Entries in Joan Jett (7)


Update From Gumby!








Okay, all that white space is there because Gumby has no arms and therefore can't type (the little freak!) I tried telling him this, but noooo, he had to be the big man and insist. Anyway, he failed, so now I have to do all the work!

I just wanted to put up an update about when my next blog is going to start. I'm pretty sure it'll be the first week of February. The blog itself is pretty well all set up, but there's a reason for the wait and I'll disclose it when I announce the blog. I hate to be Mr. Mysterioso, but I can't talk about it now.

I also need time to think of a bank of ideas for it, so I can start off running with some fun ideas and things to do.
"Boris" outdid himself and did the best banner I've ever seen, truly genius artwork! Thanks in advance, "Boris," you hit it out of the blogosphere ball park with this one.

So, I appreciate those of you who will stick around. Whenever you take a month off from blogging, you lose some people and I really appreciate those who stay loyal and keep coming back. You're the best and I thank you!

And now, what better way to kick off a weekend than Joan Jett covering one of Alice Cooper's best songs? Happy weekend!


November 17, 2011

Okay, since I didn’t get to go out in search of a swizzle stick yesterday, tonight’s the night, to quote either Neil Young or Rod the Mod. One bar I never made it to on the bar crawl but always meant to go was the Campbell Apartment in Grand Central Station. It’s kind of a fancy Dan joint and I’m thinking we may score a swizzle there. I’ve only been there twice, but if I remember correctly, It’s expensive, but I worked overtime last night so it’s off we go.

It's a rainy night out, but at least it's not that cold for this time of year.

That's what Jerry Sandusky said.

Down into the subway we go.

And with the blink of an eye and the magic of the internet, here we are, Grand Central Station.

I always come to the clock information booth in the middle of the main concourse to get my bearings.

Okay, up the stairs...

Out these doors...

And here we are, Campbell's Apartment. Let's go inside and see what's happening.

It’s dark in here and I’m putting my camera away. I just got hit by a wave of bad and scary vibrations. I’ve been in here before, but both of those times were in the day and the patrons were a somewhat harmless combination of wide-eyed tourists and weary commuters getting a high-priced drink before moving along and minding their own worthless business.

This crowd is weird in here tonight.
Ages range from early thirties to very old. Everyone is draped in expensive duds, there’s a thirty-something woman in a black dress with a diamond on her finger which is the size of one of Rosie O’Donnell’s bowel movements. As I said, she’s in a black dress and she’s neither long nor cool, but her shiny silver shoes probably cost more than I make in five months of hard labor. She has shoulder length blonde hair, a bit of a lined and hard face and is cackling like a hen on mescaline at some old man croaking away in an expensive navy blue, pin-striped suit who somewhat resembles Cesar Romero with a thyroid condition. One strange thing is that no one’s drinking in here, it’s too crowded to get to the bar and people are holding drinks, but no one’s drinking them. This makes me nervous, over at McSorley’s right now, the patrons are throwing back beers served two at a time, like prohibition is going to rear its ugly head again at any minute. God, how I wish I was there.

I decide to take another picture, but as I do, several people have started eyeballing both myself and Gumby, so the shot turns out like shit. Everybody’s white in here and dressed to the nines, Gumby’s green and he’s nude. An unpopular and very wrong combination for this uptight and upperwardly mobile obscene crowd. I was getting flashed some pretty downward glances myself. Every man in here has an expensive suit and tie on, I’m wearing my seven-year-old black Navy pea coat, a black jean shirt with a hole in the sleeve and black Levi’s with a pizza stain on the left thigh. I sweat a lot and it’s hot in here, so perspiration is rolling down my face worse than Albert Brooks in Broadcast News. It’s very uncomfortable for me in here right now.

It was right then and there that the nerve-rattling and bone-chilling realization of where I was hit me in the face like a 700 pound bag of dead hamsters: It was the 1%! That’s right, I was right in the belly of the beast of the motherfucking 1%. The 99% can’t even get a decent foothold in Zuccotti Park, but the 1% are here at Occupy Campbell’s Apartment, lounging on expensive couches and eating free peanuts without a care. And why shouldn’t the peanuts be free, these greedy fuckheads probably own the motherfucking peanut factory. And the workers in the factory just took another 10% pay cut, so fill up those crystal bowls on the bar and strike up Alexander’s Ragtime Band.

I could feel the tension building, an outsider had snuck in to their fancy high priced lounge, one of those 99% scumballs who think you belong in jail just because you’ve pulled bank frauds, evaded taxes, manipulated stocks and pretty much ruined the economy while continuing to get rich off other people’s losses. They have my number all right and I have to think quick and get out the fuck out of here before one of their Nazi-like, goose-stepping, box-headed goons shows up and whisks me away to take me home, give me an eye-blinding spray pepper shower, beat me up, burn all my books and then throw me in jail for consorting with a green, nude, cartoon bag—that’s something that they really hate. All of a sudden I know what I have to do.

“Hi Mayor Bloomberg,” I shout out to the corner of the room in my best Eddie Haskell, “Gee you look swell, Mrs. Cleaver,” voice.

All heads turn to get an eyefull of their shifty, helium-brained, ferret-faced leader and Gumby and I race out the door and to the safety of a car on a downtown number six train. I click my heels three times on the way.

The Good Witch was right, there’s no place like home.

And there’s plenty of swizzle sticks here too. Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.

Occupy Campbell’s Apartment
Grand Central Terminal
15 Vanderbilt Ave. (Near 43rd St.)

Further reading: Wonkblog, Rolling Stone and The Guardian.

I don’t give a damn ‘bout my reputation.
(Thanks to “Boris” for supplying the link.)

(Surprise link...click on it...I dare you!)


September 22, 2011

I’m taking tonight off from work, because tomorrow I’m flying back to Peoria to see my family and go to a wedding. I have a car service coming at 6:30 AM, which means I have to get up at 5:30 AM which means I have to start drinking right now to pass out get to bed early. So I thought I’d just take a few random shots around the apartment and then start boozing it up heavily getting ready to go to sleep.

Here's Gumby in his chair. He's going to stay back here in NY and watch my apartment. I hope he doesn't have any wild parties while I'm away.

Gumby in a cup...

Gumby in two cups and Pokey!

Presenting the entire Gumby family! They're bendable and poseable. And they are bad-ass motherfuckers!

And here's Gumby looking down at the two flashlights that Britta and Tom brought me when they were here a little bit ago. I forgot to thank them in that post, so I'm doing it now. Thanks, Britta and Tom! I'll be thinking of you during the next power outtage!

Here's a vintage cover of Creem magazine with Joan Jett on it. I think I've posted it before, but it's worth a second viewing. It's Joan Jett after all!

And another shot of Joan Jett.

Yeah Yeah Yeah!

And while we're looking at cool bands in my apartment, here's the brand new CD by The Handcuffs, "Waiting For The Robot." It's their best collection of tunes yet and you have to own it, that's all there is to it! It's available at iTunes and CD Baby. Check it out or I'll come to your house and drink all of your beer and have sex with some of your food.

I couldn't get a good shot of the cover, so I scanned it in. Very cool! Nice legs...and your's aren't too shabby either, Chloe! Har dee har har! Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.

Further reading: The Handcuffs Discography, Atlanta Examiner and Green Light Go.

You Might Also Like: Hop Sing, Hop on Pop and Hop Stop.

You don’t have to keep asking if we’ve met before,
All that small talk really gets to be a bore.

(Surprise link...click on it...I dare you!)



September 12, 2011

Okay, it’s Sunday night and I’m going to wander down to Carmine Street and have a Sunday dinner at the Noodle Bar and then wander around a little. So there!

And we're off. It was raining earlier, but now it's nice outside.

You can see the Twin Tower lights in the center of this photo if you look real closely.

Okay, we're just about a block away from Carmine Street, almost there.

And here we are at the Noodle bar. Yes, I'm a poet and I know it.

Inside it's a long and narrow space. There's an empty seat, so let's go snag it.

They have more wine than beer, but they have TsingTao, which is a favorite of mine.

Rows of soy sauce line the wall opposite the bar.

There's a nice view of Carmine Street from my seat at the bar.

The kitchen crew is busy preparing dishes. It smells great in here!

This woman's been obsessively texting the whole time I've been here. I feel sorry for the poor schmuck she's ignoring.

The beer has arrived, let the dinner begin!

And here's a trio of sauces to spicen up the meal. Hot sauce, soy sauce and a little bowl of chili sauce.

The first course is served, sesame chicken wings. Nice and spicy and even spicier after I added some additional hot sauce to them.

For the main course I got the coconut shrimp and spicy noodles.

Delicious! A wonderful Sunday dinner! But all the spiciness has left me craving something sweet to balance it out.

So I thought we'd check out the pastry at Rocco's on Bleecker Street, a block away.

Let's go inside and take a gander.

Usually it's packed in here, but luckily it's slow tonight.

Wow, it all looks great, but I'm pretty full, so I think I'll try some of the mini pastries.

And here they are, my three mini pastries. Doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo...Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.

Further reading: New York Magazine, Ephemeral New York, Alhoa Rag and NY Citysearch.

You Might Also Like: Dad’s Root Beer, Mom’s Cooking and Sister Christian.

Crimson and Clover,
Over and over.

(Surprise link...click on it...I dare you!)


July 22, 2011

Shit, this is a first. I’m just getting ready to go and I went to get my camera out of my bag and I must’ve forgot to pack it and left it at home. I had a plan for tonight, but I’m not going all the way home and then going out again, so I’ll do what I was going to do next week. So what about tonight? Well, I guess you’ll get some shots of my apartment. Hey, what are you going to do?

Okay, first things first, time to finally drink that Sol after repeated urgings from Britta and Clacky joined in last night.

And here it is, the lone bottle of Sol, finally out of the fridge.

And here's the oblgatory mirror shot of me drinking the beer. Cheers to Britta, Clacky and to all of you. And to Shawn Chittle for buying the beer in the first place!

A sip for Gumby.

And a shot of Gumby in the cup. He's a little more eliusive than the other Gumby and is reluctant to have his photo taken, so enjoy this rare shot.

This air conditioner is 8-years-old. I got it on sale from PC Richards for 93 bucks. I can't believe it still works, but it does. And on a scorching night like tonight, I'm thankful for it.

I think I've posted this picture before, but it's worth posting again, the "Funny Cry Happy" store on 14th Street. Sadly it's now a cell phone store. Ecch.

Joan Jett and a couple of Handcuffs buttons.

X-Ray Gogs, a present from Frank Scott, he'll probably be amazed I still have these. Maybe we'll even get a rare comment from him, but probably not.

Here's a Shamwow animal from my friend Ash.

A pile of books.

Here's an issue of Time Out New York where I wrote a story called, "16 Beers in 16 Bars in 16 Hours." Kind of a precursor for my 99 Beers book and 365 Bars. I got a cover line on the issue, so I was happy with that.

The first page of the article. Look at me with no grey hair!

Look at this old Life magazine with Charles Manson on the cover. I remember reading this as a kid and it kind of scared me.

Susan Atkins and Charlie Manson on the lead pages of the Life story.

A picture of a fat cat is the last page "Parting Shot" for the issue.

My two heaters, I won't be needing these guys for a while. Hey, what's that in-between them...


Further reading: MedicineNet.com, FamilyDoctor.com, About.com - Psychology and NY Apartments.

You Might Also Like: Rubber Biscuits, Plastic Donuts and Velvet Apples.

Four Famous People Who Suffered With Alzheimer's
Glen Campbell
Ronald Reagan
Perry Como
Shit I Can’t Remember the Fourth One!

You're just a memory of a love,
That used to mean so much to me.


(Surprise link...click on it...I dare you!)


Bonus Magazine Cover From Jaws!

Jaws sent in this magazine cover from 1979. It's the Progressive letting loose with the H-Bomb, a distant cousin to the F-Bomb if I remember correctly. Thanks, Jaws!


June 21, 2011

Okay, I’m still hungover from yesterday at Mars Bar kind of tired tonight and don’t really feel like doing anything for tonight’s post. I think those of you that have been following MAD for the last few months know where this is going, so it’s off we go.

And here we are at Penn Station, a familiar stopping point here on MAD.

Everyone's standing still on the escalator which is nice.

I have to check the Duane Reade to see if things have improved in their greeting card section.

Okay, this shit is getting too personal in here! I'm going to talk to a manager the next time!

Okay, not far to go now...

And here we are...ahhh, I feel better already!

My friend serves up the dog...

And I retreat to my table in my Fortress of Solitude.

I let Gumby have a tableside seat tonight and that pleased him.

Dog gone, so now it's time to enjoy the beer...

And do a little drawing to relax.

A collective shot of tonight's artwork.

An obligatory Papaya Dog mirror shot and I'm done. Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow, after dark.

Further reading: Merriam Webster, Free Dictionary, What’s Cooking in America and Something For Al.

You also might like: Ricky, Ticky and Tocky.

Three Online Histories of Hot Dogs
About Dot Com
Hot Dog City

A dinosaur Victrola, listening to Buck Owens,
Doo, doo doo, lookin’ out my back door.


(Surprise link...click on it...I dare you!)


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!"


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!”

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.