Tag Archives: McMann and Tate vs Wolff Olins

Never Get Burn

Oh my my. As far as I’m concerned this has been a really crappy Friday the 13th. Really. Started out with me waking up a bit late at 7:00 and listening to the news on the radio as I made the bed and hearing of the plane crash in Buffalo killing 50 people.

Waking up to bad news like this certainly sucks. I puttered about the apartment, getting it together and heading out to catch the bus. I’ve gotten choosy on what bus I catch. I prefer a coach. It’s probably Bill’s influence from his bus driving days but also it’s a more comfortable ride.

I sat and started reading the New Yorker when my phone vibrated. I try not to talk on the bus, don’t want to be ‘that guy’, but it was my brother Brian so I took the call. He was asking if I was working today and I told him I was en route.

He was working at Hoboken high school. I told him to safeguard his valuables. We chatted and told me what was going on in his life. Total craziness and not in a good way. It’s not my problem and I’m not belittling his situation by saying that.

I only say that to explain I won’t write about it here. It’s his problem and all I can do is offer my support for this particular hell he seems to be going through. And he has my support 1000%. I’m disappointed in some of the players in his tale of woe and I feel bad for what they’re going through.

We wound up on the phone for almost 30 minutes. So much for not wanting to talk while on the bus, but I didn’t really talk outside of saying, ‘Really?’ That’s fucked up’ and ‘I am so sorry you’re going through this’.

I told him I was getting off the bus and he should call me later on if he had the chance. He didn’t call though, but I will always be there for him, come hell or high water.

After that I walked across midtown to work and found my mail box filled with voice mail from the stalker. Her name in Min Young Ahn, but I call her that fucked up Korean bitch.

She was crying and talking in Korean on 2 messages, the rest were in English, telling me she loves me and she was going to move and how could I have said all those nice things to her yet treat her so coldly.

She showed up at my building the other day during my stressed out moments of trying to book a flight for Vivek and his partner. I told security once again that she is absolutely not allowed into the building.

It all depends who is at the security desk, but I guess when they enter her name in the system there is an instruction to notify me immediately. I found out the next day she communicated with security by talking to them while looking at the ceiling.

I had a man date with Steve from my office who was let go when he came back from his honeymoon in October. He still uses the facilities and in January we had decided on Friday afternoons to go have a cigar and drink some scotch at a cigar lounge across the street from his apartment.

At 2:00 I met up with Steve and we picked out some of Harpy’s favorite cigars, the La Flor Domincana Double Ligero. I had a flask that used to belong to my father and filled it up last night with some Dewars.

We sat in some comfortable chairs and sat and shot the shit for over an hour. Good cigars and good scotch made for a pleasant buzz in an otherwise crappy day. We parted ways, he and his wife were driving out to the Poconos and I was going back to the office to get my stuff.

In the office, the right wing nuts had posted a picture of Bill Clinton, who I admittedly do not care for, saying that the current economic crisis was all Clinton’s fault.

My reaction was to print out a Wanted for War Crimes poster featuring the worst president EVER on it and pinned it discreetly in my cube at such an angle so that the main wing nut could see it behind my computer screen if he happened to glance in that direction.

The fucked up thing for me was, ‘if’ the current economic fiasco was Clinton’s fault, why didn’t the douche bag dip shit that followed him do anything about it? Of course they wouldn’t be able to answer that.

Perhaps they would mention that douche bag dip shit was too busy protecting the country from another 9/11 attack, which of course happened on his watch. I’m too busy myself preventing such an attack by hanging a bag of shiny rocks on my windowsill to the left of this computer.

Still buzzed I walked back across town and saw Bill for a few minutes. He was good at calming me down, after I told him all about what was going on in my world and the satellites orbiting. I’m glad he could be there for me when I need it and he says I’m there for him, even when I don’t know it.

We parted ways since it was getting cold out and he wasn’t dressed for it, so I left him with his high beams and continued west to the bus terminal.

Walking down 43rd street I ran into Amiable Alan, also known as Adam Ames. We worked together in 2006 at McMann and Tate aka Wolff Olins. It was odd seeing him in midtown and I asked him if he was still at McMann Olins.

He told me no, that he was let go as well as a lot of people. The company had a account with Washington Mutual and we all know how Washington Mutual turned out. I guess it was a good thing to get out of there when I did.

We caught up for a spell, he’s doing freelance design work and was off to another gig. I walked to the bus terminal and caught a coach bus back to Hoboken. I sat and read Sarah Vowell, The Wordy Shipmates which of course is funny, but the walking and the scotch made for lidded eyes and I closed the book and stared out the window instead.

Bought a Mega Millions lottery ticket, perhaps worth 85 million dollars. That could come in handy when I win it.

Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.

Man in the Street

It’s Tuesday again and it’s not my fault. I did everything in my power to make it Thursday but obviously that didn’t go as planned. My carbon monoxide detectors kept going off last night. It seems if I come home and turn on the heater to medium it sets those buggers off.

So for most of the evening I was sitting in the apartment with the windows open, heaters off and wearing layers as opposed to the single thong I usually wear when I write. Yes butt floss does a writer good. And I keep checking to see if I am red in the face since Harpy hipped me to the fact that carbon monoxide poisoning can be seen when you’re looking beet red.

Visions of Vitas Gerulaitis pass through my consciousness. The late tennis pro died of carbon monoxide poisoning a while back while living in the Hamptons. The detectors haven’t gone off so far and the heaters are on at a minimum.

Obviously I am still alive though by this writing sometimes one can’t tell.

One the bus home today I was reading Sarah Vowell, The Wordy Shipmates and of course it’s very funny but despite me chuckling to myself I could barely keep my eyes open.

That may have been from the errand I had to do taking me from 49th Street and Third Avenue to 56th Street and Seventh Avenue. Right by the Carnegie Club, a posh cigar bar that I have been to a number of times.

Fortunately it wasn’t open.

I say fortunately since I usually bring my own cigars and they charge you $10.00 if you are not going to purchase one of their over priced cigars. It is a good spot though, drinks a bit pricey. It’s best to stick to beer, I’ve found.

Actually what’s best is to go on a company credit card. It’s where I had my going away party when I left Putnam Lovell NBF, I mean, Wanker Banker. Oddly enough I only had one cigar that evening which kept going out due to the fact that I was so chatty that night with everyone wishing me well.

Little did they or I know that where I was going, Wolff Olins, I mean, McMann and Tate was the proverbial fire underneath the frying pan.

I much prefer the Cigar Inn where I’ve been the past two Fridays with Steve the former coworker. You do have to buy your cigars there but you can also bring in your own libation. I don’t know if we’re doing it again this week, neither one of us has brought up the subject.

I walked around listening to the Story of Jamaican Music on the iPod Alexander Lopez got for me over the holidays. After writing about the Jamaican music last night I decided to load them into my iPods.

I listened to all of that so much that I know all of the words and I found myself singing along as I walked through midtown.

It was almost ironic since I saw a messenger walking along rapping along to whatever it was he was listening to while he was doing his errands and I thought it was odd.

But singing about how the train is coming is a lot different than saying ‘I’m gonna shoot that mutha fucka in the fuckin face’.

Wouldn’t you agree?