… or why I probably won’t make BlogHer this year.

I wrote a long, creative piece to tell this story, but sometimes I think it is best to just write things in a boring, just-the-facts manner.  So, here it goes:

A year ago, Sophia read about this Father’s Day promotion online:

“Buy $125 dollars worth of Dockers pants from JCPenney and receive a “free round-trip ticket within the U.S.”

So, off we went to JCPenney, where I spent two hour trying on different Dockers pants, each time parading in front of Sophia like a male runway model, waiting for her sign of approval.  Did it fit in the back?  Was it the right color?  Finally, we made our choices, mailed in our reciepts, and received the official brochure in the mail.

 From the brochure sent to me by

TLC Marketing
c/o Dockers/JCPenney
1 Faneuil Hall Marketplace, 4th Floor
Boston, MA 02109

“This complimentary round-trip airfare allows you to visit one of these ten exciting cities:  Boston, New York City, Washington D.C., Miami, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Las Vegas, Chicago, Orlando, or Dallas.  Name your destination; we just named your price:  FREE.”

The promotion had some odd stipulations.  You had to choose –

“Different first, second, and third choice destinations.”

“Different first, second, and third choice date preferences for both outbound and return travel.”

“That’s weird,” I thought.  “This free ticket is not very useful if you really need to get somewhere important, like for business.  It’s a bit of a crap shoot.”

I decided to try to use it to go to BlogHer in San Francisco this year.  I joked with some of you that I might end up in Chicago or Dallas during BlogHer, but I was fairly confident that I would get tickets to San Francisco.  After all, there are dozens of flights from the New York area to San Francisco/Oakland.  Surely, there was room in one of them during the days I gave them, even if I had to do a stop-over.

The brochure gave further instructions:

“A Representative from TLC Marketing will contact you within 14 days of receipt to book and confirm travel itinerary.”

A few weeks ago, I received two automated voice messages.  One said that my completed form was in order and to expect a call.  The next offered me other options besides the free ticket.  I could receive a $125 rebate or $150 in “restaurant coupons.”  It was a bad deal.  Coupons to what — Olive Garden?  I took the flight.   Still, a red light went on in my head.  It was sneaky of them, because in the brochure they clearly write:

“TLC Marketing may substitute another reward of equal or greater value if promotional availability runs out.”

Free ticket to SF does not equal Olive Garden coupons.

Time passed.  It was now two weeks before BlogHer.  I called the TLC Marketing “Dockers Concierge” number to find out what was going on.  A few months ago, I had spoken to a woman in India at this number who helped me correctly fill out my form.  Now, there was no one to talk to.  All that was left was a message that participants would get a call by “July 3rd.”  It is now July 9th.  I already missed BlogHer registraion. 

I was as if the promotion has been taken off of TLC Marketing’s agenda. 

I googled this promotion online and quickly found out why.  This promotion was an ongoing PR mess for TLC Marketing.  There were already 500 complaints issued with the Better Business Bureau of Massachusetts against TLC Marketing and their company president, Walter Osterman.

There were problems from the get-go, even from those customers who received their flights.    Their free flights ended up costing them $90 in taxes and and processing fees, which might be considered legitimate if the airlines themselves didn’t charge $50 in taxes and fees.  Why were customers being charged this extra money?

Now, customers couldn’t  get flights.  Was the promotion defunct?  Why would Dockers offer a promotion that they can’t fulfill?   To get customers to buy $125 dollars of Dockers pants at a time? 

And who needs so many Dockers anyway?

I sent emails to Dockers (owned by the Levi Strauss co. of San Francisco) and JCPenney, but received useless automated responses.  I phoned them and received more run-arounds.  The customer service woman at Dockers said she would ‘present my information to upper management.”  The woman at JCPenney gave me some phone number in Florida to call.

“Who is this that I am calling?

“It is the number that can help you with this promotion?”

“And who is it?

“Just call them?

“Do they have a name? Is this someone at JC Penney.’

“I can JUST give you this number.”

I called the number and no one answered.

Both JC Penney and Docker seemed to point the finger at  TLC Marketing  I’ve seen this before - a corporation not taking responsibility because they chose to deal with a incompetent company.

The moral of this story is the same as the one about my cheap, useless, not-Vista compatible web-cam from a few days ago.

You get what you pay for. 

So, unless someone at Dockers or JCPenney reads this and is embarrassed by this post, I won’t be at BlogHer, even if I was mostly going just to flirt with girls at the parties.

I take responsibility for my dumb mistakes — of being cheap and trying to use a free ticket.  I wish some companies would take responsibility for their own stupid mistakes, like offering promotions with tons of restrictions, and then not keeping their part of the bargain. 

If I don’t make it to BlogHer, I blame myself AND –

DOCKERS  (R. John Anderson, CEO Levi Strauss)

JCPENNEY  (Myron E. (Mike) Ullman III CEO)

TLC MARKETING (Walter Osterman, President)

Hey, Consumerist — here are some links of others who are pissed at TLC Marketing, Dockers, and JCPenney.

Fat Wallet

Flyer Talk

Disboards

I had lunch on Sunday with my mother and Laura, the friend who went with my mother on the recent Alaskan cruise.   I hadn’t seen Laura in a while. She was the one who made the arrangement for the trip.

Neil:  Did you enjoy the Alaskan cruise?

Laura:  Wonderful.

Neil:  What was your favorite part?

Laura:  Everything.

Neil:  I think Mom liked the food the best!

Mom:  Ha Ha.  You’re right!

Neil:  When my mother came back, I asked her to tell me all about Alaska, and she spent most of the time talking about the food.

Mom:  It was too much, even for me. You could eat 24 hours a day, even at midnight.  This man at our table would order three entrees every night — meat, chicken, lobster.  That’s just not healthy.

Laura:  I tried to limit myself.

Mom:  Me, too.  I still put on ten pounds.  From now on, I’m good. 

Laura:  There were plenty who were a lot worse than us.

Mom:  Remember when that woman from Seattle came to the table with a big tray of ten desserts, and I thought, “How nice. She’s bringing one for everyone at the table,” and then we found out that they were all for her!”

Laura:  She would have slapped you if you went near her dessert.  People went crazy with the food.

Neil:  Mom said the glaciers weren’t as impressive as in the brochure. 

Mom:  They looked more like rocks with snow on them.

Laura:  Well, it was that time of year.

Neil:  It was funny how on the Princess Cruise website, they show the ship sailing between what look like the icebergs from the Titanic movie.

Mom:  They also never show you the five OTHER cruise ships that are there at the same exact time you are.

Laura:  But it was a lot of fun.  We played some trivial games with some other passengers.  Some never even left the ship!

Elaine:  We loved this train ride up… where was this…?

Laura:  I don’t remember.  It was nice.

Elaine:  And the entertainment was Las Vegas quality.  Maybe not the Belaggio quality, but one of the lesser casinos.

Neil:  Did you see any whales?

Mom:  That was funny.  One day, they said “Whale on the right side,” on the loudspeaker, so everyone ran — and all you could see was a fin.

Neil:  On the website, they show whales jumping out of the water and eating snacks from the hands of the passengers.  Liars.

Laura:  But it was delightful.

Elaine:  It was.  The people of Alaska are very nice.

Neil:  How many Alaskans did you meet?

Elaine:  The tour guides.

Neil:  Do you think the glaciers are smaller now because of global warming?

Laura:  I don’t believe in that Al Gore stuff.

Neil:  Why not?

Laura:  I saw another show where they said it is a natural occurence.  We had an Ice Age once before and now the weather is changing again.

Neil:  What do you think, Mom?

Mom:  I believe in global warming.  Too many cars.  Whenever I go to LA, everyone has three cars.

Laura:  I don’t believe in the whole “green” thing.

Mom:  I do, but some of it — I have to admit — is just plain stupid.

Neil:  Like what?

Mom:  Like they say, “Don’t take the plastic bag at the grocery store.  Take the paper bag.”  Now if I take the paper bag, where am I going to throw my garbage in the kitchen?  The paper bag will just fall apart.  So, then I will end up buying Hefty plastic bags to throw out my garbage, and it’ll be the exact same thing, except before - I could have gotten the plastic bags for free.  Right?

Neil:  You know, you make a good point, Mom.  I don’t know the answer to that question.

Mom:  Why don’t you write THAT on your blog?

One aspect of blogging I enjoy is taking some random element and squeezing it until it runs dry.  Such is the case with my web-cam.  So, until I return to reality, let me continue living in a fantasy world until the weekend is over –

Ladies and Gentlemen — the last entry in the Web-cam trilogy:

Today, I chatted with Haley, a female blogger who I haven’t spoken in months.  Haley had moved across the country and had stopped blogging for awhile.

During our chat, we talked about her work and my writing.  She told me that she had been keeping up with my life through the blog.

Haley: “Why did you really buy that web-cam?”

I told her that Otir was using Seesmic (a video blogging app) and had been trying to get me to use it.

Haley: “No, really…?  We’re friends.  You can tell me.”

Neil: “That is the reason.”

The conversation continued on without any more mention of the web-cam.  I had a feeling that she didn’t believe me.

After chatting for a half hour longer, I told her that I had to go.  My mother and I were off to have dinner at the local Dominican diner.

Neil: “Take care.  Speak soon.”

Haley: “Bye!”

Neil: “xoxoxox”

I paused for a second.  That was the first time I had ever written that sign-off — xoxoxo.  I’ve seen others write it, but I’ve never seen a man do it.  It’s OK when woman says that to a man, but… I worried that I looked too forward.  I didn’t want it to seem as if I was hitting on her.  I figured it was time for some damage control wth Haley.

Neil: “That’s the first time I ever wrote xoxoxo.  I’ve seen others use it.  I’m experimenting with it.”

Haley: “LOL.”

Good, she LOL-ed.  She isn’t upset.

Haley: “xo”

xo?  I found that odd.  Why was she giving me an xo rather than the full xxxooo?

Neil: “Why just xo?”

Haley: “Huh?”

Neil: “I gave you xoxoxo, and you just said xo.  Are you mad at me?”

Haley: “No, of course not.  xo and xoxoxo mean the same thing.”

Neil: “I don’t think so.  xo is like a tiny peck on the cheek.  xoxoxox is more intimate — like we’re actually doing it.”

Haley: “Doing it?   You mean… like f**king?”

Neil: “I was just joking.”

Haley: “I don’t think you were.”

Neil: “I was joking.  I was making a literary analogy”

Haley: “I think you want to f**k me.”

Neil: “I don’t want to f**k you.  I don’t really know you.”

Haley: “Oh sure, but that wasn’t going to stop you from taking out your c**k to show me on your web-cam!”

Neil: “I was never going to do that.”

Haley: “Well, that’s because you ended up buying  a cheapo web-cam that doesn’t work.”

Neil: “The only reason I got the web-came was to debate politics with Otir on Seesmic.”

Haley: “So how many times have you shown your c**k to Otir on Seesmic?”

Neil: “She’s a married woman.  A religious woman.”

Haley: “So are you saying religious women can’t be sexy?  I believe in the Lord my Savior Jesus Christ and I’m very very sensual.”

Neil: “Really?”

Haley: “You want to see my tits on my web-cam?”

Neil: “My mother is calling.  We’re going out to the Dominican
Diner.”

Haley: “Your loss.  I have really nice tits.”

Neil: “Maybe later.  xoxoxo”

Haley: “xo”

Neil: “Hey, why just xo…?”

Yahoo Messenger:  Haley is now offline.

And she then blocked me.

Truth Quotient: 31%  (I did IM xoxoxo to Melissa from “the Daily Minute” today and she only returned a xo, Otir did ask me to try out Seesmic)

I showered.  I shaved.  I trimmed.  I combed.  I brushed.  I flossed.  I tweezed.  I washed.  I dressed, wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and those new colorful new boxer briefs I bought two days ago at Target.

I waited all morning, my new web-cam at my side.  I felt ready, confident.  I had practiced the striptease earlier in front of the mirror, moondancing to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.”  And most importantly, I felt good about the terrific bargain I had gotten at Radio shack — a web-cam at 75% off.  Suddenly, her name popped up in Yahoo Messenger.  It was time! 

Now, have you ever read an O. Henry story, where there is a twist at the end?  

Consider this a tale of bad karma.   After bragging about my new web-cam for a week, when the time came to use it, I couldn’t even get it up and working! 

I plugged it into the USB slot, and NOTHING.  After a half hour of fiddling with the camera and the drivers, I found some online forum that told me this piece of Radio Shack/Web-Cam for Dummies crap was incompatible with Windows Vista!

Moral of the story:  Don’t be cheap in matters of the heart.  Or if you want to strip online with a web-cam, buy a Mac.

(Truth Quotient:  4%.   There is absolutely nothing true in this story except for buying this useless, incompatible  web-cam at Radio Shack.  No wonder why it was so cheap!)

I wasn’t lying when I said I bought a web-cam.  But maybe I shouldn’t tell you that I got it for 75% off at Radio Shack.   Hey, that’s a great bargain!  Even my mother said so.

OK, so now what do I do with it?   What?!  I’m just asking. 

In other news, my mother dumped me today to go out with her friends to see “Sex and the City,” and didn’t even invite me.  How do I become so co-dependent in my marriage when my mother so easily drops me like the British tea in Boston Harbor (please note the clever American history reference for Independence Day).  Well, whatever.  I’m not going to stick a feather in my cap and call it macaroni over the whole thing.

You know, I haven’t had macaroni and cheese for ages.  I need to buy a box of that Kraft stuff to see if I still like it.

So, how did I become so co-dependent?   It must have been my father.  Yeah, it was him.

So, today is July 4th.  Despite our country’s faults, America is a cool place.   I know July 4th is all about liberty, justice, pursuit of happiness, and other American values — but in my opinion, our greatest gift to the world is free speech. 

May we always protect our right to free speech.

In honor of this important American value, I’d like to bring up the Pelcorp Management Company again.   On my last trip back to my old Queens neighborhood, I reported on how Kissena Boulevard, the street down the block, looked like a slum because 75% of the stores were shuttered, with graffiti everywhere.  Many of the stores have been closed for TEN years, despite a thriving community.  Why?  The plan seems to be to slowly force everyone out when the leases are up, so the management company  could bring in a K-Mart, or something similar.  While this is promising for the future, the entire block has been an eyesore for a decade. 

As I wrote in the previous post –

Despite a history of New York building, the fourth generation of builders now “specializes in the marketing and sale of luxury properties in Palm Beach County. This includes waterfront, country club, and other estate properties.”

The Kissena Boulevard holdings, one of their four retail holdings still in New York, must be their least attractive holding, compared to their shiny new malls in Florida. No wonder they seem so disinterested in the upkeep of Kissena Boulevard!

So, let me once again mention Prescott Lester and his Pelcorp Management Company (why did their website suddenly disappear?) on this July 4th.    Thank you, free speech!   Thank you, America.  Mr. Prescott, you are always welcome to comment here or write me - and give me your side of the story on how your company intends to enhance the community, and why shops like the bakery were left to rot for a decade. 

I wish the best to all the hard-working immigrants who owned these stores and now were forced to move, or give up their businesses.   Of course, I like to look on the positive side of things.   With some of these new Americans out of work –  they can spend more time taking spelling lessons.

The big question on my mind after yesterday’s post was “What type of pornography do women like?”  After doing extensive research and interviewing several female bloggers on Facebook chat while offering unsuccessfully to show them my new “web-cam,” I now can present the results. 

The methology used was completely scientific, and included questions such as, “What do you fantasize about when you make love to your husband?” and ”What visual stimuli gives you the most intense orgasm?”

OK, I’m not going to lie.  I read about this website today that is called “a YouTube for pornography,” so I took a little “peek” to see what it was all about.  Believe it or not, I try to avoid pornography, not out of prudishness, but from a belief in feminism.  I was educated by intelligent teachers who taught me that pornography was anti-women, a patriarchal tool that turned capable women into mere sex objects.

I was sitting at my laptop watching Big Boob Woman and Muscle Chest Guy go at it on a kitchen table, doing it every way possible, including positions hat would require me to do a lot more exercise than the hula hoop on the wii-fit. The woman in the video was making so much noise that I turned down the speakers.  I didn’t want my Orthodox Jewish neighbors to think I was a freak.

During this bland sex scene, I had thoughts.  Not sexy thoughts.  Not thoughts about feminism and how women are objectified.  No.   I felt that the video was anti-MALE.

Let’s look at the female character.  It was only a clip, so I don’t really know how she met the guy, but - for argument’s sake — let’s go with the old story that he is a plumber coming over to fix her sink.  One thing leads to another and soon they are f**king on the kitchen counter.  Typical.   We’ve all seen it.   I’m sure this exact situation has happened to most of the mommybloggers who read this blog.

If you look at the woman during the sex, she is having the time of her life.  She is yelling at him to “do it harder,” throwing her head back and forth, and rolling around like an Energizer bunny. She is as demanding of him and his time, like a wife who wants to spend all Sunday shopping at the mall and buying shoes.

The guy seems unhappy, as if he isn’t even present.  He is a robotic Terminator of sex.

You can almost hear him say, “I must pound her.  I must pound her.  I must show no emotion.  I must pound her.  Harder.”

At some point during the sex, he turns her over, face down like a fried egg in the skillet.  I thought that during this brief intermission, their might be some conversation, or a joke told.  Nope.  The woman doesn’t even give the guy a “nice going” or some kind encouragement.  She just wants MORE!

He quickly goes back into robot mode. 

“I must pound her from the rear.  I must pound her from this rear.  It does not matter what side she is.  I must pound her again and again.”

While the woman seems in heaven from all the thrusting, the guy looks like he is stuck on a hot subway in August.  His face is as sour as a dill pickle. 

As I watched the video, I felt bad for the dude.  While he didn’t look very bright, he obviously spends a great deal of time at the gym, making his body buff.  He is proud of his body, but when he jumps out of his clothes in one quick swoop, she hardly looks at him.   If anything, she goes straight for his penis, the one muscle he didn’t work on in the gym.  Is that what we are to women?  A penis?

“I must pound her.  I must pound her.”

I wanted to reach into my laptop and comfort the fellow. 

“Relax, big guy.  It is noble of you to want to give this nice lady several orgasms before you finish fixing the water pipes, but why not enjoy it yourself?  I know what it is like to be a people pleaser, but sometimes you have to be a little selfish — to take care of yourself, too.  Who knows?  Maybe she might even enjoy seeing you having a little fun. It’s not all about her, you know?”

“Pound.   Pound.   Pound.’

My advice would fall on deaf ears.   The filmmakers want him to be a robot.  And the woman, despite being an educated woman (she wore glasses that she takes off early in the scene), is presented as self-absorbed and uncaring about the man’s pleasure.  She WANTS him to be a machine.  How else can you explain the constant cry for “Harder! Harder!” like she is a drill sergeant at Fort Bragg.

Men, let’s talk privately for a second.  Seriously, how many of us can make love to a woman for three hours straight, in fifteen different positions, without… you know… having to come…

Is it any wonder this guy looks like he is constipated.  He’s been pounding her for three hours, still waiting for her to have her fifth orgasm.  He is a SAINT!

Ladies, is this fair?  I have no idea why women complain about these types of pornographic films. The female character gets all the attention and has all the fun!  The man is practically her love slave.  He is expected to act like a soldier in combat, refusing to enjoy himself - just so he can bring the woman to sexual ecstasy and have her nearly pass out!

Sure, at the end, the guy comes too, but by then, he is so exhausted, numb, and out of it, I bet you he doesn’t know what is going on. 

“Uh, wait a minute.  Did I just come OR was that my foot falling asleep?”

And even after his orgasm, he still isn’t smiling.  Of course not.  He’s thinking, “Holy shit, tomorrow morning I have to f*ck this woman for another three hours!”

These movies do more harm to men than women.  These ridiculous lovemaking scenes screw up the minds of men.  Think about the messages being sent to your own sons, brothers, and husbands:

1)  You have to keep it up for three hours and never orgasm until the woman faints from intense pleasure.

2)  Every time you make love, you are expected to do it in several complicated standing positions which can give you knee problems later in life.

3)  Sex is not really sex without giving her oral sex for an hour, no matter how uncomfortable it is for those with weaker jaws.

4)  Lovemaking is all about getting the woman to come.  The man must never enjoy himself or smile.  The man’s role is to be a human sledgehammer and repeatedly hitting her in the correct spot, like those Whack-a-Mole games.

5)  And the most pathetic thing, is after all this work — and I mean hard, physical labor — the man isn’t even allowed to have his orgasm INSIDE the woman.  No, he has to quickly pull himself out, so he comes all over the place, ruining the good sheets he just bought at Target.   What the hell is that all about? Men like to have clean sheets too!

Seeing these porno films has made me lose interest in sex.  I  can understand why women want sex, but what man really wants to go through all that effort, especially when he has HBO? 

And god forbid, a guy has sex and doesn’t make it all the way through the three hour/twenty position love-fest!  He feels all guilty and inadequate.

“Oh, you were fine,” the woman says. 

Yeah, sure.  We know the truth.  You really want the robotic guy in the porno film.

My problem started when I was eleven years old.  Our Hebrew school had a decent basketball team and we made it to the New York State Hebrew School championship in Albany.  As a fundraising stunt, we were supposed to sell boxes of Peanut Brittle to our neighbors in order to pay for transportation.   I hated selling things to other people.  I felt like I was imposing on them.  Chances are, most of neighbors would have bought a box from me, just because they know my parents, and my mother usually bought Girl Scout cookies from their kids.  I just felt guilty asking people to buy things they really didn’t need or want. 

Even then, I was a realist.

“Who in the world REALLY wants a box of peanut brittle?!” I asked myself. “That stuff is nasty and can crack your tooth!”

I sold two boxes.  One to my mother and one to my grandmother.

Fast forward to today.  I’m pretty much the same.  There is no way you could get me to walk around my apartment building and ask neighbors to shell over their hard-earned money for some peanut brittle. 

Rule #1 in therapy.  A person will never overcome his fear until he fights it.

This is where YOU come in.

I would like you to buy some boxes of peanut brittle. 

There is no cost per box because you will never actually get any of this peanut brittle.  It is all theoretical, the aim being that I overcome my fear by asking you to buy it from me. 

Please buy as many boxes as you want.  Buy some for yourself.  Buy for you co-workers.   They also make excellent birthday and wedding gifts for family members.

I am pretty confident that most of you will buy a few boxes of peanut brittle from me.  You seem to be a caring bunch and you realize that this will be a tremendous boost to my self-esteem.  After all, I am in this limbo-land with Sophia and living here with my mother.  I’m not feeling very manly and I really need a BIG BOOST!

Recently, Firefox promoted it’s new Firefox 3 browser by announcing a “Download Day.”  They attempted to create a Guinness Book of World Record for the “most downloaded software” in one day.  I’m not sure they achieved their ultimate goal, but they had 8 million downloads in 24 hours.

Imagine how cool it would be to brag to the women at BlogHer that I am a Guinness Book of World Record Holder!  Talk about a line that will definitely get me laid!

So here’s the deal.  I’m going to show you how much my cojones have grown since I have come to New York.  I don’t want you to simply buy a few imaginary boxes of peanut brittle from me.  I want you to buy SO MANY BOXES OF IMAGINARY PEANUT BRITTLE that I will become the undeniable GUINNESS BOOK OF WORLD RECORD HOLDER of selling imaginary peanut brittle in a single 24-hour day!

How many boxes of peanut brittle would you like?

No credit cards accepted for purchases under ten boxes.

Important Update: Monday 1:15PM — Before you read any further, I have been reminded by a friendly caller from the Los Angeles area that I have called HER as much as she has called ME, and that this post is completely one-sided.    She is right.   OK, now continue:

Important Update 2:  When Sophia called about the lizard in the garage, she just wanted to tell the story.  She never asked me for advice on how to capture it or to insinuate that I should do anything to help her — other than look on the internet and google “lizards.”

I am going to get in so much trouble for this post, so be nice and don’t take sides.  These are more philosophical questions than anything else.

When a married couple separates and moves 3000 miles away from each other to “get some space,” is it really appropriate for the female party to call twice a day and then get upset if the male party would rather chat with some blogger than play online backgammon with her?

If a man is walking in Manhattan enjoying the sites and he gets a call from his separated wife 3000 miles away that there is a “lizard” in the garage, what the hell is he supposed to do?  Take a flight home to kill it?

If a man buys a webcam at Radio Shack (on sale!) thinking he might “communicate” with his separated wife 3000 miles away on Saturday night, is that wrong?

Other than that, I’m doing pretty good.  I forgot what being with myself all the time was all about.  Well, myself… with my mother cooking dinner.   OK, I know that is hurting my sexy quotient with some of you, so let’s just keep the information about me living here with my mother for the summer very quiet… at least until BlogHer is over.   From now on, I will refer to her as “the older hipster/roommate who was written about in the New Yorker magazine.”

On Saturday night, I went into “the city” and met a group of really cool bloggers — Miss Britt, Karl, NYC Watchdog, Poppy Cedes, Cissa Fireheart, and hellohahanarf, as well as some strange overly-friendly guy we met walking on the street who ended up coming to dinner with us and hitting on both Karl and hellohahanarf!

I always find it so much fun to meet bloggers for the first time.    Sometimes, they are more shy than their online personality.  Other times, it is the complete opposite.  It is always the one who writes the knitting blog who ends up standing on the bar stool, waving her blouse in the air.  Unfortunately, nothing that dramatic happened on Saturday night, other than someone kissing that strange guy we met on the street.   The New York heat was oppressive, so we didn’t want to walk too much (Note to visitors:  come to New York in the fall, spring, and winter.   Avoid the summer!   This is when everyone leaves.)   We ended up in a karaoke bar.  It was a decent place, but the contigent from Florida was insulted that they charged two dollars just to sing a song.

Welcome to New York City!

special to the New York Times:

Elvis.  The Beatles.  Prince.   In every generation, a new musical artist comes on the scene who so energizes his audience during his straight-from-the-heart performance that whoever was lucky enough to be in attendance is riveted to his every word.  Such was the case last night during the ground-breaking act of rapper Master Crazy Dude on the MTA Queens 23 bus at 2AM.

Using his unique beatbox technique, Master Crazy Dude repeated his raw, intense, lyrics over and over again until everyone on the bus, passengers of all colors and creeds, were united in moving t0 the front of the bus, in fear for their lives.

I may be funny
But I’m no Ben Stiller
I did my time
For being a killer
Parker Lewis… he just can’t Lose
But not when I hit him with a bottle of booze
F**k you!
F**k you!
F**k you!
F**k you everyone on the bus!

The vibrant musical energy of the street is alive in New York City, which makes this the greatest city in the world (just keep it away from the condos on the Upper East Side).