I know, I know, I posted the image below this past Spring and "soon" ain't the word. I've become yet another blogger who has been rendered inert by the mammoth distraction known as Facebook (and other events that have pushed Tough Guy down the priority list over the past year).
HOWEVER, you will note a half a dozen new 50 Words reviews (click the link to your right) and I am making every effort to get back on track with ranting, raving and posting pictures.
The logo below will be shared by both Tough Guy and my new online presence, POPS GUSTAV. When fully operational, Pops will be the outlet for my writing, while Tough Guy will remain as the conduit for my visual work (sporadic as that has become).
If anyone's still out there, bear with me.....
Monday, October 19, 2009
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
Belated Everything
Some things I didn’t get to write about in the last quarter of Aught Eight:
1. MY STOLEN BICYCLE
In August, some jagoff stole by bike, locked outside of my apartment, right as I was getting in the habit of riding it every day (ironically, because I had started keeping it outside instead of in). Aside from the lousy timing and the simple shittiness of stealing from other people, it sucked because I loved that bike. It was a simple, cheap, old mountain bike that I bought almost twenty years ago from Cycle Circle in Lancaster and it served me perfectly for many years. It was worth nothing to whomever stole it, so a big FUCK YOU to that douchebag.
POSTSCRIPT: A Big THANK YOU to Lysa, who bought me a new bike for my birthday.
2. PRESIDENT-ELECT BARACK OBAMA
I wept tears of joy and relief for days. No lie.
3. NUMEROUS MOVING ANECDOTES
I hadn’t done it in 13 years. I forgot how draining (both of energy and coffers) it was. Oh, but it was all worth it.
4. MONEY, MY RELATIONSHIP WITH
This one I will get to, but I’ve had to change it quite a bit since I started it.
5. ANNUAL CHRISTMAS RAMBLINGS
The usual nog of nostalgia, cheer and lamentations, nutmegged with observations based on aging parents, cohabitation, having a place big enough for a tree for the first time in over a decade and Stephen Colbert’s amazing holiday special (an instant classic, that).
6. FOUR CHRISTMASES
I didn’t need to see this Vince Vaughn / Reese Witherspoon Xmas Rom-Com to despise it once I learned that its ultimate message is that if you don’t get married and have kids, your life is empty and selfish. More conservative bullshit proselytizing masquerading as comedy. Blech.
7. ALEX ROSS: WEARING THIN
I’ll still get to this one at some point as well, but the once exciting work of extreme realist comics painter Alex Ross has become so ubiquitous and undiscerning as to make it nothing more than a novelty whose appeal has almost completely worn off.
8. POPCORN
Actually, I have no idea what it was I wanted to write about popcorn, but it’s on the list of topics to tackle on a post-it note on my monitor, so I guess I had something enlightening to say about it!? Maybe it’ll come back to me.
9. GOODBYE TO TOUGH GUY
At some point in the coming months, Tough Guy will become a part of my past as I begin phasing it out as my freelance identity. I’ll be leaving the site up through 2009 and perhaps keep it as the more personal Blog site, but I’m working on a new site that hopefully will focus more on moving forward rather than continuing to shine a light on what I did in the past. That’s a big focus in other aspects of my life as well. 2008 was a year of great upheaval, not just for me, but for many of my friends and family as well and I’m not altogether sad to see it go.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I gotta go move a couple dozen boxes…
1. MY STOLEN BICYCLE
In August, some jagoff stole by bike, locked outside of my apartment, right as I was getting in the habit of riding it every day (ironically, because I had started keeping it outside instead of in). Aside from the lousy timing and the simple shittiness of stealing from other people, it sucked because I loved that bike. It was a simple, cheap, old mountain bike that I bought almost twenty years ago from Cycle Circle in Lancaster and it served me perfectly for many years. It was worth nothing to whomever stole it, so a big FUCK YOU to that douchebag.
POSTSCRIPT: A Big THANK YOU to Lysa, who bought me a new bike for my birthday.
2. PRESIDENT-ELECT BARACK OBAMA
I wept tears of joy and relief for days. No lie.
3. NUMEROUS MOVING ANECDOTES
I hadn’t done it in 13 years. I forgot how draining (both of energy and coffers) it was. Oh, but it was all worth it.
4. MONEY, MY RELATIONSHIP WITH
This one I will get to, but I’ve had to change it quite a bit since I started it.
5. ANNUAL CHRISTMAS RAMBLINGS
The usual nog of nostalgia, cheer and lamentations, nutmegged with observations based on aging parents, cohabitation, having a place big enough for a tree for the first time in over a decade and Stephen Colbert’s amazing holiday special (an instant classic, that).
6. FOUR CHRISTMASES
I didn’t need to see this Vince Vaughn / Reese Witherspoon Xmas Rom-Com to despise it once I learned that its ultimate message is that if you don’t get married and have kids, your life is empty and selfish. More conservative bullshit proselytizing masquerading as comedy. Blech.
7. ALEX ROSS: WEARING THIN
I’ll still get to this one at some point as well, but the once exciting work of extreme realist comics painter Alex Ross has become so ubiquitous and undiscerning as to make it nothing more than a novelty whose appeal has almost completely worn off.
8. POPCORN
Actually, I have no idea what it was I wanted to write about popcorn, but it’s on the list of topics to tackle on a post-it note on my monitor, so I guess I had something enlightening to say about it!? Maybe it’ll come back to me.
9. GOODBYE TO TOUGH GUY
At some point in the coming months, Tough Guy will become a part of my past as I begin phasing it out as my freelance identity. I’ll be leaving the site up through 2009 and perhaps keep it as the more personal Blog site, but I’m working on a new site that hopefully will focus more on moving forward rather than continuing to shine a light on what I did in the past. That’s a big focus in other aspects of my life as well. 2008 was a year of great upheaval, not just for me, but for many of my friends and family as well and I’m not altogether sad to see it go.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I gotta go move a couple dozen boxes…
Monday, November 03, 2008
Done Fishing...
As briefly noted in the first new TG7 in three months, I haven't updated this site because I’ve been completely busy and distracted with lots of monumental goings on… the biggest being moving for the first time in over 12 years due to the sale of my building and a realization that it was time for cohabitation with my sweetie sweetiepuss.
I still have stuff to do and this is just a quick post to promote two things: This Sunday’s Maxwell’s Flea Market #2, from Noon to 4pm at Jersey’s most legendary rock club (Get Drunk and Buy More Junk!) and… wait… what was that other thing?
Oh, yeah, that’s right… our big chance to fix this incredibly messed up country. Please vote tomorrow. And while I respect our democratic process, I would greatly appreciate it if you would vote for Barack Obama. To quote another great leader, ‘nuff said.
I still have stuff to do and this is just a quick post to promote two things: This Sunday’s Maxwell’s Flea Market #2, from Noon to 4pm at Jersey’s most legendary rock club (Get Drunk and Buy More Junk!) and… wait… what was that other thing?
Oh, yeah, that’s right… our big chance to fix this incredibly messed up country. Please vote tomorrow. And while I respect our democratic process, I would greatly appreciate it if you would vote for Barack Obama. To quote another great leader, ‘nuff said.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Self-Titled
Watching the real-time replay of the coverage of the events of the day on MSNBC, I was struck by the surreal experience of knowing what’s coming, that at 9 am another plane was about to strike and at 9:37 the Pentagon would be hit; That just before 10, the south tower would fall, and at 10:27, there was one minute left until the same fate would befall the north tower.
And I knew that I would again watch George Bush say that he would seek and bring to justice the “folks” who perpetrated the attack. Aside from the offensively benign colloquialism, we all know how well that worked out now, don’t we?
The other night, in the midst of an argument with some Republicans about the election, a woman pulled 9/11 out of her ass and asked me how Barack Obama would protect us. I responded first by asking how John McCain would protect us (given both the nature of terrorism and McSame’s stellar military record, which apparently we’re not allowed to assail since he’s a “hero”), then pointed out that it’s doubtful Obama would ignore a memorandum stating “Bin Laden Determined to Attack Within U.S.” That, as the ostensible CEO of the country, he would surround himself with smart people whose advice he would actually comprehend and, more importantly, heed. (He’d also probably stop reading “The Pet Goat” and get to work right away.)
I don’t live my life in fear of another terrorist attack. There's really very little we can do about it. But I do live in fear of what we’re doing to ourselves, to our infrastructure, our economy and our standing in the world. I mostly live in fear of our freedom being slowly chipped away in the name of “national security.” Yes, September 11, 2001 was horrible. Yes, we did reap a bit of what we sowed. And yes, it could happen again. This is the price we pay for living in the country that, at least on paper, prides itself on liberty. The Right is so fond of pointing out that “Freedom isn’t free,” but they choose to ignore the more difficult, but more important tenet that Freedom also isn’t safe.
Me, I’d rather be free.
And I knew that I would again watch George Bush say that he would seek and bring to justice the “folks” who perpetrated the attack. Aside from the offensively benign colloquialism, we all know how well that worked out now, don’t we?
The other night, in the midst of an argument with some Republicans about the election, a woman pulled 9/11 out of her ass and asked me how Barack Obama would protect us. I responded first by asking how John McCain would protect us (given both the nature of terrorism and McSame’s stellar military record, which apparently we’re not allowed to assail since he’s a “hero”), then pointed out that it’s doubtful Obama would ignore a memorandum stating “Bin Laden Determined to Attack Within U.S.” That, as the ostensible CEO of the country, he would surround himself with smart people whose advice he would actually comprehend and, more importantly, heed. (He’d also probably stop reading “The Pet Goat” and get to work right away.)
I don’t live my life in fear of another terrorist attack. There's really very little we can do about it. But I do live in fear of what we’re doing to ourselves, to our infrastructure, our economy and our standing in the world. I mostly live in fear of our freedom being slowly chipped away in the name of “national security.” Yes, September 11, 2001 was horrible. Yes, we did reap a bit of what we sowed. And yes, it could happen again. This is the price we pay for living in the country that, at least on paper, prides itself on liberty. The Right is so fond of pointing out that “Freedom isn’t free,” but they choose to ignore the more difficult, but more important tenet that Freedom also isn’t safe.
Me, I’d rather be free.
Saturday, August 09, 2008
VerMontreal Tour Diary
I took a rare… what’s it called… vacation last weekend. Lysa and I drove to Montreal via Vermont to get away for a wee spell.
Our start on Saturday brought some bumps in the road beginning with rains. Lots of rains. Torrential rains. Then came the speeding ticket in Vermont (about which the less said the better). Then, after about seven hours of driving, we arrived at the motel in Swanton to find they’d lost our reservation, sending us (again in a downpour) ten miles south to the EconoLodge in St. Albans. We checked in and went to dinner at Chow Bella (get it?), which ran out of prime rib literally right before I ordered it. Afterwards, we went to the local hooch store for something to take back to the room and were amused by the teenagers not being carded as they bought lots of beer and plastic cups. “Someone’s having an underage party!” we laughed as we climbed back into the Liberty and returned to the motel, where we discovered that that very party was taking place in three rooms between which we were sandwiched.
I went to the front office kinda pissed (you can’t tell me they didn’t know what was going on) and told them told her that we wanted a refund and were going to ease on down the road. We moved to the Motel Cadillac (the Cadillac of motels), a much older, much bigger, much cooler and much cheaper lodging with no partying wee folk to keep us up all night. Okay, the bathroom had a really funky stench to it, but it was mitigated by the wooden beams in the ceiling.
Sunday, more rain, more and more and more rain. We arrived in Montreal by 1pm, but had difficulties getting to our hotel because of so many streets being blocked off for a huge Gay & Lesbian Festival taking place right outside of our lodging. The funny thing about this celebration of alternative lifestyle is that there were lots of families there… it’s hard to imagine mom and dad taking their kids to something like this in the US.
We walked to Old Montreal (which is beautiful), went into a few galleries (the highlight being the Yves Laroche Galerie d’art), had some wine and cheese and got back to the hotel around 9pm, fully intending to go out again after resting up from the huge walk, but dogs were barking, and so we were in for the night. Luckily, there was some Slim Jim left and a really great documentary on wine on the TV as we drifted off….
Monday morning, we arose and I went to get deux croissant and café filtre while Lysa showered. But when I got back to the hotel, the elevators were down. Right as I was making the decision to climb the 19 floors to our room, they came back online. Phew.
We took the Metro downtown and walked around, going in some shops and some stores and a charming little coffee place called CafeStarbucks. I got stressed out trying to pick a place to have lunch, as I usually do when traveling. Eating out is one of the highlights of any trip, and you only have so many chances to get it right. Nothing puts me in a bad mood faster than choosing the wrong restaurant, which I did once or twice. The fact that I am not a fan of French cuisine, French beer or French whiskey (there’s no bourbon to be had) made things even harder. Lysa was as patient with my inability to settle on a restaurant as I was with her similar overthinking on souvenirs for the family (an anxiety I avoid by just selfishly skipping the whole endeavor). As we attempted to find the legendary underground shops, we came to the realization that much of Montreal is like one big convention center, a series of attached stores, restaurants and meeting places all festooned with huge cold open areas filled with mostly unused chairs and tables. It’s weird. We continued walking and walking and walking, eventually coming to Rue Saint Denis, the hipster artsy street in Montreal, which we followed all the way back to our hotel, where we rested for a half hour before heading to the Osheaga Festival at Parc Jean-Drapeau.
While Osheaga was billed as a music and arts festival, the arts portion was pretty weak. Not BAD, mind you, but there’s barely any of it. One tent full of comics, photos, video installations and paintings with some exterior chunks of art surrounding. We found someone’s cell phone and sent a text message to a bunch of people in its address book to go to security at the arts salon. Amazingly, later that night, we’re pretty sure we overheard the owner of the phone celebrating because he had just retrieved it.
As for the music part of Osheaga, I was reminded of how much I hate outdoor music festivals when I don’t have a VIP pass. I realize that sounds awful, but back when I was in the biz, the access to areas with private bathrooms, plentiful seating, unobstructed views of the stage and a bounty of free drink made the whole experience bearable. Having to contend with porta-potties, smelly crowds, no place to sit and warm $6 beer got a little old for this middle aged coot.
Happily, the bands made it worthwhile. While the Black Keys don’t quite work in a festival setting, and MGMT can use some new management to help them get onstage in time, the Go! Team was awe-inspiring and Broken Social Scene was nothing short of majestic (the fact that they went on at dusk only added to the experience). Since the headliner that night was mellow groove rocker Jack Johnson, we quickly left when BSS’ set finished.
We took the Metro back to our hotel, then walked back up Ste. Denis to 3 Amigos, Montreal’s #1 rated Mexican restaurant, which was as eh as you’d imagine a Canadian Mexican restaurant would be. But it was late and we wanted giant margaritas. The coolest thing about dining at 3 Amigos was using three different languages with the waiter (French, English and Spanish). We got back to the hotel EXHAUSTED and passed out to the episode of Seinfeld where Jerry admits he’s not an orgy guy.
Tuesday morning, we got up and checked out, then walked to breakfast in Old Town , then back to get the car at the hotel, discovering that we had dodged a bullet with our timing; As we approached the hotel, there was a throng of people outside blowing whistles and waving flags. Turns out that most of the staff at the hotel went on strike that morning and the people just checking in that day were going to have to go without things like service in the restaurant and housekeeping!
We drove out of Canada, with one last bit of funny being Lysa’s nervousness at the border. When the guard asked where we lived, she said, “New York…. New Jersey!” When he asked why we were there, she stammered, ‘Uh… Va-Vacation!” and when he asked if we had a good time, she could only nod her head. Sheesh, you’d think her drug smuggling days weren’t behind her (kidding!!).
I type these last words in the car as Lysa drives south on Rte 87, New Jersey still about four hours ahead of us (not counting the half hour it’ll probably take to find parking when we get home). It was a short, yet lovely getaway from the currently mighty stressful day to days.
Time to start packing for an even bigger move.
Our start on Saturday brought some bumps in the road beginning with rains. Lots of rains. Torrential rains. Then came the speeding ticket in Vermont (about which the less said the better). Then, after about seven hours of driving, we arrived at the motel in Swanton to find they’d lost our reservation, sending us (again in a downpour) ten miles south to the EconoLodge in St. Albans. We checked in and went to dinner at Chow Bella (get it?), which ran out of prime rib literally right before I ordered it. Afterwards, we went to the local hooch store for something to take back to the room and were amused by the teenagers not being carded as they bought lots of beer and plastic cups. “Someone’s having an underage party!” we laughed as we climbed back into the Liberty and returned to the motel, where we discovered that that very party was taking place in three rooms between which we were sandwiched.
I went to the front office kinda pissed (you can’t tell me they didn’t know what was going on) and told them told her that we wanted a refund and were going to ease on down the road. We moved to the Motel Cadillac (the Cadillac of motels), a much older, much bigger, much cooler and much cheaper lodging with no partying wee folk to keep us up all night. Okay, the bathroom had a really funky stench to it, but it was mitigated by the wooden beams in the ceiling.
Sunday, more rain, more and more and more rain. We arrived in Montreal by 1pm, but had difficulties getting to our hotel because of so many streets being blocked off for a huge Gay & Lesbian Festival taking place right outside of our lodging. The funny thing about this celebration of alternative lifestyle is that there were lots of families there… it’s hard to imagine mom and dad taking their kids to something like this in the US.
We walked to Old Montreal (which is beautiful), went into a few galleries (the highlight being the Yves Laroche Galerie d’art), had some wine and cheese and got back to the hotel around 9pm, fully intending to go out again after resting up from the huge walk, but dogs were barking, and so we were in for the night. Luckily, there was some Slim Jim left and a really great documentary on wine on the TV as we drifted off….
Monday morning, we arose and I went to get deux croissant and café filtre while Lysa showered. But when I got back to the hotel, the elevators were down. Right as I was making the decision to climb the 19 floors to our room, they came back online. Phew.
We took the Metro downtown and walked around, going in some shops and some stores and a charming little coffee place called CafeStarbucks. I got stressed out trying to pick a place to have lunch, as I usually do when traveling. Eating out is one of the highlights of any trip, and you only have so many chances to get it right. Nothing puts me in a bad mood faster than choosing the wrong restaurant, which I did once or twice. The fact that I am not a fan of French cuisine, French beer or French whiskey (there’s no bourbon to be had) made things even harder. Lysa was as patient with my inability to settle on a restaurant as I was with her similar overthinking on souvenirs for the family (an anxiety I avoid by just selfishly skipping the whole endeavor). As we attempted to find the legendary underground shops, we came to the realization that much of Montreal is like one big convention center, a series of attached stores, restaurants and meeting places all festooned with huge cold open areas filled with mostly unused chairs and tables. It’s weird. We continued walking and walking and walking, eventually coming to Rue Saint Denis, the hipster artsy street in Montreal, which we followed all the way back to our hotel, where we rested for a half hour before heading to the Osheaga Festival at Parc Jean-Drapeau.
While Osheaga was billed as a music and arts festival, the arts portion was pretty weak. Not BAD, mind you, but there’s barely any of it. One tent full of comics, photos, video installations and paintings with some exterior chunks of art surrounding. We found someone’s cell phone and sent a text message to a bunch of people in its address book to go to security at the arts salon. Amazingly, later that night, we’re pretty sure we overheard the owner of the phone celebrating because he had just retrieved it.
As for the music part of Osheaga, I was reminded of how much I hate outdoor music festivals when I don’t have a VIP pass. I realize that sounds awful, but back when I was in the biz, the access to areas with private bathrooms, plentiful seating, unobstructed views of the stage and a bounty of free drink made the whole experience bearable. Having to contend with porta-potties, smelly crowds, no place to sit and warm $6 beer got a little old for this middle aged coot.
Happily, the bands made it worthwhile. While the Black Keys don’t quite work in a festival setting, and MGMT can use some new management to help them get onstage in time, the Go! Team was awe-inspiring and Broken Social Scene was nothing short of majestic (the fact that they went on at dusk only added to the experience). Since the headliner that night was mellow groove rocker Jack Johnson, we quickly left when BSS’ set finished.
We took the Metro back to our hotel, then walked back up Ste. Denis to 3 Amigos, Montreal’s #1 rated Mexican restaurant, which was as eh as you’d imagine a Canadian Mexican restaurant would be. But it was late and we wanted giant margaritas. The coolest thing about dining at 3 Amigos was using three different languages with the waiter (French, English and Spanish). We got back to the hotel EXHAUSTED and passed out to the episode of Seinfeld where Jerry admits he’s not an orgy guy.
Tuesday morning, we got up and checked out, then walked to breakfast in Old Town , then back to get the car at the hotel, discovering that we had dodged a bullet with our timing; As we approached the hotel, there was a throng of people outside blowing whistles and waving flags. Turns out that most of the staff at the hotel went on strike that morning and the people just checking in that day were going to have to go without things like service in the restaurant and housekeeping!
We drove out of Canada, with one last bit of funny being Lysa’s nervousness at the border. When the guard asked where we lived, she said, “New York…. New Jersey!” When he asked why we were there, she stammered, ‘Uh… Va-Vacation!” and when he asked if we had a good time, she could only nod her head. Sheesh, you’d think her drug smuggling days weren’t behind her (kidding!!).
I type these last words in the car as Lysa drives south on Rte 87, New Jersey still about four hours ahead of us (not counting the half hour it’ll probably take to find parking when we get home). It was a short, yet lovely getaway from the currently mighty stressful day to days.
Time to start packing for an even bigger move.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
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