6 months later, the party's moved.

www.grundler.blogspot.com

New blog locale. Go there if you dare. It will be no better than the last, I assure you.

cloying optimism

So the much ballyhooed transit strike ended on Friday to my great relief. While the walkout was a colossal pain the ass, I feel more than a little silly for raising such a fuss about a mere three-day-inconvenience. On the other hand, had it continued any longer I would have bathing with the toaster (if you catch my drift [and I think you do{I was going to electrocute myself}]).

Enough of that misery though. Its Christmas! Most people I know are down on this time of year because of the unabashed consumerism, or the crush of jerks with a shopping agenda only a London terrorist could derail (too soon?), but I love the neutrally-termed "holidays".

All things considered NPR style, Christmawanzakahvus is not that bad. It is the time of year when people are asked to be good to their fellow man, and I think that most people try. Even here in the so-called "Home of the Heartless," strangers at my job were going out of their way to be polite, and some even wished me happy holidays. I think that is nice, and I like it.

My sweet roommates even got in on the action. After hearing me speak about my love of Christmas trees, my roommate Sena (who is Jewish nonetheless) miraculously apparated a diminutive tannenbaum for our living room, which I lovingly decorated with dollar-store ornaments and pride. What a season!







Merry Christmas!

mother. fucking. transit. strike.

I guess this thing is turning into more of a quarterly newsletter than a blog. Oh well.

So things have happened in my absence from the world of online hackery. I went to a couple of parties and then some bars. Drinking was had, laughs were made and this Christmas season was generally on its way to being a heart-warming holiday.

Then the transit strike silently swept across the city during the night and all was lost.

On the grim winter morn that I discovered my beloved subterranean transport to be shut off and abandoned, I almost wept. But then I realized that it meant I would not have to work. Yay!

But I recalled that I also miss out on a day's pay. Boo!

Then the dog left angry green mayonnaise shits all over the living room floor. Unnecessary!

Shell-shocked and tired, I stayed in and played video games all day.






Thousands of hipsters crossed this very bridge to make you free!







But I had to go back to work at some point and this involved an hour and a half long trek across bridges and boroughs in the sub-40's cold to arrive at my underwhelming place of employment. The city has turned into a parody of those ensemble cast movies where dozens of zany characters race to the goal using every wacky mode of transportation they can. Tomorrow I plan on chartering a zepplin uptown where I will hitch a ride in the back of a chicken truck until I am picked up by a bus full of good-hearted gospel singers who can follow me to the goal: a million dollars in gold bullion! (Or another day at work.)




Police State!









Also, my second job has been cancelled until the strike is over due to the diminished Manhattan foot traffic. The fly-covered, distended belly of my malnourished bank account looks as though it might be ready to eat itself with overdraft fees if I don't do something soon.








I am an angry New Yorker.








The last time the TWU (Transit Worker's Union) had a strike was in 1980, and it lasted 11 days. This strike has only been two days long, and already I would give my good eye for the smell of fermenting urine and urban decay that meant I was only ten minutes from downtown. If this goes on much longer I might have to buy a pair of rollerblades. Or a car.

But some good has come out of all of this. On both ends of the Williamsburg bridge, the Red Cross was there to give me coffee and cookies and hot chocolate, which was about the best thing I could have ever asked for upon exiting a freezing throughway with high winds. And one of the awesome life long New Yorkers at my job told me that I was now an honorary New Yorker because I am living through some kind of bullshit. Apparently if you walk across a bridge because of some crisis or another, you get instant citizenship.

Ugh.

i just don't have my heart in it

In a twist worthy of a certain Mr. Shyamalan, it turns out that the more self-obsessed I get, the less I blog. I didn't see it coming.

I have been very caught up in my own idiotic life lately, and have not really had much to talk about, but here is a recap:

Work got so busy that I got yelled at for making a bunch of mistakes. Sweet.

One night, I went to a bar in Soho that played only Japanese gogo music and was molded to look like a cave. There, I drank whisky until my card declined.

Then another night, I drank beer.

Then my roommates were rad.

Then I was sober for...ever*.

Also, while craigslist has provided me with two apartments and a job among other things, I have never considered myself a part of "the community." But last week I was alerted to a missed connection ad that could be none other than the e-crap. That's right, some guy at the Strand has a crush on me. While it doesn't turn the arid waste of my love life into a healthy crop of discreet sex, I was flattered. He seemed to take my explanatory e-mail in stride, and we awkwardly laughed it off the next day with some conspicuous mutual avoidance.

Then I played Risk and Monopoly with the roommates for some hours. I am really lucky when it comes to matters of world domination.

P.S. I think I found a second job.

*a few days.

this is why i never eat

Have you ever been stabbed in the gut? Me neither, but the apocalyptic case of food poisoning that woke me up at 5:00 AM sure gave me a good idea. After spasmodic writhing in my bed for a few hours, I called into work and commenced puking. I was in Hell's Foldgers commercial.

I ended up going to work later in the afternoon once my stormtrooper body had violently expunged all digestive dissent. The more hours I miss at work, the less I eat.

Now I must decide how best to fulfill the tacit expectation of Saturday night excitement. I will undoubtedly fail. I hate Saturdays.

i, hipster

If anyone is still reading this, I’m back. After going dark for a few weeks I come back to you a man moved. And well fed.

In the darkness of the past few weeks, I located a new abode in a Brooklyn warehouse. My room is so large that I am beginning to get stress headaches deciding what to do with it. However, one of my new roommates is a carpenter and seems eager to assist in the building of an epic habitat for my continued scheming and machinating.

The Not For Tourists Guide to Brooklyn describes my new neighborhood as “desolate and crime-ridden,” but I would describe it more along the lines of “Don't carry expensive shit at night, and always keep a twenty on you because muggers get super-pissed when you don't have anything.”

But the cheaper rent, larger room, and more convenient location seem worth it in exchange for a few games of Avoid-Eye-Contact-With-The-Gang-Member. Also, my new roommates are awesome and hilarious.

In comparison to the stench of cat shit and misery that permeated my previous room, living amongst the convivial air of my new place is like being talked off a ledge.

For Thanksgiving I traveled to the idyllic hamlet of Princeton, NJ to stay with the Morleys for a couple of days. Once again, Jamie and Keith took me in like a starving urchin and turned what could have been another reason to get drunk into a genuinely familial holiday. Wine + copious amounts of food + board games + The OC Season 1= Best Thanksgiving in memory.

Despite my continuing jealousy/hatred of Seth Cohen for all of the bands/comics/lifestyles that his character has ruined through hollow, privledged, consumptive namedropping, I am now addicted to The OC. Say what thou wilt about mainstream television, but I tell you without pretentious irony: that show is priceless. It may be an unrealistic, hateful wealth and power fantasy, but so are most superhero comics, so I guess I was kind of ready for it.

P.S. For better or worse, my blogging should now resume its regularly unreliable frequency.