Friday, January 30, 2009


Back in da day, like 2 years ago, playahs was getting their ice on. The world of replica watches was on fire. Sometimes buying 3-4 at a time, high rollers, double parking their leased Mercedes S-classes and Escalades next to Chinatown street vendors, strapping on stunning Breitling replicas ablaze with cz’s, precision handset by Asian workers in warehouses, basements, and watch part strewn kitchen tables.

Seems the game has changed. Where, oh where have the ballers gone? Have they gone the way of the economy? Has the demise of the almighty dollah pinched everyone’s roll of C-notes? Or is it simply passé to be a pimp. Is profiling now considered to be in poor taste?

There’s a new pimp is in the house: The Whitehouse. A new black hero for all black men to imitate and emulate. He holds no pimp cup, he wears no chain. His smile is powerful and ablaze without the aid of custom grillz.


Wednesday, January 28, 2009


Since I’ve been writing a bit on here, folks have commented on the ditty I wrote comparing bad boys to fast food. Their assumption is that I’m helping myself to more than the occasional hamburger - that I’m helping myself to a big ol’ heaping portion of man meat.

I almost wish this were true. And I would tell you. I’m not shy. The truth is, I don’t. And I wonder why. Upon thinking about it one story from my past emerges, and it shaped me into the coward I am.

When I was a teenager, I went to the movies by myself. There was a very handsome blond guy there, slightly older than myself, sitting a couple of seats ahead of me. We looked at each other, and the next thing I knew, he got up, walked back, and took a seat in the same row, leaving one seat between us. He turned to me and said, “Quisp or Quake?” Quisp and Quake were two delightfully sickening-sweet cereals that were launched together during my childhood. One featured a cartoon character called “Quisp”, the other, “Quake”. It was a choice like “Coke or Pepsi”, but the retro cereal reference was so much more original, it really resonated with me. I had never heard a better line. I was in high school. I didn’t have a library of lines choose from, but I knew a winner when I heard one. I was a goner. The entire movie, all I could hear was the sound of my own hyperventilation.

After the lights came up, I went to leave. Quisp and Quake guy followed me out to the parking lot and asked me if I wanted to go get something to eat. I took a pass, got in my car, and instantly regretted it.

I went home and told my dad the whole story. I had a very, very cool dad. We were very close and talked about everything. I recounted the guy’s brilliant line, how cute the guy was, and his offer in the parking lot. “Dad, I don’t know why I didn’t get his number, or something,” I said with my newfound confidence. He said, “Because you’re a lady.” I was taken aback. I thought he would applaud my joi de vivre. But he admonished it. I was crushed. Leaving both Quisp and Quake soggy under my spoon.

Now that I’m all grown up, you’ll rarely catch me talking like a lady. Yet this annoying “lady” lurks within me. My dad put her there. And maybe he’s looking down on me. Bearing witness to every opportunity I pass on. Be it a disarming age-inappropriate guy, or an unscrupulous man in uniform -– and he probably says, “That’s my girl”. A real lady. Can anyone recommend a good exorcist?

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Advertising Creative Director For A Day!

I've worked in the advertising business as long as I can remember. Longer than I can remember, now that my memory is failing. I know the kind of work that I like to do. But does it have a place in my portfolio? You tell me! That's right, I'm making you my own personal creative director! Check out the work, lay down the law, leave it in a comment. Then go missing for a 3 hour "lunch".

Sunday, January 25, 2009

Google Links: No sense of irony.

Who pays for all of us who pontificate for free? Why, it’s those Google links on the right hand side of the blog page. Those links actually make the blogger money, your readers simply have to click on them, and lookie: you’re about a quarter richer. Links are content related. So, if I write about naming my puppy, a link to Most Popular Dog Names might pop up on your blog 24 hours later. Mention online dating, links to dating sites will appear sure as you’ll meet a crazy or three on the internet. I like it, it makes me money, and it makes me feel somehow listened to. But nuance is altogether lost on the machine. It’s not picking up my tone, it’s not getting my delightful sense of irony. How else could you explain the links to Mickey D’s, and the home of that little red-haired girl with the braids? Michael Moore’s beloved targets, there they are - plain as day, “proudly” displayed on my very own page? It may as well be, “This message, proudly sponsored by Cardiovascular Disease”. Or, “This rant, brought to you by Obesity”.

It reminds me of talking to people in Southern California. Cynicism, sarcasm, they don’t play in San Diego like they do in New York. But I’m not going to play to San Diego, or Google links for that matter. So let the links fall where they may.

Bad Boys are like Fast Food

I try to be healthy. I know what’s good for me. But temptation is hard to avoid.
It’s bad boys. They are as ubiquitous as McDonalds, with all the convenience of a 24-hour drive-thru.

Is the delight of giving into a double cheeseburger and fries knowing it’s disastrous effects on your heart health? When you drive up to the window, is it the smell, taste, the pleasure it represents? Or is it rejection of the painfully dull everyday meal of white meat chicken and steamed broccoli? Does understanding the dynamic behind the appeal matter? That’s the thing with compulsions, they live to defy your better judgment.

The 99 cent cheeseburger I had the other day was just so-so. But giving in to just a taste of the bad stuff was satisfaction enough.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

A Sycamore Grows In Bethel

It's 1952 at The Sycamore

Brooklyn to The Sycamore, estimated drive time, 1hr 45min, but worth every second, and every drop of gas.

What is it about a burger hot off the grill with white cheese that sticks to the warm paper it's wrapped in? How about a homemade root beer, they have that too. Pimp that rb with a scoop of Hershey's Vanilla Ice Cream. Now you're talkin. Perch yourself at the soda fountain, or grab a booth. This is no new fangled theme restaurant, this is the original Sycamore! Where car hop service is more than a memory. What to do in the back woods of Connecticut on a Saturday night? Stop by the Sycamore parking lot where SUV's take a back seat to the vintage Mustangs, Camero's, and T-birds. If you hunger for simpler times, 1952 is just an hour or so away from NYC.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Who's That Girl?


Some dogs name themselves. You look at them and it’s somehow obvious. My first Miniature Schnauzer, Rudy, had his name within 2 hours of coming home. The name not only stuck, it defined an era of rude behavior. What was the cause? His puppy mill background? Or was his name to blame? Either way, the next time and the next dog were going to be different.

So I found a highly reputable breeder, ponied up top dollar, and purchased a DNA tested- “breed standard”/qualified to show Miniature Schnauzer female puppy. And now all I had to do was come up with the perfect name.

Annabelle. Collette. Fiona. Tammy. Marge.
No. No. No. Bad. Wrong.

This wasn’t as easy as I thought. I mean, I do this for a living. Naming products. Creating brands. Naming puppies. C'mon!

After a week or so she became known as “Little What’s Her Name”. I was stumped. Then it came to me: Craig!

“Name this puppy and I’ll buy you a beer.” I posted that afternoon on the Craigslist, under the personals section. Who knows what might come of it.

There was no shortage of cutesy:
“Trixie”. “Piper”. “Maxie”. “Roxanne”. It’s good to get the obvious ones out of the way.

Gangstas were in the house with “Greenbacks”, “Lexus”, and “Dollah Dollah”.
Interesting from a manifesting perspective. Lacking in “pet me” appeal.

Germaniacs contributed: Shotzie, Schnapps, Gretchen, and Eva Braun. All possibly awkward when paired with her last name, “Schwartz”.

Dog haters represented with “Barkie”, “Shut the F Up”, and “Dinner”.

Over 100 names, but not a one of them right for “Little What’s Her Name”.

And there she was looking up at me, little “L.W.H.N.” She didn’t seem to care one bit. She was a happy girl, with a sunny disposition. “Sunny” would be great, but it sounded like a guy that owns a filling station. Similarly, “Rosie” could work. It was cheerful, simple, homespun, with a certain retro-charm. I ran it by her and she liked it immediately. It was settled.

Her full AKC name flowed from there. “Perfect Rose Of Carroll Gardens”. Harkening her perfection, and my beloved Brooklyn neighborhood all at the same time. Damn, I’m good!

And now I can actually say, “A Rose by any other name would NOT smell as sweet." Like “Shotzie” would have sucked.