Monday, October 30, 2006

To Ra-cha-cha to Cheer Up Scooter

Actually I would never expect words in that order. Sending Scooter to Rochester New York has always been a bit of a punishment, even when meant as a reward. But this week-end, Eddie took me to Ra-cha-cha to change my perspective a little. We went to visit Jocelyn and Les. Joc and I used to work at Xerox. Not really together, I was the Launch Manager and she was the Canadian Marketing Manager, but we worked together on Projects a lot.

She and Les (her husband) moved from Toronto to Rochester a while back (like 5 years maybe) and we still see her when she comes out to LA on trips. Well, this time we went up to see them. We also brought Trevor to visit their 2 big ol' Golden Labs. The pictures are mainly of the dogs, because 4 people sitting around and just talking for hours, while really refreshing and nice, makes for poor photos.

Above is Scott and Trevor, Jocylen, Les and Evan is in the front (Charlie looks just like Evan, but he is way in the background).

And here is the happiest, muddiest dog in town. Trevor had a ball!

Friday, October 27, 2006

I am tired of being outraged..

So I am tired of being outraged at Politics. Reallllllyyyyyyyyyyyyy.

So lets make fun of something else. How about a fabulously horrible show on CBS. Eddie can't stand to watch it, but I love it. I love it in that whole car-wreck kind of way. I mean, who green lite this? (green lighted?)

So here is the "premise". This really nice guy is proposing to his girlfriend. Well, they meet in 3rd grade, so to propose he invites over his old 3rd grade class - who has never kept in touch. Because, of course, in New York or LA you still have all of your old 3rd grade class members phones numbers. And, should you get a call like this, you decide to go. Of course.

There are 8 of them, which seems to be too much to remember and write for, but there is good news here. First, they pair them all up (ta-da) and Second the writers seem to forget about 75% of them in any episode.

So the hilarity starts with the boy and girl underlined in Red. He goes to the reunion because, well he was only going to kill himself anyway - and what is a few hours later. Here he falls for the dizzy girl (underlined in red) and they go to dinner.

Here is where it gets "better", it is a great dinner at the diner andafterwards they talk on the phone in the car. Which so distracts him he runs over her and puts her in a wheelchair. This is all on day 1. (Apparently "meeting cute" is big in the writer's room.) The writers set this up for a while, by the way he is really really really smart, worked at a internet firm and made millions, but then was a wistle blower and lost it all. Now he drives toxic waste to New Jersey. Ha Ha.

But the laughs get better. Wait for it. He and the wheelchair girl end up falling in love an dating. Only problem - he is already married. And he is married to Darlene from Rosanne, who someone failed to tell this was a comedy - because she is smokin' bitter. Every time Darlene steps on the set the comedic feel (already thin) is broken and we are really watching a tired whipped suicidal man trying desparetely to connect to a half-girl / half-woman he has incapacitated and to whom he lies to about being married. Mirth abounds.

Now let's move on to the characters with the purple lines over their head. They were elementary and high school sweet hearts. Not clear what happened yet, but they grew apart. He is now a stupid lunk head contractor hunk who lives in his mother's basement. She is "trapped" in a loveless marriage with a famous ex-football star. They spend the night after the 3rd grade reunion in bed (until his mother wakes them up with a rousing "Dear! how nice to see you again." which the laugh track finds uproarious).

At the beginning her husband, the football player, threatened her, but apparently that didn't play well, so now he is just a really nice guy. A nice guy who's wife is cheating on him. And the football player hires the contractor, at his wife's suggestion and complaint, to redo their house. Because the guy who lives in his mom's basement is a contractor. (Of course, if you can't make money in the last few years as a contractor, you should look for a new line of work.)

The hunk from 3rd grade, by the way, has a little hero-man-crush on football player (although not in the same way he likes the football players wife) and they are now friends. Not great friends, seeing how he is sleeping with the guy's wife, but friends. In order to tie this couple to the to the 2 people in the first paragraph. He hires Mr. Unhappily-Married-Toxic-Waste-Driver to help drywall (in the verb sense, not the noun sense) his mistress' husband's house.

Nailgun hilarity insues.

Now to the bright green side bars. This is Mr and Miss Perfect. Mr and Miss P went to the Prom together, but she found him that night in bed with another guy. At the Prom. By the way, at my prom they didn't keep beds and other guys - but it sounds like a PAR-tee to me. Well, she is still bitter, and he is still guilty. So, boviously, they become friends.

Meanwhile - she hasn't been asleep since Prom night. No, she has married a gigantic queen of a boy (who named their daughter Oprah - because he is a fan). He has married a Latin gorgeous hunk of a guy. The running joke is that Miss Pretty (now Mrs. Queenie) can't understand the Latin's accent (which is of the "Corintheian Leather" variety) and her husband (Mr. Queenie) can't keep his eyes off the hunk. Mr Married-Queen, by the by, has yet to appear in a scene without a pink swater tied around his shoulders. At first I thought this was a bad gay joke, now I think the writer's are just trying to keep track of everyone.

The Mr. Gay ex-Prom date is reduced here to pacifing the Latin hunk and trying desperately to hope now one remembers him in this show. Day to day they are tied to the other members of the show - not so much. Really, they might as well be on their on show, "Gay Father Knows Best and Here Come the Brides".

Now the other two in the picture. I feel sorry for them. I think the nerd in the middle was suppose to be the star and the anchor of the friendships.

And, I think they meant "anchor" like Monica's apartment on friends. Not "ancor" like piece of lifeless metal dropped into the ocean, which is what he is.

The other girl is a punk crazy girl. Twin sister of the scared of life wheelchair girl. And, unlike Hally Mills or even Patty Duke, these two were not raised apart. No they are twins that don't look alike or talk alike or dress alike or even appear to be near the same ages - but they are twins because otherwise they couldn't have been in 3rd grade together. They just have nothing in common. so I think the nerd and the punk were suppose to be together, but they have no chemistry.

Imagine that. The nerd and the punk have less chemistry than a married audultorer that drives toxic waster and the girl he ran over.

To quote Kelly Clarkson (from both her albums) it is "Such a Beautiful Disaster."

Thursday, October 26, 2006

It never looks like this...

Pashminas. I am familiar with the word only from Friends (Reese Witherspoon (Ratchel's spoiled little sister) buys one, and Ross pretends it is his to keep Ratchel from taking it). (Which, by the way, probably says I watch too much Friends, but damnit I like Friends - and there certianly isn't anything waiting to steal the title of Scott's Favorite Show on the horizon. Actually there might be, but I have to see if it will be cancelled in season 1 before I committ. I have been hurt too many times before. But I digress).

Anyhow... This is what I expected a Pashmina to look like. A beautiful, handcrafted wrap for wearing to the Opera, or San Tropez or the casino in a James Bond movie.


A "Pashmina" may be defined as this; a small, ugly bedspread that women in New York wrap around themselves to keep warm. Our grandmothers wore these to the store in the winter and we were embarassed they carried their handnitted Afgan with them. (Afgan and Pashmina both sound exotic untilyou see them covering some cranky old lady pushing her ass in front of you.)

Just because you call it a "Pashmina" doesn't make your old chair-cover a San Tropez stylish wrap.

Pashmina.... phffffffffffttttttt.

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

General Peter Pace

Just as I was about to bitch about work, life in an apartment and my horrible bosses, I have CNN on. And General Peter Pace just had a news conference.

He explained why the people no longer support the Iraq war. Apparently it is because there is no longer 24/7 Iraq reporting. So we don't hear about little girls going school (FYI - General, they went to school under Sadam - you are thinking of Afganistan) or power coming on (FYI- they are no up to 2+ hours a day).

So, it's not their fault. You are stupid and have no attention span.

Sunday, October 22, 2006

I did not wish for that

So I will not be blamed. There is that whole "be careful what you wish for" thang.

I will not be called for this. UCLA playd Notre Dame tough on TV. UCLA did not embarass themselves and our definese was good. Our team played them close. I could see how people could say, "Oh, you must have wished them did this."


My iwsh was to win, or lose badly. What I didn't want (and what happened) is that they get my hopes up only to have them dashed in the final 30 seconds. I was not amused.

FYI. They did look good. Good for them.

The bastards.

Thursday, October 19, 2006


Right now the week-end looks really good weather wise. If it holds, I am making Eddie take a Ferry ride up the Hudson to look at the colors of the leaves. This is for all of you yackers who keep telling me "I miss the Fall." "You don't know what you are missing." "There are no seasons in LA" "It's beautiful."

I am waiting to be impressed.

Because so far, "Football Weather" sucks out here. "Football Weather" is not seatshirts, and viewable exhales. See.. that is "Cold Weather". "Football Weather" is scorching hot with shirtless boys and girls with fake books in halter tops.

THAT'S "Football Weather"

Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Our Hoboken Purchase

Here is the eally cool art we bought (and the artist). Carlos came by to bring it here and hang it. It is concrete and steel, so kind of heavy :-).

I Hate Politics

I do. It makes me crazy. I refuse to partake today.

And Mark Foley is scum. I refuse to take part in his "I was abused by a priest" scam. 1) Why did you tell anyone before this so that - I don't know HE WOULDN'T ABUSE OTHERS! 2) Why now... oh yea.. you are under scrutiny now. But now, he thinks this is part of "the healing process". Asshole.

So instead, I share the cover of the latest Rugby Calendar from France. Forwarded to me by Gary... an old (straight) friend from Xerox. (And the young man is question is fully over 21 and a professional Rugby Player.) Lord love the Brits....

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

My friend Katherine

So, my friend Katherine had horrible news. I wrote about her, her husband and young daughter visiting us in the desert a few years ago (she was my friend from an internet company who is an amazing woman). Her husband died and it hit me and Eddie a lot harder than we expected. Here's is Eddie's note and the lesson he learned...


ok, i can't get it out of my brain. Taylor died.

You see, i didn't know Taylor all that well, but in fact i did. Katherine loved Taylor. As the story goes, she met him in college and at some point turned to her friends (in a bar, I'm assuming) and told them she was going to marry him. She did. They have a beautiful daughter who is now ten. Taylor was bodysurfing and an unimaginable accident happened.

Scooter and Katherine worked together for years. He loves her. Her put up with her pumping breast milk for heaven sake. She and Scott are a lot alike. Funny, stubborn, convinced that "their way is the only conceivable way", and they both have an amazing ability to cope. I'm not sure I could. She is incredible.

I am writing this partly because it brings a flood of memories of those I've loved and lost. Me being selfish here... Chris, Megan, Lauren: still hurt on occasion. Ashford and Hasting: still hurt regularly. Time passes, it still can hurt. You decide who and why, but it still hurts.

Here is why I'm really writing. Hug the people you love and tell them you love them. It is that simple. The world spins fast....appreciate what you've got.

Katherine and Butter-Bean...we love you.


Monday, October 16, 2006

ART Walk in Hoboken

So yesterday Eddie and I ventured across the river (by Ferry) to Hoboken. It was the x-ity x Hoboken Art Walk. Apparently a lot of Artists live in Hoboken for the cheap rents and good spaces. This is what the ad said.

The ad lied. Apparently a lot of Artists live in Hoboken because they are so horrible they can't afford to live anywhere else. And these weren't bad Artists as in "I just don't understand how human urine pour'ed over a water color of Bible" bad, but more like "I have been doing the paint by numbers for 4 years now and I am so close to staying in the lines this time" bad.

We started at City Hall where a number of the Artists' children had set up spaces. No wait, these were actually the "Artists". Strike 1.

Und zo... we headed out in Hoboken, which is a really cute little gentrified 4 story brick village. It was nice. We ended up trying 2 galleries. The first was the "lonely man" photographer - you know. He travels alone, smokes - eats too much and takes artistic picture of London man-hole covers, close up's of rusty padlocks, a medium distance picture of a lonely sunset with part of the London Ferris wheel in the distance, but all un-populated. I hate these pictures - as a genre, although some were nice. Ed hated the fact that the temporary "space" was a holistic Chinese Tai Chi studio complete with the plink plunk 3-chord music that has you waiting for he owl screech. Strike 2

As you can imagine, we started to head back, but there was one more lonely sign and set of balloons up the road, so we went. Around the back of an old factory and into the upper reaches where an Argentinean guy worked absolute magic with steel and concrete. I mean this stuff was great. Not just for Hoboken, but great period. It was beautiful.

So we bought this really cool thing which will be delivered on Wednesday and I will post pictures. And then after 2 horrible restaurant strike-outs (1 hour wait to sit in Strike 1 and half an hour sitting in one with no waitress)), we went to a little Mexican restaurant which was about the closest food to heaven I have had here. A taquito, really honest guacamole, chicken enchilada and steak burrito. Heaven, I was in Heaven.

So close to missing it all after Strike 2.

Saturday, October 14, 2006

Home Sweet Home

So Eddie and I went to dinner with a couple from my work tonight. It was very nice. I had a good time and a good dinner. The haven't been in New York very long either. They have been here since about May from Hungary (her last posting).

It was a nice Italian diner.

It is fun in New York that we actually go out with new people and do different things. Last night Eddie took me on a date to a GREAT South American restuarant (where I drank too many Pisco Sours and got a hang-over).

Then today Wisconsin won and Eddie was happy.

UCLA did not win and I was not happy about that but I am moving on.

Friday, October 13, 2006

Ahhh.. so this is what people were worried about...

So everyone was worried I would have problems in New York. And to date I have had to giggle. I have been doing very well. I love the city. I love the food. Eddie and I are having a really good time and we are becoming closer.

I had to wonder why everyone was worried me here.

Ahh... today the answer becomes clear. I got up and it was a bright sunny day, and I walked the pup-ster for his morning walk. Trevor and I stepped outside and were smacked with some very very very cold air. You see, sunny should not mean cold! That is just wrong. Trevor, by the way, totally agrees with me on this.

I got back home and looked at the bathroom thermomiter (granted - should have started there). It was 40. Four Zero. And no one warned me. In LA it (rarey but sometimes) gets that low, but it takes weeks of really cold 49, then 48 then 45 degree nights. And they put some poor hispanic girl outside basically to say "Burr!!!!! It's cold. Put your dogs inside!!!!"

I watched the news here. And there are the cute little hispanic girls. No one said burr! No one said put your puppy inside. More to the point, no one said "Scott, you are going to freeze your ass off tomorrow morning. don't put on shorts and a sweatshirt. Bundle up dummy!"

I'll be better now.

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Just FYI - We are fine

I got a couple of calls. Eddie and I are both fine and far away from the crash.

Okay, I know this is a little weird but...

Okay, let's review. Scott was born, raised and lived most of his life in LA. Right? So there are things I was used to.

When I took geography in high school was the first time I learned that it rains in the summer in most of the country (LA has a relatively rare weather pattern shared with Perth Australia, Santiago Chile, Capetown South Africa and the Mediterrian). If you grow up that way you assume every place is like that.

Then you get older and you realize that places are very different. And the little things are no longer strange. But... every now and then something really hits you.

Which brings me to fake knockers. In LA there is a plethora of fake knockers. Even the paper talks about how now girls get them as high school graduation presents. I did not realize how geogrraphically limited this really is. New York is NOT full of fake breasts. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of large breasted women here, but they are generally big. The skinny little thangs in New York have no boobs.

And the big ones here are real and jiggle. And!!!! And!!! You are not suppose to stare.

In LA, you'e encouraged to admire the handiwork. It's disconcerting. I got used to the crowds, the subways, the humidity, but this is almost too much to get my brain around.

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Are you kidding me!

Here is the headline: Runaway Bride Sueing ex-Fiance for $500,000.

Well, at first one wants to laugh or cry, but it gets better. She wants 1/2 the house he bought with the rights to his story (without her lying, filing a flase police report and causing the world to look for mexican drugged kidnapper - there wouldn't be a story). That is $250,000.

I can almost say okay to this. My guess is that they were together and after she dumped him ... again but this time without a news camare following her.. she wants half the house.

The other $250,000. She said he abused her power of attourney, apparently by using it when she was kidnapped to get her back.

\pejortive word struck for the kiddies at home/

Argh!!! Ties!!!

I know that in this world, there are many more critical things than the Victorian Tourture Device known as a tie. I know Kim Jong Wacko blew up some radioactive whizgit. I know that George W. Bush, my preszident, is a lying sack of dog poop who would water board me for saying that if it gets back to him.

But for a moment let's talk about ME! I HATE TIES! I have to wear one to work EVERYDAY! Yes, I am suppose to wear them on Fridays too!

Damn Don Ameche. He was the last person who could pull off an ascot.

Well, I have to go back to work before I choke to death.

Monday, October 09, 2006

Trevor Goes to the Dog Park

There is a cool little Hell's Kitchen Dog Park. It's in the middle of the on and off ramps for the Lincoln Tunnel. So it is long and narrow, kind of loud, but lods of room to run.

And, well the people there are kind of "Birkenstock-y", but the dogs. Trevor LOVES playing with the other dogs. He runs and plays and runs and plays and then spends the rest of the day exhausted. This is nice for the day.

Friday, October 06, 2006

I see bad parallels...

On again I see problems ahead in Survivor. It's early to get rid of the cutest boys. Yesterday JP was voted out (he with the red X above him).

And what was the strike against the professional beach volleyball player, some girl said she wanted to be voted off and he agreed with her. True he did lay around camp a lot - but he's pretty. I want something to look at if I am working.

PS, there is also the cute girl who lays around for something hubba to look at, Parvati.

This has happened before when the cuties are voted off early. Survivor nearly lost me one season of ugh-o's. I think it prejudice against the hispanics. (JP was born in Manhattan Beach but apparently his grandparents were from Mexico). Or pretty hispanics. Or something.

But it is okay JP, you still have volleyball.


God and George Bush

George Bush says that God takes to him on what route to take in world events.

The Glazed Donut Man at the end of the street listens to God through a boombox shell with no internal parts. God tells the Glazed Donut Man what Donut Store to visit next.

How does the removal of the boombox make Geoge W Bush any more sane?

"hehh hehh hehh"

Thursday, October 05, 2006

Thank Goodness for Wanda Sykes

Wanda, Wanda, Wanda.... Thank you for being the voice of reason and giving me something to smile about today. She was on late night TV and asked the pertient question. What exactly does alcohol have to do with emailing 16 year old boys?

As she says, Foley Is Giving Alcohol A Bad Name .

I have to delete the last 2 entries

Life is too short to get that worked up. I deleted 2 entries because I will be happier if I don't let the assholes get to me. That's what I say.

Instead I am going to post a happy picture of Andreas Thorkildsen. Just for me.

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

What Does Crazy Leader Need 2 do In Order to get a Little G-Damn Respect Around Here?

Pity poor Kim Jong Il. Rarely has a crazy ruthless bastard tried so hard to get the world’s attention to so little effect. In a rare scoop, Nincompoopery takes you inside the secret mountain hideaway to listen to a rant.

“Iraq, Iraq, Iraq! Nobody give shit about Iraq! Axis of Evil my ass. Iraq was the evil-LITE. The Diet Green Tea Snapple of Evil.
And now some congressman and 16 year old boy. That’s nothing! Nothing! Does no one remember I kidnapped Japanese all the time. Boys, girls, actresses, directors! I’ gonna steal me a page next. Then maybe Kim Jong Il get front page coverage.

And now bad dressing Iranian steals headlines. Iran is Years away from making bomb. YEARS. I know, I sold him defective missiles. But suddenly he’s all, ‘Oh, I going to blow Isreal off the map. Look at me. Look at me. I’m CRA-ZY. I wear a tan jacket all the time. Bogga bogga.’

What about Kim Jong Il? I been crazy so much longer than mister bad beard. My outfit is much crazier. You think I like wearing Dr. Evil’s rejected outfits? No, but it is part of Crazy 101.

Fine. I am going to my secret liare and I’m going test my bomb.”

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

Prince Borghese

ABC's The Bachelor has competing (but not conflicting) bios.

Per ABC:

Prince Lorenzo Borghese, a handsome 34-year-old cosmetics entrepreneur, is an American citizen who has resided in Manhattan since 1997. He was born in Milan,
lived in Rome and outside Paris, and moved to Connecticut when he was five years old. Proud of his genealogy, his storied paternal ancestors include Pope Paul V (Camillo Borghese) and Cardinal Scipione Borghese, both of whom had an enormous influence on Italian art and beautifying Rome in the 1600s, and who helped finish St. Peter's Basilica.

Per Radar:

Then there's the question of where the 34-year-old Borghese is really from. Though ABC's website claims he was born in Milan and raised in Connecticut, his parents, Princess Amanda Borghese and Prince Francesco Borghese, have lived in the tony New Jersey suburb of Short Hills since 1979, and his permanent addresses from before 2001 all list him as a resident of the Garden State. You can take the Prince out of Jersey, but you can't take the Jersey out of the prince.

The title, at least, is legit—though it doesn't translate into a castle and throne (Throw a cannolli in the Piazza San Marco and you'll hit someone with a "royal" bloodline.) Although titles haven't even been recognized in Italy since 1947, Lorenzo is certainly milking his for all it's worth. When he decided to get into the family business of cosmetics, it was with a line of doggie grooming products, including the Stinky-B-Gone odor fighting kit, the Pumpkin Patch spritz, and the After Bath Pet Robe. Its name: Royal Treatment Pet Care.

Follow up: ABC has changed it's web site and added a last paragraph.

Cultural Differences (Non-Rant)

So I work in the International Big Wig Offices (luck of a temporary assignment to be on a cool floor - bad luck to have to wear a tie). One of the interesting things is to see the cultural differences play out.

For instance. Right now a very young, very pretty, very latin woman is up from somewhere south of the border. She wears a pin striped pants suit (very business) with stiletto heels (not so business) and - I think - a scarf with no blouse (very - not so business). Apparently this is acceptable in Venezuela or Ecuador or someplace hot and steamy.

I am getting coffee, and she bounces out of her cubicle and runs into me. Popping her boob back into her jacket, she give me a funny kind of "whoops" smile, and hurries on.

On her hurried way (to a meeting?) she slows down (not stopping, just slowing her stiletto'ed march) to give orders to one of the secretaries here. Not "request", give orders. And she just assumes the secretary will do it. She doesn't even wait for an answer.

Probably just as good as the secretary exhales at her back and cocks her head. She turns back to her monitor and sees me. I smile nervously and joke, "Get right on that." To which she responds, "Oh, you know I will. \/pause\/ Just as soon as I have a free minute." She then leans back in her chair and returns to reading <>.

Can't we just cut off his nuts?

You know, Mark Foley, can't we just cut off his nuts and drop it? Everytime there is more I just get more and more angry. I have a thing where I don't think you screw with kids. Now I know that 16 is not actually a kid. But when the flirter is a 52 year old congressman and you are a page - well you aren't in the position of power are you?

When I first heard this, I was annoyed.
Then Iheard more, and was more annoyed.

Then I read some IM messages on ABC News (I know, I won't do that anymore). But I did and I had an odd reaction. If they were two friends flirting - it wouldn't be horrible. It would be kind of cute maybe. But it is a 52 year old perv and a 16 year old page - and it is kind of horrible, disgusting and crude.

And the fact that the House of Representatives leadership ignored it to save the seat is disgusting. And it probably is no different if it was democrats - I am not blaming republicans here. I am blaming a system where power is so important that sacrificing a few kids is not a big deal.

I could never do that. And I know most of you who read this (the lucky thing about a private-ish blog) and I know you wouldn't do it either. Not just that we would take advanatage of a position like this, but if we knew someone who was doing it - we would try to fix it.


Monday, October 02, 2006

Anchor as Sad heartthrob

Look at this header..

Doesn't Anderson Cooper have the sad, dreamy eyes. Don't you just want to solve Africa's misery, you know, or give poor Anderson a hug?

How can Gloria Vanderbuilt's grey-haired son be so sad and dreamy? All at the same time. Ron says he's short - but I just chalk that up to jealousy.

Don't be sad Anderson. It'll turn out okay.

Admission: My Dog Loves Carbs

There is something a little freaky about Trevor. Everywhere you take him in New York he is showered with treats. Now, this is not an exclusive thang. People take their dogs everywhere in New York and so shopkeepers have learned a little treat in their mouths tends to open our wallets. So far, no surprise.

But Trevor, the Trev-miister, Trev-e-atta, doesn't like treats. He takes them, very politly. And then spits them right back out. At home he won't steal your food from the table (although he will slink to the table quietly and steal your paper napkin so as to shred it to bits).

At home he will get a liva-snap and suck on it, spitit out, hide it, suck on it some more and finally - when it is a lifeless, tasteless white charcoal lump - spit it out for us to throw away.

He eats, mind you, just not treats. He eats his expensive ass dog food and is done.

EXCEPT where we live now. We are at the cross roads of Times Square (drinking for tourists) and Hell's Kitchen (drinking for hipsters). After they drink, they get a slice of pizza or a bagel before heading home. Then they leave the crust or half the bagel on the street. On the street where people step on it, grind it into the ground and the homeless people shun it. This, for Big Trev, is the real taste of New York. He will pull and pull to try and get the tender piece of crap from next to the trash can (where the trashed Bridge and Tunnel Boy missed) so as to eat it's tender goodness on our walk. Strangers stare and point at Ed and I like we never feed the poor thing.

Then he comes home, splashes water out of the toilet goes back to bed and burps at us before settling in at the foot of the bed while we get ready for work.

Now who's the dummy.