ESPN really sucks.
Jon Miller and Joe Morgan for the Red Sox/Yankees game.
Guys? It's 2007! Get with it.
The generic, patently insincere announcement of this game is disappointing. I understand the 'national' appeal of this match-up. I just don't understand how a network that claims to be the 'World Wide Leader' in sports coverage would allow such a dead-boring, unexcitable, incompetent, and down-right repulsive (in the sense that they turn you away from wanting to listen) pair of commentators to do this game!?
Honestly.
It's like listenting to my friggin' uncle talking about all the guys on his high school hockey team. Yeah, it's factual - but do I give a shit?
{well, yeah, in that case I do.. 'cuz that's my uncle. and it's a cool story. but you obviously see my point. it's like hearing one of these stories - as the commentary for an entire game. See what I mean?}
Fuck Tenure. These guys are so out of touch, I feel like tomorrow's my first day of Little League practice.
Especially now... with Papelbon looking to shut it down, 7-6 Sox. It sounds like they're describing a fishing show. Unacceptable.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Just the Facts, Ma'am
As hinted at a bit more than a week ago, here's an update on the real estate situation...
After a week of casual research, it's becoming more clear that if I'm going to buy something it's not likely to be a single-family, detached dwelling. It's not completely out of the equation but it's on the remote edge of what's possible at this point. Never say never - but let's be realistic, shall we? And isn't that the best way to view the world, with a heavy dose of realism? Particularly when it involves money. As they say, it doesn't grow on trees. Trust me, I've been looking at alot of trees, lately. There's nothing there.
So, with that, my mental net has been re-cast a bit. Now I have to decide if I'm willing to go short and get into some sort of condo/townhouse situation. Way back when, I lived in a townhouse with an ex-girlfriend. It was a two-bedroom, 1-1/2 bath, with access to an attic and an unfinished basement. It wasn't bad. The worst I recall of it was the electric bill - as the heating system was all electric. Well, that was the worst of it, technically. Personally, it was a terrible nightmare it turns out.
Though, every grey cloud... so, that's rule #1 for me if I'm going into something like that... I won't buy anything with electric-based heating. Not in New England.
There are a few other 'must-haves' (at least right now they're 'must-haves') I'd prefer to have before I venture back into something like that.
I don't want 100 neighbors. I can't set a maximum limit right now because I haven't even seen what's out there, yet. I just know that I'd rather a small group. Better yet, a simple, stand-alone duplex, before a giant 100-unit complex.
I want limited - or no - restrictions on what I can do for interior alterations. If the outside is going to be somewhat generic and nondescript, I'd like the option to alter the inside to suit my individual taste. More on this, later.
I'd prefer an end unit, if possible. Always better to have only one neighbor sharing a wall than being sandwiched in between two.
Definitely need an external entrance. I'm not sure I could handle one of those places that the first entrance to the unit is through a shared main entrance. Not too fond of the shared hallway with hotel-like doors to the unit. Again, never say never... but this would definitely be last-on-the-list material. Especially if I'm buying it.
In-unit washer/dryer hook-ups. No question.
{side note : ESPN sucks. I've got the Red Sox game on and Matsuzaka is pitching in the first. They're playing the Yankees. These announcers blow. The old dude just refered to the 'gyro ball'... Everyone, by this point, knows it's absolute rubbish. There is no such thing. Yet, there it was. Pathetic. Give me Jerry Remy and Don Orsillo... PLEASE!! This is going to be painful to watch. I may not make it through the entire game.}
I'd like a garage, if possible. More likely in a duplex but I've seen some condo/townhouse places that have single-car garages. That'd be sweet.
There's sure to be more but, at this point, the only other criterion I'm looking for is the commute-value ratio. Basically, that's the trade off between how close the place is to where I work against the quality of the unit. For example, I'd gladly give up 10-20 minutes of commuting time for a newer place that satisfies more of my wants than take a beat-down place in a lousy location that's closer to where I work.
Now to address the aforementioned ability to alter the interior to my taste. I don't claim to be a professional decorator by any stretch of the imagination... but some of the photos I've seen of the interior of houses for sale are, to be put plainly, astonishing. Not in a good way. What is wrong with these people!?
I understand styles change with the times - but I'm not even talking about 'dated' interiors. Some of the decor I've witnessed can't be described as anything better than hideous. Especially rooms 'designed' for children. Whoo! These poor kids. I fear they'll be scarred for life by the garish surroundings they're forced to live in.
Suffice to say, I'm well aware that no matter what, if anything, I end up with - my best tools will be a phalanx of good scrapers and paintbrushes. At the same time, I won't let a visciously disgusting pink second bedroom dissuade me from an otherwise promising place.
{Holy shit : Manny, JD Drew, Mike Lowell, and Varitek just smashed back-to-back-to-back-to-back solo ding-dongs to take a 4-3 lead after trailing 3-0. Un-frickin-believable!! If Wily Mo Pena knocks one out... I might jump out a window. Nope, he K'd. I'm safe.}
That's the up-to-date at this point. It might take me a while to settle into this type of market but it seems to be the best way to go from here. Hey, I've been where I am know for 8.5 years (which seems like 5), so 3-4 years in a townhouse should be a breeze...
After a week of casual research, it's becoming more clear that if I'm going to buy something it's not likely to be a single-family, detached dwelling. It's not completely out of the equation but it's on the remote edge of what's possible at this point. Never say never - but let's be realistic, shall we? And isn't that the best way to view the world, with a heavy dose of realism? Particularly when it involves money. As they say, it doesn't grow on trees. Trust me, I've been looking at alot of trees, lately. There's nothing there.
So, with that, my mental net has been re-cast a bit. Now I have to decide if I'm willing to go short and get into some sort of condo/townhouse situation. Way back when, I lived in a townhouse with an ex-girlfriend. It was a two-bedroom, 1-1/2 bath, with access to an attic and an unfinished basement. It wasn't bad. The worst I recall of it was the electric bill - as the heating system was all electric. Well, that was the worst of it, technically. Personally, it was a terrible nightmare it turns out.
Though, every grey cloud... so, that's rule #1 for me if I'm going into something like that... I won't buy anything with electric-based heating. Not in New England.
There are a few other 'must-haves' (at least right now they're 'must-haves') I'd prefer to have before I venture back into something like that.
I don't want 100 neighbors. I can't set a maximum limit right now because I haven't even seen what's out there, yet. I just know that I'd rather a small group. Better yet, a simple, stand-alone duplex, before a giant 100-unit complex.
I want limited - or no - restrictions on what I can do for interior alterations. If the outside is going to be somewhat generic and nondescript, I'd like the option to alter the inside to suit my individual taste. More on this, later.
I'd prefer an end unit, if possible. Always better to have only one neighbor sharing a wall than being sandwiched in between two.
Definitely need an external entrance. I'm not sure I could handle one of those places that the first entrance to the unit is through a shared main entrance. Not too fond of the shared hallway with hotel-like doors to the unit. Again, never say never... but this would definitely be last-on-the-list material. Especially if I'm buying it.
In-unit washer/dryer hook-ups. No question.
{side note : ESPN sucks. I've got the Red Sox game on and Matsuzaka is pitching in the first. They're playing the Yankees. These announcers blow. The old dude just refered to the 'gyro ball'... Everyone, by this point, knows it's absolute rubbish. There is no such thing. Yet, there it was. Pathetic. Give me Jerry Remy and Don Orsillo... PLEASE!! This is going to be painful to watch. I may not make it through the entire game.}
I'd like a garage, if possible. More likely in a duplex but I've seen some condo/townhouse places that have single-car garages. That'd be sweet.
There's sure to be more but, at this point, the only other criterion I'm looking for is the commute-value ratio. Basically, that's the trade off between how close the place is to where I work against the quality of the unit. For example, I'd gladly give up 10-20 minutes of commuting time for a newer place that satisfies more of my wants than take a beat-down place in a lousy location that's closer to where I work.
Now to address the aforementioned ability to alter the interior to my taste. I don't claim to be a professional decorator by any stretch of the imagination... but some of the photos I've seen of the interior of houses for sale are, to be put plainly, astonishing. Not in a good way. What is wrong with these people!?
I understand styles change with the times - but I'm not even talking about 'dated' interiors. Some of the decor I've witnessed can't be described as anything better than hideous. Especially rooms 'designed' for children. Whoo! These poor kids. I fear they'll be scarred for life by the garish surroundings they're forced to live in.
Suffice to say, I'm well aware that no matter what, if anything, I end up with - my best tools will be a phalanx of good scrapers and paintbrushes. At the same time, I won't let a visciously disgusting pink second bedroom dissuade me from an otherwise promising place.
{Holy shit : Manny, JD Drew, Mike Lowell, and Varitek just smashed back-to-back-to-back-to-back solo ding-dongs to take a 4-3 lead after trailing 3-0. Un-frickin-believable!! If Wily Mo Pena knocks one out... I might jump out a window. Nope, he K'd. I'm safe.}
That's the up-to-date at this point. It might take me a while to settle into this type of market but it seems to be the best way to go from here. Hey, I've been where I am know for 8.5 years (which seems like 5), so 3-4 years in a townhouse should be a breeze...
Friday, April 13, 2007
Time Ain't On My Side
Whoa... I've been itchin' to create a post lately and when I checked in today, I was shocked to see that my last one was almost a month ago. I know, I know. If you read the nonsense I put in this blog - and I know you don't - there have been much more vast expanses of post-free wasteland before in this space.
Guilty as charged. I was more surprised by how quickly the time has passed, not by my typically sporadic pace. That's pretty much been the only consistency here. Sporadicalness.
In my mindframe, this is all happening a week and a half ago.
I'm not sure if Albert Einstein tinkered with this phenomenon while pondering traveling alongside a light beam and who would be moving faster in time - him or the guy watching him... (turns out, it's the guy watching him) but had he worked a bit longer on the problem, I'm convinced he'd have proven the ol' notion that as we get older, time seems to take less time to happen than it did in the past. At least relative to each of us, individually.
What we know as a 'week' seems to take more like four or five days. It's nuts. Not sure I want to think about this much further. Time does move faster as we get older. I'll take it as fact on faith... that way you can't refute it. After all, it's faith. Isn't that more accurate than fact? Silly question. Of course it is.
This is unfortunate for me, however. Recently, my landlord told me that he will be putting the house I live in up for sale at the end of the month. There's no guarantee it will sell - and he informed me that if he doesn't get what he considers a decent price, he may not sell it. The unfortunate part is that I have no idea if anyone will buy it or not. Nor do I have any guarantee that, if it does sell, the new owner will allow me to stay or not. So, in essence, I'm running out of time.
I don't want to get stuck with only a month's notice before I need to vacate and relocate. But if I do need to relocate, maybe I should start thinking about purchasing a place. Problem is, I wasn't expecting this and I don't know whether or not I have the appropriate means to buy something... something other than a dilapitated shack an hour and a half away from my job, that is.
Granted, I've been living here for 8.5 years at this point - so, yes, perhaps I should've been considering this a while ago. But as Einstein would've proved if he had taken up the challenge, and I've confirmed on faith, a while ago wasn't really that long ago. Unless you're six. In that case, it would have been a really, really long while ago. I'm not six.
What's the plan? That's the question I'm sure you're all asking yourselves about now. That, or, why am I reading this rubbish? Can't answer that last one for you. The plan, however, is fairly straightforward. It'll never pan out this way, for sure. But it's always better to have a plan than not.
Part one : throw everything out. All non-essential items must go. Typically, I try to recycle whatever I can. Right now, I'm not sure I have the time for that. I'll make an effort but can't promise anything. I just don't want to get blindsided and pack up a bunch of trash just to move it to wherever it is I might be headed... and then throw it out then. Nope. It's all going.
Part two : sock away some cash. Doubtful I'll be able to manage a 20% downpayment by the end of the summer - but there's no time like the present. That means no more pedicures; no more filet mignon; no more weekend trips to the Louvre.
Part three : keep an eye on the real estate situation. Easier said than done. Luckily for me, there's some lame-ass local election going on around here. I'm sure I'll rear-end some poor, unsuspecting motorist as I drive around trying to distinguish the campaign signs cluttering lawns from For Sale signs. Excellent. As if these nitwit politicians haven't been pissing me off enough, lately.
Part four : expect the unexpected. A ridiculous notion, for sure. The idea is to remember to take everything in stride. I think that's the point of that cliché.
So there it is. The perfect plan.
Who knows? If you're unlucky enough, I may feel compelled to unload more of this drivel into this undoubtably irresistable blog. If I can find the time.
Guilty as charged. I was more surprised by how quickly the time has passed, not by my typically sporadic pace. That's pretty much been the only consistency here. Sporadicalness.
In my mindframe, this is all happening a week and a half ago.
I'm not sure if Albert Einstein tinkered with this phenomenon while pondering traveling alongside a light beam and who would be moving faster in time - him or the guy watching him... (turns out, it's the guy watching him) but had he worked a bit longer on the problem, I'm convinced he'd have proven the ol' notion that as we get older, time seems to take less time to happen than it did in the past. At least relative to each of us, individually.
What we know as a 'week' seems to take more like four or five days. It's nuts. Not sure I want to think about this much further. Time does move faster as we get older. I'll take it as fact on faith... that way you can't refute it. After all, it's faith. Isn't that more accurate than fact? Silly question. Of course it is.
This is unfortunate for me, however. Recently, my landlord told me that he will be putting the house I live in up for sale at the end of the month. There's no guarantee it will sell - and he informed me that if he doesn't get what he considers a decent price, he may not sell it. The unfortunate part is that I have no idea if anyone will buy it or not. Nor do I have any guarantee that, if it does sell, the new owner will allow me to stay or not. So, in essence, I'm running out of time.
I don't want to get stuck with only a month's notice before I need to vacate and relocate. But if I do need to relocate, maybe I should start thinking about purchasing a place. Problem is, I wasn't expecting this and I don't know whether or not I have the appropriate means to buy something... something other than a dilapitated shack an hour and a half away from my job, that is.
Granted, I've been living here for 8.5 years at this point - so, yes, perhaps I should've been considering this a while ago. But as Einstein would've proved if he had taken up the challenge, and I've confirmed on faith, a while ago wasn't really that long ago. Unless you're six. In that case, it would have been a really, really long while ago. I'm not six.
What's the plan? That's the question I'm sure you're all asking yourselves about now. That, or, why am I reading this rubbish? Can't answer that last one for you. The plan, however, is fairly straightforward. It'll never pan out this way, for sure. But it's always better to have a plan than not.
Part one : throw everything out. All non-essential items must go. Typically, I try to recycle whatever I can. Right now, I'm not sure I have the time for that. I'll make an effort but can't promise anything. I just don't want to get blindsided and pack up a bunch of trash just to move it to wherever it is I might be headed... and then throw it out then. Nope. It's all going.
Part two : sock away some cash. Doubtful I'll be able to manage a 20% downpayment by the end of the summer - but there's no time like the present. That means no more pedicures; no more filet mignon; no more weekend trips to the Louvre.
Part three : keep an eye on the real estate situation. Easier said than done. Luckily for me, there's some lame-ass local election going on around here. I'm sure I'll rear-end some poor, unsuspecting motorist as I drive around trying to distinguish the campaign signs cluttering lawns from For Sale signs. Excellent. As if these nitwit politicians haven't been pissing me off enough, lately.
Part four : expect the unexpected. A ridiculous notion, for sure. The idea is to remember to take everything in stride. I think that's the point of that cliché.
So there it is. The perfect plan.
Who knows? If you're unlucky enough, I may feel compelled to unload more of this drivel into this undoubtably irresistable blog. If I can find the time.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Happy St. Kratos Day
Tomorrow is St. Patrick's Day - and I couldn't be more excited about it. I've been counting down the days, as have a few of my friends.
While I will be enjoying my fair share of Guinness, that's simply a coincidence. More of a nod to the holiday (and the fact that Guinness is the best of all beers), really.
We won't be spending the day at an over-crowded pub, fighting for elbow room, and dodging the vomit in the Gents with the 'amateurs' that hijack the day. We'll be enjoying it in the comfort of my friend's house playing a video game.
Lame, you suggest? On the contrary.
The game is God of War II. The sequel to the best video game ever created, God of War.
I don't play a ton of video games. When I do play them, it's mostly sport games, notably hockey and golf. I've tried other adventure and war style games but I'm never really good (or patient) enough to get more than half way through them. They eventually become too difficult or I get distracted and don't play them for months... then have no burning desire to continue them.
God of War is the first game that hooked me so strongly that I was determined to finish the entire thing. Not only was it tremendously fun to play - the accompanying story line that goes along with it is so well developed, you're forced to finish the game to see how the story ends. It's that compelling.
I can't get into the whole thing in detail but it is based in Greek Mythology, with all its requisite creatures - Cyclops, Minotaurs, Hydras, and the like - and a heaping helping of Greek Gods - Zeus, Athena, and, of course Aries... the God of War, himself. He's the bastard you have to kill at the end to claim victory. And when you do that, you - Kratos - become the God of War, yourself.
This is where God of War II picks up. Kratos is the new God of War and I'm dying to find out what's in store for him. Can't wait to see what new creatures we'll have to destroy. Can't wait to find out what puzzles we'll need to solve. Can't wait to get sucked into the story. It's like playing a movie, is what it is. That's the best way to describe it. It's a movie that only continues when you progress through the game.
Yes, I know I'm thirty-six years old and that may seem a bit old to be playing video games. But I grew up playing them and it's still a great source of entertainment for me. Some may think thirty-six is a bit old to be playing video games... but, I suppose, it's probably too old to be out at a pub, surrounded by a bunch of drunk, annoying amateurs, too.
I'd rather be soaked in video game blood than some punk's vomit.
Our troubled hero, Kratos :
While I will be enjoying my fair share of Guinness, that's simply a coincidence. More of a nod to the holiday (and the fact that Guinness is the best of all beers), really.
We won't be spending the day at an over-crowded pub, fighting for elbow room, and dodging the vomit in the Gents with the 'amateurs' that hijack the day. We'll be enjoying it in the comfort of my friend's house playing a video game.
Lame, you suggest? On the contrary.
The game is God of War II. The sequel to the best video game ever created, God of War.
I don't play a ton of video games. When I do play them, it's mostly sport games, notably hockey and golf. I've tried other adventure and war style games but I'm never really good (or patient) enough to get more than half way through them. They eventually become too difficult or I get distracted and don't play them for months... then have no burning desire to continue them.
God of War is the first game that hooked me so strongly that I was determined to finish the entire thing. Not only was it tremendously fun to play - the accompanying story line that goes along with it is so well developed, you're forced to finish the game to see how the story ends. It's that compelling.
I can't get into the whole thing in detail but it is based in Greek Mythology, with all its requisite creatures - Cyclops, Minotaurs, Hydras, and the like - and a heaping helping of Greek Gods - Zeus, Athena, and, of course Aries... the God of War, himself. He's the bastard you have to kill at the end to claim victory. And when you do that, you - Kratos - become the God of War, yourself.
This is where God of War II picks up. Kratos is the new God of War and I'm dying to find out what's in store for him. Can't wait to see what new creatures we'll have to destroy. Can't wait to find out what puzzles we'll need to solve. Can't wait to get sucked into the story. It's like playing a movie, is what it is. That's the best way to describe it. It's a movie that only continues when you progress through the game.
Yes, I know I'm thirty-six years old and that may seem a bit old to be playing video games. But I grew up playing them and it's still a great source of entertainment for me. Some may think thirty-six is a bit old to be playing video games... but, I suppose, it's probably too old to be out at a pub, surrounded by a bunch of drunk, annoying amateurs, too.
I'd rather be soaked in video game blood than some punk's vomit.
Our troubled hero, Kratos :
Our troubled hero, Kratos, kicking ass :
See you tomorrow, St. Kratos.
Monday, March 05, 2007
A Man You Don't Meet Everyday
It is damn cold out!
Not kidding. The 'experts'* say it's a cool 24 (fahrenheit) but it 'feels like' 12 (f). Pissah. And tomorrow's supposed to be that much colder.
I love it. This is what winter is supposed to be.
Much too late, this year, for my liking but it's good to see the Old Man rear his head. It's good to be cold... for a few days at a time. Thank you, New England.
So, I don't know if it's the cold or that I have my new laptop plugged into my receiver, coming through my system. Maybe it's both. Could be, it's neither.
Something tells me it's that I've finally been able to connect my 'on-line' music to my 'old-school' listening medium - the stereo. Sounds stupid. I know. It's not.
I'm not in possession of the most state-of-the-art audio paraphenalia; a sturdy receiver and some good speakers work for me. And that's how I want to listen to these songs. Like bringing home those CDs, ten years ago, and popping them into the CD player. Earphones don't cut it. The sound has got to fill the room... this setup makes that happen. It's awesome.
(claiming this blog won't become entirely music-centric, here's a quick 'get-to-the-point' interjection)
I guess the entire point of this post was the song A Man You Don't Meet Everyday by The Pogues.
Obviously written with a male protagonist bent, Cáit O'Riordan takes this song and owns it. Her smoky, Irish voice is killer. Jack Stewart could ever be so lucky.
Oh my name is Jack Stewart
I'm a canny gun man
And a roving young fellow
I have been
So be easy and free
When you're drinking with me
I'm a man you don't meet
Everyday
I have acres of land
I have men I command
I have always a shilling
To spare
So be easy and free
When you're drinking with me
I'm a man you don't meet
Everyday
So come fill up your glasses
Of brandy and wine
Whatever it costs
I will pay
So be easy and free
When you're drinking with me
I'm a man you don't meet
Everyday
I took out my dog
And him I did shoot
Oh, down in the County
Kildare
So be easy and free
When you're drinking with me
I'm a man you don't meet
Everyday
So come fill up your glasses
On brandy and wine
Whatever it costs
I will pay
So be easy and free
When you're drinking with me
I'm a man you don't meet
Everyday
So be easy and free
When you're drinking with me
I'm a man you don't meet
Everyday
Your challenge, now, is... YES! You guessed it! Go find this fucking song and listen to it fourteen times.
I wouldn't have bothered to include the lyrics if it's not worth it. Believe me - it's worth it. As proven by my including the lyrics. That was pretty pointless. But you get the point.
I'm telling you. Track down and give a listen to : The Pogues - A Man You Don't Meet Everyday.
Thank me later.
*The 'experts' indicated here are the folks at The Weather Channel - In my opinion, a better option for accurate forecasting.
Not kidding. The 'experts'* say it's a cool 24 (fahrenheit) but it 'feels like' 12 (f). Pissah. And tomorrow's supposed to be that much colder.
I love it. This is what winter is supposed to be.
Much too late, this year, for my liking but it's good to see the Old Man rear his head. It's good to be cold... for a few days at a time. Thank you, New England.
So, I don't know if it's the cold or that I have my new laptop plugged into my receiver, coming through my system. Maybe it's both. Could be, it's neither.
Something tells me it's that I've finally been able to connect my 'on-line' music to my 'old-school' listening medium - the stereo. Sounds stupid. I know. It's not.
I'm not in possession of the most state-of-the-art audio paraphenalia; a sturdy receiver and some good speakers work for me. And that's how I want to listen to these songs. Like bringing home those CDs, ten years ago, and popping them into the CD player. Earphones don't cut it. The sound has got to fill the room... this setup makes that happen. It's awesome.
(claiming this blog won't become entirely music-centric, here's a quick 'get-to-the-point' interjection)
I guess the entire point of this post was the song A Man You Don't Meet Everyday by The Pogues.
Obviously written with a male protagonist bent, Cáit O'Riordan takes this song and owns it. Her smoky, Irish voice is killer. Jack Stewart could ever be so lucky.
Oh my name is Jack Stewart
I'm a canny gun man
And a roving young fellow
I have been
So be easy and free
When you're drinking with me
I'm a man you don't meet
Everyday
I have acres of land
I have men I command
I have always a shilling
To spare
So be easy and free
When you're drinking with me
I'm a man you don't meet
Everyday
So come fill up your glasses
Of brandy and wine
Whatever it costs
I will pay
So be easy and free
When you're drinking with me
I'm a man you don't meet
Everyday
I took out my dog
And him I did shoot
Oh, down in the County
Kildare
So be easy and free
When you're drinking with me
I'm a man you don't meet
Everyday
So come fill up your glasses
On brandy and wine
Whatever it costs
I will pay
So be easy and free
When you're drinking with me
I'm a man you don't meet
Everyday
So be easy and free
When you're drinking with me
I'm a man you don't meet
Everyday
Your challenge, now, is... YES! You guessed it! Go find this fucking song and listen to it fourteen times.
I wouldn't have bothered to include the lyrics if it's not worth it. Believe me - it's worth it. As proven by my including the lyrics. That was pretty pointless. But you get the point.
I'm telling you. Track down and give a listen to : The Pogues - A Man You Don't Meet Everyday.
Thank me later.
*The 'experts' indicated here are the folks at The Weather Channel - In my opinion, a better option for accurate forecasting.
Saturday, March 03, 2007
You Don't Know What You Been a Missin'
Oh Boy !
It's not exactly clear how I stumbled upon this guy. I've known his name as long as I've been aware of music. Some of his 'Greatest Hits' are inavoidably recognizable - more than a few have been adopted as marketing regulars, only the words changed... to better convince you that this is the product for you.
Now I know why.
Buddy Holly.
Now. I am just beginning to understand the fuss.
Any time there's some article or television special on the 'History of Rock 'n Roll' - Buddy Holly is somehow involved. As he damn well should be.
I admit, I haven't listened to every song he's ever sung. My sample is fairly small and I'm not well informed on his history. But I gotta say... from the shit I've sampled? Buddy Holly is the real deal. It actually gets my proverbial goat that I haven't been listening to him sooner than now.
His voice is quintessentially unique. And his guitar sound is arguably in that same description. Together, the combination of those two elements, undeniably unstoppable.
I don't have enough insight at this point in my Buddy Holly experience to drench you in facts, persuasions, or lost classics - I just know that this music has managed to live on for fifty-whatever years... and remain relevant. Hell! It blows away most of the crap that's being forced through the radio today.
If you've got access to music download software, a few quick sample suggestions would be :
Down The Line
Not Fade Away
Blue Days, Black Nights
Oh Boy!
Crying, Waiting, Hoping
Rave On
Peggy Sue
And a few of those I'm sure we've all heard some version of :
Everyday
That'll Be The Day
It's So Easy
(and if you don't have access to download, just check out some compilation CDs at your favourite record shop)
There are more but this is a good primer to get a nice audial glimpse of what this beast could do.
I can't claim that Buddy Holly is the best. I can, with absolute conviction, claim that he is one of the best. His unique style, undoubtedly, has influenced many a musician. Music lovers everywhere should be grateful.
All of my love
All of my kissin'
You don't know
What you been a missin'
Oh boy !
It's not exactly clear how I stumbled upon this guy. I've known his name as long as I've been aware of music. Some of his 'Greatest Hits' are inavoidably recognizable - more than a few have been adopted as marketing regulars, only the words changed... to better convince you that this is the product for you.
Now I know why.
Buddy Holly.
Now. I am just beginning to understand the fuss.
Any time there's some article or television special on the 'History of Rock 'n Roll' - Buddy Holly is somehow involved. As he damn well should be.
I admit, I haven't listened to every song he's ever sung. My sample is fairly small and I'm not well informed on his history. But I gotta say... from the shit I've sampled? Buddy Holly is the real deal. It actually gets my proverbial goat that I haven't been listening to him sooner than now.
His voice is quintessentially unique. And his guitar sound is arguably in that same description. Together, the combination of those two elements, undeniably unstoppable.
I don't have enough insight at this point in my Buddy Holly experience to drench you in facts, persuasions, or lost classics - I just know that this music has managed to live on for fifty-whatever years... and remain relevant. Hell! It blows away most of the crap that's being forced through the radio today.
If you've got access to music download software, a few quick sample suggestions would be :
Down The Line
Not Fade Away
Blue Days, Black Nights
Oh Boy!
Crying, Waiting, Hoping
Rave On
Peggy Sue
And a few of those I'm sure we've all heard some version of :
Everyday
That'll Be The Day
It's So Easy
(and if you don't have access to download, just check out some compilation CDs at your favourite record shop)
There are more but this is a good primer to get a nice audial glimpse of what this beast could do.
I can't claim that Buddy Holly is the best. I can, with absolute conviction, claim that he is one of the best. His unique style, undoubtedly, has influenced many a musician. Music lovers everywhere should be grateful.
All of my love
All of my kissin'
You don't know
What you been a missin'
Oh boy !
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Audio vs. Video :: Which Wins?
My guess is most people will automatically assume the 'winner' in this contest. Well, if you put your chips on the big "V" - sorry to say... House wins. "A" all the way.
Audio is still the ultimate medium to convey any important issue. Or any issue, for that matter. Actually, it's really just so much more portable and applicable than video... sound is awesome.
Recently, I had a few of me best mates at mine after a great dinner at the Mint Cafe downtown. Instead of flicking on the tube we conversed and listened to some tunes ... courtesy of my beautiful new laptop, thank you very much.
It was pretty cool. Something about listening to a song as opposed to watching a video. With a song, your mind is able to make up its own visuals for the sound and music it's hearing... with a video, it's spoonfed - the visual has already been decided by someone(s)...
Proof positive is my audience right now. If I was simply watching the tube (and nothing wrong with that), I'm not sure both of the felines that share my living space would be chillin' out with me. I think they enjoy the audio over both the audio and the video (a.k.a. the Television).
I've no scientific evidence to back that up but I'm still convinced.
There's always that conversation about whatever happened 3, 4, 8, X years ago and no one's sure exactly what happened - but everyone can verify that they can place the exact song that they'd heard when it happened.
And there's something about hearing a song for the first time... or hearing an old song after a long time... that just beats the pants off watching something.
So.
Go find an old CD, record, tape, whatever... Pop it in and give it a good listen.
You won't be disappointed
Audio is still the ultimate medium to convey any important issue. Or any issue, for that matter. Actually, it's really just so much more portable and applicable than video... sound is awesome.
Recently, I had a few of me best mates at mine after a great dinner at the Mint Cafe downtown. Instead of flicking on the tube we conversed and listened to some tunes ... courtesy of my beautiful new laptop, thank you very much.
It was pretty cool. Something about listening to a song as opposed to watching a video. With a song, your mind is able to make up its own visuals for the sound and music it's hearing... with a video, it's spoonfed - the visual has already been decided by someone(s)...
Proof positive is my audience right now. If I was simply watching the tube (and nothing wrong with that), I'm not sure both of the felines that share my living space would be chillin' out with me. I think they enjoy the audio over both the audio and the video (a.k.a. the Television).
I've no scientific evidence to back that up but I'm still convinced.
There's always that conversation about whatever happened 3, 4, 8, X years ago and no one's sure exactly what happened - but everyone can verify that they can place the exact song that they'd heard when it happened.
And there's something about hearing a song for the first time... or hearing an old song after a long time... that just beats the pants off watching something.
So.
Go find an old CD, record, tape, whatever... Pop it in and give it a good listen.
You won't be disappointed
Saturday, February 10, 2007
And Now For Something Completely Different
Warning :: Do NOT listen to Ca Plane Pour Moi by Plastic Bertrand while reading this.
My last post, I realize, was a bit on the harsh side of things. Then I realized, alot of my latest posts have been me wingein' about this or that. While I stand by everything written here - and will continue to randomly vent on issues that sour my milk - I don't want this space to become nothing more than my soapbox to air ills...
So I figured I'd start off here with a few 'uplifting' topics of interest. Nothing so exciting in regards to the general public, I'll admit. But at least I'm not bitchin' and moanin' about something. Be thankful for that. F'Christ, I am.
First up - and I have no idea how many items I'll touch on - is the topic of what was supposed to be the focus of the previous post... My new laptop. It arrived on Monday afternoon and I haven't gotten it entirely broken in but so far - it's been awesome...
Re-entering passwords, accepting Liscence Agreements, and dealing with the imbedded product onslaught is, admittedly, a bit of a pain.
(yeah... bit of a winge there)
Being able to write this post, have a window open showing the live scoring of my Fantasy Hockey game, and watch the Atlanta @ Vancouver game (via the Hockey Night in Canada broadcast, no less) all at the same time? Well, it's well worth the minor hassles. I can say that with certainty.
Aside from the added hassle of having to listen to and watch Kelly Hrudey during intermission... not... a big fan.
These laptops, though, are phenomenal... That's what I'm saying. Gotta figure out how to get the audio output into my stereo receiver next. But - top marks all around for the laptop and the wireless era in general. Sweet stuff...
!-------------------------------------------------------------------!
The wicker basket of globules and baubels of positivity sits here at my ankles. Time is no accomplice in getting each recognized, however. In haste, a few notes I will publish. All the while, ditch this odd sentence structure and ridiculous vocabulary.
My Napster is friggin' awesome! I wish sometimes, everyone could be hearing the songs that I'm hearing. It'd be ridiculous.
And then add the songs other people tell me about. And listen to those ones, too.
I'd be happy. 'Cuz it'd be a bunch of the songs I dig... and a few pretty good tunes that people suggest... but I think people would (should) like them. If they don't, that's okay... but Opera won't live forever.
All I know is I've got a pretty decent resource here.
I wish I had an evil twin.
Unwarning :: You may now listen to Ca Plane Pour Moi by Plastic Bertrand at your leisure.
My last post, I realize, was a bit on the harsh side of things. Then I realized, alot of my latest posts have been me wingein' about this or that. While I stand by everything written here - and will continue to randomly vent on issues that sour my milk - I don't want this space to become nothing more than my soapbox to air ills...
So I figured I'd start off here with a few 'uplifting' topics of interest. Nothing so exciting in regards to the general public, I'll admit. But at least I'm not bitchin' and moanin' about something. Be thankful for that. F'Christ, I am.
First up - and I have no idea how many items I'll touch on - is the topic of what was supposed to be the focus of the previous post... My new laptop. It arrived on Monday afternoon and I haven't gotten it entirely broken in but so far - it's been awesome...
Re-entering passwords, accepting Liscence Agreements, and dealing with the imbedded product onslaught is, admittedly, a bit of a pain.
(yeah... bit of a winge there)
Being able to write this post, have a window open showing the live scoring of my Fantasy Hockey game, and watch the Atlanta @ Vancouver game (via the Hockey Night in Canada broadcast, no less) all at the same time? Well, it's well worth the minor hassles. I can say that with certainty.
Aside from the added hassle of having to listen to and watch Kelly Hrudey during intermission... not... a big fan.
These laptops, though, are phenomenal... That's what I'm saying. Gotta figure out how to get the audio output into my stereo receiver next. But - top marks all around for the laptop and the wireless era in general. Sweet stuff...
!-------------------------------------------------------------------!
The wicker basket of globules and baubels of positivity sits here at my ankles. Time is no accomplice in getting each recognized, however. In haste, a few notes I will publish. All the while, ditch this odd sentence structure and ridiculous vocabulary.
My Napster is friggin' awesome! I wish sometimes, everyone could be hearing the songs that I'm hearing. It'd be ridiculous.
And then add the songs other people tell me about. And listen to those ones, too.
I'd be happy. 'Cuz it'd be a bunch of the songs I dig... and a few pretty good tunes that people suggest... but I think people would (should) like them. If they don't, that's okay... but Opera won't live forever.
All I know is I've got a pretty decent resource here.
I wish I had an evil twin.
Unwarning :: You may now listen to Ca Plane Pour Moi by Plastic Bertrand at your leisure.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
I Knew It.
right. this is gonna be short 'n sour...
well, we'll see ? how short. those that know me know I tend to go a little long. but i'll try to keep it concise.
this new Google blogger hosting sucks cock. Yep. It definitely does.
I'm willing to overlook the fact that I was absolutely, undeniably railroaded into accepting the 'takeover' of Blogspot by Google. I'm fine with that. I fully regret it at this moment... but I'm fine with that. I'm a programmer by trade and I know certain things just need to happen. However, I don't understand why applications revert. Why would a function be removed after a so-called 'upgrade'?
Don't disable options that I've had up to this point!! Especially when it's not your company to begin with! You used your power to overtake a smaller company that did the job better. And screwed it up. How is that good business? The Google name will forever be tarnished in my mind. Wake up, friggin' morons...
No longer can I represent any other verbal characters outside of the 26 simple letters that make up the - what? American alphabet? Fuckin' 'ell...
All of my previously displayed characters from outside 'American alphabet' characters have been absolutely mauled in this conversion process. This, after one of the conversion screens assured me that 'all previous blogs will be unaffected' (i paraphrase)...
Excuse me!? If the stuff I had posted 19 minutes ago looks different from what it looks like now, after I've 'upgraded' ?? Screw that... Horrible programming. You can't even support standard ASCII code keys in your conversion.
Yeah.
That's it.
Fuck everyone else that actually has a different alphabet than 'us'... who needs 'em?
So, please forgive me if there are unintelligible or non-sensical characters on this page. They used to be perfectly readable. Until the geniuses at Google took over.
Yeah. I'll take all the snide remarks about how to use those characters - and, 'give them a chance', and, 'don't you have anything else to be bitchin' about'...
But think about it. Google fucked up. Plain and simple. It should have been seemless... and it was anything but.
p.s. the original title to this post was 'always go with your first instinct' - which was to not upgrade... but i had to change it after finishing this post.
well, we'll see ? how short. those that know me know I tend to go a little long. but i'll try to keep it concise.
this new Google blogger hosting sucks cock. Yep. It definitely does.
I'm willing to overlook the fact that I was absolutely, undeniably railroaded into accepting the 'takeover' of Blogspot by Google. I'm fine with that. I fully regret it at this moment... but I'm fine with that. I'm a programmer by trade and I know certain things just need to happen. However, I don't understand why applications revert. Why would a function be removed after a so-called 'upgrade'?
Don't disable options that I've had up to this point!! Especially when it's not your company to begin with! You used your power to overtake a smaller company that did the job better. And screwed it up. How is that good business? The Google name will forever be tarnished in my mind. Wake up, friggin' morons...
No longer can I represent any other verbal characters outside of the 26 simple letters that make up the - what? American alphabet? Fuckin' 'ell...
All of my previously displayed characters from outside 'American alphabet' characters have been absolutely mauled in this conversion process. This, after one of the conversion screens assured me that 'all previous blogs will be unaffected' (i paraphrase)...
Excuse me!? If the stuff I had posted 19 minutes ago looks different from what it looks like now, after I've 'upgraded' ?? Screw that... Horrible programming. You can't even support standard ASCII code keys in your conversion.
Yeah.
That's it.
Fuck everyone else that actually has a different alphabet than 'us'... who needs 'em?
So, please forgive me if there are unintelligible or non-sensical characters on this page. They used to be perfectly readable. Until the geniuses at Google took over.
Yeah. I'll take all the snide remarks about how to use those characters - and, 'give them a chance', and, 'don't you have anything else to be bitchin' about'...
But think about it. Google fucked up. Plain and simple. It should have been seemless... and it was anything but.
p.s. the original title to this post was 'always go with your first instinct' - which was to not upgrade... but i had to change it after finishing this post.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Smaht'n Up !
Here's the deal... I enjoy a Large Turbo Ice of varied flavour from Dunkin Donuts on a somewhat recurrent schedule. Enough to pick up on certain... patterns, I guess I'll say.
There's this one guy in my town that has a handicap plate, or placard for the rear-view, or something. Basically, it's his ticket to douche-dom.
Before you're all over me for insensitvity, and that, hear me out.
This guy can walk, as far as I can tell, perfectly well. He's the guy that tells you his medical history while in line for a coffee... and then sits down and does Find-A-Word puzzles for hours on end.
And this is all while his car - adorned with the aforementioned 'golden key' - sits idle in the only handicap parking spot in the entire lot.
While plenty of parking spots remain free.
I just think - how's a guy with a handicap issue car assisting any other handicap patrons, if his car is parked in the lone handicap spot in the lot while he sits inside and does Find-A-Word puzzles for hours on end?
Your answer? He's not.
He is not assisting anyone. Aside from himself.
Awwww... this is killin' me. Okay. I'm ready.
Hey. Handicapusurper... Get a clue.
There's this one guy in my town that has a handicap plate, or placard for the rear-view, or something. Basically, it's his ticket to douche-dom.
Before you're all over me for insensitvity, and that, hear me out.
This guy can walk, as far as I can tell, perfectly well. He's the guy that tells you his medical history while in line for a coffee... and then sits down and does Find-A-Word puzzles for hours on end.
And this is all while his car - adorned with the aforementioned 'golden key' - sits idle in the only handicap parking spot in the entire lot.
While plenty of parking spots remain free.
I just think - how's a guy with a handicap issue car assisting any other handicap patrons, if his car is parked in the lone handicap spot in the lot while he sits inside and does Find-A-Word puzzles for hours on end?
Your answer? He's not.
He is not assisting anyone. Aside from himself.
Awwww... this is killin' me. Okay. I'm ready.
Hey. Handicapusurper... Get a clue.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
What's it all about?
Oh, bring us a figgy pudding
Oh, bring us a figgy pudding
Oh, bring us a figgy pudding and a cup of good cheer
Good tidings we bring to you and your kin
Good tidings for Christmas and a Happy New Year
We won't go until we get some
We won't go until we get some
We won't go until we get some, so bring some out here
Good tidings we bring to you and your kin
Good tidings for Christmas and a Happy New Year
... A stanza that is often overlooked
So... Happy Christmas.
Oh, bring us a figgy pudding
Oh, bring us a figgy pudding and a cup of good cheer
Good tidings we bring to you and your kin
Good tidings for Christmas and a Happy New Year
We won't go until we get some
We won't go until we get some
We won't go until we get some, so bring some out here
Good tidings we bring to you and your kin
Good tidings for Christmas and a Happy New Year
... A stanza that is often overlooked
So... Happy Christmas.
Friday, November 17, 2006
'Twas a Fine Evening...
Tonight was one of those cool nights that comes along from now and then. I don't mean cool in the sense of the weather. Far from it. Fucking sucks out, right now.
As for 16 November in New England - it was hot ! Sunt'in like, close to 70... Fahrenheit... Degrees... In downtown Boston?! Whaaaat? Way too warm for me, thanks... Uncalled for, in my opinion. I should,at least, be able to wear a sweater without worrying about my balls sweating.
I wasn't wearing a sweater tonight. I'm just putting the claim in, now. Fucking, 16 November and I don't need a jacket? Fuck you, ice age. How I got stuck in this period... nevermind. Curse you, autonomous, geothermic cycles !!
The cool bit has to do with everything despite the weather.
Earlier this fall, a couple of me finest mates and I invested in a 10-game ticket pak for the Bruins. It's my team - and I'm stickin' with 'em. Tonight we were at the game (#2 of 10) to watch them take on division peers Toronto. A right dust up, yeah. Just ask the loads of folks from Toronto that were there...
After the B's managed to escape with a shoot-out win over the Caps in D.C. last night, hopes of stretching the streak to three (the first being a sweet 4-3 W over Ottawa last Sat. night) were limited at best, I would say.
Nonetheless, the Bruins grabbed one (Kessel - (PP) 14:09 Boyes, Mara) early in the first and then tightened things down for the next 26 minutes, or so. You could argue, 40, as they carried their strong defensive stance half way through the third.
A suspect Holding call on Marc Savard more than half way through the third gave the Leafs a power play that they were able to exploit in under 5 seconds. Three seconds into their PP, McCabe pushed one in (McCabe - (PP) 13:18 Wellwood) to tie it, right off a face off in our zone.
Something felt different, though. There wasn't any immediate sense of doom. It wasn't like the collapse we had witnessed two weeks ago - when we were at 'the game'. Yeah, the game the B's were up 4-1 with about eight minutes remaining in the third ... and lost in an overtime shoot-out. Yep. We were at that game. Game #1 of our 10 game pak. Brilliant. This is what we're in for...
No. Overtime came as an ill-advised but, yet, not unwelcome guest. There's always hope in overtime. There's always hope in a hockey game. At least when the score's this close, that is. Overtime guarantees you that. Underlying rule in hockey (and all sports, for that matter in these instances) - last score wins.
And sure enough - our good patience was rewarded. L'enfant de la ville du Québec - Monsieur Patrice Bergeron - pots one; 34 seconds into the extra period... Bruins win. Job done. It was awesome.
So, my mates and I are jazzed up with the win and head for some sweet nachos and a couple post-game, craft brews at a local establishment. Discussion of the game and state of the B's prevails. It's fantastic. Eight more to go...
Okay - Hockey Talk over. Next best thing of the night is the random CD playing in my car on the way home. Drop me mate off to pick up his ride and I'm on my way home. With an old mix-CD I made, back when downloading was free and you could find any and everything.
My drive soundtrack was tremendous ::
> Michael Jackson - Beat It
> Avril Levigne - Sk8ter Boy
> Russian National Anthem - Red Army Choir
> Metro - Berlin
Yep. That was it. Pretty much the perfect soundtrack to a perfect night.
Seems odd, at first glance, I'm sure. Trust me... after the game - and where this CD came from - perfeck. In fact, I just loaded this up, now. Give me something to listen to while I finish this post.
Once I'm home, I gotta feed the kitties. Not that they really need it but... Anyway, the 'dinner' goes into the bowl and the creatures feast. Odd, that I have small mammals living in my dwelling with me... can barely keep meself alive.
Here are a few quick pics of dinner ::
So, there's the last of this fine evening... I feed the small mammals living in my shelter and get to entering this post. All is well. Takk fyrir komuna (thanks for coming)...
(thanks much to Andy's Icelandic Assistant site - which is where the above link takes you. Check it out if you're interested in some Icelandic... I'm fascinated with it, currently, and doing everything I can to learn. Thanks Andy.)
As for 16 November in New England - it was hot ! Sunt'in like, close to 70... Fahrenheit... Degrees... In downtown Boston?! Whaaaat? Way too warm for me, thanks... Uncalled for, in my opinion. I should,at least, be able to wear a sweater without worrying about my balls sweating.
I wasn't wearing a sweater tonight. I'm just putting the claim in, now. Fucking, 16 November and I don't need a jacket? Fuck you, ice age. How I got stuck in this period... nevermind. Curse you, autonomous, geothermic cycles !!
The cool bit has to do with everything despite the weather.
Earlier this fall, a couple of me finest mates and I invested in a 10-game ticket pak for the Bruins. It's my team - and I'm stickin' with 'em. Tonight we were at the game (#2 of 10) to watch them take on division peers Toronto. A right dust up, yeah. Just ask the loads of folks from Toronto that were there...
After the B's managed to escape with a shoot-out win over the Caps in D.C. last night, hopes of stretching the streak to three (the first being a sweet 4-3 W over Ottawa last Sat. night) were limited at best, I would say.
Nonetheless, the Bruins grabbed one (Kessel - (PP) 14:09 Boyes, Mara) early in the first and then tightened things down for the next 26 minutes, or so. You could argue, 40, as they carried their strong defensive stance half way through the third.
A suspect Holding call on Marc Savard more than half way through the third gave the Leafs a power play that they were able to exploit in under 5 seconds. Three seconds into their PP, McCabe pushed one in (McCabe - (PP) 13:18 Wellwood) to tie it, right off a face off in our zone.
Something felt different, though. There wasn't any immediate sense of doom. It wasn't like the collapse we had witnessed two weeks ago - when we were at 'the game'. Yeah, the game the B's were up 4-1 with about eight minutes remaining in the third ... and lost in an overtime shoot-out. Yep. We were at that game. Game #1 of our 10 game pak. Brilliant. This is what we're in for...
No. Overtime came as an ill-advised but, yet, not unwelcome guest. There's always hope in overtime. There's always hope in a hockey game. At least when the score's this close, that is. Overtime guarantees you that. Underlying rule in hockey (and all sports, for that matter in these instances) - last score wins.
And sure enough - our good patience was rewarded. L'enfant de la ville du Québec - Monsieur Patrice Bergeron - pots one; 34 seconds into the extra period... Bruins win. Job done. It was awesome.
So, my mates and I are jazzed up with the win and head for some sweet nachos and a couple post-game, craft brews at a local establishment. Discussion of the game and state of the B's prevails. It's fantastic. Eight more to go...
Okay - Hockey Talk over. Next best thing of the night is the random CD playing in my car on the way home. Drop me mate off to pick up his ride and I'm on my way home. With an old mix-CD I made, back when downloading was free and you could find any and everything.
My drive soundtrack was tremendous ::
> Michael Jackson - Beat It
> Avril Levigne - Sk8ter Boy
> Russian National Anthem - Red Army Choir
> Metro - Berlin
Yep. That was it. Pretty much the perfect soundtrack to a perfect night.
Seems odd, at first glance, I'm sure. Trust me... after the game - and where this CD came from - perfeck. In fact, I just loaded this up, now. Give me something to listen to while I finish this post.
Once I'm home, I gotta feed the kitties. Not that they really need it but... Anyway, the 'dinner' goes into the bowl and the creatures feast. Odd, that I have small mammals living in my dwelling with me... can barely keep meself alive.
Here are a few quick pics of dinner ::
So, there's the last of this fine evening... I feed the small mammals living in my shelter and get to entering this post. All is well. Takk fyrir komuna (thanks for coming)...
(thanks much to Andy's Icelandic Assistant site - which is where the above link takes you. Check it out if you're interested in some Icelandic... I'm fascinated with it, currently, and doing everything I can to learn. Thanks Andy.)
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
I'm Calling Shenanigans !!
I'm just flipping around TV channels tonight, after a nice W at darts, and I come across some Maxim Top 100 shit on VH1...
First person I see is Gabrielle Union.
They've got her pegged at something like, forty-three? forty-four? Out of a hundred!? Stop right there. Bull. Shit.
As far as I'm concerned? That's the end of the countdown. Show. Over. Why even press forward towards the so-called number one?
What's the point of moving on? Chick - Is - Smokin'! - Any further 'ranking' is entirely vestigial and suspect. Trust me.
Who pays these people?
First person I see is Gabrielle Union.
They've got her pegged at something like, forty-three? forty-four? Out of a hundred!? Stop right there. Bull. Shit.
As far as I'm concerned? That's the end of the countdown. Show. Over. Why even press forward towards the so-called number one?
What's the point of moving on? Chick - Is - Smokin'! - Any further 'ranking' is entirely vestigial and suspect. Trust me.
Who pays these people?
Monday, September 18, 2006
Celebrity Death Watch
It's interesting that we, as the general public, are often taken by surprise when there is a tragic death of a celebrity who's considered to be 'on the rise'. Or even a well-healed entertainer. One that's been around a bit. Who's paid his dues. People who are recognized by millions, for no other reason than their profession requires them to be seen or heard, by as many people as possible, in order to be successful at what they do for a living.
Why are we always so shocked at these untimely deaths? Maybe not, I suppose, so much their untimeliness but that they occur, at all.
Belushi. Farley. Phoenix. Hendrix.
It must be a brutal existence, being a 'celebrity'. The pressure to remain merely relevant, never mind on top, has got to be immense.
So, I'm surprised that we're so surprised when someone in this line of work is 'taken away' from us. So they say. Typically with the phrase 'in their prime' attached to it.
I'm not saying it's not unfortunate or we shouldn't lament these losses. Quite the contrary, in fact. I think we can stop them. Honestly.
If you look at the lifestyle and actions of the aforementioned celebrities, don't you think that there were some tell-tale signs that things were going awry?
We should be more aware and active in preserving the lives of our celebrities. And as a first step to aiding our celebrity brethren in staying alive, I'm asking you all to focus on the next tragedy waiting to happen.
We need to save... Racheal Ray.
I'm serious. This chick is flying off the rails right now.
She's gone from a simple show on Food Network a few years ago to multiple shows on Food Network and an upcoming day-time network show. Three shows. One involving some serious travel. All at the same time. What's keeping her going?
A schedule like that can't be sustained by sheer commitment. Someone's got to step in and slow her down. She's doomed.
I saw an advertisement for her new day-time show the other day and that's when this idea hit me. There was a short clip of an upcoming episode and she was standing behind a studio kitchen, spatula - or some other utensil - raised high in the air, and maniacally screaming, "A Seven! Minute! Meal!"
It was startling. It was frighteningly reminiscent of the classic 'Mr. Tarkanian - Tyranical Boss' sketch on SNL. The one where Will Ferrel plays Mr. Tarkanian, a real bastard of a boss who isn't shy on laying down the physical and mental abuse necessary to run a good ship. Being the fourth ranked Airplane publication isn't easy.
Racheal Ray reminded me of Chris Parnell's character. The guy who comes bolting into the office in sweat-stained tatters wielding a trident... Confronting the evil Mr. Tarkanian... And challenging him by screaming, "I've been lifting weights and doing cocaine all day!!"
Only to have Mr. Tarkanian stand up, wrest the trident from his hand, and fall victim to blow after blow from it at the hands of his almighty boss. Really. Blow after blow after blow after blow... Easily 30 or 40 strikes. It's tremendous theatre. Especially when Mr. Tarkanian finally turns around and is absolutely drenched in only the fakest of fake 'hollywood' blood. Highest of comedy.
But that's the lesson we know. And that's the lesson we need to pass on to our unwitting celebrities. Don't let Mr. Tarkanian repeatedly stab you with your own trident.
Racheal Ray's in the weight room right now. Alternating 300-pound dead lifts and squats with 1/2 inch wide, pencil-length lines of coke... We've got to save her.
Why are we always so shocked at these untimely deaths? Maybe not, I suppose, so much their untimeliness but that they occur, at all.
Belushi. Farley. Phoenix. Hendrix.
It must be a brutal existence, being a 'celebrity'. The pressure to remain merely relevant, never mind on top, has got to be immense.
So, I'm surprised that we're so surprised when someone in this line of work is 'taken away' from us. So they say. Typically with the phrase 'in their prime' attached to it.
I'm not saying it's not unfortunate or we shouldn't lament these losses. Quite the contrary, in fact. I think we can stop them. Honestly.
If you look at the lifestyle and actions of the aforementioned celebrities, don't you think that there were some tell-tale signs that things were going awry?
We should be more aware and active in preserving the lives of our celebrities. And as a first step to aiding our celebrity brethren in staying alive, I'm asking you all to focus on the next tragedy waiting to happen.
We need to save... Racheal Ray.
I'm serious. This chick is flying off the rails right now.
She's gone from a simple show on Food Network a few years ago to multiple shows on Food Network and an upcoming day-time network show. Three shows. One involving some serious travel. All at the same time. What's keeping her going?
A schedule like that can't be sustained by sheer commitment. Someone's got to step in and slow her down. She's doomed.
I saw an advertisement for her new day-time show the other day and that's when this idea hit me. There was a short clip of an upcoming episode and she was standing behind a studio kitchen, spatula - or some other utensil - raised high in the air, and maniacally screaming, "A Seven! Minute! Meal!"
It was startling. It was frighteningly reminiscent of the classic 'Mr. Tarkanian - Tyranical Boss' sketch on SNL. The one where Will Ferrel plays Mr. Tarkanian, a real bastard of a boss who isn't shy on laying down the physical and mental abuse necessary to run a good ship. Being the fourth ranked Airplane publication isn't easy.
Racheal Ray reminded me of Chris Parnell's character. The guy who comes bolting into the office in sweat-stained tatters wielding a trident... Confronting the evil Mr. Tarkanian... And challenging him by screaming, "I've been lifting weights and doing cocaine all day!!"
Only to have Mr. Tarkanian stand up, wrest the trident from his hand, and fall victim to blow after blow from it at the hands of his almighty boss. Really. Blow after blow after blow after blow... Easily 30 or 40 strikes. It's tremendous theatre. Especially when Mr. Tarkanian finally turns around and is absolutely drenched in only the fakest of fake 'hollywood' blood. Highest of comedy.
But that's the lesson we know. And that's the lesson we need to pass on to our unwitting celebrities. Don't let Mr. Tarkanian repeatedly stab you with your own trident.
Racheal Ray's in the weight room right now. Alternating 300-pound dead lifts and squats with 1/2 inch wide, pencil-length lines of coke... We've got to save her.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Repetitiveness n'est pas Entitlement
There's this old guy. Well - older guy that seems to hit the Dunkin Donuts at some point in the morning. Gets his stuff... then sits in his vehicle, presumably finishes his stuff, and then reads the newspaper. Apparently, the whole fucking thing. Top Headline to final Hyundai offering.
I've seen him there on multi-occasions. Weekdays. Weekends. Weekwhatevers. No worries. Until this morning.
It's a busy enough parking lot, especially with the quick nature of the business. So, you want to see things work out right - quick, efficient, & unabrasive. In and out. Make room for the next junkie.
Why, oh why, would you then take your vehicle and park it right over those freshly painted PARK HERE lines that are, fairly, de rigeur of all parking lots we solicit? How can you not see these demarcations and - maybe because your car is so much cooler than everyone else's - take over two parking spaces with such poor parking? Or, according to you, advantageous parking. Douche.
They paint slots... so, use the slots!
I don't care if you've been comin' there a day - or a month's worth of Sundays. Fuck. Me. Get your stupid Toyota Rav4, or whatever that thing is, the fuck out of the way. No way in hell that thing is wider than a parking slot! Prove it, Numb-Nuts. Or straighten it out. Douche.
I've seen him there on multi-occasions. Weekdays. Weekends. Weekwhatevers. No worries. Until this morning.
It's a busy enough parking lot, especially with the quick nature of the business. So, you want to see things work out right - quick, efficient, & unabrasive. In and out. Make room for the next junkie.
Why, oh why, would you then take your vehicle and park it right over those freshly painted PARK HERE lines that are, fairly, de rigeur of all parking lots we solicit? How can you not see these demarcations and - maybe because your car is so much cooler than everyone else's - take over two parking spaces with such poor parking? Or, according to you, advantageous parking. Douche.
They paint slots... so, use the slots!
I don't care if you've been comin' there a day - or a month's worth of Sundays. Fuck. Me. Get your stupid Toyota Rav4, or whatever that thing is, the fuck out of the way. No way in hell that thing is wider than a parking slot! Prove it, Numb-Nuts. Or straighten it out. Douche.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Dean's Dream
(edited to add post title and link)
It's been a while.
It's been quite the while, actually.
Me Guinness For Strength was on its last ring of foam. You know, the one next to the last one in the pint. That's where she was. And if you've never enjoyed a Guinness, through. From ring through sweetening ring. Then you may not know how close it was to the end. Shame on ye fer that.
But, not-so-needless to say, it was close. Until a few things happened.
There are probably two major things and one minor, random thing that lead me to create this post tonight. Sorry, three major things. One being the idea that I want to do this. I enjoy the written word. And I told myself early on in this travesty of a blog that I'd stick to it. That aside, two major things. And one minor. Thing.
The first of the majors (outside of my obvious) has to do with me mate, The Emetic Sage. I read his stuff and I'm amazed. The short pieces are to the point and easily digestable... the longer pieces are gourmet meals, meant to be savored and enjoyed at pace. It's a fun blog to read and I enjoy checking in each day. Everything is well researched and written and there is a sense of refined-ness, as I make up a word.
How this pertains to my situation has become clear to me. I don't mean to sound like I'm blowing The E.S. here... but I must reiterate, he was the inspiration for me to start my own blog. So, there's some connection. What I realized, however, is that I'm not the Sage. I found myself trying to come up with the ultimate post - every time. And it was crippling. And I think the pressure got to me a bit. I just gotta write whatever...
The next major influence, I'll admit, is tough to recall right now. I think it has something to do with the fact that my last post was three bloody weeks ago! That could be it. Who knows?
Forget that. The fun part is the minor, random thing that kicked my proverbial arse into gear. The catylist, if you will.
It was a song I used to listen to in High School. Then randomly after that.
I came across it tonight in my collection and gave it a go round. It still holds its punch to this day and it brings me back to another time. As I sang along, I realized that you all need to hear this awesome tune. And that was the third (or fourth) reason why I hopped on the keyboard this eve.
Now, the bad news. I have a Napster account and they added a new feature where I could post a link to a song and you all could give it a listen. Albeit in a separate "Napster" window - but listen nonethesame. Up to three times, I guess.
That's not the bad news. The bad news is, that link isn't working on the Napster right now. Yes, The Napster. It's killing me... So, I'm going to keep an eye out and as soon as possible, get a link up. They better not shut that option down!
Oh. The song? If you're adventurous and want to find it on your own, here it is ::
> The Dead Milkmen
>> Dean's Dream
I didn't want to do this - but I've found the lyrics... nah, we'll see who reads this, first. Can't resist, here are a few...
(sneak preview :
We got in a tan van
Us two in the back
With Steve McGarrett
From Hawaii-Five-O
At the steering wheel
Speeding away we slide into a
Parking lot
And all in slow motion
These tough guys appear....
)
I like. Dziekuje. Viszlát.
Okay - I've managed to get the link working. 'Cuz that's just how V-Grease rocks it. Enjoy the soothing stylings of the Milkmen...
SHIT.. not working. Bloody hell...
Give this a shot. I think you need to register but you can listen to all sorts of tunes for free.. I guess that's the deal; I have an account so I can't tell how it works for non-subscribers. If someone could report back, that'd be pissah...
The Dead Milkmen - Dean's Dream
It's been a while.
It's been quite the while, actually.
Me Guinness For Strength was on its last ring of foam. You know, the one next to the last one in the pint. That's where she was. And if you've never enjoyed a Guinness, through. From ring through sweetening ring. Then you may not know how close it was to the end. Shame on ye fer that.
But, not-so-needless to say, it was close. Until a few things happened.
There are probably two major things and one minor, random thing that lead me to create this post tonight. Sorry, three major things. One being the idea that I want to do this. I enjoy the written word. And I told myself early on in this travesty of a blog that I'd stick to it. That aside, two major things. And one minor. Thing.
The first of the majors (outside of my obvious) has to do with me mate, The Emetic Sage. I read his stuff and I'm amazed. The short pieces are to the point and easily digestable... the longer pieces are gourmet meals, meant to be savored and enjoyed at pace. It's a fun blog to read and I enjoy checking in each day. Everything is well researched and written and there is a sense of refined-ness, as I make up a word.
How this pertains to my situation has become clear to me. I don't mean to sound like I'm blowing The E.S. here... but I must reiterate, he was the inspiration for me to start my own blog. So, there's some connection. What I realized, however, is that I'm not the Sage. I found myself trying to come up with the ultimate post - every time. And it was crippling. And I think the pressure got to me a bit. I just gotta write whatever...
The next major influence, I'll admit, is tough to recall right now. I think it has something to do with the fact that my last post was three bloody weeks ago! That could be it. Who knows?
Forget that. The fun part is the minor, random thing that kicked my proverbial arse into gear. The catylist, if you will.
It was a song I used to listen to in High School. Then randomly after that.
I came across it tonight in my collection and gave it a go round. It still holds its punch to this day and it brings me back to another time. As I sang along, I realized that you all need to hear this awesome tune. And that was the third (or fourth) reason why I hopped on the keyboard this eve.
Now, the bad news. I have a Napster account and they added a new feature where I could post a link to a song and you all could give it a listen. Albeit in a separate "Napster" window - but listen nonethesame. Up to three times, I guess.
That's not the bad news. The bad news is, that link isn't working on the Napster right now. Yes, The Napster. It's killing me... So, I'm going to keep an eye out and as soon as possible, get a link up. They better not shut that option down!
Oh. The song? If you're adventurous and want to find it on your own, here it is ::
> The Dead Milkmen
>> Dean's Dream
I didn't want to do this - but I've found the lyrics... nah, we'll see who reads this, first. Can't resist, here are a few...
(sneak preview :
We got in a tan van
Us two in the back
With Steve McGarrett
From Hawaii-Five-O
At the steering wheel
Speeding away we slide into a
Parking lot
And all in slow motion
These tough guys appear....
)
I like. Dziekuje. Viszlát.
Okay - I've managed to get the link working. 'Cuz that's just how V-Grease rocks it. Enjoy the soothing stylings of the Milkmen...
SHIT.. not working. Bloody hell...
Give this a shot. I think you need to register but you can listen to all sorts of tunes for free.. I guess that's the deal; I have an account so I can't tell how it works for non-subscribers. If someone could report back, that'd be pissah...
The Dead Milkmen - Dean's Dream
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Bass Ale Excellence
On most occasions, there would be some excuse given in a cleverly written e-mail response. A genuinely sincere regret but a decline of the invitation, nonetheless. It wasn't that he didn't like these people. He liked them fine enough.
What Jan Hernïk didn't like was the superficiality of most of the events to which he was invited. And the, sometimes, likewise atmosphere of these Don't Miss It!!! gatherings. It just wasn't worth it. He had his own, outside-of-work crew that he rode with.
Most of the people he knew at his office were of the same age. A few years out of college, maybe five. The I Know We're Out of College But Let's Live Like We're Not, Especially Now That We're All Getting Paid crowd. And a wonderful crowd, at that. There was simply no need for him to attempt immersion into this particular faction. One was enough.
"25 Fabulous Years of Jesse!" was the subject line of the only new e-mail message in Jan's unread messages when he returned from lunch. A hefty lunch hour clocking in close to ninety minutes. One e-mail.
"I might actually be able to get some work done this afternoon," was the almost subconscious thought trickling over his mind.
"Let's see what this is all about, then," was the very conscious idea he had next. The e-mail read:
--------
COME CELEBRATE WITH US!!!
Our OLD friend Jesse is hitting the big 2-5 this week!
Let's send her into old age in style!
Join us Thursday night, downtown at Excellence right
after work!
Happy Birthday Jesse!
--------
A fairly predictable message, given the subject line and whom it was from. But there was something different about this one. While glancing over the message, Jan cought a flash of a name out of the list of many recipients. Kristi Korver. He immediately wondered whether she'd be attending. Shortly afterwards, he decided he was free on Thursday.
Tuesday and Wednesday passed, if not unnoticed then definitely uneventfully. In contrast, the office held a bit of a festive air on Thursday. Not so much that there's nothing getting done. An anticipatory, festive air, it might be called. Jan could sense it but was unaffected, mostly thanks to his preoccupation with his own anticipation. Any other refusal to get swept up in it all was courtesy of what the locals call past experience.
It wasn't until Jan walked through the doors at Excellence that he realized he had probably made a big mistake. The place had only been open for three months. It showed. Somehow, the slew of young people, chatting and texting and drinking and texting, either didn't notice or chose to ignore it. This was Excellence, after all.
After a few cursory, "Hey, how's it goin'"s, to a few people he left only forty-five minutes ago, Jan found a spot at the end of the bar, closest to the front door. It wasn't an official roll call but he happened to notice Ms. Korver was late for class. No connection, whatsoever, with his parking spot.
"She could very well be out sick, today."
That was the odd phrase bouncing around his head as he tried to gain the attention of a bartender. Any of them would do. In the meantime, he took the opportunity to have a good look around the place. And wonder what that phrase might mean, while knowing full well of the instant conversation he had just finished with himself.
Excellence, he noticed, was an attempt at the newest twist in contemporary, fancy-pants, see-and-be-seen bars. Bars that have been infesting the nightlife scene with vigor, as of late. The bartender, who managed to find his way to Jan's end of the bar only after all the ladies present were freshened, did nothing to enhance the atmosphere.
"What can I get ya," he mumbled.
"I'll have a Bass Ale, please,"Jan replied, then adding in his head, "Sorry to have bothered you, ass-hole."
"Glass or pint?"
Hernïk is a Danish name. While the Danes enjoy well their fair share of beer, it was Jan's mother's heritage where he staked his claim. His mother was from England and he had visited her family back home on many occasions. As he grew older, and able to join his uncles at the pub, he eventually grew to appreciate a good pint of ale. As well as a good pint of lager, bitter, stout, or any other finely crafted brew.
Jan thought about the consequences but still decided to ask, "Is that an Imperial Pint?"
"A what pint!? It's a pint. You want one?"
On most occassions, the thought of, "Why bother?" is followed with a dismissive, "Yeah, sure," just to get the encounter over with. Something on this occassion was different. Screw this guy.
"I'd just like to know the size. An Imperial pint is measured and is a full 16 ounces. What people around here call a pint glass only hold 12 to 13 ounces. That's not a pint."
"What's the difference? It's a beer."
"The difference is that you don't even know the difference. If you're going to call yourself a bartender, you should probably know how to pour a proper beer! You make all these neon, fuck me drinks all night but you can't pull a decent pint for shit. Have some fucking pride in your work, man. Jesus. Sorry... I'll just take a Coors Light 16 ounce... please."
"Yeah, whatever..."
After some hesitation, the bartender begrudgingly fetched Jan's beer. Jan left a tip of conciliatory value, took his beer, and turned from the bar. Standing a few feet behind him was Kristi. By the pleasantly bemused look on her face, she had undoubtedly been standing there long enough to have witnessed the dialogue at the bar.
"Hi," she said, "I'm Kristi."
What Jan Hernïk didn't like was the superficiality of most of the events to which he was invited. And the, sometimes, likewise atmosphere of these Don't Miss It!!! gatherings. It just wasn't worth it. He had his own, outside-of-work crew that he rode with.
Most of the people he knew at his office were of the same age. A few years out of college, maybe five. The I Know We're Out of College But Let's Live Like We're Not, Especially Now That We're All Getting Paid crowd. And a wonderful crowd, at that. There was simply no need for him to attempt immersion into this particular faction. One was enough.
"25 Fabulous Years of Jesse!" was the subject line of the only new e-mail message in Jan's unread messages when he returned from lunch. A hefty lunch hour clocking in close to ninety minutes. One e-mail.
"I might actually be able to get some work done this afternoon," was the almost subconscious thought trickling over his mind.
"Let's see what this is all about, then," was the very conscious idea he had next. The e-mail read:
--------
COME CELEBRATE WITH US!!!
Our OLD friend Jesse is hitting the big 2-5 this week!
Let's send her into old age in style!
Join us Thursday night, downtown at Excellence right
after work!
Happy Birthday Jesse!
--------
A fairly predictable message, given the subject line and whom it was from. But there was something different about this one. While glancing over the message, Jan cought a flash of a name out of the list of many recipients. Kristi Korver. He immediately wondered whether she'd be attending. Shortly afterwards, he decided he was free on Thursday.
Tuesday and Wednesday passed, if not unnoticed then definitely uneventfully. In contrast, the office held a bit of a festive air on Thursday. Not so much that there's nothing getting done. An anticipatory, festive air, it might be called. Jan could sense it but was unaffected, mostly thanks to his preoccupation with his own anticipation. Any other refusal to get swept up in it all was courtesy of what the locals call past experience.
It wasn't until Jan walked through the doors at Excellence that he realized he had probably made a big mistake. The place had only been open for three months. It showed. Somehow, the slew of young people, chatting and texting and drinking and texting, either didn't notice or chose to ignore it. This was Excellence, after all.
After a few cursory, "Hey, how's it goin'"s, to a few people he left only forty-five minutes ago, Jan found a spot at the end of the bar, closest to the front door. It wasn't an official roll call but he happened to notice Ms. Korver was late for class. No connection, whatsoever, with his parking spot.
"She could very well be out sick, today."
That was the odd phrase bouncing around his head as he tried to gain the attention of a bartender. Any of them would do. In the meantime, he took the opportunity to have a good look around the place. And wonder what that phrase might mean, while knowing full well of the instant conversation he had just finished with himself.
Excellence, he noticed, was an attempt at the newest twist in contemporary, fancy-pants, see-and-be-seen bars. Bars that have been infesting the nightlife scene with vigor, as of late. The bartender, who managed to find his way to Jan's end of the bar only after all the ladies present were freshened, did nothing to enhance the atmosphere.
"What can I get ya," he mumbled.
"I'll have a Bass Ale, please,"Jan replied, then adding in his head, "Sorry to have bothered you, ass-hole."
"Glass or pint?"
Hernïk is a Danish name. While the Danes enjoy well their fair share of beer, it was Jan's mother's heritage where he staked his claim. His mother was from England and he had visited her family back home on many occasions. As he grew older, and able to join his uncles at the pub, he eventually grew to appreciate a good pint of ale. As well as a good pint of lager, bitter, stout, or any other finely crafted brew.
Jan thought about the consequences but still decided to ask, "Is that an Imperial Pint?"
"A what pint!? It's a pint. You want one?"
On most occassions, the thought of, "Why bother?" is followed with a dismissive, "Yeah, sure," just to get the encounter over with. Something on this occassion was different. Screw this guy.
"I'd just like to know the size. An Imperial pint is measured and is a full 16 ounces. What people around here call a pint glass only hold 12 to 13 ounces. That's not a pint."
"What's the difference? It's a beer."
"The difference is that you don't even know the difference. If you're going to call yourself a bartender, you should probably know how to pour a proper beer! You make all these neon, fuck me drinks all night but you can't pull a decent pint for shit. Have some fucking pride in your work, man. Jesus. Sorry... I'll just take a Coors Light 16 ounce... please."
"Yeah, whatever..."
After some hesitation, the bartender begrudgingly fetched Jan's beer. Jan left a tip of conciliatory value, took his beer, and turned from the bar. Standing a few feet behind him was Kristi. By the pleasantly bemused look on her face, she had undoubtedly been standing there long enough to have witnessed the dialogue at the bar.
"Hi," she said, "I'm Kristi."
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Have Craving, Will Travel.
Tonight was one of those nights when things made sense. It wasn't any religious epiphany or mind-altering, cultural persuasion. It was conversation and the knowing of what had to be done.
It was about time to travel.
My Velkomin til Íslands bit will continue... it will.
(Peace out! pog & road; true this!)
Getting back to my current jones :: I realized, tonight, how much I miss traveling. All the strange encounters and uncertain moments. Good and bad. The unexpected events that inevitably define a trip, a voyage, a stay in X-land. It's all of the things that aren't preconceived that are the most enjoyable in any trip. Anyone who's traveled knows the feeling. Anyone who hasn't, should.
After work this evening, I joined my boss and a co-worker at the local right around the corner from our office buliding. A shit-hole of a place prior to about a year ago - until a couple of lads from Ireland took hold and put her right. Miles away. A fine pub that serves a swell pint of Guinness, now, she is.
Tonight, after a few fine pints later, we're on our way. Before scooting home for the night, I chat a bit with my boss - who, it so happens, has been one of my travel partners in all of my past ventures. This is where the smoldering coals erupt into a giant travel flame!
We recount episodes from Budapest (the bridge/hill incedent; the Fescek dinner; the cafe), extoll the uniqueness of our stories (have you ever gotten your camera confiscated at a nightclub in Helsingborg, Sweden?), and pine for futher days abroad... and soon.
Now, I'm fired up. If it isn't this fall, it'll be November. Catastrophe? We're talking spring 2007... but that's as far as I'm willing to go. I'm serious.
It's strange but I feel the compulsion to go somewhere else. I can't explain it - and I don't wish to try... I just accept it and do what I can to accomodate.
It's the end of July. In ten months' time, I hope to have been somewhere. Someplace I've never been before. You? You should venture to do the same.
It was about time to travel.
My Velkomin til Íslands bit will continue... it will.
(Peace out! pog & road; true this!)
Getting back to my current jones :: I realized, tonight, how much I miss traveling. All the strange encounters and uncertain moments. Good and bad. The unexpected events that inevitably define a trip, a voyage, a stay in X-land. It's all of the things that aren't preconceived that are the most enjoyable in any trip. Anyone who's traveled knows the feeling. Anyone who hasn't, should.
After work this evening, I joined my boss and a co-worker at the local right around the corner from our office buliding. A shit-hole of a place prior to about a year ago - until a couple of lads from Ireland took hold and put her right. Miles away. A fine pub that serves a swell pint of Guinness, now, she is.
Tonight, after a few fine pints later, we're on our way. Before scooting home for the night, I chat a bit with my boss - who, it so happens, has been one of my travel partners in all of my past ventures. This is where the smoldering coals erupt into a giant travel flame!
We recount episodes from Budapest (the bridge/hill incedent; the Fescek dinner; the cafe), extoll the uniqueness of our stories (have you ever gotten your camera confiscated at a nightclub in Helsingborg, Sweden?), and pine for futher days abroad... and soon.
Now, I'm fired up. If it isn't this fall, it'll be November. Catastrophe? We're talking spring 2007... but that's as far as I'm willing to go. I'm serious.
It's strange but I feel the compulsion to go somewhere else. I can't explain it - and I don't wish to try... I just accept it and do what I can to accomodate.
It's the end of July. In ten months' time, I hope to have been somewhere. Someplace I've never been before. You? You should venture to do the same.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Curse You, Technology!
I can't believe what just happened.
I just lost almost two hours of work on the second post in my Velkomin til Íslands travel series. I'm absolutely gutted.
While finishing up the tale of our first night out, I had searched for some information on one of the places we went. Clicked on a link and something froze up that browser session. Impatiently, I pulled up the task manager in an attempt to get rid of it - and, instead, it killed all of my browser sessions !!
Gone. Unbelievable. I haven't got the energy or spirit to start fresh again, tonight. I'll have another go at it tomorrow... perhaps saving it a few times along the way, you know, just in case.
Instead, I'm going to do something decidedly untechnological - have some leftover pizza.
I just lost almost two hours of work on the second post in my Velkomin til Íslands travel series. I'm absolutely gutted.
While finishing up the tale of our first night out, I had searched for some information on one of the places we went. Clicked on a link and something froze up that browser session. Impatiently, I pulled up the task manager in an attempt to get rid of it - and, instead, it killed all of my browser sessions !!
Gone. Unbelievable. I haven't got the energy or spirit to start fresh again, tonight. I'll have another go at it tomorrow... perhaps saving it a few times along the way, you know, just in case.
Instead, I'm going to do something decidedly untechnological - have some leftover pizza.
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