Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Travelin' man goes to....
This week's letter from travelin' Uncle Matt sees my life's journeys having brought me to.... Hamilton, New Jersey, near Princeton.
Specifically, I'm sitting on my brother's back porch, sipping a glass of rather good cognac, and smoking a cigar in about 35 degrees of a clear, crisp "what is a Miami boy doing in the north in March" sort of night. There's something poetic about the whole thing --- which perhaps is what drove me here --- anyway there's a thin line between creativity and boredom.
So, what is a Miami boy etc etcing? Tomorrow morning I stand as godfather to my nephew, the first born and very adorable little boy of my brother and s-i-l. Today was the first time I got to see the little Michelin Man (we are a well-fed family)... so at this point just about any jokes about being named godfather to a baby in New Jersey are more than a little bit funny. Though it was only mildly and politely received when I asked before if this meant that I had to settle all debts with the five families... mostly fell on deaf ears. So I guess tomorrow I have to limit it to, like, four bad Al Pacino impressions tops.
That notwithstanding, the whole thing is a considerable honor. Best man at the wedding, and now this. 90% of the time it's true what John Lennon said, "Life is what happens while you're making other plans"... but there are also the events that come along that you know in advance are going to be significant life experiences. This is doubtless one of them. Pictures will be taken, if you'd like to see some let me know --- if you're reading this, there's a good chance I'm going to thrust them upon you whether or not you ask!! :-)
I may be starting another journey too... one that has me, so far, finding myself happy a lot more these days. More on that, well, whenever. A definite stay tuneder though.
Completely arbitrary and transparent change of subject, I've just started reading "The Great War: American Front" by Harry Turtledove. It's an alternate history book, the second in a series. The idea behind the story is that he goes back to a single point in the history of the Civil War, a pivotal point which it can be argued eventually led to the South's fall, and what-ifs out the possibility had that one event been different. In the first book, "How Few Remain", it's about 1885 and the South ultimately was victorious in "The War of Secession". Lincoln is still alive, having been voted out unceremoniously in 1864 having failed to gain real traction in the war. The book plays out a new war betwreen the confederacy and the union, and features significant story lines for Lincoln, Teddy Roosevelt, Frederick Douglass, Mark Twain, General George Custer....
This second book continues about a generation later on the dawn of WWI. I won't get too much into the second book --- partially because I don't want to ruin the possibility of reading the first for you and partially because I'm only on page 35... but consider: If the French and English had, as they were so close to actually doing, supported the South... where would that have left the US in European relations? Suddenly the Germans fall in a different light.
I seem to like alternate histories, I read a very good one when I was in Washington as well.
I should have more to share after tomorrow's big doings. I enjoy spending time with all of my brother's in-laws whenever I come up here, and we have some cousins and such scattered around as well who may also join in, so it should be good times.
I think... think I am sufficiently appreciative of the fact that I have been blessed with drawing the card in The Big Deck that says "good family life". I know there's nothing like it.
Specifically, I'm sitting on my brother's back porch, sipping a glass of rather good cognac, and smoking a cigar in about 35 degrees of a clear, crisp "what is a Miami boy doing in the north in March" sort of night. There's something poetic about the whole thing --- which perhaps is what drove me here --- anyway there's a thin line between creativity and boredom.
So, what is a Miami boy etc etcing? Tomorrow morning I stand as godfather to my nephew, the first born and very adorable little boy of my brother and s-i-l. Today was the first time I got to see the little Michelin Man (we are a well-fed family)... so at this point just about any jokes about being named godfather to a baby in New Jersey are more than a little bit funny. Though it was only mildly and politely received when I asked before if this meant that I had to settle all debts with the five families... mostly fell on deaf ears. So I guess tomorrow I have to limit it to, like, four bad Al Pacino impressions tops.
That notwithstanding, the whole thing is a considerable honor. Best man at the wedding, and now this. 90% of the time it's true what John Lennon said, "Life is what happens while you're making other plans"... but there are also the events that come along that you know in advance are going to be significant life experiences. This is doubtless one of them. Pictures will be taken, if you'd like to see some let me know --- if you're reading this, there's a good chance I'm going to thrust them upon you whether or not you ask!! :-)
I may be starting another journey too... one that has me, so far, finding myself happy a lot more these days. More on that, well, whenever. A definite stay tuneder though.
Completely arbitrary and transparent change of subject, I've just started reading "The Great War: American Front" by Harry Turtledove. It's an alternate history book, the second in a series. The idea behind the story is that he goes back to a single point in the history of the Civil War, a pivotal point which it can be argued eventually led to the South's fall, and what-ifs out the possibility had that one event been different. In the first book, "How Few Remain", it's about 1885 and the South ultimately was victorious in "The War of Secession". Lincoln is still alive, having been voted out unceremoniously in 1864 having failed to gain real traction in the war. The book plays out a new war betwreen the confederacy and the union, and features significant story lines for Lincoln, Teddy Roosevelt, Frederick Douglass, Mark Twain, General George Custer....
This second book continues about a generation later on the dawn of WWI. I won't get too much into the second book --- partially because I don't want to ruin the possibility of reading the first for you and partially because I'm only on page 35... but consider: If the French and English had, as they were so close to actually doing, supported the South... where would that have left the US in European relations? Suddenly the Germans fall in a different light.
I seem to like alternate histories, I read a very good one when I was in Washington as well.
I should have more to share after tomorrow's big doings. I enjoy spending time with all of my brother's in-laws whenever I come up here, and we have some cousins and such scattered around as well who may also join in, so it should be good times.
I think... think I am sufficiently appreciative of the fact that I have been blessed with drawing the card in The Big Deck that says "good family life". I know there's nothing like it.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Remember there's no i in recipe... oh, wait...
Here's something I posted on my old website. Now generally, the closest I ever come to real cooking is a really bad Swedish Chef impression. However, this was fun to put together and is a damned tasty dish.
I've kept it in my original phraseology... see I used to be a really sarcastic guy with a fairly random sense of humor. Thank goodness that phase was short-lived... err...
SPAGHETTI ALA GERBER!!!!
NOW PAY ATTENTION, DAMMIT.
(cuz we're not responsible for anyone you kill if you don't follow the directions carefully!)
IN GREEDY YENTS
spaghetti (duh)
one egg, the kind that come from chickens and don't have lil' chicks in them.
*do not use dinosaur eggs*
butter
bacon (none of that phony stuff neither)
parmesan cheese
garlic salt
WATT TOO DUE
1. Fill a pot with water and boil it ("it" being the water). When the water is boiling, insert the spaghetti.
2. Cook the spaghetti for EIGHT minutes. Thou shalt not cook to 7. Neither shalt thou cook to 9. 8 is the number of minutes thou shalt cook to and thou shalt cook to the number of 8 minutes. 10 is right out…
6. While your spaghetti is cooking, melt a few Patz of butter and beat up one egg.
9. Cook a few pieces of bacon.
11. Strain the water out of the pot, throw the eggs and butter into the pot. The spaghetti should magically cook the eggs enough so as to not risk your insides getting eaten by diseases and little germie critters, but just in case you may wanna throw the whole mess back onto the oven.
12. Tear up the bacon into tiny pieces and sprinkle fortuitously throughout the spaghetti.
14. Add proper seasons. The garlic salt and parmesan cheese work well here, so do winter and spring. Don't go using, like, brandy or Mad Dog 20/20 as a seasoning .
15. Put it on a plate. Find something good on TV and eat it, dammit. A glass of milk goes well with it.
I've kept it in my original phraseology... see I used to be a really sarcastic guy with a fairly random sense of humor. Thank goodness that phase was short-lived... err...
SPAGHETTI ALA GERBER!!!!
NOW PAY ATTENTION, DAMMIT.
(cuz we're not responsible for anyone you kill if you don't follow the directions carefully!)
IN GREEDY YENTS
spaghetti (duh)
one egg, the kind that come from chickens and don't have lil' chicks in them.
*do not use dinosaur eggs*
butter
bacon (none of that phony stuff neither)
parmesan cheese
garlic salt
WATT TOO DUE
1. Fill a pot with water and boil it ("it" being the water). When the water is boiling, insert the spaghetti.
2. Cook the spaghetti for EIGHT minutes. Thou shalt not cook to 7. Neither shalt thou cook to 9. 8 is the number of minutes thou shalt cook to and thou shalt cook to the number of 8 minutes. 10 is right out…
6. While your spaghetti is cooking, melt a few Patz of butter and beat up one egg.
9. Cook a few pieces of bacon.
11. Strain the water out of the pot, throw the eggs and butter into the pot. The spaghetti should magically cook the eggs enough so as to not risk your insides getting eaten by diseases and little germie critters, but just in case you may wanna throw the whole mess back onto the oven.
12. Tear up the bacon into tiny pieces and sprinkle fortuitously throughout the spaghetti.
14. Add proper seasons. The garlic salt and parmesan cheese work well here, so do winter and spring. Don't go using, like, brandy or Mad Dog 20/20 as a seasoning .
15. Put it on a plate. Find something good on TV and eat it, dammit. A glass of milk goes well with it.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Do you know who I am?
"No deary, but if you ask at the nurse's station up front, they'll tell you."
The following story is true. The names have been changed to protect the search engines.
When I was in college I did an internship with an arena football team. I did most of their day-to-day PR work. One day I had to attend the cheerleader / dance squad tryouts so I could write a press release about the girls that got selected. I know, horrible fate, right?
We invited a couple of "celebrity judges" to help with the selection. I use the term celebrity loosely because, well, this was Tallahassee after all. Turns out I didn't know how far into the barrel we were going.
I was walking down the line asking politely the names of all our guests --- I needed to write them down so I could include it in the release. A local radio DJ, I think a former beauty queen... Everyone was being very friendly and good-natured, and at the end of the line a thin, dark-haired woman just stared at me. I looked back, and after a beat she turned to the lady next to her and said "Well! I GUESS he doesn't know who I am!"
Having only been in town a few years and working as an intern at that, I thought perhaps I'd missed something. I said "No, ma'am, umm I'm sorry?" Thinking she'd tell me she was, perhaps, the state secretary of education or something and I just didn't know better. Certainly someone copping that sort of 'tude would be recognizable by her name?
She deemed me fit to be let in on the secret. "I'm Julie Monta----".
You know how in cartoons when they used to ring up the old-style cash registers and the "no sale" flags pop up? That was probably my expression.
"Hmmph". She sided. It probably was added insult to injury that I had to ask her to spell it to make sure I got it right. The name meant nothing to me.
I found out a bit later on she was the weekend TV evening news anchor for the local NBC or CBS or whatever affiliate. Mind you, Tallahassee is, what, something like the 120th biggest media market in the US. Rah.
Seems like it's never the Jimmy Stewarts of the world who say "Don't you know who I am?" It's the D-listers that think having played "2nd Ex-Girflriend" in a straight-to-DVD teen movie that think they can throw their weight around.
The following story is true. The names have been changed to protect the search engines.
When I was in college I did an internship with an arena football team. I did most of their day-to-day PR work. One day I had to attend the cheerleader / dance squad tryouts so I could write a press release about the girls that got selected. I know, horrible fate, right?
We invited a couple of "celebrity judges" to help with the selection. I use the term celebrity loosely because, well, this was Tallahassee after all. Turns out I didn't know how far into the barrel we were going.
I was walking down the line asking politely the names of all our guests --- I needed to write them down so I could include it in the release. A local radio DJ, I think a former beauty queen... Everyone was being very friendly and good-natured, and at the end of the line a thin, dark-haired woman just stared at me. I looked back, and after a beat she turned to the lady next to her and said "Well! I GUESS he doesn't know who I am!"
Having only been in town a few years and working as an intern at that, I thought perhaps I'd missed something. I said "No, ma'am, umm I'm sorry?" Thinking she'd tell me she was, perhaps, the state secretary of education or something and I just didn't know better. Certainly someone copping that sort of 'tude would be recognizable by her name?
She deemed me fit to be let in on the secret. "I'm Julie Monta----".
You know how in cartoons when they used to ring up the old-style cash registers and the "no sale" flags pop up? That was probably my expression.
"Hmmph". She sided. It probably was added insult to injury that I had to ask her to spell it to make sure I got it right. The name meant nothing to me.
I found out a bit later on she was the weekend TV evening news anchor for the local NBC or CBS or whatever affiliate. Mind you, Tallahassee is, what, something like the 120th biggest media market in the US. Rah.
Seems like it's never the Jimmy Stewarts of the world who say "Don't you know who I am?" It's the D-listers that think having played "2nd Ex-Girflriend" in a straight-to-DVD teen movie that think they can throw their weight around.
Thursday, March 8, 2007
ohmmmm......
I used to be developing this theory that in Heaven, you get to go back to points in your life and see how your life would have unfolded differently if you'd made different decisions along the way. So you can see how things would have happened if the one true love hadn't gotten away, or if you'd taken that job in another city, or if you stopped someone from going into a hospital they never walked out of.
Then I realized this was probably just an overly dramatic way of dealing with the fact that I just second guess stuff a lot.
Now after the crisis of faith I'm just left with crappy science fiction TV shows and their time travel.
Then I realized this was probably just an overly dramatic way of dealing with the fact that I just second guess stuff a lot.
Now after the crisis of faith I'm just left with crappy science fiction TV shows and their time travel.
Sunday, March 4, 2007
Mueva te!
I used to think that people didn't place nearly a high enough priority on getting the hell out of my way... whether on the road or in the grocery store, it should be a) your own personal health and well being, and b) getting out of my damn way. And really, if you think about it, the second one directly relates to the first.
Then I thought about the poor homeless. The man who hasn't shaved in a month, whose hair is all matted down, and who probably doesn't have a change of clothes. And I realized...
I bet people don't get in his way. Maybe he's not really down on his luck --- maybe he just flipped and was tired of having people clogging up the aisles in front of him at Walgreens. If you see someone who smells like their religion prohibits toilet paper, you'd get out of his way.
Lucky bastard.
Then I thought about the poor homeless. The man who hasn't shaved in a month, whose hair is all matted down, and who probably doesn't have a change of clothes. And I realized...
I bet people don't get in his way. Maybe he's not really down on his luck --- maybe he just flipped and was tired of having people clogging up the aisles in front of him at Walgreens. If you see someone who smells like their religion prohibits toilet paper, you'd get out of his way.
Lucky bastard.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Other then that, what did you think of the play, Mrs. Lincoln?
I'm lucky to be here.
Not so much in the Chamber of Commerce sense of some of my posts, but more in the general direction of being lucky to be anywhere, and not have to get there by blowing into a straw or blinking my thoughts.
By all rights I should probably be dead.
One of my father's admonitions to me was: "Since you'll probably never go to war, the most dangerous thing you'll ever do will be drive a car." A couple of weeks ago I once again apparently tried to prove him right.
Okay enough foreshadowing, I should probably get to what happened, then I can return to waxing philosophic... I was driving south on US1, doing forty-hmmprhmhprh to get through a yellow light before it turned. As I reached the intersection (where Brickell meets Coral Way, right in front of Gordon Biersch for the faithful readers who know Miami), a woman coming north decided she was going to go ahead and turn left.
Time slowed down.
Her SUV, a Toyota Hillfucker, plowed into the front left side of my car, impacting probably around the left light. The airbag and seatbelt combined to stop me from going through the windshield. The fairly lucky "I shouldn't be here" part is that if she'd got me a split second later she would have plowed into the driver's side door instead of the front left side of the car... and I probably would have been on the evening news for the first and last time.
As it was, I somehow managed to escape with only a small bruise from where the airbag hit me. The Nissan Riceburn wasn't quite so fortunate, and that's really another indicator of level of severity --- a week and a lot of insurance calls later, it was totaled. So, significantly more than $11,000 worth of damage was done to my car... and my only residual mark was a left breast that looked like I walked into the door behind Luca.
In a greater way perhaps, I'm also fortunate that my mother came down to the scene immediately, put me up in the house, and helped with the securing of a new car and whatnot. Without getting to into it, I've always been blessed to count on my mom, ever since some tough times as a teen. I'm slowly learning and reaffirming a life's lesson, looking at my friends and my own family --- that there's nothing quite like having people who care for you that you can rely on in the trying times.
So, I'm okay, the other gal was okay... I've got a new car... got a good deal on a used Chrysler 300 (very nice luxury car... perfect for a guy that learned how to drive on a Cadillac Sedan DeVille!) Now all that remains is some paperwork. But sometimes in life, you consider yourself lucky just to be able to fill out a form.
It occurs to me this accident happened before my trip to Tallahassee... I intrigue myself in realizing I posted about that first before this. Maybe it was easier.
Not so much in the Chamber of Commerce sense of some of my posts, but more in the general direction of being lucky to be anywhere, and not have to get there by blowing into a straw or blinking my thoughts.
By all rights I should probably be dead.
One of my father's admonitions to me was: "Since you'll probably never go to war, the most dangerous thing you'll ever do will be drive a car." A couple of weeks ago I once again apparently tried to prove him right.
Okay enough foreshadowing, I should probably get to what happened, then I can return to waxing philosophic... I was driving south on US1, doing forty-hmmprhmhprh to get through a yellow light before it turned. As I reached the intersection (where Brickell meets Coral Way, right in front of Gordon Biersch for the faithful readers who know Miami), a woman coming north decided she was going to go ahead and turn left.
Time slowed down.
Her SUV, a Toyota Hillfucker, plowed into the front left side of my car, impacting probably around the left light. The airbag and seatbelt combined to stop me from going through the windshield. The fairly lucky "I shouldn't be here" part is that if she'd got me a split second later she would have plowed into the driver's side door instead of the front left side of the car... and I probably would have been on the evening news for the first and last time.
As it was, I somehow managed to escape with only a small bruise from where the airbag hit me. The Nissan Riceburn wasn't quite so fortunate, and that's really another indicator of level of severity --- a week and a lot of insurance calls later, it was totaled. So, significantly more than $11,000 worth of damage was done to my car... and my only residual mark was a left breast that looked like I walked into the door behind Luca.
In a greater way perhaps, I'm also fortunate that my mother came down to the scene immediately, put me up in the house, and helped with the securing of a new car and whatnot. Without getting to into it, I've always been blessed to count on my mom, ever since some tough times as a teen. I'm slowly learning and reaffirming a life's lesson, looking at my friends and my own family --- that there's nothing quite like having people who care for you that you can rely on in the trying times.
So, I'm okay, the other gal was okay... I've got a new car... got a good deal on a used Chrysler 300 (very nice luxury car... perfect for a guy that learned how to drive on a Cadillac Sedan DeVille!) Now all that remains is some paperwork. But sometimes in life, you consider yourself lucky just to be able to fill out a form.
It occurs to me this accident happened before my trip to Tallahassee... I intrigue myself in realizing I posted about that first before this. Maybe it was easier.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Travelin' Man goes to...
Life's journeys have taken me to Tallahassee. Back to my old stompin' ground.
I'm here ostensibly for an alumni association conference, but also I have some ulterior motives. Other reasons include in no particular order a Seminole baseball game this weekend, staying in touch with my old boss, and seeing my best friend and her two adorable little girls again.
Worst kept secret is that I'd be lying if I said I don't have designs on my life leading me back here someday. The town's changed a lot since I was here in 2000... but a lot of the charm is still undeniable. I love the lush greenery. I love that every block has cars with FSU tags and stickers, a "Renegade Barber Shop" or "Osceola Hardware", and students that just look genuinely happy to be alive. And of course college football is bar none my favorite sports experience.
It's admittedly not a great place to be 25. Being a smaller town (about 150,000 soakin' wet), there's not a lot of professional opportunities. But when you start having thoughts of a family, or when you want reasonably priced real estate... or when you're far enough removed from student age that your social circles are "grown ups" instead of kiddos, well... rolling hills call!
I'm here ostensibly for an alumni association conference, but also I have some ulterior motives. Other reasons include in no particular order a Seminole baseball game this weekend, staying in touch with my old boss, and seeing my best friend and her two adorable little girls again.
Worst kept secret is that I'd be lying if I said I don't have designs on my life leading me back here someday. The town's changed a lot since I was here in 2000... but a lot of the charm is still undeniable. I love the lush greenery. I love that every block has cars with FSU tags and stickers, a "Renegade Barber Shop" or "Osceola Hardware", and students that just look genuinely happy to be alive. And of course college football is bar none my favorite sports experience.
It's admittedly not a great place to be 25. Being a smaller town (about 150,000 soakin' wet), there's not a lot of professional opportunities. But when you start having thoughts of a family, or when you want reasonably priced real estate... or when you're far enough removed from student age that your social circles are "grown ups" instead of kiddos, well... rolling hills call!
Friday, February 9, 2007
how do you say "gimme the damn remote, Duck Tales is on" in Hungarian?
Probably dating myself a bit here, but hey someone has to date me :)
I'm sorry, but I will always find this either fascinating... or likely both... I guess nowadays it's classified only as "blogworthy".... ya see, people from other countries talk funny.
Which just goes to prove my theory... GERMANS LOVE DAVID HASSELHOFF!
The Gummi Bears theme, in Hungarian.
Jem and the Holograms, in Italian.
True story, as a kid in like first grade I watched Jem and the Holograms when it first came out... till one day another guy at school told me that was a "cartoon for girls" and that boys weren't supposed to like it. Last time I watched it!
http://homepage.ntlworld.com/brien.hannah/frenchintro.zip
This one's pretty damned funny, couldn't find it other then in that zip file... it's the A-Team theme in French. What the hell are the French doing watching the A-Team? Yeah, a bunch of vigilantes military for hire that go around blowing shit up. Bonjourrrrrr, ya cheese eatin' surrender monkeys!
And a couple more I wanted to put up in English because... well hell I don't really need a reason do I? I just liked these shows too and couldn't find them in any other language as an excuse to put'em up. Turns out they're actually all foreign products imported to the US. Not that I knew that when I was watching them in the lower living room in my undies.
I watched a lot of Nickelodeon growing up. Remember these?
Danger Mouse
Today's Special
You Can't Do That on Television
I'm sorry, but I will always find this either fascinating... or likely both... I guess nowadays it's classified only as "blogworthy".... ya see, people from other countries talk funny.
Which just goes to prove my theory... GERMANS LOVE DAVID HASSELHOFF!
The Gummi Bears theme, in Hungarian.
Jem and the Holograms, in Italian.
True story, as a kid in like first grade I watched Jem and the Holograms when it first came out... till one day another guy at school told me that was a "cartoon for girls" and that boys weren't supposed to like it. Last time I watched it!
http://homepage.ntlworld.com/brien.hannah/frenchintro.zip
This one's pretty damned funny, couldn't find it other then in that zip file... it's the A-Team theme in French. What the hell are the French doing watching the A-Team? Yeah, a bunch of vigilantes military for hire that go around blowing shit up. Bonjourrrrrr, ya cheese eatin' surrender monkeys!
And a couple more I wanted to put up in English because... well hell I don't really need a reason do I? I just liked these shows too and couldn't find them in any other language as an excuse to put'em up. Turns out they're actually all foreign products imported to the US. Not that I knew that when I was watching them in the lower living room in my undies.
I watched a lot of Nickelodeon growing up. Remember these?
Danger Mouse
Today's Special
You Can't Do That on Television
Monday, January 29, 2007
my·o·pi·a (mī-ō'pē-ə) n.
| 1. | Ophthalmology. a condition of the eye in which parallel rays are focused in front of the retina, objects being seen distinctly only when near to the eye; nearsightedness |
| 2. | lack of foresight or discernment; obtuseness. |
| 3. | narrow-mindedness; intolerance. |
Let's see if you can figure out what sounds not particularly well thought out in this exchange.
"We have to get all these Mexicans out of our cities. More and more people are speaking Spanish."
"What cities?"
"Oh, San Antonio, Santa Fe, San Diego, Las Vegas...."
Illegal immigration is wrong because it's illegal. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy. And if we don't know who's coming across our border, then we don't know who's coming across our border. Another nugget o' knowledgeitude. And certainly anyone off the grid shouldn't be a drain on our tax rolls with benefits and whatnot.
But many on my side of the aisle claim to have a problem with illegal immigration, when if you ask why they eventually get around to some pretty xenophobic (read: racist) reasons, basically advocating the perceived superiority of pre-existing cultures...
However... Florida and El Paso and Los Angeles and Santa Cruz don't just coincidentally have them thar Spanish sounding names. The reason why you can get white bread in Laredo is because we did a mighty good job of eventually moving in there on a (reasonably) open market.
You wonder if they'd be as upset if there was a large influx of Canadians.
Of course, a party requires a certain percentage of extremists to a) vote for them and b) shut th ehell up. But that's a post for another night....
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Recycling is not our friend...
Movies they never need to make again....
- The Fair Game Fiancee -- It's a week before Barry's wedding... so what's he going to do about the wacky (wedding planner/chauffeur/beer wench/gal stranded in airport) that he's forced to spend 48 hours with before his wedding? Who will he choose, the dull one-dimensional second-tier star who's waiting for him, or the spontaneous free-spirit he's improbably forced into compromising situations with? Why hasn't anyone else involved with the wedding (except maybe his best man) noticed he's spent the whole week with the girl who drinks tequila and cuts off his tie?
- Tough Love -- There's a new teacher in town at John Shaft High, but in a world plagued by gang violence, teen pregnancy, drugs, and 1980s style ridiculously large "ghetto blaster" boomboxes, can anyone reach these youths, or will the system continue to abandon them? Watch as the teacher gets the kids to become interested in learning again by (gasp) having the lessons pertain to stuff from the kids own lives! See, counting is a blast when you realize shooting two cops plus shooting another two cops = shooting four cops. And gangs think Shakespeare's cool when they realize guys fought over whores back then too. And when the knocked-up 16 year old girl decides to drop out, the teacher goes to the kid's house and talks to her, pointing out school's important for having a good future, the girl tearfully comes back. The movie ends with the kids standing up for the teacher who's gotten in trouble for unconventional teaching methods.
- Lose, Train, Win -- A team of kids really suck at a sport. They lose a game huge. A coach on his last-chance comes in and gets them to practice, a lot. There's a training montage with a good song that shows them working really hard. The night before the big game, he gives a big speech in the locker room where he says they are winners just for trying. Then they go out and win in slow motion (or in an oh-so-shocking twist, end up losing anyway but they sure did learn something about how a team can be almost like a team with some teamwork)
- Something and Dance --- Turns out ballet and generic rap music do mix! Watch the life lessons that can be learned as two kids from opposite sides of the track find out that their love is strong enough they can battle their families to go hang out for a while and learn little bits of each others stereotypes. Turns out that uptight prissy whites can have fun doing something they thought only minorities did, and minorities can make a scene at girlfriend's dad's country club when he pitches a fit by standing up and accusing them all of being (gasp) shallow and elitist. But eventually minority parents and Muffy and Todd see their kids are happy and learn that other cultures besides their own are probably okay, in moderation.
- Ask Me Twelve Times --- Guy sees hot girl in different social arena from his. Guy asks girl out, she says no. He asks again and she says no again. He finds some creative and silly ways to get around her and her friends, where she says no again. He says he's gonna ask one last time and she says no again. She realizes the guy she's dating is a prick. She goes to chase the guy she's been turning down for like a month, only to be amazed to see he's hanging out with a different chick. She storms off, he chases after her to no avail. He later makes a big, very public and very embarrassing apology. She reluctantly chuckles and takes him back. They kiss, movie ends.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
life among the faeries, part 2
I lost serious guy points today... I suppose it's a sign of being more well-rounded, but it's certainly not good dude karma.
I missed nearly the entire first half of the NFC championship game today, because I was at the theatre. Seeing a musical.
If it counts as a mitigating factor, the musical was Spamalot. So it's not like I went off to watch The Full Monty or something. Plus, I bought the tickets for a Christmas present for my sister back in October to go with a group of friends, so it's not like I was sitting there saying "Hmmm, I wonder how their opting for a matinee compares against what the starting time of the earlier Sunday game might be."
Still, it's a sign of my gradually increasing queeritude.
Offhand, the number of musicals I know backwards and forwards....
I missed nearly the entire first half of the NFC championship game today, because I was at the theatre. Seeing a musical.
If it counts as a mitigating factor, the musical was Spamalot. So it's not like I went off to watch The Full Monty or something. Plus, I bought the tickets for a Christmas present for my sister back in October to go with a group of friends, so it's not like I was sitting there saying "Hmmm, I wonder how their opting for a matinee compares against what the starting time of the earlier Sunday game might be."
Still, it's a sign of my gradually increasing queeritude.
Offhand, the number of musicals I know backwards and forwards....
- Guys and Dolls
- The Music Man
- Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat
- Jesus Christ Superstar
- Evita
- Tommy
- Grease
- West Side Story
- Rent
- Little Shop of Horrors
- My Fair Lady
- Singin' in the Rain
- Chicago
- 42nd Street
- Avenue Q
mon dieu!
An old American man is at Charles DeGaulle Airport going through customs. The French official looks through his passport and speaks in an offended tone, "Monsieur, is it possible that in these advancing years, you 'ave never visited France before?"
"Well," says the old man, "no, I've actually been here once before."
"Sir zat ees impossible you must be mistaken. French officials are very effective, and eef you had been here before it would appear on your passport."
"Well, when my unit landed here at Normandy in '44, I looked around but I couldn't find any French officials to look at my papers."
"Well," says the old man, "no, I've actually been here once before."
"Sir zat ees impossible you must be mistaken. French officials are very effective, and eef you had been here before it would appear on your passport."
"Well, when my unit landed here at Normandy in '44, I looked around but I couldn't find any French officials to look at my papers."
Saturday, January 13, 2007
say what now
Weirdest thing I've SEEN in the last 24 hours: A beer wench who just finished her master's in neuroscience.
Weirdest thing I've HEARD in the last 24 hours: "My dad took my mom to a whorehouse in the Dominican Republic for a rugby party."
Weirdest thing I've HEARD in the last 24 hours: "My dad took my mom to a whorehouse in the Dominican Republic for a rugby party."
Thursday, January 11, 2007
life among the faeries....
I live in the heart of South Beach. I usually triangulate it for people by clarifying that "I'm close enough to News Cafe and Ocean Drive and the Clevelander and Lincoln Road that I can walk to all those things, but far enough away that I don't get the noise at night." While many people have the same general understanding of the residents of South Beach (the clubs and bars are mostly populated by tourists and people from other parts of town), I only recall one friend ever actually posing the question.
"Aren't there a lot of, you know, GAYS around there?"
Well, yes... actually there are.
The next question --- while presumably just the continuation of the person's thought, is what intrigued me...
"Doesn't that bother you?"
Hmmm...
Now, I don't claim to be among the most enlightened, all-forgiving love all groups sort of Kumbaya-er. But I do try to favor pragmatism in my opinions whenever possible. So I recall my response having been a probably less eloquent version of:
"Well, what's supposed to bother me? The ones around me are very friendly and concerned about the safety of the neighborhood and their property value. They landscape in their spare time, they don't throw wild parties, they make damn good money... should I care what they're doing in their own places? What's the big negative... oh no, they have small dogs!!"
I consider myself fairly lucky to have the opportunity to have grown up in South Florida, and to be able to live here now. And that's not just because of the fact that at 12:30 in the morning I'm sitting on my front stoop in January under a palm tree and it's about 58 degrees with a soft breeze blowing. I think there was a certain point growing up when I actually had to realize that it wasn't everybody's normal experience to have on any given day a medianoche and empanadas for lunch and matzoh ball soup, knishes, and latkes for dinner. Fact is in the right environment you can appreciate diversity for the selfish reasons of what it can offer you without really having it forced upon you.
Growing up? Again, not necessarily the bastion of "all men are created equal", but perhaps more of a leaning towards a libertarian, laissez faire approach. If someone doesn't bother you then, well, why should they bother you? Not much accomplished except waste of energy by being mad at someone just for being. If they're not infringing upon you in any way shape or form, there's certainly enough other things that DO affect you AND are in your control to focus on. I'm not expressing that as well as I should because it sounds more like "tolerance through laziness" then any sort of acceptance, but anyway there it is.
My friends and I have gotten to the point where we joke about it. I'll play straight man (another poor choice of words) by tossing them an underhand pitch like chatting about how now, by virtue of "scrapbooking", I have a coffee table book where I've mounted all my ticket stubs from sporting events and concerts and such for display. This gets the intended result of them teasing me lightly for living "among them" for too long!
Someone else asked me once, if I could live anywhere, where would it be... another interesting question if given some thought... the truth of the situation is I CAN live anywhere... I've got no restrictions as such, I've had the opportunity to travel all over to see some of my options, and I work in a field where I could probably find a job in nearly any civilized, English-speaking town. And I find myself here of my own free will, with no real wanderlust save the occasional weekend trip for a football game. Here among the soft breeze, the stone crab claws, the ocean views, and the faeries....
"Aren't there a lot of, you know, GAYS around there?"
Well, yes... actually there are.
The next question --- while presumably just the continuation of the person's thought, is what intrigued me...
"Doesn't that bother you?"
Hmmm...
Now, I don't claim to be among the most enlightened, all-forgiving love all groups sort of Kumbaya-er. But I do try to favor pragmatism in my opinions whenever possible. So I recall my response having been a probably less eloquent version of:
"Well, what's supposed to bother me? The ones around me are very friendly and concerned about the safety of the neighborhood and their property value. They landscape in their spare time, they don't throw wild parties, they make damn good money... should I care what they're doing in their own places? What's the big negative... oh no, they have small dogs!!"
I consider myself fairly lucky to have the opportunity to have grown up in South Florida, and to be able to live here now. And that's not just because of the fact that at 12:30 in the morning I'm sitting on my front stoop in January under a palm tree and it's about 58 degrees with a soft breeze blowing. I think there was a certain point growing up when I actually had to realize that it wasn't everybody's normal experience to have on any given day a medianoche and empanadas for lunch and matzoh ball soup, knishes, and latkes for dinner. Fact is in the right environment you can appreciate diversity for the selfish reasons of what it can offer you without really having it forced upon you.
Growing up? Again, not necessarily the bastion of "all men are created equal", but perhaps more of a leaning towards a libertarian, laissez faire approach. If someone doesn't bother you then, well, why should they bother you? Not much accomplished except waste of energy by being mad at someone just for being. If they're not infringing upon you in any way shape or form, there's certainly enough other things that DO affect you AND are in your control to focus on. I'm not expressing that as well as I should because it sounds more like "tolerance through laziness" then any sort of acceptance, but anyway there it is.
My friends and I have gotten to the point where we joke about it. I'll play straight man (another poor choice of words) by tossing them an underhand pitch like chatting about how now, by virtue of "scrapbooking", I have a coffee table book where I've mounted all my ticket stubs from sporting events and concerts and such for display. This gets the intended result of them teasing me lightly for living "among them" for too long!
Someone else asked me once, if I could live anywhere, where would it be... another interesting question if given some thought... the truth of the situation is I CAN live anywhere... I've got no restrictions as such, I've had the opportunity to travel all over to see some of my options, and I work in a field where I could probably find a job in nearly any civilized, English-speaking town. And I find myself here of my own free will, with no real wanderlust save the occasional weekend trip for a football game. Here among the soft breeze, the stone crab claws, the ocean views, and the faeries....
Monday, January 8, 2007
life is like a different candy
One of my new favorite expressions... I read where someone said "Life isn't all beer and skittles."
Amen to that.
What surprised me was that I looked it up and it turns out the statement goes a ways back... long before the candy, even. Apparently, like everything else, "skittles" was apparently once an obscure old British version of bowling.
Well Bob's your uncle!
Amen to that.
What surprised me was that I looked it up and it turns out the statement goes a ways back... long before the candy, even. Apparently, like everything else, "skittles" was apparently once an obscure old British version of bowling.
Well Bob's your uncle!
Tuesday, January 2, 2007
the laptop thing... aka "My Own Personal Beautiful Mind"
a pitch black, cold, rainy night in Washington. I come out of the airport in a long old trenchcoat, carrying nearly every piece of respectable-looking clothing I own in two bags that weigh so much the plane skipped into town. Add to my load a satchel with my checkbook, an organizer that I've had since several jobs ago, directions to my new office, and a laptop with everything I've read, thought, or written for the past two years. I was about to begin a month-long special assignment in our DC office knowing almost nobody in the town and never having ventured more than about three blocks from any given monument before.
I walkstumblecollapse into a yellow cab, having deposited the dufflebags in the trunk and electing to cling to the laptop bag.
I should take a second here to interject that I am a borderline OCD traveler. That's not to say that I have problems with the actual flying/driving/busing etc.... rather I'm the kind who will check my ticket 5 times between the house and the airport, and have often arrived at the airport in excess of 3 hours early just because I'd rather be the first one sitting at the gate reading a book then have to Pink Floydesque Run Like Hell.
Alas, back to our story... I'm clutching a sheet of instructions half-convinced that if I put it down, it will evaporate. Of course I can't go straight to my new apartment --- that would be too easy. I have to go to an empty, closed office building in the night, go up the dimly lit path in the rain, and reach into an old-style cast iron black mailbox on the front steps and hopefully pull out a large manila envelope with my name on it in big letters that contains special instructions, a map, and my key. I have to do all this while the cabbie presumably waits patiently with all my earthly possessions.
So, being the manic traveler that I am, while in the cab I try and remember what I can --- the name of the cab, the time I picked it up, etc. I key the driver's permit number into my cellphone to have a permanent record. The notion of two stops in a cab just never set well with me.
I get the instructions and the keys from the deserted office's dropbox. I get back in the cab and go on to the apartment. After a few misses, we finally get to the apartment (honestly, how hard can it be to find 234 6th street SE in a town where the numbers actually correspond?) By now it's approaching midnight. I wearily get out, grab my two checked bags, and start thinking about how to get them up a flight of stairs. I'm not thinking about the fact that the cab is pulling away with my laptop bag in the backseat.
I'm standing there like a damned fool, half-expecting the guy to turn around and come back upon realizing I've left several thousand dollars worth of technology on his backseat. Without my bag, I don't even have the address of the office I'm supposed to be going to in the morning.
More in chapter 2... if I ever get around to writing it...
I walkstumblecollapse into a yellow cab, having deposited the dufflebags in the trunk and electing to cling to the laptop bag.
I should take a second here to interject that I am a borderline OCD traveler. That's not to say that I have problems with the actual flying/driving/busing etc.... rather I'm the kind who will check my ticket 5 times between the house and the airport, and have often arrived at the airport in excess of 3 hours early just because I'd rather be the first one sitting at the gate reading a book then have to Pink Floydesque Run Like Hell.
Alas, back to our story... I'm clutching a sheet of instructions half-convinced that if I put it down, it will evaporate. Of course I can't go straight to my new apartment --- that would be too easy. I have to go to an empty, closed office building in the night, go up the dimly lit path in the rain, and reach into an old-style cast iron black mailbox on the front steps and hopefully pull out a large manila envelope with my name on it in big letters that contains special instructions, a map, and my key. I have to do all this while the cabbie presumably waits patiently with all my earthly possessions.
So, being the manic traveler that I am, while in the cab I try and remember what I can --- the name of the cab, the time I picked it up, etc. I key the driver's permit number into my cellphone to have a permanent record. The notion of two stops in a cab just never set well with me.
I get the instructions and the keys from the deserted office's dropbox. I get back in the cab and go on to the apartment. After a few misses, we finally get to the apartment (honestly, how hard can it be to find 234 6th street SE in a town where the numbers actually correspond?) By now it's approaching midnight. I wearily get out, grab my two checked bags, and start thinking about how to get them up a flight of stairs. I'm not thinking about the fact that the cab is pulling away with my laptop bag in the backseat.
I'm standing there like a damned fool, half-expecting the guy to turn around and come back upon realizing I've left several thousand dollars worth of technology on his backseat. Without my bag, I don't even have the address of the office I'm supposed to be going to in the morning.
More in chapter 2... if I ever get around to writing it...
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
freakin' new york freakin' city!
I seem to have somehow found myself in New York City.
I always kinda figured that if I was going to be in the corporate world, I wanted to have one of those jobs where I'd get a call saying "Can you get on a plane tomorrow, we really want you here!" And sure enough, here I am!
One of my clients had their quarterly financials update today, and they wanted someone to help with the monitoring. I think it was also just seen as a good chance for me to meet with some people --- both at the client and within my own company --- that I've worked with for years but never met. I got in late last night, and I leave tomorrow.
A good question is why it's 9 pm on a weeknight in NYC and I'm sitting in my hotel room and blogging to an empty world. I did an okay job of it though --- I had a very nice lunch with my brother in an upscale steak place, and after work I walked 5th avenue all the way from 56th to about 40th. I think I'm going to head out soon and get a bite of pizza.
Highlight of the stroll was probably the Christmas display at Saks. They have along the outside wall about 40 snowflakes of lights of various size, and they had a "light show" to the tune of the Carol of the Bells!
Thought I could get a little holiday shopping done, but I didn't see anything particularly inspiring.
I always kinda figured that if I was going to be in the corporate world, I wanted to have one of those jobs where I'd get a call saying "Can you get on a plane tomorrow, we really want you here!" And sure enough, here I am!
One of my clients had their quarterly financials update today, and they wanted someone to help with the monitoring. I think it was also just seen as a good chance for me to meet with some people --- both at the client and within my own company --- that I've worked with for years but never met. I got in late last night, and I leave tomorrow.
A good question is why it's 9 pm on a weeknight in NYC and I'm sitting in my hotel room and blogging to an empty world. I did an okay job of it though --- I had a very nice lunch with my brother in an upscale steak place, and after work I walked 5th avenue all the way from 56th to about 40th. I think I'm going to head out soon and get a bite of pizza.
Highlight of the stroll was probably the Christmas display at Saks. They have along the outside wall about 40 snowflakes of lights of various size, and they had a "light show" to the tune of the Carol of the Bells!
Thought I could get a little holiday shopping done, but I didn't see anything particularly inspiring.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Beauty is in the eye of the beerholder, or Star Trek TOS Episode #60
Marisa Miller
St. Cecilia, by Peter Paul Rubens
This is not going to be your usual diatribe on the superficiality of beauty. Well, okay it basically is, but hopefully it's my usual jaded twist.
It's interesting to think that, during times of the Renaissance, "beautiful" women were women who were huge. I mean the fatter the better. It kinda made sense too --- in a time wrought with plagues and such, when horses were part beast of burden and part menu item --- it was a status symbol (and damned sexy) to clearly have ready access to enough food. Basically, being fat was being rich.
So my question isn't how we got where we are today, or why chickies today are held to the standards they are etc. etc. Though that in and of itself could be an interesting diatribe. My question...
Controlling for, oh, surgery and airbrushing and such, some women today are just born what we would consider pretty. There's only a certain combination of characteristics women can have, especially if you're talking specifically about white women of European heritage.
So, were there Cindy Crawfords and Rachel Hunters wandering around 15th century Europe, regarded far and wide as hideous and ugly, and wallowing in self-pity because they have good metabolisms?
Sunday, December 17, 2006
blank died at blank-o'clock....
I had an interesting chat tonight with the longtime political editor for a local broadcast TV affiliate. We were at a Christmas party tonight, and we'd met a couple of times before as we have mutual friends (my mother used to teach with his wife).
The conversation went something like this. I was the one asking...
"I want to ask you about something, and I'm not even sure you'll answer."
"Oh, okay. Well what's that?"
"Do you guys already have a recorded obituary ready for Fidel Castro that you're just gonna pop in whenever he goes?"
"Yeah, we do. We've got a few on file."
"Who else?"
"Well...."
"Gerald Ford?"
"Yeah."
"Bush the elder?"
"Yep. We've got about a dozen in the can... but Castro's is the one that's sitting out on the table and cued up."
The conversation sort of drifted off from there, as we started talking about George W. Bush, aka "Bush 41".
I'd love to know who the dozen are though.
The conversation went something like this. I was the one asking...
"I want to ask you about something, and I'm not even sure you'll answer."
"Oh, okay. Well what's that?"
"Do you guys already have a recorded obituary ready for Fidel Castro that you're just gonna pop in whenever he goes?"
"Yeah, we do. We've got a few on file."
"Who else?"
"Well...."
"Gerald Ford?"
"Yeah."
"Bush the elder?"
"Yep. We've got about a dozen in the can... but Castro's is the one that's sitting out on the table and cued up."
The conversation sort of drifted off from there, as we started talking about George W. Bush, aka "Bush 41".
I'd love to know who the dozen are though.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
this dyslexic guy walks into a bra...
A woman comes into the doctor's office for examination and he asks her to undress. As she does, he notices she has a giant H across her chest. Curious, he mentions it and she smiles and says "My boyfriend goes to Harvard, and he's such a devoted fan he won't ever take off his Harvard sweater, even when we make love."
The doctor thinks this is a bit odd, but doesn't think much about it until a week later when another woman comes in his office. As she undresses, he notices she has a giant Y across her chest. She smiles and says "My boyfriend goes to Yale, and he's such a devoted fan he won't ever take off his Yale sweater, even when we make love."
Same day a woman walks in his office, begins undressing and has what appears to be a giant M on her chest. The doctor says "Aha! I bet your boyfriend goes to Minnesota?" She looks at him and says "No... my girlfriend goes to Wisconsin."
The doctor thinks this is a bit odd, but doesn't think much about it until a week later when another woman comes in his office. As she undresses, he notices she has a giant Y across her chest. She smiles and says "My boyfriend goes to Yale, and he's such a devoted fan he won't ever take off his Yale sweater, even when we make love."
Same day a woman walks in his office, begins undressing and has what appears to be a giant M on her chest. The doctor says "Aha! I bet your boyfriend goes to Minnesota?" She looks at him and says "No... my girlfriend goes to Wisconsin."
sagelike wisdom
One of the most valuable lessons I learned in college was in one of my communications classes, but it had (almost) nothing to do with the communication process.
It was in Dr. Brey's argumentation class, and he told us once, apropos of nearly nothing, "If you learn nothing else in college, remember this...don't drink and dial."
Of course, a wet-behind-the-ears freshman girl in the front row raised her hand and said "Don't you mean don't drink and drive?"
He said "No... don't drink and DIAL. Everybody in this room has either experienced this lesson or will soon... but someday this might be one of the most valuable lessons you've ever learned."
It took a while, but I know exactly what he was referring to... because when you're in your mid-20s and have had a few cups of the ol' fire-water, suddenly it seems like a fine idea to call up old girlfriends and profess your love, question why you ever broke up, etc. It always seems like a good idea when you're warm and buzzing, and, well, isn't.
Of course, I suppose nowadays there's a Roosevelt corollary to the Monroe Doctrine, which is "don't drink and text", "don't drink and e-mail", etc.
I was fortunate in that I had a pretty good "out". My best friend moved to Hawai'i after college, so even if I was leaving a bar at 3 AM I could still call her because it was a fairly reasonable hour in Honolulu, they're five hours behind. And before that when I was still in college, well... if I was out at 3 am I was probably with her :)
You could often pick out the freshmen. My first semester at Florida State, I printed out a copy of my schedule of classes, and color-coded it so I would know which one was which and when my breaks were (I had a color printer and was playing with it, plus I was my usual paranoid about now knowing where the rooms were)... I had it in the front pocket of my public speaking class folder. First week of class a girl looks over and says "You're a freshman, aren't you?" I said "How did you know!?!" :-P
So, to paraphrase Wag the Dog, "There are two things I know to be true. One is that there is no difference between good flan and bad flan, the other is don't drink and dial."
It was in Dr. Brey's argumentation class, and he told us once, apropos of nearly nothing, "If you learn nothing else in college, remember this...don't drink and dial."
Of course, a wet-behind-the-ears freshman girl in the front row raised her hand and said "Don't you mean don't drink and drive?"
He said "No... don't drink and DIAL. Everybody in this room has either experienced this lesson or will soon... but someday this might be one of the most valuable lessons you've ever learned."
It took a while, but I know exactly what he was referring to... because when you're in your mid-20s and have had a few cups of the ol' fire-water, suddenly it seems like a fine idea to call up old girlfriends and profess your love, question why you ever broke up, etc. It always seems like a good idea when you're warm and buzzing, and, well, isn't.
Of course, I suppose nowadays there's a Roosevelt corollary to the Monroe Doctrine, which is "don't drink and text", "don't drink and e-mail", etc.
I was fortunate in that I had a pretty good "out". My best friend moved to Hawai'i after college, so even if I was leaving a bar at 3 AM I could still call her because it was a fairly reasonable hour in Honolulu, they're five hours behind. And before that when I was still in college, well... if I was out at 3 am I was probably with her :)
You could often pick out the freshmen. My first semester at Florida State, I printed out a copy of my schedule of classes, and color-coded it so I would know which one was which and when my breaks were (I had a color printer and was playing with it, plus I was my usual paranoid about now knowing where the rooms were)... I had it in the front pocket of my public speaking class folder. First week of class a girl looks over and says "You're a freshman, aren't you?" I said "How did you know!?!" :-P
So, to paraphrase Wag the Dog, "There are two things I know to be true. One is that there is no difference between good flan and bad flan, the other is don't drink and dial."
Tuesday, December 5, 2006
Sunday, December 3, 2006
the "John Spartan" thing
Been a while since I gave an explanation of this alter ego thing... and some of the millions and millions of people (errrr....) who will read this blog may not have been paying attention through the years....
click here for the story
click here for the story
Thursday, November 30, 2006
...you know who you remind me of?
I was walking into a local watering hole, when I saw coming up the other way on the street what looked to be a young woman I used to work with and occasionally chat with but hadn't seen in about a year.
I smiled and waved, and she got the same look on her face everyone on Earth gets when someone's being very friendly and you have no clue who they are.
"Jackie, it's me, Bradley! How's it going"
"Oh! I'm not Jackie... I'm her identical twin sister, Cristy."
My next statement was one of those things that... even AS the words floated past the teeth and the lips and out into general consumption, I wanted to smack myself and go find a hole to crawl into...
"Oh, really? You look just like her!" Doh!
Yeah, umm, that's kinda the idea behind the whole "identical twin" thing, ya see... to her credit she did not say "Ya dumb prick", though she certainly would have been entitled to.
What I meant was that not only was this girl her twin, she had the same exact build, same haircut and length, same wardrobe, many of the same mannerisms, etc... I did not mean "derrr you look like your twin, yuh-hup."
I smiled and waved, and she got the same look on her face everyone on Earth gets when someone's being very friendly and you have no clue who they are.
"Jackie, it's me, Bradley! How's it going"
"Oh! I'm not Jackie... I'm her identical twin sister, Cristy."
My next statement was one of those things that... even AS the words floated past the teeth and the lips and out into general consumption, I wanted to smack myself and go find a hole to crawl into...
"Oh, really? You look just like her!" Doh!
Yeah, umm, that's kinda the idea behind the whole "identical twin" thing, ya see... to her credit she did not say "Ya dumb prick", though she certainly would have been entitled to.
What I meant was that not only was this girl her twin, she had the same exact build, same haircut and length, same wardrobe, many of the same mannerisms, etc... I did not mean "derrr you look like your twin, yuh-hup."
Monday, November 27, 2006
Penalty on...errr... sumthin' and either an 8 or a 3
Something you'll eventually see if you watch enough football... (though I have friends who would argue that there's no such thing as enough football)...
A referee sternly comes out and calls a penalty on number 67 for holding.
The commentator shuffles his notes for a second, then says something like "Well, there IS no 67 on the Cardinals, he probably meant 57." Or "I doubt that call was on Johnson, since he's on the sideline and in dress pants today."
Simple mistake, they're only human, blah blah blah, right?
Here's the question ---
We're supposed to trust these guys to determine whether a player at the bottom of 9 other players crossed an imaginary plane of existence with a ball and if he had control before hitting the ground but not after.... when they can't read a 2 1/2 foot tall number off the back of a guy standing in front of them?
A referee sternly comes out and calls a penalty on number 67 for holding.
The commentator shuffles his notes for a second, then says something like "Well, there IS no 67 on the Cardinals, he probably meant 57." Or "I doubt that call was on Johnson, since he's on the sideline and in dress pants today."
Simple mistake, they're only human, blah blah blah, right?
Here's the question ---
We're supposed to trust these guys to determine whether a player at the bottom of 9 other players crossed an imaginary plane of existence with a ball and if he had control before hitting the ground but not after.... when they can't read a 2 1/2 foot tall number off the back of a guy standing in front of them?
Saturday, November 25, 2006
go west, young woman
Most of you who know me may already have heard this story, but it warrants repeating. And if you don't know me, honestly what the hell are you doing here anyway?
This is possibly the only post I'll do in "Gator orange", because it's in honor of a girl that at one time (and, at last report) lived in Gainesville, FL. I dubbed her Sleeping Beauty, for reasons that made sense at the time but aren't really worth the time to explain.
Anyway, freshman year at Florida State, so October 1997. One of my friends (and someone I had a borderline obsessive crush on) decided she was going to drive down from Tallahassee to Orlando for Halloween Horror Nights. For some reason that has been lost to history, I couldn't go along, but I chatted with her pretty soon after her return.
Seems this gal had headed off in the wrong direction. Just a skosh. On her way from Tallahassee to Orlando, she ended up in ALABAMA.
Now, I should provide a visual aid for those of you not intimately familiar with the layout of the Viagra-wantin' dangler that is FL. Suffice it to say, for someone from Gainesville, heading from Tallahassee to Orlando (southeast) and ending up in Alabama (due west) is a neat trick.
This is possibly the only post I'll do in "Gator orange", because it's in honor of a girl that at one time (and, at last report) lived in Gainesville, FL. I dubbed her Sleeping Beauty, for reasons that made sense at the time but aren't really worth the time to explain.
Anyway, freshman year at Florida State, so October 1997. One of my friends (and someone I had a borderline obsessive crush on) decided she was going to drive down from Tallahassee to Orlando for Halloween Horror Nights. For some reason that has been lost to history, I couldn't go along, but I chatted with her pretty soon after her return.
Seems this gal had headed off in the wrong direction. Just a skosh. On her way from Tallahassee to Orlando, she ended up in ALABAMA.
Now, I should provide a visual aid for those of you not intimately familiar with the layout of the Viagra-wantin' dangler that is FL. Suffice it to say, for someone from Gainesville, heading from Tallahassee to Orlando (southeast) and ending up in Alabama (due west) is a neat trick.
courtesy of yahoo maps http://travel.yahoo.com/p-travelguide-577612-map_of_florida-i
What makes this story great though, I think, is that it wasn't even that she saw the giant sign that said "Welcome to Alabama" and said 'oh crap I'd better turn around!'... uhh no, this collegian got pulled over by an Alabama State Trooper... she was SPEEDING in the wrong direction!
Offhand I'm guessing that guy had a good story to tell when he got back to the station. Knowing her she probably turned on the waterworks and that got her out of any ticket.
Asbestos I can figure, she meant to get on I-10 East and instead got on I-10 West... and stayed on it for about 200 miles... passed signs for Destin, Fort Walton Beach, Panama City, Pensacola, over several rivers... into another time zone... passed the Welcome to Alabama sign... my first question to her was "Uhhh, hon... didn't you notice the SUN was on the wrong side?" No, apparently it had already gotten dark while she was driving.
There was something about this girl though... there were things I wanted to do with her, and most of them did NOT involve chatting over capuccino about contrasting the systemic perpetuations the electoral college system makes necessary to maintain a sense of political efficacy permeated on a nationwide scale for sufficient adoption and participation, while still including inherent safeguards to both placate smaller regions and protect against the same mass endorsements the system itself requires. No, when it came to this particular filly, my search was more of Van Halen's 9th album, For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge.
And yet, while the tale of going just a weeeeee bit off course will forever live on in infamy (and now for what I believe to tbe the first time is committed to "print")... at the same time, I still check MySpace and Google every few months to see if she's on the grid anywhere. And I haven't seen hide nor hair (both of which were quite nice) in, what, 7 years now.
So, as Obi Wan said to Han, "Who's the more foolish, the fool --- or the fool who follows her?"
Thursday, November 23, 2006
first step is admitting you have a problem....
I was watching the other day a clip of Richard Pryor being interviewed by Barbara Walters. This was not a particularly recent conversation, as you might imagine. Richard Pryor was talking about his crack habit --- saying he would try and convince himself to put the crackpipe down... he'd tell himself that he'd just have to make it five minutes... he couldn't put it down for ONE minute. He felt incapable of breaking free.
On a completely unrelated and in no way connected report, the most amount of time I've spent not in front of a computer screen since 8 am this morning was probably the 20 minutes it took me to drive to work --- and if there was a way to play PC games in the car while driving, I'd probably do it.
Hell, I already do cellphone games at some stoplights (yeah, you're welcome.)
Now it's after midnight and I'm sitting with a laptop, having just shut down my desktop that I've been using so much the screen is starting to flicker.
Twitch.
On a completely unrelated and in no way connected report, the most amount of time I've spent not in front of a computer screen since 8 am this morning was probably the 20 minutes it took me to drive to work --- and if there was a way to play PC games in the car while driving, I'd probably do it.
Hell, I already do cellphone games at some stoplights (yeah, you're welcome.)
Now it's after midnight and I'm sitting with a laptop, having just shut down my desktop that I've been using so much the screen is starting to flicker.
Twitch.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
"Who are three people who have never been in my kitchen?"
That was Cliff Clavin's response on Final Jeopardy. While technically true, it wasn't the common bond snooty Alex the Canuck was was looking for.
If pressed to come up with what all these posts will have in common, the only answer I can think of would be they're all stuff that I wanted to put on my blog. Honestly that's probably the only common thread I can come up with at present.
I've always toyed in the back of my mind with having one of these... actually up until a couple of years ago I mainly wanted a radio show, and realized I didn't have enough to actually say... I thought that was true for regular blogging too... but now, with any luck, I'll be able to regurgitate enough random rants about life, the universe, and everything (42) to keep this at least a little amusing.
I realized too late I should have started this when I began my trip to DC... more on that over the days, including the story of the day someone broke into my place and cleaned it up, and what I have in common with Stradivarius (who has never been in my kitchen).
I definitely want responses... or at least signs of life.
If you're looking for Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Whatever DVD Easter Eggs, wander the hell off somewhere else. If you're looking for freaky Mexican donkey porn... ummm... we can chat later.
BTW, as far as Cheers goes, the "answer" was Archibald Leach, Bernard Schwartz, and Lucille LeSueur. The correct response is "What were the real names of Cary Grant, Tony Curtis and Joan Crawford?" It's probably a bad sign that I might have known the correct response and deliberately given Cliff's anyway.
If pressed to come up with what all these posts will have in common, the only answer I can think of would be they're all stuff that I wanted to put on my blog. Honestly that's probably the only common thread I can come up with at present.
I've always toyed in the back of my mind with having one of these... actually up until a couple of years ago I mainly wanted a radio show, and realized I didn't have enough to actually say... I thought that was true for regular blogging too... but now, with any luck, I'll be able to regurgitate enough random rants about life, the universe, and everything (42) to keep this at least a little amusing.
I realized too late I should have started this when I began my trip to DC... more on that over the days, including the story of the day someone broke into my place and cleaned it up, and what I have in common with Stradivarius (who has never been in my kitchen).
I definitely want responses... or at least signs of life.
If you're looking for Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Whatever DVD Easter Eggs, wander the hell off somewhere else. If you're looking for freaky Mexican donkey porn... ummm... we can chat later.
BTW, as far as Cheers goes, the "answer" was Archibald Leach, Bernard Schwartz, and Lucille LeSueur. The correct response is "What were the real names of Cary Grant, Tony Curtis and Joan Crawford?" It's probably a bad sign that I might have known the correct response and deliberately given Cliff's anyway.
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