To Each Its Own.

To those who have been patiently awaiting this blog...I commend you. I, on the one hand, lack patience most of the time so screw virtues.... I need answers now man! Anyway, as the kids at work like to say, "it's really rampin' up at the office," so my time has been spent either morphing into a corporate transformer, getting too drunk to type, or sleeping and dreaming about peanut-butter covered kittens. However, today, I took advice from the Beastie Boys and fought for my right to paaarty, and decided to leave work at a reasonable time to come home and enjoy one of the things I love most...having a nice cold beer, watching politicians try to persuade the crap out of other human beings, and stare into my computer screen and talk about my day.


One of the best places to get material, whether a blog or a half-hour comedy routine, is undoubtedly the New Jersey Path trains. I ride this delightful, over-sized, electric sardine-tin every day- Monday through Friday and I must say, I love it. On occasion, I am being either anally abused by a leather bag or nasally abused by an unshowered anti-hygenist, however I usually find a middle ground in between staring into my newspaper and listening to my iPod and trying to figure out the best way to keep my balance without grabbing a diseased-ridden pole.

Some days, it's magical. Today, for instance, was a day I felt like a really cool dude when I went to work because of someone on the Path train. As I stepped on the train this morning at 8:15 as I usually do, I found the best spot where I could simultaneously hold on to a pole with my left hand and not have to let go to turn the page of my newspaper (this is very successful for me). As I put my bag down to enjoy the 20 minutes of the day I get to listen to Hendrix become a sonic gust of wind and to find out why the Yankees lost the night before, I look down and see a very colorful magazine. Oh wait..it's not a magazine. Wow, it's a...a...uhh...comic book. My eyes gravitate to the reader and all I see is the top of his head. A clean bald spot makes it's home on the man's crown and it gets me thinkin'. What kind of 7 year old child is balding! I pretend like the movement of the tracks makes me stumble a little and I step on the 7 year old's foot to get a response. At that moment I realize that this is no 7 year old, but in fact, it is a grown man in his 30s. At this moment, I feel 2 emotions. One: Has humanity lost their god damn mind and two: I feel like a really cool dude now.

I start thinking about the concept of the comic book and it makes -10 sense to me (yes, that's less than zero). The comic book this gentlemen (possibly some sort of superhero) was reading was Superman. The only way I can give credit to a comic book reader is if they in fact cannot read and have to attain enjoyment through pictures. Did this gentlemen not know the story of Superman? Isn't Superman the easiest thing to grasp? Nerd by day, awesome by night, emotionally depressed because he cant reveal his true identity to the woman he loves? Hasn't this story been around for decades? What has changed? Is Superman doing something these days I don't know about? Is he inventing new dance moves?

I put on my kryptonite eyeglasses to try to rile the guy up, but he was too involved in his children's book. I'm going to stop here and say if anyone reading this also reads comic books... I applaude you for getting this far down without opening up a new website related to magic or Wicca. Moving forward, I realized that this man probably has not seen a naked woman since an 80's horror movie, so I had to be gentle. I thought about a guy at work who, on his lunch break, takes an hour and reads his comic book also. When I pass him, I don't know whether to say, "hey dude what's happenin'?" or, "hey dude, can I see that?" and start ripping out the pages and crumpling them up and continue to say, "you'll thank me later."

I just don't get it. I remember in 3rd grade EVERY kid my age was collecting marvel comic cards, so of course I went out and got the entire set. After I completed the set with Dr. Octopus (this is extremely hypocritical, I know) I never touched it again... I moved on to POGS. But there's something to be said about grown men who still are fascinated with the idea of men wearing all leather who can fly and shoot lasers out of their eyes. Even the word "Comic Book," makes no sense. Their not funny at all. They are actually in every sense of the word...evil.

Kohn, if you are reading this, you are in a different category. My friend Mike "Kohn" has this type of comic fetish I speak of. However, he has some of the most rarest comics on the planet which he could probably put his kids through college with. He also has a movie theater in his basement and owns "real" light- sabers and sometimes admits he is a "geek." But this geek happens to be a pretty cool dude because he has a kegeratore and gets to see naked women on a regular basis, so as I said before, Kohn, you are in a different category.

As I go back to spellcheck this blurb, I kind of feel bad now. Who am I to judge right? I mean, I like women, hanging out at cool bars, playing music, snowboarding, smelling good, feeling good, living fast and dying young. I bet the guy on the train probably thinks I am a complete moron. I bet the guy at work who spends his break buried in a cartoonish fantasy world wants to slice my throat with a samurai sword. I guess there's a viable reason there are actual stores you can purchase these flimsy, exaggerated books of unrealistic fiction. It's because people ENJOOOY them. If you enjoy something, fight for it. If some jerk like me comes up to you and slaps your comic book out of your hand and laughs, stand up for superheroes everywhere and use your powers to shoot lasers out of your eyes or turn into a 8 foot tall green asshole on steroids and smash him into the ground! Because, no matter how silly, or how sarcastic I get about topics like this, or how awfully moronic comic books (or Jimi Hendrix and Hugo Boss sports jackets) may be.... to each his f-in own. Talk to you soon fellow villains.

The Montauk Monster

Ok, so without further adieu, I bring you my first posting. I'm just going to get right into it and discuss my favorite topic of last week... The Montauk Monster. This picture magically circulated through my office at work and made me the happiest man in the world. I mean, how can you not love something as ugly as this. Many people have put up arguments on what this creature could possibly be. Some say it's a turtle without a shell. Some experts are sure that it's a raccoon. Others tend to believe it's a dog and the wear and tear of the ocean currents have eroded it's face off. Face.... off.

It gets me excited to know how this creature was discovered. Apparently, three young innocent girls were taking a stroll down the shore when the "Gatekeeper of Gozer the Destructor," washed up and lay there lifeless and gruesome. I can imagine it now... the three girls strolling in the sand, talking about how they had their first french kiss a couple weeks ago, how much money each of their parents spent on a new car, and how they will be trying out for "High School Musical" next year... and suddenly, a deformed and decaying mutant lies wet and unmoving right at their feet. I highly doubt these girls will grow up to be successful now. They will be lucky if they can even lead a normal life with the hours upon hours of sleep they are going to lose over this.

The best explanation I heard so far is that, "it is obviously a griffin." For those who are are wondering what a griffin is, it can best be described as having the body of a lion and the head and wings of an eagle. Often a mythical creature, now making it's home on the shores of Long Island. Whatever it is, it's definitely ugly, but strangely compelling at the same time. I'm sure it would make excellent dinner conversation and the kids could definitely have fun tossing it around in the backyard. But how do we attract the Montauk Monster?

A co-worker of mine and I discussed possible ways to attract such a beautiful beast into your surroundings. All you will need is some honey and phlegm. According to a legend that is only 3 days old, the Montauk Monster, like bears, really really enjoy honey. I suggest all natural Glorybee Honey... that should do the trick. Set up designated areas around the backyard where you can place honey-soaked nerf footballs around. Next, is the waiting game. It may take a while, depending on the time of the day, but the "MM" will soon make it's way towards these honey footballs. I forgot to mention earlier that it is imperative that you use nerf footballs, because the MM's teeth are very weak due to erosion. Moving forward, while you are waiting, find someone who either smokes or has a cold. You will need them when the Montuak Monster arrives. Now, within one hour of placing the honey-soaked nerf footballs around the house, you should start to smell something horrific. This is the Montauk monster. You will know it when you smell it, it smells worse than anything you can ever imagine. Now, once you get the slightest hint of his scent, quietly gesture over your friend or family member who smokes (or has a cold). Because the monster's mating call is the sound of somebody coughing up phlegm, you will need them to do so, directly after you think it's close by. Try not to let your phlegmish friend spit anything out, because you will be left with no phlegm and it could take a long time, depending on the MM's mood... you will need as much loog as you can muster up. As the Montauk Monster hears the coughing, it will come closer... close enough to realize there are honey-soaked nerf footballs around (it's favorite!). Once the Montauk Monster starts chewing on the footballs, they become extremely overjoyed and friendly and do not mind if you put a leash on them. Also, it has been dead and lifeless for weeks, so there is little chance it will actually attack you.

There you have it, your guide to capturing your very own Montauk Monster! Trust me, they are a billion times more fulfilling than sea monkeys or chia-pets. To extend the lifetime of your Montauk Monster, place them in a large bucket of solution: 50% honey, 20% vinegar, 20% saline solution, and 10% Vick's vapor rub. Good luck!

Introducing the Modern Man

The time it takes for one to realize who he or she really "is" can take anywhere from one second to one lifetime. Sometimes this realization never occurs at all. However, it seems to be evident in our modern world today, that we all strive for a certain understanding of who and what we are, and why we were put here. To find comfort in a chosen identity means a number of things. Sometimes (most of the times) people go through many identity changes until they find that perfect role and they can finally say "I'm happy about who I am." This happens in high school a lot. I'll never forget it. High school was the only setting where I can remember seeing a white dude wearing Timberlands and baggy jeans, talking about the latest Wu-Tang album, "Wu-Tang Forever," and using words like, " whaddup son," and "that shit is dope kid." The very next day, the same guy would be wearing over-sized Jnco jeans, a chain wallet, and a Marilyn Manson T-shirt swearing his parents are going to be getting separated soon, so total anarchy is the only safe bet.

High school was amazing for this. Even I fell powerless to the gods of popular culture and I made it a point to do whatever it took to fit in. The amount of Abercrombie T-shirts and J-Crew sweaters that were given away to Goodwill makes me want to vomit. However, there is something to be said about what high school taught us. That is, no one finds their true identity in times of utter disaster. Only when you are free from judgment, can you find that sense of cohesiveness you always looked for growing up. This usually occurs after college... when you have no time to think about anything and you work a lot, play a little, and for the first time in your life actually have some rational thoughts. This may not apply to everyone, but for most of us out there who are always searching for something more... I'll give you some advice. There is nothing more. What you search for lies in this moment right now. If you are reading this right now, it is possible your life is changing for the better. On the flipside, this blog may make you dumber than you were before. Either way, my intentions are to make you laugh, cry, love, and hate. I want to stir up emotions you thought you never had, so you don't have to be afraid of change.

I seem to change every 3 years or so. I change my thoughts on life, my thoughts on love, and my thoughts on fashion. More importantly, I have not lived in the same location either for more than 3 years. I get bored easily and the unknown makes me smile. I will let you into my head based on one condition: THAT YOU MAKE YOURSELF A BETTER PERSON AFTER READING MY BLOGS. That's it... very simple, I think.

This will give insight into the mind of the modern man. I will write about different things, including reviews on the best male body wash or how to spend your money foolishly (both of which I know very well). I will argue and sometimes agree with decision makers. I will talk about back pain and why penguins are awesome. Essentially, these are essays on the absurdity of reality. Don't fasten your seat-belt... a fine red wine will come in handy now and then. Now introducing... The Mind of The Modern Man.