VT 2009

Would You Stop to Listen? Baum would.

Drowning under a sea of excel, I sit miserably at my desk until the HAWK throws me a lifeline. It is vintage Dave-Matthews-Band-crying Alex Baum-gina. This is how it went down:

Hawk: Fucking baums emails should go right into my trash bin
Hawk: what a dick, tell him to email you
Smasher: huh
Hawk: dude
Hawk: i just got this email from baum, post it immediately
Smasher: ok
Hawk: with a picture of a gay guy playing a violin
Hawk: im going to get some chips

Hawk forwards me the email copied below. I have annotated the article with my remarks in red.

From: HAWK
Subject: Fwd: Would you stop to listen?
Date: January 14, 2009 4:29:58 PM EST
To: SMASHER

Put this directly on baumthewine and make fun of it...

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Alex Baum
Date: Wed, Jan 14, 2009 at 4:24 PM
Subject: Would you stop to listen?
To: HOT GIRL #1, HOT GIRL #2, SISTER BAUM, FATHER BAUM, RANDOM GUY, O-DOG, HAWK

Cheesy ending, but interesting to think about... {I can already tell this is going to Suhuck Cohocks! Classic Baum email ensuing}


Who is he? {…KEYSER SOZE!!!!!}

A man sat at a metro station in Washington DC and started to play the violin {he had shit stained pants, has clearly been homeless for years, and keeps asking for money to get a train ticket because his, “car broke down on the way to his dying grandmother’s house but he just happened to have his violin”} ; it was a cold January morning {sucks for him}. He played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes {What a classically trained hobo-dirtbag, impressive. Baum's probably jerking off to his monitor at the point in the email}. During that time, since it was rush hour, it was calculated that thousands of people went through the station, most of them on their way to work {All thinking ‘I wish that dirty asshole playing the violin would shut the fuck up’}.

Three minutes went by and a middle aged man noticed there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds and then hurried up to meet his schedule. A minute later, the violinist received his first dollar tip: a woman threw the money in the till {Sucker} and without stopping continued to walk.

A few minutes later, someone leaned against the wall to listen to him, but the man looked at his watch and started to walk again. Clearly he was late for work {This statement makes no sense to me. Why would he lean against the wall for a while if he were late? I don’t know about you but for me it’s get rich or die trying. If I am running late I am either running red lights while avoiding strollers and sweating my tits off thinking of a legitimate excuse… or I call in sick and get a god damn bacon egg and cheeee and go back to fuckin sleep. This story is bullshit lies}. The one who paid the most attention was a 3 year old boy {Little dickface}. His mother tugged him along, hurried but the kid stopped to look at the violinist {Mommy, why does he have so many crumbs in his beard?}. Finally the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk turning his head all the time {Because his mom wanted to violently beat the shit out of that side of his little prepubescent face}. This action was repeated by several other children {all orphans}. All the parents, without exception, forced them to move on.

In the 45 minutes the musician played, only 6 people stopped and stayed for a while About 20 gave him money but continued to walk their normal pace. He collected $32. {Nice Bro! After doing some math, which is probably incorrect, that’s almost $43 bucks an hour. Almost seven times minimum wage… I mean he’ll get raped after taxes, but I bet he wouldn’t make that much singing all of Kevin Klein’s show tunes in Pirates of Penzance} When he finished playing and silence took over, no one noticed it. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition {But he got that paper paper so he can get his next fix}.

No one knew this but the violinist was Joshua Bell {a.k.a. verbal kent, a.k.a. KAISER SOZE}, one of the best musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written with a violin worth 3.5 million dollars {That is just wrong. Mozart better have wiped his nuts with that shit for 15 years}. Two days before his playing in the subway, Joshua Bell sold out at a theater in Boston and the seats average $100 {Every one of them getting ripped off, Boston has the worst fans on earth… they only know how to root for losers}.

This is a real story {who fucking cares}. Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and priorities of people {during rush hour?}. The outlines were: in a commonplace environment at an inappropriate hour {oh ok, my bad}: Do we perceive beauty? {In the form of ass and titties, you betcha} Do we stop to appreciate it {Maybe if you had Kate Bosworth pole dancing topless to Lady Gaga instead of some obscure dickhead}? Do we recognize the talent in an unexpected context?

One of the possible conclusions from this experience could be:
If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world playing the best music ever written, how many other things are we missing?{I thought a conclusion was the summing-up of an argument or a text. This piss-face has clearly never been to fifth grade since he’s just asked a question or made some kind of irrelevant hypothesis (I didn’t pay attention in fifth grade either) in hopes of making this literary piece of garbage seem significant. If the moon were made of barbecued spare ribs, would you eat it? I sure know I would}

As we all begin this New Year 2009...let us take time to be fully in the Present Moment and not miss the small and exquisite things in Life {Amen, you one-eyed piccolo puckering pussy}. May we be like little children in spirit ... once again {Some of us still are, every day}.

{Of course this liberal hippy has to post some inauguration link. Fucking Dick.}

Inauguration '09: Get complete coverage from the nation's capital. (http://news.aol.com/main/politics/inauguration?ncid=emlcntusnews00000003)

--
Alex Baum

{Of course he follows every email with this quote}

"It is easy in the world to live after the world's opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude"
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

{hatchet wound}

Hawk & Smasher Reminisce

… About the antics of the previous weekend. Not until Tuesday of course… Monday is too soon. All quotations in the first part of this dialogue are references to “Really, It’s the Booze Talking” by Glenn Eichler posted on 12/22/08 in the Proof, Alcohol & American life section of the New York Times Opinion blog. The article is hilarious.

AIM IM with HAWK 1/13/09 2:41 PM

Hawk: “Sometimes accidental electrocution can be a blessing in disguise, but try telling that to the other mothers in the playgroup.”
Hawk: http://proof.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/12/22/really-its-the-booze-talking/#more-43
Smasher: …with the exchange rate and my gambling addiction
Smasher: I am laughing so loud right now
Hawk: AGH HAHAHAHAA
Smasher: “I could be further up the ladder, but I won’t play their corporate games. Men’s Room, Women’s Room — too many rules.”
Hawk: hahaha
Smasher: You need to post an article about your next day waking up on the couch and the trip to VT
Smasher: Can u do that?
Hawk: I don’t remember enough
Smasher: You have to, you agreed when I started this thing
Hawk: Where should it start?
Smasher: Waking up after snoring with your eyes open on the couch and staying up all night
Smasher: You must have felt like fucking shit
Smasher: I almost didn't answer but I am too scared of your girlfriend
Hawk: Answer what? The phone?
Smasher: Yeah, yours must have been dead
Smasher: Then she decided to call me
Hawk: My phone wasn’t dead- I was
Smasher: No, we checked, your chest was moving violently as you breathed air.
Hawk: HAHAH
Smasher: We had to put a finger under sketchy girl’s nose to see if she was breathing… deathly quiet sleeper
Hawk: Dear lord
Smasher: Quite a contrast from the conscious one
Smasher: At one point I tried to tickle your balls with a Yankees memorabilia baseball bat but her foot was draped over your leg and she started wiggling her foot.
Smasher: Needless to say that got quite the reaction
Hawk: hahaa
Hawk: Jesus
Smasher: When did u finally get to VT?
Hawk: 1AM
Smasher: No shit!
Hawk: Drank heavily until 4
Smasher: Talk about the trail of tears
Hawk: Woke up at 7
Smasher: Did u even ski?
Hawk: Skied all day
Smasher: Speaking of trails, did you vomit on the on them?
Hawk: No it was mostly just bloody boogers and three-foot long snot ropes
Smasher: I hate it when that happens
Hawk: I had to blow my nose like 1000 times
Smasher: Then you choke some back accidentally
Hawk: There were little creatures living in there
Hawk: Oh god its like a new buzz
Smasher: Little nose lampreys
Smasher: It's the only thing that makes it tolerable…
Smasher: That and getting blowjobs
Smasher: Actually Hawk, never mind about writing something. I guess I can just post this conversation.
Smasher: Names changed of course...
Smasher: Cause our friends Ahmed and Heinrich are too scared they would get fired from Wall Street if I used their real names, which I even changed [here too].
Hawk: Ahmed and Heinrich, huh
Smasher: Muslim and Nazi
Smasher: Inappropriate?
Hawk: No
Hawk:Not at all
Hawk: Are they on the site though?
Smasher: No I had to take them down, I told Gestapo never to call my cell phone ever again
Hawk: Did he call you when he saw the site?
Smasher: I told the desert one that if I didn't get every single one of those t-shirts it would go back up
Hawk: Haha
Hawk: I can’t wait for those
Smasher: They texted and called in a fit of paranoia
Hawk: I bet
Smasher: It's not even close to as bad as their facebook profiles, especially Euphrates swimmer.
Hawk: I think facebook may be off limits though at work
Smasher: There are always ways around that
Hawk: For some reason
Smasher: Not even close, they make interns research dirt
Smasher: The original post I had totally missed half of the texting conversation I had on my way down too
Hawk: I heard Skinny Boy’s brother in law had to explain a photo of himself at the pool- he was holding his suit open in front and pouring a beer down his crotch
Hawk: In hysterical laughter
Smasher: Burn dude. At the end of the day who gives a fuck?
Smasher: I would totally hire that guy. What was his explanation?
Hawk: Yeah me too
Hawk: He was at his last round of interviews and totally qualified but the interviewer slapped a folder of all his bad pics on the desk and asked him to explain every one of them.
Hawk: Then he was asked to leave
Hawk: Super harsh
Smasher: Jesus. What dicks.... Where was it?
Smasher: It's not like you're running for public office… unless he was?
Hawk: Yeah i know
Smasher: I mean if Madoff can get bail…
Hawk: Yeah what the fuck
Hawk: Thats just the way it is though...
Smasher: That's why I don't have a job like that
Hawk: Yep
Smasher: Alright, speaking of those, back to work brah
Hawk: Dude lampreys are so gross
Smasher: Not Zane Lamprey, he's a golden god
Hawk: Yes he is
Smasher: Check you later
Hawk: Later

A Weekend Soaring Above Manhattan with The Hawk (Part I)

On Thursday, January 8, 2009 I started receiving text messages from old Frat Bros saying, “LOCK IN! R U Cumming?” Do I make the arduous journey down to Manhattan on Friday for a sinful night of alcohol abuse accompanied by lack of sleep, less women, and a hangover replete with misery and shame? Absolutely.

Friday January 9, 2009

7:00PM – Game time decision. I Pack my shit, hop in the techno truck, and leave what I like to call the, “Paris of New England,” or Hartford, all while lighting one parliament love stick one after the other.

7:18PM – Stop at Starbucks for some Seattle crybaby juice and barely make it to the head before wetting my khakis. I get back in the techno truck and think about what hookerish women I’ll encounter this evening. Will we even remember to eat food this time? My head starts to hurt so I blast some tunes, specifically:

Walking On A Dream (Treasure Fingers Remix) - Empire of the Sun

8:00PM – Get bored and decide to call my grandmother in hopes that she will be severely inebriated by now. Delightfully, she is. I can hear the ever so subtle slur as the veteran 94-year-old booze champion sips her refreshing vodka martini (1 shaker per night minimum). Why do I like speaking with Nana after she’s knocked some back? Simple, she can’t bother me about issues she sees in WSJ like the Gaza strip or the US auto industry… Instead I escape with only one question about that “Bald Fellow that is single-handedly try to save American Business,” a.k.a. Hank ‘Big Poppa’ Paulsen. I hang up. Techno goes back on.

8:26PM – It begins. My iphone starts lighting up like a goddamn Polish Cathedral. The cat’s out of the litterbox.



Hookerish Girl: I know ur coming to nyc and didn’t inform me. We are in a major fight
Tyrannosaurus Me: Frat bro lockin. I’ll call u when I get in.
Hookerish Girl: I have the flu… Nio fun
Tyrannosaurus Me: Do u really? [Swerve to avoid cars on the Bruckner Expressway]
Hookerish Girl: Ya miserable
Tyrannosaurus Me: Sorry we could always have sex
Hookerish Girl: Ur so out right
Hookerish girl: ..Its hottt haha
Tyrannosaurus Me: Fuck the fever out of you
Hookerish Girl: Woww just woww
Tyrannosaurus Me: That’s what she said
Hookerish Girl: Ur so Suaave
Tyrannosaurus Me: And I’m still sober
Hookerish Girl: Ooo lala ohh baby

Of course I completely forget to call her later. Who the fuck squealed I think to myself. The last thing I need is a welcoming party after my showing over New Year’s Eve. But that’s another story. Fuck! That forced but consensual sex scene in the 300 comes to mind where McNulty from The Wire dressed as a Greek douche bag says to Sarah Connor Chronicles, “This will not be over quickly.” Damnit! I shout cranking the techno back up trying to put my mind at ease. An angry mob of enraged bitches will literally come after me with torches and pitchforks. I realize I need a drink and I need it fast.

8:47PM – I get off the FDR at Midtown and prepare to meet up with THE HAWK!!!!

8:51PM – I park my car and walk to the entrance of HAWK’S apartment. I am greeted by one of those lifer doormen (wearing gloves even) who seems to see right through my pathetic party-addicted existence. I tell him I’m here to see THE HAWK!!! Making the Sylvester Stallone hand motion from Over the Top… the joke doesn’t go over well as he pierces my soul with his burning eyes. I then say the real name as he frowns and lifts the phone receiver to his mouth. I scamper to the elevator with my tail between my legs like a battered cocker spaniel whining like I have to take a piss.

8:53PM – I come in hot to the HAWK’S NEST only to find the Hawk having a quiet candlelit dinner with his Dad and Dad’s GF. Fuck Again! I say to myself as I observe they only have some artichoke with drawn butter on the table and haven’t even started the main course. The last thing I want to do is sit down to a quiet dinner while reeking of drive stress and West Virginia bowling alley.

8:55PM – After brief introductions I have a seat at the table while the Hawk pours me a lovely glass of some dry Pinot Noire. He is my savior right now. Reluctantly, I agree to have some food that was prepared by the Dad’s GF. I am relaxing, getting into the mood, and feeling okay. Then she drops the bomb. The recipe is from the Hawk himself. What have I done? I can only equate eating a recipe from the Hawk’s personal menu to buying your produce from the garbage man. I start worrying as the Dad’s GF starts talking about how great the flavors of the “Rocket Salad” and “Forbidden Rice” go together. This is the worst combination of words I’ve ever heard. The GF starts eyeballing me and asks me what I think of the rice. It’s large brownish/black colored granules lumped in a pile like mouse droppings on the edge of my plate. I slowly take a fork full and choke those fuckers down. After a moment and some forced chewing I realize it’s actually pretty good. Relief washes over me like a warm bath with a hooker in it giving me a BJ.

9:45PM – We finish dinner and decide we need to feed the livers more. We go to the liquor store to buy some Booker Noe Bad Ass juice and some Russian firewater.

To Be Continued…