Thirsty Bunny Chronicles

2008-04-01T19:27:00.006-04:00

I tried an experiment like this once. Not too different an outcome, either...

Offered by an English professor from the University of Phoenix.

The professor told his class one day, "Today we will experiment with a new form called the tandem story. The process is simple. Each person will pair off with the person sitting to his or her immediate right. As homework tonight, one of you will write the first paragraph of a short story. You will e-mail your partner that paragraph and send another copy to me.

The partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the story and send it back, also sending another copy to me. The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on back-and-forth.

Remember to re-read what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent. There is to be absolutely no talking outside of the e-mails, and anything you wish to say must be written in the e-mail. The story is over when both agree a conclusion has been reached."

The following was actually turned in by two of his students, Rebecca and Gary.

THE STORY

(1st paragraph by Rebecca)

At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl who once said, in happier times, that he liked chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So chamomile was out of the question.

(2nd paragraph by Gary)

Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. "A.S. Harris to Geostation 17,"

He said into his transgalactic communicator. "Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far..." But before he could sign off a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship's cargo bay.

The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit.

(Rebecca)

He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4.

"Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel, "Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth, when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspaper to read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the beautiful things around her.

"Why must one lose one's innocence to become a woman?" she wondered wistfully.

(Gary)

Little did she know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live. Thousands of miles above the city, the Anudrian mothership launched the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dim-witted wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace Disarmament Treaty through the congress had left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty, the Anudrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion, which vaporized poor, stupid Laurie.

(Rebecca)

This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic, semi-literate adolescent.

(Gary)

Yeah? Well, my writing partner is a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium. "Oh, shall I have chamomile tea? Or shall I have some other sort of f*cking tea???!

Oh no, WHAT AM I to do? I'm such an air headed bimbo who reads too many Danielle Steele novels!"

(Rebecca)

Asshole

(Gary)

Bitch

(Rebecca)

F$%^ YOU, YOU NEANDERTHAL!

(Gary)

Go drink some tea, whore.

(TEACHER)

A+...I really liked this one.

All behold my cheese...

2008-02-10T17:59:00.000-05:00

"All hitters need to gear up to hit his cheese."
-Read while perusing a minor-league baseball site.

I wish someone had a hard time hitting my cheese.

The trucks left for Florida this weekend.

Hurry the hell up, willya?

Mother. There is no other.

2008-02-10T11:18:00.001-05:00

Mother. She takes my temperature when I don't feel right.

I miss Clark Madsen.

2008-02-01T18:33:00.001-05:00

Kevin Spacey as Christopher Walken auditioning to be Han Solo.

Don't call me Cobra. Just don't do it.

2008-01-31T18:03:00.000-05:00

I was verbally and emotionally accosted today by a foreign woman (she wouldn't tell me from where), who told me her life was ruined because someone, twenty-two years ago, used her first name (Cobra) fraudulently. Because of this scandal, her immediate family was all killed, the area above her business' drop ceiling was full of drugs, and she was being unfairly singled out for likely terrorist activity by Mayor Bill Clinton. In addition, the waist-high water accident in her shop was a conspiracy by the people next door who want her out so they can store even more drugs.

Yikes.

Please don't call me Cobra. Just don't do it.

What's Wrong With America

2008-01-27T11:09:00.000-05:00

Well, this is just part of it, but it merits attention. Woman buys house for $1.2 million in 2005. Woman now feels the house is worth less because other houses in the neighborhood sold for $100k less. Woman sues her agent on the grounds he didn't disclose every sale price in the area.

I was brought up taking responsibility for my actions or inactions. Watching this pathetic woman makes me sick.

You didn't do your homework and may have paid too much. Suck it up, lady.

The coolest thing I never heard.

2008-01-14T18:15:00.001-05:00

I was just looking over our wedding DJ's website, and really looked at our song list. We had a bitchin' play list, even though I can't remember a darn one. Here are my ten faves...

1. Judas Priest; Metal Gods (Do NOT get married without this song.)
2. Dokken; Burning Like A Flame
3. Roxy Music; Love Is The Drug
4. Mighty Mighty Bosstones; Royal Oil
5. Kraftwerk; The Model
6. Lynard Skynard; Freebird (extended version)
7. The Toasters; Sweet Cherie
8. Bim Skala Bim; Hey Girl
9. 38 Special; Hold On Loosely
10. Pixies; Here Comes Your Man

If there's a tighter wedding playlist, well, sir...you're full of it. Let it go down in the annals of history that wedding song playlist perfection was attained on September 2, 2006.

Whoop! Whoop!

On growing old...

2008-01-13T19:35:00.000-05:00

Oh, and while I'm reminiscing about Sir Edmund climbing the face of God at age 33, might I also throw in the fact that Julia Child started cooking with any real intent at age 37?

These people, and many more like them, continually inspire me to reach higher in my life, to accept that age is no excuse for complacency.

Thanks, for the pep rally, guys. Now in your honor I shall make a 29,028-foot souffle.

We finally knocked the bastard off...

2008-01-13T18:52:00.000-05:00

"Well, George, we finally knocked the bastard off."

-Sir Edmund Hillary's first words (to friend George Lowe) upon returning from the summit of Mount Everest.

Sadly, one of my personal heroes from my childhood died of heart failure Friday. He was eighty-eight.

I always admired Sir Hillary for a number of reasons, not the least of which for his having stood as far off the surface of the earth as anyone can possibly do, and he did it first. What stuck with me most was that his conquest took place when he was 33 years old. How amazing is that?

We will miss you, Sir Edmund. Thank you for knocking the bastard off.

Legend of Midget Tree.

2008-01-12T09:38:00.000-05:00

Last night, over drinks n' nibbles at a local restaurant, the Fox and I touched on an obscure but critical component of midget lore...the Midget Tree.

If you're not familiar, a Midget Tree is where a midget goes to die. At the end of their life cycle (which is longer than ours, by the way. One midget year equals almost three-and-a-half earth years,) they choose a tree to their liking, and become one with their new host. The tree then 'gives birth' to new midgets, like bearing fruit.

It sounds wonderful, I know. The beauty of nature doesn't overlook the midget one bit.

But there's a catch. There's always a catch. And I share this with you because you are my friends and I trust you not to abuse this powerful information.

If you stab the Midget Tree, any midgets born of that tree die.

Instead, why not nourish a Midget Tree? be kind to it, and feed it. To feed a midget tree is simple; it will eat anything that begins with the first letter "m" and the second letter a vowel. Like Mallow Bars, or (as a good friend pointed out) malt liquor.

So, be kind to a Midget Tree; you never know which tree could be one. And pass the legend on.

"Where have all the midgets gone?
Have they gone away for good?
Bring here some malt liquor,
And feed such tree,
As to bear more midget tree fruit for me."

-Attributed to Ricardo Montelbon

Ora guardi...questo prontissimo!

2008-01-03T23:21:00.000-05:00

For reasons I can't exactly explain at the moment, this is the most brilliant f*cking thing I have ever seen. I think I've found my calling...

Romanza!

Actione!

Goblin!

Cock of the walk, baby.

2007-12-11T21:59:00.001-05:00

The Fox and I like to play a game from time to time. We try to figure out who the actor we'd most like to see turn up unexpectedly at a major function (i.e. wedding) would be. We've bantered a spell on this topic, and some great names (Buscemi, Duvall, Farrell), and some odd choices (Winona?).

But time and time again, I come back to the tried and true.

Christopher Walken.

For me, I would have most liked to see him randomly at one of the bars at my wedding. Sipping a cocktail, perhaps eating some shrimp. We'd look at each other, nod slightly, and go about our ways.

For those that question why, try this on for size.

Or, this.

Or this.

Or...this, if you like CW but are in a Kevin Pollack mood.

My God! That's the most horrible thing I've ever heard! What do you call that?

All Hail, Orion the Hunter!

2007-12-01T15:18:00.000-05:00

So there I was, standing the the Hall of Flags at the State House Thursday night, shooting the breeze with the Senator for Weymouth, when he mentions he's gotta run to the Hard Rock Cafe. He invites me, Carmen, and our two friends to come on over, there's a shindig going on for Barry Goudreau.

And I go, "no shit!"

And he goes, "no shit!"

See, the last time I ran into Barry was while waiting for the bathroom line to die down at the local. It was the last time I saw Brad Delp alive.

So I says, "hey, thanks, but we're getting sushi. Please tell him I said happy birthday."

And he says, "will do. Rock on."

Small world, huh?

I Vant To Suck Your Blood. (no, veally, I do!)

2007-10-31T18:18:00.000-04:00

Happy Halloween, all. What would it be without a list?

5 Horror Movies Ya Just Gotta See

Ain't we got fun...

2007-10-20T11:10:00.001-04:00

"I bet if you put bits of bacon on a strip of bacon, you could travel back in time."

-Jim Gaffigan

One of the good ones.

2007-04-12T17:15:00.000-04:00

Someday, when DC is safely in the rear-view mirror, I will think back to this tree that lives in front of our condo and smile. I admit, the first year I saw this thing I thought the world was coming to an end, and this was the start of it all. It's actually kinda creepy how the flowers explode out of the branches. This year, though, it's all good, mang. The tree turned into a riot of purple as it always does, the bark is black from recent rains, and the contrast is wonderful. When all is said and done, I will miss this tree.

Michigan Bob, d.b.a. ...

2007-04-04T21:13:00.000-04:00

While poor Heather is suffering in preggers-town, I'm gleefully drinking a Bar Harbor Blueberry Ale, thinking of nifty alternatives to Michigan Bob's moniker, should the need for alternatives arise. Here we go.

1. Remington Bronson Shannon: Brings the best of two worlds together, Remington firearms and Charles Bronson.

2. Fuego "Diamond" Shannon: A nod to the Jazz Singer with a latino flair.

3. Angus Blackjack Shannon: With a name like this, he'd probably require an eye patch. One with a Sox logo on it. He can tell people he once killed a Yanks fan just to watch him die. Plus, with the initials "A.B.S.", chicks will subconsciously think of the braking system in vehicles and feel safer with him around.

4. Macky "Guns" Shannon: No comment needed, other than to say if anyone made the mistake of singing "Mack The Knife" to this kid, he could go home, get daddy's gun, use it, and then use daddy's black passport for travel to a non-extradition country. It would just add to the legend of Guns Shannon.

5. Delicious Shannon Ice: Q-Town has been without a bona-fide pimp for too long.

6. Mr. Chips: Let 'em figure THAT one out.

7. Steven Perry Shannon: Ode to a great. (OK, I admit. I might have outdone myself with that one.)

8. Judas "Ratt" Shannon: Might as well get 'em all in there in one name.

And if it's a girl...

1. Cherries "Poppin'" Shannon: Her somewhat less-cool entourage could occasionally evoke her catch-phrase by saying, "Hey, Cherries...what's poppin'?" To which she would casually reply, "chillin' like a villan while I'm illin' with the willin'." The proper response..."word up, sucka."

2. Dopetastic Shannon Rock: Girls can be pimps too...

3. "All Skate" Shannon: She could perpetually get around on roller skates sipping a smoothie of some sort. Guys would chase after her, but she wouldn't know because she'd have her Walkman on listening to some innocent music, grooving in her own innocent way, sipping on an innocent smoothie of some sort. Of course, most guys would dig that, and that's when they may or may not notice Diplomat Security Dad in an non-descript sedan behind them with a high-powered, silenced firearm trained on the center of their back. Yep. They'd all say, "Old man Shannon, he'll shoot your fucking spine out."

No need to thank, Heather. We can hoist up a shot or two when this is all over and toast to Judas' good health.

Sh*tstain, DC strikes again.

2007-03-27T19:31:00.000-04:00

To maintain a dog park in Sh*tstain, DC, the following conditions must be met;

1. There can be no evidence of rats within a six-block radius.
2. Every single tenant within visual range of the space must agree in writing to having a dog park. Every single one.

Sure. We can have a dog park. Simply meet these two main requirements.

Oh, by the way, this requirement is only for dog parks. Restaurants, schools, and day-care centers do not have to meet these requirements.

Get me the hell out of dodge. This place stinks.

Last seen with Michigan Bob.

2007-03-25T14:30:00.000-04:00

Well. The Carmenator and I returned from Beantown, and our St. Paddy's sojurn. As you might expect, it was wacky fun. Although, there were a couple of changes this year; inevitable signs of aging. We ended the night eating Lynwood's Cafe pizza instead of yakking in someone's garbage can. The Carmenator spent the majority of the day in Cambridge visiting a grad school chum and her sick baby. And...Heather was with child. Which, of course, meant very little to no boozy-booze for Heather. Even Chuck was cutting back a bit. Not entirely, but a bit.

No such actions by the Fox or me. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead. As you might expect, thirteen hours of drinking can have an effect on a fella. And it did us. For those that know us, it meant insight and commentary beyond belief or reproach. And so, in our hours of madness, Fox and I came up with names for Heather and Chuck's youngin-to-be.

Ready?

For a boy, Michigan Bob, The Q-town Dandy.
For a girl, Beauty Shop Shannon.

I know. Genius. Kirk got a little antsy-in-the-pantsy about it, but he'll come around. He'll see the genius in our ways. So will Chuck. And Heather. They'll see.

They'll all see...

WTF.

2007-03-11T23:47:00.000-04:00

Ok. Check out the diagram above. It's of an average Washingtonian. See anything missing? Yep! That's right! Reason. It's missing damn reason.

Why am I especially bitter today? Simple. Today was the day Washingtonians decided to celebrate St. Patrick's Day. Parade and everything. Not the seventeenth, when it actually occurs. Nope. Today. I could see if St' Paddy's fell on a weekday. Then it might make sense. But this year it's on a Saturday. What gives, idiot land?

F*cking idiots. Yikes.

Mee so happy.

2007-03-06T19:09:00.000-05:00

Four reasons.

1. I saw a Cardinal, an Oriole, AND a Blue Jay recently. It wont be long now. (April 4th, to be exact. 4pm. You want some more, you maniacs?)

2. As I grow older, I am getting more in touch with understanding my love of Foxy Boxing.

3. Two weeks until I'm back at my local with my friends drinking incessantly, and putting my filthy man-paws all over my wife under the guise of "caring."

4. I'm off to celebrate number 4; half-price Belgian beers at L'Enfant. Whoop whoop!

A common mistake.

2007-03-04T18:34:00.000-05:00

A very common mistake is made around these parts almost every day.

Virginia is not for lovers.

Virginia is for idiots.

I am stunned, almost on a daily basis, at how inept the population of that state is. They can't add. They can't spell. They sure as all f*ck-get-out can't drive or park.

Case in point; Carmencita and I went to the Apple store in Bethesda to get some support for the fancy new Mac, and we were sitting at a red light at a main intersection. The cross-street was two lanes; one to turn left only, and one for turning right or going straight. A smallish SUV approached the light, stopped completely (during the green light, mind you), and the driver got out of the car to talk to a friend waiting to cross the street against the light. Unbelievable. Can you guess where the idiot was from? Yep. Virginia!

More evidence; a woman came into the bank asking to withdraw some money. I said, sure, just go to the window and withdraw some money, but make sure you present ID to do so. She said, "well, that's going to be a problem. It's my husband's account." When I replied that, if she wasn't listed on the account, she would be unable to withdraw money, she became hostile and told me, "sir, when you have been married as long as I have, you can tell me what I can't do with my husband's money." She was NOT on the account, and wound up complaining to the corporate office of my unwillingness to take her at her word that her husband authorized the withdrawl (even though she would not let me call him.)

And, if these weren't enough, I have one more that is indisputable. Period. End of story...

I had someone from Richmond bet me $50 that Plymouth Rock was located in Pennsylvania. Honest to God.

"You sure about this? You know where I'm from, right?"

"Yep. Fifty bucks. Plymouth Rock is in Pennsylvania."

"Just out of curiosity, how did it wind up there?"

"The Pilgrims carried it with them after they landed."

"So, let me get this straight. The Pilgrims landed on the rock, and then transported it to Pennsylvania? Have I got it right? Upon landing, they decided to travel inland, and took the rock with them?"

"That's correct."

"So...what about all the Pilgrims that stayed in Massachusetts? And what about the rock everyone "pretends" is Plymouth Rock?"

"They probably put a fake rock there so people wouldn't go looking for the real one in Pennsylvania."

"Uh...you might want to look that one up."

"Nope. I'm certain."

"Tony, last shot, man. I mean it. I'm from there. As school kids, we would go visit it. Are you SURE Plymouth Rock is in Pennsylvania?"

"Yep."

Yikes.

Five minutes later I was $50 richer.

Get me the hell out of here...

911.

2007-02-25T21:58:00.000-05:00

I went to see Reno 911!:Miami this afternoon.

Two thoughts.

1. If you enjoy the show, the movie is just like the show; it doesn't pretend to be something it's not. There are many plot lines taken from the show, so you'll enjoy it.

2. I can't get over how much Kermit looks like Junior. Yikes.

On a separate note, I tried Leinenkugel's Summer Wheat beer tonight. Dee-lish. Give it a shot, all.

Innocence lost.

2007-02-19T18:34:00.000-05:00

The wife and I went to see The Breach this afternoon. It was a great movie, but a wierd experience. Sitting in a movie theater in DC, watching a movie based in DC, I realized how little I know about politics. As events unfolded in the movie, pockets of chatter blossomed in the theater regarding the veracity of the event. And not just a comment or two, but many; "that building isn't located there", "the FBI would NEVER do that", "that's not standard procedure", and so on. Impressive and annoying at the same time, I guess. It made me acknowledge my inferiority where matters of government are concerned. And then came the second acknowledgement...

I don't care to understand it.

I don't need to know how laws or sausages are made. No matter. I understand what the operational parameters of laws and sausages are, and am content to abide by them; obeying laws while eating sausages. I don't feel lesser for it, despite the suffocating expectation of this berg imposed on its constituents.

The majority of the comments were made in the spirit of, "even I know that, the movie makers wouldn't last a minute in this town if they can't even correctly elaborate on surveillance protocols. Pshaw!" People were using the story and it's details to deem themselves superior because they work in that building, or they know so-an-so, and blah blah blah. This town trades on who you know, and how can I benefit from that connection. Period. It's so bad, it has even pervaded seeing a flick with yer chick on a holiday afternoon.

So, DC, I ask that you keep your opnions of everything to yourself, lest I utter one or two of my own.

(p.s., it really was a good talkie. I suggest seeing it. Also, we went to a restaurant called "Matchbox" afterwards. I'll do a Nibble Note on it at my chow-site, www.mysplendidtable.blogspot.com, should anyone find themselves for want of a good gourmet pizza joint in Washington.)

2007-02-11T16:59:00.000-05:00

"List 5 books that played and important role in your childhood and explain why."

Ugh. It's amazing how just one simple sentence can wreak havoc on your soul and make you feel all old and shite. Thanks a bunch, Fox.

Well, time to 'Cowboy up,' I suppose. (Incidentally, I heard a rumor of signing Juan Gone? Huh?)

The Five Most Influential Books of my Childhood

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, Rudyard Kipling

Mr. Kipling taught me to love mongooses and hate cobras. Years later, these lessons still serve me, having befriended several mongooses (the most notable, Oscar, a good friend of Nipples), and laid the smack down on a cobra or two when called for (I had to dispose of one just the other day. Carmen and I were having a cocktail at a spot downtown. I went to the can, and when I returned, there was this cobra in a blue gabardine suit makin' moves on my lady! He's sittin' on the barstool all cool-like, drinking a vodka gibson and saying things like, "oooh, baby, if I had hands I'd sex you up real good." Well, I put a stop to that toot-sweet! I went up and told him there was a mongoose outside spreading a rumor that his mother was a whore. By the time he figured out my ruse, we had left. F*cking cobras; they fall for that every time.)

The Hobbit, J.R.R. Tolkien

Anyone who read this when they were young and deny any influence on their reading habits going forward is simply out of thier mind. This epic changed everything for everyone everywhere forever. Superlatives aside, I was one of three classmates in high school who passed notes to each other in Sindarin. Dîn broniant, estathar aen Tolkien!

The Amityville Horror, Jay Anson.

Yeah, I know. It explains a lot, doesn't it? I first read Amityville when I was around seven, and it did absolutely nothing for me. I read it again at age nine, and it scared the crap out of me for years to come. (I'm not kidding, either. I didn't drop another deuce until I was 11. It's documented.) But I loved it. I loved being scared in that reading kind of way; where you know you're safe, but you don't really know. I think it was reading this book, coupled with convincing my parents to let me stay up one night to watch The Birds that sent me off on my path of loving horror.
4. The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, C.S. Lewis

The whole series did it for me, but Wardrobe is the special one for me. As a kid, my mom would take me to the bookstore and get me books whenever I wanted. The only requirement was that I had to finish the book she bought before I could get another one. I remember getting this book, starting in the car, and finishing it right after supper. I read all seven books in a week and a half or so. I devoured them. Aslan was such a regal character. I later read The Screwtape Letters, and while it is completely a worthwhile read, it's a bit much at age seven.

5. The Cricket In Times Square, George Selden

I call every mouse I see Tucker. Those that have read the book know why.

Other considerations...

There are almost too many to list. I partially self-taught myself to read at age three or so, and have never stopped (my mom has a great story of my using her bedroom's bathroom, and coming out asking what a "menstrual cycle" was, having read all the boxes in her basket next to the bathroom. tee hee hee.)

Here are a few.

How To Eat Fried Worms, The Outsiders, The Pushcart War, Charlotte's Web, all Dr. Seuss (even though my favorite was a book showing the artwork that didn't make his books. Messed up, he was!), Animal Farm, Cujo, The Catcher In The Rye, and a children's book about a turtle who started walking aroud the world. He eventually got up so much speed, he hit a ramp and went into orbit. I cannot, for the life of me, remember the title. Any help would be GREATLY appreciated!

Those were the days...

2007-02-07T22:23:00.000-05:00

So there I was on the treadmill at the gym tonight (yeah! the gym! Me! WHOOP! WHOOP! Tee hee hee! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!)

...

(ahem.)

So I was on the treadmill, schlocking through the 5k run I do thrice a week, and I was jamming to my iPod. Earlier, I had uploaded several of my favorite Ozzy, Megadeth, and Iron Maiden discs. I wanted a serious stream of energy whilst killing myself.

God, I didn't realize how much I missed that music, nor how far from it I had strayed.

I miss all of it; Van Halen, Dokken, Iron Maiden, Led Zepplin, Judas Priest, Slayer, Megadeth, old Metallica, et cetera.

And, gosh darn it, I'ma gonna listen to more of it. Searing guitars, massive hair, non-sensical lyrics (Were heading for venus /and still we stand tall/Cause maybe theyve seen us and welcome us all/With so many light years to go/ and things to be found/I'm sure that well all miss her so) and all the wonderful trappings that go with it. I'm going for it all.

Let the metal renaissance begin.

All skate!

Not so sorry...

2007-02-06T19:14:00.000-05:00

Yep. I gave it to a completely unsuspecting Starschmuck's "barista" who tried to tell me their espresso was 100% decaffinated. (For those in the know, it's impossible to completely decaf a bean. Just can't do it. Someday, ask me how I know this.)

Way I figure it, he had it comin' to him.

Apologia.

2007-02-05T18:22:00.000-05:00

What, exactly, do you do with a five-spot that has spent almost 35 minutes next to your naked arse?

I found myself in just this predicament this afternoon when I stood, face-to-face, with the intended recipient of this ass-cash...and realized I wasn't going to give it to him.

It's true; the purported jerk was, upon further investigation, simply a curmudgeon.

And I owe him an apology.

You know who I speak of; book store jerkface-turned-authentic-curmudgeon. Here's how it went down.

I went to Eastern Market specifically for this evil deed. And to shop for some paperbacks I couldn't find at any other used bookstore. I felt ok about this because, after all, I needed some reason to give him the dirty, dirty money, right?

So I entered the shop, steeling my nerves for another brusque 'greeting.' What I got was,

"hello."

???

???

???

hello? Shit!

"uh, hi."

"Welcome. Fiction is upstairs; non-fiction, downstairs."

"uh...thanks." (my resolve was cracking.)

I went upstairs to re-group. Forty minutes later, I had a pile of seven or eight novels. Time to move downstairs to look at their cooking reference and baseball books. I tempered my resolve; we were to cross paths again. I walked past his desk.

"Find everything ok?"

"What the f*ck happened to you?" I asked. (Well, no. I didn't say that. I wanted to, but I decided not to show him all my cards yet.)

"uh...yeah, thanks. Where are the baseball books?" I was setting him up for a trap! I knew precisely where the baseball books were. I was simply goading him into acting like a jerk again. Genius!

"Downstairs to the right."

I went downstairs to the right. Sure enough, the baseball books were there. (Wait, I knew that already! Why was he being so nice?) Enough thought. Enough talk. Time to execute Operation "Give Jerk Ass-Cash." I retrieved the now-cursed money. We had spent the last half-hour getting "real close" if you catch my drift. My butt now had a 2 7/8" x 6" chilly spot where Lincoln was just moments ago. No worries, though; it was off to wield a unique jihad on he who would insult the bill's master.

I grabbed The Longest Slump Ever, and headed upstairs, prepared for the endgame. We came face-to-face.

"See the game last night?"

"uh...yeah" (God! What was happening here?)

"That Manning, he sure is a good one, huh?"

"uh...yeah." (This is bad.)

"Well, one good thing, though. Now we can move on to baseball, right?"

"uh...yeah." (Aw, shit...)

"Hopefully we'll get to see the yankees fall again, huh?"

"uh...yeah." (ABORT! ABORT! ABORT! He hates the yanks! Operation GJAC is a NO-GO!)

"Will that be cash?"

"uh..." (I was at the fail-safe point, the moment of truth, the true event-horizon of the mission.)

"uh..." (I knew what had to be done.)

"uh..no, thanks. Do you take American Express?"

"Sure do."

I handed him my card, and let my adreneline level lower. I tucked the money in a back pocket.

"Have a great day. Stay warm!"

Yeah. Sure, pal. I'll stay warm.

I wished him the same as I left the building.

So, there it is. I couldn't do it. I was wrong and I knew it. So, Mr. Man, I apologize for mis-judging you. And, at least, I cemented my opinion that Capitol City Books is the best of the bunch out there in DC.

And as for the stinky money resting in my back pocket?

Well...I think I'll get a latte at Starschmucks tomorrow morning before work.

Excellent ideas...

2007-02-01T22:12:00.000-05:00

Thanks to all who responded to my last post regarding how to mitigate a bookstore turd. There were many excellent ideas, but Heather's was the best.

I quote, "Take $5, rub it across your ass a few times (before you leave the house, please) and pay him with that. Or, better yet, rim it!"

Thy will be done, Heather.

A full report to follow.

In a bind (of sorts)...

2007-01-28T19:17:00.000-05:00

What to do.

You see this place above? It's Capitol Hill Books; located just outside the Eastern Market in southeast DC. For those unfamiliar, Eastern Market is an indoor/outdoor market servicing all your fresh veggies, meat, flora, and baking or cooking needs. It a great place where families run kiosks of every kind. You can get a fat old hot dog for $1.50, and a pound of thickly cut bacon for $4.00 (and this is serious shit, this bacon. No messing around whatsoever.) The market is a wonderful place to futz around for a couple of hours, get what you need for dinner or the week, and take it all in over a pint or a cup of coffee or tea. CHB is next to it; one of many small restaurants and shoppes to be enjoyed. It all makes for a great Sunday afternoon.

When you go in CHB, it's exactly as it appears from the outside, and pretty much as you would hope from an old used bookstore; the place is simply festooned in books. The front window is as the whole place is. Wherever there isn't a human body or a tiny bit of carpet to walk on, there are books. Thousands of wonderful books strewn over three floors to get lost in. I love it. I love to get lost in the cramped aisles for hours, searching out the next great read. I spend roughly $50 per month in $3.50-$6.00 books, and I love it. There's only one problem.

The owner is a jerk.

Well, I presume he's the owner. He a gentleman of some age, and every time I have ever been in there, he's sitting just inside the door, reading something; so, I presume he is Morton "Jim" Toole, as the card he hands you reads, the owner.

Why is he a jerk? When you walk in, he doesn't say hello. He doesn't say welcome, or any other sort of salutation. He doesn't even bother to lift his head from his reading. He simply says, "fiction's upstairs, reference is downstairs." That's it. It would be cute in a curmudgeonly way if he was an actual curmudgeon. He's not. He's a jerk, and I hate giving him my money. My father works too damn hard at giving people the best possible experience in our family camera store to take care of his family to patronize some, well, "Toole" that can't bother to give you the time of day when you are trying to support his establishment.

Right?

I am right, aren't I?

Here's the problem; there aren't too many other used bookstores of the ilk in DC. From a product delivery standpoint, his is excellent. I am right in wanting to cease patronizing him for the shabby way he treats his customers, right?

Opinions, please.

In the meantime, I will wrestle with this moral issue. If anyone can assuage my concerns, speak up, please. Also, if anyone knows of a good used bookstore in DC that cares when people come in, please let me know. I need a new one.

Thanks!

Oh, and here are a few recent books I've read that are worth checking out.

Lives of the Monster Dogs, Kirstin Bakis
Dirty White Boys, Stephen Hunter
A Death in the Family, James Agee
The Exorcist, William Peter Blatty
The Church of Dead Girls, Stephen Dobyns
Johnny Got His Gun, Dalton Trumbo

They're kind of all over the place in subject matter. All good stuff for different reasons, though.

Still greasy...

2007-01-24T19:45:00.000-05:00

My friend Heather makes some cogent responses to my last entry. I suggest a New Englander's predilection to ask, "where do you live?" is ultimately aiming to figure out the likelihood of social assimilation; people are feeling you out to see if and how you will interact with thier tribe. I agree with Heather that, "I will determine how you were raised, your probable religion, your value system, and your schooling all based on your answer to that question," but I believe that is normal. We probe potential relationship candidates all the time; we do it when we're flirting, when we're applying for a job, when we meet new people...we're looking for commonalities to provide a rapport to build on. In D.C., unfortunately, it's like they're giving you a quick scan to see if you're worth any more of their time. In New England, it's like they're throwing you into the fire to see what comes out, and the degree of acceptance is directly tied to your burns. In D.C., it's like they pass an unseen metal detector over you to see if there is anything they can get from you. If a little beep goes off, they stay. If not, they move on to the next pile of sand drinking a martini in the room. It's the difference between finding a short-timer or even a one-night-stand (there), and trolling for a hooker (here).

ick.

Moral grease.

2007-01-23T22:03:00.000-05:00

Disclaimer 1: I am NOT politically savvy by most standards. I am NOT in favor of any particular party. I am NOT in-the-know when it comes to politics. I am NOT up-to-speed with political bents or trends. I do NOT read political publications. I do NOT watch any of the myriad political shows on Washington DC. I'm not smart when it comes to politics, and I don't care to be. So, if you don't like what I'm about to say, find someone who gives a sh*t, m'kay?

Disclaimer 2: This entry is NOT inclusive of my few D.C. friends. AT ALL. It's sad to say I have so few friends in this city; If you are my friend and you live in D.C., my apologies.

Ok. Now...

As I was on the treadmill tonight, I caught the nauseatingly grandiose pomp and circumstance of the beginning of the state of the union speech on tv. The announcements. The fanfare. The fraudulent smiles and hand-shaking between peoples clawing each other's eyes out just weeks ago on the campaign trail. The little clusters of like-opined 'important people.'

And I felt, well...I guess I can't say it any better than saying I felt morally greasy.

I felt like the values my parents worked so hard to instill in us kids were useless here. I felt like this town pivots on manipulation, deceit, and self-service. I felt like the capital of my country is one of the worst examples I've ever experienced of what my country is actually about; if I were to escort a foreigner around my country (and I have, to a small extent. Hi, Aldo,) would I choose to take them to Washington?

Unfortunately, yes, I would. Begrudgingly, I would. I have to concede D.C. has some wonderful restaurants, top-quality museums, and gorgeous neighborhoods. I have to concede these are worth experiencing, and I would have to show my guest these sights for them to get the full monty of our background (seeing the actual Constitution is chilling, I say,) but I would do everything in my power to prevent them from talking to too many people or looking in too many shadows. It's in those shadows the fetid stench of this city lies.

I first noticed it when I began dating my (now) wife. She would take me around to quaint happy hours and introduce me to co-workers, friends, and the populace of her government career. With almost no exception, everyone's first question was, "so, what do you do?" They weren't asking out of curiosity or to make conversation; they were asking as part of an evaluation of my worth to them. I know this because, usually, the smile faded and the conversation ended quickly when I told them I managed a coffee shop. Now that I manage a bank, the interest level is at least maintained long enough to answer whether or not I can provide financial advice. Then, the glazed eyes and quick glances at the watch. Sickening.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention the almost suffocating sense of self-worth and entitlement this city has. All chiefs, no indians. Or, all butt and no toilet paper, ya know? Have you ever gone to a function where everyone walked around like the rod up thier ass had a rod up its ass? Well, multiply that by hundreds of thousands. I actually had someone yell at me (and I mean YELL) because I wouldn't allow him to perform changes on an account he forged for his mother AND son. He forged the signatures. Their names. His signatures on all three accounts (including his.) And, he's a fucking lawyer. And, he knew what he was doing was wrong. I'm the bad guy, I guess.

D.C. is a classless hack of a burg.

Morally greasy, I is.

Sigh.

Update.

2007-01-22T14:24:00.000-05:00

As I mentioned earlier, the current reigning champion of beer on my heart, Belhaven, is in danger of being overthrown by either Miller High Life, or Hoegaarden. I promised to keep you appraised of my findings as they happen.

As it is situated currently, Belhaven is in the lead, with High Life and Hoegaarden fighting for second. It really depends on what time of year you ask me.

I can tell you this, though. I drank almost three pitchers of Yuenling last night during the game. In my book, it would barely crack the top 10. Maybe.

For those not in the know.

2007-01-22T14:20:00.000-05:00

If you've never experienced Natalie Dee, you really should. She's brilliant in a really, really quirky way.

Out with the old, in with...

2007-01-22T13:58:00.000-05:00

SPRING TRAINING in only 27 days!

Ok, ok. I admit, watching the Pats lose to the human advertising agency Peyton Manning because of such stupidity as Reche Caldwell dropping a pass with nobody covering him (nobody!) hurt. But, on to more important things! Baseball is coming, and for those of you in the know, here is the greatest baseball-related timekill ever. Enjoy.

Get thee to a nunnery, Nipples!

2007-01-21T13:57:00.000-05:00

(this story is true. only the names have been changed, except for the nun.)

Nipples the Curious Sockpuppet and his wife, Mrs. Curious Sockpuppet, went to a church function on Saturday night, largely (ok, only) because Nipples' wife is significantly religious, and has quite a little community of folks there to say hi too. So, Nipples went (besides, the choir sang at their wedding, and he was grateful.)

Anyway, the event was an annual dinner and raffle to benefit the church. So, Nipples, with his last two dollars, bought two raffle tickets and sat down to dinner. At the table were several people Nipples didn't really know, including a nun, Sr. Anne, who drank lots. In fact, Sr. Anne was kind enough to swipe bottles of wine off other tables in the room, much to the glee of Nipples!

After dinner, everyone made their way into the main hall for the raffle. Well, I'll be darned if Nipples didn't see Sr. Anne drop five or so of her tickets (she had bought many more; a strand had fallen.) Being the good sir he is, Nipples scooped up the tickets and pursued the weaving, staggering nun. "Sister Anne!" he cried, "Sister Anne!" Finally, Nipples caught up to her and tapped her on the shoulder. She turned.

"Sister Anne, you dropped your tickets."

"Aaaah, thank you. You are an honest gentleman."

"Are you shitting me? You're a nun, and we're in a church."

(after thinking for a minute)

"You're right, you'd go to hell. Need a drink?"

Oh, Nipples. Will you ever win?

A trifle on the side.

2007-01-21T13:49:00.000-05:00

I found myself wanting to add a bunch of foodie stuff to my blog, but felt it woul clutter up the focii too much. So, I put the thoughts where they belongs; on thier own site. Hope you like it and get something from it/give something to it.

Where do all the good ones go?

2007-01-21T13:38:00.000-05:00

To Cleveland, I guess, at $3 million for a year.

Thanks, Trot, for representing the Red Sox as well as anyone in the last twenty years. I will wear your #7 pridefully.

Coffee, Tea, or...Lovecraft?

2007-01-14T12:32:00.000-05:00

Reading The Fox's blog entry regarding his love of books in general, fantasy in particular, did, amongst several things, remind me how much I love horror. Specifically, the mind-numbing terror stuff that robs me of my ability to sleep. Yes, I admit, I dig some of the slasher stuff too, where people are butchered just for the sake of butchery, but I generally prefer stuff that makes me shiver. So, in deference to my esteemed (and quite well-read) colleague, I submit my own version of his questionaire, though I disclaim any similarities to his entry other than format; remember, this is the guy that has an approximate IQ of 312, yet maintains Bogart is superior to Sinatra. Thanks for making me thing, Fox.

Fox's List (adapted for horror by Bunny.)

1. Science fiction, fantasy, or horror?
Horror, please. I don't get much out of the other two genres. Horror in all its forms (slasher, psychological, et cetera) gives me the creeps, and I dig that.
2. Hardback, trade paperback, or mass-market paperback?
No hardback for me. I can always tuck a paperback or two into my jacket pockets. Not so with HC.
3. Heinlein or Asimov?
I leave this question as-is because I have a funny story about Asimov. In art college, I had painting, and I completely hated it. This was simply because I suck at it, knew it, and chose to focus on my strengths instead of bettering a weakness in this context. I had accepted the reality of a six-week project representing 50% of my grade. It was to be a portrait. Can you guess who I painted? Yep! Asimov. I was working part-time at a bookstore at the time, and Asimov had just died, so he was emphasized in the marketing displays. I chose to paint a portrait of an older Asimov, and the background was outer space. Well, my judgement of my abilities was spot on, and my painting, when hung up with everyone else's for critique, garnered such encouraging (yet surprisingly accurate) reviews as, "I didn't know balloons could float that high," and "despite what physics you may choose to employ, eggs cannot remain staticly positioned in the heavens, even if they do look like Burl Ives (that is who that is, right?)" Other than that, I pick Asimov, for the sole reason that he wrote "Realm of X", where X was a scientific subject. I've never had a more clear and understandable explanation of calculus, neither before nor after.
4. Amazon or brick-and-mortar?
Brick and fucking mortar. As the son of a small business owner, I vehemently object to big-box anything, even if it's on-line. Now, I agree with Fox that the way-out-of-the-ordinary book that you have given true dilligence in finding locally and can't may merit using Amazon, or Amazon UK (for example, my wife's Harry Potter editions she can only get from the UK or Canada.) Otherwise, they can piss off.
5. Barnes & Noble or Borders?
Borders – better store layout, greater likelyhood of finding the aforementioned wierd tomes.
6. Hitchhiker or Discworld?
Don't know either of 'em, but Fox's link to The Luggage may make me check this one out...
7. Bookmark or dog-ear?Bookmark.
Both, whatever is possible when I need to stop. I usually use the receipt of the purchase as the bookmark; it's interesting to see my collection grow over the years.
8. Magazine: Asimov's Science Fiction or Fantasy & Science Fiction?
Neither. Haven't read either.
9. Alphabetize by author, by title, or random?
I organize by a) author, b) genre, and c) book size. Thus, all of one author' s books are together, but not necessarily in any further sort pattern than that.
10. Keep, throw away, or sell?
I keep most of 'em, and donate the rest (what few escape my clutches. I hope to someday have a home library where all the walls are bookcases teeming with words.)
11. Year's Best Science Fiction series (edited by Gardner Dozois) or Years Best SF series?Neither. Never heard of either of them.
12. Keep dustjacket or toss it?
I'd keep it if I bought hardcovers. But, I'm a paperback freak myself.
13. Read with dustjacket or remove it?
See #12.
14. Short story or novel?
I enjoy both, but prefer novels because I really get to know the characters. If it's a short story or novella that I'm reading, I need the characters to be intensely present, or I find myself having little emotional investment in their outcomes, which is a problem in horror fiction.
15. Harry Potter or Lemony Snicket?
Harry Potter for me. I love that bad things happen in the stories; children's tales where people are bewitched and killed and injured! Love it! The Brits must have better-adjusted kids than us. When it comes to PC and 'protecting' the fragile little minds of kids today, I find it sickening. Let your children see what a dead squirrel on the side of the road looks like, explain truthfully what happend (not, "he's in squirrel heaven where he eats nut sundaes every day!"), and move on. Let your child digest it, and do the same.
16. Stop reading when tired or at chapter breaks?
When I’m tired, and at the top of a page. I can't keep reading just to get to a chapter for the sake of doing so. I'll not pay any attention to the material.
17. "It was a dark and stormy night" or "Once upon a time"?
Dark and stormy night. Especially if in that night there is a malevolent creature with fangs, a raspy growl, and no sense of mercy.
18. Buy or borrow?
Buy, almost always. Remember! The bookcase!
19. Buying choice: book reviews, recommendation, or browse?
I am a fan of reading other writer's suggestions. I am currently reading books recommended by Stephen King, and they encompass many genres and styles. I find it helpful to digest his works after learning more about what he feels is impressionable. But, I do admit going into bookstores, and purchasing a book solely on the title or cover. It's fun to discover something completely random.
20. Lovecraft or King?
It's been said Lovecraft wrote fewer than 5,000 words of dialogue in his career, and that King writes that per book. I give the vote to King with the proviso that Lovecraft was superior in create an environment you just couldn't wait to get the hell out of. King wins because, once he had you and the characters there, what you thought the worst that could happen, did.
21. Slasher or psycho-thriller?
Psycho-thriller, quest que cest?
22. Collection (short stories by the same author) or anthology (short stories by different authors)?
In this, I actually agree with Fox in the fantasy world; I love Bradbury.
23. Hugo or Nebula?
Don't know em!
24. Golden Age horror or New Wave horror?
Give me slightly older-school. The new stuff is just for shock-value.
25. Tidy ending or cliffhanger?
If by tidy, you mean many dead and some come-uppance? Then tidy it is!
26. Morning, afternoon, or nighttime reading?
I get to read a little in the morning, and I spend my lunchtime at work buried in a novel, but I love reading in bed at night until I'm sleepy. I tend to read multiple books at once. At the moment, I'm working on three different books. As Fox said, there is plenty of time, you just have to find it.
27. Standalone or series?
Can't really choose. I generally like stand-alones, but a good series is well worth the read.
28. Urban fantasy or high fantasy?
I can't say I really know the difference. So, uh, I guess...high.
29. New or used?
For me, used. Spending time perusing the shelves of disheveled books is time well-spent. Especially when you locate that book you've been looking for forever.
30. Favorite book of which nobody else has heard?
Lives of the Monster Dogs - Kirsten Bakis
31. Top X favorite genre books read last year? (Where X is 5 or less)
Dirty White Boys, Steven Harris; Footprints of God, Greg Iles
32. Top X favorite genre books of all time? (Where X is 5 or less)
Hannibal, Thomas Harris; The Exorcist, William Blatty; The Hellbound Heart, Clive Barker; Needful Things, Stephen King
33. X favorite genre series? (Where X is 5 or less)
Hellraiser, Clive Barker; The Hannibal Lecter series (The Silence of the Lambs, Hannibal, Red Dragon, Manhunter);
34. Top X favorite genre short stories? (Where X is 5 or less)
Any Poe you please. Also, I dig some Kafka when my life makes too much sense. And Bradbury.

Yawn.

2007-01-12T09:51:00.000-05:00

I fully concur, my friend. In fact, I think I'ma gonna go back to bed.

(For those not in the know, this is Rudie Pie. He's our ska pup. Rocksteady.)

I need to feel better. N-O-W.

2007-01-11T22:22:00.000-05:00

Just thinking about the dinner earlier is making me all antsy in the pantsy. I need something to calm my nerves. Something to re-ground my sensibilities. In short, something to make the pain go away.

But what?

Cognac? Perhaps. Hmmmmm....nah.

Sambuca? Better, but still nots whats I'se needs.

Ah yes.

I have it.

A good, old-fashioned, no-nonsense picture of some sausages.

That's it, my deliciously corpulent little links of delight; give daddy his medicine.

Aaaaahhhhhh.

Yuck.

2007-01-11T21:02:00.000-05:00

Carmen and I were presented an opportunity this evening to experience a little slice of "Restaurant Week," a twice-yearly, week-long event when local, up-scale restaurants offer a limited menu for (usually) half-price. A great way to try the better restaurants around town without dropping hundreds of dollars doing it. Last time, we tried Corduroy , and had a wonderful time doing so. This time...well, we weren't so lucky.

This time we tried The Monocle, a "DC institution" where loads-o-senators and congressmen go to chat it up and make "important" decisions over a $30 steak. We were offered this opportunity via a co-worker who couldn't make the reservation after all, and offered it to us. Gladly, we accepted. Here's what we (well, I, anyway) found.

The decor: old-style interior with fabric wallpaper and a gold-and-crimson color pallete. The interior was comfortable and inviting. Lining the crown molding were painted slogans saying things like, "If you want a friend in Washington - get a dog," and "An attack unanswered is an attack believed." Ok. That's a little disheartening, but, whatever. I think politics suck, and I'm pretty certain politics feels the same about me. No love lost there.

The menu: The menus rolled out for Restaurant Week comprise a limited selection of items, but in no way are the selections poor or second-class. The Monocle offered an appetizer (fried calimari, roasted vegetables with goat cheese, or any salad or soup you wanted), a main course (filet mignon, grilled salmon, or shrimp and orzo), and dessert (creme brulee, cheesecake, or chocolate cake) for a grand total of $30. Sounds too good to be true, right? Read on. Of course, the full menu is available, but not as part of the week.

The food: This is really all I cared about; this, and the wine list of course. Being the complete epicurean, I like to peruse all the meats of the cultural stew. First, the wine list. It was mediocre at best. It had a grand total of roughly thirty wines to choose from. But I'm totally ok with that; the restaurant never claims to be a vintner-grade place, so there is no foul. Carmen got a Californian Viognier. Myself, a central-coast Chardonnay for the apps, and a French Pinot Noir for din-din. The apps were pretty solid. Carmen got a tossed salad with hearts of palm, and a decent vinaigrette. I got the fried calimari. The rings were delicious, and served with a spiced pepper aoili. Good stuff, save for the unfavorable ratio of squigglies to rings. I estimated the ratio of tentacles to rings at roughly 1:1.75...WAY too close. There should be significantly more rings than squigglies, say to the order of 1:3.5 or 1:4. Anything less, and it's like picking through a graveyard of dead bodies to find the little fried pots of ringed gold. Yay to the flavor and cooking of said calimari, boo to the ratio. For the main course, Carmen got the shrimp and orzo in a cream sauce. In her words, it was "more creamy than I thought it would be." She rated her main course a 5.25/10.00. Not a solid outing. For me? I got the "Filet Mignon with Mushrooms, Peppers, and Onions in a Red Wine Reduction Sauce." The owner should really pay attention to whoever is printing the menus for his establishment, because what I got was "Sad Little Pieces of Brownish Meat with Limpy Peppers, Green Mushrooms, and No Onions in a Sickly Sweet Burgundy-Colored 'Sauce' that Tasted Like Chef Boyardee Mixed One Part Cat Puree With Three Parts Ketchup." Now, I completely understand that, during a week-long event like this where your profit margin as a restaurant tanks, the plan is to placate the masses, HOWEVER, at least give them a reason NOT to refer to the inconsistent, oddly-sized brown things coming out of you an hour later as "Monocle Pies." Dessert? We both got the Creme Brulee (who wouldn't?). It can be said that, at least, the "chefs" are consistent. Imagine getting a ramekin that is really cold, with a rim that is almost unbearably hot. Yep. You guessed it. They took it out of the fridge, and ran a cooking torch over the top to caramelize the sugar to a crust. The result was a badly-burned crust with a near-frozen brulee underneath.

The bill: $133 with tip. How? Well, the booze and the extras. We figure we saved roughly $40 because of the weekly event. Thank God. $173 for that would have been like paying $500 to have a one-eyed prostitute f*ck a horse while you drank extra-dry vermouth from the bottle and watched while sitting on a broken glass-covered stool eighteen inches away; it sounds all cool and stuff, you know, a woman f*cking a horse! But then you're there, and it's like...uh...that's...a...woman....f*cking...a....horse.

The skinny: Look, I again concede this restaurant never touted itself as a mecca for higher-end cuisine. It's a place where pols meet to schmooze and conduct "legitimate government business." It NEVER overpromises, therefore it NEVER underdelivers. The place itself is attractive and comfortable. The staff was helpful and present (including the waiter at the end who told me I could go into the coat-check myself and to have a good night.) On paper, The Monocle looked good, maybe even worth the money. But when the tires hit the road? Well, let's just say I held off using their restroom for fear of leaving no extra bathroom tissue that might need to be hidden under "Red Wine Reduction Sauce" and passed off as "Filet Mignon" later on that night. Before or after use, that is.

Final scores:

Appearance: 7.25/10.00
Menu: 6.50/10.00
Service/Waitstaff: 6.75/10.00
Food: (as props in a Three Stooges Bathroom Skit, 8.00/10.00; as-is 4.00/10.00)
Wine List: 5.00/10.00
Cost (relative to value): 3.50/10.00

Overall: 4.25/10.00

Blech!

2007: The Year of Revelations...

2007-01-09T19:10:00.000-05:00

Even in this early stage of this young, young year, I have already come to terms with some truths in my life. To preclude my becoming boring, I will not list them all right now, lest I become boring and, (eek!) pedestrian in my musings. Here are a couple to whet your whistles.

1. My favorite beer in the whole wide world, Belhaven, is precariously close to losing it's rank. I know, I know. Crazy talk, right? I'm sure you're thinking, "ahah! Now High Life can take it's rightful place at the Zeus slot of the beer pantheon!" Well, I can't rightfully say that just yet, true as it might turn out. No, the dark horse in this whole shebang is Hoegaarden, a wonderful Belgian white. If you haven't had one yet, go ahead. I'll wait. No, even better, I'll buy. I will keep all posted on my intensive research and testing. I hope to have a winner within a month or two.

2. Being married is a lot more difficult than I thought it would be. Another shocker, I know. Especially for anyone who has ever known me. But it's true; marriage is not all backrubs and delicious turkey dinners and pudding fights on tarps and sock puppets with dirty names like "Nipples the Curious Sockpuppet" and the like. No, my little monkeys, it's filled with things like cleaning up after yourself! It's about minimizing the wake of destruction you leave after using the bathroom to get ready in the morning! They expect you to shave! You can't go around arbitrarely buying socks and naming them 'Nipples'! Fortunately, I have a great teammate in all of this, and in the end, I outweigh her by roughly 85 pounds, so it would be quick if it went too far.

3. I LOVE horror. Of all kinds. Movies. Books. Folklore. Whatever. I love the macabre (something I share with my sis,) in all its manifestations. If you have a recommendation, lemme know! I'll try to do the same. But... please make it good. I'm not looking for slasher flicks like "Halloween 7" unless you can substantiate why it's good. I'm looking for quality here, people! I promise to deliver the same.

Ok, more revelations later. Now, I would like to take a moment to congratulate the up-coming class of Rock-and-Roll Hall Of Fame inductees...

That's right. The Mighty VH is getting into the RRHOF, and gets to walk down the elegial aisle with Grandmaster Flash himself. The ceremony is March 12th. Any takers to go witness some history? Can't you just picture it? Eddie wailing to the docit tones of "White Lines"? Or GMF bustin' wylde to "Atomic Punk"? Let's roll! (Like my hand-made logos? There are certain trademark rules one must follow.)

In fact, in honor of the occassion, I invite you to take this brief quiz...

For Mike...

Dear Mike, as I understand it, you dare question VH's veracity in entering the RRHOF. Here are some points to think about.

1. Van Halen has, to date, sold more than 75 million albums. This is roughly 40 million more albums than 1999 inductees The Staple Singers.

2. Van Halen has exactly one number-one hit, "Jump." This happens to be the same as 1998 inductee Lloyd Price ("Stagger Lee".) Of course, "Stagger Lee" lasted only four weeks. "Jump"? Five.

3. Van Halen was performing and touring over a span of 27 years (unfortunately, it pains me to concede this includes the most-unfortunate Van Halen III. I also confess I have never heard any of it. I refuse to.) My point? They had a longer active career than 1987 inductee Clyde McPhatter (I will also confess "McPhatter" is a cooler last name than "Van Halen", at least, until you're older than 24.)

4. According to VH1's 100 Greatest Artists of Rock and Roll, Van Halen ranks #48. And, while they don't top artists like Led Zepplin (#4), U2 (#29), and Prince (#18), they do best Frank Zappa (#64), Johnny Cash (#89), and Stevie Ray Vaughn (#70). Now, I know what you're saying..."that's can't be right. Those statistics are rigged!" Fair enough. Conveniently, VH1 also solicited public opinion and found Van Halen at #31 (even better!), still ahead of Zappa (#58), Cash (#87), and SRV (#70.) In fact, vox populi ranked VH ahead of Miles Davis (#73), Janis Joplin (#35), and The Police (#34)! Suck it!

5. Number 2, baby. 'Nuff said. Thank you, KISW. Thank you.

Ball's in your court, my friend. Bring it.

The Giver of Fish Returneth...

2006-11-07T23:09:00.000-05:00

Monkeys.

Hello.

Remember me?

I know some of you do.

I know I do.

Sort of. (kinda hazy).

Lots to talk about.

Much and many happenings.

But...

Know this.

Der Mann Der Den Kindern Fische und Freude überall Gibt habe heute geturnischt.

(and if you don't remember my June, '04 entry, I'll translate...)

The Giver of Fish and Joy To Children Everywhere Has Returned.

bis bald.

Let's get one thing straight...

2005-04-23T20:06:00.000-04:00

OK, my monkeys. There has been some debate over the outcome of a battle of me versus TMS. Let's look at some facts.

1. It is true I like beer and sausage more then TMS. Edge: TMS.
2. I move with the speed of a drunk mongoose with the speed of TWO drunken mongooses. Edge: Bunny.
3. Steve Perry is on my side. Edge: WAY Bunny.
4. TMS can see her feet. Edge: TMS.
5. I can see TMS's feet. Edge: Bunny.
6. TMS can recite every Supreme Justice ever born. Ever. Edge: Bunny (distraction by me.)
7. Bunny likes bacon. (ahh, the power of bacon.) Edge: Bunny.

Clearly, I would win by a score of 5-2. Of course, this does not factor in such elements as physical prowess or stamina, bu that doesn't matter.

Bacon rules us all in one form or another.

See you soon, monkeys.

I finally figured it out.

2005-04-06T13:32:00.000-04:00

I always had a hard time articulating my love for baseball relative to football. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy football greatly, and follow it passionately when in season. I love my Pats, and the joyous barbeques they bring and cause.

But let's get one thing straight right now.

Football is no baseball, and it never will be. At least not for me.

For me, football is pablum when steak is not available. It is brown, when orange is sold out.

As I (frequently) get into battles with football fans, I usually fail miserably.

Untill now.

I have finally figured out a way to express my feelings for baseball versus football. Interestingly, it came to me in the form of a comparative statement. So, here it is.

My Baseball Comparative Statement

Baseball is to football as chess is to foxy boxing.

I think that works rather well. Of course, I invite all opinions on the matter.

Meanwhile, the Sox are 0-2, and Barry Fucking Bonds* is still roaming the planet, albeit on crutches (coincidence? Maybe Barry Fucking Bonds, as the piece of dog shit he is, is using the "injury" as time to allow his head to shrink back down to a normal human's head before resuming his pitiful subterfuge of denial.)

But I don't even care. I'll be in Boston soon (two days) hanging with the posse, awaiting Opening Day (fa-la-la-la-la-la-la) and the purchase of my shiny new jersey. (Who to get? I haven't decided.)

See you wacky cheeseburgers and hamburgers soon.

A.

A sad entry.

2005-04-06T13:30:00.000-04:00

To Heather and Chuck;

I am truly sorry for the loss of your father. I can't begin to comprehend what that feels like; it scares me to know I will someday.

To everyone else;

Call your dad (and mom) and tell them you love them. Do it right now.

Mine Eyes Hath Seen The Glory...

2005-02-18T13:49:00.000-05:00

My God.

I just finished watching A League Of Thier Own.

My God.

I never realized how much of a perfect synthesis of all that is right in this world that movie is.

Baseball and chicks.

Chicks and baseball.

Chicks playing baseball.

Hot chicks playing baseball.

Hot chicks playing baseball in skirts!

My God.

And if you took out Rosie "Ima Guy" O'Donell and Madonna, they'd be Hella-hot chicks playing baseball in skirts.

Although, truth be told, I can think of one other cutie that would look hella-hot in one of dem dere outfits, and she'd make one hell of a second baseman. (I'd pay to see her hit fifth or sixth. My money's on .295/20/85, OPB .800 anyway; she's too swank to throw out.)

Now, excuse me whilst I go do just that.

11 days, 23 hours, 16 minutes until spring training.

Fuck....us!

A treatise in self-doubt.

2005-02-16T16:43:00.001-05:00

Hello, friends.

I am writing today to speak to an issue many feel uncomfortable talking about.

Yes, I'm speaking of the inner Steve Perry in us all.

I've gotten a really interesting smattering of responses from people regarding my Steve Perry test. Almost all have been positive, and I've really enjoyed watching people learn which SP they are. but, there are those that doubt. I guess I can understand this. And to those I say; don't be afraid. I know you question yourselves. I know you have concerns. But that's ok. Noone wants to learn more about themselves when that knowledge could compromise one's self-image.

I'm talking to you, Foxxe. Don't worry. Take the test, and have the courage to learn more about yourself than you thought possible.

And to others I say this; help me put the Foxxe at ease. Write to him. Comment on his blog. Let him know we will continue to love and respect him regardless of which Steve Perry is truly is.

We're here for you Foxxe.

I think Steve said it best when he penned Rubicon. Foxxe, here are the lyrics just for you. Garner strength from them, friend, and take the quiz.

We love you, Foxxe. Take a ride across the Rubicon, my friend; burning youth won't wait.

Rubicon

In this promised land
Fire burnin in our hands
The choice is ours to make
Realize your fantasy
You live the dream
With every step you take
Stand tall stand on the edge
Use the thin end of the wedge
The will to cast your fate
Don't turn around too late
Lose ground if we hesitate
Burning youth won't wait

Make a move across the rubicon
Futures knockin' at your door
Take your time
And choose the road you want
Opportunity is yours

See it all so clear
Time is right time is near
We know now what to do
All God's children learn
Which way to turn
Turning back we're through
We all refuse to lose
Live life and light the fuse
Burning youth won't wait

It's about friggin' time.

2005-02-15T17:24:00.000-05:00

Everyone, stop what you are doing and take this test right now. I designed it to bring out the truth in everyone. Actually, all it does it show you what you already know.

Good luck!

The best of something or another...

2005-02-06T16:05:00.000-05:00

Yeah, I've lived a little bit. Maybe more than a little bit. Okay, a lot.

And what have I seen? What has life been gracious enough to show me, and divinity been kind enough to allow me to see it and appreciate it for what it is?

Well, let's just think about that, shall we?

What is the greatest x you've ever encountered or experienced?

I'll tell you what...I'll start. Then, I implore you to speak up; enthrall me with your acumen into your own lives.

Let's root around the dank, stale basements of our pasts and dust off those artifacts that shine the brightest in spite of the crust of funk the daily grind applies with a frightening speed...

The Best Wine I've Ever Drank Straight From the Bottle: 1998 Bernard Morey Grand Cru Batard-Montrachet. (Flippin' brilliant wine, even from the bottle.)

The Best Comfort Food I've Ever Had: Easy one; smack n' cheese with bits of hot dog in it.

The Best Temperature I've Ever Felt: 78 degrees fahrenheit, while basking on a beach in Fort Lauderdale, Florida.

The Best Rock Concert I've Ever Attended: The Who, 2001, at the Tweeter Center in MA. It was soon after John Entwistle died of an overdose, so the band was kinda sad, but completely committed to providing a kick-ass show in his honor. If you've never heard a six-minute live introduction to Eminence Front, you have not lived, my friends.

The Best Beer I've Ever Had: Pete's Wicked Winter Brew. A retardedly yummy blend of beer, raspberries, and nutmeg. If they had added oral sex and sirloin steak to the recipe, I would have to have killed myself out of sheer recognition that life would simply never get any better.

The Best Snack Food I've Ever Had: Andy Capp's Pub Fries. They no longer make them. They were like Bugles, only with a rockstar factor of about twelve. So, of course, they discontinue them and risk evoking my ire. (Note to self: cut them. Cut them all.)

The Best Bullshit Excuse For Not Calling Me I've Ever Heard: "I'm sorry I didn't call. I was in Times Square and couldn't find a pay phone."

Ok, now it's your turn. And be creative. Favorite songs, movies, et al are great but somewhat mundane, eh? Let's drop trou and get to the nitty-gritty!

The Greatest Opening Lines.

2005-02-02T11:17:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, I find myself experiencing an opening line to a book, song, or poem that is wonderous. And, since I know you little monkeys have opinions on the matter, I figured I'd open the floor up. I'll start it off with some entries (in no particular order.)

"Call me Ishmael"

-Moby Dick, Herman Melville

"Wasting away the hours that make up a lonely day/
fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way"

-Time, Pink Floyd

"Dearly beloved,
We are gathered here today
2 get through this thing called life"

-Let's Get Crazy, Prince

Naptown Dandy (or, New Character brings it.)

2005-02-02T11:09:00.000-05:00

This just in... (not really)

New Character came to Naptown last weekend. The mission? To bring it to a whole new level.

Boy howdy.

A few first-period cocktails at 14F, then off to the local for a night of sippy-sippy and guy-spying for NC. We introduced her around a bit, and she took to the skies. many drinks later, she was getting felt-up on the dance floor, and invited to birthday parties.

Well done, madam. Well done.

Before I forget...

2005-02-01T14:48:00.000-05:00

Here is a transcript of Master Clark's New Year's Eve Speech. As with last year, he chickened out at the last moment, and only I got to hear the speach. I coaxed the paper from his hand, as all should have access to the speech. So, here it is. (If you like, imagine yourself all dolled up and buzzed for effect.)

Clark Madden's 2005 New Year's Eve Speech

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen; let me first thank our kind hosts at 14 Fleet. The standard for parties here was already very high; but I think we can agree this one shatters all previous records.

Speaking of parties past, Adam kindly asked me to offer the toast last year, and I actually wrote one, but I chickened out at the last moment. Now, however, fortified by a small washbasin of excellent martinis and the events of the year, I hope I am ready to embark.

I considered a number of different approaches; an Annapolis-themed parody of War of the Worlds, a Donald Rumsfeld-style Q&A session, a discussion of the election to be entitled "What the Expletive Happened?" But, ultimately, I couldn't make any of them work. I was temped to recycle last year's "The Year That Was" format, but instead, in keeping with the party's theme I respectfully submit our "Year That Will Be: A Vision of Annapolis in 2015."

Much of this glimmering city of the future remains familiar; the State House, the ridiculously overpowered and unimaginative private motor yachts and parking, even of hover cars, continues to suck. But much has changed too; and entire "Escape From New York"-style district has sprung around the ruins of the old Mexican Cafe and only those actually able to breathe magnificant bathtub tequila dare enter to forage for Huevos Rancheros and barter for illicit Parliaments, the only cigarette available.

Polar melting has submerged much of City Dock, and the construction of seventy-two new circles, a project begun in 2006 and still largely incomplete, make accessing the city center harder than it's been in a hundred years. One building clings tenaciously to life in the waters off State Circle; a lively underwater cantina, known simply as "14 F." There atop nimble robot bodies are the heads of Centamore, (sic), and Marshall, immersed in sweet, delicious liquor hosting parties and thrilling the younger guests with stories of a time before Astrolounge (TM, 2010) became a household name.

This concludes our tour of Annapolee 2105, home of the nation's largest interstellar boat show. Thank you for indulging me; to 2005, happiness, prosperity, and two o'clock licenses for all.

Happy New Year.

HEED THIS WARNING, CHICKEN FUCKERS.

2005-01-31T13:49:00.000-05:00

If ANYONE, repeat ANYONE, EVER gets me this for ANY occassion EVER (!) I will HUNT your ass down and I...will...CUT...YOU.

Thank you for your attention in these matters.

The Costs of Doing Business with The Foxxe.

2005-01-30T15:15:00.000-05:00

Ok. We need to talk.

The Foxxe's reaction to my op-ed piece on his manse was, I think, misguided. Let me refresh your memories...

I wrote a delightful satirical piece on Dan's Mansion, and included some of his most fervent fans. Sure, I took the liberty of doing so in a light-hearted "Medieval" tongue, but what the heck? He wanted to keep the drawbridge up all the time!

his response?

"Oh, for shame! And oh how the mighty have fallen. Once the Bunny roamed the frozen wastes of the Greater Quincy area and neither rain nor sleet nor snow would keep him from his appointed rounds. Now he quivers in fear at the thought of a mere four inches of snow.The Land of Pleasant Living has made you soft and weak, oh fretful Bunny. You must be... corrected."

Soft and weak? SOFT AND WEAK?

Ahem.

My dear friend Dan, may I be the first to assure you I am neither soft nor weak. My reluctance to sojurn into the snowy day was not for want to do so, nor was it 'fear' of the snow. Unfortunately, you seem to forget the utter lack of quality snow response is here; they have none. Four inches to them shuts things down. (Case in point: it snowed two inches yesterday, and half the town closed mid-day.) They don't know how to deal with it. And DC, believe it or not, is actually worse. (TMS, Whisky, Josh, back me up here.)

As far as "correcting me", well my friend, the Rockstar sayeth...

...bring it on, bitch.

(See you next week! I am ALL sorts of fired up.)

(For those not in the know, The Foxxe is comin' to town next weekend. Word.)

A Commentary on "A Man's Home."

2005-01-25T13:36:00.000-05:00

The Foxxe wishes a manse akin to this. Who can blame him? I would love it, and I don't really like large abodes. In this manner, I find my opinions commensurate with TSF.

From there out, we differ. Whereas Dan feels he would comport himself in a regal, medieval manner towards those who visited (denying all that refuse to address him in a particular lexicon), methinks the interactions would be more like this...

Dan's Mighty Mighty Castle, Part I (...or, the Princess approaches)

Heather approaches the upraised drawbridge, scans it over for a moment, and calls to Dan.

Heather: Dan! I'm here. Open up.
Dan: Callst me Lord of the Manor, and I shalst lettith you in, fair maiden!
H: Ha ha. Open the fucking door.
D: Whoist thinketh thine isethed? Darest you speaketh to me in sucheth a manor(eth)?
H: No, me thinketh if you don'teth open thine friggin' doorst, thy will findeth my foot in thine ass.
D: A parlay it is then! Knave! Openth the gate!

Dan's Mighty Mighty Castle, Part II (...or, rock you like a Bunnycane.)

I apporach the castle (all the while, learning how to spell "approach,") and call to Dan.

Adam: Dan-o! You magnificant bastard! Open up!
Dan: Hark! Doeth mine ears tell me truly? Is thateth the Bunnyethest?
A: Yep. Open up.
D: I can'st doeth thateth, my goodly friendst. Thine are awarest of the rules of thiseth fine castle?
A: (no response)
D: Speaketh, goodly sir!
A: (no response)

Dan looks over the edge of the wall, and sees me sitting on the ground drinking a High Life from the case I brought, flipping him the bird.

D: A parlay it is, then! Knave! Openeth the gate!

Dan's Mighty Mighty Castle, Part III (...or, gee, I hope it doesn't stain!)

Snuggles drives up in his pickup truck. Parking out front, he unloads the portable meat smoker from the bed. Grabbing his porta-cooler, he calls to Dan.

Snuggles: Dan! Open up! I'm eatin' corn!
Dan: Willsteth keepeth thine voice downeth? Mine neighbors areth nosy!
Snuggles: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Dan: Knave! Openeth the gate!
Snuggles: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! Oh, shit(eth)! Sorry, Dan, I got some
barbeque sauce on your door! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Dan: Cometh in, good sir, and leaveth some of the joy and pork ribs you bringst with you!
Snuggles: WHOOOP! WHOOOP! BOOBIES! Here, have a rib.
Dan: Methinks theseth are the finest ribs thou hast hadeth since morns goneth by!
Snuggles: Are you ok, Dan? Are you RETAHDED or somethin'? When's the game on?
Dan: Goodly friendeth, kindly useth mine "Bounty" brand paper towelseth, as thine are getting rib bits on myst coucheth.
Snuggles: You got the remote? The Sox are on.
Dan: Sigh(eth)(est).

Yeah, that seems much more like it. Good luck, Dan. And a bit of advice; put plastic over the really classy stuff...party at your house.

Into the breach once more...

2005-01-24T17:27:00.000-05:00

Howdy, monkeys.

How you been?

Since I last wrote, many interesting thinks have crossed my stars. Many indeed. Of note...

1. I am amidst a 'career change' at the moment.
2. The Pats are returning to their 3rd Super Bowl in four years in a couple of weeks.
3. I haven't summoned up the courage to fight my non-existant heroin addiction.
4. I have a tête-à-tête over raw fish coming up with a most delightful unofficial singer.
5. I still have two (count 'em, two) testicles.
6. I'm catching a fair amount of flack over my lack of entries.

My apologies to all. It's been a VERY interesting 2005 thus far, and if these first few weeks are plotting any kind of a graph for the rest of the year, I submit the following odds for your considerations.

Odds & Event

10:1

Rampant, drunk jackaloupe holds me at gunpoint while humping
my leg and calling me "Tess."

77:1

Inexplicably, NASA calls me asking for advice on how to properly
perform a competent azimuth calibration while riding a train. Even
more inexplicably, I happen to know the answer.

4:1

One of you will receive a call from me seeing if you know the whereabouts of either my dignity, my kidneys, or my autographed picture of the cast from Gilligan's Island. These odds include the likelihood of their having run off together.

1,375,999:2

I trick a beautful woman into dating me, and she somehow overlooks my proclivity for being an utter jackass.

34,632,867,234:1

At some point she (willingly) gives it up for the home team (ooh! bet on this one! You'll win $34.6 billion dollars for each dollar you bet! Foxxe, this can pay for the bar we always wanted. Can you say "black and ham"?)

17:1

I will conquer the whole "light without heat" argument, and go on to win the Nobel Peace Prize for Pie Eating.

81:3

Hollywood digititizes my likeness and re-masters an episode of Knight Rider to include me driving next to Kit in the Trans-Am from Smokey and the Bandit. I would have a catch phrase like, "Hey, muffins, drop that hat!", or, "Smellin' fine, baby, what's your face?"

107:1

I survive to turn 35.

yep, sure is going to be interesting.

The Politics Of Dancing...

2004-12-19T16:48:00.000-05:00

Sup, fools?

Having a good weekend, I hope. I am, of sorts anyway. I once again successfully drank the local out of High Life Light on Saturday night. Speaking of insane, we were all gettin' down Saturday night at the local to the docit tones of the housse band who was kickin' it old style. The door opens, and roughly 45 Santas come through the door on a pub crawl. Oh, and an Elvis impersonator from Vegas happened to be there as well. Crazy, crazy shite, folks.

Some updates for New Years;

a. Our confirmed list has cleared the sixty person mark. About 70 more responses to go.
b. My folks might attend (sweet. that is, until about 1130. eek. Sorry in advance, mom.)
c. We have a little somthin' somethin' for midnight that Chapman, the Foxxe, Jesse, Ronan, and Garrett will totally dig.
d. The soundtrack this year will be neat-o. Working on it as I type this.

We're getting closer.

As for the Foxxe's last entry. I agree with his selection. I will also add National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation for a few reasons. One, Beverly D'Angelo is tres hot. Two, Randy Quaid is hysterical. And three, it's one of Chevy Chase's swan songs. As far as accompanying activities, I don my authentic Chicago Blackhawks "Griswold" jersey, identical to the one he wore in the movie. Yes, kiddies, I was so enthralled with Clark W. Griswold when I was 19 that I spent $300 to have the Blackhawks make me that jersey. Well, the good news is that they thought it was such a cool idea, they made an additional jersey, had him sign it, and it is hanging in their corporate office. Hmmm.

Talk with ya soon!

Ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb.

2004-12-14T19:09:00.000-05:00

"Can't stay at home, can't stay at school
Old folks say, ya poor little fool
Down the street I'm the girl next door
I'm the fox you've been waiting for..."

Can I get a "what what"?

I mean it. Can somebody, anybody, give me a "what what"?

It's been that kind of day.

Why?

Damn good question. I can't even figure it out. Except for the following...

1. Christmas is almost here.
2. I'm not dead.
3. I got my live "Styx & REO Speedwagon: Arch Allies" CD today, and there isn't a damn thing that the Fox or Heather can do about it, even though they are likely writhing in agony as they read this.

(In fact, before I continue, I shall now publish the lyrics to Take It On The Run. Enjoy!)

"Take It On The Run" [Originally by REO Speedwagon]

Heard it from a friend who
Heard it from a friend who
Heard it from another you been messin' around

They say you got a boy friend
You're out late every weekend
They're talkin' about you and it's bringin' me down
But I know the neighborhood
And talk is cheap when the story is good
And the tales grow taller on down the line

But I'm telling you, babe
That I don't think it's true, babe
And even if it is keep this in mind
You take it on the run baby
If that's the way you want it baby
Then I don't want you around
I don't believe it
Not for a minute
You're under the gun so you take it on the run

You're thinking up your white lies
You're putting on your bedroom eyes
You say you're coming home but you won't say when
But I can feel it coming
If you leave tonight keep running
And you need never look back again

You take it on the run baby
If that's the way you want it baby
Then I don't want you around
I don't believe it
Not for a minute
You're under the gun so you take it on the run
You take it on the run baby
If that's the way you want it baby
Then I don't want you around
I don't believe it
Not for a minute
You're under the gun so you take it on the run

Heard it from a friend who
Heard it from a friend who
Heard it from another you been messin' around

Now, where was I? Oh, yes...

4. New Year's is not too dar away, and I have a wonderful collection of misfits coming down for Astrolounge 2005; the New Year's Eve Party of Tomorrow...Today!

Now, more than a few of you have been wondering what this "Astrolounge 2005; the New Year's Eve Party of Tomorrow...Today!" is all about, and I can't says I's blames ya! Oh well. I can say I am more than thrilled at the prospect of having everyone (especially my brother and sister; Team Centamore is ready to bring the shit and get it ON!!!

(And how do we like my fancy Trebuchet font?)

It's going to be hella good stuff, man. Remember!

1. If you're on the guest list, righteous!
2. If you're not on the guest list, ask yourself two questions.
a. am I a swank chick?
b. am I single?
If you can answer yes to those two questions, You're on the list!

I wish I could give you more details, but we want you to be surprised. I can tell you this, though.

-To make this party happen, we needed a chainsaw.
-When all is said and done, over ten pounds of metal will have been used.
-I will be extra, super charming that night, especially after nine or so. Be sure to stop by and say hi!

Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go try and find the fox in that song...

More later, all.

Ciao!

Five Reasons Why Barry Bonds* Can Go Fuck Himself.

2004-12-07T09:09:00.000-05:00

5. His Babe Ruth comments.
4. "T could mean anything," Bonds* replied. "G could mean anything. And pee could probably mean anything."
3. Captain fucknuts (er, Mr. Bonds*) has the audacity to state he took steroids under the assumption they were flaxseed oil and arthritis medications.
2. When asked why he hadn't purchased a "mansion" for his personal pusher, oops I mean trainer, he responded thusly; ""One, I'm black, and I'm keeping my money. And there's not too many rich black people in this world. There's more wealthy Asian people and Caucasian and white. And I ain't giving my money up." Boy, oh boy, can he go fuck himself.
1. He has disgraced baseball and insulted the fans that supply his "black" money. Mr. Bonds*, kindly go fuck yourself.

(To all the ladies out there, my apologies for the harsh language. Mr. Bonds* has that effect on me. Not to fear, though, I am still the same old loveable Bunny I always was; I'm just faster and can jump higher now. Thank you.)

Back in the saddle.

2004-11-28T20:33:00.000-05:00

Hey ho, monkeys.

Been a spell, I know. Thanks for bearing with me.

In the interim since my last entry, everything and nothing has been occuring. No major news, I suppose. I was supposed to return to Boston this weekend, and once again work took care of that. At some point, one must ask if the existing circumstances merit continuing...

On the up side, I resumed writing and guitar playing. Sometimes we forget how good things can make you feel. These are two hobbies of mine that do it for me. (Thanks, whiskypants, for reminding me of that.)

New Year's Eve is fast approaching, and our plans are cruising along. Be on the lookout for an invitation shortly...

The battles on the chick front are not going so well. Ack. All sorts of garbage going on, but I will forego writing, as it will incur the wrath of at least one person (a DC socialite in particular). Same old poop, I guess.

Still in euphoria over the Sox win. It's really funny, because I often encounter someone wearing a yankees cap, and they can't look me in the face. Good. Fuck 'em. They're probably child molesters anyway. Next up, the Patriots.

More to follow, I promise. just in a bit of a funk.

Mason, Heather, and K.K., can't wait to see you guys. Three weeks. Get the Belhaven ready.

World Fuckin' Serious.

2004-10-27T16:30:00.000-04:00

On the day of the eve of what could be a historic night before tomorrow, I have a few thoughts and ramblings to share.

1. I still believe in Baseball Jesus. As much now as ever before. He has been my beacon of hope since game 1 of the yanks series when He showed me that it's about the team, and not just Schilling. (Schilling getting creamed game 1 was my fault; I was pulling for him, not the team. I have since corrected that, obviously.)

2. You can grow to love a new hat. No, she's not like my first, but she's 3-0, and she's mine.

3. I feel badly for St. Louis fans, especially Abbypilot and New Character. No, I am being smug at all; my statement has NOTHING to do with tonight. Rather, it's a display of sadness that Cardinals fans haven't to this point gotten what they deserve; you guys won 105 games, and went 6-0 in the postseason before the idiot bus stopped in your stadium. I really am sorry for you fans. I still hope you lose, but I feel for you.

4. Tonight, there is to be a lunar eclipse that is reportedly going to turn the moon red for a spell. We HAVE to win tonight; the world is with us, hell, even the moon is looking out for us.

5. It is 18 years ago today that the ball passed through the legs. Like we've said before, let's get all the friggin' shackles off in one year. And hopefully on the same day.

6. I love my friends, I love my life. But for tonight, there is nowhere on God's green earth I would rather be than at Abbotts, sitting with K, Rosco, The Silver FOx, Heather, Chuck, Magnum P.E.I., Chef Mike, Sonny, Siobhan, Snuggles, Cass, Jim, my Bro, Kirk, and countless Sox fans drinking the best beer $2.25 can buy, and waiting for that final pitch, that last moment, the ending SNAP of the ball hitting the glove (oh, by the way I am convinced the World Series this year will end with a K. Don't ask why or who, but I believe.) I miss you guys, never more so than now. But I hold my head high, and prepare to celebrate with Johnny, Proctor, SoCo, Lipstick Mike, the Bertrands, K-Swick, Abbypilot, the Euros, Josh the mosh, BDB, Ronan, Timmy, Heather, D&Z, and myriad people that are backing the Sox largely because I am. Thanks, guys.

7. Weird fact in case you missed it: The Celtics won their first championship against St. Louis (1957); the Bruins broke a 41-year Stanley Cup drought against St. Louis (1970); and the Patriots won their first Super Bowl against St. Louis (2002).

8. I hope they win it for my parents. My dad gets SO pissed at them for all their foibles. My mom gets pissed because the Sox take away from the Patriots news. Enjoy, Mom & Dad.

9. Fuck the Yankees.

10. I propose nicknaming A-Rod and Jeter "Slappy" and "Short-Rod." More fitting, I think.

11. God, I hope we re-sign Varitek.

12. No matter what happens tonight, the Red Sox have earned every one of my tears, laughs, vomit sprees, and clenched fists. Great season guys, thanks. Now go kick some ass.

13. I'm running out of reasons now to leave work early and get this party started....

You know what?

Bye.

(My predicition: Sox 7-Cardinals 3)

Only a few hours more...

2004-10-23T19:05:00.000-04:00

Sigh.

There is a delicate balance of power, influence, karma, and luck floating out there. Sometimes you are fortunate enough to have one or more of these elements swing in your favor. Other times, not so much as they move away from you. Ultimately, I believe, you break pretty much even, like in chance. For the brave and stupid, there are times where you try to evoke an element, or even (gulp) several. Brave and stupid indeed.

So, here I go at it. As you may recall, my precious BoSox hat was stolen by a cute Serbian chick. She even convinced me she had lost it. While I sat there, mumbling and almost weeping (the damn hat and I go back 10 years), it was divulged to me the hat is fine, resting comfortably and in good spirits while this ordeal perserveres. My tears of suffering turned to tears of happiness as I envisioned the streets of Annapolis running red with her blood. As I lept into action, I halted; the Sox are 4-0 with the hat in her possession. I can't break that. So, I have remained quiet, in the hopes the hat will stay exactly where it is. But I can't NOT wear anything Sox. That's just wrong. And my jersey has some weird vibes coming off it.

So I did the unthinkable. I went on the element-evoking offensive.

I bought a new hat.

It's cool. It's fitted, dark blue with a blue and white "B" on the front, and blue and white socks on the back. It similar to my old one, but not exact. There can only ever be one favorite hat in one's life.

I know it is a ballsy move, but I'll have you know I consulted with another member of Red Sox Nation. Thanks, Silver Fox, for giving me the go-ahead.

I've also changed my regimen. You may recall it was Dokken pre-game, no hat, and Raspberry Wheat. Well, I figure I have no right expecting more than the greatest comeback in sports history from that combination, so I changed it. And I'm kicking it up a notch by going alta-schula.

D.L.R.-era Van Halen pre-game, new hat with dark, angry colors, and bourbon (to be relieved only after having a sufficient amount. And then, the only acceptable substitute is Sox Nation's most stalwart ally, High Life.

Yeah, it's going to be messy, and some may not survive. But I'm ready to do what it takes.

I am the ruler of these nether worlds
The underground
On every wall and place my fearsome name is heard
Look around, whoa yeah
Nobody rules these streets at night like me,
nobody

The atomic punk.

Let's kick ass, boys.

Foxxe, man your positions. It's on.

World Fuckin' Serious.

Baseball, Jesus!

2004-10-21T09:20:00.000-04:00

The aftermath.

Sheesh, it's amazing. The World Series, for me, cannot possibly top what we've just been through. And yet, three days from now we enter the breach again.

Some random thoughts...

1. I can't decide who I would rather see in the WS. Houston has Clemens, St. Louis has 1946. Either way, f*ck the Yankees.

2. Some quotes from around the horn..

"They played better than us. That's basically it. You can come up with this or that, but the bottom line is that they beat us." - Short-Rod (Derek Jeter)

"Now they'll go back to the drawing board with next year in mind and a newfound hunger in their collective belly. Losing in the World Series to the best team in the other league is one thing -- failing four times in a row to dispatch their bitter rival is quite another. It will stick in their craw for the entire winter, even if they pretend that it doesn't matter. "
-www.newyorkyankees.com

"I said, 'Don't let us win Game 4.' If we win Game 4, that gets us to Pedro Martinez, and then that would get us to Curt Schilling." -Kevin Millar

3. Here's the secret: Josh had Smithwick's all night, didn't smoke, and ate H-to-da-arry Browne's buffalo wings only. Me, I had no Red Sox hat on, listened to Dokken, and drank Raspberry Wheat beer. What's your talisman?

4. I gotta figure out travel plans today or tomorrow. Boy, my mom's gonna be pissed when she finds out I can't come home for Thanksgiving because I'm coming home for the WS.

5. We the people (that is, the Annapolis chapter of Red Sox Nation), made a valiant effort to help break the c-word. At Harry Browne's there was an auction last night of Sox/Ball Lickers memorabilia. The only thing we could afford was a baseball signed by Don Zimmer.

Our plan was simple; bid on the ball, win it, take it out on the street during the seventh inning stretch, burn it, and urinate on it to put out the charred remains. (Boy, beer does that to you, huh?)

We made the bid, but at the last second a bastard outbid us (literally at the last second.) Well, we must of looked really upset, because the winner approached us looking bothered and said,

"You can have the ball if you want. I didn't realize how important it was to you. Why do you want it so bad?"

My compadre Josh began making some story up, but Captain Adam Beer Pants decided to give him the abridged version.

"We want to take the ball outside, burn it in the street, and then piss on it. Go Sox."

To which he replied,

"No, seriously. Why do you want it?"

"We want to take the ball outside, burn it in the street, and then piss on it. Go Sox."

He says,

"But, I'm from New York."

I say,

"Well, then. How about this. You can hold the ball while we're doing it."

Needless to say, we didn't get the ball.

Go Sox. Go.

69 and feelin' with my hands...

2004-10-20T11:14:00.000-04:00

Ok, monkeys. I am all but freaking out here. The past five days have been draining, to say the least; but they have also been invigorating. Here are some lessons learned.

1. There IS a baseball Jesus. There is. You can doubt his existence, you can question him, you can even try to deny his mercy. But he exists. Just ask me. Or The Silver Fox. Or anyone at Castlebay.

2. Curt Schilling has launched himself into the pantheon of Boston sports legacies. Everyone knows about "das boot", but does anyone realize he wasn't wearing the friggin' thing last night??? It was applying too much pressure on his foot. He pitched seven innings with his fucking ankle tendon sutured to his bone. His BONE!!! Did you watch him between innings? He was in excrutiating pain. But he perservered. His name now resides (in my mind) right next to the names Larry, Bobby, Yaz, Teddy, and Bill. Thank you, Curt.

3. A new hymn.

Be not afraid
I go before you always
Come, follow me
And I shall give you runs

I love you baseball Jesus. Please forgive those who may have doubted.

4. A cute Euro chick stole my Red Sox hat a few days ago. Yes, it is true I have had that had for approximately ten years. Yes, it is true that I value that hat as one of my most prized posessions. But it is also true the Sox are 3-0 when I don't wear the hat. At this point, she can almost keep it. I can get another one while I am buying an authentic Schilling jersey the nest time I'm home.

5. I noticed the CD in my car over the last few days is Dokken's Greatest Hits. Hmmmm. Three days listening to Dokken, three Sox victories. Could it be coincidence? Who gives a shit. I don't have my hat, I'm listening to Dokken tonight on the way home, and I plan on drinking my fair share of High Life while simulcasting the game with Red Sox Nation back at Bad Abbotts. After all, the Annapolis chapter of Sox Nation has important work to do.

Go Sox. F*ck the yanks. Listen to Dokken. Have kinky circus monkey sex with a loved one.

It's all good, baby.

And the rockstar sayeth,

Bring it on.

(b.t.w. the '69' reference is to the fact this is my 69th entry.)

I believe...and I cry

2004-10-13T01:23:00.000-04:00

Tonight I was subject to one of the most disheartening experiences I've ever had. It's not abnormal, mind you. In fact, it's totally understandable. Tonight, the Silver Fox lost faith. Truth be known, we all did at one point or another. I mean, Schilling giving up 6 runs in 3 innings is enough to make any one soul weep. Hell, I cried a bit. But, if there's one immutable thing I've learned, it's that Baseball Jesus loves us, and will come through.

I believe in Baseball Jesus.

Say it with me.

I believe in Baseball Jesus.

I totally understand in a temporary lapse of faith. I can understand it. Totally.

Personally, i have suffered at the hands of baseball as much as anyone.

And tonight, when The Silver Fox weakened, I almost faltered with him.

but I have faith. Enough for two.

Go Sox, go.

Tomorrow night, Pedro.

And I FULLY expect The Silver Fox to march along side me.

He is my best friend, and I believe in him.

As much as Baseball Jesus.

We Don't Need No Education...

2004-09-29T20:20:00.000-04:00

Ok, my little monkeys. I knew going into the whole rock and roll list thing would create a stir; and oh! what a stir! A few quick thoughts on the comments thus far...

Anonymous: To who I don't know; for your information, Morrisey came in at #42. Also, have the testicular fortitude to at least name your entry! Coward! A pox on thee! I had the canastas to stick my neck way out in voicing my opinion that Steve Perry is the greatest male rock vocalist. Kindly show me the same courtesy!

Mitch: Yeah, it was tough to put the Boss so far down, but I never really considered him a "rock" vocalist, at least not in the traditional sense of the others. Perhaps on a different list, both he and John Cougar would fare better...

Beth: My darling, big brown-eyed Beth. I at first was taken aback at the sheer vitriol your comment exuded. Feeling shamed by this, I decided to investigate this female who came at me so forcefully. So, I took a little ride on the check out Beth's profile and know thy enemy train.

Here's what I found...

Beth
Gender: female
Location: Massachusetts : United States

About Me
I've already written enough about myself on my three blogs. If you can take the self-absorption, I encourage you to visit any one of them.

Describe the sound of a moist waffle falling onto a hot griddle.
"I did not have sex with that woman."

Interests
Writing
Red Sox
New England Patriots
Nine Inch Nails
Chuck Palahniuk
Boston
books
Jhonen Vasquez
Invader Zim

Favorite Movies
American Beauty

Favorite Music
Nine Inch Nails
Metallica
Tori Amos
Johnny Cash
Beethoven
Dvorak
Rancid
Goodspeed! You Black Emperor
Telefon Tel Aviv
The Pixies
Ani Difranco

Favorite Books
Johnny the Homicidal Maniac

Now, in reading this information, I couldn't help but notice one thing...

(excuse me while I clear my throat....ahem...)

Where is Chris Cornell or Soundgarden on your list?

HMMMMMM??????

And with that, we get ready for a little second period action with the score

Thirsty Bunny 1, The Rest of you Chicken F*ckers 0

Rock and Roll will never die.

2004-09-20T13:29:00.000-04:00

Hello, faithful little monkeys. I have returned from places near and far with many tales of debauchery and wackiness. But first, i submit for your consideration,

The Best Rock Male Vocalists

It dawned on me today that too little attention is paid to those who brought rock home. Those that made us want to be bad-ass, drink a lot of beer, and love porn; and yet, they could capture our emotions and crush them like a gentle drop of dew on a summer's leaf. (Hey, did anyone else's bullshit meter just go off? Mine is going nuts. huh.)

Anyway, as previously stated, I present to you my list of

The Best Rock Male Vocalists

The first 20 I am strong on, the rest are somewhat in order, but I gots stuff to do! And now, without further ado, i give you...

The Best Rock Male Vocalists

1. Steve Perry (Journey)
2. David Lee Roth (Van Halen)
3. Bonn Scott (AC/DC)
4. Rob Halford (Judas Priest)
5. Freddy Mercury (Queen)
6. Steven Tyler (Aerosmith)
7. Roger Daltrey (The Who)
8. Robert Plant (Led Zepplin)
9. Roger Waters (Pink Floyd)
10. Bono (U2)
11. Chris Cornell (Soundgarden)
12. Ozzy Ozbourne
13. Bruce Dickinson (Iron Maiden)
14. Brad Delp (Boston)
15. Mick Jagger (The Rolling Stones)
16. Sting (The Police)
17. Geddy Lee (Rush)
18. Axl Rose (Guns N Roses)
19. Billy Idol
20. Joe Elliot (Def Leppard)
21. Prince
22. George Thorogood
23. John Fogerty (CCR)
24. Joey Ramone (The Ramones)
25.David Bowie
26. Bob Seger
27. Joe Cocker
28. Ian Astbury (The Cult)
29. David Coverdale (Whitesnake)
30. Corey Glover (Living Color)
31. Neil Young
32. Brett Michaels (Poison)
33. Geoff Tate (Queensryche)
34. Alice Cooper
35. Paul McCartney (The Beatles)
36. Frank Zappa
37. James Hetfield (Metallica)
38. Bruce Springsteen
39. Peter Gabriel (Genesis)
40. Johnny Rotten (Sex Pistols)
41. Joe Strummer (The Clash)
42. Morissey (The Smiths)
43. Billy Gibbons (ZZ Top)
44. Dave Mustaine (Megadeth)
45. Billy Corgan (Smashing Pumpkins)
46. Kurt Cobain (Nirvana)
47. Jim Morrison (The Doors)
48. Gregg Allman (Allman Brothers Band)
49. David Gilmour (Pink Floyd)
50. John Bon Jovi (Bon Jovi)
51. Trent Reznor (Nine Inch Nails)
52. Eric Burdon (Animals)
53. Warren Zevon
54. Eddie Vedder (Pearl Jam)
55. Don Dokken (Dokken)
56. Steve Miller
57. Ronnie Van Zant (Lynyrd Skynyrd)
58. Robin Zander (Cheap Trick)
59. Lou Gramm (Foreigner)
60. David Byrne (Talking Heads)
61. Eric Clapton
62. Henry Rollins (Black Flag)
63. Edgar Winter
64. Joe Walsh (Eagles).
65. Stevie Ray Vaughan
66. Jimi Hendrix
67. Tom Petty
68. Jeff Keith (Tesla)
69. Dave Mustaine (Megadeth)
70. John Kay (Steppenwolf)

Do it !!!

2004-09-01T09:44:00.000-04:00

LOOK AT THIS LINK RIGHT THE F*CK NOW!!!

I became a Yankees fan the first time my daddy f*cked me.

DO IT! DO IT!! DO IT!!

Now go tell your mother you love her, drink an icy cold beer ot three, and go make sweet love to some sort of barnyard animal (unless you are a Yankees fan, then you probably already are and should quit the livestock and go back to takin' it downtown from pops); the world is coming to an end...

The Sox might just do it.

I...uh...er...

2004-09-01T09:38:00.000-04:00

Let's say, hypothetically (and I stress hypothetically) you check your email one morning as you try to do every day, and there is an email from an old school buddy living in California. Now let's say (again, hypothetically) that buddy has forwarded you a link under the guise of "ya gotta see this!!!" So, you click on it. After a few seconds the screen goes dark, and...

you see an old ex-girlfriend in a porn that cost about fifteen bucks to make, including buying coffee for the cast and crew when it's a wrap.

Yeesh.

(Well, Yeesh hypothetically)

Bad, bad math.

2004-08-11T14:01:00.000-04:00

Ok, gather 'round, everyone. I'm going to impart a bit of wisdom you all would do well to heed. if you ever listen to anything I ever say to you, make it this; trust me.

NEVER have more shots than beers. NEVER, EVER, EVER. EVER.

I had the dubious honor of turning 34 yesterday. The plan, as presented to me, was for a few friends to help celebrate quietly. Why must my home consistently be turned in to a house of lies? "Few" turned into roughly 20, and "quiet" became "Tiki Night" at McGarveys'. I was deceived. And boy did I pay for it. I had more shots than beers. Never ever again. In fact, I think I'm abolishing all shots entirely. It's not worth feeling like I have part of Annapolis' sewer system running through me. Yuck.

Anyhoo, i still plan on posting stuff about the trip with the Foxxe, i lave lotsa lists to share, and so much more!

See ya!

Catchin' up.

2004-08-08T13:46:00.000-04:00

Hello, my little monkeys. I must apologize for my absence as of late. Busy busy busy. Some important items, tho;

most importantly, a belated blogesque 'shout-out' to the lovely Heather Jean Shannon Thomas, who had a most delightful birthday scant days ago. Her blog, 'Shards,' is a wonderful amalgam of thoughts, beliefs, and cool sites where you can make a characature of yourself holding a fish. Good, good stuff.

And now, in honor of Mrs. Shannon's (tee hee hee "Mrs.") birthday, I shall compose seventeen anagrams from Heather Shannon's Birthday.

1. A HATBAND EH HERN HORNY SITS
2. A BARNHARD HES YEN HINTS HOT

Ok, there will only be two, because i suck at this (but I CAN do the 'floating thumb' thing pretty well.

Happy Birthday, Heather!

F*ck it again.

2004-07-31T17:46:00.000-04:00

I created this entry to apologize to Orlando Cabrera and Doug Mientkiewicz, the two players the Sox ultimately got for Nomah. I referred to them as "two retards and a hand job."

I was harsh. I was abruptly unfair. I shoudn't have.

Then I looked at their stats.

Orlando Cabrera: .246, 4 HR, 31 RBI
Doug Mientkiewicz: .246, 5 HR, 25 RBI

I just can't do it. I can't.

As stated previously, the Red Sox today traded Nomah for two retards and a hand job.

At least Boston fans got fucked in the deal. That's better than a hand job, I guess. But it feels more like we got fisted.

Huh.

Oh f*ck.

2004-07-31T17:42:00.000-04:00

Sometimes life shows you a preview of things to come. Sometimes those things are really good. Sometimes, not so good.

The Sox just traded Nomah for two retards and a handjob.

Oh f*ck.

My Kingdom for a Firkin of Belhaven.

2004-07-31T13:25:00.000-04:00

Geez, I really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really want a Belhaven on tap right now.

Oh, by the way, a firkin is 72 pints. Or 144 cups. Or 288 gils. Or 6,912 teaspoons.

Look, I'm just thirsty, ok?

Finally, some answers...

2004-07-31T13:10:00.000-04:00

I'm hard at work today. I spearheaded an effort to help save all mankind from itself. I am proud to report we devised a tool (hee hee, I said "tool,") to solve the age-old dilemma...

What's for lunch?

Cinema Lunch Generator

11 Minutes of Huh?

2004-07-29T21:34:00.001-04:00

I had a really weird night last night...

So there I was.

I was sitting on my steps, practicing guitar in preparation for the lesson I give my friend John every Wednesday night. My roommate, Jason, had come outside to hang out and chat. We were sitting there, drinking icy cold beer and chatting when a girl rounds the corner down the street from our apartment. She's about 16, maybe 17. She walks the block or so towards us, peers into the new piano shop about three doors down from us, and then tentatively approaches us.

Odd sixteen-year-old: "Excuse me, do you have the time?"

TB: "Uh, yeah. It's 9:55."

OSYO: "Great, thanks."

And she walks off. Well, she gets about eleven feet from us, stalls, and then returns.

OSYO: "So, uh, what songs can you play?"

TB: "You mean, songs you might know from the radio?"

OSYO: "Yeah."

TB: "None, really. I just play my own stuff for my own pleasure."

OSYO: "Oh. So, uh, do you guys live around here?"

Jason Bertrand: "Yeah, we live here."

OSYO: "That's cool. I live in Arnold."

At this moment, a woman rounds a different corner with a camera on a tripod.

Camera Gal: (in a thick European accent) "Can I take your picture?"

JB: "Uh, sure. Hang on though; I have to fix Old Glory." (The American flag hanging from our doorway which had become tangled.)

CG: "Ok." She takes a picture. (click)

JB: "Hang on!"

CG: "Sure." (click)

OSYO: "So, uh I work right around the corner at Buddy's restaurant."

TB: "That's cool."

Enter another girl with a camera on a tripod. She sets up next to the first girl, about six feet away, and starts taking pictures of CG.

CG2: (to CG) “Can I take your picture?”

CG: “Sure. Hey, are you almost done with the flag?”

JB: “Yep.”

CG: “Great!” (click.)

CG2: “Smile!” (click2)

OSYO: “So, uh, you guys ever get to Buddy’s?” (click) (click2)

TB: “Yeah, we’ve gone for brunch a few times. It’s pretty good.” (click)

(click2)

CG2: (to JB) “Can I take your picture?” (click)

JB: “Sure. What’s this for?” (click2)

OSYO: “Well, I don’t work Sundays. Well, I work at four.” (click)

At this point a third photographer with a tripod is setting up shop at the end of the block and starts photographing the whole scene.

JB: “That’s cool. I’ve eaten there once or twice for dinner.”

(click) (click2) (click3)

CG2 starts taking pictures of JB and TB. CG starts taking pictures of P3.

OSYO: “Uh, you guys should come in some time for dinner. I can hook you up.”

TB: “Uh, yeah, right.” (click3)

(click2) (click)

JB: “So, what’s up?”

OSYO: (click) “Oh, nothing.”

TB: “So, do you play guitar?”

OSYO: “No. I don’t have the coordination for it. I play piano, though.”

(click) (click3) CG2 is reloading her camera.

TB: “You play piano. That takes coordination.”

(click2) (CG2 is done reloading.)

OSYO: “Yeah, but not for guitar.”

JB: “What kind of piano do you play?”

OSYO: “Well, I only have a keyboard right now, but I’m saving for a full-size one. There’s a piano store on the next block that sells some great ones.”

(click)

JB: “Actually, it’s a few doors down.”

OSYO: “No, I’m pretty sure it’s on the next block near where my mom picks me up.”

(I remind everyone at this point she was peering into the piano store window at the beginning.)

JB: “okay…”

OSYO: “Yeah, so, what’s going on?”

TB: “Nothing.” (click) (click2)

P3 packs up and walks off.

(click)

CG: “Thanks, guys!”

JB, TB: “Sure.”

(click2)

OSYO: “Got a light?” (click2)

CG packs up as well, and walks up the street.

TB gives OSYO a light.

OSYO: “Thanks. Yeah, so, you guys should come in and visit me sometime.”

JB: “Yeah, well, our schedules are kinda odd. We’ll see.”

OSYO: “Well, I guess I gotta go. Nice to meet ya!”

JB, TB: “Yeah, you too.” (everyone shakes hands. OSYO walks off.)

CG2: “Thanks, guys!”

JB, TB: “Sure. What’s this for?”

CG2: “Just out taking some pictures, that’s all.”

CG2 walks off.

JB, TB sit there alone, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

Total elapsed time: 11 minutes.

Painful Discovery.

2004-07-29T18:30:00.000-04:00

I don't know how it happened, but it did.

It's tough to be a superhero when all who know you are constantly suspicious, and therefore nosy. It worse than papparazzi, because you know they only do it because they care.

Well, I've been found out. So, I might as well come clean.

By day, you all know me as mild-mannered, sober, Adam.

But, by night, I'm....

Der Mann Der Den Kindern Fische und Freude überall Gibt.

Yep, that's right. Loosely translated, it means

The Man Who Gives Fish and Joy To Children Everywhere.

Man, I was trying to keep it a secret. But I got cocky, and got caught. How, you ask? Well, I posed for a photo whilst distributing said fish and joy. I was in Tiannamen Square a few nights ago (well, night to us, day to them.) A tourist said,

"嘿! 那不是帶來魚和喜悅給孩子到處的人?"
(Hey, isn't that the Man Who Brings Fish and Joy to Children Everywhere?)

To which I replied (naturally),

"當然我是, 您傻的短的人! 這裡! 有一條魚和一些喜悅為您的孩子!"
(Of course it is, you silly, short person! Here! Have some fish and joy for your children!)

They took the fish and joy gladly. Then then mother (I assume she was the mother) said,

"但我們怎麼可以曾經感謝您魚? 它是顯然的一個人如您太重要以至於不能完成魚和喜悅工作為自由!
(But how can we ever thank you for the fish? It is obvious a man like you is too important to do fish and joy work for free!)

So I said,

"所有我問是您敬佩我的從一個中等距離和給我的汽車超級幸運的亮光, 百分之一百!!!
(All I ask is you admire my genetalia from a medium distance and give my car a super-lucky shine, 100%!!!)

Ah, we all laughed. Then she snuck out a camera! The 母狗 took my picture! Well, I managed to take most of the fish back, but the joy was lost. I mean, you can't really take back joy cleanly, can you? And, wouldn't you know, the next day my friggin' picture was on the web.

So, I give up. I'm sorry, children of the world, Der Mann has to hang 'em up for a while.

Der Mann at Werk

(The incriminating photo.)

Sigh. That's what you get for trying to do the right thing.

Why?

2004-07-23T17:03:00.000-04:00

Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm just a little daft in the head.

But why does it seem is though America consistently fucks up? Why do we seemingly always drop the ball when it comes to doing the right thing?

I thought of this as I read The Silver Fox's entry regarding the Tour de France. It got me thinking. Why does the world hate us so?

It couldn't be the whole Iraq thing, could it? Such subversive behavior couldn't be it.

Maybe it's the whole Americans cheat at practically everything we compete at because we are so about the fame and money and 'glory' that we leave our dignity and integrity in the poop sample we send to the BALCO lab? Nah, couldn't be that.

Perhaps it's scandal after scandal spanning every conceivable arena: Martha Stewart, Enron, the Presidency, sports figures (remember the "13-year-old" that won the Little League World Series for new york by throwing 90-mph heat? They cheat in Little League, for fuck's sake. Disgusting.) But, maybe that's not it.

Could it be the way we simply take what we want, when we want it? Possibly.

Maybe it's simply because we are the bullies of the world, and have been for a long, long time.

And who doesn't like to see the bully get their friggin' asses handed to them?

Boy, it's getting tougher and tougher to hold my head high when I say I'm an American.

The Juke Box Hero speaks...

2004-07-22T16:29:00.000-04:00

Ok, so I took Whiskypants' personality test. And I swear to all that I hold dear no manipulation was done. None.

Wackiness: 168/100
Rationality: 182/100
Constructiveness: 226/100
Leadership: 172/100

You are a WRCL--Wacky Rational Constructive Leader. This makes you a golden god. People gravitate to you, and you make them feel good. You are smart, charismatic, and interesting. You may be too sensitive to others reactions, especially criticism. Your self-opinion and mood depends greatly on those around you.You think fast and have a smart mouth, is a hoot to your friends and razorwire to your enemies. You hold a grudge like a brass ring. You crackle. Although you have a leader's personality, you often choose not to lead, as leaders stray too far from their audience. You probably weren't very popular in high school--the joke's on them!

You may be a rock star.

I've said it before, and it applies once more.

I don't put on my rock star face...I am the rockstar.

Ladies, the line starts in the back.

The Foxy List.

2004-07-21T18:35:00.000-04:00

An extra-special WAHOOO! the The Silver Fox, who turns a paltry 34 today. That's right, ladies, step right up and lay yer dowry down!

In honor of TSF, here are some interesting statements about the number '34.' It's my gift to you, Fox. I'm so sorry.

Fun Statements About The Number 34. (or, the Foxy list)

1. "34" was Nolan Ryan's number when he pitched.
2. "3" plus "4" equals 7.
3. If you say the numbers really fast ("threefour") it sounds almost like your sneezing.
4. 34 is half of 68.
5. In Egyptian times, they used 'numbers' to count things, much like they do today in modern Mesopotamia.
6. "3443" is a palindrome.
7. In Chaldean numerology, "34" is "3+4."
8. Also in Chaldean numerology, "3+4" signifies enthusiastic, optimistic, and fun-loving. That's
our wacky Fox to a T!
9. The Yankees have 34 losses today! (That's about 100 too few, the dicksuckers.)
10. The Royals only have 34 wins today!
11. 33 is only one away from being 34! (keep streching and drinking your milk, little one!)
12. Jose Cappellan of the Greenville Braves is the 34th best player in the AA minors!
13. If you put 17 women in a room, you'd have 34 boobies!
14. The T-34 medium artillery tank was designed in 1937!
15. Exodus 34 quotes, ""Cut two stone tablets like the former, that I may write on them the commandments which were on the former tablets that you broke." Gee!
16. in 1861, America's flag only had 34 stars! (Look out! Here comes Kansas!)
17. Chapter 24, paragraph 1 of Utah's Code 34 specifically prohibits blacklisting employees!

Gosh! That's seventeen already, which...is....half...of..... 34!!!

Boy, we sure had fun tonight, didn't we my little monkeys! Well, Fox, have an outstanding birthday, and I'm sorry I'm not there to share it with ya. Have many for me, ok?

See ya everyone.

This Just In: The Hello Kitty Mafia Has a Headache.

2004-07-19T11:05:00.000-04:00

Oh, my head.

Hello my little monkeys. I'd really appreciate it if you could please read this as quietly as possible. It's been a long weekend.

I spent Saturday night with New Character in the aforementioned Finn MacCool's. And, might I add, had a mah-velous time. After much commiseration and consideration, the decision was made that Finn MacCool's is a decent enough place, but not the pub mecca I had hoped for. New Character is not mega-found of Seisun music to begin with, and I'm sure sitting ten feet from the band didn't help. But the drink was cold (well, mine was. NC had single-malt scotch. She has excellent taste in scotch.) And the conversation was swank. I managed to be my usual Don Juan self (well, as everyone knows, that is much, much closer to Don Knotts.) A good time was had by all.

Sunday afternoon came quickly. As I found out, our fair street was having a festival! Yep, that one was sprung on me. But as you all know, I now feature the speed of a cobra with the speed of two cobras, so it was no problem. Before you could say "Adam zipped to the store and got provisions for a cucumber and pepper salad, and also got a bunch of stuff for barbeque including ingredients for what would become an absolutely bitchin' BBQ sauce, and then ran home and whipped it all up. Purple monkey dishwasher," I zipped to the store and got provisions for a cucumber and pepper salad, and also got a bunch of stuff for barbeque including ingredients for what would become an absolutely bitchin' BBQ sauce, and then ran home and whipped it all up. Purple monkey dishwasher. All while drinking beer and watching High Society. Abbypilot once commented that she prefers older movies because they are just as funny as current movies, have better plots, and just feel more real. I concur. If you haven't seen this movie, do so. Good, good stuff.

Which brings us to today. I'm off to the gym to try and banish the toxins in my system to the land of wind and ghosts.

I got skillz.

2004-07-17T08:47:00.000-04:00

Sup, monkeys?

I'm writing this at 8:47 am, Saturday morning. For anyone that knows me at all, this is a friggin miracle. I'm up this early because I was out late last night. (Yeah, it doesn't make any sense to me either.)

But make no bones about it; I got skillz. Permit me to demonstrate.

"Why do u riff with me
the maniac psycho
And when I pull out my jammy
get ready cuz it might go BLAAAAW
how ya like me now?"

Or...

"Give me a sista
I can't resist her
Red beans and rice didn't miss her
Some knucklehead tried to dis
Cuz his girls were on my list
He had game but he chose to hit 'em
And pulled up quick to get with 'em"

I tried to warn you. My skillz are impeccable.

Why am I so?

Someone has doubted me. Someone is actually in doubt of my skillz. I know this because they wrote so. They actually wrote it.

"When I step up in the place yo
I step correct
Woo-Hah
got you all in check
I got that head nod shit
make you break your neck"

I don't put my rock star face on, babe; I am the rockstar.

BLAAAW.

The stage is set...

2004-07-16T21:11:00.000-04:00

In a brief moment of unfamiliarity, I left the cocktail locale up to New Character. And it appears she won't disappoint. We are off to Finn MacCool's Cork Publick House in DC. I opted for DC simply because I have been here too long not to have a better knowledge of our nation's capital. Plus this way, when I have burned Annapolis to the ground, I'll have a backup plan.

As you all no doubt know ('specially you kah-razy Beantown folk), Finn MacCool, the legendary Celtic hero, was the leader of the Fianna Éireann, a corps of 3rd-century warriors and hunters that protected Ireland from invasion. Stories of the Fianna that were written down in the 12th century form the Fenian cycle, which remains a vital part of Irish folklore.

Of course you knew that. Geez, I'm Italian and I'm on it.

Interesting fact about this place; no Guiness on tap. Ok, Q-townies, just breathe. Apparently, the reason stems from the owners not wanting to go with the norm. Instead, it is one of, if not the only, bars in DC to pour Beamish on tap. And, might I say, a well-poured Beamish can be every bit rewarding as a Guiness.

We have concocted a theoretical agenda for discussion (well, actually, she did. I simply rode the coattails to glory.) This agenda includes explaining everyone's nicknames to her. Should she ply enough 'potent potables,' it'll happen, too. Sorry, guys, I'll fight the good fight as long as I can. But we all know a full house (three beers and a rack) beats the possible reprocussions of friends, especially those who would agree with me on this.

Oh, and I just got wind Snuggles is coming to town next weekend to sup form the baseball cup; by which I mean we're going to the Sox vs. Orioles. Tee hee hee.

Rock you like a Bunnycane...

2004-07-16T11:10:00.000-04:00

So there I was.

Last night was a treat, sort of. Abbypilot had returned from Iceland the night before with a case of lobsters packed on ice, as well as two cases of Icelandic beer called "Thule." Needless to say, a surf n' turf dinner took place amongst all the Fleet Street faithful. The Burgundy and butter flew like wine and butter, and a good time was had by all. My story is but a sliver of time in the greater scope of this evening (last night.)

So there I was.

I was sitting on the back porch, practicing guitar, enjoying the melding of scents and white Burgundy wine. I find myself practicing virtually every day now. I get irascible if I don't play; it's an out for me. Quite often, it's in the presence of my friends, and they tolerate it politely, often asking me to play "Stairway to Heaven" because they know I won't on principal. This evening, friends came and went on the porch, mostly to check on the steaks (the "turf" portion of our show.) As I was practicing, I notced I was drifting farther away from practice, and closer to free-form playing. I confirmed this a few minutes and a glass of wine later. I had indeed left the practice arena, and found myself purely playing. Bliss.

For any musicians out there, they know what I am talking about. The feeling when you are just playing...you can do no wrong. Everything you play makes sense. You play with a speed and clarity unrivaled in the annals of the universe. Unfortunately, it only lasts a short time.

I had sex three times last night alone, I was so fired up. (And I do mean "alone.")

Just kidding, it was only twice. But I did promptly walk into the house and say "boobies."

The Return of the Thingie.

2004-07-15T19:25:00.000-04:00

I had a much better title than that originally, I swear. I managed to completely forget it as I was writing it (or not writing it, as it were.) I intend to keep my promise of regailing you with tales from a broad, or abroad, whichever you prefer. But for the moment, I write for a different purpose.

I write to welcome.

Specifically, I write to welcome New Character to the blog universe. Everybody say "hi, New Character!" (No, I'm serious. Do it. Do it now. Do it now or I will come and cut you.)

So, a hearty and hale welcome to the newest member (hee hee, I said "member") New Character.

http://whiskypants.blogspot.com/

May your blogs always be interesting and frequent, lest your fifteen minutes of fame dwindle prematurely.

Oh yeah, before I forget, she emailed me today and said,

"I am notorious for being bendy. It's good. It's part of my seduction routine. What do you prefer? Oh, this day is so much better now that we've had some dirty exploits. Will you let me sit?"

We're going out for drinks Saturday night.

Durple.

2004-07-12T15:22:00.000-04:00

Sup, my little monkeys? It's been a while, hasn't it? Well, as you may be surmising as you read this, The Silver Fox and I are back from our kooky, kah-razy road trip spanning over two thousand miles of tarmac-and-curveball mayhem. Oh, the stories I have. I'll be firing 'em up shortly enough. Oh, and make sure to check out The Silver Fox's blog for his takes on the madness (link below).

See ya soon, bitches.

http://www.obscurorama.com/obscurorant

It's time...

2004-07-02T14:00:00.000-04:00

The Silver Fox flies in tonight, and our tempestuous sojurn begins shortly thereafter. I have been looking forward to this for some time now.

I should probably pack.

Oh, and Marlon Brando died today. A pity. But then again, that's what happens when you pat Frank Sinatra condesceningly on the head in Guys & Dolls. Yep, everyone who has ever touched Sinatra is already dead, or will die someday.

Think about it.

Twisted Irresistibunny

2004-07-02T13:34:00.001-04:00

Sup, chickenf*ckers?

Well, it's Friday.

Your first inclination might be to assume this to be like any other Friday. But something seems...different. Somewhere in the primal occipiatal lobe of yer brain a twitch happens; that twitch grows into the realization something is different. But you can't put yer finger on it. You swim in a sea of incoherent thoughts and jumbled data, looking furitively for that one kernal of context that will trigger an inexorable chain reaction leading to critical mass, and ultimately, knowledge of the difference.

If I may, I'd like to save you some time and some precious brain power. Because you won't think of it. You will try until you are blue in the face. But you won't get it. Brando just passed on, and even he didn't get it. What is it? What is that damn difference that proves to be a most elusive adversary? Want to know what the difference is?

Want me to tell you?

Today, I'm faster.

Yep. Faster.

Today I have the speed of a cobra with the speed of two cobras.

That's pretty darn fast.

Why am I moving faster? Good question. I move faster because I am the Twisted Irresisibunny, and Twisted Irresistibunnies simply move faster.

I move faster because I move now with more purpose than ever before.

I'm starting to get it.

Just for laughs...

2004-07-01T17:01:00.000-04:00

I have the best friends in the world. I really do. And, I am fortunate to have top-shelf friends in both Boston and Annapolis. Here's why; following is a transcript I received from a friend after inviting him to a BBQ last week.

"Sorry I never called back with a response to your bbq. I’m guessing by now you’ve picked up on the fact that I can’t make it. If you haven’t, well, I’m here now to tell you that I can’t make it. I hope this doesn’t affect our friendship..all the good times, the bad, the ups the downs and so forth.

I will however be attending tonight’s festivities whatever they end up being. See you on the stoop of your apt around 8ish. I’ll be the one holding onto the telephone pole crapping on your sidewalk yelling, “It isn’t real! It can’t be real, this poop I feel!!!”

-Married Jonny"

How do you not laugh?

43 pick up lines authored or approved by me.

2004-07-01T16:46:00.000-04:00

Gentlemen, start your engines.

Note: I am NOT inferring I wrote all of these. I wrote SOME of these. Once again, I did NOT claim to have written all of these, just SOME of these. So, yes I know, some you will have seen before.

LADIES: please do NOT read this, as I might try these on you someday. If you DO read this, feel free to ask me to recite some to you. It'll be fun. You'll already know the line, and you can be subject to my irresisable charms and almost frightening eye contact.

Here we go!

43 pick up lines authored or okayed by me personally

1. (Go up to a girl and say) Fat penguin. (What?) Oh, I just needed something to break the ice.
2. My magical watch says you aren’t wearing panties. Oh, you are? Hmmm. It must be an hour fast.
3. I’m not actually this tall.
4. Can I take your picture to show Santa what I want for Christmas?
5. The only thing your eyes haven’t told me is your name.
6. Would you help me find my puppy? I think he went into that cheap motel room.
7. You look like my first wife. (How many times have you been married?) Never.
8. Excuse me Miss, but you owe me a drink. (Why?) I dropped mine when I looked at you.
9. Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?
10. Do you mind if I flirt with you?
11. But, I’m a doctor!
12. I’m an organ donor. Need anything?
13. That’s a nice little nothing you’re almost wearing.
14. (Approach a girl, and open your mouth as if to speak. Then close it. Open it again and wait. Eventually, she will comment) I can’t think of a single line, but I just wanted to talk to you.
15. (Walk up to a girl, look into her eyes, look around the room, and return to her eyes) How do you do that? (What?) How do you make the room spin like that?
16. Am I making an ass of myself? (Yes.) Can it be your ass? WOOHAH!
17. If you were a dinosaur, you’d be a hottieasaurus.
18. I believe I speak for most men when I say, “hello.”
19. My doctor scheduled me for an MRI. He thinks I have a magnetic personality.
20. Are you Jamaican? (Why?) Cause you is Jamaican me kah-razy!
21. You know what winks and screws like a tiger?
22. Do I look like the kind of guy that would like to get to know you better?
23. I need to take your temperature. (Why?) Because you are looking mighty hot.
24. Black and white. Peanut butter and jelly. Me and you.
25. The missing teeth just leave more room for your tongue.
26. I have an imaginary cat.
27. Let’s see, I’ve got the F, the C, and the K. All I’m missing is U.
28. That’s a beautiful shirt. Can I talk you out of it?
29. Hey, it’s not my fault I fell in love; it was you who tripped me.
30. If I asked you for sex, would your answer be the same as the answer to this question?
31. What’s a nice girl like you doing in a dirty mind like mine?
32. If I had a nickel for every gorgeous woman like you I see, I’d have a nickel.
33. Is it hot in here or is it just you?
34. I don’t know if you are beautiful or not yet; I haven’t gotten past your eyes.
35. Do you know how much polar bears weigh? Just enough to break the ice.
36. You bring new meaning to the word “edible.”
37. Would you meet me on the pier at midnight? I’d like to see what is more beautiful, you or the moonlight.
38. If you were the last woman on earth, and I was the last man on earth, we could do it in public.
39. You’re my compass; I’m lost without you.
40. I’m an author, and I’m currently writing a phone book. Can I have your number?
41. (Approach a girl standing alone) If he doesn’t show up, I’ll be right over here.
42. Why do you think they call it a “pick-up” truck?
43. I’m a magical being. Take off your bra.
44. You’d look hot in a Raggedy Ann wig.
45. Falling for you would be a very short trip.
46. Do you know why the sky is so gray? All the blue is in your eyes.
47. I’m going back to my place to make out. Care to join me?
48. (Ask a woman) “If you could have a year of perfect bliss, but have no memory of it, would you take it?” (If she says yes, lean in and whisper in her ear) “Well, you’ve already had it. You were wonderful.”
49. All you have to do is breathe, I’ll take care of the rest.
50. Stand back! I’m a doctor. (point to someone) You, call an ambulance. I’ll loosen her clothes.
51. Do you know why you should masturbate with these two fingers? (hold up any two) Because they’re mine!
52. What was that? (What?) That sound. (What sound?) The sound of my heart breaking.
53. Uh oh. My parents met in a place like this. Let’s get the hell out of here.
54. If we cut your arms off, you look just like Venus di Milo.

Ok, I gave you 54. What can I say? I'm a nice guy (Eddie.)

New Character challenge...

2004-07-01T16:38:00.000-04:00

In fairness to New Character, there are some corrections I need to make regarding earlier postings with any reference to New Character. Sorry, babe, I meant no offense. So, here we go.

a. We, in fact, ate at a Lebanese restaurant, not Indian as I preveously alluded to.

b. New Character does not like girl-on girl...only. It is merely another color on her palate of carnal delights from which she can choose.

Now, the challenge. New Character inadvertantly divulged her middle initial to be "G." When I asked her what it stood for, she asked me what I hoped it stood for. (I know, I know; she'll learn.)

What I hope New Character's "G" stands for

1. Good God, that'll never fit!
2. Good God, how did you ever get it to fit?
3. Gotta get it on!
4. Give it up...TO MYSELF!
5. Goin' DOWNTOWN!
6. Gentle, rolling fjords
7. Gonna get me some Adam!

Sigh. The likelihood I am even close to it is staggeringly small. If only I had some good pick-up lines...

or do I?

Squeaky clean and dirty as hell.

2004-07-01T10:27:00.000-04:00

Hello, my little monkeys. Hope your day is going well. For me, this day marks the end of quarterly inventory (yahoo!) Hectic, and more hectic.

So what's new?

Well, as you may have noticed, there is a new character among us; at the moment, the new character is referred to as New Character, until such time that I can think of a proper referent. As we also know, New Character digs chick-on-chick action. This, coupled with New Character's witty banter (which never dissapoints), superior intellect, and quick wit, moves New Character into the top 100 of my list of favorite people.

But wait, there's more...

I came to work this morning to discover a new email! New Character had seen fit to grace my email box! I'm sure you can understand my shaking with anticipation at the prospect of New Charater's divulgence of more preferences.

And I was not dissapointed.

"If you're trying to make me...then you should have my great rack."

Then,

"I have a feeling...I'm egging you on."

Hello, top 75.

Oh, and one more thing...

2004-06-30T17:54:00.000-04:00

oh yeah (almost forgot),

while I am mulling over a name for the New Character, she asked that I remind everyone she totally digs chick-on-chick action. In fact, I distinctly remember her writing (just today, in fact)

"And tons of girl-on-girl, please. I can't imagine living a day where there wasn't at least some girl-on-girl. God, I love that stuff. I even like writing it; girl-on-girl. WAHOOO! Yep, if there's one like I like, it's girl-on-girl. Beyond a doubt. Girl-on-girl is the thing for me. And midgets. I dig midgets, too."

Weird, huh?

We have a Fancy New Character!

2004-06-30T17:41:00.000-04:00

On rare occassions you meet someone so profound, so intriguing, so bigger-than-life, you simply must write about them. That, or you've eaten Indian food with them. Either way, they need to be shared; their fancy pants are simply too beautiful not to share. But, how to share such majesty? How do you possible share with the masses someone who makes such deep and insightful statements as,

"A giant schlong would make you very popular here in DC."

or,

"Country Roads my ass."

We are truly lucky to know such genius.

Now all she needs is a name...and to get drunk.

Hmmm.

Occam's Razor and the X factor...

2004-06-30T10:14:00.000-04:00

Because my life is so interesting and fun, fun and interesting things happen to me constantly. Quite often several of those things can happen nearly simultaneously, almost appearing (to the untrained eye) as if I have my life together. Huh? You want examples? Ok.

Last night at 9:43, I was eating filet mignon, drinking a $200 bottle of wine (vendor-sponsored dinner meeting. Tee hee hee.) At 10:39pm, I was cruising blissfully with my top down, en route to the local for a pint with Garrett. At 11:06 I was supping said pint, albiet slowly because of the earlier activities. At 11:11, I saw TK421. Yes, that's right, TK421 appeared at the local. (For those not in the know, refer to an earlier entry entitled "The Irony of Life: A Quartet of Misery Performed in Eighteen Minutes".)Could it be? Could it possibly be TK421 had entered the fray once again? Well, yes. Sort of. Technically, she entered the bar. But she never actually made it inside, as someone called to her, and she promptly left. Sigh.

On with the show.

At 11:53 I was in another local, sipping yet more beer (At this point I had had five different types of alcohol over the course of the evening. Prep work for my sojurn with The Silver Fox.) We were trying to enter a game of darts, to no avail. At 12:10 or so we wound up at the local meat market, drinking (gee, imagine that.) Fuzzy wuzzy!

Well, I think I've painted a fair picture of the scenario up till then. So, what happens now? There is a postulate named for the 14th century English logician and Franciscan friar who formulated it, called Occam's Razor. In its original form, the principle is

Entia non sunt multiplicanda praeter necessitatem. (Remember, 14th century friarspeak here. All God, latin, n' booze.)

English translation,

Entities should not be multiplied beyond necessity.

Simply stated,

Of two equivalent theories or explanations, all other things being equal, the simpler one is to be preferred.

We shall apply it here, to my situation last night.

Let's examine the facts.

a. I've been drinking.
b. I'm all dressed up in my fancy pants and tie.
c. I'm having a great time.
d. I've seen TK421.
e. I'm headed for a bar I usually don't frequent.

Well, as O's theory states, what is the simpler answer to "what happened next?"
Of course! Something 'bad.' It's gotta be that way.

What was it?

X.

Staring me straight in the face; screaming as she plowed through a crowd to get to me and Garrett, where she would remain smotheringly so until my departure.

And, Y.

Drinking with her, unable to chat with me.

Yep.

A volte dovete ridere semplicemente.

And 4...

2004-06-28T11:01:00.000-04:00

Four of my favorite baseball quotes.

4. Some people are born on third base and go through life thinking they hit a triple. ~Barry Switzer

(NOMAAAAAHHHH!).

3. If a woman has to choose between catching a fly ball and saving an infant's life, she will choose to save the infant's life without even considering if there are men on base. ~Dave Barry

2. I've come to the conclusion that the two most important things in life are good friends and a good bullpen. ~Bob Lemon, 1981

1. Love is the most important thing in the world, but baseball is pretty good too. ~Greg, age 8

Jeezum crow, will Friday ever get here?

We're down to T-minus 5...

2004-06-26T12:05:00.000-04:00

Ahhh. I've finally caught up. Five more to go. The Silver Fox grows ever closer.

The Five Worst Baseball Uniforms

5. 1975 Cleveland Indians Road uniform: Bright shocking red jersey and pants. Blue sleeves, socks, and belt. And, arguably the straw that broke the camel's back for me, "Indians" written Wampum-style. That's more cliche than Doc Brown dressing up Marty McFly as 'Atomic Cowboy' in Back To The Future III. Yuck.

4. 1956 Cincinnati Reds Road uniform: Although the belief that a player or team can truly "strike fear" into an opponent is a fallacy, having a logo that resembles a cross between the Pringles guy and a gay train conductor can not possibly help in any way. And for God's sake, the friggin' thing is smiling. That, and the Wicked Witch of the West socks. The worst part of it all, for me, is that it adornes the away jersey. Right. The challenge of playing in another team's stadium isn't enough. Naw, we need the punishment only wearing Mr. Gay Pringles Train Man can bring. By the way, this jersey lasted exactly one season.

3. 1973 Philadelphia Phillies / 1974 Chicago White Sox (all jerseys): ok, you're probably assuming a tie here, right? Well, you're right in that it's a tie, but on a technicality. You see, I'm almost convinced they're the same uniform. And not only are they virtually the same uniform, they're both bad. Although I have to dole out credit to whoever picked the colors. At last, powder blue and crimson. Thank God. Apparently, the general managers went to the same pajama party. Sitting around drinking dad's vermouth from the bottle, listening to Ritchie Valens records, giggling over boys they want to bring to the prom, they both had the same idea simultaneously; these pajamas would make the most darling uniforms! They are, in my admittedly elitist opinion, unattractive uniforms. The fact that two teams (one in each league) happened upon the same essential unform makes these uniforms both Super Mega Ultra Unattractive uniforms and a sign the end is near.

2. 1975 Houston Astros home or road jerseys: At least they tried to be colorful. And they weren't bashful about it, either. Perhaps the uniform design was intentional on the part of the owners. Nolan Ryan wore this uniform, and he could throw about 102 mph. So, to an opposing batter, a pitch would look like a perennial coming at them really fast. And, after all, who'se intimidated by a Geranium, no matter how fast it's going? Yep. 5,714 strikeouts; 3,879 mistaken for flowers. Oh, and as an added bonus, the player's number is on thier thigh. Nothing quite likw having a number near the old ding-ding.

1. 1978 San Diego Padres 3rd uniform: I can see it now. Before each game, the announcer would fire up "September" by Earth Wind & Fire and boom out, "ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, stand up and put your hands together for your Chocolate-stained Thunder!" Speaking of train wrecks, have you seen this uniform? Subcutaneous fat meets Rear Admiral Brownfinger. Imagine being enshrined in the Hall of Fame wearing this accident. Rollie, I'm so sorry.

Ok, a few disclaimers. First, I mean no offense to fans of the teams mentioned. If you don't believe me, take a look at the 1998 Boston Bruins alternate jersey; I bleed too. Also, I found an exemplary website on the history of baseball uniforms.

http://www.baseballhalloffame.org/exhibits/online_exhibits/dressed_to_the_nines/introduction.htm

And I admit, I was a little tougher on these choices than I needed to be. My opinions here don't take into account periodic trends, and other stuff like that.

There you have it!

T-minus 6...

2004-06-26T10:47:00.002-04:00

Sorry I missed yesterday, all. Let's bang it out.

My Six Favorite Pitches

6. Four-seam fastball: Ok, back me up here. There are few things in life more rewarding than throwing pure, unadulterated heat past someone, right? There are two wonderful qualities to the four-seamer. First, the batter sees four parallel seams coming right at them. Second, it rises slightly if thrown properly. To a mediocre or inexperienced batter, this has the desired effect of seeming to come at their head. Tee hee hee. Why is this not higher on the list? Well, given that my fastest four-seam topped out in the low eighties, it wasn't super effective. I had to rely on off-speeds more often than not. And, as my life unfortunately reflects, chicks dig the fastball.
5. Cutter: often dba as the "slurve," this pitch has the velocity of a pure-bred fastball, but curves slightly away from the side it was thrown from. I always like screaming confusing things when I threw this pitch, like, "I'm gonna cut you so bad, you gonna wish I no cut you so bad!" That could possibly explain why my cutters rarely made it over the plate, and instead sailed off into the crowd.
4. Knuckle-curveball: This is truly a bitchin' pitch. Made famous by Mike Mussina, it is thrown like a curveball, but you bend one finger to induce an erratic arc. I would have possibly rated it higher if Mussina wasn't a cocks*cking Yankee. (Just kidding, I would have rated it number 4 anyway.)
3. Screwball: Another fav, although my coach forbid me to use it. For those of you unfamiliar with the mechanics of pitching, try an experiment with me. Mimic throwing a ball. If you are a righty, notice how your hand and forearm either stay parallel with your body, or lean slightly outward. Ok, now, do it again, except turn your wrist and arm inward. Feel that awkwardness in your wrist? Feel the potential for disaster in your elbow? Yeah, that's why I was forbidden to throw it. This pitch has destroyed more arms than chronic masturbation. The good news, though, is that when it is well-thrown, it curves back towards the side it was thrown from, and almost always works.
2. Eephus: Also known as the 'blooper.' A really f*cked up pitch to watch. It lost its popularity around forty years ago when hitters started more regimented workouts and training routines. The Eephus (pronounced "Eephus," I mean, "E-fus") has one defense; it crosses the plate at an angle almost impossible to hit. The pitch is thrown in a huge, sweeping arc. Seriously, a good eephus would reach somewhere around fifteen feet at its apex. The idea is for it to drop exactly at the inside of the plate. Supafly pitch.
1. Forkball: Most commonly known as a 'splitter,' this little gem bailed me out of countless jams when I was a lad. The grip used causes the ball to drop off late in its arc. It is an especially nifty pitch when thrown sidearm, as the delivery causes the pitch to break down and out almost diagonally. I throw an amazing forkball. (oh, by the way, replace "I" with "Roger Clemens." I'm always doing that. Hello, is Walter Mitty home?)(Incidentally, my forkball is above serviceable, but then again I am a mere shell of the man I once was. Well, a fatter shell, anyway.)