Joe Garrity and Caddying.

Joe Garrity is the winner. He just beat the shit out of a dude while wearing running shoes. 

I've mentioned my life as a caddie on here multiple times. I've actively tried to repress as many of those memories as possible because of all of the torment and anguish that comes with thinking about how many hours of my life were wasted away on the golf course. This past summer was the only summer I didn't caddie in almost 12 years and I don't think I missed it very much. When I talk to some of my old caddie buddies I cringe at their complaining because the pain is all too familiar. I thank god I'm not them.

I got an e-mail a few days ago from a good friend of mine and a longtime caddie who plans to do what almost every single one of us has said at some point in the past 10+ years. Joe Garrity has decided to write a book. And I couldn't be more excited. 

For years, hundreds of caddies came through "our" country club but only 10-15 of us stayed and suffered. The others were smart to get out quickly. But the ones that stayed...we've lived and we've seen some wild shit. We had seen kids hospitalized after falling off the back of golf carts, we had seen kids pop their retainers out of their mouths to take titty shots (Tom, you had to be the luckiest 13 year-old on the northwest side of Chicago), and we had also seen cop killers on the run get arrested in the pro shop. And we made a shitload of money doing it. 

He was kind enough to send me a short sample of what he wrote and I'm unbelievably impressed at how well he captures the bitterness we've all grown so used to. I found myself laughing while asking, "Why the hell did we do this to ourselves?" 

Please take a minute to read it...

The Invitational tournament is the most miserable three days of the summer for a caddy, but the money draws us like moths to a flame. For three days, caddies endure the grueling heat of late July in the hopes of landing a high paying loop, partially for the money and partially for the chance to throw it in other caddies' faces. Hundreds of affluent golfers flood the golf course, packing the parking lot with bewildered guests. There they stand, looking around helplessly, weighed down by massive bags with collectible tags from every golf course they have ever been to. Why they don't just cut the shit and wear their salary on their foreheads is beyond me.

"How do I get to the driving range?"
"Follow the signs, sir."
"Where did my clubs go?"
"We put them on a cart, sir, just like we said we would when we took them."
"Hey kid, is there a bathroom around here?"
"We have bathrooms inside, sir." 

You slowly realize how helpless these full grown men truly are without underlings to hold their hand for even the most basic tasks. The fourth time a fifty something year old CEO gets out of his Cadillac and immediately asks you where the bathrooms are, you're not sure whether he expects there to be a stall in the middle of the parking lot or you to have a spare bedpan on hand. By this point, your response is so heavy with malicious sarcasm that you're surprised it doesn't put a hole in the asphalt between you for the idiot to piss in.

"Generally our bathrooms tend to be indoors, our club is old fashioned like that, but they may have moved them outside for the tournament."

The man is so used to being taken seriously and being catered to that he looks around expectantly.

"Eat the rich!" screams a voice in the back of your head as you watch him become confused again and revert back to helplessness.

"The bathrooms are inside, sir."

I wonder if he'll know what to do when he gets there.

He's off to a great start. I can't wait to read more and I hope I somehow can help him out. 

Hey Joe. "Don't forget to tend the flag when you're pulling the pin." But this time make sure the pin you're pulling is the one of a grenade. Blow that motherfucker up. I'm rooting for you.

Fashion Week.

Fashion week is about to wrap up here soon and I couldn't be happier. The store I work at threw a party and although things went smoothly and it wasn't too much of a headache, I was extremely glad to get it over with. During the past few weeks I've noticed how disgusting most models are. Seriously. The only models that are hot, are the ones that are so extremely good looking I can't even figure out what race they are. I saw this one on the train that looked like Pocahontas. (She even had a flower in her hair and I'm pretty sure she sang me "Colors of The Wind" but that could have just been in my head.) All the other models have no sort of shape (how am I supposed to cry on all that skin and bones?) and aren't really all that pretty. They're just tall. And of course that makes me mad.

During Fashion's Night Out you really get a good sense of why America is in sharp decline. I know it's just a small portion of America that partakes in the foolery of this week's events but even that little slice of horseshit is overwhelming and depressing. I would post pictures of these idiots but I don't want them plaguing my boards. So click here if you want to have an idea of what it was like.

I'm not sure these Banksy tags are legit but they are appropriate. With all the grown little kids running around in SoHo chasing celebrities and free drinks, it's good to see someone still having some good ol' fashion fun.

Barbara Bush is a fashion victim and an asshole. She fits right in with this Fashion Week crowd.

Big Daddy Food.

In grade school I rode a big yellow school bus and I had multiple awesome bus drivers. They were all named Melvin. Seriously. I had about 4 different bus drivers and they all claimed they were named Melvin. I don't want kind of crazy fucking conspiracy the yellow bus drivers of the world have going on but it continues to puzzle me.

One of the Melvins went by "Big Daddy." He was the best. The breaks failed on the bus one day and he somehow managed to get it to stop with no fuss at all. I mean he hit a parked car but everyone was safe. To calm everyone down he put on WGCI (the rap station in Chicago). I had never seen 3rd graders percolate and make IT clap. I didn't know it was possible. But it was (is) and I saw it. A 12 year-old Marty learned a lot that day. When a girl refused to share her bag of Hot Cheetos with us, Big Daddy got on the intercom, yelled at her, and made her bring the chips to the front of the bus. Big Daddy was big and hungry so I wouldn't have held it against him if he would have downed the chips. But Big Daddy was big into HONESTY and being FAIR. So he passed out the chips little by little to the kids who wanted them. It was incredible. But what really impressed me was that when the girl started turning it up on him and came out with some verbal abuse he got on the loud speaker again. This time he wasn't so nice. "Sit yourself down and shut your mouth! This ain't no gangbangin' bus! This is a SIT DOWN AND LEARN BUS! Good thing I was sitting down, because he swept me off of my feet that day.

Why must we have 5 meals in 1?

I saw the ad for the Mac 'n Cheese Big Daddy Patty Melt at the gym. That really should be illegal. People trying to work off some of the bullshit they consumed during the day, only to be reminded that they're weak and going to cave to temptation soon. How are we not supposed to fall victim to temptation when it comes as a Frisco Melt topped with Mac 'n Cheese. I think I would have been able to fight off the hookers in Jesus' time but if somebody would have laid this at my feet and said, "You're not allowed to eat this." I woulda given an eye roll and the jerk off hand pump and feasted my way into diarrhea and Hell. 

 Big Daddy only wore Big Daddy shirts. I feel like you'd have to wear a shirt like this when eating the Big Daddy melt.

Big Daddy was a great guy. I'm kind of sad they named a totally fucking disgusting sandwich after him. I guess there some sort of metaphor in that sandwich but I can't find it. Probably because there is Mac 'n fucking Cheese on it. I can't see through the grease and the bullshit.

Terrorize the terrorists.

Well the 10th anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks came and went. I didn't partake in any "festivities." I didn't listen to or watch any of the memorial broadcasts. I didn't see the point.

I never understood the need to make a tragedy like 9/11 a TV spectacle. It was almost as if people were celebrating the events. Just because that thing on TV didn't have floats, doesn't mean it wasn't a parade. I guess the TV networks made money off of it. Exploiting innocence and a tragic event, that's terrorism.

All I did today was work and eat dinner with my lady friend. We had UNO's deep dish pizza which was pretty good but nothing compared to Lou Malnati's. We also had Freedom Fries and a chocolate chip cookie with ice cream on it. So I guess we celebrated our freedom by getting nice and fat (and probably diarrhea in my case).

I don't know what you're supposed to do on days like this. A friend told me he saw people watching the memorial on TV and crying while running on the treadmill and "goofing" (I don't have a better name for that movement) on the elliptical. Go home and do that shit. Seriously. You're not working out and you're not on stage. If you want to reflect and cry your eyes out that's completely fine. But don't make a show out of it. That's some real Canadian-type shit. Americans don't cry in public! We stunt. And we stunt hard.

Easily the most beautiful pair of shoes I've ever bought. So far.

So that's why I bought these babies. The best way to promote freedom and prove you will not live your life in fear is to strap on a beautiful pair of shoes and walk the streets with confidence. Actually, I don't think that's a way to promote freedom, I think it's just a way to go in debt. Either way, go out and kick a motherfucker in the head. Just kidding. Don't do that. It'll mess up your shoes.

If you've ever seen a terrorist's feet you'd probably be able to guess why they're so pissed off all the time. Think about it. Al Qaeda walk around in sandals. Could you imagine the tan-lines? The fungi? The terrorist foot which is athlete's foot for people who only exercise on jungle gym's (you ever see those terrorist videos?) I just imagine Osama Bin Laden pacing back and forth yelling. "How am I supposed to get pussy with feet like these?"

Not sure these are Bin Laden's feet. I know he's dead but these could have been taken during his trip to Disney World a few years ago.

Actually we all know the real terrorist is George W. Bush. And he's not walking around in disgusting sandals. He's walking around in something else: His daddy's shoes. Let freedom ring.

That's me in my beautiful shoes at Ground Zero. 

Where do I even begin?

From The Sartorialist

I don't know these people. I can't say they're bad. I can't say they're worthless. I can't say they're evil. I can't. But I can ask, "How the hell did this happen?" What is this? Seriously. I'm almost speechless. I don't even know where to begin.

When I walk around New York and see people that look like this (there are many) I always wonder what kind of things they think about. I'm sure it doesn't stray too far from "Fall/Winter" or "Spring/Summer" or "Ready To Wear" or...I don't know too many fashion terms. But what are their views on other things? For example, what does that thing on the right think about global warming? Seriously. I'm not convinced they think, "I don't care about the Polar Bears or people that live below sea-level." I'm convinced they don't even know what global warming is. And not in a, "It's out of my control so I don't worry about it"-sort of way. But more like, "What in the world is a 'global'?"

Looking at them, I can't imagine that any HUMAN thought actually exists in those shaved/gelled/oddly-shaped heads of theirs. What is the conversation taking place during this picture? Is the thing on the left saying...

My goodness. I just spent a serious twenty minutes trying to think of a conversation that could be taking place between these two and I came up 100% completely empty. I couldn't even come up with a pretend shit-talking conversation that seemed worth it. All I could think of is, "The Hip Bone's connected to the...?" But that doesn't even work because I'm sure these two have never even heard the Bone song (nor have they ever heard of a Bone Thugs-N-Harmony song like "1st of Tha Month").

I think the thing that bothers me most about this picture is their expressions. They look so serious. Especially the one on the right. What kind of lashing does it give to its hairstylist (it's definitely not a hair"dresser") when there aren't enough bald patches?

I'm sure you know I can go on for hours about this picture. But I won't. And if you think it's because I'm done judging them, you're absolutely wrong. Why would I stop? Sure, they might not be bad people with shitty morals and terrible attitudes but why should I even even give them the chance? What are they contributing to society's happiness? Well, I guess I did laugh a bunch looking at this.

I'd love to get their Super Bowl predictions.

In an ideal world I'd have the perfect job for these people. (Actually in an ideal world, these people wouldn't exist.) I think it would be amazing to have these people visit third world countries. Any of them. Not to shed some light on the horrible situations that are taking place in these lands, I'm not trying to be Jesus (the son of God, not the landscaper). But to provide laughter and curiosity for the children of these suffering countries. Could you imagine? If these two things walked into a village, looking like they do now, things would get crazy.

Could you imagine the giggles (and probably cries) that would come out of this group?

Now that I think about it, it might not be the best idea. For some reason I don't think many of these children would find it very entertaining. They'd probably point fingers and giggle if they saw a person like me (I'd be used to it) so if they saw people that looked like this they might be forever ruined with horrible nightmares and terrible tales of aliens. I don't want to add that to the grocery list of problems they already have. Actually "grocery" list is probably a terrible term to use because lord knows most of these kids aren't getting anything close to "groceries."

How do these two worlds exist? There are billions of people in the world, all with their own hearts and own minds seeking their own desires, but I can't even hypothetically relate to these people. I couldn't even invent a conversation between the two. That worries me. Because if things get so abstract that I can't identify any human qualities in them, where does that leave me? Unable to talk any kind of shit. 

So, like that little kid, I guess I can just stand there with my hands crossed and a nervous smile on my face, wondering what is going on and hoping all of this silliness will be over soon. 

Sleep No More.

I haven't really done the whole theater thing since I've moved to this asshole city. Mostly because I can't afford it. I would love to go see The Motherfucker With The Hat starring Chris Rock. Or The Book of Mormon. And I'm sure there are a lot of other awesome ones I don't even know about that would enhance my shit-talking skills. But, I'm too much of a hillbilly to keep up on things like that. And most days I think I'd rather just sit on the couch, yell at my girlfriend, and watch the NFL! Real hillbilly shit.

I'm fortunate to have bosses that have souls. Actually. These guys have GOOD hearts! I know. I'm blessed. Such a turn-around from this bullshit ass place. A few days ago, in anticipation to the headache that is Fashion Night Out, they bought us tickets to go see Sleep No More. Assholes. Don't they know I have a ton of sleep trouble? Just kidding (about them being assholes (they're really great), not about the trouble sleeping part, it's like my #1 talent). I was probably the most excited I've ever been to see any sort of theater.

I'm sure you're not aware of the show because if you're wasting your time reading this you're probably really good at breathing out of your mouth and probably really bad at fractions (seriously, what the fuck is a motha-fuckin' remainder?) I was originally told that the show was just a big building that is the set and stage and you walk around doing whatever you like. I cringed at the idea. I DO NOT LIKE INTERACTION. Can't you tell? Ask me how I'm doing and you'll undoubtedly hear a SIGH and some other sound that is my personal version of bitching. Having to talk to actors sounded like the worst thing ever. I don't even like talking to actors when I get introduced to one of them at a bar, let alone in their natural habitat.  They're loud, they're obnoxious, and really they just steal all the attention that I want. It's bullshit.

Then I saw this picture. And I was all like Jiggggggaaaaa WHAAAAA?!?!

Dead naked bitches? On the real? For real for feal? ON THE REAL. FOR REAL! FOR! REAL! You might think I'm nuts but c'mon, Free Dead Naked Bitches. I guess I wouldn't ever pay for dead naked bitches. Why would you? They might be naked but they're still dead.

But yea. This picture sent a chill up my spine and reminded me of Twin Peaks (which I've been watching recently). So I read a bit more and discovered that you would only be walking around the building, following actors if you so choose, or just exploring, unlocking mysteries, or taking a nap which is kind of what I wanted to do for at least a little while. I sleep in the smallest twin sized bed from IKEA. I have never slept in a bed bigger than a twin size in my entire life (besides at hotels and some of the girls I tricked into thinking I'm a cool guy who had big beds, so like 3). Don't judge me if I want to sleep in a big bed!

Some people, the ones I avoided, were so scared they were shaking and shivering on the way up. I didn't know what they expected. Did they think there was a real chance they were going to get naked then get killed? Well I guess there sort of was, it was pretty dark, and there were a lot of weirdos walking around.

I walked around completely alone the whole time. I explored all of the floors and went through cabinets, picked up candles to read manuscripts, and ate candy that looked ancient out of disgusting jars. I love candy. But to be honest, as cool as the set was and as creepy some of the props were, I had no fucking idea what was going on. I would stay with an actor through a scene but refused to chase them down as much of the nerds and weirdos (neirdos? I like it) did.

I ran into this scene and tried to read what the guy wrote. It was darker than shit and I have terrible vision. He could have been typing Ludacris lyrics and I would have had no goddamn idea. Man. What if he was typing "Ho" lyrics?

It was cool to watch the actors in scenes but I knew that no matter how many I witnessed, I wouldn't really understand the story. (From one of the letters I read, I deduced it was probably Macbeth because it was signed "Lady Macbeth." I'm smart.) If it looked wild then I stayed. If it looked boring and there were no hot actresses, I continued looking for old candy and a bed to take a nap on.

This was one of the first scenes I ran into. I would tell you what happened but I blacked out because I saw that guy's penis. Sometimes I black out when I look at my own. Josh will find me laying in his bed with a couple candles lit and the latest issue of Oprah's magazine and wonder why I was looking at my penis in his room. (Not just looking! WOOHOO!)

 I saw this dude cry and get his penis cleansed (very similar to an average Tuesday night for me). I saw crazy naked bitches and dudes dance to techno music and run around with a fetus. I watched a guy sew a shirt for 10 minutes straight just to see if he would actually do it. I'm convinced he would have stopped as soon as I walked out of the room since I was the only one watching. I saw a dude type a letter. I saw this chick pretend to be asleep or some shit and then push this guy around. Then I saw the ending. It concluded with a dude hanging himself. And he was actually hanging. They must have strapped something to his back for support but it looked real and it was kind of totally awesome.

Overall the experience was pretty cool. I wish I had more of an idea of what was going on but I think everyone leaves feeling that way and it's probably designed to be like that so you feel the need to buy another ticket and give it another shot. What I really took away from the experience is that I really need to start going to more shows. Theater. Movies. Comedy. Mostly comedy. I have to see what I'm up against. Because by the looks of it, I'm up against Free Dead Naked Bitches, Crying Naked Dudes, and a bunch of people in masks. I don't like my odds.

Hide your big booty'd women! Especially if they have big beds!

A good friend's thoughts on burlesque.

These are also my thoughts on burlesque. I blurred out the name to keep you wondering if I actually have real friends or if I've just been talking to my imaginary buddies (again).