Oi Polloi of Manchester

Cemetery Party

http://anoutfitforeveryseason.com/

Ryan Duggan - Show Posters

This guy has an amazing aesthetic

Mark Sarvas' The Elegant Variation

This is a must read for those who love must reads.

Mixtape

Hula Hoop Girl - A Short Story by John E. Sullivan

Here's a proper link to download the story on Scribd

Because Our Apartment Has Four Walls

Roy waited in the far corner table of the bar, sipping what little he had left in his Manhattan. He was alone, but only for a moment. He had just handed his wife his wallet, and sent her off to buy another round.

Briefly alone and somewhat bored, he watched the women of the bar with a careful eye; they were covered in their Friday night war paint, willing and ready to make passes at any man or even boy that would offer an available eye. He knew this scene all too well; he knew his wife all too well.

At the other end of the bar his wife cozied up to one of the younger bartenders.

“What happened to Mark? Doesn’t he usually work on Fridays?”

“Yeah, well I had this thing going with Mark where I would work his Fridays if he needed off, so here I am.”

She licked her lips, and looked over at her husband of twenty years, sitting patiently, tapping his feet to the sounds of the jukebox.

“Well my brother over there would like a rum and coke, but I’d like a Cosmo--a strong cosmo.”

Roy took the last sip from his rocks glass, smiled, and thought to himself,

“In an hour she’ll become sloppy, complain that the bartender was hitting on her, and demand that we leave.”

This was tenth or ninth time they had been at this particular bar, and almost everytime without fail, his wife end's the night with a bitey comment that somehow questions his role in their marriage.

“What kind of husband are you? You just let any man hit on me...disrespect me?...You're a god awful husband.”

But Roy was in fact a very good husband. He knew it and so did she. However for some reason, his wife's behaivor truely irked him the more he thought about it. So he got up drink in hand and walked over to his wife.

He slammed his glass on the bar and interrupted whatever meaningless conversation the bleached white smile was having with his wife.

“I can’t believe your forty-five. I almost carded you.”

“Hey kid, save it for someone who cares, we’re leaving.”

In the cab ride home, Roy began to divulge his every thought.

“We’ve been together for almost twenty-one years--Jane you know I love you, but this is killing me. You completely disregard me; you build impassible barriers between us. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah Roy, I know exactly what you mean.” she wiped the tears from her eyes and said, “You’ve found someone else haven’t you?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. I just watched you flirt with the bartender for fifteen minutes, and you accuse me of infidelity? You’re out of your mind.”

The driver of the cab squeezed out a laugh and watched the two argue for the remainder of the ride though his rear view mirror.

As soon as the cab stopped Jane got out, and slammed the door, then ran inside their apartment. Roy went to pay the driver, but realized his wife still had his wallet.

The cab driver simply replied, “Don’t worry my friend. You get me back next Friday.

I hope it works out. Have a good night.”

Roy thanked the cabbie and approached the lobby of his apartment building. At the door he patted his pockets for his keys, and suddenly realized that they were not his pockets.

He rang the door bell several times and tried to get her to open the door, but there was no answer, so he did what he always did in situations like these: he took a walk around the block.

As he rounded Irving Street, he said nothing. He was thinking of what to do with his wife. How to patch things up. Perhaps counseling, therapy, a priest. He had not a clue.

“I really don’t know why I go through this every Friday. She’s at that age where she is bored with everything. I'm scenery to her. I'm the constant backdrop to the boring play she has box seats for.”

And then almost out of nowhere two cop cars, and an ambulance sped past him. Their light and sirens bounced off the buildings across and near him. He figured it was normal to see that in his neighborhood, so he kept walking but as he started to get closer to his building, he noticed that the same police cars were in front of his apartment.

He ran over to the yellow tape, and watched the E.M.T.’s carry out a stretcher with someone on it. He couldn’t see the face because the whole body was covered in a sheet. Roy began to fear the worse. He assumed that something had happened to his wife, and ran through the yellow tape, past the policemen, to the lobby of his apartment. He yelled out his wife’s name in hopes that she would hear him. The police grabbed him, and tried to wrestle him to the ground. He resisted, and fidgeted as the cops tried to subdue him. “Jane! Jane” he screamed but there was no answer. Just then his apartment window opened. There his wife stood wrapped in a bath robe and said to herself, “Oh my god, what is Roy doing? Why is he yelling my name? Why are there so many cops outside my building? What the hell is going on?”

6:00AM in My Kitchen

I know it's only 6 o' clock, but I can't help from wanting to open my drapes and see if the suns out. It feels like 10am or even 10:45. I've been up since 5am cooking breakfast, not brushing my teeth, and feeling remorseful about everything that has and hasn't happened in my life.

Last night I tried reading this.

I have to ride four blocks, but before I go I still have to brush these coffee teeth.

Fridays In the Bathroom

My head is killing me, my girlfriend of three years left and went to Tennessee; Saturday will be better. It always is. I just have to keep my mind on the unimportant things like small amounts of drugs, bicycles, and oysters.

I think I made the coffee too strong and I have to grab a train.

When Will We Learn to Be Better

When will we learn to treat each other better? Things seem so final, because they are.

Do you remember my first apartment? The terrible bed I made all by myself. I was proud of that bed and my quiet life. Then I met you, and things got better. Then got worse, then they got better again.

We decided to rent a small one bedroom and one night while we were getting high in our new place, we put up paint tiles as decoration in our kitchen and over our bed. We were really happy then. It was brief, but we were happy.

I'm sorry that I didn't love you correctly. I abused our love and forgot about all of the little memories we shared; skipping class to have sex and cook dinner, medium rare pancakes. My crazy roommate.

I'm going to miss you so much. I wish I could be there when you finally realize what it is you're looking for out of life. I would say that we could be friends, but we know how that goes.

Good luck in Tennessee.

I love you.

P.S. I'm sorry this is so sad.

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Newish Blogs

You Were Loved is a Tumblr blog that celebrates celebrities from the yesteryear. It's updated infrequently, so add it to your Google Reader to check for updates.

Dysfunctional Beginnings is a new blog by Jessica Lipman that allows you to post your own stories about dysfunctional upbringings. It's a very new blog, so get your submissions in before it blows the fuck up. Here's the contact page for more information.

Broken Windows

I am appreciative that you have semi-nice teeth. They do not belong to me anymore, but that does not mean that I cannot marvel at them. While we're on the subject, I'm also very appreciative that you have semi-nice skin too.

I remember once someone said that you looked like a Russian doll made of porcelain; I agree, but I am not a fan of porcelain. It cracks far too easy and I couldn't imagine falling in love with a face that needed to be handled with such delicate care.

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I'm going to be taking a break for a little while to work on other projects. Thanks for reading.

I'm Not an Idiot, I Just Know How to Spell.

I wonder if sleepwalking makes sleeping with someone justifiable in the same way that the right mixture of alcohol, dim lighting, and lonely people do? But then you'd have to explain why you started the car, took money out of the atm, walked into the bar and began flirting.

(As a general rule of thumb, you only flirt with the ones that will most definitely sleep with you. )

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Listen/Download/Buy this:

Brain Games

I'm super busy.

Burkett St. Conversations

"Have you seen the way he fucking looks at you?"

"Ughh...it's fucking gross."

"Is he retarded?"

"No, I think it's like Autism or something."

"Yeah, that's it. Autism."

"What are we doing tonight?"

"I don't know but if I run into that retard, I'm going to fuck his brains out, and not call him the next day."

"You're great."

"I know."

Pork Pies-(Antichrist)

Don't be a Turd Ferguson and take me to the movies. I'll pack the beers, you make the sandwiches, and don't forget a magazine for the train ride. If we split up, forget my number and call me in the morning.

Be Good to Your Neighbor(s)

Keep in mind how beautiful it is outside. Although it may rain today (it might even snow in about a day or two) this is all temporary. Spring is coming sooner than you think and it'll be time to skate, date and procreate. There will be trips and bike rides, bars and swimming pools (maybe). There's so much to be psyched about, so much to be hopeful for. Enjoy the misery that is winter for now, because I assure you it all be over rather quickly and you'll soon long for the days when you wanted to stay in bed for fear that you may never dig your car out of the snow or cuddle just one hour longer. Au Revoir winter. Adios my friend.

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If you missed my appearance on Jon Dugan's The Big Surprise last week, here's the podcast.

Also be sure to listen to Mr. Dugan's show at 6pm on:

http://hearnewbrunwick.com/group/thebigsurprise

Ten Dollar Withdrawal-(The Cove)

You may fondly remember the past due balance of that affair: It's been rolling around my thoughts for quite sometime and because of that man at the bank, I can recall it quite well. His Gallagher-esque appearance and dangly cross earring, was enough for me to remember that you loved to eat tuna before before bed. I can even remember how your hot breath escaped the whiskers of your handlebar moustache as we hit flesh to flesh. Thank you for that trip into the city. Thank you for that movie.