Tuesday, September 30, 2003

Help



..for the uninspired. From the good folks at Cheddar X.

1. Of the cast of characters in your life today, who amongst them are people that you cannot envisage your life without?
The broad answer is: anyone I allow to become a close friend is, by definition, someone I can't envisage my life without. And since I've been very lucky in the people I know, a more specific answer would entail a long list. A few notables: my sister, Heather, Bunny, Stacy, Jenny, Tanya, the whole crew from school, a whole lotta Telliers...I think that's enough for now.
2. If you could name a Talk Like Day (as in our recent Talk Like a Pirate Day), what day would you initiate?
Yoda springs immediately to mind. But on second thought, how about the Count from Sesame Street. Rock on obsessive compulsives.
3. What's your favorite home remedy for a cold or flu?
Hot soup, with Cape Cod potato chips for dipping.
4. What's your most embarassing moment?
In all honesty, nothing really jumps out at me here.

Maybe I've just been embarassed so many times I've become indifferent to the experience.
5. What's the funniest product name you've come across or invented?
I'll have to kick this one alte schule: Ho Cakes, from The Hollywood Shuffle. Cos hos gotta eat too.
6. What's your ideal honeymoon?
Anywhere far from my family. Lord knows I love 'em (well, most of 'em) and if I ever do get hitched I'd want them to celebrate with me in grand style. But judging the madness my sister endured prior to the wedding, I'll be ready for a break afterwards.
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Doin' the Pigeon



I couldn't resist this one.

Terror Alert Level


Link via S.F.A.D.
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What Goes On



Tequila Mockingbird describes the horrors of a an evening '8 minute dating.'

I brought away two observations from this piece:

1. I was never tempted to try 'speed dating;' I'm definitely not now.
2. On the brighter side, judging by her description my competition seems to be, on average, socially-retarded. Seriously.

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Monday, September 29, 2003

Motel Room in My Bed



Rode Hard. Put up wet. That pretty muchs sums my state at the moment.

It was a grand wedding though. Absolutely lovely.
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Friday, September 26, 2003

Excitable Boy



Allrighty then - on to some non-mushy business.

First - my rapidly growing sleep deficit. Bunny rolled into Wednesday evening. Naturally this called for closing out the local. And then as I was parking my car last night he roared up alongside me in his new ride and with a very Terminatoresque 'come with me' whisked me off for more late night shenanigans. And beers too.

Tonight we're snatching my cousin hot off the plane and heading into Boston to meet some other folks. Prediction: another late night. Exactly how late you ask? This can olny be determined by whether or not we a)hit F-f-f-Foley's and b)decide we need post-drinking bacon.

Tomorrow we have the wedding followed by the reception followed by whatever brand of hell-raising my family decides to practice at the hotel. Look out Providence - my extended family loves to throw down and the whole clan doesn't get together that often. Prediction: another late night. My fear: that I'll be up all night until...

..the Sunday morning brunch. Followed by checkout and the Sunday afternoon nap followed by another night out with Bunny and possibly my cousin (if he sticks around). Prediction: another late night, most likely highly caffeine fueled.

By Monday I'll probably be about 20 to 30 hours behind on sleep and look like I've been shot out of a cannon head first into a pile of gravel. If you're lucky, one of my other cousins will assemble one his most excellent galleries and you'll see some of the chaos yourself. And perhaps my Irish-lookin' mug as well.

Second. Go visit Deb. She writes funny stuff about the horrors of dating. And she's working on a new art form - bitter smut. Although I'm thinking melancholy erotica sounds classier.

Thirdly - it's time to cowboy up. The most-appealing Red Sox team I can remember is in the playoffs.

Well - just about time for me to head off into the sunset for this weekend's celebrations. Let the Last Dance begin.
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Of Rehearsal Dinners and the Coming Weekend



Last night was my younger (and only) sister's Rehearsal Dinner. She is getting married tomorrow afternoon.

Anyone who knows me, knows I'm quick to extoll her many virtues. She is, quite literally, the most important person in the world to me. But if familiarity doesn't always breed contempt, it can sometimes cloud our vision. In the day-to-day routine, my sense of who my sister is, is often clouded by my memories of who she was: my recollections of her as a little girl, a chunky adolescent, a shy teen.

Last evening I stood in the front pew of our childhood church and watched my sister and her husband-to-be prepare for tomorrow's ceremony. As I watched them rehearse exchanging vows, the thought popped into my head: my little sister is grown-up. Despite all the years and milestones and graduations (three - she's very edumacated), she had always been my littlesister - someone to advise, to protect, to look after. And now she was taking a step into the unknown, a step that will change her life forever - a step that big brother hadn't taken before her. All. Grown. Up.

And for a brief moment, the curtain lifted and the familiarity vanished and I saw her as others do - as strangers must when they pass her on the street - as new acquaintances must when they're first introduced to her. As someone who hasn't known her all her life must see her.

A poised and elegant young lady. Strong and vulnerable. Confident and scared.

No words can express how proud I am to be her older brother

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Much Thanks...



..to my home skillet and technical guru Heather for getting me up and running and again. I owe ya one..or a beer..or a Cosmopolitan.

Everyone else, go say hello. Join in on her Christina Aguilera is a Big Fat Pig post - still going strong.
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Tuesday, September 23, 2003

Here's to me, and here's to you...



...and here's to love and laughter,
I'll be true as long as you,
and not one minute after.


By way of preparing for my sister's wedding this coming weekend I've been looking up Irish toasts and wedding toasts, particularly ones in Gaeilge (i.e. Irish Gaelic). We're a thirsty and a wordy bunch, so I figured best be prepared. I'll probably pass on the one above though - kind of a downer for a wedding. Anyhoo, here are some of the Gaeilge ones I've found...

Sliocht sleachta ar shliocht bhur sleachta
May there be a generation of children on the children of your children

Slainte chuig na fir, agus go mairfidh na mna go deo
Health to the men, and may the women live forever

Slainte go saol agat,
Bean ar do mhian agat,
Leanbh gach blian agat,
is solas na bhflaitheas tareis antsail seo agat.

Health for life to you,
A wife of your choice to you,
Land without rent to you,
A child every year to you,
And the light of heaven after this world for you.


Croi follain agus gob fliuch
A healthy heart and a wet mouth

Go maire sibh bhur saol nua
May you enjoy your new life

Since the only I thing I know how to pronounce properly in Irish is 'kiss my ass', I had to go and dig up some sort of pronunciation guide so I'll at least have a prayer of speaking the above properly. If anyone does know to say 'em, drop me a line. Anyhoo, just in case, I dug some Irish toasts in plain ole English...

May those who love us love us.
And those that don’t love us,
May God turn their hearts.
And if He doesn’t turn their hearts,
May he turn their ankles,
So we’ll know them by their limping.


May the blessings of light be upon you,
Light without and light within.
And in all your comings and goings,
May you ever have a kindly greeting
From them you meet along the road.


May I see you grey, and combing your grandchildren’s hair.

During my rambles across the net, I came across this translation of ancient Gaeilge blessing (presented only in English). I kind of took a shine to it - perhaps because of the vivid images and the way it seems as much an invocation of older powers as a blessing. I can easily imagine an Ollamh (i.e. bard) reciting the same verses hundreds of years ago in Ireland.

May the blessing of Light be on you, light without and light within.
May the blessed sunlight shine upon you and warm your heart 'till it glows like a great peat fire, so that the stranger may come and warm himself at it,
and also a friend.


And may the light shine out of the two eyes of you like a candle set in two windows of a house, bidding the wanderer to come in out of the storm.

And may the blessing of the rain be on you -- the soft sweet rain. May it fall upon your spirit so that all the little flowers may spring up and shed their sweetness on the air.

And may the blessing of the Great Rains be on you. May they beat upon your spirit and wash it fair and clean, and leave there many a shining pool where the blue of heaven shines reflected -- and sometimes a star.

And may the blessing of the Earth be on you -- the great round earth; may you ever have a kindly greeting for them to pass as you're going along the roads.
May the earth be soft under you when you lay upon it, tired at the end of the day, and may it rest easy over you when at last you lay out under it. May it rest so lightly over you that your soul may be quickly through it, and up, and off, and on its way to God.
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Monday, September 22, 2003

Blue Monday



Monday's are hell on both my muse and I. I don't think I've ever posted anything worth a damn on a Monday. Blech.

The Wheelchair's Saga will have to wait for another day.

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Friday, September 19, 2003

The Tale of the Silver Fox: Part the Second



Clearly I was trapped. And equally clearly, my friends had to be dragged in as reinforcements. Because for one thing, they were pretending to ignore me, while secretly enjoying watching me try to wriggle out my predicament – and I simply could not allow that to continue. And for another thing, the only way out of my predicament that I could see was to bring them into the conversation, thereby changing the dynamic of the situation, from a one-on-one thing between myself and the Pitbull, to a group conversation. Just like warships use decoys to distract heat-seeking missiles and cause them to ‘lock on’ to fake targets, I would throw Bunny and Snuggles at her, like my own protective screen, and hopefully escape targeting.

The results, unfortunately, were not what I hoped for. I explained to the Pit Bull, for at least the seventh time, that I couldn’t go with her because I was out with friends. From there I segued into introducing her to Bunny and Snuggles. Names were quickly exchanged, and I began to breathe a little easier. But it was too soon, true believers, far too soon.

Bunny swung around on his barstool, considered the Pit Bull for a moment, smiled and said, “I see you’ve been getting to know Dan here. He’s a really cool guy, isn’t he?”
“Oh yes he is,” she replied.
“Did he tell you the Silver Fox story yet?”
“Silver Fox story? No he hasn’t – what’s that?”
“Oh, it’s a great story! Really funny. Ask him why he’s called the Silver Fox.”

And with that, Bunny swung back around on his barstool and resumed his conversation with Snuggles. The Pit Bull turned to me with an eager look in her eyes.
“So why do they call you the Silver Fox? Tell me the story.”
My brain was still catching up to the sudden turn of events. Silver Fox? Who calls me the Silver Fox? Oh no, wait a minute…
“Er, there is no Silver Fox story. Nobody calls me the Silver Fox.”
“But Bunny just told me to ask you about it. Why would he do that?”
“It’s a joke. He’s just having you on, yanking your chain.”
“I think you’re lying. C’mon tell me the story.”
Jesus, I thought. I’m lying!? She thinks I’m the one lying here? Oh Bunny you evil bastard.

This exchange continued for several more minutes. The Pit Bull alternately pleaded and demanded that I tell her the Silver Fox story, occasionally suggesting that I could tell her the story once we’d moved to another bar. For my part, I desperately tried to convince her that there really was no Silver Fox story, that it was all a joke. Finally, I started to get through to her. She tapped Bunny on the shoulder to get his attention.

Bunny swung around on his barstool once more, to face the Pit Bull. She opened her mouth to speak but he shushed her and beat her to the punch.
“Let me guess,” he said, “Dan said there’s no such thing as the Silver Fox story. Right?”
“Yeah, he did, “ she replied, clearly amazed that Bunny had anticipated her question.
“Well don’t take no for an answer. Dan’s just a little shy about telling the story, but it’s really a great story. You have to hear it.”
And with those last words of doom, he turned his back on me, leaving me alone. With the Pit Bull.

The struggle began anew. Since she was convinced beyond all hope that there was a Silver Fox story and was determined to drag it out of me, and since I was equally determined not to go anywhere with her, it devolved into a contest of wills. In hindsight I suppose I should’ve just made up a Silver Fox story on the spot. But that might have only got me deeper into a situation I was fighting to get out of. So she demanded, and I denied. And on it went.

I wish could end this story in a satisfactory manner. I wish I could say I escaped the Pit Bull through my own guile, charm and wits. But in all honesty, left to my own devices I would probably still be there, at this very minute, trapped at the local and damned by the treachery of my friends. By now I’d be an urban legend, the modern equivalent of Charlie on the MTA - Danny at the Local, doomed to argue forever in the bars of Quincy. But it was only kind providence that saved me, in the form of her friend. She dragged the Pit Bull away to go to another bar.

Bunny of course, thought it was hilarious. He still does. But he also knows I await the day when vengeance shall be mine. Revenge, I've often reminded him, is a dish best eaten cold. To this day I have only to say 'remember the Silver Fox' and he starts looking over his shoulder, trying to convince me to let bygones be bygones.

My day will come. The Silver Fox will have his payback.
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Thursday, September 18, 2003

Friendster



So I received an invitation to join Friendster.

Anybody have any experience with this thing? Feedback?

Digital networking. It'll be interesting, that's for sure.
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Aarrrr, Says I



Tomorrow is Talk Like A Pirate Day. Take advantage of this folks - it's good wholesome weirdness.
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Wednesday, September 17, 2003

The Tale of the Silver Fox: Part the First



It began at the local, as so many of my tales do. I can’t remember which day of the week it was, but that hardly matters as the incident occurred during the six-month stretch when Bunny and I were out and about every single night, without fail. We always started at the local, and we often finished there as well.

The bar was crowded on this particular night, but Bunny, myself, and Georgie Snuggles managed to obtain seats. We were yapping away about nothing in particular when I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, a young lady standing behind me and to the left.

“Do you need to get to the bar to order a drink?”
“Yes,” she replied, so I stepped aside so she could take my spot and get the bartender’s attention. While she waited for her pint to be poured and served, we chatted – the usual innocuous small talk between strangers. Her drink arrived and she vacated my spot; I stepped back in, grabbed my own beer, and turned to resume conversation with Bunny and Snuggles, figuring she was on her way back to her friends.

She wasn’t. It was at this point that events spiraled rapidly out of my control. I observed that she was rather drunker than she appeared at first glance – eyes glazed, swaying ever-so-slightly – and talking. A lot. About me leaving the local and going with her and her friend to another bar.

Two things popped into my head. First, that she was hitting on me - probably had been from the outset - and as usual I was the last to figure this out. And two, she was demonstrating all the subtlety and determination of a pit bull in her approach. Despite my many protests to the contrary - my efforts to politely decline - she kept insisting that I should head up the street with her.

I felt trapped. Clearly, I was going to need assistance in resolving this situation. I could see out of the corner of my eye that Bunny and Snuggles had pointedly turned their backs to me and were ignoring my plight. This, I decided, could not be allowed. I would not be left to twist in the wind while they laughed into their beers. So I interrupted their conversation and introduced them to The Pit Bull. Share the misery I thought. Awkward conversation with the drunk chick for everyone. Hell, that was practically a tradition at the local - just ask Katy Stumblepants.

And then Bunny threw me to the wolves….
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Shiny Happy People



Dear Happy Crazy (?) Girl,

I would like to thank you for stopping by our local last night and offering such sterling entertainment. Your darts playing was so much more than a simple bar game. The high kicks, pirouettes, dance and pseudo-martial arts moves with which you accompanied your tosses at the board added an element of dance and graceful movement to the proceedings. And your completely random verbal outburts, such as "I think I'll learn to play the drums" and "I feel like Laura Ingalls", made me feel like I was watching some surreal night club act.

Please come again. I enjoyed the show.
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Gone To Jackson



Unless you live in some sort of media void, you know that Johnny Cash died this past Friday. I got the news early that afternoon; I was getting out of MGH's car in front of Mr. Beef when my cell phone rang. It was Bunny, calling to offer to condolences.

Plenty has been written about The Man In Black, and I feel I have little to add that would be of interest or value. Though I'm not one to make much of celebrities, in a strange sort of way this felt like a personal loss. I think anyone who was a fan of Johnny Cash felt like they knew the man, who he was and what he was about. And when I hung up that phone call, the world seemed a lesser place, absent that rumbling voice.

When I asked, Bunny told me Johnny Cash died of complications from diabetes. I don't believe that. I think he died of heart ache. After June died it was only a matter of time before he made that last trip to Jackson. And now he has.

We saw houses falling from the sky,
where the mountains lean down to the sand.
We saw blackbirds circling 'round an old castle keep,
and I stood on the cliff and held your hand.


We walked trouble's brooding, windswept hills,
and we loved and we laughed the pain away.
At the end of the journey, when our last song is sung
will you meet me in Heaven someday?


We've seen the secret things revealed by God,
and we heard what the angels had to say.
Should you go first, or if you follow me,
will you meet me in Heaven someday?


Living in a mansion on the streets of gold,
at the corner of Grace and Rapture Way.
In sweet ecstasy while the ages roll,
will you meet me in Heaven someday?


-Meet Me In Heaven - written by Johnny Cash for his wife June.
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Tuesday, September 16, 2003

My Kind of Town



....and so I'm back.

Chicago was exhausting and exhilarating; in three days I managed to accumulate a sleep deficit that probably won't go away any time soon. And what exactly did I do?

Well, I touched down early Friday afternoon, and from Midaway airport we went directly to Mr. Beef's for a tasty and greasy lunch. This was followed by a driving tour of downtown Chicago conducted by my gracious host (MGH) after which we returned to his house near Logan Square for some conversation, catching up, more eating and the first beers of the day. Or evening. Whatever.

Anyway, Friday night was 'boy's night out' so MGH and I met some friends at The Corner Pocket to shoot some pool, after which we ventured to Beaumonts. Now, Beaumonts is verra cheesy but offered two distinct advantages:
1. 'professional courtesies' since MGH works there part time and ...
2. ...what MGH's wife refers to as 'the asshole cam.' Beaumonts has two rooms for dancing and the one in the way back is rigged with cameras connected to TV's hung over the main bar out front. Makes for great people watching - especially around 2:30 or so when the alcohol and a desperate desire to hook up overwhelms folks.

On the minus side though, my Jamesons was served in a some sort of damn plastic thimble cup, like it was a fruity girly shooter. But it was free, so I shouldn't bitch too much.


Saturday morning started with a trip to IHOP for the obligatory greasy-morning-after-meal, after which we retired to the couch to nurse our hangovers on bad cable movies. (Summer Catch anyone?) When we felt sufficiently recovered, we headed out for what turned out to be a very cool and informative architecture river cruise. I highly recommend it, even if you're not any sort of architecture buff.

After the cruise we retreated from the sun and had snacks and pints at the Rockbottom Brewery nearby. (Who knew? Talk about deja vu...). Then we sped off to meet a large crowd of folks largely unknown to me at The Athenian Room for dinner. By then it was dark and time for the evening's debauchery to begin - first at Glascott's, then down to Beaumonts. Again.

There was precious little time Sunday morning for hang over nursing as we had to skibble down to Wrigley Field for the Cubs-Reds game. MGH snagged some most excellent seats - so good, in fact, that I've already made my reservation for next summer. Highlights of my visit to Wrigley include:
-MGH turning a lovely shade of lime green on the train. Turns out the eggrolls he ate for breakfast didn't quite agree with his hangover, and he barely managed to make it to the men's room at Wrigley before letting go.
-Chicago style hotdogs. Served with roasted onions.
-visiting another park where the beer vendors come to your seat. why, oh why does Fenway not have this?
-a great pitcher's duel which the Red's won by the score of 1-0.

We left the game and went to Hog Head McDunna's for some '10th inning' pints. Once we were hungry enough, it was back to MGH's lovely abode where we ordered in real deep dish Chicago pizza. I had one piece and shortly thereafter felt sleeeeepyyy, overcome by the large amounts of cheese just consumed and the fact that I'd slept about ten hours all weekend. I managed to stay awake through the Bears game, but afterwards retired to the guest room to lapse into a coma.

Monday, unfortunately, was all about coming home. And that's where this story ends.

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Thursday, September 11, 2003

Sweet Home Chicago



Well, folks - new visitors and my loyal half dozen alike - I am off to Chicago for the weekend. Have fun while I'm away - play nicely in the archives if you'd like - there's plenty of rants, links, quizzes and pointless ancedotes to keep you busy until return.

I'll return on Tuesday with an after-action report on the Windy City and the Tale of the Silver Fox.

Have a great weekend.
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Carnival of the Vanities



If you've never visited the Carnival of the Vanities, you owe it to yourself to take a look. Started by the good folks at silflay hraka, the Carnival is a weekly index of posts submitted from all over the blogosphere. More information on the Carnival can be found here.

This week the Carnival stopped at Admiral Quixote's Roundtable - go and check out some of the posts. Next week the Carnival returns to silflay hraka for it's One Year Anniversary and you can also find a list of upcoming Carnival stops.
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Somebody's Watching Me



I have a pretty constant routine every Tuesday and Wednesday. I leave work, go home and change and grab my gear, and dash off to uechi-ryu class. After class, I head across the street to the hallowed halls of the local for a bite to eat.

Dinner itself is part of this routine. It is always meat (either pork chops or steak tips) and potatoes (baked with lotsa sour cream thankyouverymuch). Though I usually have a salad as an appetizer (unless the soup of the day sounds good – Tuesday night was Scottish Pork…mmmmm) my order is always ‘hold the vegetables.’

Last night was no different. Sonny the Den Mother/bartender plunked a pint of icewater and a High Life in front of me and took my order.
“Hold the vegetables Dan?”
“C’mon Sonny, do you really need to ask?”

I turned my attention to the ball game on TV, and my drinks. The salad came and went. Shortly thereafter, the waitress approached my barstool, plate in hand.
“Are you Dan?”
“Yup,” I answered, wondering what the grin on her face was all about. I took the plate from her hands and set it on the bar in front of me. There were two lovely pork chops, a baked potato, sour cream…and a white bowl with a note tucked inside.

“This is where the vegetables would be, if Dan cared about his health. Que sera, sera.
Mgmt.”


Apparently Mike the Cook thinks I need to eat more veggies.

This is not the first instance in which I’ve received a mysterious note. Some time ago I went to see Attack of the Clones. (Yes, I know, a terrible movie – but that’s irrelevant here.) It was a last minute decision by the other party involved and I, on a Wednesday night. We wound up seeing the last show. There were few cars in the parking lot when we arrived, and practically none when we exited the movie. But there was a note tucked under my windshield wiper.

“Go home you lousy drunk.”

Now, I knew it had to be from one of my friends. What puzzled me was, which one of them would be way the hell out in suburbia on a late Wednesday night? By all rights anyone capable of recognizing my car and fucking with me by leaving that note, should be far away, most likely belly up to the bar with beer in hand.

It turned out to be Bunny. Of course. Not the first time he decided to screw with me. And not the worst time either.

But I think the Story of the Silver Fox is one for another day.
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Wednesday, September 10, 2003

Paperback Writer



According to this article, new-age literature is going mainstream.

Take a gander at the titles - seems like all you need to be a new age author is a messianic complex, a working knowledge of various forms of mysticism, and a belief that yes, you really can cast magic spells. Just like the movies. I suppose it's just me being cynical but I don't think you're going to find your 'higher self' via the Lost Secrets of the Sacred Ark: Amazing Revelations of the Incredible Power of Gold .

But the words 'cash cow' were mentioned, so I will soon be at work on my own new age titles, Sacred Beagle: Courier From the Afterworld and Heading to the Local: Harness the Amazing Power of the Oracle of the High Life.
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Tuesday, September 09, 2003

Weekend Update and other bits of Randandom



First off, posting will be light this week; I have much to do before I leave for Chicago on Friday.

The Red Sox crushed the Yanks twice at Yankee Stadium, before losing a pitcher's duel on what Bill Simmon's refers to as Black Sunday. I thought it was a pretty good sports weekend, but then again I don't give a damn about the Pats. I was more disappointed about not finishing in the money after eight hours of Texas Hold 'Em on Saturday evening.

If my dad was a clown - a real-greasepaint-wearing-balloon-making clown - I don't think I'd toss that out in casual conversation with near strangers. Just sayin.

Nor would I wear two cellphones clipped to my belt. There has to be an alternative. Has to be.

I never understood this comic strip as a kid - it made about as much sense as Danger Island and it wasn't as cool. In both cases, the episodes (or comic strips) always seemed to appear out of order - very bewildering for a seven year old.

I have little of an original nature to entertain you with today, so I'll leave you with an anecdote about one of my personal heroes, Winston S. Churchill.

The British House of Parliament has strict rules of conduct for debate, including a list of terms which members are not allowed to use in referring to the opposition. Winston Churchill was quite adept at this balancing act, taunting and tweaking his political opponents without crossing the line into blatant insult.

However, a young Labor M.P. was not so skilled, and during the course of a savage attack on Churchill used several of the prohibited terms. The House of Commons was horrified by this blatant breach of decorum; the young M.P. was taken aside by Clemet Attlee (then head of the Labor party) and told that he must apologize, in person, to Churchill.

The young M.P. duly presented himself at Churchill's home, presented his card, and was left waiting while the butler went in search of Churchill. The butler located the master of the house, who was comfortably seated on the privy, informed Churchill of his guest, and waited for an answer to bring the waiting M.P.

Churchill reflected for a moment and then replied: "Tell him I can only take one shit at a time."

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Friday, September 05, 2003

Last Call



The story's the thing. Everyone has a story - or stories - to tell. Everyone. The thing I like best about this thing called blogging is now they can.

Here's two damn good ones.

As Big As Your Fist (A Love Story)

Box Car Numbers
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Randandom vs. MechaGodzilla



No theme today folks, just some random bits and pieces.

An interesting piece on blogs. Can't remember where I got this link.

This explains a lot.

Jealousy and famous literary couples.

Five questions from Cheddar X...

1. What's your worst alcohol related experience?
Worst in what way? Producing overwhelming intoxication? That would be doing ten shots of tequila in 25 minutes as a sophmore in college. Worst as in acting like an idiot? Deciding I was a 'druid' for the evening, that same year. Life of the party I tell ya...
2. What's the absolute dumbest thing you've done?
Gott in Himmel, so many to choose from... how about seriously procrastinating on writing my thesis as a senior, sparking a long an ugly chain of events involving a 72 hour 'all (three) nighter', a bottle of whiskey and pre-dawn escape from the hospital. Yup, good times, good times..
3. What is your biggest crossroad in life? That is, what choice, action, non-action most brought you to where you are instead of where you might have been?
Returning to Baltimore post-graduation. Might also qualify as the 'absolute dumbest.' I mean, why pass up a chance to live hand-to-mouth and smash up a relationship while you're at it. Sound decision making is my middle name. But we strive to improve; as a wise man once said: "I'm a work in progress."
4. Who are your favorite bloggers and why?
Favorites are listed to the left. Each as a distinctive style that I enjoy.
5. What's your best example of ironic justice?
I suppose that end of Geoghan counts - classic example of a predator becoming the prey.
6. Which is more futile, the war on drugs or the war on terrorism?
The war on drugs. We already had one. It was called Prohibition and we lost. We did, however, get the birth of the modern Mafia from it, and thus cool movies like The Godfather. So who knows what unexpected benefits will accrue from the war on drugs? Hell, we've already seen a 'very special' of Different Strokes with Nancy Reagan - does it get any better?

Don't answer that.
7. How many copies of the Sobig worm have you had to delete this week? (round off to the nearest hundred thousand if you like)
Nary a one. Does this mean my computer is going to explode?


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Thursday, September 04, 2003

Teach Your Children



Having washed out by-and-large as an actress, Madonna has turned to writing children's books. The first one, The English Roses is due out on September 15th.

Fair enough I suppose, and maybe she'll show some talent. But what brought me up short was this:

She said she began writing for children after struggling to find any books that were not "vapid and vacant" to read to her children, or that actually taught any lessons.

First of all, she must either be getting terrible advice on what to read to her children, or she's simply unable to successfully navigate a bookstore. The stacks are chock full of excellent reads for kids and so-called 'young adults' - Madeline L'Engle anyone? I, for one, would be happy to send her a detailed reading list, free of charge. Now on to my second point...

I cannot claim to speak for all of The Children - just those who grew from bloody-minded and contrary little rugrats into bloody-minded and contrary adult. And on behalf of this demographic I say, that as a child, I abso-fucking-lutely hated any attempts to mess up my entertainment by inserting 'lessons.'

I considered it a rotten adult trick, like the lies they told you in order to convince you to eat something ("Those cooked carrots will make you better") or the old canard "This medecine will taste yummy" or my all-time pre-shot favorite "This will only hurt a bit."

I knew where the lessons came from - Mom and Dad. If I wanted to learn one, I either asked them or get myself in trouble and received one gratis. But I did not want, under any circumstances, lessons in my entertainment.

Big Red didn't teach me anything, except maybe the common sense proposition that dogs are good and Grizzly Bears are bad. Davey and Goliath tried to teach me all sorts of things, and I hated that damn show. Sure I watched it - there was nothing else on that early in the morning, not even Captain Bob. But even at the age of five I knew Davey was a goddam stupe - jeebus, even his dog was smarter than him.

Parents are for teaching lessons, whether they're about friends, jealousy or sleepovers. Books are for expanding children's minds, for showing them how to dream and imagine. I've never been to the Wintapi - I'm sure it doesn't exist - but it's as real to me as the woods behind the house I grew up in. And that lesson - books can take you all sorts of places - is the best one for a kid to learn.
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That's a negative Ghostrider, the pattern is full



I'm pickin' up what you're puttin' down brother. Fly low and stay cool.
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Wednesday, September 03, 2003

I Will Dare



I've been considering doing this for some time, and Heather's post today gave me the incentive. So, without further ado, here's a list of 100 Things About Me. Feel free to skip this entry and come back tomorrow, if this sorta thing bores you.

1. I am thirty-three years old and single, never married.
2. My eyes change colors - sometimes green, sometimes brown, sometimes a mix of the two. Today they’re green with a brown ring around the pupil.
3. I am left-handed.
4. I prefer to be described as thin, not skinny, thankyouverymuch.
5. I have one sibling, a younger sister.
6. She is smarter, wiser and better looking than I am.
7. She’s also my hero (or heroine I should say) though I’ve never told her that.
8. I like the Beatles, not the Rolling Stones.
9. I am a dog person, not a cat person.
10. My dog died several months ago. I don’t know if I’ll get another one.
11. After I put her down, I drove back to my empty home, sat on the couch, and wept.
12. I am not ashamed of that. I’d be ashamed if I hadn’t wept.
13. My favorite beer is Anchor Steam.
14. My favorite cheap beer is Miller High Life. For my recent birthday I received (from different people) a Miller High Life t-shirt and a Miller High Life glass.
15. My favorite meal is sushi.
16. I read Lord of the Rings twenty times by the time I was eleven.
17. I still read a lot, usually two books at once – one fiction, one non-fiction.
18. I read all types of books but most of my favorites come from what snobs put down as ‘genre fiction’ – westerns, crime novels, fantasy, and science fiction.
19. I was overjoyed when Anna Karenina threw herself under the train. I can’t abide Russian literature.
20. I wish she had dragged Hester Prynne and Holden Caulfield with her.
21. My other favorite 'meal' is steak tartar. Go figure.
22. I have a large family – three sets of aunts and uncles and about a dozen cousins on each side.
23. The older I get, the more I appreciate them all. I still feel a vague sense of pity for people who didn’t grow with cousins as playmates.
24. My sister constantly played the soundtrack to Annie growing up.
25. I still know all the words and am not averse to singing them in public. Especially Tomorrow.
26. I have said ‘I love you’ to four women in my life – once in high school, once in college, and twice post-college.
27. The first two times were not for real – not because I was lying, but because I wasn’t grown up enough yet to truly understand the word and what it meant.
28. The last two times were for real, but neither one ended well.
29. But I’m friendly with all my ex-girlfriends, save one.
30. My taste in movies is as varied as my taste in books. I do love gangster movies though.
31. One day I’ll get around to listing my favorite movies and books here.
32. I love lists, and making them. I’m sure that says something about me, I just don’t know what it is.
33. For the last thirteen or so years I’ve kept a record of all the books I’ve read.
34. If my apartment was burning down and I could save only one thing, it would be the insignia from my grandfather’s WWII uniform.
35. He died when I was seven and it’s the only keepsake of him that I have.
36. I thought I was all grown up because I was allowed to attend his wake.
37. I still hate wakes.
38. I will always think of the Peabody Essex museum in Salem as ‘my’ museum because of him.
39. Whenever I hear that Bare Naked Ladies song about the ‘old apartment’ I think of Beverly Hills 90210 and wonder how the former cast is getting along.
40. Rin Tin Tin and Speed Racer are the first two television shows I remember being really into.
41. I liked Land of the Lost too, but the Sleestaks scared me so badly I hid behind the couch whenever they came on screen.
42. I don’t watch television anymore, unless the Red Sox are on.
43. I was an Eagle Scout.
44. I can still navigate overland by compass, tie knots, start fires and do some other woodsy things.
45. The above two items would probably surprise some people.
46. I love music, all kinds. Another list to be made.
47. I especially like X, The Replacements, The Pogues, Sleater-Kinney, and Johnny Cash.
48. I think the 80s were a great decade for pop music.
49. I recently discovered I prefer Powers to Jameson’s Irish whiskey.
50. Martinis should be gin – not apple, chocolate or any other damn thing. Just gin.
51. I hate exercising gym-style, but I love doing uechi-ryu karate.
52. Not saying I’m any good at it though.
53. I learned how to handicap horse races when I was sixteen. My mother taught me.
54. I taught myself how to play craps, because I have no aptitude for card games.
55. I wanted to be a jockey when I was a kid. I was terribly disappointed when my mother informed me I would be too big for that.
56. I am very slow to trust other people.
57. Except sometimes when I really should be slow to trust.
58. I probably need to work on balancing this out.
59. I used to have a short temper. My girlfriend in college cured me of that.
60. I was raised Catholic and went to a Jesuit high school.
61. In retrospect I think I received a better education in high school than at the very reputable university I attended.
62. I don’t attend Mass very often – like once or twice a year.
63. I don’t see myself converting to any other religion though.
64. Partly because I see anti-Catholicism as one of the few remaining forms of bigotry that society accepts. So why give anyone the satisfaction of switching?
65. I do like learning about other means of expressing one’s spirituality though.
66. My political views are all over the place – left, right, and center.
67. I am pro-choice.
68. I am for the right of citizens to keep and bear arms.
69. I am against the War on Drugs. (Can’t we learn from history folks? Please?)
70. I am for the War on Terror.
71. But I don’t necessarily think the President is going about it the right way.
72. It bothers me that television stations don’t want to air footage of people leaping form the WTC on 9/11. I don’t think we should be allowed to forget or become complacent.
73. My oldest memory is attending my aunt’s wedding. I must’ve been two or three.
74. I do have another vague memory of my mother singing to me in the car that may or may not pre-date the above.
75. The song was Cecilia by Simon and Garfunkel. Not exactly kids’ stuff.
76. My favorite summer place is the Salem Willows.
77. My favorite fall place is Borderland State Park.
78. Spring doesn’t exist here. We call those months ‘Mud Time.’
79. My favorite winter place is outside at night when it’s snowing.
80. I love the sound snow makes when it comes down at night.
81. I love thunder and lightning storms too.
82. When we were little my sister and I were trapped in a car during a violent thunderstorm. Lightning was striking the parking lot all around us.
83. My mother was in the store. A brave stranger ran to the car and carried us to safety.
84. Today you probably couldn’t trust that stranger. And some busybody would dime my mother out to Youth Services and we’d end up in a foster home.
85. I’m glad I’m not a kid today.
86. My mother also experimented with raising my sister and I in a ‘gender neutral’ fashion.
87. My sister was given a truck to play with; I was given a doll.
88. The experiment ended when she noticed that my sister tended to cuddle and hold the truck, while I treated the doll as some sort of blunt instrument.
89. I’m a closet romantic.
90. I think the sway of a woman’s hips is proof of God’s existence.
91. I’m a damn fine kisser.
92. I don’t see myself getting married anymore.
93. But I think I’d be a pretty good Dad.
94. I’m a very stubborn person.
95. But not as stubborn as I used to be. I’ve tried to smarten up along the way.
96. Coming up with 100 items for this list has been quite a chore.
97. But at the same time it barely scratches the surface of who I am.
98. I think it would be interesting to see a list of 100 (or 10 or 20 or whatever) things about me that somebody else compiled.
99. I bet I’d be surprised at some of things on such a list.
100. I’ll also be surprised if anyone actually read this list all the way through to this last item.
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Tuesday, September 02, 2003

Nine Million Rainy Days



Today I'm wondering what it is about rain at night or in the morning that wreaks such havoc with my subconscious, resulting in restless sleep and strange dreams.

In the small hours of this morning I woke and thought I saw some one I used to know, crouched at the foot of the bed, as if looking for something on the floor. I was about to reach for the light to help, when I realized I was in fact peering at the television on my bureau with videotapes stacked in top.

Later, the wind blew in through the open window in my kitchen and sent some random objects rattling to the floor. I flopped over onto my back, with thoughts of 'mmmm, coffee's up' popping into my brain, followed by the vague notion that 'can't be coffee, noone's here, must be the dog.' I sat up in bed, looked down the hall, and again felt rather silly when the dim light revealed a thoroughly empty kitchen.

I'm not even going to discuss the strange dreams I had about work.

I suppose it was a fit ending for what was a random and weird weekend, with activities ranging from movie-renting to baseball watching to late night boat excursions with near strangers.

Time to skip town again, I think. Soon.
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Hello



To the person (woman?) who arrived here as a result of a google search for men who procrastinate - you've come to the right place.

To the person who arrived as a result of a google search for club credential cookie monster - the Cookie Monster needs no credential - for clubs, bars or anywhere else. Seriously now.
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