It's My Party

It should not go unsaid that there are certain benefits to turning 35. Such as...

Being taken out to dinner twice, for sushi and Italian food.

Pawsox games at McCoy Stadium.

Free drinks, courtesy of the local.

And a shiny new iPod.

It should also not go unsaid that I have the coolest friends around.

Soliciting

I am thinking of moving on over to Typepad. Recommendations? Warnings? Fire away.

A Crisis

There are Chuckles in the vending machine. Chuckles!

Chuckles are horrid. Who in their right mind would stock a vending machine with Chuckles, or request that a vending machine be so stocked? Who in their right mind would purchase Chuckles? They taste like slightly mushy hockey pucks.

The Silver Fox's Official List of Worst Candy Ever

1. Chuckles. 'Nuff said.
2. Necco Wafers. Like stale Communion wafer. All the guilt, none of the taste.
3. Wax Lips. Think about this one. You're. Eating. Wax. Why not just try a scented candle? At least some of those smell like they'd taste good.
4. Pixy Stix. There is nothing actually wrong with Pixy Stix. Pixy Stix made this list simply because the act of consuming was the equivalent of mainlining sugar for children. Dire things resulted. Like stitches.
5. Boston Baked Beans. If you grew up in my family you probably had real baked beans not more than oh.. three or four times a week. So if you managed to get your grubby little monkey hands on some change to buy candy at the pharmacy, the last item you wanted was more fucking baked beans.

35

As Heather so kindly notes, today is my birthday. I am thirty five.

For some reason, the sentence fragment "thirty five and still alive" keeps running through my mind. I do not know how this became stuck in my head. I can, however, think of variations on that particular theme.

Thirty five and a man in transition. Thirty five and a work in progress. Thirty five and loyal. Thirty five and lonely.

Thirty five and still trying to figure things out.

Thirty five.

So be easy and free
when you're drinking with me.
I'm a man you don't meet
every day.

I (Bacon) Robot

If, you know, you're wondering what would make an appropriate gift for my birthday....

Connections

This Fish can write:

What do I mean to you? It’s not something we’re cool about asking each other. It’s something we’re supposed to read between the lines, figure out through the context of conversations, emails and facial expressions.

You make my life better.
I think you’re funny.
We are temporary.

An unreturned phone call and sideways glances may read, You’re replaceable. While a tender pat on the head from the same person can say, To the moon and back.

Body language, rarely as accommodating as a mood ring, doesn’t always tell you what you need to know. And because, once we leave childhood, we no longer allow ourselves the naiveté to ask, How much do you love me? so much of it is left to guessing and intuition and sometimes even hope.

And sadly, in interpreting our worth to the people we care about most, far too much gets lost in the translation.

Gary Sheffield is my Co-pilot

They're a walking disaster. They act like they're tough, how they care so much about winning, but it's all a front. They're just a bunch of characters."

Remember that little gem? That was Gary Sheffield opining on the 2004 Boston Red Sox, shortly before bitch-slapped into submission in the last four games of the ALCS.

I love that quote. That shit never gets old. Never. That quote so never gets old that I have a copy framed and mounted above my bathroom mirror. So that when I wake up on a gray and rainy morning, and I'm feeling down about life and love, well all I have to do is look at that quote. A world that contains people like Sheffield, who say things like that, and then go on to participate in the biggest choke ever... well that world can't be all bad, can it? And then I smile, and a warm happy feeling steals over me, and I do my Silence-of-the-Lambs-dance in front of the mirror.

God is good. Gary Sheffield truly is my bridge over troubled waters. And the man just keeps giving. Here's Sheffield discussing A-Rod and the Yankees coming visit to Fenway:

"We're going to bring our gold, our jewel in there, which is A-Rod," Gary Sheffield told me yesterday during the American League All-Star interview session. "We're going to see how the chips fall this time. That's our man and we know he's our man. We're going to look out for him when he's in a situation like that."
I asked Sheffield exactly what he meant by that statement.
"When he's in a hostile environment, we've got to make sure he's comfortable because it helps our team," Sheffield answered.
And if something like the Varitek incident happens again?
"That's why I say it's going to be different," Sheffield said, looking me straight in the eye.

Showpony is Sheffield's "jewel." Love it. He should have his own reality show.

Point of Information

If there was a job out there, and the description was something like "fucking shit up" and you could bring your own claw hammer, or maybe a chainsaw, well I'd probably apply for that job.

I Am Easily Amused

What I find to be amusing: this site. A sample:

Out of spite, and probably because — okay, I'll put it this way. Say there's some asshole, this guy who thinks that Limp Bizkit and Linkin Park are the greatest bands on the planet, and he announces that he hates a band called Train. And you've never heard the band train but, you figure, this guy's such a shit-bucket intellect, I'm going to love Train.

But then you hear "Meet Virginia" and "Drops of Jupiter", and you go, "Oh Jesus, that moron's right."

Parisians were my "Meet Virginia."

What else I find to be amusing: my ability to entertain myself in a variety of retarded ways, the latest example being the 'game' (and I do use the term lightly) I made up Friday evening . This is it in a nutshell: use words pertaining to food or cooking in a suggestive (i.e. sexual manner). Very simple. Anyone can play, and endless hilarity results. ..
Boy, I'd like to set her oven on automatic cleaning, clean out her giblets, and baste her a turkey. All. Night. Long.

Hey baby, why don't you come back to my place and I'll wheel out my dessert tray.

Check out the creme de menthe on that broad.

What's that? You don't find that endlessly hilarious? In the slightest?

Well it's probably not you, it's me. All me. I'm turning thirty five in less than two weeks.

But really I'm like, nine. Ten on a good day.

Today's Random Happening
When I was out at lunch today, some lady nearly stuck her finger in my soup.

I was walking by her, with my lunch on a tray, when she pointed at my food, said "that looks good" and nearly dipped her digit in my soup.

Frankly, I was tempted to bite her finger, but I resisted. I also resisted the impulse to snap at her and say "Get your fuckin' fingers out of my soup" and cause a scene. But I didn't.

I just stopped and stared at her until she turned away.

Seriously people. Get your goddam hands outta my soup.

Little Bit of History Repeating

The time: yesterday afternoon.
The place: the USS Salem CA-139.
The result: a whole lot of pictures most people will find less than exciting.

Pilgrim's Progress

..or what I've read so far this year.

28. The Lone Samurai - William Scott Wilson
29. The Man Who Was Thursday - G.K. Chesterton
30. Chicago Confidential - Max Allan Collins
31. The Last Night of the Yankee Dynasty - Buster Olney
32. The Final Country - James Crumley
33. Mirror, Mirror - Gregory Maguire
34. Angel in Black - Max Allan Collins
35. Blood and Thunder - Max Allan Collins
36. The Family Trade - Charles Stross
37. The Mating Season - P.G. Wodehouse
38. Defending Middle Earth - Patrick Curry
39. The Polysyllabic Spree - Nick Hornby
40. The Way to Glory - David Drake
41. Shakespeare's Kings - John Julius Norwich
42. China Marine - E.B. Sledge
43. Crown of Slaves - David Weber & Eric Flint

Make the Music Go Bang

I didn't bring my Cannon along on either July 3rd, when we ventured out on Heather's dad's boat to watch fireworks, or on the 4th itself, when we watched from ashore. I figured my camera simply wasn't fast enough to take any decent pictures of fireworks (although in retrospect I could've taken some nice ones of the boat.)

None of that prevented me from taking a few pictures with the cameraphone, with very predicatable results.

4th of July

On the stairs I smoke a cigarette alone.
X - 4th of July

This reminiscence was beautifully written and seemed oddly appropriate for this weekend.

Who's got big plans? SWM, 34, seeks BBQ.