So, thanks to my loving mother — I’m definitely no longer using any toilet facilities. I realized a day or so ago that I had posted my UK snake item under Miss Possible’s name.. but of course, it’s yours truly that has the incredible fear of the specific reptile variety.
In any event, I thought I’d follow up and share — that there are snakes here in NJ Toilets. If it was Lousianana or Michigan or St. Peterburg, Florida.. I wouldn’t care. But here in New Jersey? Oy.
Let me be among the many to wish Dale "Windmill Arms" Sveum a not-so-fond farewell. Despite the Sox’ (and Francona’s) desire to keep him (that’s what the press release states, anyway), Old Windmill will be plying his trade – which is attempted murder of his team’s baserunners – for the Milwaukee Brewers in 2006. I still contend that Gabe Krapler nearly killed himself on an innocent home run merely at the sight of rounding second base and seeing Happy Arms frantically waving him home. If you watch the Blue Jays’ replay of that injury, you can see Sveum still waving Krapler home as he lied incapacitated on the infield dirt.
Despite the Sox not making the World Series this year, who would have thought that it would turn out to be such a deeply satisfying season? We were able to rid ourselves of Old Mustache Face and Old Windmill Arms in the same year. To that, my friends, I drink!
In a side note, it’s almost a shame that Old Windmill Arms is leaving us. My brother-in-law, Bubba, had just come up with the brilliant idea of using Dale Magoo’s name as a term for the male genitalia. It just fits. We got together for Wednesday soccer last night, celebrated the departure of Oops I Did It Again Sveum, and couldn’t stop using his name in vain. Just try it and I guarantee you’ll get hooked. During the Astros locker room celebration last night, Roger Clemens took a champagne cork in the old Dale Sveum…
While minding my own business today at Empire Fitness, I was watching BBC World News (like I normally do) while working out on the treadmill. Twenty minutes or so past the hour, the reporter starts talking about an unbelieveable story that took place in Manchester, England.
Fortunately, I was able to find the story on the Web so you too can experience my horror. I nearly fell off the exercise machine when to my surprise, I learn about a 10 foot Boa Constrictor that was living in the pipes of a house. Residents of the house have complained to the landlord that the vile creature was living in the pipes, and would come out of their toilets, but the landlord didn’t believe them. Especially, when he asked the local fire department to trowl through the pipes to see what they could find. (At which point the snake just ducked back into the sewer, hiding from the fire fighters).
I will never use the toilet again.
One of the greatest things to come out of Adobe Photoshop (besides the fact that it’s the greatest graphics tool on earth), are the photoshop contests that you can find around the web. This one I found particularly amusing, as it is a contest to fake an ad:
Everywhere you turn there is another Starbucks, McDonalds or GAP popping up whether it’s the logo, store or actual ad you see. In this contest you’re going to take corporate takeovers of society to the extreme. Put ads, logos and/or stores in the most unexpected areas you can think of (i.e. the Sphinx in Egypt wearing RayBan sunglasses, or a Taj Mahal McDonalds).
Just thought I’d share, as I found it entertaining. Enjoy!
They say New York is the city of cities, too small to be a country, too large to be a town. The city of possibilities. The city of everything. The city of right angles and tough, damaged people. The city of wakeful dreaming, fortunate accidents, random meetings and sudden engagements. New York is the city of the 20th century.
I have to admit that I haven’t experienced much of this yet. But alas, this is the world according to Google and so NYC according to The Muse Hotel, Amazon, New York Safety and Survival Guide, Lyrics007, the Michigan Land Use Institute, all and all a motley crue (fine, it’s really crew, but I can’t help one 80s reference in this entry).
Of course, what I have experienced is that New York is the city of smokers, and more specifically walking smokers.
LTJ and I were recently discussing this phenomenon. No where have I seen more people walking and smoking than in NYC. They are everywhere at all times of day, but most annoyingly on the way into work.
My morning pace could be described as just one notch below running. I weave through the jammed sidewalks and subway stations like a race car driver on the edge, willing to do anything to reach the finish line first. People who think they are walking fast in the tunnel between Port Authority and Times Sq drop their jaw in disbelief when I breeze past them on the left quickly darting into the oncoming melee to slide back into my lane just in time to avoid a head on collison. No joke.
There is a fine art to the New York commute and most mornings I am on my game. There are only a few things that can gum up the works:
1) People parked in the fast lane: Yes, New York is full of tourists and none of them seem to realize that the left lane is the fast lane and if you are either slow or stopped you better get in the right OR ELSE. This rule applies to escalators, subway tunnels and sidewalks.
2) People with broken tail lights who pull the e-brake: Do not stop immediately after a turnstile, escalator, subway door, or subway platform. Not only is this extremely frustrating, it can also lead to serious accidents. Wake up people!
3) Inconsiderate riders who enter the train while people are still exiting: This is also very dangerous. In fact, one time the subway doors closed on me while I was trying to exit because people pushed me in while entering. I had to force the doors open to escape and it left black marks on me. NYC subway waits for no one!
4) Walking smokers: As I previously mentioned, I walk as fast as possible to work. One of the worst things is getting stuck behind a smoker. Not only am I breathing in lungfuls of air, they are full of smoke. I’m seriously starting to think that banning smoking from the streets wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
Gosh, why do I always write about commuting? Anyone?
I’m a simple man. I’ve never been a technophile. Sure, I love fancy electronic gadgets, but I’ve never gotten caught up in attaining the latest and greatest. The mere fact that such gizmos become almost instantly obsolete has always been enough to scare me away. Heck, I was still clinging to my original Nintendo Entertainment System years after Sega Genesis had rendered even Super Nintendo obsolete.
Fast forward a few years and I was the first among my Northeastern posse to get a cell phone. It was the late 1990s and Bell Atlantic Mobile (BAM!), the precursor to Verizon (after all these years I’m still dumbstruck at what an awful name Verizon is), was still in effect. I never memorized my cell phone number, so I hardly ever received any calls. This also could have been due to the fact that I never mastered the art of distinguishing when the phone was powered on or off. I kept the phone for one year, made only a handful of calls with it, and then became fiercely anti-cell phone. It would be another four years before I broke down and decided to reluctantly join the 21st century. Make no mistake about the fact that those four years were joyous. I felt victorious every time I was successfully able to meet up with my friends without the benefit of a cell phone. Every successful 20th century attempt was another notch on my rotary dial telephone.
Now I find myself at the end of my original two-year contract with Sprint. I feel like a convict finally getting released from prison. I have all the options in the world in front of me and yet, like Red from Shawshank, I’m conflicted. Cingular? Verizon? Which phone? One-year contract? Two-year contract? How many minutes? I’m feeling an inordinate amount of stress over this decision. My brother-in-law, Bubba, already switched his service to Cingular a month or two ago. He knew I was shopping around and offered to answer any questions I might have. Well, after a couple of days’ worth of emails, Bubba retracted his offer and silently referred me to the web site.
Much like Red’s friend Andy, I feel like I’m in the midst of crawling through a half-mile of foul smelling shit. I just hope that what awaits me on the other side is as much of a relief as that small Mexican town was to Andy. Oh, and if you have any advice on my big decision, I’m all ears. And I promise not to abuse your generosity. Sorry Bubba.
I’ve seen this on a few other weblogs lately, so why not here on the Diatribe. As CJ said, anything to take your mind off the sad end to the Red Sox’s season. SoI figured I’d ask google what I needed, to console myself, and this is what it told me:
- Brandon needs a big brother
- Brandon needs more monkeys
- Brandon needs a stable, secure, loving home
- Brandon needs to learn
- Brandon Needs a car!
- Brandon needs quite a bit of help with the upcoming ISU Fall Classic this September (or maybe not??)
- Brandon needs to remember that he has a website
and finally:
- Brandon needs a lot of attention (ain’t that the truth).
Find out what you need — type “yourname needs” into Google (with quotes).
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