Wordsworth? Longfellow?

I have no wife
I have no kids
I have no equity.

I do not want to meet anyone I went to school with.
I still feel.
I'm better than them.

Now I am a cool gay guy they know;
before it was,
smash and trash.
Now it's interest; fuck you.

I hate you Isle of Staten.
and every guido is now bi
give me a fucking break
that I was chastised when I hid.

CUNTS

Jakob

"well the same black line that was drawn on you, Was drawn on me ...and know it's drawing me in...6th Avenue Heartache.""

Thank You P___ Tube

Nuff said

Ain't nothing going on but the rent

In case anyone is curious, for the last three weeks I have designed the menu for this cafe, purchased everything for the menu, made it all, been underwhelmed by the 'utility person' they hired for me (pots, pans and peeling) and almost quit twice.
I can not take this business anymore.
The deal is this. They baught a catering space which also has a front cafe. I'm only there for the cafe, yet the catering 'chef' is this bitter fat slob bitch. Okay, Mickey...calm down.
This is the thing about people who cook. They brand themselves 'chefs' as soon as they turned their first hamburger @ Wendy's. I went to Culinary School. I have lived and worked around the world with some great people who I have learned so much from, and still, I never call myself a chef. I know how to cook. I cook great stuff. I have fantastic taste buds. I can create a frigging dinner by opening a refridgerator, yet; the title bothers me. I was working in the Plaza Hotel at 1CPS, a very distinguished place, as a Sous Chef, and all the workers were like, "Chef?" "Chef?" And I was like, "Please...call me Mickey." I guess the glut of 'chef's' who are complete douche bags that I have either worked for or seen in public or on TV have made me feel that I never want to be a part of that group. Kind of like that Will Rogers saying of, "I would never belong to a group that would have me as a member."
I know where my talents lye. I know what I make is unique and tastes great. I see 95% of the customers coming back for more. Thats all I need to know.
Anyway, this whore bag is so malicious and maybe jealous of me, that she is trying to sabatoge everything I do and poison my name to the few people I befriend. She's this fat fucking failed plus model who calls herself a chef.
They have a catering gig this sunday and she is making the french toast today. She is using Pathmark Brand White bread to boot. And then she is talking loud about how someone is sponsoring her in some competition and she can not decide which one of her 'signature dishes' she will make.
Oh my God, I fucking hate this bitch.
The other catch is this. Everyone who works at this place are best friends. So, whorebag is best friends with the owner. And all the venom she has for me is most likely being spread in rumors about me. You know how they say 'the boys club' and how hard it is to break into it. Well, I'm now working at the "Bi-Polar Cafe".
This is so pathetic. I want to wait like three more weeks, save up the money (pittance) and move to Holland. I'm working my dick off and some cupid stunt is making Brushetta's on Thursday for a Sunday party, and she is breaking me.
Fucking people suck so bad.
I'm too pissed off to spell check pittance and others. Any advice is cool.
Love, Mickey

Yes I've paid the price...But look how much I've gained

What bothers me about other blogs is just what is going on in society today. It's a recycling of idea's. Case in point. Getty Images goes to some shindig and takes a picture. Therein, 5,000 bloggers (and I am being generous in that #) will take that picture and write about it.
I could give two of my last dying day shits about Jessica, Britney, Jen and Vince and the rest. These mags (us, star, enquirer et al) are all fanzines. And, i like my fanzines. Especially if the dentist office or jet Blue has one. It's a nice 30 minute diversion, if that much. I dig Angelina as much as anyone else but I do not need to see her new fucking St. John advertisement on the cover of the newspaper when 3 more soldiers got blown to bits because of a dickhead President.

Personal Ads to Stay Away From Part I

Hey...I'm glad you included a picture...but, a gang sign? At 34 ish and white? Yikes

10 foot poll

It's fucking so weird

You know who.


"I've been one poor correspodant;
I've been too too far to find,
But it doesn't mean you aint been
on my mind"

Way after the goldrush

You all know that KD Lang has one of the greatest voices in the singing world. (please God, you must)
Did you know she came out with this album last year covering all of her (gasp...gag) fellow Canadians?
You know that Neil Young song? ; "After the Goldrush"?

Sure you do...I swear you do...Even if you never heard of him.

"...There was a band playing in my head and I felt like getting high,..."

All you have to do is listen to this gorgeous woman sing this you will be drunk dialing anyone whom you have been associated to in the last 2 decades. This is the major make out song. Don't tell anyone else; please.
You heard it from me first, right?

Psych...I'm back!!

Thanks to Randy and Jeff and Donna D and Melanie and Heather ...you bastards rule


....Listen...I was so dis heartened the other night when I was listening to Mr. Blogger himself on NPR saying that 175,000 blogs are created each week and half will be deigned useless in 6 months...The Cool Store has been around for close to 2 years now...my traffic is that of a Montanan Highway on Christmas Eve....
Nevertheless...At work, I think about stuff to write; (because I have such a mindless job), I am always saying to myself (sometimes aloud, thus getting breath-a-lized) does anyone care about these thoughts of mine? I guess I was basing the amount of my readers on the comments section; which you can attest to; are usually nil.
That reminds me...Does anyone have a scribe which can tell me how to use a semi-colon? I hear it is over used by novices like myself.
The Cool Store is back, by, ahem; overwhelming demand.
Love to you all; <---
Mick

Later...for a bit

I think I'm retiring from this site...
If I get more than one email asking me to stay I'll reconsider
All the love in the world to you all,
Michael

Shuffle off

I ave this song by "The Lemonheads" called 'Big Gay heart' on my shuffle. If you are not familiar with these guys, their lead singer is a major hottie in the strung out heroin kind of way...at least he was then...
Anyway, this song was on one of their first albums, "Come on, Feel The Lemonheads" and it is on a couple of my playlists.
The funny thing is, that when it comes on, I am always scanning around the crowd to see who (comically) has my, 'big gay heart'. Yesterday I was buying bagels, and I had my headphones around my neck. Although I could hear a tinny sound of music I could not decipher the song being too pre occupied. I left the store, headphones still ajar when I spotted this construction worker across the street who was freaking Totally cruising me, I mean, it kind of made me uncomfortable in a way and I started to get all shifty and self conscious. So, as I was like licking my lips and trying to stand tall and oblivious, I realized that my shuffle was playing and my headphones were around my neck. I put my shopping bag between my legs and put on my headphones... "...My big Gay Heart...please don't break my big gay heart..."

Doughboy

I freaking love my bread man.
If you don't understand...Here is the synopsis.
We needed a new bread man, so we went off to visist them, they want your business, so they give you samples. Who has the best deal, the best bread and all. And, let me say....it was like Cher meeting a half armed Nic Cage. (There go thoses gays with there Cher and all)
I met this dude; let's say Franco; and he was a freaking hottie.
I was like; "We'd like to try your bread"
and honestly;
if the owner Rita was not there this could have turned into some kind of scene.
It was so innocent.
He was this brash, guido: "taste this" and he shoved the Panelle slice into my mouth....
"Ummmm...yeah, that's great", honestly;
I'm not a big bread conniseur, but this was so fucking hot.
She went to look at desserts. he said, "I only wanna deal with you."
...my guido breadmaker.
I could quit this job and be fine, if i was lying next to him in some floury mess.
Pleasant Dreams

Allah (kneel) Allah (kneel)...Let's kill everyone

I hope you guys know, we are all fucked. The severity of this plot is so fucking animalistic it boggles my mind that so many human beings can be so brainwashed by some higher ups in a 'religion'. One of the terrorists was wearing his Air Force uniform whilst holding his explosives.
Thank God for the security at Heathrow and Manchester. (Heathrow detained me in 1984---I was just some rocker looking dude, but still). We can not single out every Muslim in the world. I would like to, but there is just too many of them. Fuck racial profiling...I could give two shits. If some Italian Americans did something detrimental, and I knew I was innocent, I could care less if they detain me or pull me out of a line.
Listen folks. I take the S.I. Ferry everyday, 2X. Do you wanna know how many times I have gotten scanned and my bag checked. It's in the higher double digits. Do I give a shit? NO. If they make me miss the Ferry, yeah. Am I hiring that dragon lady from ACLU, no. I am glad that they do this, and quite frankly, it makes me chuckle a little to myself how many times they pull me out.

This is my childhood

Long story short...My older brother loved Jackson Browne. We would hear it on 8 tracks all the time whilst bemoaning the trip to 'dad's'.

I love my older brother. He set my course in music. I fucking dig lyrics.

Everybody's just waiting to hear from the one
Who can give them the answers
And lead them back to that place in the warmth of the sun
Where sweet childhood still dancesWho'll come along

I decided to to put on my headphones this evening instead of listening to NPR & BBC like I usually do. This is the first song that played; mid sentence.
I (a wuss) cried. It's called "Everyman" and it is gorgeous. Did you know Jax (as we call hin in EMails) was a lover of Nico. Did anyone out there see Nico Icon? Am I speaking to myself?

Gosh peple...you are missing so much. Bungled up with your "Gnarls Barkley"...You are missing so FUCKING MUCH.

Calling a Spade a Digging thingy...Part II

I did not pine for "The Pines" (Fire Island).

Maybe I am cynical? Negative? Bitter? Lonely?
Maybe I'm not into being surrounded by one demographic. I could see myself being the same way had I went to any other place wherein everybody there was on the same page, so to speak. It was like working somewhere and having only one restaurant to choose from, day in day out on your lunch hour. The menu gets a little played.

I come from growing up in a household where my formative years happened to coincide with living in the same house as my father. He happens to be a bigger racist and bigot than the fictional Archie Bunker. I grew up to be his opposite, at least trying my best to. Yet, I can not shake the feeling that his racism was too impaled in me.

For the few months that I lived in South Beach (shutter-Miami Beach) I worked at this International Hostel. The only way you could check in was to have a foreign passport. I absolutely loved being at this job. The daily mix of people coming and going or checking in for a week was such a great cross section of the world. At any given time there were 95 or so guests there and it just made me want to travel the world afterwards, based on this melange of culture.

Another example that comes to mind is working in a restaurant in Manhattan (specifically my stint @ 'Lemon'.) This basically pertains to the Front of The House. The maitre d' was French, the waiters and waitresses were all emigres from France, Ireland, Italy, Australia, Germany and South America. The busboys were usually Pakistani or Indian.
If you had a bitchy queen co-worker to deal with you went and talked with the cool Kiwi girl whose fashion ruled. If you got blue in the face speaking to the fascist reared Italian you went to speak to the more liberal Dutchman. If you wanted to pound some shots you went to hang with the Celtic girl who always smelt of Gin and Tonics. It was this great big utopian stereotypical world.

Esoterica

The more I hear that Americans do not, in general read books, the more inclined I am to get through more of them.

I just finished reading "Magical Thinking" by Augusten Burroughs; after a quick read of Burroughs first 'novel', "Sellevision" earlier in the week. Both were decent and enjoyable, but again, I have to add that I think Burroughs expended all his humorous devices with "...Scissors." Maybe because I read "Running with Scissors" first, my shock value was unhinged and the others paled in comparison?(Especially "Dry"; which I stopped reading after it was trying too hard. It seemed like it needed a laugh track)

But, I do not pick up anything with such huge expectations of being shocked or amused. It's a free flowing inherent device that can happen from either a comic strip (Calvin and Hobbes), a television show (Six Feet Under, Strangers w/ Candy) or a movie (Little Miss Sunshine, Once Were Warrior's). Where as the last three examples are all of a visual type of medium, when a book can achieve this, it is nothing short of brilliance in my world. David Sedaris, Haruki Murakami (The Wind Up Bird Chronicles) and Katherine Dunn (Geek Love) are perfect examples.

Next up is "Dream Brother: the Lives of Jeff and Tim Buckley." Where as with Tim (the father) I really could care less about, it is Jeff whom I absolutely loved. Another tragic person I've bonded with, sans knowing.

one serious Question; asked without an agenda...

Does Israel have the support of any country in the world? I just have not heard of one, besides; of course, US.

What are you reading

Armistead Maupin wrote the brilliant "Tales from the City" books and also a sweet little tome called "Maybe the Moon" which I would buy for everyone I knew who read because I loved it so. Here is an exerpt from a Planet Out interview done with the author recently.

So what are you reading these days? What new author has grabbed your attention?
I read a book recently when I was driving around Scotland with my husband, titled I Am Not My Self These Days by Josh Kilmer-Purcell. (The central character) is an ad exec by day and a seven-foot drag queen by night. His boyfriend is a crack-addicted escort and, believe it or not, it's absolutely hilarious and heartbreaking and heartfelt. Oddly enough, my British editor gave it to me because I had not run across it when it was published in the States.

Sounds pretty cool

Anyone?

If anyone can help me with 'bit torrents' and the like, I would appreciate it a lot.
Email me @ vedderjett@yahoo.com

Yeah...it does seem to be the hardest word

What's happening in this world these days? Was I in Rehab when the message got passed around that you no longer have to say, 'I'm sorry.' I mean, I know at one point I would overuse this phrase; it was probably while I was getting the shit beat out of me by my sperm donor/father and I was about 7 years old and I had done something I KNEW I would repeat. But those disingenuous words do not apply to me as an adult when I say them and mean them.And don't get me started with those fuckheads I have met in my lifetime, for when I would say ' Sorry bout that' or something to that effect, reply with 'You don't have to be sorry.' Fuck, I wanna body slam em' right there.I deal with my mother a little to much these days, and even she, the woman who would cry @ the telephone company commercials refuses to use this phrase. "You want me to say I'm sorry? I'm not." WTF? What do you say when you are wrong and want to make peace?She'll be (sarcastic tone), "Okay. Your right, Mickey. Your right. Okay?""Um. No. It's not okay. Just say your sorry."Saying your sorry about something has you acknowledging that you may not have been right in that situation. It's sort of saying to the other person, 'Okay. I made that mistake and it won't happen again.' Not drilling your sarcastic laced venomous voice into said persons head that you were actually wrong but I will say 'your right' so you can get away from me. Whew.