Mother Nature is a real see you next Tuesday

It rained a lot last weekend. So much so that the ceiling in my living room was leaking pretty badly. In my first floor apartment. Yeah. Fuck.

Then on Sunday the completely saturated parts started to sag. In order to prevent further damage or the whole thing collapsing, I did what I had to do:

As much as I'd like to say I MacGyver'd this shit together, I'm a realist, and this is clearly some redneck engineering. I wanted to add "at its finest" to the prior sentence but this was the first configuration that eventually fell in a horrible crash while I was trying to adjust the space heater at the summit. The second configuration was knocked over by my asshole cat while I was in the shower. The third configuration still stands tall and proud.

Now most cosmopolitan young urbanites such as myself (look at those stylish window treatments!) would never stoop as low as to associate with anything redneck. I won't hide my roots, well not exactly roots. I wasn't brought up on some hog farm or anything like that, but I do have family members who love being country boys. And it would be safe to say they love all the things mentioned in the Zac Brown Band song about liking fried chicken and shit like that.

2010 Academy Awards: In Review

I feel Fantastic Mr. Fox was robbed. I enjoyed it much more than Up. And what was up with having one of the Monstars accept the Oscar?

And I'm not even going to lie, my friend Brian and I definitely rocked this all day when we used to play ball in his driveway.

Sadly, we are no longer friends. The Monstars' loss had nothing to do with that though.

Won't somebody please think of the children!?

The other night I was at my local public library for the first time in probably 10 years. Now I've been in a library in the last decade, just not this one. And instead of describing the minutiae of my visit, I'm going to let this photo sum it up:

This is why I love living in Massachusetts. In other states, people were losing their minds that a movie poster had the word 'porno' in it. My local library has a copy on Blu-Ray (very high tech) that you can borrow for a buck a week.

*I modified the library name because I don't want to give anyone with an agenda some ammo. In fact, I'm sick of all these people who use protecting the children as their excuse to push their social agendas (Maine's voting down of gay marriage) and attempt to limit free speech. How about instead of trampling all over everyone's rights, why don't you be a responsible parent and educate your children about the real world out there that contains scary things like atheists, homosexuals, liberals, and S-E-X? They're going to learn about it sooner or later. So to borrow one of your favorite phrases...

White Boys Can Dance Last-Minute Halloween Tips '09

Halloween is hands down my favorite holiday of the year. I don't think I really need to use that many words to justify why I feel this way, so I'll use these: parties, candy, slutty costumes, fiery gourds, and all things spooktacular (a criminally underused word).

So to help out some of the other single gentlemen of the world to better enjoy their festivities this weekend, I'm going to dole out a couple of costume-related tips.

If you're trying to meet the ladies, don't wear one of the stupid sexually suggestive costumes that your buddies snicker at in iParty.

"Who has two thumbs and is a douche?"

That is unless you're looking for a girl who doesn't wear underpants to church (a whore); they eat that shit right up. In fact, I've devised a whole theory of clothing. Here's the quick 'n dirty: I think you dress yourself not necessarily in a style that you like, you dress in said style to attract a certain type of person. If that's too mind numbing here's an example: if you want to attract some Jersey trash, then wear an Affliction shirt. And here's me using a colon in a third consecutive sentence: there it is. And now that I typed it out it seems so obvious that I should delete it, buuuuuut I don't want to delete my shot at Affliction shirts because seriously, look at them. Moving on.

This one is better because it's not inviting anyone to fellate you, but I feel it still comes off as you having a high opinion of yourself. I would equate this to wearing a t-shirt that says "Italian Stallion" or "Everyone Loves a Greek Boy". However, it's a great costume for a fat guy because irony is always funny (for awhile at least).

If you're looking for a real chick magnet get yourself one of these:

Now you may think Mr. Jackson's deceased status or questionable record when it comes to children would be a turn-off. You would be wrong. I wore my Thriller jacket to a party last evening and by the end of the night it had more breasts in it than the poultry section of your local grocers. That might be a bit much in the information department, but it actually serves a purpose. That that type of playful interaction leads to conversation, and if you play your cards right, phone numbers. You're welcome.

Oh and one final tip. Don't get blackout drunk in a bar party or pictures may end up on Facebook of you licking some random shirtless guy's nipples on the sidewalk for no discernible reason -- at least that's what I heard from my friend in Canada.

The Almost-Erotic Travels of Jon: Chapter One

Back in the spring, my then current-girlfriend and I visited some of my friends living in London. Their flat was pretty central to everything that tourists would want to see, so we spent a considerable amount of travel time on foot. I had been to London before so I wasn't really down for the touristy stuff, but she had not. And not to toot my own horn, but because I was an awesome boyfriend I let her dictate most of our destinations.

It turns out that days of non-stop walking around the city takes a toll on your legs and feet after shutting them down for the winter and not waking them up for spring. And for me, fashion comes before function, so I paid a few extra pence to the collector (my sneakers did a better job looking good than cushioning my feet). So one evening after scouring the Soho district we came across a massage parlour and I decided a massage was in order. She didn't really want to spend the money, but with how my lower extremities were feeling, I wouldn't accept no as an answer.

We enter the office (I'm calling it an office because there was a tall Asian man in a doctor's coat, so I will assume that he's had some medical training, right? And I'm going to call him Doctor C. because I'm pretty sure he was also Chinese. Assumptions abound!) and I inquire as to the cost of a massage. We spend a few minutes working out the details and are asked to sit down. As we are sitting there two women start to fill pans of water with what looks like an office water cooler without the bottle on top. They are there for a couple minutes and seem to be having difficulties, so they give up and head downstairs. After a minute or two Doctor C. tells us we can head downstairs. After passing a still-boxed LCD TV in the tight hallway -- I've noticed that there always seems to be boxed electronics out in the open in Asian businesses, just saying -- we descend down a metal spiral staircase to a questionable basement.

The women direct us to separate rooms. While discussing treatment upstairs, I was under the assumption that we would be in the same room, but these rooms did not have the capacity to allow it. That and I didn't really understand half the stuff Doctor C. was saying, so I could have made that up in my mind. We go into our separate rooms and now this turns into a singular narrative. I remove my socks and shoes and hang out for the masseuse to enter the room. She enters with a pan of water with some flowers in it. She asks me to place my feet in the pan and I oblige. As I plunge my feet into the pan she apologizes for the water not being warm. I guess the water cooler thing upstairs was the only means of heating water in the office because the sink they got this water from clearly did not have hot as an option. She leaves the room.

So now I'm sitting in a dark room with my feet in a pan of cold water for a couple minutes. She returns and has me lie down on the table. She places a towel over my lap and grabs a jar of Vaseline. What? The? Fuck? So as the reader you must be thinking something sketchy is about to go down, right?

Nope. She goes to town massaging the shit out of my feet. It was one of the most amazing massages I've ever received in my life. The days of abuse just melt away with each stroke and clutch of her hands. Thirty or so minutes later the massage is over -- now this is where is gets sketchy. I lie there for a few minutes beyond relaxed and she just hangs out at the end of the table just sort of staring at me. She doesn't put anything away. She doesn't turn up the lights. She doesn't open the door. She doesn't say anything. She just stands there but makes sure I'm aware of her presence.

I could hear that the girlfriend was done and had already headed upstairs. Now I'm at a crossroads. Do I get my things together and join her upstairs, or have the masseuse make sex acts on me? I do have a thing for Asians and she was smoking hot; and not in that 3 Fast 3 Furious race-scenester-sort-of-look, but more of a classic beauty. But as I mentioned earlier, I was an awesome boyfriend, and not a cheater so I gather my things and head upstairs after giving her a tip -- just not that tip.

Now I know by now you're saying that Asians are smart and knew that were were together, so there's no way she would be in contact with my special area, but I discussed some of the quirks of the experience with the girlfriend to which she informed me of a vastly different experience for her. Plus they gave her the ugly one. Check and mate.

PCI Security Awareness

The HR manager in my office walked around today handing out a postcard-sized memo regarding office security. Because of today's history, I've decided to share this valuable information with you. Below you will see a photograph of the memo and I will also provide a transcript.

The Importance of Maintaining a Clear Desk or Workspace
Maintaining a clear desk or workspace is important to help ensure sensitive information is not physically exposed when you are at your desk, when you leave your desk unattended during the day, or when you leave at night.

-Lock sensitive documents in a drawer or cabinet when not being used.
-Ensure all paper based information is securely disposed of (i.e. shredded).
-Do not write down passwords and display them for others to view.
-Always lock your computer when leaving your desk (Ctrl+Alt+Del then enter).
-Lock removable storage media away when not in use.
-Physically secure laptops to something immovable with a cable lock.
-Encrypt all sensitive information stored on laptops or removable storage media.
-Remove all information from meeting rooms when you leave.
-Collect documents from the printer as soon as they are printed.
-Always take valuables with you when you leave, or lock them away.

Or to summarize it up in eight words: Don't leave out shit you don't want stolen.

Take that you terrorist sons of bitches! USA! USA! USA!

The Mustache Experiment: Update

Day 4-

I think this mustache is starting to take over. I'm seriously considering robbing a train on horseback.

I also enjoy when Chevy Chase does this...

My office co-inhabitant has been on vacation this week. This is excellent news. Normally that statement would be made because the subject of said statement is a self-absorbed prick, smells bad, or [fill in any other negative attribute you could label a person with]. Not him. He's a nice guy, with good enough hygiene (doesn't stink from where I sit), and sports a glorious, curly mullet. Oh, and did I mention he loves classic rock? Well you had to see that one coming. And I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say he loves it potentially more than his children. He's basically a blue-blooded version of Joe Dirt.

So why the joy over his temporary departure? Since he's a rocker through and through, rules dictate that the act of rocking must be constant and take place at an acceptable level regardless of professional surroundings; which translates to a constant audio blitz of the sounds of the 60's and 70's emanating from his desktop speakers. Also, none of this pussy level 3 shit. Rocking takes place at 8 or 9, minimum (7 for conference calls). And I wouldn't be surprised if his speakers actually went to 11.

Now, I should be able to get behind this because being a fan of music I try to listen to it all day too. But due to my inferior speakers and/or desire to not exclusively listen to guitar-driven anthems, I just can't compete with him. Now I'm not disparaging classic rock at all. I love it. I just don't need to hear Boston's 1976 debut album thrice a week, followed up with a one-sided, in-depth discussion of a Brad Delp side project (I nod politely). I also don't need to be reminded several times a week that two original members of Boston are in a band with an original member of John Cafferty & The Beaver Brown Band (the fucking stupidest name for a band ever) and a local car dealership tycoon.

As a polite person -- really, I hold doors for women and always say "thank you" -- I find it difficult to ask him to shut the fuck up. I've tried to put myself in his mindset to no avail. Is he really that inconsiderate? Can he just not hear that well anymore after the combination of years of concerts and getting old? Did all those drugs he enjoyed in the 70's eat his brain?

To support one of those guesses (drugs) I will add that he also loves ABBA, which doesn't really fit into the M.O. I've laid out. At least several times a week, when I come in to the office in the morning ABBA is playing. Some people drink coffee to get their day going. Others go for a run. Yet others rub one out. He feels it necessary to start his day with live versions of "Super Trouper" and "Fernando" playing over, and over, and over, and over again. Most likely while rubbing one out. Gross.

Dr. Thomas Neill Cream and Me

I've always had an interest in mustaches but have never worn one -- until today. And that's discounting the indicator mustache that most facial hair-baring teenagers grow as nature's way of saying it's time to start shaving. I had a pretty furious beard for the past couple months to the point where I was routinely being called out for looking like Ted Kaczynski, so the terrorist beard had to go. Although to be more accurate it was more of a depression beard.

But since I'm feeling good these days, and it's been the opposite temperature of a witch's tit, the beard had to go. It did go out with a bang though. Over the weekend, I won a trip to the Virgin Mobile Freefest coming up in a couple weeks and had to take some promo pictures for marketing or whatever (the PR woman's personal collection); so if you come across a picture of some thin Zach Galifianakis looking motherfucker holding a robot lion/tiger cub, congratulations, you have located a picture of me.

A terribly out of date picture. I mean, it's been at least eighteen hours since I've had a full beard -- and in this Facebook/Twitter world that we live in, anything that is older than fifteen minutes is old news. So I decided to keep a handlebar mustache. Seriously. I look like I belong in a barbershop quartet, or I should be lifting those trapezoidal dumbbells while wearing a one-shoulder singlet. There are so many prospects for my new facial hair, I may keep it forever. And by forever I mean maybe through the weekend after attending a bachelor party. Nothing say classy to a stripper than a sweet, sweet handlebar mustache.

Konnichiwa, bitches!

(Especially me. See below.)

Well blog, long time no write.

Just to get it out of the way, the relationship I referenced in a few posts last year has come to it's conclusion. That is all I'm going to say about that until I can come up with something funny about getting dumped and being terribly depressed. Boo hoo!

Moving on. I'm sorely out of practice at trying to be funny at any length larger than a paragraph, so getting back into this is going to be like swimming in the Atlantic Ocean in New England -- I'll need to ease myself in or I'll freeze my balls (literally). So here's something quick that I read today:

WASHINGTON (AFP) – Five months after it was launched on a mission to find earth-like planets, the Kepler space telescope has sent back to Earth high-precision images of a planet some 1,000 light years away, NASA said Thursday.

But the real excitement at NASA was over how well Kepler was working, and the promise it holds for the future.

With Kepler only in the calibration phase, the telescope, which was launched in March on a mission to find earth-like planets in the galaxy, sent back to Earth highly precise images of a planet with the unromantic name of HAT-P-7-B.

The images of the so-called "hot Jupiter" planet located about 1,000 light years (around 5.9 quadrillion miles, 9.5 quadrillion kilometers) from Earth were "the first time anyone has seen light from this planet," said William Borucki, the principal science investigator for the Kepler mission and lead author of a report that will be published Friday in Science.

But while the scientists were enthusiastic about Kepler's discovery of optical light from HAT-P-7-B -- Carnegie Institution astrophysicist Alan Boss called it "stunning indeed" -- they were even more excited by the fact that Kepler was working, and working well.

"The real headline is Kepler works," said Boss.

Amazing! High precision images of a planet light years away! But that's not what gives these scientists a space-boner; oh no, it's that the piece of equipment that they spent years engineering and billions of dollars building is doing the job that they designed it to do. And this isn't an isolated incident. I'm too lazy to dig up any actual articles to back this up, but every time a piece of space equipment does it's job the scientists seem surprised.

"Holy shit! The Mars Rover landed on Mars and is now roving it. This is the exact opposite of what I expected to happen, despite spending 15 years of my life dedicated to this project."

Where can I get a job where failure is expected? Relationship counselor? Actually, that's not a good example at all.

And here come the pretzels!

Michael Phelps won 8 gold medals at the 2008 Beijing Summer Olympics. Whooptee-shit. I don't care anymore. Please stop covering him everyone. I don't care what his daily schedule is. I don't care what he eats. I don't care what's on his iPod. I don't care how many people want to be his friend on Facebook. I don't care that if he had a homoerotic experience in middle school. I don't care.

I'm not taking anything away from his athletic ability, it's obvious that he kid can swim. And I wouldn't be surprised to learn that his mom had a run in with Led Zeppelin at the Edgewater Inn. Or I won't take anything from the accomplishment that he had 81.25% say in. He only had six solo finals, the other two finals he was part of a four man team. Do the math.

I'm just sick of hearing about him constantly. Like a good American, I've been tuning into NBC's "live" coverage of the games and supporting my country by purchasing goods being marketed by official Olympic sponsors. I've also been driving around in a 2009 Ford Mustang that gets really shitty gas mileage (more about that soon) and doing poorly (3 out of 18) at recognizing facial characteristics between citizens of Asian countries. But I won't stand behind him anymore. Throughout all the swimming competitions, it's been all about Michael Phelps. Even when other competitors were winning medals. During their post-victory interviews at least half of the conversation was about him.

Reporter: So how does it feel to win a medal at the Olympics?

Swimmer: This is the greatest moment of my life. I've worked hard every day for the past eight years to get here.

Reporter: So how about that Michael Phelps? He's amazing, isn't he? I hear he's part mud shark.

Swimmer: Ummm... yeah, he's great. I can't believe all the adversity that I had to overcome to get to this leve--

Reporter: Oh yeah. Congratulations on overcoming adversity. So does Michael Phelps inspire you like he has America?

Swimmer: Actually, my 108 year-old grandmother who was the first white woman in South Carolina to date a black man, has been my true inspiration. It was her trailblazing that has helped to begin to mend the wound of slavery and end the evils of racism.

Reporter: Shut up! That has nothing to do with Michael Phelps. Would you say Michael Phelps is your one true savior?

I know I may have exaggerated one or two things there, but it's like these athletes were being interviewed by Bill O'Reilly and had a dissenting opinion. Weaksauce NBC. Weaksauce.

The most shocking news in the history of the world!

From the AP:

DALLAS - A tour bus carrying hip-hop artist Snoop Dogg was pulled over and two people were arrested on marijuana possession charges Thursday a few hours before a concert in Dallas, a spokesman for the Texas Department of Public Safety said.

DPS spokesman Charlie Morgan said members of a commercial vehicle inspection team pulled the bus over on Interstate 45 in Corsicana because the vehicle had an expired registration sticker. Troopers searched the bus for drugs after they said they smelled marijuana and found two ounces of the drug, he said.

Ethan Calhoun, 27, and Kevin Barkey, 26, were arrested on drug charges after admitting the drugs belonged to them, Morgan told The Associated Press. Both men were taken to the Navarro County Jail and face fines of up to $2,000 and six months in jail if convicted, Morgan said. Bond was set at $1,500 each.

The Corsicana Daily Sun reported the men appeared before a justice of the peace and were released after posting bond.

Snoop Dogg, whose birth name is Cordozar Calvin Broadus Jr., was not arrested. His agent had no comment, a secretary said. Calls to public relations representatives for the rapper were not immediately returned Thursday evening.

He was arrested last year at Bob Hope Airport in Burbank, Calif., on suspicion of transporting marijuana.

Police later charged him with gun possession after finding a firearm in his home. He pleaded no contest in April 2007 to felony gun and marijuana charges and agreed to five years' probation and 800 hours of community service.

He was scheduled to appear at a concert near the Cotton Bowl in Dallas. He is on tour with alternative rock group 311.

Corsicana is 52 miles south-southeast of Dallas.

Really? Some nogoodniks on Snoop Dogg's tour bus were in possession of marijuana? That's hard to believe. It's not like the guy every glorified the use of marijuana in any of his endeavors before.

This Just In: the sky is blue.

But seriously, I don't get how this doesn't happen more often. How don't dudes like Snoop Dogg and Willie Nelson get arrested daily? Probably for the same reason people like Nicole Richie go to jail for 82 minutes. Because their dads had something to do with the making of Dancing on the Ceiling.

Mix one part awesome with five parts shit

So a few weeks back I mentioned my best friend getting married. That wedding without a doubt was one of the most fun times I've had in my entire life. I'm not going into the details, as they're pretty fuzzy, but you know it's an awesome reception when the DJ plays 2ge+her. For real. I guess I just didn't realize that drinking all day was a requirement of being in a wedding. So is ushering, which is also a blast when you're half in the bag.

Me: Hello. Are you with the bride or the groom?
Wedding guest: Are you joking? ... I'm with the groom. I've known you since you were this high. [makes gesture with hand to hip height]
Me: Of course you are. A thousand apologies. I just didn't recognize you all dressed up. Your pants suit is quite breathtaking. [still has no idea who this person is]

But since that day my life has been one big shitshow. I was sick for two solid weeks. My car succumbed to the demon named hydrolock. My cell phone drowned. And the brakes went out on the truck I was using while without a car. I'm happy I never got around to getting a dog because it probably would have been hit by a car or struck by lightning, or hit by a car that was in the act of being struck by lightning. Hell, with the way things have been going, I'm surprised I didn't get struck by lightning yesterday while outside when it was storming like a motherfucker.

And probably worst of all, I've been going to dealerships checking out new cars and have been subjected to the scum of the Earth that are car salesmen.

Car salesman: Why don't you fill out this credit application and we'll see what kind of deal we can get you?
Me: I'm not buying a car today. I just wanted to test drive a couple cars, which I eventually did.
Car salesman: Well why don't you fill it out anyway so we can see?
Me: Because checking my credit affects my credit rating, and I'm not going to do that when I'm not going to buy a car today.
Car salesman: Ummm... ok. I need to go talk to my manager.

Fuckface.

P.S. I owned the dance floor at that wedding, as I tend to do.

Everybody Can* Dance

My best friend is getting married tomorrow. There will be a ceremony. There will be a reception. There will be alcohol. There will be dancing. I have a crazy hangover this morning and I'm going to try to get out of work early to go play a little golf with the poor bastard; so I'm going to put up the post my sister wrote for me a month or so back. I'm happy I waited because it unintentionally relates to tomorrow's festivities. This is probably the most well-written post that will ever appear on this blog, so don't get used to it. (Although I think my Super Bowl "article" is pretty damn good)

Stamps, rocks, assorted “miraculous” food items containing the face of Jesus; people collect all sorts of crap. As for my personal items of covet, they include Happy Holidays Barbie (don’t knock it, the original is worth quite a pretty penny), and Hard Rock Café pilsner glasses. HRC pilsners are a great way to show off where you have been as you enjoy a nice frosty beverage. (Although in retrospect, shot glasses would have been a better choice, as they are much easier to transport). Sometimes I just go to the gift shop and buy the glass, but other times, an “all American meal” (yes, I know the original HRC was in London) with a side of “Rock” music is the perfect comfort when abroad.

After a stressful search for our hotel in Lisbon (Dear Residencial Florescente, it would have been nice if you told us that you are located on a pedestrian only street and therefore we wouldn’t be able to find you in a car! Nice hotel though, highly recommended if in Lisbon.), we were tired, hungry and cranky. Therefore, we decided to eat at the Hard Rock Café as we had already passed it 10 times while en route to our lodging.

With each sip of my delicious chocolate milkshake from the latest addition to my collection, I became more at ease. With every crispy onion ring, and Aerosmith song, our crankiness was melting away. As if to call an official end to the tension between us, the Queen Mother of all bonding songs lit up the TV in front of us. Oh yeah, calling all ladies to the dance floor. It’s time to get down. Now presenting Sister Sledge, “We Are Family.”

Just hearing the songs title evokes a mental image. We’ve all seen it a thousand times. You don’t really need me to give the play-by-play, but I am going to anyway.

You‘re at some function; it doesn’t matter if it’s a wedding, birthday, bar mitzvah, Easter parade, earth day celebration, etc. thrown by your family, friends, or even distant acquaintances.

The first few beats come on and all the ladies stop whatever they are doing. There is some hooting, some clapping and a stampede to the dance floor. Let’s not forget the ladies that try to drag their husbands, boyfriends and children to the dance floor with them.

Knowing the spectacle that is about to unfold, these innocent bystanders protest, and the lucky ones are able to escape to the refuge of the bathroom or the bar. The weak willed and weak armed are thrown to the lions, but after about 30 seconds of dodging arm waving, right-on-sister pointing, and you-go-girl claps, their captors are too busy boogieing to notice their escape. If it is noticed, they simply get a “you are no fun!” before the lady gets her groove back.

Once all of the forced participants have escaped or given in to the phenomenon, the fancy footwork can begin. The aforementioned claps, waves, points and hoots are the backbone for the dance, but now the jazzier elements can be added. Did I just see a twirl? Shout out to Mom! What about a side step with a scoop and clap? Way to represent, Aunt Mildred! Where’s the shimmy/twisting action? Go grandma, go grandma!

But let’s not forget, the message of this song is not about showing off our individual skillz, it is about celebrating our shared bond, be it by blood, marriage, or similar tastes in party jams. The ladies have not forgotten this either, as they have been working up to their signature move.

You know it, you love it. It’s time for the ladies to get in a line or circle, the arms to go around each other’s shoulders, and the sway begins. Sure, it will take a few sways to get everyone going the right direction, but no family is perfect. Now depending on the amount of alcohol consumed/Broadway aspirations of the participants, the sway might turn into the Holy Grail of the ladies dance: the kick line. Even the famous Sister Sledge can only pull it off for a mere few seconds at the end of the video.

It may not be perfect, but you can bet your bottom dollar that Rockettes auditions aren’t nearly as full of love.

So as party season gets into full swing, I know you will encounter this display, and I ask that you remember that although it is cheesy, it is a message of love and celebration that can always be counted on. But if you can’t help but cringe the next time you hear this song, just be happy you aren’t watching this:

(Although that puppy in the cotton candy machine is the cutest f’in thing I have ever seen!) I think even Sister Sledge would get over their love fest and hang their head in embarrassment. But then again, what’s more family than that?

*Meaning everybody has the physical ability to move to music, not necessarily that everybody has rhythm. The prior statement excludes quadriplegics, coma victims, and other assorted vegetables.

I'm back

I know I've been silent for awhile now, but when you do all of your writing at work, then don't have time anymore, your writing suffers. And to be honest, nothing has really motivated me to even try. Two bachelor parties? Nope. A trip to Las Vegas? Nope. Gay marriage becoming legal in California. Nope. Not even Barack Obama winning the Democratic nomination. Did I watch every second of his victory speech? You better believe it. Did it inspire me? No doubt. Inspire me to write? Not so much. Since it's Friday, and I finally have more than 5 minutes to goof around, I figure today would be the ideal day to start this shit up again. I also have an excellent guest post in the pipeline written by my sister. She gave it to me a few weeks back to post, but I obviously didn't get around to it.

The Boston Celtics captured their seventeenth NBA championship Tuesday night. And Boston celebrated:

Wait a second. This is the wrong picture. This is from when the California Supreme Court ruled that gay marriage would be legal in the state. My bad. But seriously, I love it when anything happens positive to the gay community because you can always count on seeing a scene like this, which makes me smile. Way to go gays! Keep reaching for that rainbow! And fuck you religious/conservative assholes who are opposed to equality for all people. Sometimes this country makes me ashamed to be an American. And you can quote me when I run for office some day.

This is more like it. Although only a couple dozen people were arrested this championship. I think Boston may be finally getting too cool to riot. Have we learned to not be such douchebags? Not yet. Baby steps people. We'll get there.

I didn't really realize during the broadcast, as the game itself was my main focus, but the stars were out in full force. Boston celebrities that is. My sources in the Garden reported those in attendance included The Sausage Guy, Joyce Kulhawik, Crunch, the Andleman brothers, that guy who shows up at every event in Boston wearing the sandwich board and hands out those fliers about going to hell, and I'm sure Lenny Clarke was probably in the back somewhere. Actually, I did see Steven Tyler sitting courtside, and boy did it piss me off. His body language clearly stated that he has never been to a basketball game in his life. Fucking celebrity bullshit. And he's not even that good of a celebrity. That's right, I went there. Guess what America, everyone in Boston doesn't get a boner over Aerosmith.

And I'm not done with him quite yet. I know he's Steven Tyler, but what the fuck was he wearing? This is game 6 of the NBA finals, not a fucking Stevie Nicks concert. Fuck face.

Also in attendance, Joey and Donny from New Kids on the Block. Why didn't they get courtside seats? This is some bulllllllllshit! Am I saying that because I'm going to their concert in October? Let me answer that by first saying that my girlfriend really wanted to go. Moving on.

Getting up and going to work on Wednesday was pretty awful. I actually started writing this post then, but I didn't get that far with the complete lack of sleep and alcohol still coursing through my veins. I was able to get a shitload of pictures from the celebrating, thus reinforcing my love of Glen "Big Baby" Davis.

Big Three? Fuck that. Big Baby. That's right.

Holiday Greetings

...from smut peddlers and T.O.

One of these things is not like the others

Baseball, priorities, monsters, redemption, bigotry, and inspiration

Yesterday was opening day at Fenway Park. I didn't make it this year. And that wasn't necessarily a bad thing because I probably couldn't take all the alcohol-fueled mayhem excitement that was sure to take place because I've been sick. Boo hoo. In a pre-game ceremony that surely annoyed all Boston-hating individuals, the World Series rings were given out to much fanfare and wicked awesome self-congratulations, guy. However the most important news item of the day was who was the surprise guest that was earmarked to throw out the ceremonial first pitch. Seriously, it was embarrassing. Some kids got burned alive in a 3-story house fire in Medford. Who gives a shit? It's opening day at Fenway! It was on the morning news. It was on the radio. It was on the internet. People at work were talking about it. Blah, blah, blah. And of course the Red Sox ownership would only stoke the fire by saying it was a Red Sox legend. Red Sox legend? It seems everyone who's every played for the team is a Red Sox legend. When he retires, Trot Nixon will be a Red Sox legend. No help there, and I still wasn't impressed. Now if the Red Sox brass figured out how to reanimate Ted Williams after reattaching his frozen head to his frozen body into some sort of Frankensteinean creation and have that throw out the first pitch, then I would be impressed.

Nope.

It turned out to be Bill Buckner.

Sweet, sweet redemption!

Not so fast Jon. When talking to one of my co-workers about it she seemed annoyed that he threw out the pitch. Deeper into the conversation it was revealed that she still holds a grudge against him for his error in Game 6 of the 1986 World Series. That's 21 years. That's also sad. Granted, she's still also pissed about the Patriots losing to the Giants in the Superbowl. I think she holds grudges. I'm making a mental note to never piss her off.

I was five when Buckner made that error. It didn't really affect me at the time because I was more interested in playing with Transformers and being scared of the Incredible Hulk. I was also scared of the Wicked Witch in the Wizard of Oz. I also hated Broccoli. Maybe I just had a problem with the color Green? Youthful color-bigotry aside, even when I grew up I never had a problem with Bill Buckner. The guy made an error, he's human. Admittedly, that was a pretty fuckin' huge error, but I don't want to judge because I too have made mistakes. None that involved missing a routine ground ball that could have clinched a World Series victory ended the Mets' 10th inning rally, but now I'm just splitting hairs.

And it turns out the Metropolitans were destined to win the series in '86. That's right. How do I know? Maybe this little video will bring things into perspective for you like it did for me.

We never even stood a chance. They had a cameo from Cameo. That just isn't fair. I'm surprised the universe didn't collapse in on itself just from that. If Jesus, Muhammad, Buddha, Osiris, Zeus, Jewish guy, and other religious deities had a baseball team and were facing the Mets in the World Series, they would also lose in a heartbreaking fashion. It's just a fact.

And I miss this. When did sports teams become too cool for school to make the cheesy inspirational video?

Jerks.

Now who's laughing? Now who's laughing?

Today is April Fools' Day. Everyone on the internet is trying to be clever even more so than normal. I've decided to buck the trend and post a picture of a baby with three arms. Enjoy.

I Guess I Guess

Monday night I attended the Sons and Daughters/Bodies of Water show at the Middle East downstairs. Bodies of Water put out one of my favorite albums last year so I've been jonesing to see them live. I'm hoping that it was either the day after Easter thing or a Monday night thing because the turnout was pretty weak. I would guesstimate that there were 125 people at most at the show. I've literally seen more people at basement shows back in the day in a place a fraction of the size. That's just depressing so I'm going to move on.

Bodies of Water kept having problems with the mix. It literally took half of their set for the soundboard jackass technician to get it decent. If you haven't heard them before they harmonize a lot. All four of them. And it's awesome. What's not awesome is not hearing the vocals and hearing crazy loud bass. I'm not saying that I don't like bass. Hell, I love me some bass. Did you see Randy Jackson jammin' out during Paula Abdul's Super Bowl pre-game performance? Bad. Mother. Fucker. But I don't like being overwhelmed with bass when the harmonies are such vital parts of the songs. The low turnout and the poor mix definitely took the band out of the performance a bit. They actually asked the audience for any requests at one point. I've only seen cover bands do that before. A bit disheartening. Despite all that, I still think they were excellent. I don't remember the setlist because I don't think they had one, but they played my favorites and a couple new songs, which were also excellent. All and all, they weren't really trying and still put on a better performance than many bands I've seen in the past. Please see them if they come to your town. You shant regret it.

And they're tearing around the country in a 90's camper. Tour bus? Too gaudy. Tour van? Boring. Tour camper? Yup! And you can even take a pit stop in the mountains for a few days if you want. That's exactly what I would do if I had any musical ability, talent, and there were people who wanted to see me perform live. And how do I know that the camper was theirs? Because I asked.

After Sons and Daughters' set I stopped by the Bodies of Water merch table to purchase some wares. I scooped up their album and a t-shirt. Now I had the BoW album for quite some time now, but I hadn't owned it legally. I know that's wrong, but I could never find it in any of my local music stores (and I'm not talking about Wal*Mart or Best Buy). I could have ordered it over the internet, but I don't trust the internet. I heard from my church group that there's sex perverts on the internet. Sex perverts? Yes. Sex perverts. I can't in good faith do business with anything that associates itself with sex perverts. Sorry internet. So I bought it in person, which the band actually gets a bigger cut of (I hope). Conscience clean. I don't really own or wear band t-shirts because that's so nineteen 80's (in retrospect I think that "style" actually started in the 70's, but that takes away from my point, so work with me). Now I love the 80's in the same ironic fashion as much as the next 20-something year old, but that's retarded 80's, like the shit Bon Jovi wore during the Living on a Prayer video. Nothing in that video will ever be cool again. Ever. So even to my surprise I saw a t-shirt that caught my eye which I wanted to exchange legal tender for. Much to my dismay they didn't have any men's mediums (jealous?). So David, the male lead vocalist/guitarist, who was working the merch table offered to run out to the camper to grab me one. How rad is that? Most merch peddlers would tell you you're SOL if they didn't have your size. Instead one of the key members of the band dashes off into the night risking life and limb to get me a $10 t-shirt. Awesome. While he was away I was talking to their friend who was also working the table. I don't remember the kid's name, but I do remember he was 19 and was going to school in Boston. Which conveniently leads into my exclusive interview with David from Bodies of Water. Why does it conveniently lead into my exclusive interview with David? Because I also don't remember most of our conversation because I was way drunker than I thought I was.

Here's how the conversation interview went, and I'm not going to quote anything because again I was somewhat drunk and didn't record anything, take notes, or even ask permission for an interview (please don't sue). I also can't guarantee the order is correct so I put it in the most logical order. Here's what I remember:

Me: You guys were awesome.
David: Thanks, I thought we had an off night.
Me: Well I still thought you were awesome.

Me: Are you guys touring in that sweet 70's camper that I saw parked out back?
David: It's actually from the 90's, and yes we are.
Me: I knew it. That's so rad.

Me: Can I get that t-shirt in medium? [points to t-shirt]
David: We don't have any, but I can run out to the camper and get you one.
Me: Please do good sir (may have classed up my answer, then again maybe not as it sounds like something I would say while drunk).

[David takes off like the Roadrunner, leaving a cloud of dust in his likeness behind]

Me: So what's your deal? Are you on tour with the band?
19: I'm friends with the band. I go to school in Boston.
Me: That's cool. Is this their first time out here?
19: No, they were here in October.
Me: I think you're a liar because I didn't hear about the show (I'm quite sure I said that).

[David returns with the quickness]

David: Here's your shirt.
Me: Sweet.
GF: I can't believe you bought that.

Then we talked for another five or ten minutes before security made us leave. Wow, that interview was pretty much a recap of everything I already talked about. I thought I remembered more, I guess not. Now to further recap: I like Bodies of Water. David from Bodies of Water is a stand-up human being. Their friend goes to school in Boston. Oh yeah, Sons and Daughters were also very good. They also have a great album and you should give it a listen. And their female lead singer wears purple sequined hot pants, which may interest some of you sex perverts.

Worth $10 and risking life and limb? You betcha.