Archive for the 'mooks' Category

mooks, maoris and .357 magnums

hi kids.

it’s been a tick since i last checked in with you, but i have been up to quite a bit.  i dropped into hong kong for a kip, caught on movies via qantas in demand, went to very many meetings, got a new roommate, took a bus tour up to northland and a boat through a hole in a rock, made friends with a traditional maori dance troupe, accrued 30K frequent flyer miles and shot some guns.

since so much has happned, i guess it’s best to sum up the highlights and key takeaways:

  1. qantas has better business class than cathay pacific,
  2. spiderman 3 was the biggest let down in my movie going career since, well, ever, i guess,
  3. australia and new zealand may only be separated by the tasman sea, but they are worlds apart,
  4. kiwis say “awesome” more than americans,
  5. the all blacks might be the coolest rugby team on the planet.  but i’m such a poser, i’m basing that statement on the trivia from my bus tour driver and the cute jacket that i bought at the auckland airport,
  6. i didn’t go to the “lord of the rings part” of new zealand (of which there are several), but i did go the house where the treaty between nz and england was signed, as well as the world’s biggest war canoe,
  7. i am now, officially, a tree hugger.  there’s a kauri tree, somewhat like the american redwood, in new zealand that the maoris believe bring you good energy if you hug it, so i complied,
  8. got some good business done,
  9. signed on some new agents,
  10. took on even more duties since my domestic counterpart is leaving the company, but will get to have some fun with it,
  11. nz also has law and order a lot, though i was often too jetlagged to make the 8:30 showtime,
  12. yes, flight of the conchords is  popular there,
  13. there is a store in australia called mooks.  seriously.  it’s very trendy.  can’t figure out why it hasn’t made it to the us, though…
  14. LA still sucks, but having a gps in your car makes it almost bearable,
  15. LA kind of rules for having a gun club downtown that you can go to, rent any kind of non-automatic and shoot.  i tried a glock 9 mm (what the coppers in nyc use- thought it might be prudent to give it a test drive in case i go that way).  also tried a .357 magnum revolver with .38 caliber bullets.  MUCH better for target practice,
  16. next time i want to try rifles and shotguns,
  17. i’ll probably never make it as a sharpshooter,
  18. hailed the return of russel crowe during 3:10 to yuma, which needed a better director to handle that star power,
  19. ate like crap,
  20. watched t.o. devour the giants on sunday night football, which is the only way i could ever tolerate a dallas-led giants loss,
  21. saw bubba on letterman whilst in oz.  still love and worship him and need his new book,
  22. decided elvis should rise from the dead to take out all those responsible for the “viva viagra” campaign- pfizer, the ad agency and the people in his estate that OKed that deal,
  23. was amired by a hot (female) bartender for my choice of drink (whiskey on the rocks) and my job,
  24. got worked on by an aussie physiotherapist and was massively impressed.  he thinks i should be much more healed and is going to hunt for someone in new york to help me,
  25. i love bubba.  i know it’s a repeat, but i like round numbers.  and i really love him.

oh, and the catalan has been IMing; he can’t wait for me to visit.  i gotta try and swing that.

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would i lie to you?

not about the important things, friends.

exhibit a:

http://i195.photobucket.com/albums/z55/donniebrusco/riogrande.jpg

yes, that’s my eye and earlobe in the corner.

please, no more applause.

fording the rio grande

oh, where to begin, where to begin.

we got to barca around four or five in the afternoon: hot, tired and thrilled to be amongst spaniards.  we grabbed some fabulous food and went up and checked into our hovel.  i mean hole.  i mean hostal.  we grabbed some rest, went out for a bocadillo in a sandwich chain (shut it.  it had air conditioning, which was desperately needed at this point).  then, we decided to hunt for a decent pub.  true, the proverbial bar had been lowered to the point we could shuffle over it, but we were in barcelona and we meant business.  this, of course, left only one choice: hogan’s, an authentic australian bar squai on las ramblas.

a pint of fosters here, a pint of fosters in an irish bar and the hunt continued.  we happened upon- get this- another irish bar.  ok, a few more.  but that’s not really the point.  the point is people, that we were in an irish bar.  which means the trouble was a-brewing.  i asked cs at the beginning of the trip what the over/under was on us being in the middle of stag party at some point.  we should have made some points, because before you could say “yes, i’ll have that fifth pint of fosters, please” there we were. 

they were even easier to identify than usual because they were all wearing matching soccer (ok.  football.  they were brits) jerseys with a picture of the groom as a four year old and their nicknames on them.  before i could say “how much do i owe you for that drink?,” we were in the midst of four of the eighteen members.  let’s call them herbs, plan b, rio and mark.  because that’s what they were named.  at least according to their shirts. 

quite quickly, and without warning, i had entered into a transaction with, um, rio, to meet up at three am at the hard rock cafe for a little action if neither of us got lucky before then.  i was totally kidding and not taking him seriously, of course.  i think he sensed this so he broke out the big guns: the pinkie swear.  now i was legally bound.  it was for serious a true blue straight up transaction.  no flirting or leg work.  it was a five minute once over from either side and then a contract.

alas, as chance would have it, we never got to frequent that fine, movie-themed establishment because we kept chatting at the bar.  rio asked if i’d like to accompany him to get some fags (cigarettes, not homosexual men).  i told cs i’d be back in ten seconds as i hadn’t yet decided what my involvement would be with this gentleman, but when we got to the newstand and he asked me how to say condoms in espanol, i figured what the hell?  he’s totally full of himself and british, but really hot (think jason statham) and i’m young, white and single.  so, i told the man “un paquete de condons” and off we went.  i rolled my eyes when he told the shopkeep “the big ones, please.” let’s come back to this later.

after a brief stop at my hovel (it was closer) during which we were kicked out and i remembered that i am far too old and well paid to be staying in places that don’t allow guests, we headed off to his fancy pants hotel and headed straight upstairs.  i think it was around the point that he held the door open for me that i finally decided that i’d probably hook up with him.  alright.  ok.  it was when he told me that he liked the cut of my jib two hours before, but let’s pretend.

anyhoo, all you need to know:
seriously.jpg
(seriously. more or less, this is what we’re talking about)

without getting too graphic, let’s just say that his little throwaway comment at the newstand was not only not a joke, but an understatement.  i thought we were going to have product relevancy issues.

he taught me several handy phrases in egyptian arabic which revealed that he was, in fact, egyptian arabic and quite pleased by my earlier statements regarding the US and UK’s treatment of muslims.

i was called, in all seriousness, a ‘naughty minx.’

i am totally hooking up with more self-centered playboys.  good god did that guy know what he was doing.

finally, i LOVE this transaction thing.  no nonsense, no time wasted.  which rocked, because it meant more time for play.

when i was ready to leave at seven am, he got dressed to walk me home, much to my surprise.  he was insulted that i even conceived of the notion that he wouldn’t be a gentleman.  i was like “take no offense, in new york, i’d be like ‘bag of peanuts,’ i’m getting on the subway.” 

he gave me his email and told me to tell him when i’d next be in london, which i readily, though very wearily, agreed to. 

cs lewis was happier to see me than anyone had been in my life.  my “ten seconds” had been more like four hours and she was concerned.  for a hot second.  then we hi5ed ourselves to sleep.

what do you get when you cross a hedge fund trader and a longshoreman?

well, that depends on whom you ask, i guess.  but according to ronnie of carle place, long island, what you get is what i, apparently, need. 

cs lewis and i met at the beer garden for a drink after an especially painful stab therapy session.  as i’d suspected, cs lewis’d made friends by the time i arrived.  ronnie and ralphie, two mooks of the highest order (a sincere compliment in my book).  they were waiting for friends, too and had invited cs to sit with them whilst she waited for me.

i was in a foul mood.  work had been especially rough, i’d endured 6 hours, 2 cancelled flights and several delays at cleveland hopkins airport.  i’d had to meet corky st kurtz, the ‘creative’ head of my division in the president’s club and had a very awkward conversation.  you know when you know that someone just does not like you, especially for no good reason, but you have to have polite, civil, and hopefully productive conversations with them?  and then they condescend to you and tell you to remain there after they leave and have some drinks because they’re free?  did i mention that i’m pretty much the only person out of seventy plus in the division actually bringing in revenue? 

couple that with the painful therapy and the fact that i had to get up early the next morning for an mri, and i was so close to going home and burying my head in my pillow.  luckily, i kept my date with cs because these guys were hilarious. 

ralphie and ronnie were joined by mikey and val.  the former being a high school english teacher living in his parents long island basement with a prodigious early eighties porn collection and the latter being a french immigrant working in technology who thoroughly enjoyed all the racist slurs and gallic slander we could conjure up.  ronnie was married, waiting for his wife to get home from a girls night out so they could celebrate their first anniversary together.

i must tell you that a night out drinking with a quadrumvirate of ball-busting mooks is exactly what the doctor ordered.

they gave very helpful advice on men. mostly from ronnie, who told me i scare the shit out of the stronger sex and that’s why i’m single (yeah, ronnie, that’s what i tell myself).  other roundtable topics included favorite authors, the best lines from fight club, shaving/ hair preferences and personal styles, why, exactly, mikey still lived in the basement, the diamond trade and nifty blackberry tips.

i had intended on going home early so as to avoid being hungover for my MRI, but stayed out late because it was such a fun and relaxing evening. 

i also learned it’s possible to play wingman via text (good luck with frenchy, cs!).

we definitely have to hang out with those guys again.  and, yes, daphne, you’ll be there.


truth

“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

truth

Upon common theatres, indeed, the applause of the audience is of more importance to the actors than their own approbation. But upon the stage of life, while conscience claps, let the world hiss! On the contrary if conscience disapproves, the loudest applauses of the world are of little value - john adams
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from the man who taught me everything:

“Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.”

bygones