CUTTING COMMENTARY

Well, leave it to your local hard-core barber to put things in perspective.

While getting one of my 5 budgeted haircuts for the year last week, I was in the barber chair, and of course any cat knows when you get in the barber chair, salty language and talk of current events is not only expected, it's required.

Well, all I needed to do to get the cat going was mention Paris Hilton and her jail controversy.

And he proceeded with a rant about "assholes" getting all upset about that c-word and whether or not she's going to jail and the end of the "fucking" Sopranos, but there's still a war going on and nobody seems to "give a shit" about that.

I was with the cat, until he started going into a rant about how great Rudy Guiliani would be for this country. I pretty much just sat there and let the dude trim my locks, and then chimed in that he should run for office. And said something to the effect of, "you have to be a fucking millionaire" to get elected in this country. Again, I was back with him.

Dude gives a pretty good hair cut, too.

BREAKING NEWS: As I sit here typing, Carlos Beltran just got a hit.

Some other notes:
Beer count continues to skyrocket, and there's no end in sight.

Last Wednesday, I coached daughter Georgia's softball finale, and at the end of the year ice cream shindig, one of the moms of the kids on the team gave me a six pack of Coors Light. Now, that's certainly not my favorite beer - not even close - but hell, it was free, and you know my slogan, "if it's free, it's for me." Anyway, that night, while watching the mets get their asses kicked for a third straight night at Dodger Stadium, I banged down a few silver bullets.

On Friday night, I took Georgia to a father/daughter girl scout dance. Of course, I had a great time, and was able to keep my mind off the goings on in the Bronx for most of the night. I got home just in time to see William Wagner close it out and at that moment it dawned on me that my mood depends a lot on the fortunes of 25 millionaires who call themselves the Mets. It's really sad, really. I mean all last week I was in a shitty mood, but from about 10 p.m. Friday til about 3:30 Saturday, I was on top of the world.

I wonder if David Wright is cranky on days I have a rough night at work.

Anyway, back to the beer count: I had about 2 on Friday watching the replay of the mets-Yanks game, and then about 12 Saturday at Joe. Sr.'s house for a little Father's Day Shindig.
And now I find out the softball team I toil on will play a Saturday night double header with a kegger to follow at the Knights of Columbus Hall.

I'll do my best to keep count.

Sorry for the lack of schtick here, I just figured I'd weigh in. Look for some sort of music list at the end of the week or early next week. I'm pondering listing the 10 most underrated bands, since the overrated list created quite a stir.

Let's go Mets . . . please.

WHAT A MAROON

Most people that know me would say that I - when not drunk - am a pretty nice guy. I'm rarely rude (again, while not drunk), and I'm not confrontational. Sure, when loaded I tend to stir it up and harp on things (like a "Yankee fan" not knowing Babe Ruth's No. 1 or arguing that Fletch is not the funniest movie of all time), but when sober, I'm pretty low key.

Well, after two incidents this week, I say No More Mr. Nice Guy.

The first:
While picking up a cable box at my local provider Monday, I was just finishing up with the dame behind the counter and I said "have a good day." She quickly responded, "You have a better one." At first I was impressed with her snappy retort, but as I headed for the door, I realized that she was ripping me in one of two ways.

She was either taking a shot at my hollow, standard "Have a nice day," by hitting me with an umcommon response, or - and I think this is it - she was ripping me for only wishing her a good day. As if what I wished her wasn't good enough, and she therefore had to wish me a better day than the one I wished her. I felt like walking back to the desk and saying "I hope you have a shitty day," but I didn't care that much. Until...

Fans of FNC know all about the Pendleton fridge situation, well, the repairman - after several unreturned calls to him by me and a call to the store manager where I bought my extended warranty - finally showed up at my hut this morning to put a new compressor in there. Well, he was in my house about 90 minutes working pretty hard, so my "should I tip him" alarm starting going off. After consulting with Mrs. Pendleton, I decided to slip the cat a 10 spot on the way out the door. And, feeling some gratitude that the dude fixed my fridge, I hooked him as he walked about my front door.

Well, I go back in my house and see that he left a medium-sized, yet heavy box behind. I pick it up, lug it to the front door and say to him, "I think you left this here." He says "that's just garbage," gets in his car and drives away. What it was was the old compressor, which I now have to deal with. Had young Kurt Price not been in the house alone, I might've handed the box to the dude and demanded my 10 beans back. However, with the shitty way fridges are being made these days, I may need the dude back in a few years, so I let it go. But this day I swear no more Mr. Nice Guy. No holding the door for dames at the mall or at work - unless they are hot, no more letting people cut in front of me in traffic, no more covering my mouth when I sneeze.

-- Well, everyone with a keyboard has weighed in on the Sopranos finale, so I will, too. But with a totally different take. While I was first appalled that they would chose Journey to end the show, I was convinced by Sandman and Jerseygirl it was a good choice.

But it started me thinking, when there's a TV show 20 years from now, what song from this day and age would it chose to end it? And then I realized, there's not one song from this day and age that will stand the test of time that Don't Stop Believing did, or 1,000,000 other songs from the 60s', 70's and 80's would've. Honestly, ask yourself, have there been any popular rock songs (not some album cuts ) I mean real rock songs, or even popish rock songs that will be listened to 20 years from now. I can't think of any. Honestly.

I know the music biz has changed with FM radio becoming a medium with a future worse than that of newspapers, and with I-pods and I-tunes and all that crap, but really, have you heard a song that you can say will stand the test of time?

A lot of this stems from a few weeks back, when my neighbor was blaring his I-pod which featured "current hits" from Maroon 5 and Jim Blunt. I know they are huge acts, but if you ask me, you have to grow a vagina before listening to that stuff. I seriously wonder what my kids will be playing for their kids in 20 years. Honestly, I think stuff like Journey and Bruce and Zeppelin from 20-30 years ago has a better shot than the shit being churned out today. Honestly.

--- Quick stat: The Mets are 1-8 and the Yanks are 8-1 since Localschill got married. Thanks LC for throwing the earth of its axis.

-- Finally, plans of a low summer beer count have already been and will continue to be sabotaged by several different factors. First of all, after taking my kids to the local pool Friday, I decided I needed a taste to take the edge off. Only a broken fridge kept me from getting bombed, as I only had three in the emergeny cooler. Saturday, I wasn't planning on drinking, as I had to work a game booth at the local church fair. Well, after dealing with pimple-faced teens spending countless dollars trying hard to win their slutty girlfriends stuffed animals worth about 30 cents, I needed a few, and headed to the local bar afterward with my brother. I had 5 at the bar and one when I got home. Finally, Monday night, I got to test out my new backyard furniture, and wouldn't you know it, my neighbor of the shitty music and a fridge full of beer in his garage shows up with a few. I only had three, so the beer count stands at 12 after one week.

The other factors that will hurt the beer count:
-- The emergency fridge I bought on Saturday has now been moved to the garage, where it's sole purpose will be to keep tastes on hand and nearby.

-- We are having a big family party in LBI in early July and the family throwing it, well, they enjoy tastes and meriment almost as much as I do. Need proof? My one cousin who will be there, at my wedding, took the disposable camera every table was equipped with into the can where he took a nice shot of package. Needless to say, when I was looking at all the photos with my new bride and mother-in-law, we got a nice shock.

-- I have no self-control, especially when it comes to tastes.

-- The shitty play of the Mets would drive anyone to drink.

-- The kids are out of school starting next week. Beer count could be in the hundreds by end of June.

Sorry about the long post, had a lot to say. I mean, if you don't like, go fuck yourself.

.

WHEN THE SANDMAN CRIES

Many months back, I blogged about how underrated a foot can be. You take it for granted, but when it hurts, you realize how valuable it is. I learned that lesson on Memorial Day weekend, when, while stumbling around my house drunk, I stepped on one of my kids' toys and cut the bottom of my foot.

In addition to taking heat from Mrs. Pendleton, who had to clean up the bloody carpet the next morning, I had to deal with about 5-6 days of every other step I took being extremely painful. It really hurt. Now, I know I sound like a huge puss, but hey, it friggin hurt. It did teach me a very valuable lesson, though. If I'm gonna drink and pass out down stairs, I should at least be wearing flip-flops.

Fortunately, my foot was fully healed for last Saturday's Localschill nuptuals. Let me tell you, it was a great time. In addition to seeing Localschill get married twice in the course of 5 hours, I got to do schtick with the Sandman, Jersey Girl, the Joker, the Professor, Squawking VFR, Localschill and of course, the Colonel (aka Boba Frets).

What's scary is, besides Localschill, we were all the same table, and had quite a blast. The Professor pretty much held court. It was a great time.

Speaking of the Sandman and the Colonel, I'm sorry to hear that White Lion has been removed from the big Ratt/Poison summer tour due to legal issues. I know you were looking forward to it. Anyway, though you'd enjoy this shot of some nutty cats playing air guitar, air drums and air keyboards at the wedding (Note: The faces have been covered up to protect their identities.)

Surprisingly, the beer count did not skyrocket at the wedding as I thought it would. There are two reasons why it didn't. First of all, I had to play two games of softball on Sunday morning at 9 bells and then head to Shea Stadium to see the Mets mail it in. (Believe it or not, I accomplished both). Also, with the Pendleton children sleeping at grandma's hut that night, I figured if I stayed mostly sober, I might have a shot with the Mrs. and an empty hut. Let's just say, I spent the rest of the night trying to do what the Professor tried to do to himself years ago.

Speaking of my hut, we've been without a fridge for about a week as I wait for the repairman to get a part. Like a foot, a fridge is very underrated. However, I'm taking the breakdown of my Magic Chef as a sign to stop drinking again, as I lost about 25 bottles of beer in the fridge malfunction. And since the beer count is such a popular deal (and I've lost count since Jan. 1), I'm gonna start a summer beer count, retroactive to last Monday (6/3). So right now, the count is at O. I'm so fired up for this, I'm about to book a beach house in Ocean City, NJ, which has no bars in town. Also, I'm working on the 4th of July and have no weddings planned. The killer day could be Aug. 2, which I'll remind everyone is the big FNC outing to the Beachcomber is Seaside Heights to see Shorty Long and the Jersey Horns.

Speaking of Seaside Heights, this line appeared in a Star-Ledger story today about a sewage spill in Monmouth county. I just wonder, was the writer referring to the sludge or a-holes who tend to flock to the shore from North Jersey and Staten Island. Here's the graph:

If it had been raw sewage, there would have been large grease balls washing up on shore, Simmons said. "It would have been a mess," he said.

Anyway, the goal is to keep the count under 100 by Labor Day. No shot you say, we'll see.

Finally, can someone please tell my why Julio Franco is still on the Mets.

Thank you for your time and courtesy.