Reasons for not blogging

Hey schlubfans!

If I were a prosecutor, I think there are four sets of charges that I would indict a blogger who goes a month without blogging on.

(1) Extreme laziness.

(2) A disproportionate amount of work in what he does to actually keep food on the table.

(3) Getting an extremely loving girlfriend.

(4) Having a computer breakdown.

I plead guilty to all four of these charges. I have been traveling almost every weekend for the last month (with reason 3) and for some reason, the FSTS web site was down last week (4), and I was too busy (2) -- and lazy (1) -- to call my provider. But it seems to be working now. So there are many things that I will be blogging about in the next 24 hours. Stay tuned.

In the meantime, my apologies. Keep on schlubbin.

"The most heartbreaking ride on earth"

The Onion has the scoop on the world's scariest roller coaster.

I... I, uh...

I wish there was something I could say about this. But I can't. Just read it. This is truly hilarious.

And I thought I was schlubby

Careful readers of this blog might remember a character who drifted in and out whom I referred to as "the schlubette."

This was a woman who I was dating earlier this year who (despite the fact that she was extremely beautiful and smart as hell) was a tremendous schlub. We were an excellent match -- for the seven or eight months we were going out, anyway.

We parted ways in June -- but on good terms.

"Max, you've got to see my apartment," she called me last weekend to say. (Her apartment looked a little like a war zone the last time I had been there.) "It's actually clean!"

So I moseyed over to her one-bedroom and took it in -- indeed, it was very neat and tidy. Except for one thing:

There was a hole in her bathroom ceiling.

And I don't mean a little hole. I mean an enormous gaping hole. You can see the beams and the floorboards in the apartment below. Little drops of water (I hope it was water) are dripping down onto the bathroom floor. Flies are circling.

"Uh..." I start. "What's with the ceiling?"

"Oh, I told you about that, didn't I? I came home on Thursday and the bathroom was like this."

Max looks at schlubette. Looks back at bathroom.

"Uh, this is sort of the thing you should take care of. Right away."

The schlubette nods -- but knowing her and her lazy habits, Max decides to plant himself on her sofa.

"Right now, schlubette," Max says. "I'm not moving until you call your landlord."

"But it's Labor Day weekend," the schlubette whined. "Nobody's going to come and fix it until next week."

No, Max explains to her, this is something landlords can -- and must -- take care of immediately. "Call him now."

She looks somewhat embarrassed.

"I'm not sure I have my landlord's number," she says.

Indeed -- she did not have her landlord's phone number. She had an address. A lease. A name. But no phone number.

"Well, let's call information," Max says, summoning all his investigative reporter instincts.

The landlord (or, the guy who signed her lease, anyway) was not listed. Tried Queens, Manhattan, Brooklyn and Long Island. Zip.

The schlubette looked perfectly ready to give up.

"Schlubette, we can just knock on a door. I'm sure that every single one of your neighbors has their landlord's phone number. You're the only freak who doesn't."

Indeed, the first door I went to had a perfectly cheerful woman who gave me the landlord's number (and mobile number!) and within minutes of calling the landlord a super appeared and began patching the roof.

I stand humbled before you, schlubette. You are the schlubbiest!!!

The cruelest blow -- or the moment to shine?

The dow fell 449 points today, but the one thing that will really hurt in this time of economic uncertainty:

The High End Girlfriend Index.

For schlubs who made good, this will be the last thing to go -- but go it will. At least according to the Daily News' Michael Daly who explains: "The schlub finds himself with a fabulous girlfriend such as used to brush past him as if he were a wall. He will do almost anything to keep her if his magic millions suddenly evaporate, even selling his watch and cuff links."

I was initially going to say, "Amen, brother."

And I think that a schlub like me would immediately start visiting pawn brokers at first blush... However, I was talking this over with my editor who said: "I would have written the opposite column... do you know how easy it's going to be to bag a model if all these guys go under?"

Schlubs take note: This might be your moment to shine.