blog entry

-I went to Soho last night. The show sucked, but some non-show events were incredible. I read Chris Barylick's blog earlier in the day. This is the important part:

And now, the hair cut story:
I went home for the holidays as usual and hadn't had time to get a haircut. Long story short, it was looking a little shaggy. Not that this was the end of the world, but it could have arguably stood a trim. For the past decade or so, my dad's offered to cut my hair for free and I've never taken him up on this. Finally giving in out of curiosity and a desire to save $20, I caved in.

Sitting down topless in a kitchen chair with a towel over my shoulders, I let him take over.

When he came down, all he could find was a standard pair of paper scissors (not safety scissors, just the kind of scissors you find in a store and say "Hey, they're $3.29 and I need a pair of scissors") and a half-dull razor. What began next was him kind of trying to remember how to do this in sections (a person I once dated became a stylist down in Atlanta and explained this to me - some people really get into their education at the Revlon Institute and she was one of them), all the while avoiding the tight corners around the ears.

The razor was something else and this was essentially having strands of hair yanked out of your head. It's hard to say if anything improved by the end of it, but I'm going to offer the next SuperCuts employee I see their own pony and a handful of rubies. They deserve it.

And, for the record, Aloysius Snuffleupagus continues to rock with an intensity that perhaps trumps even Whitesnake at their peak.

That's a funny story. With a visual, that's a hilarious story. Here's a visual.

Just look at all that body. And oh what a mind too. Sorry ladies, but Chris “The Body” Barylick is taken.

-During Jay Hastings' set, he ended up talking to an 85-year-old man in the crowd. The old guy said that he cut a hole in his pants pockets so he can play “pocket pool.” I just found out that everyone but me knew that people did this, not only the act, but also calling it “pocket pool.” Anyway, we've established that this old guy is creepy.

During Sampson's set, he talked about some pretty nasty stuff that I would quote here, but I don't want the FBI tailing me. The old guy wasn't fazed by it though. Then Sampson said he went fishing in Miami and caught a Spanish guy. The old guy was walking toward the door during the joke. As soon as Sampson said “Spanish guy,” the old man stopped and turned slowly in a “so, you're the guy who's been shitting on my doorstep” kind of way, and said, with all the spite in the universe, “Why would you say that?” Then he stormed outside to smoke and put his hand in his pocket.

-In New Jersey, I saw two black guys riding in a replica of The General Lee, the car from The Dukes of Hazzard. You're not going to see that twice in a lifetime.

-I saw a couple minutes of an MTV show called The Hills. Apparently it's a Laguna Beach spin-off. And I'm told it's a reality show. I don't understand how they could be real people. They were idiots. They're underage and they went to a bar. One of the girls said, “This place has the best virgin margaritas.” A virgin margarita is just sour mix. What she's really saying is, “I love sour mix.” Then a girl showed up, and they didn't like her. So, one of them said, “She's got huge balls showing up here.” The other girl confirmed, “Yeah, huge, huge balls.” Most likely, the girl didn't have balls at all, but had a hankering for a little sour mix.

-Don't go to the McDonald's next to Grand Central Station after 11pm. If you do, they will not let you sit down. I don't know why, but they won't. The chairs are blocked off. You have to stand by the trashcans to eat. Don't do it. Seriously, don't.

-I'm sure you all know about my competitive eating team by now, The LTF Heritage Union. Not only can we eat massive amounts of food in an hour or less, but our name marks the first instance in American history that a group has had “heritage” and “union” in their name, while not being a hate group. We have a new member who can eat a pound of sugar in an hour. I think it may end up killing him. I'm serious. I see this leading to nothing but death.

A couple months ago, my friends Jim Luoma and John Lundy and I were at the Parsippany, NJ, Outback shutting it down at 11pm on a Monday night. They close at the start of the fourth quarter of Monday Night Football. Outback uses old cans of Fosters to hold up menus on their bars. These cans are many years old. So, I said, “John, I'll give you $20 if you can finish a can. 4 to 1 odds.” I said this with confidence, because my friend, Ryan, had already taken this bet and threw up after two sips. Then Jim said he'd put $20 on it too. John accepted the bet. He opened the can, and instantly the entire restaurant smelled like dog food, mixed with moonshine and piss. He tried to chug it, and got through about one fourth of the can. Then he moaned for about 20 minutes and tried it again. After 2 hours, and the payoff being upped to $50, plus his dinner and drinks, he finished the can, and was clearly very sick.

I was at his apartment a few days ago and saw some strange looking pills in his kitchen. I asked what they were. When he drank the beer, it killed all of the bacteria in his stomach, including the bacteria that you have to have in your stomach in order for it to carry out all of its stomach-related duties. So, now he has to take pills to put bacteria back in his stomach.

The End.