Category Archives: Bizarre

Cat Massage

Ever since I started The Diatribe, I’ve been getting all sorts of spam. Spam from comments. Spam requests to advertise. Spam requests to be my friend. All sorts of stuff, but my latest email … well, I don’t think I can even classify it as spam, because it seems legit. I figured I’d post the entire email on my blog as well as the link that she shared, because I think it’s hilarious.

If she really did stumble upon The Diatribe and read the last 25 or so posts, she probably saw they were all about yoga.. I have no idea why she thought this would be interesting to my readers, but that’s besides the point. Either way, here’s the email I received:

Dear Brandon,

My name is Candice and I promote content across the web. While searching for some resources, posts and pictures around cats and cat lovers, I came across your site and thought your readers would enjoy this cat infographic.

Many would consider cat paws to be nature’s masseuses, given the natural tendency of paw kneading. This infographic humorously illustrates some techniques you could teach your kitty cat to relieve some of those stress created knots.

The Guide to a Cat Massage [Infographic]

The link also provides the embed of the graphic, which ensures creative commons.

I hope your readers enjoy this graphic! If you have any questions regarding this infographic or any others, please feel free to contact me.

Thanks,
Candice P.

Manny Being Manny

I am thoroughly excited to read the new ‘New Yorker’ article about Manny Ramirez. I need to track it down ASAP. I can’t remember the last time I even picked up a ‘New Yorker,’ but the old rag has my attention now.

I was watching TV earlier and a commercial for Heelies, or some competitor, came on and it struck me that Manny Ramirez seems to me like the type of guy that wears Heelies. I can totally picture him wheeling around The Home Depot, the supermarket, the Red Sox clubhouse, or wherever he goes. I would bet money that Manny owns some Heelies. And it they’re not made in his size, then he plunked down $5,000 to get a pair custom-made.

It would be just fascinating to spend some time with the enigma wrapped in a riddle, infused by madness that is Manny Ramirez. I mean, this is a guy that was selling an autographed grill on eBay for a neighbor. Wha…? Paraphrasing David Ortiz, as quoted in that article, ‘Manny is just a crazy shit. He lives on his own planet.’ I love it. From a sneak preview of the article, I learned that Manny watches The History Channel and wants to visit the Forbidden City in China. No doubt he’d be wheelin’ around on his Heelies hip hoppin’ down the Great Wall of China with his iPod cranked up and his dred locks blowing in the breeze.

When his Washington Heights high school baseball team was chronicled by the ‘New Yorker’ about 16 years ago, the world learned that Manny got up early in the mornings and ran up hills dragging a tire on a rope tied to his waist. We know that he still works very studiously at what he does, with a fierce dedication. However, he’s also a space case. I can’t wait to find out more idiosyncracies about him. Until then, I can only imagine that he sleeps with a teddy bear, watches the Teletubbies, probably speaks fluent Italian, has season tickets to the Boston Symphony Orchestra, has never written or cashed a check, thinks Curt Schilling is the assistant manager, probably loaned Theo Epstein that infamous gorilla suit, thinks the Green Monster speaks to him between innings, is deathly afraid of Wally the Green Monster mascot, probably calls Mayor Menino from time to time, can’t remember his shoe size, refuses to shower until Doug Mirabelli is out of the shower room, and thinks the show ’24’ is a reality show.

Manny is the Syd Barrett of baseball. Gifted by God with immense talent, yet fragile and introverted. The miraculous thing is that Manny has been able to stay focused enough to keep doing what God put him here to do. Why, you ask? That’s just Manny being Manny.

The Ducks

After listening to this week’s episode of on my iPod this morning, I can’t bear to see the AFLAC duck without bursting into laughter. I can’t bear to see any duck for that matter.

If you have 20 minutes, I’d highly recommend listening to Act I of this past week’s episode about Alex & Roman and their adventure in Jamaica Bay.

Preserving the Electric Slide

Richard Silver, choreographer of the famous dance is up in arms. According to a recent story on NPR’s Morning Edition (I recommend hitting the "Listen Button" to hear the entire story), he is considering a law suit aimed at those people that do not do the dance correctly.

According to Silver, a number of people are only completeing 20 of the designated 22 steps in the dance.

"…[The last few steps are] Step Forward & touch, and Step back & touch. And you repeat that step. And that is what everbody has forgotten. They don’t do the repeat step…"

Silver is especially infuriated with YouTube clips that feature people the dance incorrectly. He has emailed several people who have posted videos of the dance being done incorrectly, to which he has received the prompt "Get a Life!" response. Basically, Silver Says, "I don’t want this going into history incorrectly."

As for me.. I’ll refrain from participating in the dance at all future events and functions as not to violate any copyright laws. You might want to consider doing the same.

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Casual dining my ass!

A desperate Swedish Girl and I went to a Friendly’s restaurant recently.  We had been shopping and running errands for a few hours and our blood sugar was dropping and we just needed some, ahem, nutrients pronto.  What an awful experience.  First, we were guided to the very first wind-blown table you see when you enter the establishment.  The one where the crowd of losers ordering ice cream practically sits in your cole slaw.  Borrowing a page from my dad, I asked the waitress for another table.  She was kind enough to lead us to a booth with sticky seats.  We were off to a great start.
Next, on her way to the ladies room, Swedish Girl heard the cook yelling at our waitress about my order:  “YOU WANT A F–KIN’ TUNA MELT!?!  I’M GETTIN’ TO YOUR F–KIN’ TUNA MELT RIGHT NOW, OKAY!!!”  I really didn’t want to eat an angry tuna melt after that.  Food is supposed to be prepared with love.  Later, I went to the men’s room to wash my hands and discovered there were no paper towels.  I was so furious that I shook my arms and hands VIOLENTLY to get soapy water all over the mirror (revenge, ya know?) and my wedding band (which is too big) flew off my finger, bounced off the mirror, and I caught it like a wide receiver before it could riccochet into the toilet.  All this occured before even getting our food, mind you.
When the food came, we had to eat while having the assorted slackjawed yokels stare, glare, and drool at us from 13 feet away as they waited for their ice cream.  Since then, I’m tempted to carry crackers and Gatorade with me at all times

The Urbs

While I was walking to a neighborhood pizzeria the other night, I realized that I live in one of the oddest neighborhoods that I’ve ever truly noticed. It’s in the outskirts of Boston, so it is urban, but borders on the suburban in spots. Right in my immediate vicinity, there are big old houses juxtaposed with big old apartment and condo buildings. There are gas stations everywhere. Pizzerias everywhere. Auto mechanic garages everywhere. A KFC, a K of C hall, some pseudo-strip malls, a couple of car washes, a bar that I’m nervous to enter, a church next door, and a school and a fire station across the street. There is a Dunkin Donuts with the strangest hours of operation ever – it seems to close at 4pm some days and 6:30pm other days, but always closes early.

While walking to the pizzeria, I passed one of the few houses on my main street (tucked right next to an auto mechanic garage, of course) and just as I was taking in how strange it was that they still had their Halloween decorations up in the front of the house, I noticed their Christmas tree in the window. Quite frankly, the juxtaposition was horrifying.

Last week, as Swedish Girl and I were returning home from a Black Friday shopping excursion, we passed the combination gas station/auto mechanic garage/used car lot, which is across the street from the package store and Salvadorean restaurant by the way, and as I was drooling over a late 1960s Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham convertible, we noticed how this was the most disapointing used car lot we’d ever seen. Not for its selection of cars, but for it’s laziness. Most used car dealers wash, wax, and vacuum the cars to make them look as appealing as possible. Not this place. The cars were dirty, dusty, and shabby (not the Caddy, though).

And with all of this going on around us, it is still home. It’s still were I look forward to ending up each night. Go figure.

When all else fails, wrestle in Jello

My current role at Google requires me to go through and look at a lot of various AdWords advertisements throughout the day. Some of which are standard goods and services, others are porn, and some are crazy home-based marketing programs. Every once in a while, though, you come across a gem like Fun Jell, the official Jello made for Jello Wrestling.

It’s hard to hold back sharing something like this, considering the fantastic video they have on their homepage. So, the next time you need to host an event — why not break out the kiddie pool and fill it with Fun Jell. It could be considered the World’s Best Icebreaker.

“Come on guys, who’s up next for Jello Wrestling?”