This is the part where you start making fun of me. So nobody commented on my ass. Well, I don't know what to do with you people.

I think if I was to write a poem about New York right now it might be something like this:

Under the sun of satan I saw fourteen things
I learned fourteen names, and fourteen lies
and crouched beneath his leather wings

I met fourteen devils and fourteen saints
and drank fourteen liquors in foreign bars
and covered my face with fourteen paints

I ran fourteen races with fourteen turns
while satan urged me on with happy cries
and from that sun, bandaged fourteen burns

I took fourteen steps away from the past
I laid on cold night highways between the cars
and counted each one as it past

Of the fifteenth thing I cannot speak
my toungue is frozen, my hearing weak
though not to god, I still pray
that I shall see sixteen someday



Okay, so it rhymes, so what? I wrote it on the subway, what the hell do you want?  ¶ 10:11 PM 3 comments

  NYBMA A couple things out of the way first:

In a comment, my brother notes two things about my new blog design. One, it is kind of sparse and linkless. Two, you don't get the link info on the status bar of your browser when you roll over the links.

Okay, the first one is an admitted bad thing, but I want to make a nice little floaty flashified menu for it, and until I do that, it's going to be a tribute to minamalism. The only minamalist thing in my cluttered, cluttered life. The second one turns out to be a limitation of flash. I went crazy for a while looking for a way to have that happen, and there just doesn't seem to be one. I don't think there's a single other flash developer reading this blog, but if there is andI'm wrong, please let me know.

Our party last night: fun, fun fun, everybody had fun, it ruled. Sheri wrote a nice little post about it, so I'm not going to belabor it. Fun was had.

Okay, now on to something of great, great importance. My ass. Yes indeed, the meat of this post is about my ass. Specifically, the way the meat of ass is now deeply tenderized. Which is one way of saying, my ass hurts.

Now, before you click away with the kind of rapidness that you reserve for the excesses of German porn, I'd like to point out that this post is in no way related to shit, or any other activity associated with asses that you might be afraid of hearing about. You see, my ass is muscle sore. It feel like I've been doing, I don't know, ass-ups or something.

Okay, so my ass is sore, and I haven't been spanked, I've never ridden a horse, and I didn't invest in any buns of steel tapes. So how could this have happened? What strange turn of events would have me clutching random objects when I'm in the deli so I don't get kicked out for grabbing my ass? Well, I'll tell you what happened. New York beat my ass.

Oh yeah, New York Beat My Ass. New York beat it up good. And here's how. We got up Saturday morning a little tired from an impromptu hang out with two thirds of Kickstart. This was good because we love Eric and Fletcher, but bad because what the hell were we doing getting drunk the night before our drink themed party? So we're tired and we have a lot, lot of stuff to do. The house has to be cleaned, and Sheri was making all this food, and we had to set up the cocktail station, but most important for me to get done was the couch.

About a week ago our futon frame, which seemed to lose bolts every time we moved, fell apart. We'd been putting the futon on the floor for a week, but that sucked. Seeing as we had already decided to replace the mattress part, we just decided to get some new hardware to put it back together. Of course, you can only order that hardware from a futon store, since it's not just bolts and nuts, but reverse engineered from Ikea hardware, apparently by blind gnomes.

Now the futon store had promised, promised, promised they'd have the hardware by saturday around noon. Of course they didn't, but promised it would be in at four, then five. Meanwhile Sheri and I have run to the grocery store, and the dollar store, and to the deli a couple times. So that some trips up and down the stairs. And about three, Anna came over to pick up a bed frame that we were getting rid of, so that's a couple more trips up and down the stairs carrying big bed frame pieces.

So finally five rolls around and the futon store says they have the hardware. The store is right by union square in manhattan, which is 5 stops on the L train, so no biggie. Except of course the L train is shut down. Completely shut down. No bus, no alternate route, just fuck you. So okay, I walk about 7 extra blocks down to Lorimer where there's the G. I figure I'll take the G to queens plaza then take the R from queens into union square. No fun, but not terrible. Stairs down into the staion, stairs down into the G. Of course, the G doesn't run all the way to queens plaza on the weekend. They've decided it would be funny to stop it one stop short of that, because it's not like anybody from the L is going to need it, right? So stairs up to the station, down to the E. I take the E one stop then stairs up to a really long transfer to the R. The R goes to Union Square, where I take less time getting to the shop, picking up the hardware and getting back then I spent on any one of the three trains it took me to get there. Including the one that only went one stop.

Then all three trains including assorted up and down stairs, back. Now it's almost 8 and I have to get this frame togther. Of course, getting the jammed bent hardware out is fun, then putting the new stuff in isn't easy either. And it takes being crouched down on my glutes the whole time.

So what do you do with a sore ass? There's now way I'm rubbing Tiger Balm on my ass, because I don't need it to be burning as well as sore. And you can't really find that freind that went to massage school and say "hey, would you rub my butt?" At least, not when you're married you can't. And it's a goddam good thing I'm married because let me tell you, I'm sure as hell not getting laid by wandering around clutching my ass.

And that's all I'll say about my ass.  ¶ 10:52 PM 0 comments