I can’t break a wild horse or teach a rowdy dog to behave but I can coax that fart out of you.

Like tuning an old TV with rabbit ears, I will adjust your legs to unkink your intestines. My magic fingers on your abdomen will have you breaking wind like a teenager doing sit-ups in gym class.

I don’t rely on medical devices or over-the-counter fart suppressants. My methods are all-natural. I am the midwife of flatulence.

Just because I work in a respected and professional manner does not mean the farts reciprocate. They scream at me as they rush by. They disgrace themselves as they exit the premises. They are prone to violent outbursts when they are ushered out the back door.

But I am ready for whatever fight they put up. I’ve been doing this for so long, I know and understand each fart’s personality. There is the “bloater.” The “popper.” The “grumpy old man who lives like a hermit in the woods.” I can’t even count the number of times I’ve had to introduce him back into society.

Not all farts are the same, however, and in my career I’ve had the good fortune to grapple with a few choice vapors that tested my every move and instinct. Like all worthy foes, I’ve given them a name and an epitaph, which I share below:

• Muddy Trumpet and his Big Ass Band – After a long night of partying and po’ boys in New Orleans, this jazzy number came out like a full-on fart orchestra (farchestra, if you will). Leading the band, Muddy Trumpet played a solo on my sphincter like a some kind of proctologist Louie Armstrong. Also, there was a lot of scatting.
• Turtlehead’s Monster – A fart is a fart until you crap your pants. Turtlehead’s Monster, as I’ve dubbed him, is the turd that doesn’t understand that simple rule. Like a periscope on a submarine, he pokes his head out, assesses the situation, and pulls back to live another day. However, in the process he has literally left all the calling cards of a creature from a bad horror movie. The stench. The trail of slime. The angry mob.
• The Drum-Major’s Daughter – Sure, she looks so sweet and innocent, but this little ripper can peel the new pink paint off the walls in your nursery room. With the precision of a drum-roll, this fart will have you marching right into a baby-wipe battle.

Now, the only questions are when do I get my TV show and who will play the Fart Whisperer on the silver screen?

I just have to ask. What’s next? What can top that? I wouldn’t be suprised if I turn on the tv next week and see some extreme food show host describing his meal as such:

“Most people eat the meat and the organs of the chicken. You’ve seen some other extreme show food hosts eat chicken feet or brain. That’s nothing. I’m here at a place that makes a dish solely out of chicken feather mitochondria.”

Or maybe…

“Oh my gosh! This bottlenose dolphin-fart soup has a unique biscuit and salt-water aroma. I have to taste it!”

That guy who travels to different countries will, no doubt, utter these words one day:

“The local cuisine here is designed to utilize the whole animal. In this case, the bat. Once a year, the townspeople gather to prepare the special meal before the hunt. I’m here, at the ceremonial feast where we are enjoying the first course… bat sonar gland jerky.”

So listen up Guy Fieri! I have some suggestions. Go find a diner, drive-in, or dive that will serve me:

1. Roasted Stalagmite Cave-Mold Spores
2. Toasted Bacteria Spine
3. Eagle-eyelid Marmalade
4. Scab Butter
5. Brain-fluid Lemonade

It’s like it’s 1990 and I’m collecting baseball cards again. Instead of Topps, Donruss, and Upper Deck, I’m on CBS Sportsline, ESPN, and Yahoo reading up on every player no matter if they are a starter or just a worthless common. I’m always scouting the next flyer I need to grab off the waiver wire. I hated football growing up as a kid (they called me a “skater fag”), but now I can tell you who every player is on every team. Living in New York, I’ve got the Super Bowl champion Giants and Brett Favre in my backyard now. I wish I had his rookie card!

This year, I got roped into being the commissioner of our fantasy football league and I took my duties very seriously. And now that the season is over, I am going the extra mile. I’ve once again enlisted the musical genius of Jon Solo (the Virtual Solos, in FF lingo) to lay down a hot beat so we could bust the ultimate fantasy football rap. Hut hut hike!

Download Fantasy Made a Fan of Me

Big shout out to all the dudes in the Bloody Sunday League!

Hollywood, CheesyPoofs, The Seachickens, J Mac Attack, Juicy Ju-Boys, U.S. Kids, Hong Kong Phoey, Zack Attack, Dyks on Byks, Colt 45′s!

Next year’s draft is right around the corner!

Commish and Virtual Solos over and out.

A Very Lucky Day

2008 Cherry Blossom Time-lapse at Brooklyn Botanic Garden from Brooklyn Botanic Garden on Vimeo.

Cranford Rose Garden Time-lapse at Brooklyn Botanic Garden from Brooklyn Botanic Garden on Vimeo.
 

I absolutely love it. I am pretty much a fanboy.

Confession: I have a macrumors.com account. I have posted there once.

Well, today is the 2008 Keynote so I want to bring some of the excitement of the fanboys to the masses (all 10 of you left reading this site). Here are my 2008 MacWorld Keynote Predictions:

iPod
Apple could go a couple of different ways with the next generation of iPods. (By the way, are iPods’ lives calculated in dog-years or something. How can one year go by and we call it a “generation” in reference to an iPod?) I’m really hoping they release a wireless iPod. No charging wire, no syncing wire, no headphone wires. The music just beams into my head when I want it to. All I do is look at my iPod and pull up my Mental Dashboard iTunes Widget and think-select a song. If I’m walking down the street and I see someone else with a wireless iPod, I can just ask them to let me think-type in my Apple iTunes ID into their list of acceptable iTunes AirWavers and I can hear what they are listening to as well! Or I can just cut off one of their ears. That works too because with the new iPod Air, you can only beam a song to your digitally-fingerprinted ear canals.

iLife
This will be the year that Apple realizes that most people don’t make movies, write songs, take pictures, or any of that crap that iLife software such as iMovie, Garage Band, and iPhoto let you do so easily. They will finally put out software for my boring iLife. iLoser lets you keep track of how fat and out of shape you are getting while always reminding you how pathetic you are (using the patented one-click iLackSelfConfidence voice abuser system). And bundled with iLoser? A mac version of Minesweeper!

Laptops
These will become obsolete with the next version of the iPhone. Apple is offering a $10 credit when you return a laptop and buy a new iPhone.

iPhone
As always, Steve Jobs will save the best for last and announce the latest updates to the iPhone at the end. I’m guessing the new iPhone comes in 5 different colors! And you can jog with it now! It will be the first jogging phone! You set up your route with Google Maps, create a playlist, and boom, the two of you are out jogging together! You can set it to Rocky mode and have it run a few steps ahead of you, always pushing you to keep pace, or you can tell it you are in a lazy mood and want to chill. Either way is cool with your iPhone. It only jogs when you tell it to jog. You can also set it to block incoming calls during your jog or go instantly to speakerphone, if you want to be one of those jackasses that jogs and talks on your jogging-in-front-of-you iPhone.

No matter what happens at this year’s MacWorld, I know one thing is for sure. Me and bunch of other fanboys won’t be quite so lonely and unhappy tonight because we’ll have some expensive shiny new trinkets to distract us! Hooray! Now I’m off to macrumors.com to follow the Keynote speech live via text updates from inside the convention!

The Ellensburg Song (Rod Gooseman Remix)

Download mp3

I just have to personally say Solo kills this track. The beat is infectious. The production is on-point. It’s amazing to me how easy this all is with his talent and expertise. And thanks to him I realized I could never go on tour.

And when the new Johnny Paparazzi was out on a date and had to take the bull by the horns to make sure he and his date got to their seats at the theater before the show started and the crowd of fur-wearing painted blue hairs and puttering old tuxedos were shuffling in place like clueless zombies in the lobby, he reached back and grabbed her hand and just did it. Was it coincidence, then, when he approached this short, batty-looking, dyed-hair man moving at less than glacial speed and said “Excuse me, sir” as he bumped him and rushed past and the old man responded with such humility, honesty and kindness (“Why, of course, let me get out of the way.”) that he had to turn and look back? The old Johnny Paparazzi would have stopped to take a photo when it turned out he had just bowled over the Jerry Stiller of Seinfeld fame! The new one had to suck it up real quick and quash his excitement and keep moving, only to turn back to his date and say, “Did you see who that was? Jerry Stiller.” And he never brought it up again. (OK, that is a lie, but this was Jerry Stiller and he ended up sitting near us too. You still get the point.)

But the new Johnny Paparazzi wasn’t born overnight. He was born of indifference, really. He evolved through a disconcerting string of non-cool, b-list celebrity sightings.

The old Johnny Paparazzi tried to get jacked up when he stumbled upon an intimate outdoor performance by Josh Groban, but he couldn’t even muster up a cell-phone pic worth saving. (It meant deleting a pinball high score picture.) Lesson learned: When you are surrounded by a swarm of swooning, suburban soccer moms, celebrity, in and of itself, is not that cool.

Same goes for when Julia Stiles was walking down the opposite side of the street from him. As much as JP loves Miss Stiles, she looked absolutely like hundreds of the beautiful women he sees every day, so why get worked up, he thought. She just happens to have a job that puts her face in front of millions. It’s not as far-fetched as it once seemed. Lesson learned: If I ever run into Hilary Swank at a bar, the new Johnny Paparazzi will pull out all the stops. She is just a woman. And I am a man.

Jerome Bettis. Jerry Lee Lewis. Ana Gasteyer. Fergie from the Black Eyed Peas. You get the picture.

The line of celebrity is getting thinner and thinner. With reality TV and the internet creating a whole new string of amateur celebrities as well, Johnny Paparazzi is evolving and operating under a new philosophy. Or an old philosophy if you are familiar with the movie “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure.”

Be excellent to each other.

Or at least don’t be a jerk and get in someone’s face to take a photo.