: Everyone is Irish Today.

St. Patricks day today. While waiting to clamber aboard the NYC bound ACF, the rarely speaks PT Cruiser dude announces "alot of drinking I bet will happen today". Why do people need to state the obvious, especially a person who rarely speaks. It was all I could do to hold back my automatic 3rd grade response of "duh".

Yes it's St. Paddy's day, people will drink, and maybe even wear green. The ride home tonight has the possibility of being very interesting.

happy St. Paddy's Shane.

+ After Work and Pre-bus Ride

Met two old work buddies at Port 41, watched a 6 foot 6 Union dude play every note of two Slayer songs on air guitar in the middle of the bar. Then he danced to Jay-Z and never once took his sunglasses off.

My buddy Chris walks in on the opening chord of Enter Sandman. Perfect timing. Had dirty water hot dogs, talked about work and swapped tall tales with Jayson and Chris then lumbered aboard the 9pm ACF headed home to Jersey. Billy-D missed out on many a tall tale. Next time compadre.

Adios.

@ Auto Asphyxiation.

The diesel fumes leaking from my beloved chariot is the perfect aid in catching up on a little extra sleep. I inhale a few extra deep cleansing breaths and I fall effortlessly into snoozeville. A better sleep remedy than any of the other NJ legally manufactured pharmaceuticals, like lunesta or ambien.

It makes your eyes burn a little, but once you're asleep the watery eyes side effect is no problem. Other passengers have been complaining to the driver but the sleepy smoke still fills the interior just enough to keep all us natives from attempting any sort of rolling coup de te. Yup, the classic power struggle in the tiny microcosm of the citizen's of the ass chariot of fire.

Back to visit the sandman from Newark to Port Authority. Clutching my pillow tight exit light, enter night.

@ 1969/1970 NYC Sports

I learned tonight while standing in line for my 9pm Chariot of Ass Fire that 69/70 was NYC's year. This only validated by two very drunk gentlemen and one deaf mute, good enough sources for me.

The two drunk dudes were going on and on how that was THE season for the NYC. The Deaf Mute Dude was scribbling like a mad man on pizza napkins in agreement with said aforementioned drunkards.

-Jets won the Superbowl with Bdwy Joe Namath at the helm.
- The Mets won the world series.
-The Knicks won the NBA Championship with Clyde the Glide Frazier (the best shoe Puma ever made)

The Scribbler scrawls out " what about hockey" the two drunk guys yell at the deaf guy " Hockey is for white fags". Deaf guy looks puzzled. He's not quite understanding the yelling.

As not much of a sports fan I learned a heap this evening.

Oh yeah and Jimi played The Garden.

# Holiday Office Karoke Party.

Killed "push it" by Salt n Pepa. Stayed true to the barley, no liquor and no ass making out of myself. Fun was had had by all, and in true office party tradition everyone got wacky. But not over the top.

The gargely chortles of my Tom Waits-esque back up singing was in full effect.

# 6:30 @ 7:30, Push it, push it real good.

Just hopped aboard the 6:30am chariot at 7:32am. A giant accident happened on route 80 west bound at exit 12, the exit right before mine. We shall see when I get into work.

Any other day if the bus is more than 15 minutes late I'm in my car and driving in, but tonight I have our company holiday party and it'll be a late night and driving home is not an option. Karaoke is the official theme of this year's form of workplace humiliation.I have my song all picked out, dance routine choreographed and the costume is bedazzled, took a sick day off work to get all those sequins attached. It will be stunning, a sight and performance not to be forgotten. Salt N' Pepa's Push It is the anthem of choice. It will be epic, the things workplace legends are made of.

Can you feel that tingly electricity in the air? I do.

# Only 17

One of the lamest guilty pleasure, big hair band songs " Seventeen" and the lamest early morning temperature so far this year, 17.

Damn is 17 cold, even for the 11 minutes I stood waiting for my Monday morning Chariot. 17 degrees hurts almost as much as the song. At least it's possible to get warm and forget the cold of 17, but the Winger tune of 17 can stick in your brain and torture you, for who knows how long.

* Pussycat Dolls, Iron Workers & Port 41

Get to the PABT a little early and decide to go to Port 41 for a soothing barley beverage, it's a freezin 38 degrees. I toss open the door of the skankiest watering hole in all of Manhattan and what do I behold?

Ten or more burly as all hell Union Iron Workers dancing their asses off to the Pussycat Dolls blasting on the juke box. What a sight. And they know all the words, the Dominican Barmaid is shaking her money maker in full effect, this only whips the union dudes into a frenzy. They will not stop dancing, they are madmen possessed by the hypnotic pussycat dolls infectious beats.
I down 2 Bud drafts in record time and climb aboard the ACF homeward bound with that "when I grow up!" Song bouncing back and forth inside my noggin.

* Fall Back

The first day of going to work since the setting back of the clocks. It's light out when I'm standing in the the Panther Valley 7-Eleven parking lot at 6:30am. No more sunrises over industrial Jersey. Now it's back to starring into the glare, squinty eyed.

It's the day before election day, and I still have not shaved. My self imposed rule is; no shaving until we know who the next President is. It better not end up like 2000, or I'm going to have to join ZZ Top. It's starting to bug me when I sleep, Trying to hold out.

Please America, choose a President in a timely fashion.

To be able to vote tomorrow before work I need to wake up at 5am, get to the polling place in Allamuchy before 6am, vote, and catch the 6:30am ACF to the city. There had better not be a line to vote, or I'm screwed. I can't be growing this stupid beard for nothing.

- New Distraction, Moving Pictures!

A co-worker (he commutes from Westport, CT to NYC) hooked me up with the HBO series "The Wire" the first 3 seasons as MP4s.

I'm new to this visual portion of the iPod, just never got around to it. I've been wanting to get into this show for quiet some time. My spanish speaking instruction will have to take a back seat to these newfangled talking, moving pictures. Shout out to ol' Eadweard Muybridge.

Rolling down the Hwy watching the TeeVee. This is living.

- Slow Moving Monday.

Monday morning and I've been on the bus one hour and have traveled a whopping distance of 15 miles. Not the way to start the week.

I'm living a Clash song right now.

"Never mind that it's time for the bus
We got to work - an' you're one of us
Clocks go slow in a place of work
Minutes drag and the hours jerk".

And I'm just trying to GET to work. Yes Mondays rock alright.

RIP Joe Strummer.

- Fountains of Wayne?

At the interchange of NJ Route 46 and Interstate 80 is Fountains of Wayne. Where in typical garish Jersey fashion is displayed every imaginable cast concrete lawn ornament. If you live in suburban NJ and have need to externally proclaim your status on the block, you go hog wild at Fountains of Wayne and impress the hell out of the neighbors. Gnomes, cherubs, fountains and fierce animals all made out of gray concrete will be your legacy as the pyramids were to the Pharaohs.

And why did that poppy band choose this as their ironically cool moniker?

- Friday Night Revelry.

I had a half hour to kill before getting on my bus and went and had a quick drink at Port 41 next to the bus terminal. I walk in 20 union iron workers are singing kid rock songs at the top of there lungs. Then 4 airborne soldiers walk in they are so young, shipping out to Iraq tonight all the Union dudes start buying them drinks 3 more kid rock songs play on the jukebox and the soldiers know all the lyrics they were screaming it was great. A sense of perverse pride was had by all.

Left the bar mid song and listened to the sweet sound of america trail off behind me as I walked across 41st Street to climb aboard the final ACF of the week.

- R. Kelly, like it or not!

A middle-aged man two rows behind me is listening to the same R. Kelly song over and over. I have my headphones on and I can still hear the juvenile urination king loud and clear.

I am amazed by him, he loves it. He cannot get enough R. Kelly. Sam Ashe Dude is sitting directly in front of him reading a AC/DC biography. He is a much more tolerant man than I could ever be. He reads about Angus and his band mates with no headphones on. I imagine he is reading the part of their story when Bon Scott drinks himself to death. Sam Ashe Dude just takes the sonic urination without being phased in the least. He is christ like in his acceptance of others, a rare trait.

Sam Ash Dude chugs 3 coors tall-boys

He has gone to the bus's pisser 4 times so far. He is engrossed in the autobiography of Slash. But he has on the most amazingly cool thread-bare Silver Surfer T-shirt. I covet it.