On a wheeled horse I ride. i.am.rollerman

Archive for the ‘People’ Category

New Format, Same Old Crap

In Family, Life on November 4, 2010 at 12:46 am
NYS Gov-elect Andrew Cuomo’s new ladyfriend looks like Mandy Pepperidge from “Animal House.” Cuomo claims not to be an “Albany Insider,” so does that make him a…wait for itwait for it.

Thought I’d mix things up a bit this week.   Instead of a well crafted single topic posting, I thought I’d opt for  “poop-ettes”instead of a single subject stool. (I know, I had you at “stool“)

Note for the readers of this blog,  this is an interactive forum.  Laugh out loud, and LEAVE A COMMENT on the thing that made you launch.   Object to something, LEAVE A COMMENT.    This is a hard gig, it’s like playing to a room of one-armed people. Do they want to clap and just can’t?, or do I really suck.   LEAVE A COMMENT!

Mystery Solved: After 30+ years I finally realized that I was “mis-informed.”   Watching the Jon Stewart/Stephen Colbert rally on DC, they had Cat Stevens playing.   For so many years I thought the song was “Ride on the Pizza Train.” True, an unusual vehicle to deliver pizzas, I thought he might have been c0-sponsored by Pizza Hut and AmTrak.

In the “Shut Your Pie Hole” department

Brett Favre, please shut up.   New additions: Brad Childress, coach of the Minnesota Vikings,  Randy Moss, temporary team-mate of the pant filled one.

Any sports announcer extolling Brett or his streak: case in point  Troy Aikman.   I remember Aikman getting hit in the head too many times which forced his retirement, perhaps proof that too many concussions do cause brain damage.

Good Old Boys “..drink whiskey and rye and sing about this will be the day that I die…?, not f*ck around on their Wives

In the “I Didn’t Realize I had so many Friends” Department

I’m the kid with the full keg again and everyone wants to be my friend.   “This is George Pataki calling…”  “This is former NYC Mayor Rudy G calling…”  This is “still Dead President Reagan calling”   I’m suddenly the guy on everyone’s short list to call.  Funny, that phone wasn’t ringing today.

Please, ” Put Carl Paladino back in My Pants” department

NYS candidate for Gov, and dead twin for my (rhymes with “wrote’em”), with all its characteristics and hue.  If you look like a “wrote’em” you need an image makeover.   I felt the message, but I also felt the urge to scratch.  Harry Reid not too far down that list either.

Did He Just Say That?

Andrew Cuomo denies he’s an Albany-insider.  His Father was NYS governor for three consecutive terms.  Was Andrew kept in an idling car on the Quebec border for those 12 years?  Please…   One positive:  His girlfriend reminds of “Mandy Pepperidge” from Animal House.

I Know Why the call it the Blackberry Storm

Cause the thing makes me stormin mad!  I don’t use it as a phone, rather a glorified MP3 player and camera.   I can finally say what most men wish they could “yes, I’m hung…or at least my Blackberry Storm is.” It’s got one more week before I switch back to my circa 2002 Sansa “Hung like a flea” E200.

Attention Family Members

I know that all of you think you know more than me, but quicker than I can say “I was never NOT on the Dean’s List” listen up anyhow:   The answer is not always to “crank up that thermostat.”

Try the following first:

Closing the door keeps the cold out. Not placing a laundry basket on a heating vent lets the warm air in.

Try a sweatshirt first, you only have 15 on your bedroom floor.  Don’t insulate your floor, insulate your body.

If I’m cold, that is different.  I am a SCI living cadaver, we don’t have the ability to regulate our body heat like you do.

Given that, I pay the heating bill so I should choose when I want to piss my money away.  Don’t like it?  Buy another sweatshirt to insulate your floor with.



Put that “Junk” back in your Trunk

In People on October 25, 2010 at 6:31 pm


I’m tired this morning,  having stayed up to watch the Vikings vs Packers game on Sunday night.  The Packers won and Brett Favre was knocked around more than a pinata at Pedro’s birthday.

For those not aware of the titillating under belly of NFL happenings, Favre is under NFL investigation for sending inappropriate text messages to a member of the NY Jets organization while he was with the Jets back in 2008.  Apparently receiving unsolicited messages of this nature constitute ‘sexual harassment’ in the workplace.

Favre has admitted to sending the text messages but none of the photo variety.  Favre claims that he did NOT send pictures of his ‘junk’ to the NY Jets employee.  The Mrs. and I disagree on many issues, but the one topic that we both agree on is “junk” is called “junk” because it looks like “junk.”

Even being the proud owner of the perfect set of “junk” I don’t have pictures of it on my desk nor would I send a picture of it to anyone other than my Urologist.   One thing that was hit hard by God’s “Ugly Stick,” the “junk”.

Favre ain’t stupid, although he tries to appear that way when the situation fits him.    He is vain, so any pictures of his “junk” are most likely hanging in his locker or perhaps being knawled by the dog from the Wrangler commercial.

Where Favre is stupid (callous in my book),  is that he’s a married man (true, shotgun in nature.)  His “junk” or any text messages referencing it should be between he and his Wife.   If he does claim (which I believe he will) that the messages were only sent because he was lonely and in need of companionship.  Well in that case, that’s what his “junk is for.

Shepard of an Invisible Pack of Kittens

In Friends, spinal cord injury on October 17, 2010 at 6:25 pm

At the suggestion of any old friend/college/co-handicapper/yes u BobJ, I am reading the 1997 autobiography of Jean-Dominique Bauby,   “The Diving Bell and the Butterfly,” on my Amazon Kindle.


Jean-Dominique Bauby "dictating" his memoir and dinner order to Claude Mendibil later seen below in the 2007 film



"Go on, I dare you, pull it..."


I have only read the preface and the first chapter and feel the need to put my Kindle down and state, in my best Bill Clinton finger wagging tone: I have never read this book and only have seen only seen the opening moments of the movie.”

I do remember the book’s title, as it is an awkward pairing of two words:

“The Toilet Seat and the Hummingbird,” or “The Frenchmen and the Bar of Soap.”

“You got chocolate in my peanut butter” “No, you got peanut butter in my chocolate.”

There are no similarities in our injury, vocation or lifestyle, yet we have one bond.


He suffers from an ailment that I’ve never heard of: “Lock-In Syndrome.”   Although in my single days I have seen many suffer from “Locked Together Leg Syndrome.”   Yes, thank you, I do write my own material.

I only suffer from a bad case of Caucasian “I Can’t Walk” disease, the subject of a 1992 Phil Collins video.


He is a Foreign News Correspondent.    True, I do work for a news organization, but my job is to herd undetectable chunks of data to and from different destinations,  fore which I earn the job title of:  Shepard of the Invisible Pack of Kittens.

He is a writer. I am not a writer (yup, here it comes. “Although I play one on TV“). I merely work for a company that employs writers.


Jean-Dominique Bauby died two days after his book was published on March 9, 1997, of pneumonia.

True, I am physically still alive, but I am an idiot,  my spirit dying on July 2, 1987.  (I’m safe, the Mrs. doesn’t read my blog and doesn’t think I remember or anniversary date…what, oh Hi Honey, what, no stop, stop please, can someone please call 911?).


Nous aimerions une pizza avec une paille d'alimentation s'il vous. Translation:I would like one pizza with a feeding straw please.



Our connection is purely in writing style.

For me it’s like riding in the backseat of my parent’s station wagon with the French brother that I never had, playing the age old children’s game “Je sais que vous êtes, mais ce que je suis?”

“I know you are but what am I?,” I would say.

He would repeat: “Je sais que vous êtes, mais ce que je suis?

It would continue until my Mother grew weary.

Leaning into the back seat, with a Benson & Hedges 100’s dangling from her lips,  she would scream (“remember, it’s the 100’s!” she would yell as I rode off on my bike to the convenience store with her permission to buy cigarettes note in my pocket.) “…you two need to cut the merde!!!

Yes, fond memories of the family that I never had.

La Fin

My neighbor, Mr. No’efinmuffler

In Neighbors on November 8, 2009 at 9:21 pm

It’s another weekend morning in my appearance conscious neighborhood of Hillside Acres. It’s never a weekend day without someone primping their lawn or improving their property, this party’s Wife included. Never is that activity more prevalent than in the fall.

I used to love the fall until I had my fall. Now I’m just a sideline participant watching all of the yard duties that I used to love doing, dressed in my shorts, sweatshirt and an MP3 Player, raking, dancing and singing like the Town Idiot. I didn’t care if the Giants or Jets were on; Sunday was for yard work and watching people pick up their Sunday New York Times at Terri’s Market across the street.

The fall was also my foreplay, as winter, my true love, with skiing was just after that last tarp full of leaves…next weekend was the lift drills up at Belleayre, every thing was right in my world.

Today is not different from three other days of the week in my neck of the woods, when Mr. No’efinmuffler (I think it’s of Greek origin) rolls out his 20 horsepower rider mower. Mr No’efinmuffler is retired, and has time to devote to his yard. In the summer, it’s two mowings a week. However it’s the fall and the annual genocide of his leaves is to begin. Hitler must have risen from his grave around Halloween.

If there were a Pol Pot or Joesph Stalin of the leaf world, Mr No’efinmufller would be it, with his thrice weekly pogroms.

You see I like Mr No’efinmuffler, but I don’t like his rider mower. It needs a new ‘efin muffler!!! I don’t know why he’s unable to hear it. It could be that he’s getting on in years and just can’t hear it (seriously.) If this is the case then Beltone has it’s next poster child. (Beltone, for you youngin’s makes hearing aids.)

It’s just not loud, its mind numbing, in the next room, nails on the blackboard loud, and it’s three times a week. It drowns out the screams of the trees. No wonder the neighborhood is devoid of squirrels. They’ve all been driven out by the “killing machine.”

He’s done now, which means I should shut it down as well. Perhaps his Mother never let him ride that Up and Down Horse that used to be in front of all the grocery stores.

I can only pray for an early snow.

Empty Nest Dry Run

In Family on September 20, 2009 at 5:29 pm

With Fetus #3 in her senior year of high school, my Wife and I are having a dry run at being Empty Nesters. A couple of the things that we don’t have that Empty Nesters do: (1) a disposable income and (2) no mortgage.

It reminds me of our early days back in the 80’s living in Queens and Westchester. The greatest city in the world at our beckoning, but no cash to enjoy it. Granted you can do allot in NYC without any money, but it would have been nice to maybe buy a soft drink during the penniless journeys.

Our combined salaries barely covered the rent, ConEd Bill, weekend libations and the Metro North and subway fares.

Now our combined salaries barely cover the mortgage, Central Hudson, car insurance, cell phones, running shoes, ski and ski related apparel and the tuition. Gone are the weekend libations. We fall asleep too easy as it is.