In Memoriam

Three things I took away from the Jerry Orbach Memorial at the Richard Rodgers Theater this afternoon:

1) That Angela Lansbury... She's a looker.
2) I'll sadly regret not meeting Jeff Zucker, President of NBC Entertainment, (who's roughly the size of a dwarf) and taking him down on principle. I won't sadly regret calling him Slappy.
3) Jerry Orbach, who I pretty much owe my job still existing to, led a good life. Cool.

Try to remember the kind of September
When life was slow and oh, so mellow.
Try to remember the kind of September
When grass was green and grain was yellow.
Try to remember the kind of September
When you were a tender and callow fellow.
Try to remember, and if you remember,
Then follow.

Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow,
Follow, follow, follow, follow.

Try to remember when life was so tender
That no one wept except the willow.
Try to remember when life was so tender
That dreams were kept beside your pillow.
Try to remember when life was so tender
That love was an ember about to billow.
Try to remember, and if you remember,
Then follow.

Deep in December, it's nice to remember,
Although you know the snow will follow.
Deep in December, it's nice to remember,
Without a hurt the heart is hollow.
Deep in December, it's nice to remember,
The fire of September that made us mellow.
Deep in December, our hearts should remember
And follow.

Thanks, Jerry. You are missed.

Savvy?

Finally, pirates are en vogue again (and there's no Disney rides in sight).

If myself of 10 years ago knew me now, I swear myself of 10 years ago would beat my ass and steal my lunch money daily.

CBS-Sportsline.com will clearly be the death of professional me.

I've discovered they have THE BEST online scoreboard of them all (presumably due to CBS having exclusive coverage of the NCAA College Basketball Tournament). I'm at work, and I swear I've done work today, but if you needed to know what exactly, I'd have nothing for you.

Estimates range into the millions on how much money companies lose due to things like fantasy sports and office pools. I'm certainly doing my part.

Now, back to St. Mary's making an ass out of themselves... and my bracket.

In Search Of

A while back, I brought up a dating service for those who clearly aren't marketed to by services like Match.com.

Well, people felt I still didn't right-ly capture their essence.

I think we may have a winner now.

The Madness... it's Spreading...

Way to be dating a Vermonter, me.

I washed my hands of it shortly thereafter.

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Stupid Morality

I have a $20 Tower Records gift card.

I went to spend said gift card at Tower Records.com this morning. To my surprise, the new Jack Johnson CD was a quite reasonable $0.12.

Yes. $0.12.

So, I added four to my cart (somebody would want it, right?), and decided to keep shopping. Other CDs by Ray Charles, Miles Davis, and others were between $0.09 and $0.12. I added four of each to my cart.

I moved on. With over 30 CDs in my cart (I didn't even start on the DVDs - listed between $0.30 and $0.60... including South Park, Chappelle Show, the Motorcycle Diaries, etc...), I was tearing Tower Records a new one while my co-workers each eked out a random Donnie Darko or obscure French CD. I went for the motherload, for it all, for my music collection to upgrade from "just barely" to "awfully pretentious." I followed that bright light to the likes of Keb'Mo and Jimi Hendrix. Dispatch to the Doors.

Then, checkout.

I had to set up a new account, which I did. Mail it to my billing address.

My balance? $3.38. Yeah, I'll pay for the shipping.

Before I finalized it, I paused. My cohorts, with their small bounties, the scraps reaped from my reward, boasted of paying $3 for their one CD or their one DVD. Still, they looked on. They knew a master had taken to task, that great work would still be done.

They had their meager goods. I, however, had in my grasp the Grail.

Men of all ages, of all eras, clamored for this which I now held in the palm of my hand and nothing but microchips and computer text stood in my way. You simply don't take the Grail and walk away unaffected. It can't be done.

You stop. You stare. You savor every nanosecond, craving the reward standing before you and the adulation that awaits you. You prepare all pagentry in your head, of which your comrades would look on in awe and envy. A part, deep inside (we'll call it "Catholic guilt"), makes you question. I found myself asking, "Should I do it?" "Is it right?" "Could it be?" You freeze, you question everything, evaluate your life to this point, and question whether you want what comes next.

You simply just can't take the Grail.

A few moments later and cheered on by my followers, who already ran rough drafts of my legendary tale of my pillaging and recompense to callers and passersby alike, I clicked OK. I expected a triumphant song to play, something signaling victory, immortality, 35 CDs for just over $3. The world my oyster, this my pearl.

Tower said NO. They had corrected the glitch - my bill now well over $300. I disrespectfully declined. I shriveled away in silence, having my reward so violently ripped from me.

Next time, just take the fucking Grail.

Goddamn it.

Untitled

I spent the weekend in the Poconos.

I had a good time I did. Rode a horse. Ate Japanese steak. Overheard an irate fellow with a towel on his head yell over, then directly at a pay phone (not an Arab - just a fellow wearing a white towel).

I gather the Poconos became a family vacation hotspot while I wasn't looking. Growing up, commercials for Mount Airy Lodge "Where all you have to bring is your love of everything" conjured up images of yuppies in hot tubs, boozing on champagne and fly-by-night stocks. No mullets.

There's mullets now. Curly mullets. I dare say the "mystique" could be gone.

Far be it from me to even associate my name with the Young Urban Professionals who've spent time gentrifing my Brooklyn into a "hip," health food-friendly, property valuing, substantially whiter menace.

I Want to Be

A Lanyard Supermodel.