After about a week-long hiatus for technical / upgrade reasons, The Diatribe is back up and running.
Cool Jesus has been M.I.A. lately and he apologizes.
I haven’t really been up to anything terribly time-consuming. It’s just that one day off from The Diatribe so easily turns into two, which in turn melts into four, and so on and so forth. Where does time go? It’s November 9 and I still have four rotting jack o’lanterns sitting on my front porch. It’s November 9 and I still haven’t moved two air conditioners down to the cellar. Should I feel guilty for not doing truly meaningful things with my time? Sure, I have projects on my proverbial to-do list, but I also value my quality of life. The way I figure it, if I can cross off one item per week, then I’m doing alright. Now, I try to cheat the system by telling myself that emptying the dishwasher or doing my laundry are meaningful projects, but the inner Cool Jesus knows better. But I still have a whole season of built-in excuses to ensure that my to-do list will only grow until January. There are the Captain Larby/Miss Angela nuptials, then Thanksgiving, then Christmas, and then New Year’s. Quality of life: 4, To-do list: 0.
Last week I was able to cross an item off my list (I might be list-crazy because of my new favorite TV show My Name is Earl), but not without wratcheting up my blood pressure. I had a few bags of old clothes ready for donation. Big Brother, Big Sister is one of several not-for-profit organizations that is righteous enough to pick up such donations. I scheduled the pick-up for Thursday and was told the truck would be by anytime from 7:30 am to 5 pm. I left the items on my front porch and headed to my car to leave for work. Sure enough, the truck was there right at 7:30 am. What’s better is that the driver blocked me in my driveway. Now, you’d think a truck driver for a non-profit would be cool. Well, if you thought that, you’d be dead wrong. I was grateful that he was collecting my goods, so I waited patiently for him to re-enter his truck. At that point, I gave him another five seconds before honking my horn. No response. Another honk. Not even a glance. He moved stuff around on his passenger seat and checked off items on his clipboard. Another honk. This time I got a quick, yet nasty glare, and he sped off. The moral of the story: never do anything charitable or nice for anyone.
And since I’m fired up after reliving that Mexican standoff, let me leave you with this thought, which I emailed to both Petro and H-Train the other day after hearing a co-worker on the phone…
What the fuck is up with "buh-bye?" I want to slay anyone who ever says "buh-bye." What a fucking nonsense fucking thing to say. Do people ever say "hib-hello?" Fucking idiots.
I’d like to send belated Happy Birthday greetings to our very own special correspondant, Captain Larby. The reason you haven’t heard much from him lately is because he is working on a very special assignment, one which takes precendence over our little web log. I always feel young with that geezer Captain Larby around, but then I remember that LTJ is just a young buck and I go back to crying in my beer. Nevertheless, happy 29th, Lars! Can’t wait to see you and the future Mrs. Captain Larby in a couple of weeks.
Mordecai Peter Centennial Brown (Three Finger or Miner)
Bats Both, Throws Right
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|One of the game’s great stories, Three Finger Brown threw 11 scoreless innings in the Cubs last WS victory (1908), and his ’06, ’08 and ’09 seasons are the stuff of legend. Visit BSMemorial- a baseball blog.|
Wait a second, are there whales in Chicago?
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…
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!
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
– Brandon needs a lot of attention (ain’t that the truth).
Find out what you need — type “yourname needs” into Google (with quotes).
That Primus tune was playing in my head over the last couple of days, thanks to truly fantastic news from my man DeVasto. His daughter, Julia Ellen, entered the world on Monday, October 3, weighing in at a cool 8 pounds and measuring 20 inches. Congratulations to Mr. & Mrs. DeVasto and welcome aboard, Julia! That kind of news is just enough to take your mind off the Red Sox’ woes. As for the Patriots’ woes…is there any chance you had twins, DeVasto?
No, this isn’t a tirade about how I’ve not posted in a month. I think CJ was right, the Fiesta up in Boston really took a lot out of us Boggers [sic].
Monday evening at around Sundown marked the begining of the Jewish year 5766 with the Jewish New Year Holiday: Rosh Hashanah. The main purpose of this holiday is to sit back and think about all of the things that have happened in the past year (October – October or so), and reflect on the good and the bad. In doing so, I realized something. It’s been just about 5 years since I graduated college. In that time I’ve met a lot of people, learned a TON, and have developed a career.
When I think about that, though, it doesn’t seem that long ago. It seems like just yesterday I was living on Huntington Ave, or hanging out at Pat Flanagan’s (R.I.P.) or galavanting around the city of Boston / JP on the weekends. I think that’s something we can all relate to, how fast time has flown. Five years goes by like nobody’s business.
It was then that I realized what that means. The next five years could go by just as fast. Where will I be in five years? Probably married, with kids, living whoknowswhere. That thought is so strange to think about. How in just five years from now, my entire life as I know it will be changed. Not changed in a bad way, just different.
So, in thinking about this past year, I’m thankful for a lot. I’m sorry for a lot. So many things changed in this past year, it’s amazing. And it was a great year. To quote Ferris Bueller: “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around every once in a while – you could miss it.”
I’m glad I have this holiday, and I think it’s really a great thing to do every so often. L’Shanah Tovah.