| I’ve decided, since it’s Monday night and I’ve had a very long first day at my new job, that I’m going to string together a bunch of random thoughts instead of my usual well-thought-out treatises. I know that my many readers (have you noticed we’ve passed 1,100 hits? Who the hell are you people?) enjoy hearing me flesh out a given subject and present my fractured but truly unique take on American life, but this week you‘ll have to take me in Reader's Digest bite-sized portions. First of all, I’m worried. A friend of mine and I have front row seats for the Orioles/Phillies game at Camden Yards Friday night, meaning we’ll be sitting about 100 feet from Cal Ripken, Jr. Why does this worry me? Because my friend is from Pennsylvania, and an actual flesh-and-blood Phillies fan (yes, one of the six). Anyone who knows fans of Philadelphia teams is groaning right now, and wondering why I’m subjecting myself to such abject torture. There’s something seriously wrong with fans of Philadelphia teams. Some of you may be wondering why the Sixers fans you saw on TV last month were so laid back. Two reasons: 1) The only people who can afford basketball tickets these days, especially playoff tickets, are people who make more money than the players. Not the type to express emotion. 2) They knew their team was going to get its ass kicked. But fans of the Flyers, Eagles and Phillies are insane. Not devoted, mind you, just insane. At least Raiders fans use psychological warfare and terror tactics to scare those in opposing jerseys; Philly fans just throw things at you. When the Flyers knocked the Sabres out of the playoffs last year, someone hit Sabres coach Lindy Ruff in the head with a beer as he was going to shake the winning coach’s hand. Those are Philly fans. When Chief Wahoo, the unofficial Redskins mascot made his way to Philly, several members of the Veterans Stadium crowd jumped him and broke his leg. Those are Philly fans. A month ago at a Phillies game, several crowd members thought a vendor was a little too enthusiastic, so they jumped him after the game, and fractured his skull. Their own friggin’ vendor. Those are Philly fans. So I shudder to think what horrible things my friend will yell at Cal Ripken. At least I can feel good knowing his team has about as much chance as winning the World Series as the Eagles have of winning the Super Bowl. I saw A.I. over the weekend. I’m liking it...I’m liking it...all of a sudden 2,000 years have gone by and there are aliens. Or possibly super-robots; we couldn’t quite decide. That’s a movie that most definitely would have benefited from being about 35 minutes shorter. You start wishing that Haley Joel Osment would go back to seeing dead people, and that he himself would be one of them. On Sunday, my wife is going away for TWO weeks. I guess she feels I didn’t get into enough trouble the last time she went away, so she’s giving me another chance to REALLY screw up. Once again there’s a “no nudie bar” rule in effect, which means I’m going to have to tell my friends not to squeal on me this time. I keep trying to explain to her that the one place I’m absolutely guaranteed to not meet women is the nudie bar. I’m the kind of guy the girls tell other girls not to dance too close to. In actuality, it will be really hard to find time to get to the nudie bar, as I’ve booked thirteen days worth of prostitutes. It’s bad timing on her part as well, considering it’s that terrible part of the year when there’s no hockey or football, and baseball really doesn’t matter quite yet. If she hung around here, I may actually speak with her. We're in an awkward place right now, as I've forgtten her name and can't think of a good way to ask her what it is. Remember that one week a few years ago that the Spice Girls were popular? The world was so full of promise back then. So young, so innocent. If you’re ever feeling truly depressed and don’t feel anything can cheer you up, picture every cereal cartoon character having an orgy. The Cocoa Puffs Cuckoo, the Trix Rabbit, the Leprechaun, Toucan Sam, FrankenBerry, Count Chocula (he always struck you as a pretty heavy pervert anyway, didn’t he?), Cap’n Crunch, those Cinnamon Toast Crunch chefs...all buck naked and writhing on a tennis court. (Sorry, I’ve got this tennis court thing...). The problem with this is, of course, there are no female cereal mascots, except Brandi Chastain on the Wheaties box. And I don’t know the sex of the Honey Nut Cheerios Bee. Not sure I want to know. It's Pat, the Bee. I’m flying to San Jose in September for a wedding. It’s $300 if I fly to San Jose through San Francisco, or $360 if I just fly to San Francisco. A flight I put on hold for $216 Friday was $502 on Saturday. Who prices these things? Last year a few of us took a vacation in Florida. My brother, who was coming from Hartford, could have paid $240 to fly to Naples via Miami, or $300 just to fly to Miami. Those of you who don’t fly wonder why you wouldn’t get the cheaper flight and not take the last leg -- because these days the airline notes that and won’t let you board your return flight. Imagine the subway adopting a system like this? It would cost you $1.25 to get to work, but $6.50 to get home the same way. Or a Big Mac costing 45 cents one day at $122.56 the next. I think I’ll just start walking everywhere. |
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| This is the first totally implanted heart. This looks like something I saw on the bargain shelf at the Pier One outlet. My grandfather used to make things that looked like this in his basement when he went crazy. Anyway, that's all for now. I promise to do better next week when I'm able to concentrate, and not have the whoozits on the whachamcalit. |