Busy day today friends, busy day. I find myself unable to loaf , relax or otherwise ignore the work sitting on my desk. I must say, I find this disconcerting. So I have come here, my home away from TV, to force myself to be unprodctive, we shall see how it goes.
Yesterday I spoke of the perils of planet sized glutei squishing parts of your thigh whilst one makes use of public transportation. An intelligent reader, recognizing genius when he/she sees it, made use of the comments option to me for advice (Yes, I know I too was shocked to discover it is possible to post comments). He/she wrote that he/she has often been sat on and asked me for a solution. Well folks, after 12-16 seconds of pondering the solution came to me. From now on, when there is an empty seat next to you, if you see a gluteus super maximus lowering itself towards you, simply say, "seat's wet." If this is a cloth seat, as on the bus I ride, or at a movie theater, you're home free, if it is a plastic seat such as a train, one may be forced to spill just a bit of water , but really, is that too high a price to avoiding be maimed by a 200lb butt cheek? Anyway, I think this is the perfect solution, but, if like me, you prefer something a little more covoluted, the following are effective, yet rejected solutions:
Top Ten Ways To Get/Keep The Seat Next To You Empty:
#10 - Hey lady, what do you think you're doing!? You almost sat on my imaginary friend.
#9 - Make the beeep beeeep beeeeep sound trucks make when they shift into reverse as she starts to back her way into the seat.
#8 - Scream "Look! Cookies!"
#7 - Put a model mouse on the seat, you know, cuz elephants are afraid of mice
#6 - This may be a bit excessive and redundant given the prior suggestion of pouring water on the seat, but this is a guaranteed winner. Mark the seat as part of your territory by rubbing up against it, then peeing on it.
Note: seat will smell like pee, that may be a deal breaker for you, I don't know.
#5 - Wait till he's sat down, then ask him if he's been saved by the Lord Jesus Christ
#4 - In a just barely audible but creepy whisper say, "mmm, now that's what I call cushion for the pushin.'"
#3 - Order, and and read on said train, "Cannibal's Monthly"
#2 - Point at the seat then at the tuchus and say "Let me guess, you failed geometry."
#1 - Knock on his belly and say, "John? John! Are you in there?"
Feb 13, 2008
Feb 12, 2008
COME RIDE THE CYCLONE!
What ho!
Good afternoon, sorry for the delay today but afterall, work does come first (pause, OK I'm done laughing now). I haven't really planned today's post out at all so you're going to have to bear with me, this is probably going to be a bit of a roller coaster ride.
I've decided to start a new habit. It's actually more of a hobby now that I think of it, habit being something you become accustomed to doing after significant repitions. Anway, my new hobby is making ambiguous statements that could be construed as a compliment, but in reality, aren't. Please note this is different than the backhanded compliment. Iwill illustrate:
a) The backhanded compliment - That makeup looks great on you, I can barely see your acne.
b) The Ambiguous Statement - Your son's so handsome, I can't believe it.
Now that you see the difference, I encourage you all to go out and practice this hobby as well. Already today I've used it on a barista at Starbucks - "You've got to be the most cheerful person I've ever met before 11am. " I've used it a co-worker, "I don't think anyone can tell you skipped your shower, you look just like you did yesterday." I've even used it on my mom, "It's rare for people go senile at your age." OK that one was less ambiguous but she's kinda losing it so i had to dumb it down for her. I'm kidding, of course (I'm not).
I've also recently been putting together my next list of: 'Things Someone Needs To Make' and since this isn't technically an invention, but more of a policy that needs to be instituted, I figure I'll share it with you today.
I know many of you are forced to make use of public transportation in order to make your daily commute (if you can afford to drive into the city and park in a lot on a daily basis, please make a donation to the 'I Have Significanty Less Money Than You Do, So Give Me Some Fund,' conveniently located in my back pocket). I also know, that you, as I, live in ever-present fear of the empty seat next to you being filled, overflowingly so, by the tuchus from planet, "How much more for the supersize?" If my policy is inistituted, the next time you find your field of vision of vision eclipsed by a 42" butt dropping out of orbit on a collision course for the 30 inches of empty seat adjacent to you, you can simply point to the poster of the seat back and wag your finger. In honor of today's roller coaster theme, I envision it looking something like this:
Good afternoon, sorry for the delay today but afterall, work does come first (pause, OK I'm done laughing now). I haven't really planned today's post out at all so you're going to have to bear with me, this is probably going to be a bit of a roller coaster ride.
I've decided to start a new habit. It's actually more of a hobby now that I think of it, habit being something you become accustomed to doing after significant repitions. Anway, my new hobby is making ambiguous statements that could be construed as a compliment, but in reality, aren't. Please note this is different than the backhanded compliment. Iwill illustrate:
a) The backhanded compliment - That makeup looks great on you, I can barely see your acne.
b) The Ambiguous Statement - Your son's so handsome, I can't believe it.
Now that you see the difference, I encourage you all to go out and practice this hobby as well. Already today I've used it on a barista at Starbucks - "You've got to be the most cheerful person I've ever met before 11am. " I've used it a co-worker, "I don't think anyone can tell you skipped your shower, you look just like you did yesterday." I've even used it on my mom, "It's rare for people go senile at your age." OK that one was less ambiguous but she's kinda losing it so i had to dumb it down for her. I'm kidding, of course (I'm not).
I've also recently been putting together my next list of: 'Things Someone Needs To Make' and since this isn't technically an invention, but more of a policy that needs to be instituted, I figure I'll share it with you today.
I know many of you are forced to make use of public transportation in order to make your daily commute (if you can afford to drive into the city and park in a lot on a daily basis, please make a donation to the 'I Have Significanty Less Money Than You Do, So Give Me Some Fund,' conveniently located in my back pocket). I also know, that you, as I, live in ever-present fear of the empty seat next to you being filled, overflowingly so, by the tuchus from planet, "How much more for the supersize?" If my policy is inistituted, the next time you find your field of vision of vision eclipsed by a 42" butt dropping out of orbit on a collision course for the 30 inches of empty seat adjacent to you, you can simply point to the poster of the seat back and wag your finger. In honor of today's roller coaster theme, I envision it looking something like this:
YOU MUST BE THIS NARROW TO RIDE IN THIS SEAT
(insert picture of a reasonably sized bottom here)
Feb 10, 2008
TALLY HO!
Welcome to the workweek friends. I've missed you since we last interacted on Wednesday past. Well since you last read my beauteous thoughts and then gave me no feedback whatsoever, but who among us would make hay over such fine distinctions while amidst the company of friends. Oh yea, me. That being said, this post promises to be short, owing to a particularly stubborn case of the hiccups.
My friends, I cannot underestimate my shock at this moment. I have tried drinking water, holding my breath, looking at naked pictures of Whoopie Goldberg and yet, nothing. I have found neither refuge nor respite from these insidious and treacherous attacks on my person. I sit here immobilized, impotent to retaliate. How! How, I ask you, have we, the greatest species ever to roam this planet, with minds at our disposal that have made it possible to create a knife so sharp it can cut though a shoe; with minds so inventive we need 47 channels devoted to infomercials ever morning from 3 -8 am; how can we have all of this and yet have still discovered a solution to this scourge?
The mind absolutely boggles at the number of man hours that must be wasted every day by people jerking about to and fro like epileptic fish, tossed hither and thither like the morning catch at a fish market, and left at the non-existent mercy of trapped air in the gastrointestinal cavities. And yet, I overcome. I rallied, marshaled my forces to the silent yet resounding cry of Tally - hiccup - Ho! So without further ado, an abbreviated version of:
The Top Five Things That Bother Me Today:
#5 - The gas pump - Are we really still at the point where I need to stand outside a car in 10 degree weather to fill up a gas tank? We can refuel planes in midair at six hundred miles an hour with highly flammable jet fuel, but you're telling me there's no way to get a parked car filled with 89 unleaded without sacrificing my health? Also I know foreign oil is evil, I've gotten the memo, but I get the idea that they're rubbing their power over us in our respective noses, otherwise, why the hell else would the lever on the gas pumps that I have to stand outside in the freezing cold in order to fill my car with gas, BE MADE OF FREAKING METAL! Every time I hold one of those doohickeys in my hand I'm convinced when I let go, I'll be parting with a swath of skin. The fact that it hasn't happened yet, is by the way, of no consolation. It's like knowing an attack of the hiccups is coming, what are you gonna do huh? Suffer, that's what.
UPDATE: I need to start filing patents as soon as I think these things up http://gizmodo.com/352441/a-robot-that-pumps-your-gas-at-long-last
#4 - The fact that I don't own a Wii - So my nephew got a Wii for his birthday on Sunday, he's six. Let me repeat that, my six year old nephew who is still impressed by change coming out of his ear got a Wii for his birthday whilst the closest I've gotten to an interactive gaming system is wadding up sheets of paper and shooting them into my garbage can.
#3 - Screeching - Why is it that God made children under the age of lets say ten years, people - if you use the term in its broadest sense - without the native intelligence to use it wisely, capable of vocalizing at pitches equal to the task of shattering my ear drums is a mystery and quite frankly, a grievance I hold with the man upstairs.
#2 - The Sunday morning paradox - I will revisit this for a more in-depth discussion but I will address it in brief now. In short, the Sunday morning paradox refers to the dilemma one faces on Saturday night at approximately 1am. To go to sleep or not? On the one hand, it is the weekend, on the other, one can only sleep so late Sunday morning, and if you stay up till 4 and sleep till 10am, by 10pm you will be exhausted and Monday becomes all the more dreaded
#1 - Hiccups! - Really? You need me to explain this?
My friends, I cannot underestimate my shock at this moment. I have tried drinking water, holding my breath, looking at naked pictures of Whoopie Goldberg and yet, nothing. I have found neither refuge nor respite from these insidious and treacherous attacks on my person. I sit here immobilized, impotent to retaliate. How! How, I ask you, have we, the greatest species ever to roam this planet, with minds at our disposal that have made it possible to create a knife so sharp it can cut though a shoe; with minds so inventive we need 47 channels devoted to infomercials ever morning from 3 -8 am; how can we have all of this and yet have still discovered a solution to this scourge?
The mind absolutely boggles at the number of man hours that must be wasted every day by people jerking about to and fro like epileptic fish, tossed hither and thither like the morning catch at a fish market, and left at the non-existent mercy of trapped air in the gastrointestinal cavities. And yet, I overcome. I rallied, marshaled my forces to the silent yet resounding cry of Tally - hiccup - Ho! So without further ado, an abbreviated version of:
The Top Five Things That Bother Me Today:
#5 - The gas pump - Are we really still at the point where I need to stand outside a car in 10 degree weather to fill up a gas tank? We can refuel planes in midair at six hundred miles an hour with highly flammable jet fuel, but you're telling me there's no way to get a parked car filled with 89 unleaded without sacrificing my health? Also I know foreign oil is evil, I've gotten the memo, but I get the idea that they're rubbing their power over us in our respective noses, otherwise, why the hell else would the lever on the gas pumps that I have to stand outside in the freezing cold in order to fill my car with gas, BE MADE OF FREAKING METAL! Every time I hold one of those doohickeys in my hand I'm convinced when I let go, I'll be parting with a swath of skin. The fact that it hasn't happened yet, is by the way, of no consolation. It's like knowing an attack of the hiccups is coming, what are you gonna do huh? Suffer, that's what.
UPDATE: I need to start filing patents as soon as I think these things up http://gizmodo.com/352441/a-robot-that-pumps-your-gas-at-long-last
#4 - The fact that I don't own a Wii - So my nephew got a Wii for his birthday on Sunday, he's six. Let me repeat that, my six year old nephew who is still impressed by change coming out of his ear got a Wii for his birthday whilst the closest I've gotten to an interactive gaming system is wadding up sheets of paper and shooting them into my garbage can.
#3 - Screeching - Why is it that God made children under the age of lets say ten years, people - if you use the term in its broadest sense - without the native intelligence to use it wisely, capable of vocalizing at pitches equal to the task of shattering my ear drums is a mystery and quite frankly, a grievance I hold with the man upstairs.
#2 - The Sunday morning paradox - I will revisit this for a more in-depth discussion but I will address it in brief now. In short, the Sunday morning paradox refers to the dilemma one faces on Saturday night at approximately 1am. To go to sleep or not? On the one hand, it is the weekend, on the other, one can only sleep so late Sunday morning, and if you stay up till 4 and sleep till 10am, by 10pm you will be exhausted and Monday becomes all the more dreaded
#1 - Hiccups! - Really? You need me to explain this?
Feb 6, 2008
HERE LIES...
So I know I promised an explanation for why people in marching bands wear funny hats with feathers on top of them and and well, seeing as how I didn't actually do any research on the matter you're going to have to settle for my deductions. This is what my Sherlock Holmesian deductive skills have come up with:
People, some people, that is, in marching bands are called drum majors (my deductive skills also tell me that they probably play an instrument commonly known as 'the drum'). In the board game Stratego there are pictures of the different levels of soldiers under your command. the Marshal, the general the spy, teh miner, the scout the Major, you get the idea. Anyway, the major wears a hat with feathers. So, people in marching bands wear hats with feathers because majors in the army used to wear feathers - and miner's but that seems irrelevant.
So I went to a hockey game last night and overheard some people talking, and others trash talking two examples:
"So he's married for like 6 months and he wakes up one day with this girl in his bed and he looks at her and goes, who the f*** are you!? Anyway he got divorced.
"Hey Furlov (name of hockey player), nice name!"
I don't know what to make of the first, I just thought it was amusing so I added it, but the second got me thinking. Nice name? Really? Is that even an insult? Would hearing this bother you? I mean outside of like elementary school would anyone use this as a putdown? SoI decided to dedicate today's entry to putdowns that need to be, for lack of a better word, put down.
1 - Your face! - I am considering a possible exception in instances when the person to whom "your face" is being addressed, the 'facee' if you will, is exceptionally ugly or has some sort of message written on his or her forehead. For example is the person is exceptionally ugly and has "what's wrong with me?" written on their face you can point and go "YOUR FACE!"
2 - That's what she said - Hasn't been funny since seventh grade, rarely makes any sense and is often followed by the even more annoying "Ooooooh, busted!" It's time has come and gone. That's what she said! Oooooh Busted!
3 - Your mama jokes - Anytime you become associated with Wilmer Valderama(he had a show on MTV called Yo' Mama!) your time in the spotlight is over. Also since she was so dumb she failed her blood test and was so fat she sat around the house more times than I care to recall, I'm banning any version of these jokes regardless of the subject noun.
4 - Takes one to know one - This isnt even an effective retort, as it grants the premise of the original insulter. It's essentially saying, "I'm an STD ridden man whore? Well so are you!
5 - Oh yea? well you're fat! - Just kiding! That one is TOTALLY still cool.
People, some people, that is, in marching bands are called drum majors (my deductive skills also tell me that they probably play an instrument commonly known as 'the drum'). In the board game Stratego there are pictures of the different levels of soldiers under your command. the Marshal, the general the spy, teh miner, the scout the Major, you get the idea. Anyway, the major wears a hat with feathers. So, people in marching bands wear hats with feathers because majors in the army used to wear feathers - and miner's but that seems irrelevant.
So I went to a hockey game last night and overheard some people talking, and others trash talking two examples:
"So he's married for like 6 months and he wakes up one day with this girl in his bed and he looks at her and goes, who the f*** are you!? Anyway he got divorced.
"Hey Furlov (name of hockey player), nice name!"
I don't know what to make of the first, I just thought it was amusing so I added it, but the second got me thinking. Nice name? Really? Is that even an insult? Would hearing this bother you? I mean outside of like elementary school would anyone use this as a putdown? SoI decided to dedicate today's entry to putdowns that need to be, for lack of a better word, put down.
1 - Your face! - I am considering a possible exception in instances when the person to whom "your face" is being addressed, the 'facee' if you will, is exceptionally ugly or has some sort of message written on his or her forehead. For example is the person is exceptionally ugly and has "what's wrong with me?" written on their face you can point and go "YOUR FACE!"
2 - That's what she said - Hasn't been funny since seventh grade, rarely makes any sense and is often followed by the even more annoying "Ooooooh, busted!" It's time has come and gone. That's what she said! Oooooh Busted!
3 - Your mama jokes - Anytime you become associated with Wilmer Valderama(he had a show on MTV called Yo' Mama!) your time in the spotlight is over. Also since she was so dumb she failed her blood test and was so fat she sat around the house more times than I care to recall, I'm banning any version of these jokes regardless of the subject noun.
4 - Takes one to know one - This isnt even an effective retort, as it grants the premise of the original insulter. It's essentially saying, "I'm an STD ridden man whore? Well so are you!
5 - Oh yea? well you're fat! - Just kiding! That one is TOTALLY still cool.
Feb 5, 2008
YEA, WHAT HE SAID!
Well folks it would seems the 'ripping me off' bandwagon is a-truckin'. As you can see at FireJoeMorgan.com, I am the seed from which other ideas sprout, only by seed I mean; I come up with original ideas, and by sprout I mean; they rip off my material. So today's honorary 'Thing That Bothers Me' is:
Plagarism
Here is my take on the use of 'gate' added onto every scandal from January 22, 2008
#5 - People who add '-gate' as a suffix any time there's a political scandal - I may only be 25 (Shut up! I feel 25. Except in the mornings, then I feel like 35 ,or after 10pm, or after a workout, or when I think about working out, OK so I'm 27, happy?), but I think I'm educated enough to know that Watergate was a pretty big deal for this country and for the newspaper/journalism business itself. That being said, don't you think it's time to let it go? Forget for a moment that it doesn't actually even make any sense ("Monica-gate?" "Hanging Chad-gate"), it's just so uninventive, it's like hiring girls in bikini's to sell cars. Wait, no, that's genius, never mind, bad example. It's like comparing every mean or authoritarian personality to Hitler, oh wait we do that too? I give up, go ahead and use it, in fact, you can call this, Blog-gate. Two g's.
and here is FireJoeMorgan.com ripping me off today
http://www.firejoemorgan.com/2008/02/lets-clog-those-bases-people.html
Once again, allow me to congratulate the New Jersey Somethings on their richly deserved victory yesterday. For the record, I am disappointed but not upset. When one's teams have been on a run like my teams have since '02, it's dumb to complain. And the Pats losing yesterday will ultimately be about maybe 20% more irritating then them winning, and thus forcing me to listen to people say that their season wasn't legitimate because of SpyGate.
(For the record, you can't just add "Gate" to something to indicate "scandal." The hotel, as we all know, was the Watergate. It wasn't like there was a like Nixonian/"Chinatown" water scandal, and someone said, "Hey -- 'gate' is the LME root for 'cover-up.' Let's call it Water-gate.")
I've highlighted the relevant parts in case you're lazy.
Today is also, for those who don't work near Broadway, the NY Giants championship parade and Super Tuesday or primary day (for those of you who don't think the notion of voting is worthy of an adjectice like 'super') in twenty-some odd states, which means paper shredders in NYC will be putting in overtime. Unlike yours truly who will try an avoid work entirely. (Note to my boss: I'm kidding?) I'm sure there's more I have to say about this, but at the moment it's kind of hard to think with the drum band outside my window. So I'll be brief.
I'm a Giants' (I'm having trouble placing that apostrophe ) fan, a big one, as evidenced by yesterday's post congratulating myself for such, but I have to say I don't quite understand parades. Attending a game I get, you're there, you're in the moment, you see whats happening and rise and fall with the players on the field. With parades 100,000 people line streets 50 -100 deep, unable to see who or what they're cheering and even if they could, much like a NASCAR race (also dumb) it's gone 10 minutes later. And they LOVE it. But all that aside what really confuses me is that at parades people will scream and yell and get excited to see things they wouldn't watch on TV if you paid them. Seriously, how many people watch marching bands during the year? How much would I have to pay you to sit through two hours of nothing but marching bands and people waving from cars? Wow! that much? Well, I think you're all a bunch of greedy jerks personally, but thank you for making my point.
I think it's fitting that the parade is the same day as NY's primary because I have to think that the same people who attend parades and cheer for the feather hat wearing, marching bands are the same people who attend those post primary speeches given by political candidates. I mean I can sorta get it if you're candidate won (YAY! the person with whom I share views about immigration reform and deficit spending, but differ on with regard to universal healthcare and bipartisan collaboration won 21 delegates and is now 1/265 of the way towards being my party's nominee for the election to be held six months from now, WOOOOO!), but dude how do the losers get that many people in a room cheering about coming in third? I think the issue is that we, as Americans are addicted to cheering. We will, if given the chance, cheer for the sun to rise in the morning, for lunch to come in the afternoon and streetlights to come on at night. We also, myself included, like adding the word 'suck' to the end of our chants. What I'm saying I guess is we're a simple minded people but gosh darn it, we have spunk.
Russia Sucks! Woooooo!
Tomorrow: Why people in bands wear hats with feathers on them.
Plagarism
Here is my take on the use of 'gate' added onto every scandal from January 22, 2008
#5 - People who add '-gate' as a suffix any time there's a political scandal - I may only be 25 (Shut up! I feel 25. Except in the mornings, then I feel like 35 ,or after 10pm, or after a workout, or when I think about working out, OK so I'm 27, happy?), but I think I'm educated enough to know that Watergate was a pretty big deal for this country and for the newspaper/journalism business itself. That being said, don't you think it's time to let it go? Forget for a moment that it doesn't actually even make any sense ("Monica-gate?" "Hanging Chad-gate"), it's just so uninventive, it's like hiring girls in bikini's to sell cars. Wait, no, that's genius, never mind, bad example. It's like comparing every mean or authoritarian personality to Hitler, oh wait we do that too? I give up, go ahead and use it, in fact, you can call this, Blog-gate. Two g's.
and here is FireJoeMorgan.com ripping me off today
http://www.firejoemorgan.com/2008/02/lets-clog-those-bases-people.html
Once again, allow me to congratulate the New Jersey Somethings on their richly deserved victory yesterday. For the record, I am disappointed but not upset. When one's teams have been on a run like my teams have since '02, it's dumb to complain. And the Pats losing yesterday will ultimately be about maybe 20% more irritating then them winning, and thus forcing me to listen to people say that their season wasn't legitimate because of SpyGate.
(For the record, you can't just add "Gate" to something to indicate "scandal." The hotel, as we all know, was the Watergate. It wasn't like there was a like Nixonian/"Chinatown" water scandal, and someone said, "Hey -- 'gate' is the LME root for 'cover-up.' Let's call it Water-gate.")
I've highlighted the relevant parts in case you're lazy.
Today is also, for those who don't work near Broadway, the NY Giants championship parade and Super Tuesday or primary day (for those of you who don't think the notion of voting is worthy of an adjectice like 'super') in twenty-some odd states, which means paper shredders in NYC will be putting in overtime. Unlike yours truly who will try an avoid work entirely. (Note to my boss: I'm kidding?) I'm sure there's more I have to say about this, but at the moment it's kind of hard to think with the drum band outside my window. So I'll be brief.
I'm a Giants' (I'm having trouble placing that apostrophe ) fan, a big one, as evidenced by yesterday's post congratulating myself for such, but I have to say I don't quite understand parades. Attending a game I get, you're there, you're in the moment, you see whats happening and rise and fall with the players on the field. With parades 100,000 people line streets 50 -100 deep, unable to see who or what they're cheering and even if they could, much like a NASCAR race (also dumb) it's gone 10 minutes later. And they LOVE it. But all that aside what really confuses me is that at parades people will scream and yell and get excited to see things they wouldn't watch on TV if you paid them. Seriously, how many people watch marching bands during the year? How much would I have to pay you to sit through two hours of nothing but marching bands and people waving from cars? Wow! that much? Well, I think you're all a bunch of greedy jerks personally, but thank you for making my point.
I think it's fitting that the parade is the same day as NY's primary because I have to think that the same people who attend parades and cheer for the feather hat wearing, marching bands are the same people who attend those post primary speeches given by political candidates. I mean I can sorta get it if you're candidate won (YAY! the person with whom I share views about immigration reform and deficit spending, but differ on with regard to universal healthcare and bipartisan collaboration won 21 delegates and is now 1/265 of the way towards being my party's nominee for the election to be held six months from now, WOOOOO!), but dude how do the losers get that many people in a room cheering about coming in third? I think the issue is that we, as Americans are addicted to cheering. We will, if given the chance, cheer for the sun to rise in the morning, for lunch to come in the afternoon and streetlights to come on at night. We also, myself included, like adding the word 'suck' to the end of our chants. What I'm saying I guess is we're a simple minded people but gosh darn it, we have spunk.
Russia Sucks! Woooooo!
Tomorrow: Why people in bands wear hats with feathers on them.
Feb 4, 2008
PLEASE, NO MORE AUTOGRAPHS
I'd like to begin by taking a moment to congratulate myself on being a fan of the New York Giants. It was a long, hard season, but I fought my way through the adversity. I overcame half a season of football in standard definition, long commercial breaks and even remote control malfunctions that caused me to change the channel MANUALLY! I don't know how I did it, nor, to be honest did I think I could, but I did, and now the Giants are champions.
I will admit this victory did not come easy. Even during this very last game I had to overcome a sore throat, acid reflux and the cruel temptation of winning $200 should the Giants not score on their final possession. Yet, just as Abraham in his quest to follow God's command to sacrifice his son, I too triumphed over these tests of faith, will and determination. I sit before you (metaphorically speaking) fully and wholly satisfied by the result. I didn't do it for glory, for immortality or because my son was thirty six years old and still living at home. I didn't do it to for the money (though if there are those out there who feel compelled to compensate me for last night's performance, I will be accepting gratuities), or for the repeated shots of cheerleaders (though seriously, whoever invented cheerleaders, dude, I owe you one), to be honest I can't even tell you why I did it. All I know is this, I cannot be bothered by anything today.
Update: Things, apparently, still bother me.
Sadly, if entirely unsurprisingly, the news was not good throughout the world. In Israel today, a suicide bomber killed two people and injured eleven more. According to the NY Times there were two bombers, but, in a display that epitomizes how it is a billion Arabs have failed to destroy Israel, the second bomber was standing too close to the explosion and was injured. An alert Israeli police officer saw the injured murderer reaching for his bomb and in a display of quick thinking and skill that boggles my mind somehow managed to kill him before the menace could blow himself up. That's how I would put it at least. Officer Moor, however, is a much better writer than I and so I give you his own words.
“His hand was twitching. He raised it again. So I shot four bullets into his head and neutralized him.”
Isn't there just something savagely beautiful about the understatement?
In a less serious vein I am also bothered by Ryan Seacrest. How a man who uses more feminine products than a menstral call girl can be chosen to host the Super Bowl the SUPER BOWL; the most manly event in the universe after the World's Strongest Man Competition (I mean those guys hurl beer kegs 20 feet in the air and pull trucks with their earlobes, so really I don't think it'd be a good idea to tell them they're not manly), is beyond my comprehension. I mean that decison was so dumb I couldn't find any redeeming value it with an electron microscope attached to the Hubble telescope.
In fact, I kind of wish I could get he and Officer Moor in a room together. What? I'm just saying, accidents happen. Besides, what's a little neutralization between police officer and ubiquitious, unctuous, untalented talent show host? At the very least I hope this generation's Star Search host will be redcued to handing out those jumbo sized Pulisher's Clearinghouse checks for a living in the near future.
I will admit this victory did not come easy. Even during this very last game I had to overcome a sore throat, acid reflux and the cruel temptation of winning $200 should the Giants not score on their final possession. Yet, just as Abraham in his quest to follow God's command to sacrifice his son, I too triumphed over these tests of faith, will and determination. I sit before you (metaphorically speaking) fully and wholly satisfied by the result. I didn't do it for glory, for immortality or because my son was thirty six years old and still living at home. I didn't do it to for the money (though if there are those out there who feel compelled to compensate me for last night's performance, I will be accepting gratuities), or for the repeated shots of cheerleaders (though seriously, whoever invented cheerleaders, dude, I owe you one), to be honest I can't even tell you why I did it. All I know is this, I cannot be bothered by anything today.
Update: Things, apparently, still bother me.
Sadly, if entirely unsurprisingly, the news was not good throughout the world. In Israel today, a suicide bomber killed two people and injured eleven more. According to the NY Times there were two bombers, but, in a display that epitomizes how it is a billion Arabs have failed to destroy Israel, the second bomber was standing too close to the explosion and was injured. An alert Israeli police officer saw the injured murderer reaching for his bomb and in a display of quick thinking and skill that boggles my mind somehow managed to kill him before the menace could blow himself up. That's how I would put it at least. Officer Moor, however, is a much better writer than I and so I give you his own words.
“His hand was twitching. He raised it again. So I shot four bullets into his head and neutralized him.”
Isn't there just something savagely beautiful about the understatement?
In a less serious vein I am also bothered by Ryan Seacrest. How a man who uses more feminine products than a menstral call girl can be chosen to host the Super Bowl the SUPER BOWL; the most manly event in the universe after the World's Strongest Man Competition (I mean those guys hurl beer kegs 20 feet in the air and pull trucks with their earlobes, so really I don't think it'd be a good idea to tell them they're not manly), is beyond my comprehension. I mean that decison was so dumb I couldn't find any redeeming value it with an electron microscope attached to the Hubble telescope.
In fact, I kind of wish I could get he and Officer Moor in a room together. What? I'm just saying, accidents happen. Besides, what's a little neutralization between police officer and ubiquitious, unctuous, untalented talent show host? At the very least I hope this generation's Star Search host will be redcued to handing out those jumbo sized Pulisher's Clearinghouse checks for a living in the near future.
Feb 1, 2008
THE ANTI-WICKED WITCH
So I don't have much time today, but before I leave you for the weekend I wanted to talk about something that's perplexed me for a while. In case you are unaware, it is a rainy day here in New York, the only city that matters. With that rain, however, comes more than soggy shoes and clingy T-shirts, with it come the Umbrella people. Perhaps you are familiar with them? They appear out of the ether every time it rains, sprouted into existence by precipitation. You can identify them by the 300 umbrellas they have for sale beside them. How do they transport their umbrealls to our streets from the underworld in which they reside? What do these people do with them when its sunny? Do they have other jobs that don't involve others getting soaked? How do these parasites of human suffering survive when sky's are clear? How do they always know when it's going to rain? How can street merchants afford Doppler radar? These are all questions which i think need to be answered.
Any guesses?
Personally I think they're descendant's from Oz. The offspring of a long-forgotten race who, through self-preservation, genetic mutation and natural selection learned to thrive in wetness to protect themsleves from their natural enemy, the Wicked Witch of the West, she of melting in water. But it's just a theory.
Any guesses?
Personally I think they're descendant's from Oz. The offspring of a long-forgotten race who, through self-preservation, genetic mutation and natural selection learned to thrive in wetness to protect themsleves from their natural enemy, the Wicked Witch of the West, she of melting in water. But it's just a theory.
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