Monday, September 14, 2009


Sophia Petrillo (cheesecake in hand-never eating it though...{don't you hate when they do that on tv?}): Picture it. 2009. A damp, misty September noontime in Manhattan with Floridian humidity. Kinda chunky guy gets off the Staten Island Ferry at 11:30 to get to his interview @ 12 noon. All seems good. With the possible exceptions of the self-loathing, the lack of cool clothes, etc. He's got money on his Metro Card and the subway is right downstairs. Ha! This is a Bravo docu-reality show. We have to set him up for some type of embarrassment, right? It seems that while NYC is topping out at what seems an extra million people due to ALL THE FRIGGIN Tourists(!), the MTA thinks it's a good idea to work on all the lines of the lower Manhattan subway line. And I use the word workin' on loosely. So this kind of awkward man who is already perspiring is forced to use his instincts that he had as a messenger in this same area more than 25 years ago and find another line to take him to West 23rd. Buses are out of the question. No shameal New Yorker takes a bus unless you are just starting to read 'War and Peace' and hope to finish it when you get to your location. With a plan set in motion he heads to another line. 10 minutes until he has to interview. He gets off @ 14th and Lex and hopes, HOPES to hoof it 9 blocks over and 6 long ones down. What did he not remember? Newly shaved heads and lotion, along with a long sleeve black linen shirt, boots (for height) and like 15 blocks to go in 9 minutes.
This guy hates to run. Use to cross the track in gym and all when the class had to do laps. Would never make it 2 minutes in a soccer game.
Passing the Chelsea Hotel he stops to gather his breath as he nears his destination. He enters and as the construction workers are putting their finishing touches on the place. Shakes hands with both Karen and Mike, owners and GM, and just then it starts.
The Fountain Of Trevi spews less H2O. In rivulets, down his head. Discovery Channel will make a show out of this. Ayn Rand rolls over in the grave. "The real Fountainhead".
It just didn't stop. They were horrified. The mortification also took hold of our Jenny Craig candidate. He stumbled on questions and answers even though he read every food blog about this place, and really did his homework on this company. The shirtsleeves were now dripping as well since he was using them to wipe his once stubble free dome, now turned into some oddly constructed water park ride. Defeated, our protagonist walks around searching for an open subway heading downtown.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Walking, Walking, Walking...

This was an old Ellen DeGenneres stand up routine. Before she became homogenized by going mainstream. It's funny because dyke's figure into this post later on. Oh, was I being derogatory towards dyke's? Lesbians is the correct term? So, these 2 carpet munchers were on the train.
Me and the Mrs. got into another fight. Oh, don't worry, I have not gotten married. But still I live in hell. I'm talking about Mrs. Miceli, as in Pliny the Elder. Hint...she pushed me out on consecutive times in 1963, 1981, 1986, 1991, and now. Oy. To be at the hands (and muttered expletives) of others.
Josie was getting ready this a.m. I decided I would take a ride with her since her office is near the library that opens @ 8a.m. No biggie right? I'm ready, she's ready...long story short I took the train.
Okay, non Staten Islanders...the train runs for the whole 22 miles of this mis-begotten, time warped place. You get on (no payment) and you ride to your destination. You only pay at the last stop which is the landing for the Staten Island Ferry (which is free as well). The stop before the ferry is about a 12 minute walk (7 if you walk like me). In the morning the ferry runs every 15 minutes to Lower Manhattan. It's kinda funny to see all the cheap skates who get off in Tompkinsville (stop before the Ferry) and walk to the free (for all) ferry. WTF!
They get off @ this stop and walk like those fervent power walkers you hope to never befriend. They are manic. Cheap Fucks.
Every time I witness this, there is always a lesbian or three. I mean, I haven't checked their cards or anything, but judging by the appalling couture (ha!), I'm betting the farm on this one.
My cheap lesbian encounters took place in Los Angeles when I worked @ un-named (probably named in other posts) nite-spot. We had either Michelle Shocked, Jill Sobule or Michelle Noga-I forget about you. They flooded the place. They all wanted reservations. To sit @ a table, you had to pay at least 10 clams for food. No biggie right?
Why are they all vegetarians? Is Monsanto now making a vegetarian carpet. (man, I kill myself).
These pit bulls would fight tooth and nail over that frigging 10 bucks, and usually they were like producers or some other gay mafia industry thing. Ugh. They were so cheap. I think they made their own stereo-type.
Your saying, Mick...your faggy?...Yes. And guess what. Some of my best friends are lesbians. My new bumper sticker BTW on sale at the gift shop down the hall. Joyce is my love supreme and she is far from cheap. Just like my friend Patrick Lee who is a good driver. But, c'mon. We could not be the human race without our faux pas and secret assumptions. Love to all