My Lawn Wrangler Debut

As has been previously alluded to, I have been thus far absent on this here blog. Why? Well, see, I write for a living. I put my meager amounts of creativity into stuff that actually pays me, not writing on some shit site that only my roommates and maybe a couple friends read. It's not that I don't care about you guys - that's only part of it. The truth is, I just don't feel like giving it away. Do you think prostitutes take time out of their workday to give free handjobs? No f'in way. But, since I generally cave to even the faintest amount of peer pressure - in this case, the fact that my roommates have already been posting on this and they're assholes - consider this my free handjob to you. I just hope you're a fast reader because my arm gets tired. Get it? No? Fuck you.

Anyway, like I said, inspiration is a key part of my job and I've been lacking it recently, so I decided that instead of coming up with something original, I'll just take you through the things that have made me happy, angry, or confused this week.

Awesome Things That Don't Suck:
1. Baseball.

Ian already spoke of the Mets, but allow me to be a piece of repeatin' shit. Last season sucked for the Shea faithful, so now spring returns with a clean slate for baseball fans. This afternoon, I plan on parking my ass in front of the TV and watching Johan Santana pitch his first innings as a Met. Working from home is rough.

I'm also excited for wiffle ball games, as long as Glen isn't my teammate.

This also means that in a little over a month, I'll be attending games wearing the best purchase I've made in years. Mustache not included, unfortunately.


2. VH1 Classic

Ok, I know not everyone is into quality music these days, but if you think you are, check out VH1 Classic right now (channel 136 for you fellow Time Warner suckers). The best of the lot is Classic Albums, where they go through the history of a monumental record. Dark Side Of The Moon, Metallica's Black Album, Electric Ladyland, Motorhead's Ace Of Spades? Rawk!

The best part, they barely have any commercials, so you get near full hours of awesomeness. Then, just for shits, they'll put on a movie like Ghostbusters. Well played, VH1. Well played.

You've been informed. Now go.

3. White Russians

It's not secret that we in this apartment love The Big Lebowski. If you're not a fan, stop reading this immediately and go watch it another two or three times. Then come back. You'll thank me.

One of the best parts about The Dude is his love for Caucasians, or in the common parlance, White Russians. I had two last night and they're delicious. Rarely does a beverage combine the soothing qualities of chocolate milk and the potency to knock you on your ass. In the morning, they can cure hangovers. In the winter, they'll warm your stomach. In the summer, load them with ice and you have the perfect afternoon cocktail. Drink one at 11 PM on a Thursday and you'll feel like a million bucks. Fuck writing this - I'm going to mix one now.

Things That Pissed Me Off This Week:
1. Squirrels.

One woke me up the other morning and it really pissed me off. Yeah, they look cute and all, but wait until one of them gets in your basement when you're trying to write a 10th grade history paper and you have to get it out by trapping it in a plastic bin and it's surprisingly strong and fighting like it's rabid, so you have to really wrestle to keep it inside until you can get up the stairs to your back porch and, once it finally realizes that it's free again and runs away, you find that in its nervous state it shit everywhere inside that bin, so now you have to clean it up just like all the times you picked up garbage on your lawn because the little bushy-tailed assholes ate through the bag even though there are fucking tasty acorns all over your yard that just end up getting stuck in your lawnmower. Fuck.

Okay, sorry, that got a little out of hand but I'm really starting to think squirrels are the enemy. Need proof? Bam:
Not enough for you? Watch that stupid "Rock Me Gently" Jeep commercial again and see you how feel. Yeah, that's right. Embrace the anger.

2. Buybacks.

It seems like every other sales industry gives you some kind of reward for your loyalty, so you'd think something as sacred and intimate as the bartender-customer relationship would engender a little more gratitude. Wrong. Over the course of a night, I can spend a lot of money at a bar and while I'm not the world's greatest tipper - no steady income, ok? - I also don't stiff anybody, no matter how shitty the service, and I try to give extra to good bartenders. So, occasionally, throw a freebie my way and I'll come back more often and give you more money. There, it's that simple. It's like giving a treat to a dog. - they do something good, you reward them, and maybe they'll hump your leg for a while. Well, I'm the same way. Wait, that came out wrong. What I mean to say is, give me a free beer and I'll hump your leg. Glad we cleared that up.

I'm pissed about this because I was given a buyback from a nice bartender this week and it made me realize that it had been a long time since that had happened. Maybe it's what I'm used to from Long Island - the Checkmate and Tara's are great about this - or maybe it's just my constant need for affection and reassurance, but either way, this doesn't happen enough around here. Once I find a place that does, I'll be there all the time.

Unless it's a gay bar or populated by these guys.


Finally, Things That Have Left Me Undecided:
1. Button Fly Jeans

I had a pair of these years ago that I had to abandon due to a lack of stability in the button region. Yes, that means that constantly my fly would be undone and that's just asking for trouble, especially with all the children that live in my area. And no, even though I love Lebowski and the Jesus, I'm not into exposing myself to 8-year-olds, dude.

Anyway, I recently purchased a pair of jeans that I knew to be in my size but mistakenly thought had a normal zipper. So, as I'm breaking them in, I'm slowly getting used to both the undoing and doing in the bathroom as well as the fact that I'm more susceptible to the wind chill factor as compared to my normal jeans.

The acid test will be tonight, when I'll be going out drinking and most likely becoming friends with a urinal. Maybe I'll even try some different strategies, such as top two buttons with belt buckled, top two and unbuckled, middle two only, or the classic "pull your pants all the way down like a 6-year-old in a stadium bathroom and make it awkward for the rest of us" method. Anyway, I decided that if I end up looking like this in a public space tonight, these jeans will forever be banished to sober duty only. What can I say? I give up easy.

Anyway, I'll report back sometime soon with the results of this evening, and maybe I'll even write some more stuff someday. Until then, beware of pickpockets and loose women.

- Dan

That's just like .. your opinion .. man

Well its been quite some time since Norwood, Enis, or myself (Dr. Danger, Esq.) have posted anything on Mindgrapes of Wrath (Slim Charles has yet to grace this small corner of the intraweb with his presence). Well faithful readers, the wait is over.

Those of you who know me know that I’m an avid music lover. No one genre defines my taste, although, as a general proposition, I certainly gravitate to certain types of music over others as a starting point. Bands like The Clash, Dead Kennedys, The Misfits, and Against Me! occupy a place in my heart located not too far from the residences of Sage Francis, Aesop Rock, and Mos Def. Take a quick right and you’ll find Manu Chao chilling with Lee “Scratch” Perry (who incidentally had earlier been getting high with members of The Band and Ratatat). Rush hangs around too, you should see Geddy Lee when he’s boozing with Dean Martin. And I’d be remiss not to mention my affection for Ween and They Might Be Giants (drugs can do odd things to one’s tastes). Hell, even James Taylor is more than welcome anywhere I’m rolling. Suffice to say, I have a broad and eclectic taste in music and am loathe to dismiss something without giving it a proper chance.

Now, like any other hot-blooded American, I have plenty of hate in my heart. It would be of no benefit to anyone to recount most of the bands I hate, as they are plentiful and, in my mind, fairly obvious. I can't believe that anyone ACTUALLY likes Creed, Counting Crows, or Cascada, so it seems unnecessary to point out that I too despise those … those … those … I’m at a loss for words … man those “musical acts” really blow.

Instead, I will now present to you the definitive list of the Top 5 Worst Bands of All-Time (worth mentioning)* - in reverse order:

5. John Cougar Mellencamp – I’ll admit a few years ago Cougar never would have made this list. Granted I was never really a fan of “Jack & Diane” or “Wild Nights”, but I’d simply change the radio station and be on my way. He manufactured mindlessly drivel-driven hits for years, but that surely doesn’t make him a lonely man. For years he was nothing more than a poor-man’s Tom Petty as far as Dr. Danger was concerned.

Everything changed once the 2006 NFL season began. Ever since then it is quite literally IMPOSSIBLE to watch a nationally televised sporting event in America without hearing “This is Our Country”. This song soared through the ranks of all time insufferable diddies, reaching a height previously unoccupied. I know there isn’t much need for me to further expound upon the crappiness of this song. You’ve heard it, you know its god awful, and I’m sure you can agree that this singular piece of musical construction is far more than enough to warrant J. Cougar Mellencamp’s inclusion in the Top 5 Worst Bands of All-Time list.

4. The Beatles – Look, I know. I know everyone disagrees with me. I know EVERYONE loves the Beatles. I know there are without question people who want to smack me for including the Beatles on any list other than the Top 2 Bands of All-Time list. Well you know what? Fuck you. While I readily admit the Beatles were an incredibly influential band and John Lennon was a cool motherfucker, I also readily admit that I feel like I’m having an aneurysm every time I’m subjected to listening to any of their songs.

I just can’t stand hearing them. John Lennon’s voice irritates me. Paul McCartney REALLY irritates me, his voice too, but mainly Paul McCartney … he is the definition of a complete sell-out douchebag. Take your billions and your one-legged ex-wife you prissy, no-talent hack. I believe Paul McCartney singlehandedly pushed race relations back 35 years with Ebony and Ivory – how could black people ever respect white people after that abortion of a collaboration?

Its not just Paul though; I truly believe ALL their music is bad. Their early bubblegum pop is grating and their later hippy-yogi-drug fueled music is unlistenable. I really can’t stand them. We’re moving on now.

3. Aerosmith – This band that has had a ton of success. I mean a TON of success. I would wager I could grab a person off the street and he could name me 5 Aerosmith songs off the top of his head. Interestingly enough, not one of them would be good. If John Mellencamp is a poor man’s Tom Petty, then Aerosmith is a poverty-stricken paraplegic man’s Rolling Stones**. Their lyrics are terrible and trite and they might as well wear corporate logos on stage like European soccer players wear on the pitch. Steven Tyler will never be Mick Jagger and will probably never get to bang his daughter, no matter how hard he tries.

2. Fleetwood Mac – Here’s a band that in any other universe would undoubtedly hold the number 1 position on this list. Now bear with me for a second. I love my father and really couldn’t ask for a better man to be my dad. For all his great attributes, there is one thing for which I will never be able to fully forgive him – he likes Fleetwood Mac. Consequently, I heard a lot of Fleetwood Mac growing up, and let me tell you something, they blow like none other. Slutastic Stevie Nicks should take her coked up asshole and use a fire extinguisher to drown herself; that is if she had any decency – which she doesn’t. Outside of people over 40, I don't believe I’ve met a single person who likes Fleetwood Mac. They are only “out-worsted” by one band ….. the absolute worst band of all-time:

1. The (fucking) Eagles – Jeff Bridges, while portraying The Dude in one of America’s greatest cinematic masterpieces, sums it up best “…I hate the fucking Eagles man”. Glenn Frey, Don Henley, Joe Walsh, and whoever the 4th guy is – YOU ALL SUCK. Witchy Woman … Hotel California … Desperado … Take It Easy … these songs are all unabashedly terrible. I cannot begin to describe the animosity I have toward whatever dumbfuck record executive allowed this group of talentless cheesedicks to release music into the public’s ear.

I could go on much longer about how much I hate the (fucking) Eagles, but I’ll save you the obscenity-laden diatribe. It wouldn’t even be very interesting, just a lot of swearing and repeated mention of how much I hate the (fucking) Eagles. Please, just do everyone a favor, if you ever see someone put an Eagles song on a juke box, break a bottle of Miller High Life over his head, drag him into the closest bathroom and give him a swirlie.



*This list is neither definitive nor shall it be construed to represent the opinions and/or thoughts of Norwood, Enis, Slim Charles, the Lawn Wranglers as a collective entity, or any contributor to Mindgrapes of Wrath. This list is the brainchild of Dr. Danger and Dr. Danger alone (although it is pretty much the definitive list).

**Also monster, mammoth sell-outs who also will probably start wearing corporate logos as attire on stage in the very near future (hattip to B-rizzy for observing that I should note this)

a word on Trip McNeely (Kurt Gerry)

Consider me Miles Davis

Enis AppleDarsh made it well known to Slim Charles that he had enough. Thanks for playing, thanks for coming out, but we’re calling this a night ladies and gents. Please remember to tip your coat check girl and drive safely.

This is perhaps an appropriate time to introduce you, dear reader, to your humble narrator. I am Enis AppleDarsh’s (and for that matter Slim Charles’) roommate. For those interested, there is a fourth to our apartment gang -- goes by the nom de rock “Honeywell”, although, you may be saddened to learn, that will be his sole mention during my recount of this tale. I should admit up front that I was not with Enis on this fateful day, the chronicle of which you are now reading. Through in-depth interviews with both AppleDarsh and Slim Charles, as well as my personal knowledge of the events gleaned from various phone calls and text messages, I am pleased to present to you, valued reader, with the cautionary tale of our unfortunate (anti-) hero.

This entire debacle started innocently enough. On reconsideration, the prior statement is a lie. The single event which led to the climax of our story was hardly innocuous in nature. Nay, faithful reader, this initial event was born out of both Enis’ and Slim Charles’ compulsion to guzzle as much hooch down their insatiable gullets as humanly possible in a competitive fashion. Yes ladies and gentlemen, Enis and Slim Charles entered into a Beirut tournament.

For those of your unfamiliar with Beirut, let me take a moment for a brief aside in order to explain how it works. Beirut is a drinking game. The game is played on any flat, elevated surface (a ping pong table with no net being the best example). On either side of the table stands a two person team. In front of both teams are 10 Solo cups filled to some degree with beer which are arranged into a pyramid. The object of the game is to throw a ping pong ball into one of the cups in front of your opponent. Any time a cup is hit, the beer in that cup must be consumed and said cup is taken out of play. Each player has one chance to hit a cup per turn. Once one team has sank a ping pong ball into every one of its opponents’ cups, the game is over.* Hurray.

With this knowledge in mind, let us continue our journey. Now I will spare you the details to which I was subjected (the painstakingly detailed details to which I was subjected), for really all you need to know is that our dear Enis and Slim Charles won the tournament. This was certainly cause for celebration. Enis and Slim Charles happily meandered (read stumbled) to a friend’s apartment to resume the hullabaloo that is so often associated with momentous accomplishments.

Upon completing their jaunt and arriving at their destination, Enis and Slim Charles had a problem on their hands. Neither was long for the UES (Upper East Side for you non-New Yorkers) as, over the years, the neighborhood had been overrun by a cadre of investment bankers and their ilk, who dress in impressively pressed slacks, tucked in button-down shirts (typically embossed with a gentlemen of leisure riding a polo stallion), and sensible loafers. Now investment bankers, etc. dressed as such are not inherently evil. In fact I’m dear friends with several. As a general proposition, however, they share very little in common with the co-champions. It bears noting that it is possible the UES has always been like this, and I suspect it has, but I’ve only lived in New York City proper for the past three years, and to assume never does anyone well.

But I digress. The pair quickly attempted to arrange other plans for the evening. Problems immediately arose and abounded. Where were they to go? Your noble narrator was forcibly stuck at a dipshit party at a douchebag club in a neighborhood far far away. Many people were out of town, and the other friends who were available were already in the duo’s company. Woe was Enis and Slim Charles.

The problems were immediately off-putting and the two champions simply languished where they were, wholly immersed in their dereliction of their plans to escape. I must admit, at this juncture of the story, something was lost on me. I regret to inform you, captivated reader, that I know not what led to the champions traveling to and arriving at a new bar in the equally-douchey area of Manhattan known as Murray Hill, but travel to and arrive at a new bar they did. It was at this point that the story got rather gray, as Slim Charles managed to keep his wits about him, but his co-champion, the lovable Enis AppleDarsh was (to use the vernacular) really fucked-up.

While at the bar, AppleDarsh did not chase the dragon. No, esteemed reader, AppleDarsh merely ordered a single bottle of Bud Light to sip on, in hopes of refraining from becoming a greater risk to himself and those around him. It is important to keep in mind, however, that Enis had been drinking quite liberally throughout the preceding hours and his self-imposed intervention was, as my mother is so often wont to say, too little – too late.

So we find our (anti-) hero still wildly drunk. While carousing with acquaintances, AppleDarsh realized his bladder was rapidly running out of free space and demanding an evacuation in no short order. At this point, our intoxicated co-champion descended what, at this stage in the evening, was found to be a discommodius stairwell en route to the lavatory. Upon successfully reaching the stairwell's landing (no comment on the difficulties that AppleDarsh may have encountered during his descent of the stairwell), our courageous protagonist realized his bladder was winning the battle against his mind/whatever the fuck keeps people from peeing uncontrollably. This precipitated Enis, breath (and likely clothing) still reeking hardily of beer, to make a mad dash for the bathroom. At some point hereafter, but prior to the commencement of urinatination proper (remember I was not there and Enis’ memory was far from functioning properly), more than a trickle, but an amount less than that necessary to cause severe alarm, dribbled down the young man's groin and down his leg (possibly making a pit stop at the grundel). AppleDarsh then texted his beloved roommate (your narrator), "i just pissed myself ... how is it over there?"


* There are many variations on this game, but for our purposes we shall only concern ourselves with the version Enis and Slim Charles were playing.

i didn't know what a blog was 3 years ago...

but i think this is a great idea and i'm very much looking forward to reading Glen's first post.