to prevent yourself from being fucked with again.

The best part is when it all plays out in your mind, over and over again, until the wee hours of the fucking morning. You learn another skill. You learn to be an insomniac. You learn to read and watch CSI reruns and fuck around on the computer until four in the morning, even though you know you have to be at work in a few hours. It's an amazing feeling. A rush, even. It keeps coming back to you again and again, and all you want to do is go out and not trust everyone you see, because you think everyone is a slapdick, a douche and a piece of shit.

Actually, I was wrong about the best part. The best part - the pinnacle of it all - is when the world acts as though you're immature for wanting a little payback. They act as though you're supposed to swallow it all. They tell you to shut the fuck up and stop dwelling on the negative, because it's "hurting your progress" and "keeping you from being happy," when all you want to do is have someone pay the check for the meal that was eaten at your expense.

These are important things for you to know.

Epic Beard Man

What do I think of Epic Beard Man, you ask?

Well, not much, although I have to admit his fistic display was both merited and impressive. Epic Beard Man, if you take a look at his follow-up interview, is out of his fucking mind, and that’s something that necessarily has to be factored in if you’re looking to prop some guy up as some kind of hero. So, Epic Beard Man did what he had to do, but that’s about the extent of things.

For me, the issue is one of why the black guy decided to pursue his strategy of fucking with Epic Beard Man when he so obviously had nothing to offer when things got physical. This is something I saw time and time again when I worked in clubs – fat, weak, out-of-shape slapdicks acting tough, realizing they were way out of their league when shit broke out, then talking a blue streak afterward about what could have happened.

“Motherfucker,” I would say, “just go home.”

Here’s what you do.

If someone does this to you on a subway or a bus, do exactly what Epic Beard Man did and jab the motherfucker square in the nose. It stops everything. It will stun your douchebag opponent long enough for you to either split the scene before he breaks out a weapon or land several more punches and end the fucking thing. He’s not expecting that, he’s not ready for any application of force, and in most cases, the dumbass who’s going to unsolicitedly fuck with you while you’re riding public transportation neither has the discipline, the training nor the physical ability to cope with a man – or woman – with a plan.

Debate this shit on your kung-fu message boards all you want. All I know is that, in thirty-plus years of living in New York City and a decade of club bouncing, I have yet to punch someone solidly in the nose and have them laugh it off.

Flulike

I'm sick this week. I'm getting into posting more, and enjoying it some, but I feel like hell so this promises to be short.

Reading Heat, by Bill Buford. Do yourself a favor and read his first book, Among the Thugs.

Lapped

I used to bounce in a strip club.

That was one of my side jobs - one I did during the week when I wasn't working at a bigger place. I didn't write about my job at the strip club when this blog was all about bouncing. I don't know why. I guess there wasn't much to tell.

Working at a strip club - being a bouncer at a fucking strip club - is one of the stupidest jobs in the world. Not one of the worst, mind you - just one of the stupidest. I didn't like it very much. I didn't like the people I worked with, I didn't like the dancers, I didn't like the slapdick managers, and I didn't like the owner. The whole thing was a giant clusterfuck, and I ended up quitting within a few months.

This place was pure unadulterated trash. It wasn't Scores, or Hustler or any of the so-called "good" ones. The only good story I have is the one about the time the superstar NFL player came in. I didn't recognize him, so I asked for his ID. I checked it and laughed when I saw his name. Then he walked in and kissed everyone. He was a regular. I wasn't surprised when his career tanked. I was secretly happy it did, even though he played for my favorite team.

I also used to stop at bagel stores a lot on my way home from work. I kind of miss that.

Movie Review

The best part of seeing Avatar over the weekend was repeatedly - and conspicuously - calling it "Advatar" is the most obnoxious Old Dutch New York accent I could muster.

At least I know why they didn't hand out spoons along with the glasses.

Yeah

“Anyone tries to give me a free hug,” I said, making my way along the south end of Union Square, “they’re getting knocked the fuck out.”

I love New York, but I hate New York things – the shit that young people, at least people who are now mostly all younger than me, try to pass off as cute or fun or “progressive.” It’s all bullshit, and it’s all been done before. Go see Rent. Leave me alone when it’s two in the afternoon and I haven’t eaten fucking breakfast yet.

The whole thing reminded me of the time I was getting off the subway with a rolling suitcase and some fat lady started screaming at me about being a “motherfucker,” et al. She also not-so-politely linked the “mother” and the “fucker” to my ethnicity, which roiled me a bit, but not so much as the fact that I was in a confrontation with a fat lady in the first place.

I don’t let fat people call me “motherfucker” in my home, so I responded in kind:

“Shut the fuck up! I’M NOT A FUCKING TOURIST!”

Anyway, I’m not that tough anymore. Probably never was, but the point is that I’m looking for something original around here – something I haven’t seen, heard or tasted thirty goddamned times already. That’s my biggest problem with New York right now – that people walk around thinking they’re reinventing the place. Which, of course, they probably are, because as I’ve said for years now, this isn’t the city I grew up in. Not by a long shot.

That place is gone. The city’s learnable now in five easy steps. People have no problem with that, now. Ask some carpetbagger and they’ve probably been everywhere already. They know the city better than you do, at least superficially. Knowing who Jim Jensen was doesn’t carry quite the cachet it used to around here.

Me? I don’t know shit anymore. I walk past a club called La Pomme all the time now, and I have idea what goes inside. I don’t even care. It’s a cloud of cigarette smoke on the sidewalk and a fucking nuisance. I buy food at the market and I cook it. I eat at Energy Kitchen all the time. Try the Tex-Mex Bison Wrap. Ask for hot sauce and put a layer of it on before you take a bite. It’s pretty good, and it costs $5.

I used to call this a holding pattern. Now I call it life – waiting for the next big thing to come along, trying some to get it to hurry up, and hedging bets here and there that it won’t ever show at all.

Also, I saw Avatar.