Congratulations to Me!

Dee and Marteeeeen had their baby today and that makes me an uncle! Well, sorta, since I don't have any blood relation to either of them. In college, one of my roommates who was probably more needy than the newborn (and definitely drunker) would refer to me as Mr. The Uncle The Larry, and Marteeeeeen and Dee have picked up the coherent part of that and will tell the baby to call me Uncle Larry. Thankfully, baby Maren wasn't born the same day as me, because I don't like to share. In further good news, the baby is really cute, which almost never happens. Newborns are NOT cute. It's a fact. I'm not saying baby Maren is cuter than a bear cub, but she does elicits "aww"s and "soooo cute!" So, well done to Dee and Martin, and again, congratulations. To me.

An Anniversary!

To paraphrase a friend of mine, Friday, May 15th, was the 3rd Anniversary of my turning a quarter century old. Sure, it's a bit wordy, but the math is easier to follow than Foxy Brown's.

This won't be as heartfelt, moving or flattering as HD's birthday thanks, but I just wanted to thank everyone who came out to celebrate my birthday. Thanks to my family for taking me to Otto for deliciousness, and thanks to my friends who came out to Barcade, didn't panic when one restaurant was closed and Havana Outpost was so packed even Marlo Stanfield couldn't get in*, got me multiple cakes, traveled back into the city with me, played cards at a random bar since ACE was too packed, and then, when I was all ready to be an old man and pack it in at 1 AM, ragged on me till we got into ACE and then walked up to Crocodile Lounge for some better times. Three perfect sites in a row on Big Buck Hunter Safari, WHAT!!!

To everyone who feels awful because they weren't able to make it: don't worry, I still love you. And there's always time to buy me a really expensive gift.

*We were lucky not to get shot, since technically we were standing on his corner

Twitterdee and Twitterdum

Maybe I'm a little late to the Twitter-bashing bandwagon, if there is even one. That's because none of my friends do it, unless it's a secret little hobby of theirs, hidden from those who will certainly mock them incessantly. That all changed when someone who I had much respect for (I still have some respect man, come fix my lights!), HD's brother, told HD to check him out on Twitter. On it, he gave up to the minute details of his bathroom habits.

Sure, I have a blog, which means I think I have something important or funny to say, and am vain enough to hope people read it, yet practical enough to know that I can count my followers on two hands. However, I would never be arrogant enough to expect people to care about constant status updates. On the flip side, I don't care about my friends' minutiae, and if I did, we'd talk about it in person or on the phone. Now, celebrities Twitter and get a loyal following. There was a big story about how Ashton Kutcher had more followers than CNN. Who cares? Celebrity or not, there's not a single person on Earth I think is interesting enough to care about following their day-to-day exploits in 140 character-or-less posts, except maybe Jessica Biel in the hopes she'd announce her love of me.

Lastly, do you really have anything important to say if you're doing it in less than 140 characters? Nowadays we need our information bitesize and instantaneous, leading to more stupid stories spreading farther and faster and helping to further moronize America. I had hoped Twitter would be an annoying fad, but unfortunately, like capri pants on guys and Dane Cook, it seems here to stay. Go read a book, learn how to spell, and come up with something of substance

Kooza

While a recent trip to the Ringling Brothers circus at MSG left me slightly underwhelmed and missing Gunther Gebel-Williams, seeing Cirque du Soleil at Randall's Island had me dumbfounded and starstruck. This ain't your parents circus. Well, maybe it is, because my parents took me, so it's not unreasonable to assume your parents might take you. The performers did everything effortlessly, the clowns, with their R-Rated material, were hysterical, and the music and story left the audience with a sense of wonder. There was a guy who rode around on a unicycle while flipping and holding a very bendable woman on his arm, a gymnast who stacked 10 chairs on top of a high chair and held one-armed-stands at each one without clipping a safety wire until the top (because 30 feet up is dangerous, but not 28), and a juggler who's hands were quick like the Flash and would bounce a ball on his head while juggling 7 hoops, just cause he could. He never messed up, which was the most incredible part about it. All the acts were poised, focused and incredibly athletic.

I left the tent with two revelations: I need to date a contortionist (they have NO bones in their body and may be of alien descent, but good god, that flexibility!) and I need to set up my apartment like a circus tent, so that when I raise my arm up, a unicycle, or trapeze set, or blender, or anything I desire will drop down to me.

Pretty Pictures Abound

Sure, American Pie DVD is a little embarrassing, but Belly more than makes up for it

Wisteria, flowers open, colors manipulated. Dance for my, pigments! Dance for your master!

One of the first apricots appears and will be edible in July or August

Tiny red lettuce plants

Wacky World of Wisteria

Wisteria can't actually be photographed in focus

Oh wait, that's gotta be wrong. Wisteria, the invasive kind, before the flowers open.

Strangely octopus looking, asparagus crown and roots sits perched on raised bed, jr., ready to pounce on unsuspecting sparrows and children.

Overview of the West Wing of the garden, including my new Stonehenge protection circle for squash

Cherry tree in bloom and towels that should be thrown out, most likely.

The Cat, The Sunburn and the BBQ

How we roll on nice days

I thought I could only get sunburned if I was at the beach. Three hours in the garden proved me wrong.

Ok, so there's no lion, witch or wardrobe, but it felt like we were in a magical land when it started snowing cherry blossom petals on us.

Jenny fears for her life after Jamie dumped gallons of gasoline on the charcoal.

Kitty wants to play with a stick, or at least let me poke you with it?

Awww. So much more adorable than the feral kind.

Toys. Again.

Insurgent Wilderness Gruppo's (I.W.G.) Burnum the platypus is deadly with his boomerang against bad humans; N8 Van Dyke's Payday just wanted to deposit a check and ended up foiling a bank robbery, stealing one of the gunman's walrus mask, gun and money sack.

Adult Swim x Kid Robot's blind box Series 1 aren't all great. Looking at you, Squidbillies.

Buckeye Rot just don't give a what.

More of Kozik's Chumps

IWG's mini flocked Titus the grizzly bear (with sniper rifle), Affonso the rhino (with automatic) and Hannibal the gorilla (with grenade and bandolier but no way to deliver bullets to target) guard my pumpkin.

Nahual's Jaguar Dunny from the Azteca series; Reach, Series 5; Devilrobots, Series 5; Mad, Series 5. I love a detecting Dunny.

Mr. Jago's Teddy Troops Series 3.

For The Ci-tay

Spring in Brooklyn and Manhattan

Wait up! Wesley, wait up!

April 15, 2009. This means two things. HD just hit 28 on the age scale and taxes are due. Only one of those usually leads to poor saps across the country crying and fretting, and this year I found myself counted in that group. At 2:15 PM, on the day they were due, I finally made sense of all the convoluted extra forms a sole-proprietor and Brooklyn's handsomest man is burdened with filling out, deleted the 17 extra mentions of my pimp van as a work vehicle and decided not to include money I made from robbing trains and stagecoaches as earned income. Worst that can happen, I flee to the Cayman Islands or some other nation that doesn't extradite and spend my days with Wesley Snipes, laughing at the government while playing pickup ball on the streets. At least this way I'll always be protected from vampires and be able to practice my hustling techniques.

My Raised Beds Bring All the Vegetables to the Yard

Raised bed, raised bed, what you gonna do when asparagus grows out of you and feeds me?

Three dollar bird feeder plus song bird food equals loud blue jay screeching.

Potimarron squash secured in it's hexagonal, cinder block protected home.

Potimarron squash's roots. And my hand.

You're a Tree By the Way, Part 4: Beauty is But Fleeting

Unfortunately, the beauty that is an apricot tree in full bloom is but fleeting. Strong winds, careless prods with a paint brush and natural life cycle cause the event to only last a week at the most. After, one is reminded of the splendor by the tiny white petals that dot the landscape and the stamens and pistils and all the other private parts that stay affixed to the tree.

Note the McFarlane Joey Harrington in the lower right hand

Ooooh, artsy!

Ok, so far only 1 or 2 flowers have dropped, but you can imagine if there were more, right?

The Manger's Lamb Was Made of Marzipan

Every year for the last 7 or 8, Rosemary, DJ's Sicilian mom, invites HD, Janet and I over for Easter and Christmas meals, which are always extravagant authentic Italian feasts. Most everything has stuffing in it as well. My favorite part of the meal is the shuschetta, which I can't actually spell. It's straciatella (chicken soup with eggs) with meatballs in it, and would easily beat up other soups. I've been coming to Rosemary's house since DJ and I first became friends 14 years ago, and relish these chances to come back to a second home, to feel at ease and enjoy good food, good wine and great company. Plus, there's always a ton of marzipan.

Here Janet takes photos of the straciatella plus meatballs soup. She uses a camera.

In this photo, Janet can't figure out the cheese grater, because it's not a camera.

Stuffed mushrooms AND stuffed peppers?!?!?! WOWOWOWOWOW!

The candy basket was made out of solid chocolate and had stale Peeps, Rosemary's favorite, in them. I brought home a huge chunk.

Janet didn't like that I took a photo of her with her eyes closed. She probably should have kept them open then.