Are ya kidding me?

Yes this actually happened.

Senator Elizabeth Dole (R-NC) introduced an amendment to name an HIV/AIDS relief bill after the recently deceased Jesse Helms. It all has the feeling feeling of a big frickin' joke- albeit a sick and cruel one. And let's face it, Ms. Dole isn't exactly known for her winning sense of humor.

Tom Viola, the Executive Director of Broadway Cares/ Equity Fights AIDS, and its treasurer, Philip S. Birsh vehemently objected to the proposed amendment. Saying among other things

"Dole's recommendation demeans hundreds of thousands of Americans currently living with HIV/AIDS and implies that Helms' hatred for gay men and Americans of color everywhere (except in Africa where they are safely a continent away) is acceptable, even good. In Jesse Helms' world we are all dispensable, better dead. . . . It's a sad, sick and deliberate attempt to re-write history and clean-up Helms' sad legacy."

The story does have happy ending though. The bill passed, without Helms' name.

"Yeah No. 1..."

That's the greeting we get when we call our local chinese take out place. "Yeaah, numba wahn," is probably closer to what is actually said- but that could be construed as being in poor taste on my part (note to self: delete last sentence). On the lovely two-color menu it says "Lucky lucky lucky No. 1," and states "We cater for all parties." Bar-Mitzvah? You're covered. Flag Day celebration? They don't discriminate. Cat's birthday? As long as they didn't use your cat to make the mu shu pork, you're good to go (okay that one was too easy).

Bottom line is, whatever greasy concoction it is, is usually pretty damn good. And every time we order delivery, we give our address and say we are in apt. 4J. To which they always respond: "J like John or girl?" Yes...really. And it does vary a little, like last night she made a guess at it and just said, "J like girl?" To which I respond J like John, but always wanting to add- now be a good jirl and bring me my food. But I don't. 

They do a good job at No. 1 Chinese. And I don't mean to poke fun, but it's just so darn amusing to me. Who could ask for more- it's quick, it's cheap, and it's entertaining. And, now I've got some left over sesame chicken in fridge for lunch, so it must be my lucky lucky luck day.

Keep 'em outta sight, please

I don't mean to be insensitive. And I know babies have gotta eat when they've gotta eat. But the last thing I need to see when I get on the subway, or sit down for a cup of coffee, is some stranger's boob hanging out while her kid gets their nosh on. Look lady, I'm real glad that you're comfortable with it, or have been exhausted to the point that you just don't care who sees- but guess what: I'm not there.

To me, it just seems like such a personal thing to be shared between mother and child, not something that should be viewed by anybody and everybody in between subway stops. And if the kid's gotta eat right then and there- which believe me, I understand it happens more often than not- there are more discreet ways of accomplishing it. A little blanket coverage goes a long way in my book.

Babies of the world: Demand that your mommy cover herself during your public feedings! Let her know you deserve a little privacy! Don't take... um, hello? Are you even listening to me? All right, all right... go ahead, keep eating- just pretend like I'm not here.

July 16 from my vantage point

When I was walking to work this morning I saw a billboard advertising Coors Light as : "The most refreshing beer in the world." Now, how exactly do they quantify that? 

****

While walking up Seventh Avenue this afternoon there was an older lady dressed in pink outfit walking down, sort of skipping and happily doing jumpy turns. Crazy, I thought as she passed me, but so happy. And then she spat in my direction, and continued down the street muttering to herself angrily.

***

Summertime in city leads to many women parading about in short skirts and dresses. As a male of the species, I don't usually have a problem with this. But the thing that gets me is how uncomfortable some of them look. Constantly adusting them, or holding them down as they walk up stairs. I gotta think, if your skirt is so shirt you feel the necessity to hold it place as you walk up the stairs, it's probably too short. Just throwing it out there- rule of thumb kinda thing. 

**

Note to the guy standing above me on the A tain on the way home: "You're standing right next to your friend! Do you really need to talk so loud!?"

East Coast biaszzz...

Living on the east coast is great. Wouldn't trade it for anything.

That said, the only thing that stinks sometimes is nationally televised sporting events. Last night's MLB All-Star was a harsh reminder of that fact. But other things like the NBA Finals, or Monday Night Football for instance make it difficult to watch the game and get one's proper amount of sleep on any given night when one has to get up for work the next morning. And how about NFL Sundays on the west coast, where you roll out of bed and the day's games are about to begin; and the late games are over by 4pm- plenty of time left in the day to run errands or fix that doorknob or what have you. Although, then there is the Sunday night game... but I digress. Last night was the extreme example of us east coasters getting the time shaft.

Now I am no dummy, I know that an advertised start time of 8pm EST for an event like this doesn't mean that the first pitch will be at 8pm. And I thoroughly enjoyed the opening ceremonies of last night's game, all the Hall of Famers along side the night's starters. But when it came to throw the first pitch, it was practically 9 o'clock. On a school night! But dammit, I love the MLB All-Star game, and I am going to watch it in it's entirety. Well, I'm ashamed to admit- about 1:15am, and after 14 innings I decided I had to go to bed. I would DVR the rest of the game and watch it in the morning before I left for work. Which I did. About which my wife quipped, "That's why you got up so early this morning." To which I realized I had no strong argument.

Now, I realize the other side of the story is that on the west coast, I wouldn't have even been home in time to catch the start of the broadcast. Well, that's when you DVR the bad boy and catch up by fast forwarding through the multitudes of commercials. Problem solved.

Easy fix to this problem would to be move to the west coast. And that's just not happening. So I'll just complain about it, and the next time the Yankees go west to play Oakland or Seattle- I'll arrive at work a little more bleary eyed and cranky than usual.

___________________________________________
Cross posted on my sports blog The Jayfiss Report.

The Queen Bean, adds another royal name...

Flashback: Two nights ago, we had a delicious rotisserie chicken for dinner. After which, we threw the remains in the garbage.

Fast forward to: Last night, I tied up said garbage and left it by the door to take out the following morning.

Fast forward to: This morning around 5:30am, my wife wakes, sits up and says, "Oh, Bean threw up on the bed!" I wake with these words, but upon further review (my wife in her blindness, poking at the mess) we discovered she hadn't thrown up at all. It was a chicken leg- mysteriously similar to one consumed two nights prior. I ambled down the hall, and my suspicions we confirmed: the little brat had chewed through the bottom of the garbage bag and removed an early morning snack for herself.

Flashback (presumed): Bean, sauntering down the hall in the early morning darkness, chicken bone in jowls, howling away- as she is want to do when she is holding things in her mouth.

This female feline of many nicknames (her real name is Josie, after all) has deservedly earned another: Princess Drumstick, as so dubbed by my wife.

The button to the story is that later I discovered that Mickey Mantle, the masculine feline presence in the house, had indeed thrown up in his room down the hall. Thanks for bringing it all home, Mick.

SAUSAGE!

Running of the idiots

Yesterday marked the fourth day of the annual running of the bulls in Pamplona, Spain. And when I read stories like this one about the people who are injured daily in the run, I think to myself- Good. Now while I don't necessarily wish harm on any person, I gotta say I always find myself rooting for the bulls.

Every year thousands of people come from all over the world, so-called thrill seekers, to confuse and disorient and goad these poor animals. You want thrills? Risk bodily harm to yourself? Jump out of plane, climb a mountain, walk across hot coals. Don't pick on a mentally inferior species to get your jollies.

It's been going on for over 400 years, so it will probably keep going on. If that's case I say, Go bulls! Trampled, gore, and ram those idiot humans that can't out maneuver you. As the saying goes, "You mess the with bull, you get," and most-deservedly so, "the horns."

Arriba los toros!

Lost in Translation...

Yes, for real. My co-worker found this in a Puerto Rican grocery store in Jersey City (and bought it for me), and it says on the back of the package- product of Jamaica.

Now, obviously it's some kind of chicken soup mix, but nobody caught this before it hit the shelf in America? Or is somebody having real good laugh somewhere? It's even all over the back label : "Use Grace Cock soup to add body and flavour to... your soup" or "Grace Cock soup can also be enjoyed...without the need to add other ingredients." Oh, I bet it can.

Kinda makes you think twice next time before using the phrase, "Tastes like chicken."