Monday, January 31, 2011
As a book lover and writer, I can rest easy today.
For insurgent library agitator Joy Cassidy (above) has been arrested.
It seems Joy, a feisty 76-year-old book drop bandit had a beef with the librarians at a Community Library in Boise, Idaho.
Maybe they didn't maintain the Dewey Decimal system to her standards. Maybe their fines were too steep. Maybe they didn't carry enough mystery novels featuring sleuthing felines as the protagonist.
But for whatever reason, this biblio-thug was fightin' mad. And she fought The Man with condiments.
Since 2009 this radical AARP malcontent has been assaulting the book drop with ketchup, maple syrup and other delicious items you probably have in your kitchen right now. (Or not, if you live in Manhattan, where you probably need the room to store your shoes.) The point is, Joy was a repeat offender. On multiple occasions she poured that shit right down into the book drop and fled the scene.
(I can't verify this, but I'd like to think she cackled as she tore out of the library parking lot.)
According to the Associated Press, "In an attempt to nab the serial condiment criminal, the library installed a surveillance system. But the real break in the case came last summer when Boise police staked out the crime scene."
Yes, it appears Boise's Finest caught Joy Cassidy as she was dumping an open jar of mayonnaise down the hatch. (No word on which brand it was.) Now Joy has been sentenced to a month in the slammer, where she can reflect upon her foul deeds.
We can only hope that this criminal can be reformed; learning to accept the limitations of one's library experience, learning to live up to her cheerful first name and above all...learning to use condiments in more productive ways.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Sometimes I'll get an email telling me that a reader has left a comment on an ancient post.
It's kind of interesting to see what people were searching for in order to find a post that is months or sometimes years old.
Case in point, I recently received a fascinating comment on a moldy post called, "SUSAN ROOK: THE NEW HERB RITTS". Now, you don't have to thank me for this. But when someone named "Mr. Volcher" offers up this charming run on sentence, I refuse to let it languish:
I used to watch Talk Back Live everyday on CNN just to Masturbate when Susan was on does anyone have an address for her
Let's just break this down, shall we?
1. I love how he capitalized "Masturbate". This was no lower case masturbation session. Hell no! When a dedicated viewer like Mr. Volcher is rubbing one out to Susan Rook, it deserves the respect of a capital "M".
2. I love how he refers to himself as "Mr. Volcher". Because despite the fact that he is sharing his historical masturbatory habits with us, we have not been formally introduced. Ergo, we are not on a first name basis. That's a true sign of class, right there.
3. Finally, I really love that he thinks one of us is going to cough up Susan Rook's address for him. Why else do I write this blog, other than to provide Susan Rook's address for the likes of Mr. Volcher? Because while I have no idea where she lives or how she spends her free time, I guarantee she's missing something in her life...
And that something is a grammar challenged Masturbator named Mr. Volcher.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
This is the last fucking straw. (Or should I say cannoli.)
I just read this: SAN GENNARO FESTIVAL UNDER ASSAULT
So these upscale boutique owners who set up shop waaay after the San Gennaro Festival began 85 years ago now think they have the right to push people out. They knew damn well that this festival is a tradition in Little Italy. Both tourists and locals look forward to it each year. It's a New York institution. Fuck these bastards for trying to squash it to sell their overpriced bullshit. And yes, I know. They just want to limit the festival to Kenmare Street. But that's where it starts. They'll probably keep pushing it back more and more until it's just one guy selling sausages for one hour on a Saturday.
We have enough frou frou boutiques selling stupid handbags in this town. There's only one Little Italy, and it's shrinking by the year.
And this is a trend I'm seeing across NYC. People move into areas renowned for nightlife then get pissed off because the bars are too loud. YOU'RE LIVING IN THE LOWER EAST SIDE, ASSHOLES! The bars, barflies and denizens of the night were there first.
It's like people want to turn this town into one big, boring gated community. I'm tempted to open up a bar called "The Clubhouse" and model it after a Florida retirement community. We'll play canasta, serve Sanka and sway to a little Perry Como.
Of course, I bet the neighbors would find fault with that too. I can just hear the complaint to 311 now:
"Hello? Yeah. I'd like to register a complaint. The people at The Clubhouse are swaying too loud."
Monday, January 24, 2011
I went to the Writer's Digest Conference at the Sheraton on Saturday. The main draw of this conference is the Pitch Slam, where you have 90 seconds to pitch your work to 50 agents.
I had been looking forward to it for a month. I crafted a beautiful pitch for my memoir, "The Precipice Dwellers".
I picked out the perfect outfit: fashionable, showing some personality yet professional. (And by that I simply mean that my tits weren't hanging out.) I got my hair cut. I even polished my silver pen and stocked my business card holder with fresh Mama D's Arts Bordello cards.
Then I walked into that sweaty madhouse with 400 eager writers; some of them rolling their suitcases cases around, all of them so hungry. Every 90 seconds a buzzer would go off and you'd hear "TIME!"
It was terrifying.
It reminded me of a low-rent casino in Vegas. And the stakes were just as high. But as The Gambler himself once sang, "You gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to run."
I stood there, dazed. My palms were as sweaty as my mouth was dry. I knew I should have had that 3rd gin and tonic for lunch. There was no way I'd be able to pitch my incredibly personal memoir under these conditions. I'd feel like I was selling out my family secrets like an auctioneer. But I also knew I'd be annoyed with myself if I didn't try to pitch something at least once.
So I chose an agent named Jud Laghi. He's the man behind books such as "Why Do Men Have Nipples?" and "The Hipster Handbook".
I sat down in front of him and said, "The book is called, 'MY FIRST BONER: A Pop Up Book About Your First Celebrity Crush'."
60 seconds later I shook his hand and left the conference room.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Here it is...
Created by Mama D's Arts Bordello Cohort Mike Ser, it's our brand new flyer!
Click to enlarge this gorgeous motherfucker.
Enjoy--and make sure to check out the show on Friday, February 25th!
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
It's pretty dreary in NYC today. The snow has mostly melted, except for a few dirty clumps here and there. And of course now the streets are littered with cigarette butts, Coke cans and dog shit people didn't pick up in the snow. Somehow people think if their dog shits in the snow it doesn't count. It's the New York version of, "If a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?"
The point is, I woke up in need of some sunshine. Of course, with my finances in their usual pitiful state, I did not hop on a plane and head for sunnier climes. No, I chose the broke writer's route of looking through some old photos of Hawaii. Some from when I lived there, and some from trips I've taken in the past couple of years. And I thought I'd share the photo above with you, in case you're in the same boat I am. You know, the boat that isn't headed toward a sun-drenched tropical island. This is for those of us in a leaky dinghy.
So what you're looking at is the Magnum P.I. Estate (Robin's Nest) on Oahu! Ah, it's magical.
When my pal and I were visiting Hawaii a couple years back, we lived up to our Magnum P.I. fanatic status and made a special pilgrimage there. Yeah, we couldn't actually get on the estate. So we lurked around like a couple of Magnum crazed hooligans, trying to get a peek through the chain link fence.
But in case you need a refresher, here's what the estate looked like back when everyone's favorite mustachioed private investigator lived there with Higgins and The Lads:
What a great show. I think my favorite episode was "The Jororo Kill". Magnum hunting down a cross-dressing international assassin! Does it get much better than that?
Tell you what--as an added bonus, here's the "lost" episode of Magnum P.I. created by myself and three other writers and performed at a past Mama D's Arts Bordello show. I wrote the first section and passed it on to Mike Ser. He wrote the next section and passed it onto Peter Olson. He then passed it on to Tim O'Mara:
The Curse of The Kok'A'No'Work'A
Enjoy! How's THAT for adding a little sunshine to your life?
Friday, January 14, 2011
The above photo is what happens when two straight guys from Wisconsin design attire: you get Couch Potato Couture.
You get something worse than the Snuggie.
Because at least the Snuggie isn't pretending to be anything more than a blanket with sleeves.
It is not masquerading as clothing.
What you're looking at here is an abomination called Forever Lazy.
And it is quite literally "100% Anti-Pill Polar Fleece" proof that we have turned into weird, flabby pod creatures who just want to return to the womb.
And not our mother's womb.
A techno-womb of our own creation.
These adult onesies remind me of some futuristic construct where man and woman are not differentiated by our bodies but by the colors of our state-issued uniforms: pink or blue.
The fucked up part is that these Forever Lazy onesies aren't state-issued. People are actually buying them of their own free will.
So the truth is...the future is now.
When we actually leave our pod homes we wander around, oblivious to our surroundings. Instead we are mesmerized by our Blackberries, our ears clogged by earphones piping in music of our choice. We are disconnected to our neighbors, our environment and our bodies.
We shop, entertain ourselves and socialize online. And when we're socializing online, we complain that we are lonely and that no one understands us. Then we step outside and tune everyone out again; ensuring that we will never have to deal with the pressure of actually meeting people in person.
The Forever Lazy is truly a sign of the times. We've become an insular culture of shapeless, formless blobs too lazy to actually connect with our world.
At this rate, we will be Forever Cocooned...But at least we'll be dressed appropriately.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Mama D's Arts Bordello Presents: Rock N' Roll Salvation
Get ready for a baptism in the Bordello! It's a Spiritual Revival for lost souls saved by the down and dirty glory of rock n' roll. We'll be sharing stories of salvation through song; when three chords could lift your love-scarred heart to the heavens, a concert could rescue you from the hell of suburban stagnation and a mix-tape could offer the answers to life's big questions.
Thanks to Rock n' Roll Missionary Mike Ser for creating this stellar promo!
DATE: Friday, February 25th
PLACE: Parkside Lounge
ADDRESS: 317 E. Houston