AT&T: Evil Masters of the Uverse(?)

AT&T Complaints Department
1 Happy Street
Fiery Depths of Soulless Hell, TX 66666-666

Dear Sir, Madam or Other Miscellaneous Corporate Child-eater:

I write today with a great burden upon me, for a mountain of regret threatens to press the very trust in humanity from the depths of my consumer drone lungs. For thou hast slain me – not by any tangible measure but in a way far more malicious … a way that stains my metaphysical blood deep into the scaly flesh of your greed-mangled claws. Oh Captain, my Captain… My King of Kings… Please smite me not, for I present to thee … a complaint.

“Just sign the contract,” he crooned with great seduction, the brim of his heavenly blue cap perched upon the gnarled horns of a goat-hearted demon-agent of the great Satan himself. Oh, how I should have known – for you cannot spell SATAN without “AT” … while the origin of that blasted extraneous “T” remains far too mired in dark sorcery for my feeble comprehension. “Your beloved New York Yankees, 24/7… It shall all be yours for the taking … if only you sign.”

Satanic Demon Goat Mask

Yeah, sure. Like YOU could resist those eyes…

I remember the day as if it were yesterday: the air thick with potential, honeysuckle and sulfur. He knew exactly where to hit me – knew my softest of soft spots. I fell powerless against the call of the postgame extravaganzas I once knew and loved … drunk on the promise of Girardi and Jeter, Pettitte and Cano, all on-call at the press of a button. And, my God, did you say Francesa? The palpitations, they did thus commence…

“Just hand me a pen!” I shouted with glee, as he delved deep into his pocket to retrieve a lump of black avarice with which to etch my mark. Oh, how I should have known…

For a time, I must confess, things could not have been grander. For I had entered into a contract with Corporate America for the provision of services… And Corporate America had contracted back. On a day such as this, fortune shone oh so bright.

Heavenly sun rays and oak trees

Pictured: fortune. Much, much fortune.

And then, the skies darkened – metaphorically, of course, for this is still Texas and the welcome relief of cloud cover remains a taunting mistress indeed. Eagerly, I bound before the Altar of Truth, igniting its wisdom in a blaze of electric glory. But where were my pinstripes and the exalted arches of my beloved Yankee Stadium? Andy? Derek? Nothing. Not even a passing Ichiro.

cat in an empty room

“I don’t know, Mr. John Sterling Fluffykins… I don’t know where they all went… 😦

Needless to say, vexation consumed me as I reached for my phone to call the caring harbingers of customer service. There must be some mistake. For I had contracted with Corporate America… And Corporate America had contracted back.

The gauntlet I faced was cold and lonely, populated with talking heads and mindless mouths, eerily chanting pre-programmed responses to inquiries not yet made. But through toil and diligence, I found my way, sweeping aside a final thicket of thistle to bask in the grandeur that is Cindy (in Billing).

Demon goat 666

Oh, hi Cindy… I was referred by Mouthbreathing Bob in Sales.

Humility descended upon me with the stifling calm of a warm blanket. I was in Her presence: the presence of Greatness. Cindy had no need to boast of Her own importance, for the brevity of Her tone spoke volumes in Her stead.

“But I have contracted with Corporate America,” I pled before Her almighty gavel of justice, “and Corporate America contracted back.”

“Channel changes happen,” Her heavenly voice rang down.

“Yes,” I cried with futility, “but did I not pay for said service? Have I somehow angered the Altar with my most benevolent of intent?”

“Channel changes happen,” She said once again.

“And yet, I pay all the same, sans the services withdrawn?”

“And you shall continue to do so, lest ye wish to face the fiery trials of The Penalty.”

I recoiled in dread. Had my brazen bravado cost me more than I had bargained for? But wait, that which I had bargained for now itself hung in limbo. The shower of confusion intensified…

Hot bikini girl in shower

Please, I wish…

My beloved was gone, never to return – held captive by a premium of superior rank than the premium with which I had acquired her.

But what of the contract with Corporate America, you likely ask? Needn’t even a Master of the Uverse abide by the Cosmic Code of Law and Common Sense? Should not the unilateral rescission of services without recompense of consideration constitute breach and fraud, every bit as much as it would were the tables turned?

Or do you stand by your General, the Almighty Cindy (in Billing), shouting stalwart down the mountainside to we minion in the valley, “Screw you, walking wallets, we’ve already got your money. For you are bound by a contract with Corporate America … and channel changes happen”?

Demon goat 666

And there’s not a da-a-a-a-a-a-a-mn thing you can do about it!!


My Name in Print (Boss Gets Published!!)

Ladies … Gentlemen … Riff-raff … On this Eve of All that is Hallow, I forego the customary recipes for ghoulish goulash, lady fingers and other ding’bat’ culinary puns in favor of some old-fashioned braggadocio. It would appear that the modestly strapping lad behind the mask is on the cusp of literary immortality (ok, not really).
Thanks to the incredible people at Recovering the Self, a truly awesome literary journal, my first personal essay will be published as of tomorrow, in the November issue. The theme of this edition is “Animals and Healing,” and my own humble contribution chronicles the awesomeness of my favorite furry amigos: Hudson, Cooper and their big sister Tory.
It would mean the world to me if any of you chose to seek it out and let me know what you think. I know the journal is available in print, as well as etailers like Barnes & Noble. Anyone who reads it and lets me know might just get a surprise!! Probably not, of course, but who knows, right???

Hudson Yankee Blue: In Memoriam

Hudson Yankee Blue 2003-2012

Hudson Yankee Blue – 2003-2012

Farewell, But Never Goodbye

The last jagged fragments
trickle over stuttering lips.
I have nothing left to cry.

So bravely you fought,
through a world filled with pain.
Accepting peace with more grace than ever.

A warm pool of shards.
So many fond memories.
I smile at their brilliant reflection,
and bleed as they cut ever deeper.

Your road has not ended.
Such roads never do.
They simply transform into new.

Now free of the structure
and harshness of life,
finally free to walk your own path.

I will carry you forward
in this new life I find,
and bury my anger beneath gratitude.

I know you were ready.
Well, I never was.
I hope I made you proud,
as you have always made me.

Today, I awaken to a somber grey sky.
A mourning world relays my emotion.
But later on, in a day or two,
The sky will clear again.

The sun will shine through
and deliver your warmth.
This time not from beside,
but high above.

I will see you then,
and I will know
that we truly never part at all.


Sleep well, brave girl…

Fallen Heroes

September 11 9/11 memorial floodlights aside the Woolworth Building shining in the financial district Manhattan New York City Brooklyn Bridge

On a day such as today, may we all stand as straight and reach as high: grounded in somber remembrance, yet unshackled from our fear.

May we honor their memories, and fill our own, with an equally brilliant display of that which makes us resilient.

May we transcend the scorched bonds of vengeance and rebuild a solid foundation on which our humanity may flourish.

May we open our hearts to a brighter world and revel fully in its colors, without need to discriminate by them.

On this random day, saddled with the sacred weight of death and elevated through the prospect of rebirth, may we remain vigilant against the hateful among us and afford them only pity … that they will never know the warm embrace of our similarities  and what it is to be human.

I wish this as a defiant New Yorker.
I wish it as a proud American.
And I wish it as a global citizen.

Never forget.

September 11 9/11 memorial floodlights aside the Woolworth Building shining in the financial district Manhattan New York City Brooklyn Bridge

Easter Eggs, just like Grandma used to make them

A collaborative effort with the talented Hana over at Nutrition Check to do our small part to keep alive a pretty amazing Old World Easter tradition. Bookmark it NOW and try it next year!! I know I’ll be doing it again…

Easter Eggs, just like Grandma used to make them.

My photos + Hana’s tradition (and her grandma – I can’t take credit for that either) = store-bought egg dye is going DOWN

“Spring Has Sprung… BATTER UP!! (aka, Lemon & Pinot Sorbet)”

Bowl of sorbet, glass of pinot grigio and jelly beans on outdoor table top

Ahhh, springtime…that magical time of year when the earth wipes the gloomy slumber from its eyes and springs back into technicolor life…that fabled time of year when a young man’s fancy turns to thoughts of one thing:

Marisa Miller, hot Japanese girl and Eva Longoria in baseball uniforms


The burgeoning emergence of April, arriving on tender shoots of vibrant green glory. Without fail, a wondrous time of year…as the bitter gales of January mature into a balmy breeze that warms both the skin and the soul…as the melting snowfalls of February now water the blooming fields of color…and let’s face it…March just has a really shitty reputation all-around – especially right around the middle…

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Cochinita Pibil with Cilantro-Lime Rice: Making “Fat Little Piggy” Sexy Again

Cochinita Pibil with cilantro-lime rice in ceramic bowl on banana leaf with yellow mango salsa

As you may know, I am a man who thrives on mystery…a man who feeds on it, I guess you could say. Do disembodied spirits still walk among us? What really happens inside the event horizon of a black hole? Why the hell do they call a cut of meat from the shoulder of an animal a “Boston Butt”??? (my array of passions can be…eccentric)

But the fascinating thing about any good mystery is the force of curiosity catalyzed by the mystery itself, independent of the issue being shrouded. Once unveiled, the cold and clinical underlying facts will invariably fall short of hopes and expectations and we will be left feeling cheated and lessened. What’s behind Door #1 will never be as fascinating as what could be behind Door #1.

Need real-world proof? Let us consider the Great Boston Butt issue… For those of us not burdened with an over-abundance of knowledge, the self-created visuals are limitless. For me, genetically programmed with a lifetime of American League East superiority, I find myself envisioning a city dripping with history and tradition, and filled with all the world-class ass a man could ever imagine…

Boston Butt asses ass assholes idiot moron jonathan papelbon is a jerk

HA, gotcha…for disambiguation of the term "ass," see…………now, when's the next train back to civilization?

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