Tag Archives: i’m a grouch

a work in progress

Yesterday Ari and I went to the Brooklyn Museum because it was raining and it was the only thing we could think of to do that didn’t involve sitting on the couch.

I know you enjoy hearing about the intense boringness that is my life, so I have provided you some of the highlights from my day at the center of art and smelly old things.

  • The secret, apparently, to getting your collection featured in a museum is…  Boners.  That’s it.  Just put some boners on your art and there you have it. I counted at least seven different installations with boners galore yesterday.  Who knew that when I was 16 and busy staring at Leslie Carter in study hall I was creating a work of art?
  • Security guards at museums are not your friend.  They were giving me The Stink Eye the entire day, and I was seriously unnerved by it.  Of course, it might have had something to do with my Boner Speech that I made to Ari.
  • When we came upon a little stone statue of a bear, the title was “Crouching Bear.”  I remarked to Ari that I would like that to be my nickname from now on, saying, “It’s perfect.  Because I’m strong, but people don’t expect anything crazy from me.  Then, suddenly, I attack!”  She sighed and said that “Grouchy Bear” was a much better fit.  Sadly, she was right.
  • At one point I was talking loudly and Ari told me to stop being so loud.  Of course I got louder and started wondering why you have to be quiet in museums in the first place.  The art can’t hear you.  What, am I going to wake up the boobless mummy?  Is the ancient carpet going to rouse from its beauty sleep and maybe start vacuuming itself?  Because frankly, it could use it.  Silence is for losers.  And boobless dead people.
  • The people who work at the gift shops have to have the most boring jobs ever.  I was about ten seconds away from poking this woman yesterday just to see if she was still alive.  I also saw a pretty sweet dinosaur key chain and I wanted to know how much it was.  Yes, of course it was T-Rex.  I’m not some kind of idiot.

That about sums it up.

As you can see, I can be quite the entertaining museum guest, providing you with useful information and exclusive insights.  In fact, I may have just found a new career path.

I wonder if Leslie Carter is job hunting too.


(New links are up on the Okay Playa! page, so please go check them out and read some great bloggers.)


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not right

Because I like to punish myself, I was watching the new season of Project Runway last night.  I was barely paying attention when a new contestant introduced himself as “Suede.”


Like the leather.

No last name.  No “Suede Smith.”  Just fucking Suede.

I cannot tolerate people who go by just one name.  Of course Prince had to take it one step farther and name himself a fucking symbol, but let’s not even get me started on how much I think Prince is overrated and how I can’t fucking stand him and how one of his friends should have punched him in the neck for thinking it was okay to call himself a damn symbol.

If I’m ever lucky enough to have a healthy kid and he/she grows up and becomes famous or whatever and decides to change his/her name to just one odd name – I am not going to be a Proud Papa.

I can see him ready to discuss it, and me not exactly agreeing with the decision.

My Once Awesome Creation: [With confidence] “Dad. I’ve decided since my solo career is really taking off, I’m going to just call myself Tunes.  So from now on, just refer to me that way, okay?”

Me: [Looking up from my beer which is upset with me for leaving it] “What?  No. Your name is Jason.  Shut up.”

My Once Awesome Creation: [Confused and frustrated now] “But Dad – I’m 25 years old – I can do whatever I want!  I am going by Tunes!”

Me: “Oh you can do whatever you want alright.  You can go ahead with your plan of having everyone think you’re a fucking idiot or you can just go by your real name.  I’m sure everyone will love you Tunes.  They won’t think you’re a fucking moron at all.”

My Once Awesome Creation: [Storming off] “You just don’t understand my art!”

Me: [To myself] “You’re right, but I do understand my beer, because it never acts like a fuck-up.”

There’s no reason for the one word name.  None.

You either have talent or you don’t.  No gimmicks and one name crap is going to change that.

If my kid tries to pull this stunt on me, you better believe he will be disowned faster than he can say, “But Dad I love you!”

You love me?

No you don’t son.

No you don’t.


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hold that thought

I had a really weird dream last night.

But you don’t want to hear about it, do you?


Of course you don’t.

Because hearing or reading about someone else’s dreams is absolute torture.

When people begin their sentences with “I had this crazy dream last night…”  I immediately check out of the conversation.  I don’t fucking care that you “dreamed that my friend was a lizard and he couldn’t recognize me, which is weird because we’re so close.”

And no, I don’t have a clue what it means.  Maybe it just meant that you were going to annoy the fuck out of some unlucky soul the next day by telling them about it.

Dreams are personal things.

No one can quite grasp how odd it is to dream about your Uncle Jeff weaving a blanket while watching Mama’s Family other than you.

For all I know Jeff might be quite the fucking blanket maker.  If he is, tell him to mail me one.  But it better not be all scratchy.  Blankets are supposed to be soft, goddammit.

The worst part about having someone tell you about their dream is when they forget some parts of it, and try and remember them because it is just so imperative to the dream.

When you hear someone stall about the dream, you immediately think you’re in the clear.  You try and start a new conversation: “Okay, now we can start talking about interesting stuff.  I feel uncomfortable saying it, but sometimes I tear up when I listen to ‘Not Ready To Make Nice‘ by the Dixie Chicks.”

But just when you get this new conversation starter out of your mouth, the person resumes the dream, because they somehow think that you can’t possibly go on with your day without knowing what happens at the end.

I just don’t understand why people think it’s okay to tell others about their dreams.

It’s not.

Unless it involves Eva Mendes, Beyonce and Gabrielle Union engaging in Something Inappropriate.

Then please, I’m all ears.


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sometimes i get angry

Okay, I’ve had enough.

This has been building inside me for quite some time, and I can’t take it anymore.

I fucking hate those LOL cats things. I can’t fucking stand them.

It was funny the first three or four times I saw one, I’ll admit it, but not anymore.

It’s a picture of an animal, in a funny situation, with text that reads like it was written by a nine year-old.

I get it – animals can be funny. Can’t we just leave it at that? Why is the world obsessed with something so goddamn dumb?

Yeah, I see you’re fucking cat is sitting in a box. My gosh – that’s just soooo crazy! Silly cat! He’s not supposed to be in a box!

And what’s this? A squirrel is peering through a hole in a fence??? Now that is just absurd! You should take a picture of it and write something really fucking stupid on it!


Seriously, is this what the world has come to? These things are so popular that it really worries me. Forget why we invaded Iraq, we need to figure out what happened to our societies sense of humor – because it is dying.

“I can has cheezburger.”

Get the fuck out of here with that stupid fucking shit.

Please, I’m begging you, stop the madness. Get a hold of yourself the next time you feel tempted to post one of these pictures.

Think of your friends, think of your families – they don’t think that it’s funny – they’re just being nice to you.

But I don’t have to be nice to you, so I’m telling you the truth – LOL Cats is not fucking funny and it needs to stop.

You want to talk about Weapons of Mass Destruction? Well, I think I found them.

(hat tip to Isabelle, thanks for inciting my rage)


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i’m a baby

You know how I make fun of people and enjoy judging them without any knowledge of their current situation?

Well, it appears that karma has reared its ugly, Buddhist (is karma even a Buddhist thing? I just associate Cool Things with Buddhism – like the Beastie Boys freeing Tibet and that whole deal) head on me today.

I’m sick.

I’m home sick and I feel like shit. Please leave all comments wishing me well below.

Now you’re thinking, “Why are you up at 9:50 and writing when you’re sick?” Well, that’s because I’m 78 and I wake up at the crack of dawn no matter what happens to me.

Remember when you were a kid, and you’d hear your parents up at about 8:00 AM every Saturday, and you’d think, “Fuck that, I’ll never be that lame.”

I’m that lame.

If I’m out until 4:58, drinking my ass off, yelling at people who want to knock me out for making fun of their shoes, I’ll still wake up by nine the next day.

Never fails.

So that’s why, even though I feel like someone punched me in the neck and then filled my nose with Fix-A-Flat, I’m awake and writing.

On the plus side, because I’m home, I’ll probably post more than once today and be able to leave even more insightful comments on your blogs!

Oh, how exciting!

I’m going to blow my nose.

I hate life.


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Well we’ve got our first real snow fall today. It’s been coming down pretty steadily since I got up at six. It’s coating this city with a pristine white coating, hiding all the dirtiness and momentarily quieting the rumble of the streets.

And I hate it.

I hate snow. I’m not twelve anymore. I don’t get to go sled-riding at the park. I don’t get to stay home from school, watch Duck Tales and drink hot chocolate.


I am, despite my girlfriends claims, an adult. I have to go to work in dress clothes, only to have them soaked by the nasty slush of the streets. And did I mention this? I wore a wool trench coat to the office today, which basically attracted the snow to me so that when I stepped into the office, I looked like the abominable snowman – if he wore nice dress shoes. I also have to shovel our stoop and the sidewalk when I get home from work.

Snow is not fun for me.

It does not make me laugh. It does not make me ponder the wonders of mother nature.

In fact, it seems like this is mother natures way of sticking it to me. She remembers all those times that I forgot to recycle. She remembers how when I used to smoke I’d just flick my butts wherever, never caring about the litter I was creating.

She knows that I’m an adult and I can’t do anything remotely fun when it snows, especially here in New York. So basically, every single snowflake is a tiny little “fuck you” hand delivered to me by her.

What a bitch.


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well, it’s another blog. I have a sports related one that I’ve had for a little over a year now, but I wanted something where I could just hash out the crap that isn’t related to sports, yet somehow relevant to me. And maybe (hopefully) some of you. I’m not good with computers or anything, so don’t come here expecting any fancy things. I just like to write, and I usually have some things going in my head that I need to get out – so here you go.

I chose the picture for the blog because this is my stop on the c. Brilliant and creative right? Also, my picture/username is Apollo Creed, because I like Rocky and I thought it’d be fun to name it appollocreed. Then, after I made it that, I find out you can’t change the name. Which I was going to once I figured some witty thing to put in there, but since you can’t change it – there you go again.

Let’s see. Oh, I live with my girlfriend of about 4 years, and we just got a puppy named Jack. We got him from a shelter on LI, and he’s 5 months old. He’s a bit of a bitch, so you’ll be hearing about him I’m sure.

Also, I’m a cynic and I tend to make fun of lots of things. I have been called a “grumpy old man” more than once. So I might make some of you mad when I rant about something that I hate. Please take it all in stride, as my gf says, I am a lot like Larry David – you just have to get to know the real me.

But really, the real me isn’t that nice, so it is what it is. Anyway, first post done, and work is winding down (finally) so I hope to get the normal stuff rolling tomorrow.

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