Do You Come Here Often?

Hi there. Is this seat taken? Thank you. Dana, right? Yeah, I noticed you on my television the other day. You were standing on the podium in the White House Press Room, answering questions from the press corps. They are totally annoying, aren't they? Seeing you was a pleasant surprise! I had been expecting Tony Snow, or some other Presidential representative from Fox News. (How's Tony doing, btw? I hope he gets the treatment he needs and recovers soon. Even though I couldn't stand his smarmy attitude on Fox, he was a tolerable Press Secretary. He had backbone, not like that wishy-washy little bitch Scott McClellan.)

Anyway, when I saw you for the first time, I thought you were positively radiant! What color are your eyes? Gray, yes they look gray. Really stunning. They're the color of gunmetal, almost. "Your eyes possess the powerful vibrance of a firearm, he said." How romantic; I'm such an idiot. Anyway, the other day I was watching you -- on t.v. of course -- I haven't been stalking you, don't worry. I saw your gunmetal eyes dart from reporter to reporter as you responded to inane questions, like "Why are we still in Iraq?" and "Is Guastavino, er, I mean, Attorney General Gonzalez going to resign?" and "What is the President going to do about the mess at Walter Reed Hospital?"

Fools, all of them! How dare they ask such stupid questions in your presence? No, I don't normally talk like that. I've just been on this medieval kick lately. I think my head's in a time warp, it happens once every 15 years. Don't mind me.

It was amazing to me how you were able to parry the reporters' inquisitive barbs, answering but not answering them at the same time. I was SO impressed, Dana. Really, you are a master already, and you have not been at this very long, have you? Watching you control those animals like a lion tamer really turned me on. Your short, Dorothy Hamill-esque blonde hair waving to and fro as you turned and pointed to a new questioner, not really caring whether it was that piss ant troublemaker David Gregory, the ass-kissing John King, or the Big Lady with the Bad Questions, Helen Thomas. You had such a "je ne sais quoi" attitude about it, the whole thing was totally hot. Are you French by any chance? Wait, Perino's Italian, isn't it? Cool.

Then when you fixated on one person, your hair would stop in midair and cascade down, framing your beautiful face and those lovely cheekbones. You are a genetic marvel, seriously, Dana. Do you mind if I touch your hair? Oh, it's positively luxurious, very thick. Thank you for letting me touch it.

I've always had a thing for women with short hair. I don't know where it started, but I think it began with my prepubescent crushes on Pat Benatar and Toni Tennille in the 70s. Big crushes. Pat singing "Hell Is For Children" onstage, she was so pissed off and kick ass. And then, when I was in the mood for something softer, there was Toni with the Captain, he of the ubiquitous blinding white flared dress slacks and dark blue blazer, both of which complemented his Captain's hat and sunglasses. (Always with the sunglasses. For years, I wondered if the man was blind.) Toni was so sexy. Her thin, shapely legs darting out from a tasteful sundress as she sang a love ballad or catchy pop tune. So tan, with that bob haircut and beestung lips that opened to reveal impossibly white, white teeth. "You'd Better Shop Around" was one of my favorites. I've been shopping around for years, and "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For," ha, ha. How many men do you know who could put Captain & Tennille and U2 together? I'm just that good, Dana, just that good.

No, I like long hair too. So if you grow it out, you'll still be attractive to me, don't worry. Ooh, that was presumptuous of me, wasn't it? Three Grey Goose and sodas, and I think we're getting married, ha ha. Still, I couldn't believe it when you walked in here for a drink. It was total kismet. Do you believe in kismet, Dana? I do! I mean, what are the odds? How often do you make it to Williamsburg? Not that often, eh? I'm not surprised, the neighborhood's a little rough around the edges. Not really a place for a classy lady like you, is it?

So let's talk more about you. Where ya from? Where'd ya go to school? Typical New York City-first-meeting-interview-b.s., I know. University of Southern Colorado? What was your major (cough). Communications with a minor in political science, I see. Nice. I was a poli sci major myself, yeah. Where am I on the political spectrum? Oh I'm pretty conservative. Yeah, down the line Republican. Pro-life, pro-death penalty. No contradiction to me, no way. Pro guns, I mean is the Second Amendment dead or is it alive? Five words: From My Cold Dead Hands. I'm anti-taxes too. The government already has the shakedown going on us, the upper middle class, hasn't it? I feel like I'm working my ass off for nothing. They take my money, and where does it go? Who the hell knows? Have you seen my tax dollars, because I haven't! They're probably spending it all on abortion clinics and defense lawyers for those Guantanamo terrorists, the bastards!

What else, oh, I'm pro family values, definitely. I think kids should be raised in one home by a man and a woman. Not by a divorced couple. Not by two men, or two women, or by a man and two women, or a woman and two men. Have I covered all the nuances? Marriage also should be between a man and a woman. I'm soooooooo anti-gay. No, not just anti gay rights. Anti gay. There literally should be no gays in the United States at all. Either they learn to be straight, or out they go, to Holland or Germany, where that shit is tolerated. Yes, it's an extreme view, I know, but that's just how I feel about it. And isn't that what God said in Leviticus? That "Man shalt not lay with another man" and "Thou shalt not allow gay people to propagate and obtaineth rights in thy future country pursuant to thy ratified constitution?" I haven't read the B-I-B-L-E in awhile, but Pat Robertson says it's in there. Yes, I have a few gay friends. I live in New York City, after all. No, I haven't told them about my views. I'm still in the closet about it, so to speak. Ha, ha! Ssssh.

As for foreign policy, I'm a big fan of the United States playing a robust role in the world. I just love that word, "robust." It sounds like it means, you know? RO-BUST. Wonderful word, but I digress. I'm a big fan of Guantanamo too. It's working, isn't it? No attacks on U.S. soil in 6 years. I mean who wants those Islamofascists in American jails where they can organize and cause more problems?

Needless to say, I voted for Bush twice, his father twice, and Reagan once. Why only once for Reagan? I was too young to vote before then. Sheesh, how old do I look, Dana??? Ha ha ha! Yes, the gray is coming in, it sure is! Oh, you're fun!

Yes, I was totally on board with the Iraq War and all that. I mean we all thought the guy had weapons of mass destruction. Even the French and the Russians thought so, am I right? Hussein had to go. The guy gassed his own people and did other bad things. Sure, some mistakes have been made. Okay, maybe a lot of mistakes. Abu Ghraib was a bit of a bump in the road. It'll blow over though. We'll throw some cash at it when the war's over. Bygones. Money solves a lot of problems, dudn't it? Seriously, does anyone remember My Lai? It's war, for crying out loud! Like Rummy, I mean, Defense Secretary Rumsfeld said, "You go to war with the army you've got, not the army you would like to have." When he said that, I thought to myself, you GO Rumsfeld! He's EXACTLY the guy we need in our history right now. War is not predictable and you can't foresee everything. Rumsfeld understood that. But they ran him out of town on a rail like a villain in a Clint Eastwood western, didn't they? Fucking liberals. Ooops, pardon my French there, Dana. Must be the Grey Goose talking. I normally don't swear like that. I'm a good boy.

You know, I even keep a blog online where I talk about some of these things, raise consciousness and all that. It's an information war out there, isn't it Dana? But you know that already, don't you. Making people aware of the issues is very important. Otherwise, this country's going to keep going down the shitter and those liberal commie a-holes are going to completely take over. Then where will we be? They've already got control of both coasts, the media, and Hollywood, plus or minus Charlton Heston. (Loved him in Planet of the Apes!) What's next? No, we've got to keep fighting them. Fighting for control of people's minds, on the radio, on television, and online.

What's my blog address? Uh... Hmmm... why am I not remembering it right now? How embarrassing, heh heh. Let's see, why don't I give it to you later, I'm sure it will come to me after a few more drinks. You look so sexy when you raise a dubious eyebrow, has anyone ever told you that, Dana?

Okay, okay. Here it is: www.mind-wanderer.typepad.com. I hope you don't find it boring. Where did I get the name? Well, I like to write about things that I think about, things that are in my head at any given point in time. And my writing tends to be more of a free write these days. Not too much editing. I have other things I like to do, and I can't spend an entire day editing every thought. Let the readers sort it out. My mind tends to wander a bit, hence the name. Yeah, it's not that original, I agree. But it's not easy to come up with a blog name when you have a world of options in front of you, literally every combination of words in the English dictionary. That's why I never got a tattoo. I could never decide on one symbol that I wanted to look at for the rest of my life. Too many options.

Just ask my father. One summer in the mid-1960s he gets hammered while he's on leave with his buddies in France and gets a tattoo of a naked woman on his upper arm. Wakes up the next day, sees what his drunkeness hath wrought, and promptly goes out and gets a tattoo of a big, black American eagle to cover up the nude lady. Have you ever seen a black eagle, Dana? I haven't. Now he looks like he was once a member of Hell's Angels, minus the long hair and extra body weight. One year we're walking around southern Italy on vacation and a kid comes up to my father -- dad's wearing short sleeves -- and the kid asks him if he had spent time in prison. My dad started laughing. I couldn't understand, but he explained that it was the tattoo that made the kid ask. Not for me, Dana. Not. For. Me.

Anywho, what brings you to Williamsburg? Just checking out the scene, okay. Yes, I've noticed a lot more European and Asian tourists here lately. Some travelzine must have increased the size of their Brooklyn section. Listen, why don't we get out of here and grab a bite at Dressler, on Broadway. Unless you're a steak woman, then we could hit Peter Luger. Do you like meat, Dana? Two raised eyebrows now... Okay, you don't eat meat. Dressler it is. Then maybe afterwards -- I don't live too far from here -- we could go back to my place, put on some Cure or Morcheeba and see where the night leads, eh? Whadayasay?

Or, and maybe this is just the vodka talking, I don't know, but I really feel a connection here, don't you, Dana? We're all looking for that special connection, aren't we? I mean, we have so much in common, you're a Republican, I'm a uh.. Republican (wince); you have beautiful gray, predator eyes, I love beautiful gray, predator eyes; you have sexy short blonde hair, I love sexy short blonde hair; you work out, I love women who work out; you're a Taurus, I'm a Virgo; you're in Williamsburg, I'm in Williamsburg.....

Why don't we run away together, Dana! Let's throw off the shackles of this hell-hole world, with its wars, poverty, billable hours, political infighting, human trafficking, road rage, graffiti, bulimia, drug abuse, celebrity obsession, and dysfunctional relationships, and just run away! We'll get in a car and drive west, like the pioneers did. When we get to California, we'll get plane tickets and fly to an island somewhere, maybe Hawaii, or Tahiti, we'll live off the land, until I can open a restaurant or a bar with my 401(k) savings and--

What? You're married? Oh. I didn't see the ring. For some reason, I never look at a woman's hands soon enough. Old habits, I guess. Wow. Are you happily married? You are. Hmmmm, okay. Well listen, it was nice chatting with you. Enjoy Williamsburg, and seriously, keep fighting the good fight. We really need you out there on the front lines. And please, give my best to Tony.

P.S. HAPPY APRIL FOOL'S DAY!

There's A Splasher On The Loose

People, I have some scary news to report. Prepare yourselves. Sit down, if you must. Are you ready? Okay. There's a Splasher on the loose on the streets of New York. Yes, you heard me right. A Splasher. I know, I know, it's terrible news. He (or she) strikes at night, when everyone is asleep. Walking around, armed and dangerous, the Splasher stalks a suitable victim for days, waiting for the right moment, waiting until they're alone, with no one around.

That's when The Splasher strikes. He or she whips out that night's weapon of choice. Maybe it's a can of Pacer White SW 6098, Juneberry SW 6573, or Sapphire SW 6963. Lately, the Splasher has shown a penchant for Gulftream SW 6768, or so we think.

There are countless mysteries about The Splasher that have yet to be resolved. Why is he or she doing this, defacing beautiful street graffiti -- which is art as well, in my opinion -- with big, ugly, chaotic splotches of randomly chosen colors of paint? How did this graffiti war start? What is The Splasher's point? Does he (or she) favor Sherwin-Williams or Benjamin Moore? Why? People, we just don't know.

Here's what we do know. The Splasher's work is fugly and anarchist. (No, I didn't just say The Splasher is the Antichrist, read it slowly). As of late, he (or she) has been leaving a "Manifesto" at each crime scene, which contains an opaque message railing against something or other having to do with street art, capitalism, or whatever the fuck. Honestly, I can't understand what the hell Splasher's message is, maybe you can. Here's a copy of the Manifesto, which you can enlarge:


Wow, that's some real pseudo-intellectual shit there. Who the fuck is Dada and why would he/she/it support the wanton splotching of colorful street art that people actually enjoy looking at? Clearly, The Splasher is a person who really likes him (or her)self and, quite literally, wants to spew his or her narcissism all over the place for the world to see.

Here are some images of Splasher's recent victims, who are now horribly disfigured. WARNING: THE FOLLOWING IMAGES ARE GRAPHIC. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.




Sadly, this story recently hit home because, and this is hard for me to say, The Splasher is now hunting victims in my neighborhood, Williamsburg. Yes, Splasher's operating right here in the 'Burg, defacing street art, some of which I had previously posted on Flickr. Here's one I took of that dear old friend of mine, Uncle Sam:



Look how The Splasher massacred my boy (pic is not mine):



Here's what the bastard (or bitch) did to the painting of the beautiful woman I took a picture of a few weeks ago (first pic is mine; "after" pic is from Curbed):





Pretty disturbing stuff, I know. I hope you didn't eat breakfast before viewing these.

There are numerous other examples of Splasher's sick handiwork in the 'Burg, which have been carefully documented by fellow 'Burger i'm not sayin', i'm just sayin' For more Splasher-related pictures, go here.

New York-centric media also have been covering this story for months. We gotta story on Curbed; we gotta story on Gothamist; we gotta story in the Village Voice; and we even gotta story in the New York Times. Whew Splasher, you are bigtime, my brother! (Or sister).

In this age of terrorism, you will not be surprised to learn that this story of graffiti run amok has just gone national. I woke up this morning to see a story about The Splasher posted on MSNBC, via The Washington Post.

Everyone's wondering, just Who Is The Splasher???? Recent speculation has it that this is just another instance of guerilla marketing gone overboard, that some corporate lackey is being paid a few bucks every week to deface street graffiti, which is not legal property, to get some free "underground" advertising. One company in particular, who I am not going to name here for fear of giving them even more free exposure, is under suspicion, because ad postings mentioning this company have been found near The Splasher's recent defacements, untouched.

Folks, if you haven't noticed, it's getting harder and harder for corporate America to get into your heads. Billboards and neon signs just aren't cutting it anymore. This is why they have to resort to stupid marketing ploys like the ATHF fiasco a few weeks ago in Boston and now, possibly, this absurdity in New York. This is what it takes to get through to you. It's your own fault.

And if The Splasher really is an individual acting alone, a selfish, puerile, Mommy-didn't-hug-me-enough, narcissistic, attention starved, I-used-to-pee-my-bed-and-sometimes-still-do, wannabe artist who can't make it in the real art world, buddy, get some fucking therapy. No one wants to look at your pathetic excuse for a "statement." Enjoy your 15 minutes.

8 Things I Think I'm Thinking About On March 1, 2007

Boy all this work has been cutting into my blog time lately. Enough with the mushy b.s., it's a new month. Time to get back to current events. Here's a quickie in the middle of my workday: 8 things I think I'm thinking about today, March 1, 2007.


1. Dick Cheney would do well to keep his pasty white arse within the borders of the United States. Yes, he's almost as despised here as he is in Afghanistan and Pakistan, but as far as I know, no one here is trying to take him out. Seriously, what in Allah's good name was he doing visiting those two haters a few days ago? Couldn't he have done the same thing with a video conference? No, no, no. Meeting with foreign dignitaries is really not the point. These little jaunts to the world's hellholes by Messrs. Bush, Cheney, and Madame Rice are designed to accomplish two things: (1) Stanch political bleeding on the home front, and (2) Poke a large American finger in the eye of our enemies. "I am all powerful, and I can go wherever I want in the world, including your backyard. I'm right in your face and you can't touch me, fuckers!"

Well, Dickles almost got touched a couple of days ago. Permanently touched. Too bad the Talibananas don't know that you can't kill Dick Cheney. You can only hope to contain him. The man is a vampire. He's Bulletproof. A zombie. The undead. You get the point. He's survived what, four heart attacks? He's not going anywhere and will probably live to 104.

Oh, and I loved this quote. When Dick was asked about the purpose of the suicide attack -- which killed 23 people by the way -- this is what he said:

"They clearly try to find ways to question the authority of the central government. Striking at Bagram with a suicide bomber I suppose is one way to do that."

No shit, really? If they almost got Cheney on short notice, how much time do you think Karzai has left?



2. Britney's bald look is hot. Yes, I know I'm in the minority here. Perhaps even a distinct minority. But her head is so smooth, so sexy without hair. It really brings out her beautiful eyes. I dig it. I really do. I'm biased though. In my life, I've had torrid crushes on other bald women, like Sinead O'Connor (pre-SNL fiasco) and the bald actress in the first Star Trek movie. I can't explain it. You really need the right head shape to pull it off though ladies, so beware before you trot out those clippers!



Jack Nicholson is another story. At the Oscars, he looked like a bloated Daddy Warbucks in too-cool-for-school sunglasses. Like Darth Vader after they removed his helmet in Return of the Jedi and showed his misshapen blue head. Not a good look, Jack. But you're doing it for your art, so you get a pass. (And I know you're reading this blog in between Bacchanalian romps with young wannabe starlets. That's why I am speaking to you directly, in the second person).



3. Pigs are flying and hell is freezing. We are approaching peace with North Korea and (gasp!) we might actually be seen in the same room with leaders from Iran and Syria. Good news, my brothers!

Of course, the moral of this story for all you pipsqueak enemies of the United States is that if you build yourself a nuke or two, we'll make peace with you. No one wants a nuclear fistfight. Is it any wonder why Iran is running full steam towards membership in the Nuclear League of Nations? It ain't no fluke, if you don't got that nuke!

Hey, who's that in the back of the room stompin' and swearin' and gettin' all red in the face? Israel? Hmmm... this story's not over yet. Get your hazmat suits and Cipro ready folks, and strap yourselves in. It's gonna be a bumpy ride.



4. You think your life sucks? Try being Taco Bell for five minutes. First they have a sickening outbreak in some of their restaurants in New Jersey and then NYC inspectors "discover" a nest of rats in one of their restaurants in Greenwich Village. Nice eh? I love rat droppings with my tacos, don't you? If you are stupid enough to still own stock in Yum Brands (owner of Taco Bell, KFC, and Pizza Hut), you may want to consider beating yourself about the head with a KFC chicken wing.

I've probably eaten at a Taco Bell twice in my life (my appetite does not run large for a shit-looking/smelling bean paste in a thin wheat rollup), but you'll never catch me there, or at any of those other places, again. In fact, between E. coli outbreaks, mad cow disease, and that bloated feeling I get after eating red meat, vegetarianism is looking better and better to me every day.



5. I wish Alan Greenspan would shut the fuck up. Isn't this guy supposed to be retired? He's as old as God and he still feels the need to grab his balls and opine on the future of the market whenever someone puts a mic in his face. A few days ago, he did us the dubious favor of proffering his wisdom that the U.S. could be headed for a recession later this year. Based in part upon his negative remarks (and profit taking in an overheated Chinese market), the U.S. market tanked 416 points, the largest drop since after 9/11.

Can't he be quiet, go buy an island somewhere, and keep himself busy playing hide the mango with a few lady friends? Sheesh. If he keeps this shit up, I'm going to be on the street wearing nothing but a barrel, like a poor character in one of those old Bugs Bunny cartoons.



6. This just in -- 74 year-old Italian grandmother, Olga Mauriello of Naples, finds live grenade in groceries. Apparently the device was covered in dirt and she thought it was a spud, a dirty little potato, until she took it home, picked it up, washed it off, and realized she had a live, active grenade in her hands. [INSERT CLICHED ITALIAN EXCLAMATION HERE]. Thankfully, she lived to tell the story, though she has been seriously traumatized by the Spud That Was Not A Spud.

Baaaah! What a baby. My Nonna would have turned that grenade into spicy fries, thrown it on a plate with a T-bone, and served it to us for dinner.


7. In local news, I can't decide where I come down on Pool Aid. You don't know what Pool Aid is? Man, where you have you been? Pool Aid is an organization that has taken a (still) decrepit, though incredibly large, empty pool near McCarren Park in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, and turned it into a happenin' site for summertime concerts. I attended a couple of them last summer, and they were actually kind of fun, though the lines got longer as the word got out. Cheap beer, Dodgeball games, slip n' slide, hot dogs, lit doobies here and there, and good old fashioned rock and roll. All the great things you remember from your childhood.

The downside is it that the crowd gets a little grungy during the course of an afternoon. And after a few drinks, some of the hipsters -- the cool but much maligned 18-25 year-old unwashed demographic that pervades the 'Burg -- come perilously close to venturing into 60s hippydom, dancing around, hugging, waving, laughing, smoking. Hippies are most certainly NOT cool. When I start seeing hippies, that's when I pick up my NY Times (what a dork I am, seriously), get on my bike and leave the scene.

Some people don't want the concerts because McCarren Park is located near rapidly rising, yuppie condos, some of which now surround the Park. The concerts go all day on the summer weekends. Not exactly what the Condo People envisioned when they plunked down mucho dinero for granite countertops, Australian Jarrah wood floors, and Subzero refrigerators.

If you don't know what the hell I'm talking about, what a hipster is, or why you should give a rabbit's poop about pool concerts in a tiny town in Brooklyn, well have I got a special treat for you! I ran across the video below on Curbed, which will answer ALL of your questions and much much more. It's Pool Aid Hipsters singing "We Are The Pool," playing off the USA for Africa song from two decades ago. Shots of last year's concerts, kids splashing, Williamsburg hipsters dancing, and people just having a good old party time. An aging, sadly deflated Kool-Aid Man even makes a cameo. (Sadly, he's really let himself go. Must have been all that cocaine in the 80s.) Enjoy.






8. One small step against terrorism, one giant leap towards a police state. Time for an update on the legal proceedings of the case involving alleged Al Qaeda operative (and American citizen) Jose Padilla. He's the guy they locked up in a U.S. military brig in South Carolina for a few years without due process for allegedly plotting to build a dirty bomb. His trial is coming up in April and what do you know? It appears that a crucial DVD recording of Padilla being interrogated has mysteriously disappeared. The missing DVD dates from March 2, 2004. It's important because it might show, among other things, that Mr. Padilla was sufficiently traumatized by prior harsh treatment -- which has been said to include extreme isolation, manipulation of the temperature in his cells, loud noises and other techniques designed to break him down -- that any confession or other statements he gave during interrogation could be ruled inadmissible at trial. Guess we'll never know now, will we?

Prosecutors gave no explanation for how and why the DVD went missing after all this time. One would think they would have kept it carefully guarded under lock and key, since it purportedly provided key evidence of Mr. Padilla's guilt. Apparently someone important decided that the bad outweighed the good and the DVD should disappear, so it did.

This guy is getting railroaded so badly, it makes Saddam's trial look fair and clean by comparison. Can't wait to watch the sham on C-SPAN.

And that's 8 things I think I am thinking about today. Good night and good luck.

A Cold President's Day In The 'Burg

In honor of El Primero Presidente Jorge Washington, who suffered through a brutal winter in 1777 with the troops at Valley Forge, I froze my ass off taking these pictures today. Hope you like them.


Industrial-Land.



Ixnay on the Ignorancay.



Williamsburg has some of the hottest graffiti women I have ever seen. Tried to chat this one up, but for some reason, she wouldn't respond.



Stop! As in "Stop taking pictures of this fucking bridge!"



Chaka really like dis picture.



Just a dude crossing the street. Nothing to see here.



Nice views of Manhattan from the Schaef.



Salvation lies within. Drink Kabbalah. DRINK ETERNAL LIFE.



I swear to you, for three seconds I thought these two were real. They scared the shit out of me.



Hipsters - 12:00.



There you have it. Have to go take care of my frostbitten parts now. More pics at the Flick.