April 20, 2011

As those of you who follow this blog (and I appreciate each and every one of you) know one of the many blogs I read daily is Jeremiah’s Vanishing New York. Yesterday Jeremiah posted about Sardi’s bar and about how the swizzle stick is yet another vanishing item in our culture. I never thought about it, but probably should, I did go to 365  bars last year after all and I chewed on plenty of those crummy little red plastic thingys they put in mixed drinks these days.

The comments section on that post was quite lively and fun. One anonymous commenter wrote that he had a collection of glass swizzle sticks. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a glass swizzle stick. After I read that I obsessed over it all day. I went to 365 bars in 365 days and never got to see, much less keep, a glass swizzle stick. What a fucking gyp!

So, tonight I’m off in search of the oh so elusive glass swizzle stick. The commenter from the JVNY post mentioned two of the places where he got his, but searching around on the internet, they appear to have vanished. I went back and consulted my bar list. Maybe I got one and was so drunk caught up in my bar crawling duties I didn’t even notice it. I immediately thought of the King Cole bar in the St. Regis Hotel. But check out the picture below:

Plastic! And I paid nineteen bucks for that thing and I don’t even like tomato juice! I only got it because it was their specialty drink. Then I remembered going to the Oak Bar. I went there because they had some goofy-ass drink they had invented called, “The Mel Gibson.” Remember Mel? Remember the phone messages? Aaahh, the good-old pre Charlie Sheen days. Let’s check out my drink there:
Plastic! Motherfucker! And I payed over twenty bucks for that shit and it tasted like three-year old rat piss.

Okay, back to the list. I feel much like an old MTV hit when I say, “Aha!” Sir Harry’s in the Waldorf Astoria!
I had a beer in there, so I can’t be 100% sure, but it’s worth a trip back. The people that work there were really nice to me and told me that Johnny Depp had recently been in and left a 100 dollar tip. You know Johnny Depp demands a glass swizzle stick, so let’s go check it out.

I had to work late and it's after one in the morning, luckily Sir Harry's is open till 2:30 am.

Taxi!

And we're off.

And here we are, the Waldrof Astoria, the home of Sir Harry's.

The green stairs match my Gumby bag.

They still have the Lena Horne album on display. I love this album cover.

And here's Sir Harry's, looks like we beat the last call here.

Wow, it's more crowded in here than I thought it would be, but I spy a seat at the end of the bar. Let's snag it.

I've been sitting here for over five minutes and the fucking bartender hasn't moved. He's talking to some couple and I just want to get my glass swizzle stick and get out of here. It's loud and loaded with drunk tourists, all happy to be paying ten bucks for a draft beer. Sheesh!

Jesus fucking Christ, it's going on ten minutes! I'm not going to be ignored, Dan!

Finally after coughing and waving my arms like an epileptic after three hits off of a crystal meth pipe I got a drink. I ordered a double gin and tonic. Check out the swizzle stick...one word: Plastic. Talk about your Dustin Hoffman moments. A real fucking disappointment.

And I can't even tell what the design is supposed to be. From my perspective it looks a little like an alcoholic Hula Hula Girl. Here's to you, Mrs. Robinson. Let's get out of here.

Oh well...why not, for old times sake...

Obligatory bathroom mirror shot! Now with Gumby!

Oh and so the night wasn't a total loss, I stole the bartender's pen. It's silver and shiny! Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.

Sir Harry’s
301 Park Ave. (@49th St.)
212-872-4890

Further reading: Los Angeles Times, Go Antiques, New York magazine and Wikipedia.

You might also like: Burning Feet, Burning Man and Burning Bridges.

Four Other Swizzles
Rum Swizzle
The Swizzle Inn
Swizzle Scandium
T-Swizzle

I knew that to keep in touch,
Would do me deep in dutch.

ARCHIVES

April 19, 2011

Hang on to your seats everybody, it’s time for the godamned thing that I can’t let go even though it’s the blog equivalent of beating a dead horse with a two year old tennis racket 10th excitement-packed edition of the Papaya Wars!

Last week The King held on to the number one spot for the third week in a row! Will he still be at the number one spot when this visit is done? Only time will tell, let’s head into another fucking hot dog stand battle and may the best Papaya come out on top! Banzai!

And it's off we go. I know you're probably sick of me bitching about the weather, but I'm still in a winter coat over here! I wish it would warm up already.

(Inside joke alert!) Walking past one of the city's many dollar pizza stores, I spied this fellow trying to snort salt off of the table. Three words: ROCK AND ROLL!

There's a familiar light ahead!

Signpost ahead...let the battle begin...

KHAAAAAAANN!!!!!!!

They have an extensive Papaya menu inside.

Everything looks good in here.

They have corndogs, but I can't face them again for awhile after that cold one in Times Square. Ecch!

I opted out for the regular Papaya dog and this gentlemen happily served it up.

There's tables in here, but no chairs. Let's settle in.

The hot dog looks good, but I forgot the vodka for the drink. Fuck! No patented Screwdapaya tonight.

Let's check out the signage in this place.

Oh, oh! Repeat signage, that's going to cost them valuable judging points!

Now wait a goddamned second! Whether you're hungry or broke? So you can just shuffle in here broke and stuff yourself with Papaya Dogs? Bullshit! This place would have half of the homeless population in here if that were true. I don't know about you, but I will not stand here and be lied to. Good night Papaya Dog!

On the way home I saw this sign, "Brunch With The Beatles." Now don't get me wrong, I'm a huge Beatles fan but Paul McCartney is starting to look like an old lady these days. And Ringo would just be staring at the bright and shiny silverware the whole time. And John and George...well, they must be pretty ripe these days, so I'm just going to pass. But thanks for the invitation. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.

This Week's Papaya Wars Standings.
As always the rankings go from worst to the best. (The latest entry is  in bold.)

9. Hell’s Kitchen Papaya: Because it’s not there anymore.
8. Papaya Dog in Times Square: They don’t have beer and I forgot to bring vodka. Plus my corn dog was borderline cold and they have a cracked window in there which can only mean bad luck to all who enter.
7. Papaya Dog at 6th Avenue and 4th: They’re liars!
6. Gray’s Papaya at 6th Ave. and 8th St: They don’t have beer but I did remember the vodka for my patented Papaya Wars Screwdapaya drink. New York Magazine delcares this the best of all Papaya’s but then tell’s us it’s endorsed by Mario Batali. Thinking about Super Mario in his shorts and orange clogs always cause me to lose my appetite, so that’s going to drag this place down in the ratings. And they get points knocked off for hopping on the dollar pizza wagon train that just keeps growing and growing. Plus I’ve got jury duty at 8:45 tomorrow. In the fucking morning tomorrow. KHHAAAAAANNN!
5. Chelsea Papaya: It’s clean, people were nice in there, but there’s no beer.
4. Gray’s Papaya on the Upper West Side: It brings back good memories and the signage is nice, but there’s no beer here and I don’t know if I’ll ever get that horrible taste of the papaya drink out of my mouth or mind.
3. Papaya Dog at 14th and 1st: The staff is super-friendly, it’s clean and the hot dogs are great there. However, they robbed me of my patented Ebony and Ivory ketchup and mustard shot! War is hell.
2. Penn Station Papaya: They’ve got beer!
1. Papaya King on the Upper East Side: They’ve got vodka...okay, you’ve got to bring it yourself and sneak it in, but still, this is the original Papaya King in New York City. They've been in the same spot on this block since 1932. The Beatles ate here on their first trip to New York when they appeared on the The Ed Sullivan Show. So does this put the King in first place for now? Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Gray’s Papaya
333 Sixth Ave. (@W. 4th St.)
212-627-9748

Further reading (This Papaya Dog doesn’t have much of an internet presence, so this list is a bit of a stretch:) Spalding Gray, Papaya Clothing, Bun candy and Smoking Hot Waitress.

You also might like: Sansabelt Pants, Barking Spiders and Bell Ringing.

Four Corndog Videos
Trailer for the Corndog Man
A corndog grows in Iowa
Chucheman (The barking dogs in the background = irony at its finest hour!)
Free corndogs!

When I'm home alone, I can think of other things to do,
But when I'm rollin' in forward motion, I think about only you.

ARCHIVES

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Bonus Photos!
MAD commenter and Leaf Girl blogger, Kari, sent in some Papaya War-inspired hot dogs that she grilled up over the weekend. The top photo looks almost as good as dogs the King would grill up himself. But that bottom photo...with ketchup...Hunt’s ketchup...AND A PICKLE! So wrong...so, terribly wrong! But Kari does redeem herself  by allowing my good friend Mr. Mustard into the shot for her variation of an Ebony and Ivory shot. Thanks for the photos, Kari!

April 18, 2011

First off I’d like to announce that my pals, Karen McBurnie and Jon Hammer have published a new edition of their ultra-cool internet publication, Grade “A” Fancy. The feature story is an interview with the Manhattan (the drink, not the city.) Plus there’s recipes, cool artwork and layout, cherries and the phrase: “Diluted, quaggy mess.” I’m thinking about stealing that asking permission from Karen and Jon to use that as the title of my biography. Anyhoo, check out the fun here: Manhattan Confidential.

Okay, I’m writing this introduction after the fact. The place I was originally going to shut me down and said I would have to ask the manager if I could take photos in there. So just like last year on the bar crawl I started off on a lonely walk. But, also like last year, when one place would shut me down, I’d find a better place in my travels. And that’s just what happened tonight. Check it out.?

Before I even started out tonight, I ventured out in the daytime to get that Gumby bag at Forbidden Planet. A second after I shot this picture I froze with nervous fright that maybe the Gumby bag would be gone. Scared out of my wits I went in to see if the treasured Gumby bag was still in stock.

Yes! They still have them. Gumby!

And now I have the Gumby Messenger Bag. World domination next. Nothing can stop me now!

Okay, on my way to tonight's destination I ran along this discarded cardboard box that had a face staring at me. It kind of freaked me out and I stared at it for over five minutes. Yikes!

There's a full moon out tonight and it's kind of spooky out here.

Okay, the place I was originally going to wouldn't let me take pictures of their store until I talked to the manager. So let's check out this place.

It's a small space, let's see what's inside here.

Holy Moley! It's like Tower Records barfed into a phone booth in here. There's piles of stuff everywhere!

Here's a fellow browsing in the back, which is only a few feet from the front. Let's go say hi.

His name is Barry and he told me he's a regular in here. He said he stops by almost every night of the week to check out the specials in the store.

For those of you that still have a Walkman, we salute you!

Stacks of VHS tapes. It's a little bit of a time warp in here, which is a good thing.

Swing softly with Steve. Just don't tell Eydie!

There's piles of vinyl to sift through in here.

There's a nice selection of Iggy Pop offerings on the racks.

Here's a signed Hyun Michelle Kim piano CD!

The Archies!

There's bags on the floor stuffed with...

Cassettes. You won't find no stinking iPods in here!

The Clash at Shea Stadium are neighbors with Neil Diamond on one Hot August Night in NYC.

A stool doubles for a display rack in here.

A shot from the back of the store.

Here's me with my purchases and clutching my Gumby bag. Are you jealous? I don't blame you.

On the way home I was glad to see that frightening cardboard box man was gone.

Home, sweet home. Hey, what's that on my futon?

AAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What I Bought

I got the signed Hyun Michelle Kim CD and the Clash at Shea Stadium.

Rainbow Music 2002 Ltd.
130 First Ave. (Near 9th St.)
212-505-1774

Further reading: Google page, NYC Metblogs, Citizen Jazz (fifth bulleted entry down) and Epigee.

You might also like: Beavers, Cleavers and Larry Mondello.

Six Ed Wood Movies
Glen or Glenda
Jailbait
Plan 9 From Outer Space
Bride of the Monster
Fugitive Girls
Ed Wood

I could never find a chance to choose,
Between a way to win or a thing to lose.

ARCHIVES

April 17, 2011

Live from New York, it’s Cheeseburger Saturday Night! Starring Molly’s Pub and featuring the ready for prime beef player, Marty Wombacher. With special guest stars, two-thirds of the BBC (Baltimore Bar Crawlers), Gene Rubbico and Smoopy (hurry back, Terry!) And now, ladies and gentlemen, it’s snack time and then on to Molly’s Pub!

Okay, tonight we have two special guest stars appearing, Gene and Smoopy, two thirds of the BBC. Terry couldn't make it because he's in rehab he had other plans for the weekend. Gene and Smoopy are coming over to my place, so I thought I'd make up a snack mix to enjoy. I'm a board-certified snackologist and here are the ingredients for tonight's snack mix: Two styles of popcorn, jalapeno and red chili; pretzel crisps; cashews and the all important spicy cajun trail mix.

First you have to get your board-certified snackologist bowl out.

Then you slowly add the ingredients in small batches at board-certified times. If you haven't been trained as a board-certified snackologist, please don't try this at home. Horrible things could happen.

After hours of careful additions, pruning, trimming and careful shaking, the snack mix is ready for serving. Now where's Gene and Smoopy?

And like magic, here they are, two thirds of the BBC, Gene and Smoopy! They were a little late, they had stopped at 3,679 bars and had had a little over 4,769 drinks between the two of them. I'm glad I had prepared the snack mix to soak up some of the booze so we could make it over to Molly's for a cheeseburger. I was starvin' like Marvin at this point.

After snack time, Gene took a picture of my furious little monkey and it was time to hit the road.

It was a cold and rainy night outside so...

We hailed a taxi to escape the nasty outside elements.

And here we are at Molly's Pub, the bar where I first met the BBC last year on the bar crawl.

Despite the rotten weather, it was crowded inside, but we managed to snag a booth.

And here's Gene and Smoopy settled in at the booth.

Here's our lovely waitress Joanne delivering me an ice-cold Budweiser.

These guys were seated next to us.

A long shot of the wooden bar at Molly's.

The floor is covered in sawdust. Hmmm, did they know we were coming?

Fire!

And when I returned to the booth, dinner was served. Perfect! Here's Smoopy's cheeseburger. That's either provolone or swiss cheese on top.

And Gene, being the rebel that he is got a cheese-less buffalo burger on Cheeseburger Saturday Night.

I got the cheddar burger and onion rings.

Delicious!

Burp!

And before you know it, we're back out in the rain. Smoopy leads the way to the next bar, umbrella in hand.

And luckily, just a half a block away we found the Pizza Pub. Memories!

Yam was bartending, just like on my last visit. And just like that visit, she didn't want her picture taken. She did however pour shots for us from her patented Yameson bottle.

Cheers!

And we ended up having a nightcap at Old Town Bar. More memories! We were reunited with America's cutest couple, Patrick and Colleen! Goodnight everybody adn see you tomorrow after dark!

My Meal
I got the cheddar burger with onion rings. While the cheddar burger was very tasty and huge, the onion rings stole the show for me. They had a really light and flaky crust and were cooked perfectly. The onions inside had a slightly sweet flavor and were the perfect accompaniment for the flaky savory batter on the outside.

Cheeseburger Rating
3 out of 4 Wimpy’s.

Molly's Pub
287 Third Ave. (Near 22nd St.)
212-889-3361

Further reading: New York Magazine, NY Times, NY Citysearch and NY Eater.

You might also like: Cracking Your Knuckles, Cracking Your Head Open and Crack.

Three Other BBC’s
BBC-UK
BBC-Urdu
BBC-Twitter

How does it feel to be better?
How does it feel to be on your own?

ARCHIVES

April 16, 2011

One of my favorite blogs is the EV Grieve blog. It’s a lively and often humorous mix of news and photos from the East Village of New York and beyond. And in addition to the blog itself, there’s a lively group of commenters there and I’m happy to be part of that crowd. And yesterday EV Grieve revealed that he had received his 25,000th comment at his fine blog. And the commenter was none other than me! It was truly an honor and luckily I included the word “penis” within my comment. Check it out here: No. 25,000.

What can I say about tonight’s movie, This Is Spinal Tap? It goes to 11! Hello Cleveland! Lights, camera...Spinal Tap!

¡La mierda, los subtítulos está solamente en español otra vez! ¡Favor de Por!

Further reading: Spinal Tap Fan, IMDb, All Movie and Spinal Tap.

You might also like: Chocolate Babies, The V847 Wah-Wah Pedal and Warren “Potsie” Weber.

Four Spinal Tap Drummers
(Special Thanks to the Spinal Tap Fan site for the information and links.)
Eric "Stumpy Joe" Childs (1945-1974)
Peter "James" Bond (1949-1977)
Mick Shrimpton (1948-1982)
Joe "Mama" Besser—David: "We assume he either returned to the world of jazz or he died."

How could I leave this behind?

ARCHIVES

P.S.
Don’t forget to tune into the "Secret Weapon" Saturday Matinee, on now till 5 PM EST. “Boris” picks the tunes and DJ Gidget spins them and interweaves memorable lines from films in between. Maybe a Spinal Tap tune or line will show up today! Tune in to Woody Radio and check it out!

April 15, 2011

I was going to go to the Mars Bar tonight to make up for yesterday’s somewhat dud of a post. But work got nuts and I found out I have to come back at the god-awful hour of ten in the morning. That may not sound late to you, but I’m used to staying up till around four or five in the morning drinking working on my writing, so ten o’clock comes around pretty fast and furious. So I won’t be going to the Mars Bar tonight. Maybe next week, definitely on Easter!

I think tonight I’ll just take a few photos on the walk home and then I’m going to post one of my favorite things I’ve ever written. It’s a fictional short story called, “For the Love of Harry.” Some of you who used to follow the old Marty Wombacher Show blog may remember it, I think I put it up there a long time ago. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story.

Oh and I was really pleased that people liked the jury drawings, so I thought I’d start including some every now and again, especially on nights like tonight when I won’t be able to get out and do anything. Today starts a famous celebrity series. And the first person to leave a comment gets the original if he or she wants it. Hang on to it, it’ll be worth 10 to 12 cents after I die. And I should’ve kicked the bucket about ten years ago, so it could be any day now!

I forgot to take my camera to work with me, so I'll take some photos of stuff around my apartment. Here's one of my favorite things in life, my Furious little Monkey statue.

Here's a Joan Jett CD single of her version of "Love is all Around," along with two buttons from my friends, The Handuffs!

Joan Jett on the cover of Creem magazine.

And a copy of my magazine fishwrap. What's that writing on there you wonder?

It's an autograph that my pal, Brad Elvis of the aforementioned Handcuffs got for me from Joan Jett. It says, "To Marty, Rock till ya drop! Love, Joan Jett." That's right, Joan Jett loves me! So there! Okay, here's tonight's short story, "For the Love of Harry!"

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For the Love of Harry!

Harry Edelson was a simple man, who never asked for anything out of life. “Chicken dinner with all the fixin’s!” he’d shout at his fellow workers in the Potterstown Rust Removal company where he had toiled for the last 40 years of his 63 year long life. Nobody really knew what the phrase, “Chicken dinner with all the fixin’s!” meant, but they would wave at Harry and smile all the same.

Harry was a simple man and he had an infectious love of life that was as contagious as an HIV positive prostitute locked in a room filled with suicidal sex addicted lottery winners. Yes, Harry was one of those rare curmudgeons blessed with always seeing the positive side of life.

When he was 41 years old, he was removing rust at a sawmill factory when all of a sudden a blade slipped and severed Harry’s right hand. Harry was rushed to the hospital emergency room. When asked by the doctor if he was allergic to anything, Harry calmly replied with the slightest smile he could manage to muster, “Yes, I’m allergic to saws that sever my right hand off!”

They moved Harry into the office after that tragic mishap, and while he missed going out on field calls, he took it all in true “Harry spirit.”

“Chicken dinner with all the fixin’s!” He’d cry out as he danced into the office every day.

“Chicken dinner with all the fixin’s, Harry,” the office would answer back as Harry would offer everyone donuts he had purchased at the local Donut Hut. Most appreciated the offer, but also passed, as one look at Harry’s miscolored stump where his hand should have been would cause everyone to lose their morning appetites and feel just a little sick.

Life rolled along for Harry until years later when he learned he had contracted the fatal Lou Gehrig’s disease. But as always, Harry’s happy and positive spirit seemed to be unflappable.

“Maybe old Lou couldn’t fight this disease, but I’m going to beat this thing Doc!” Harry promised kindly old Doc Ramsey.

“You’re truly an inspiration to us all,” the doctor beamed back while shaking Harry’s remaining hand and walking him to his car.

“Chicken dinner with all the fixin’s!” Harry called out to the doctor as he sped away.

“Chicken dinner with all the fixin’s, Harry,” Doc Ramsey shouted back while fighting the tears that were welling up in his eyes.

Instead of going back to work after the doctor’s appointment, Harry went home. Once he was safely inside his modest apartment, he drew the curtains and looked into the mirror on the medicine chest in his black and white-tiled bathroom.

“Dear God, why me? Why me? Why...why...why?” He cried out. Soon he was sobbing hysterically while curled up in the fetal position on his bed.

Five minutes later Harry Edelson used his left hand to squeeze the trigger from a gun he had bought after leaving Doc Ramsey’s office. He unloaded two bullets into the left side of his brain. After about a pint or two of blood gurgled out of his mouth Harry was dead. He was two weeks shy of his 64th birthday.

Three weeks later his neighbors complained to the landlord of a foul stench that was emanating from Harry’s apartment.

As they entered Harry’s apartment they followed the stomach-turning odor into the bedroom and it was then that they saw Harry’s rotting corpse laying on top of his bed. His brains and chunks of his skull were dotted and smeared all over the nearest wall.

Elderly Mrs. Jenkins slowly walked over to the brain splattered wall, pointed at the chunks and said to the crowd, “Are you people thinking what I’m thinking?”

And, as if rehearsed, the group shouted out in unison, “Chicken dinner with all the fixin’s!”
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Further reading: National Amputation Foundation, The Rust Doctor, Suicide Hotline and Chicken Dinner With All The Fixin’s.

You might also like: Vespa Scooters, Apple Pie and Chevrolet Fizzies.

Four Harrys
Harry Nilsson
Harry Rag
Harry Reasoner
Harry is lost and needs his meds.

My advice for those who die,
Declare the pennies on your eyes.

ARCHIVES

April 14, 2011

Okay, I’m writing the introduction after I’m done with tonight because it was a big fail. And a big disappointment to me. I can’t say what I was going to do because for the life of me I’m going to pull it off down the road. When I’m obsessed with something I can’t let it go and now I’m definitely obsessed with getting the post I wanted to do tonight. Sorry for the mystery and those of you who know what I was going to do, please don’t reveal it in the comments because it would ruin it for the post I will eventually do. Even though it didn’t work out, I still soldiered on and got some photos for a post to put up, even though I was in a shattered mood. What I wanted to do would’ve been such a classic post and I feel pretty horrible that I didn’t pull it off. Eventually I will. Anyway, here’s what I got in spite of my failure. You can’t win them all. Over, under, sideways, down.

Another chilly dismal night out here. When the fuck is the weather going to break here?

We'll be taking the F train to the East Village. (In retrospect I should've realized the "F" stands for Fail. I should've taken a cab. Noted for the next time.)

As soon as I got down on the tracks, boom, the train came rolling in. I love it when that happens!

And here we are in the East Village.

And about a block from here is where it all fell apart. I thought this would be a great night and it just didn't work at all. So with no game plan, it's time to improvise and try and salvage something out of this rotten night.

I thought maybe I'd walk around and take pictures of beg bug signs. Yes, i was that desperate. But just like cops, when you want to see a bed bug sign, they're few and far between.

I love the words, "Call Crazy Landlord." That would be a good name for a book, movie and/or a rock 'n' roll band. Just a little observation while wandering.

Seeing these bikes made me remember that the Hells Angels building is close by. That would make for some decent photos. Maybe get a good shot of their motorcycles all in lined up in front of their building.

And here we are, the infamous Hells Angels building on Third Street.

Hells Angels New York City.

Another banner off to the right of the building. I was disappointed that their aren't any Angels milling around. Maybe next time.

The notorius Hells Angels bench. MAD pal, EV Grieve broke a story about this a few months ago. Check it out here: Hells Angels bench.

I wanted a good shot of the motorcycles that are always parked out here, but they're all covered up, due to the shitty weather. I tell you, some nights you just cannot win. Sheesh!

On my way home, I saw these three gumball machines.

They're steel-topped Beaver machines. Always the mark of excellence!

I got a little yellow ring. A small reward on a night of gloom and doom. Oh well, tomorrow's another night. See you then, after dark.

Further reading and watching: EV Grieve, Flaming Pablum, Hells Angels NYC and Hunter Thompson.

You also might like: You might also like: Dino, Desi and Billy.

Three Other Hell’s
Richard Hell
Hell’s Kitchen
Hell Girl

Do you like good music?
That sweet soul music.

ARCHIVES

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Bonus Photo From Lex!

And to remind us all that things could be worse, MAD friend Lex, sent in this photo from Canada, where seemingly winter never ends!

April 13, 2011

 

Okay, as I explained yesterday, I got called in for jury duty today. So I thought I’d have a rare MDD post. Marty During Daytime. And for once I’m writing the introduction after it’s all over. Let me explain.

I knew I’d be beat tonight because I had to get up at 6:30 am, get ready, go downtown, do my jury duty thing and then come in to work. I thought I’d do some drawings, since they don’t allow you to take pictures in the courthouse. Kind of like a court reporter. I also wrote some random thoughts towards the end of the day. And then we were told that we didn’t have to come back. All is explained in the drawings and writings below. Order in the court!

Below are some drawings I did in the morning before lunch.

At 12:30 pm, we got the very good news that we were getting to go to lunch early and didn’t have to return till 2:15 pm! Since the Odeon is right next door, I decided to order out of the court. For beer that is! Here’s my recap of lunch, written on an Odeon postcard they give you when you pay your bill.

Notice how I closed  it with “Sneeze you tomorrow?” That’s because after lunch, they told us we’d probably be sprung for the day. After I drew the postcard we got some glum news. They said they needed 10 additional jurors for a pool to be added to another trial. Everybody slumped and then they started drawing jurors names out of a bowl at random. And yes, I was the second to be called! Fuck the luck! We all had to go get sworn in at room A and then were told to wait. And so we waited. And waited. I wrote this on my laptop.

Random Thoughts While Sitting in a Jury Pool Room

I didn’t see the big fat-headed guy after lunch. I wonder what happened to him? Maybe a serial killer killed him at lunch and now his giant-sized noggin is sitting inside a 117 pound aquarium in what has to be the world’s biggest refrigerator. I bet the head is balanced just so, so that the rolls of fat are at their juiciest. The serial killer...let’s think of a name for him...I’ve got it! Let’s call him “Son of a Gun!” Perfect serial killer name! Okay, it’s not as good as “Son of Dad” that was used on a Seinfeld, but those writers got paid thousands of dollars an episode. I’m getting forty bucks a day here and I spent more than that for lunch today!

So anyway, Son of a Gun is looking at the big fat head in the aquarium...and what does Son of a Gun look like? That’s easy, he looks exactly like David Berkowitz, but he’s bald like Lex Luthor and that makes him look a lot more sinister. I never thought David Berkowitz looked that sinister or  even capable of committing cold-blooded murder. He looked more like someone who would be thrilled to win a stuffed animal at a county fair. He looked like someone who would eat mayonnaise on a goddamned cheeseburger. Probably really slather that shit all over the cheeseburger. You know who eats mayonnaise on a cheeseburger? Assholes who take their marching orders from barking dogs inside of their crazy-ass, looney tune heads. Sheesh!

Alright, so Son of a Gun is looking at the big fat head in the aquarium housed in the world’s largest aquarium.

Okay, I have to break in here and say that William, one of the people who are in charge of the juror’s pool and occasionally calls jurors up to the front desk for whatever reason, and he just did, when the name is a Spanish name and the name he just called was “Ramirez”, he adapts a Spanish accent. He even rolls his “r’s” somewhat like he’s freaking Ricardo Montalban extrolling the virtues of Soft Corinthian Leather. It’s really annoying and if it keeps up I may approach the front desk and tell him to knock this shit off.

And speaking of Ricardo Montalban...KHAAAAAAN!

At about 4:30 pm we were told that they didn’t need us after all. And since we had to stay while the others left early, we were told our jury duty was done. I was thrilled for a second, then realized I had to go into work. I probably could’ve taken the night off, but those beers and French Fries at the Odeon weren’t cheap! And now I’m home after work and on the verge of collapse. Goodnight everybody and we’ll see you tomorrow after dark.

Further reading: New York Magazine, Cupcake Confessionals, Five Years Too Late and Chowhound.

You might also like: Goldfish, Ice Sculptures and Chinese Cherry.

Six Courtroom Movies
The Verdict
12 Angry Men
A Few Good Men
Kramer Vs. Kramer
My Cousin Vinny
Judgment at Nuremberg

 

Are you alright?
I haven’t seen you for a real long time.

ARCHIVES

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Bonus Jaws Art!

Jaws sent in this piece of art to accompany the luncheon part of the post. Thanks, Jaws!