Tags: Balls on Nose, MBTA, Performance art that doesn't suck
A couple of months ago, I was sitting on the side of the train, at the end of the car, in the seats facing the aisle, as opposed to the ends, of the train.
By the Winchester stop, the aisle had gotten pretty packed. A man stood directly in front of me, with his arm above my head, holding the support rail for balance.
Because there were so many people surrounding him, he had to squeeze in, forcing his intimate region to be level with, and in close proximity to, my facial region.
And so we rode, from Winchester to Wedgemere to West Medford to North Station, with his balls dangling on my nose. It was the worst commute ever.
In contrast, seeing this in North Station would probably make for the best commute ever. I bet Gary would hop right in the midst of it for a graceful, impromtu two-step with a Dunkin’ Donuts barista. And I would cry and cheer like a schoolgirl.
Tags: Dr. Michael White, Glen David Andrews, Lowell, Lowell Folk Festival, New York Times, Rosie Ledet
If you’re to believe the Bible of communist arugula-drinking Brooklyn hipsters, then Lowell, Massachusetts is the place to be on the weekend of July 25 and 26.
But this time, dear reader, those queers at the Times got it right. Suck it, Goldberg!
Yes, there are days when you may get shot in our fair city.
So, please. Let Dr. Michael White take you to school.
Let Glen David take you to church.
And then let him take you to the streets.
Alive. Unique. Inspiring. Luscious, strong thighs that make your loins burn.
Yes indeed. There’s a lot to like about Lowell.
Tags: DWYFF!, Lowell, Simon and Garfunkel
Today marks the much-anticipated return of Do What You Feel Friday, Coach Football’s favorite blog feature and the preferred reading for his candle-lit mastubatory sessions*.
We’ve been dwelling on violence here at Lucy the Blog, in the wake of Tavyrna Chouen’s murder and my growing homicidal tendencies. Last night, the face of violence quite literally showed up at our doorstep. Hijinx did not ensue.
It came out of nowhere, really. Ash was putting Nola to bed, and I was slogging through the wreckage of our home, trying to make sense of the chaos and clutter. We’re having repairs done to flood damage in our bedroom and nursery, which required us to move everything into the office, where we all live like hobos under the glow of the iMac. Because Ash can’t go to the studio, her painting gear is scattered about the living room, along with baby gymnasiums and chewed up dog toys. All quite lovely.
It started with a few screams in the distance. And then in seemingly no time at all, two grown men were rolling around our front yard, surrounded by a crowd of people cheering and hollaring, encircling the brawl like it was a cockfight.
Tags: Alfonso Soriano, The Miz, Yankees
Courtesy of Barstool Sports, my guilty pleasure destination for nip slips and local co-eds with their cleavage on display, comes this video of Alfonso Soriano at a recent WWE event.
I haven’t felt this awkward watching something since…well, actually, it wasn’t that long ago. We watched “Rachel Gets Married” on Saturday night, and that toast scene is just brutal.
Alfonso Soriano is easily one of my favorite Yankees of all-time, and I was crushed when they got rid of him in exchange for my least favorite Yankee of all-time. I don’t care if he was an inadequate fielder or if he swung at lousy pitches or whatever. I just loved him.
This video is terrible though. Apparently Alfonso’s not much of a talker. He barely spoke any English when he was with the Yankees, but you’d think he would’ve picked up a few phrases here and there in the last decade. He looks like he doesn’t even know where he is. And of all people to be dressed down by, a douche like The Miz? Get it together, Fonz.
Tags: Dwight Howard, giraffe fight, Perk Is a Beast
Lucy the Dog has been mad busy lately, but watch these two giraffes beast shit out to get your ass ubuntued up for Game 6 tonight. Dwight’s a bitch.
Tags: Biz Markie, Heineken, Vomiting fantasies
Why do I love this Heineken commercial so much?
I want to hang out in a taxicab with people who wear sunglasses at night. I want to get the spins and eventually vomit on that blond chick who raps off-key.
Then we would go to a diner and each smoke 19 cigarettes before returning to our cramped Lower East Side apartment to pass out on one another. It would be wonderful, or at a pleasant change of pace from falling asleep on the couch while watching the Yankees lose again.
The closest I ever came to such a carefree, jubilant NYC taxi ride was with the Sherpa’s cousin, Daisuke, as we sang drunken but pitch-perfect harmonies to “More Than Words” by Nelson.
In hindsight, that performance was a little more gay than this Biz Markie sing-along. And the driver did not seem inclined to participate. But it was fun nonetheless. Ah, to be young again.
OH BAB-EE, YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU…GOT WHAT I NEEEEEEE-EEEEEEED…….
I feel badly for the girl. She’s cute and all, but really, she should just concede the floor to her brother. We all should. He can barely wait for the music to start before he starts funkin’ it up. It’s his world.
Courtesy of Humid Haney.
Today, I’m sad.
Tags: Derek Shezbie, Glen David Andrews
Tags: Pau Is A Puke, Perk Is a Beast, Tim Russert
We interrupt this hiatus to pour a cold one for Tim Russert.
The heart breaks on so many levels. But I’m buoyed by the thought of him joining my grandfather in the great unknown. Pop-Pop watched Russert every Sunday and taught me to do the same.
I’m prepared to bawl my eyes out tomorrow morning. I almost lost it on the EZ Ride to North Station yesterday, which definitely would’ve been awkward. Tomorrow, we let it all flow.
Then it’s time to get smaller than Eddie House’s son. Funkier than Rondo’s grill.
So Lucy the Dog offers a premature and hearty congratulations to Perk, Boo Licious, Carl Spackler, the Crack Staff, and the rest of gangrene. You made us like the NBA again.