One of the rules we learned back in the early days of online user-generated internet content was that it’s really bad for people to knock back a coupla drinks and then visit online forums or send e-mail. When I managed online forums, I used to get calls at home. Seriously. So-and-so would call because whats-his-name had said whatever … WGAS right? It’s the Internet and nobody knew you were a dog.
Well, I’m violating that rule. Right here, right now. Why?
Because, it’s the only way to prove my “Fail Safe Margarita Recipe.”
I used to know this guy named Larry. He told me of a fail-safe Margarita (and I use capitals because, well, obviously, my wife’s name is Margaret) recipe and he said he’d sorted it out because after the first batch, he needed a recipe that required no thought to make it work. For Margaritas, this is sound planning. In fact, it was such sound planning for Larry that, well, he gave up drinking. Last I heard, he was living in Austin and finishing up a degree. That was years ago. Great guy, and a terrific writer. I hope we cross paths again, Larry.
So, with that in mind, here’s my 3-2-1 recipe.
2 jiggers of what ever that is. I swear, I can’t remember it already.
1 jigger of key west lime juice.
3 jiggers of tequila.
Put all that in a cocktail shaker with a lot of curshed ice, and you should be good to go. You can probably figure out what’s in the first jigger.
Over the speakerphone comes a torrent of jargon and epithets.
“Whoa-whoa-whoa there. Speak quieter. Tipper can hear this thing across the house.”
The door bursts open, and in storms the Irate Wife of 40 Years.
“Did I just hear that man say The B-word?,” she fumes.
“No, no-no!” says the Answerman. “He said Vizlas.”
“Vizlas? That didn’t sound like no Hungarian dog! It was the B-Word!” says Irate Wife of 40 Years.
Voice over the speaker phone …’Yo-yo-y0. Looks like I’ll call you back later.” <Click>
“Since when do you care about dogs from Hungary? You’re a Tennessee boy. You want tick hounds and huntin’ dawgs,” says the Even More Irate Wife of 40 years.
“Well,” says the Answerman. “Since you mentioned dawgs, me and my dog Snoop Dawg are going to Hungary to talk about Global Climate Change with the PowerPoint.”
“PowerPoint? You still flaunting that thing? I told you months ago to take that damn coelacanth out of there. Climate change didn’t kill off the coelacanths!,” she said as she stomped her foot.
“Well, it’s a great visual. It looks like a swimming dinosaur. And we know they died from climate change…” says the Answerman. “So I’m keeping it in the show.”
“Yeah, right. Ever since you got your Peace Prize, you’ve been taking that gosh darned PowerPoint show everywhere. Rosalyn never had to put up with this when Jimmy got his…”
“Yeah, well Snoop and I are taking his G4 and ….”
“Since when did that Snoop Dawg care about the environment. I wasn’t born yesterday. That Peace Prize should be called Piece of Ass Prize ….”
You need to know about a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Now sit down because this could knock you over. I am friends with two families who this happened to, and quite frankly, I believe they wished it hadn’t.
That’s right. The Perlman family of Alpharetta, Ga., and the Mestrich family, soon to be formerly of Maplewood, NJ, are about to become inextricably connected.
What could these two families who have never met possibly have in common? Well, let’s start with the obvious. Both families have charming daughters who are smart, pretty, and have very bright futures ahead of them. Both families have similar dogs of the Dachshund variety that were adopted from shelters. Both families have used identical green Chrysler minivans to shuttle their talented daughters to sporting events, school, etc. And both families live in Colonial-styled homes with shutters.
And yes, both of those homes have been across the street from me. And herein lies the opportunity. You could be just like the Mestrich and Perlman families and live across the street from ME!
You should live here. It's across the street from ME!
We hate to see Tilney & Keith Mestrich move. Seriously. We love these people. It’s in your best interest to pay top-dollar for their house. But their loss, which is location-location-location, could be your gain. And you, could live, across the street, FROM ME!
Here’s what you’d be getting. The Mestrich house is a turnkey move-up. New plumbing. A big yard. A driveway that’s suitable for basketball. An enormous basement where your kids can hang out with their friends and you can set up a tool shop and build stuff. It can be your “Man Cave.” And what’s more, there is a two-car detached garage for your other “Man Cave.” There’s a formal living room with fireplace, a dining room and a thoroughly updated kitchen that really works, as thoroughly proven by Keith & Tilney. There’s a study or guest bedroom on the third floor. The house has a lovely shaded deck. There’s a study/guest bedroom on the third floor. Your kids will walk to school from here. No buses. Trains that zoom non-stop into Penn Station in New York City are close enough to walk to, but far enough that you don’t hear them.
At the price they’re asking, you could be living in a cramped apartment in Brooklyn, which is about 22 miles away, as the crow flies, from ME. That would be a big mistake. It would be a longer commute into Manhattan.
You could live on Yale Street. You really should live on Yale Street. Let me tell you about some of the advantages of Yale Street. For starters, more Presidents of the United States of America have been Yale alumni than any other university. Other streets in my neighborhood include Bowdoin, Rutgers and Oberlin and Wellesley…and they’ve had NO presidents. Losers!
But you could be a winner and live across the street from ME. I’m not a “president,” but I have been a “community organizer.” So really, how far is that from becoming “president.” Not far, if you ask ME.
You never have to spell “Yale” street to delivery clerks when you talk to them on the phone. It will never be confused with Oakwood or Oakland, or Park Streets or Park Avenue, or Parker Avenue, or Burnett Terrace with Burnet Street or Burnet Avenue. All these are streets in Maplewood. It’s “Yale.” It’s the only Yale in town and it’s only two blocks long. Your guests, relatives, delivery man, or airport limo won’t get confused looking for your house on Yale Street.
Yale. It’s MY street and YOU could live across the street from ME! I really don’t know how you can pass up this opportunity. The Perlmans and Mestrichs had no choice in ME becoming their neighbor. But you do.
You’re within walking distance of the gym where Margaret and Tilney Mestrich work out before the crack of freakin’ dawn. Kari’s Café is also close, where literally, everybody knows your name. Also close by are two banks, a juice bar, a yoga studio, and a fabulous Portuguese barbecue restaurant. And a Fringe salon. So convenient. So tony. And so close to ME.
And it could be close to YOU. It should be close to YOU.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. “If I move across the street from you and start watching movies on the big screen in your back yard with the other amazing neighbors, and eating pulled pork that’s been smoking all day, and sipping the margaritas that you’ve spent 20 years perfecting the recipe, and eating whole-wheat organic chocolate chip cookies that Margaret made for dessert, what in the hell am I gonna do for babysitters?”
For people who live across the street from ME that is not a problem. I have a son in high school. He knows lots of babysitters.
Now, there are some distinct advantages of living across the street from ME, opposed to living next door to ME. For starters, when you live across the street from ME, it’s much easier to see the Gator Flag flying from my front porch. The flag announces to the world “IT’S TIME TO BE FESTIVE!” It’s also much easier to look out the front windows of your house and see how wonderful I am.
Now, there is an advantage to living “next door” to ME. That would be the “drive-up” window which we’ve been known to use for dispatching lattes, cocktails and glasses of wine. Our across-the-street neighbors don’t take advantage of that, much as our next door neighbors have been known to. But there is no reason the across-the-street neighbors shouldn’t.
By the way, Newark Airport is 15 minutes away. When my friends come to visit ME, they call me when they get to baggage claim. And by the time I pull up to the curb in the car, they’ve just gotten to the curb too.
Here’s another secret about our block. When it snows, it becomes a “Snow Removal Collective.” That’s right, we lay down our sports team affiliations, and put aside our car preferences (Alfa-Romeo vs. Corvette vs. BMW vs. Subaru vs. Mazda & Mercedes-Benz) and pick up our shovels and fire up our snowthrowers and clear the walks and driveways. That’s the truth.
But wait. There’s more. Much more. So, not only would you get to live across the street from ME, aka, “Mr. Special,” and “Captain Wonderful,” and “America’s Swellest Guy,” you’d get to live NEXT DOOR to “America’s Most Amazing Next Door Neighbors!”
That would be Will & Zan, and Ahsan & Sadia.
And of course, you’d get all that, and still be across the street from ME!
I know Howard and Lorna Perlman of Alpharetta, Georgia rue the day that the “for sale” sign went into my old front yard. I’m sure the old neighborhood ain’t the same, and I’m sure the neighbors on my street say the same about MY street, Yale Street. So put in for a transfer with the boss. Call your Realtor. You can be MY neighbor and join an elite group of Extra-Fortunate Americans!
I’ll say it again. We hate to see Tilney & Keith Mestrich move. Seriously. We love these people. Location-location-location, could be your gain. And you, could live, across the street, FROM ME!
Leppy died Wednesday at her home in Maplewood, NJ. A native of a some reptile pet wholesaling nursery, her family originally came from Central Asia. Leppy adapted well to the quiet life of an ectotherm in a mild climate. Warmer in winter than the harsh desert of her forebears, and cooler in the summer, Leppy made the most of her tiny, fortress-like environment. She spent her days, free from the worries of predation, and snacked on crickets. She’d alternate her time in the mornings under the heated rock, or on top of the wood in her environment. But what excited her was the once-a-week crinkling of a plastic bag. She’d emerge from her slumber, blink her eyelids, and wait for the crickets to fall from the plastic bag.
“We’ll miss Leppy,” said one New Jersey pet store proprietor. “She was directly responsible for $2 revenue per week! Looks like I’ll have to give up Starbucks and go back to Dunkin’ Donuts.”
Other residents of Maplewood were fond of Leppy as well, including Hazel, a domestic short-haired feline calico cat. “I never really wanted to eat Leppy,” said the cat. “I just felt sorry for her, being ectothermic and all. Yeah, I know it’s not as cold as the Afghan desert, but it’s still cold here. I’d have been happy to keep Leppy warm and safe in my mouth.”
Leppy was known to make an appearance or two at the parties where her humans lived. More than one mother was heard to say, “No, (insert child’s name here) you can leave the lizard here. We have enough pets at home.”
Leppy will be interred in an old cardboard jewelry box that has a cotton lining. Her body currently lies in state at 54 Yale Street. Leppy is survived by humans Sam, Max, Margaret and Paul, and one cricket she didn’t bother to eat.
A couple of weeks I was talking to a group of people. They have a need to create an internet presence. So I was trying to explain to them why they shouldn’t build a web site, and why they should go directly to Facebook. Then I said, “Don’t you remember that shampoo commercial where she told two friends and she told two friends and so on?”
One of them got it. The rest of the room stared at me and blinked. Well, this is what I was talking about.
The people who really know things that are really important are really too busy to tell you.
That’s to say, that the people who know Jack Shot are too busy courting Jack’s business. And why will Jack hire them? Well, for obvious reasons, they know what they are talking about. And since they knew what they are talking about, they placed a value on it. And since they place a value on their knowledge, they aren’t going to tell you, or me or Jack about it unless someone is ready to cut them a check.
This takes us to today’s blogosphere. The blogosphere is the front lines on today’s many assorted clashes of culture. For instance, if you want to see where people are busy bashing Wall Street bonuses, head on over to the blogosphere. And what do you find? You find people taking pot-shots at bonuses. And what does Wall Street have to say about it? Nothing. Why should they? If they did, then they’d be distracted from what they do best, which is make money.
Now, there is a slim chance that your grocery store cashier blogs about the hooligans who pass through her checkout aisle. Or that the waiter who took your order for broiled Suzuki last night blogged to his waiter buddies about the dumbass patrons don’t know it’s really striped bass. It’s real. It’s not scientific. It shouldn’t steer your beliefs one way or another. It’s just another form of entertainment, just like turning on the television.
And that’s really all blogs are good for. Entertainment.
America's Most Important Man! 