Ladies and Gentlemen...Boys and Girls...Welcome to Fenway Park

I've always thought that the robin was the harbinger of Spring. I'm not so sure I agree with that belief anymore, because I've seen differently. I've seen a few other birds around lately, and they don't have an orange chest to boast. However, having seen them, I'm damn certain that Spring is here...or if not totally here (see April 1, 1997 for precedent), mostly here.

I've been noticing orioles and bluejays, and I'm seeing them pretty much every day. I could swear that they want to mess with my well being, but it's also apparent that they're not collaborating to do so; they clearly don't like each other, either. There's also this cardinal who has been strutting around like he's the king of the castle these days. He needs to be cut down to size because frankly, I just don't think he's that impressive. I can see all of these damn birds being outfitted in some nice, red socks...especially come October when the weather's getting cold again.

5 days. Closer to 4 now, actually. For the first time this season, Carl and I are breaking out the grill tonight for a little spring cookout...asphalt style. It might still be under 55° out there, but it sure looks and smells like Spring. The last time I drove by Fenway on my way home, which was yesterday, the scoreboard was being tested. It read "Dice-K" in huge letters and said something underneath...but it was too small for me to read. It's almost time...finally. Even walking through Downtown Crossing and the Common this weekend, the smell of sausages, peppers and onions and Red Dogs emanated from outside the park's gates and tickled my french nose hairs. They're not Fenway Franks, but they reek of the Sausage Guy. They stink of Landsdowne St., as I make way towards Gate C. They give me visions of my Trot t-shirt with a mustard stain on it (which has been retired). It's almost time...finally.

I read the sports page of the Providence Journal a few moments ago, and it pained me to thumb through the Maroney article. It was very unnatural to glance at the box score from the B's/Sens game last night. I don't care anymore. I want to read about the 25-man roster and how they sent Delcarmen, Hansen and Corey down to the minors. I want to read about John Lester and how he's just itching to get back on the mound when it means something, even if it's in Single-A to start. He'll be back in the rotation by the middle of May if all goes well, and I've officially decided that he will be my next addition to the jersey collection.

It's almost time...finally.

What's The Good Word?

First off, thank you to the incomparable Bowen for giving me the inspiration for this particular entry. JB, you're not entirely useless as I once thought. I've taken you off of my list of people I wouldn't save in a fire.

***NOTE***

Still on this list are Kobe Bryant, Dr. Phil, Tony Allen, Oprah, Damian Jackson, Jorge Posada and Gil.

Anyway, I refer you to the link entitled "Bowen" in my list of links to the right for the inspiration for this entry if you even care.

Are there words out there that you just prefer using over others? Maybe they're not always entirely appropriate for everyday conversation or maybe they just don't fit into many contexts, what-have-you. Either way, the following represents a list of words that I really do have an affection for.

Tit

Now, I know what you're thinking, but I like this word in a lesser traditional sense. I think I learned it from Nate, but it's to be used in place of "easy", or "a cinch". For instance, if you're playing Madden on the 'All-Madden' setting and you make it to the Super Bowl quite easily, you might say with an incredulous look, "Man, that was tit." Or, perhaps you're explaining to someone the proper way to tie a tourniquet and they say to you, "Wow, that sounds difficult." Your response could be, "Nah, it's tit."

Balls

I had no intention of leading this off with two anatomical words but alas...anyway, balls has been featured in this blog before and I continue to love using it as often as possible. As you probably know by now, it's an expression of dislike; it's also an adjective for extremely, or wicked. i.e., "A-Rod broke up Dice-K's no-no. Balls." -and- "I'm balls deep in this McGriddle now, leave me alone."

*If A-Rod breaks up a Dice-K no-no this season, I take full responsibility. And yes, this would be the third mention of the McGriddle in the last 10 days. I think I should seek help.

Jive

Ever since I saw Airplane for the first time, I've loved using the word 'jive' in different situations.[old woman on the plane: "Oh stewardess? I speak jive. (proceeds to speak jive with two black men on the plane for a few minutes)] This can be used a few different ways, though. It can be used as 'work', as in "that don't jive", or to mean 'kidding', as in "are you fucking jiving me right now?"

Stem, or Hack

The credit for these must be given entirely to Chip. They both refer to some form of a dude who is consider to be 1) a loser, 2) a jackass, 3) a douchebag. i.e.

Chip: "The kid was wearing a Yankee hat and Jeter jersey, playing a flute outside of Fenway."

Me: "So he was a hack?"

Chip: "Oh, such a fucking hack."

Snaps

Another one that must be credited to Nate. 'Snaps' is something one would say to you if you had just done something of note, something that would invoke applause or an acknowledgement of approval. i.e.

Me: "Yo, I just managed to swindle a free 30-pack of Schlitz from the cashier in exchange for a Sosa rookie card."

Nate: "Snaps, dude. Snaps."

3.26.2007

I just read something about the looming possibility of the words 'Mum' and 'Dad' bordering on politically incorrect for those that may not have a mother or a father, per se. Further, using these words when addressing a group as a whole could potentially offend those who have gay parents. I don't know about you...and believe me, I am liberal and have nothing against those with an alternative lifestyle or those with same-sex parents; I support the gay community as much as I can...but enough is enough with the censorship when it comes to who we could possibly offend. Pretty soon, we're going to have to do away with proper names altogether.

The whole idea of political correctness has reared itself in sports over past few months, and shock waves have been sent across the country as a result. You look at the John Amaechi/Tim Hardaway incident and you have to think to yourself that someone like Tim Hardaway isn't exactly helping the cause. I love how he said "it's not natural". Neither was your cross-over Tim, but you didn't hear people saying descpicable things about you, did you? I hate that comment anyway, that it's not natural. If it's not a natural thing, as in it's something that perhaps they have a choice in the matter, should we just hold a gay lottery for all the newborn children each year in which a percentage draw the gay card and therefore are raised as such? Yeah, Hardaway's a loser and he's ignorant and he won't have a job in sports ever again, but I also don't think Amaechi had just reasons for coming out to the public or to ESPN. As someone said shortly thereafter, it takes a lot more sack to do it when you're actually still in the league and it won't really matter until that happens (I don't see what Kobe's waiting for...do it now, man!)

To be frank, I really don't know where I stand on the issue of gays in sports. I don't think they should be singled out because it might make other athletes uncomfortable, and that's really my only opinion. If you're a great basketball player, hockey player, what-have-you, your orientation makes no difference. It makes no difference if you're mediocre or even terrible, for that matter. And you're never going to see a pro football player come out of the closet while he's still playing. We might see it in basketball, but I fear what the consequences for that player might be. He'll make millions and millions from the book and subsequent movie that follows and he'll be a poster boy for everything-gay for the rest of his life, but I can't imagine he'll want to remain in the NBA because I'm certain other players and organizations would make him miserable. It might not be fair but it's the way it will be and the way it is. Hardaway is a prime example of that ignorance. I just hope that when that gay pioneer in basketball comes forward, he's not playing for the Wizzards because he's gonna have a real issue with their alternate jerseys.

Top Five Jerseys A Gay Man Would Have An Issue With: (or a metrosexual man)

1. the aforementioned Wiz alternate. I don't see a team color in there, for pete's sake.

2. 1995 Pistons away jerseys. Teal? And orange? Purely offensive.

3. Bruins alternate jerseys. Yellow, with a giant bear head on it. Effeminate and intimidating?

4. Cleveland Browns home jerseys. Brown may be the new blue, but not with orange.

5. Any of the Marlins jerseys. Again, teal. No room for teal in sports, and I don't care what your orientation is.

Food

My go-to at Taco Bell is a Crunchwrap Supreme, Nachos Bel Grande (sans beans) and a Meximelt. I don't know who the genius behind the Crunchwrap is, but that guy should be in some sort of Hall of Fame. Joining him there would the creators of the following food items, in my book:

The three-way beef (cheese, bbq sauce and mayo): Such an unreal combination, but the beef HAS to be rare. If it's well done, you're done. You might as well throw a wool sock on a bun.

The McGriddle: I'm realizing now that this is the second time this week that I mention the McGriddle, and that scares me a bit. But this thing is a little bundle of joy. Christ, you've got pancakes with syrup, eggs, a side of sausage all in a fucking sandwich. Game over, french toast sticks. You've been used.

Tons of Fun Burger: If you've eaten this epic burger at the Cheesecake Factory, then you probably agree that it's a goddamn work of art. Somehow it captures the ingenuity of the Big Mac, but turns it into this gourmet burger that leaves you bloated, drooling and in the fetal position after eating it...but smiling. Hey, it's tons of fun. Come on now.

The Crunchwrap Supreme: The aforementioned...it's a giant taco sandwich, and it turns me on.

The Ellen's Celebrity Crepe: I don't expect anyone except Richie to understand my love affair with this crepe, formerly sold at the Paris Creperie on Beacon Hill in Boston. It's been discontinued since new ownership took over and we'll never step foot in that place ever again, but this crepe was a wet dream, my friends. Grilled chicken, broccoli, gooey cheese and the unforgettable, signature honey drizzle...all in a warm crepe. But no matter...Ellen's dead, so fuck her and her stupid crepe. I hate them both. Ok, I don't. I love them. I just miss them and wish they'd come back.

Lay off me, I'm starving.

French P.I.

I saw a commercial on tv this afternoon for PetMeds; PetMeds is a mail-order prescription service for your pets. During a monologue from Betty White, you see her holding a box from PetMeds in her arms as her golden retriever licks the package--he's apparently excited for the delivery. After researching the matter, I found some unsettling truths.

Following the commercial shoot at White's home, the dog was found dead in the backyard with the package from PetMeds next to him; he had committed suicide by overdosing. Further investigation showed that White had been playing looped episodes of Golden Girls for her pets during the day while she was out working.

Fortunately for White's golden, dog heaven shows episodes of Empty Nest only.

At One With Three

I got to thinking about what we're all, as men, truly striving for at any given age and I believe that the answer is this: if we could all live our lives at the consequence of that of a three-year-old boy, we could be one with happiness and satisfaction and we'd get whatever it is that we want, at all times. Here are some reasons why.

1. Three-year olds can eat whatever the fuck they want, whenever they want, and in whatever quantity they want...with basically zero consequence health-wise. I've recently turned over a new leaf concerning my eating habits because I feel I should start taking care of myself somehow, but believe me, I'd much prefer to be eating the following three meals a day:

Breakfast - two sausage, egg and cheese McGriddles, one hash brown and a huge orange juice.

Lunch - a large roast beef sandwich with cheese, bbq sauce and mayo, one large fries and a coke.

Dinner - a 20 oz. Porterhouse, garlic-mashed, jalapeno-cheese potatoes, bread, butter and a pile of goat cheese mixed in there, two bottles of Pinot Noir and some gourmet carrot cake for dessert.

My current habits fall devastatingly short of this because I'd look like the old Al Roker (well, a white, old Al Roker) if I did eat like that. A three year-old can run around all day, never truly hurt himself with his soft, forming bones and eat a steady diet of cookies and ice cream and still be trim and tuck. Point: three year-old.

2. I have a three year old nephew as I've mentioned before and I'm pretty sure he's in love with my girlfriend. Just this past weekend, he told her she looked 'kind of beautiful' and pretty much brought her to tears. Point is, that kid can say ANYTHING to her and it's the sweetest thing in the free world. If I said that to her, it would be curtains. "What? Kind of beautiful? What the fuck does that mean, you asshole? Get the fuck out of here." Well, maybe not that harsh...but something like that. Not to mention, if he asks her for something, or asks anyone for that matter, he's going to get it. I've been tricked many times with his questions. Further, if I even whisper the word 'ice cream', it's then up to me to get it for him, no matter what the circumstance. If we were in the Mojave Desert in the midst of an 100-mile trek on camel back, I could say "Man, could I go for an ice cream right now" at the 49th-mile mark and I'd have to go back to get it for him. He's totally in charge at all times. But, I am aware of the ice cream thing, so it's my own fault when it happens. Point: three-year old

3. Three year-old boys have free reign over the female body when they're sitting with one. Enough said. Point: three year-old, and one.

4. Fashion is never an issue for a three year-old. You'd think that they don't have much of a say in what they wear, but I have seen the result of my nephew Aaron's clothing preferences...when he wants to wear brown and only brown, you can bet your ass he's showing up looking like a Snicker's bar. If he wants to wear red pants, red pants it is. I'd love to wear red pants every day, but I'd be lynched. Imagine if we were all allowed to wear sweatpants and sweatshirts all the time? I think it would solve half of the world's crime problems if this were allowed. Point: three year-old.

5. This one has got to be the kicker: birthdays and Christmas/winter holiday absolutely are beyond compare. Yes, there's always the fair share of clothing and practical gifts to sort through, but you can always count on the cool aunts and uncles and friends of your folks to hook you up SILLY with toys and fun shit. Since I'm basing all of this on Aaron, I witnessed it all this past Christmas...his desire was for all things associated with the movie Cars and all things associated with trucks. He could have opened a store selling Cars merchandise and still not have sold out by now, March, without re-upping his inventory. Crazy. I can only imagine if I asked for all things to do with the Sox and I actually got what I asked for. Man, imagine all the tickets, jerseys, caps, DVD's...again, Point: three year-old.

A True Fairytale

I've been reading article after article and hearing commentary after commentary about how disappointed everyone is that there's no George Mason in the tournament this year; there's no UW-Milwaukee and no Vermont. Yes, it's true. Cinderella was invited to the ball, but she got way too drunk at the pre-party and ended up leaving the dance after the first few songs to bang the biker dude who nobody liked from the start. And she passed out, so she's definitely not getting let back in...and I could not care less.

I don't see what the big pout fest is all about. You'd think that for one, all the hoop crazy jocks in our offices (myself included) would be ecstatic because their bracket hasn't gone to complete shit by now. Last year, i was out of contention well before the Sweet 16 because of teams like George Mason. Let's just all be thankful that Betty from Accounting isn't going to win the pool because she once dated a cadet from Texas A&M who was very handsome and picked them to win it all (not to say they will, but you can bet your ass that Acie will be laying down some serious Law into round IV).

I do agree that it's always nice to have the cinderella story...to have that one team that everyone is just really pulling for...that one sweetheart that inexplicably takes down one giant after another on its way to the Final Four. But look at this way: we'll most likely have a dream matchup in the Championship Game of epic proportions. Can anyone not be excited about that prospect?

I would love to see Florida and the ass-slapping Joakim Noah go down hard before the Final Four, but the chances of that happening are very slim. Due to that statement, we're probably staring at a Florida/Kansas matchup that will pit the most talented starting 5 in the nation against the most experienced starting 5. This game alone would be a mint final game to decide the crown, even though it's not possible. I'm assuming and hoping that this matchup materializes and finally, Florida falls behind to the wrong team at the wrong time. If they fall behind to Kansas, they're in big trouble. Horford and Noah will create minor matchup problems for KU, but Brandon Rush will give Billy Donovan fits and prove to be the difference.

Look over at the other side of the bracket now. We're looking at UNC and G'town...and that's just in the Elite 8. Also, OSU and A&M...in the Elite 8. I'm assuming that all will play out as such and these will be the next round matchups, and those games could be epic. I love the old school ramifications of UNC-G'Town, and Hibbert v. Hansbrough in the paint--regardless of whether or not they're matched up--will be fun to watch. In the OSU/A&M game, you've got the best center in the country and the best guard in the country going at it. Oh yeah, and maybe the second-best guard in Mike Conley, Jr, too. I like OSU to take that one and head into Atlanta to face UNC, who will ride Hansbrough as far as the Final Four.

So screw Cinderella. I love the prospect of the the four best teams in college basketball playing each other to decide our National Champion. I'll conclude with this: the possibility of Roy Williams facing Kansas in the championship game, which makes me shiver all over the place...

I Have What's Known As The Wheel

Wheel of Fortune really stresses me out sometimes. I had this discussion with Carl last night, referring to the selection of vowels within Wheel puzzles. Often times, we'll be watching and some idiot will buy all the vowels after it's blatantly clear as to what the answer to the puzzle is, thus wasting several hundred dollars for no good reason. I know that people buy vowels early on in rounds so they can open up the board and buy a few more seconds to get a read on the puzzle. But I swear, some of these people are quite obviously perfectly aware of what the answer is and they excitedly keep buying vowels...almost like they just want to prove to everyone else that they really do know the answer. It's absurd and it drives me up a wall.

We also noted last night that even after several decades of working together on a daily basis, Pat and Vanna still have extremely awkward conversations from time to time. For instance, last night...

Pat: "So do your kids bring their lunches to school or what?"

Vanna: "Oh no, they buy their lunches at school."

Pat: "Right, because you don't cook, do you? Can you cook?"

Vanna: "Well, I make chicken and dumplings. That's about it."

Pat: "Dumplings? Huh. That sounds good, how do you make those dumplings?"

Vanna: "I open the can and put them on a tray."

Pat: "Canned dumplings?"

Vanna: "Yeah."

Pat: "Really?"

Vanna: "Yeah."

Pat: "Ok then."

Fantastic. I'm so glad that Vanna loves to continually point out that her job requires not one modicum of intelligence, nor does she possess one. I'm willing to bet that her idea of 'cooking' chicken involves warming up a bucket of extra-tasty-crispy from KFC. She already mailed it in with the dumplings...no way she's going through the process of battering and deep frying chicken. How bright can she really be? Her job is to turn over whatever letters light up in front of her, smile, and laugh at Pat's jokes. I'm also willing to bet that she needs to be prompted to laugh when Sajak cracks a joke because she can't tell the difference...although that may not be her fault entirely. I've always wondered what is going through her head as the letters light up...

Oooh, there's one! Oooh, another one! Gosh, they're so bright when they light up! Look, there's a V in this one! My name starts with V! I like this game.

I guess I'm being a little rough on America's beloved Vanna. Perhaps I'm a bit jealous of her occupation and subsequent life of luxury all because she can walk and recognize something that lights up at the same time. For all intents and purposes, you win, Vanna. You win.

Love and Hate, Relationships

I hate Gus Johnson. He's ruining the Xavier-OSU game for as I type.

I love the different faces of the Google logo on holidays, etc. Today, the second 'g' is a shamrock. That's because it's St. Patrick's Day. Mhm, it is. Yep.

I hate people that don't say thank you when you hold a door for them, and further, I hate people who don't hold doors open when they clearly know someone is behind them. Fucking assholes. What, you're too good to hold the door for a second?

I REALLY hate Gus Johnson. Why is he talking like that? For those of you watching the game right now, I know you're slightly annoyed, too. I honestly want to mute the television, but that would be weird, wouldn't it?

I love Dunkin' Donuts iced coffee, especially on a cold day. I also love the billboard about the iced coffee on the Mass Pike that suggests 'being cool' by drinking it. I am cool because I drink iced coffee, bitch. You like that?

I love wearing flip-flops in the winter when walking across the street to get the aforementioned iced coffee...and I like having a little smirk on my face like I know something that no one else does. It's a nice feeling to know that people around are just a little uncomfortable because of that smirk.

Why is this guy smirking? Is it me? Is my fly down? Does he think that my girlfriend here is far too good-looking to be with my goofy ass? I don't know-I wish he would stop smirking.

Then again, people probably don't even notice that I'm smirking and I'm just a presumptuous retard. That's far more likely to be the case.

Damn Gus Johnson. Damn him.

I love Marshall's, and for that reason I must go there now to buy shoes for Nate and Thais' wedding tomorrow. Oh my, Nate really is getting married tomorrow. I think it's really funny that every time I've spoken with him since his engagement, we've run through the Sixteen Candles "mallied" exchange between the Donger and Jake:

Jake Ryan: Just get Samantha, all right?

Donger: She not here.

Jake: Don't jerk me around, man. Where is she?

Donger: She got married

Jake: What?

Donger: She at the church. She getting married to oily bohunk.

Jake: Married?

Donger: Married.

Jake: Married?

Donger: Yeah. Married.

Jake: Married?

Donger: Married. Geez!

Well, maybe not the whole exchange, but at least the "married" part...or mallied. Also, 'oily bohunk' is not nearly used enough in everyday life. Oh, speaking of married...

I'm pretty sure Nate's telling Thais that you have to treat cake like a lady...or to "do it", or something.

It was a beautiful ceremony, a lot of fun and just an incredible night overall. There's definitely something to be said about small, quaint weddings with just family and a select few friends there...I think 34 people attended Nate and Thais' wedding and it was a perfect number to represent who they are as a couple and as people. The feel of a small wedding is one of comfort and familiarity and it makes you truly appreciate being able to be a part of something as special as marriage. Thanks for letting me a part of it guys...have yourselves a bun.

I decided to add a few more pictures that characterize the night...and also, one picture of La and my nephew Aaron/Double-A/little man/A-ron who is doing his best Godfather impression. I kind of just felt like he needed to grace my blog for once...

"You take a picture of me? i take your girl to be my own, you undahstand? I can be a bad man if I want to, just remembah that. I am the godnephew."

And finally...one more picture. Look, I just decided that this needed to be a tributary entry in many ways...the first part, not so much...but I started writing this one on Saturday morning so it's a bit helter-skelter. Anyway, the last photo is of Nate, his little sister Maggie, me and his brother Josh...look at his pink hankie. And by the way, that's a velvet blazer. I'm putting this picture up there because at one point, Nate's mom referred to me as her third son...and subsequently referred to Nate as my mom's fourth son...I don't look like a Collins very much though.

Care For A Mint?

I've heard the saying "that's a breath of fresh air" quite a few times over the course of 27 years, 7 months and 10 days. You know what would really be a breath of fresh air? If people with absolutely abhorrent breath actually realized it and did something about it.

I went to lunch today...me and four guys that I work with. Actually, two of them I work with everyday and the other two were in town for a visit; no matter, really. Anyway, when I tell you that I was in the crossfire of three machine guns firing clouds of canned fecal aroma, I am not even coming close to making you understand the vile stench that emanated over the table. What was really just fucking awful about the whole thing was that there were three separate varieties of bad breath involved here.

The first, possessed by the gentleman directly to my left, was that of what I like to refer to as the medicinal variety. It's not overtly bad, and if I had to rate it on a scale of 1-10 (10 being the stinkiest), I'd give it a 6.5. It's tolerable on its own for a few minutes of close contact. But it smells like the person drank some rubbing alcohol and then sucked on a sweaty gym sock for a few minutes. So it has a sour kind of tinge to it, but not in an overpowering sense. In fact I had endured this man's wafted brand for a good while earlier in the day when we chatted about our shirts. I remember actually thinking to myself that this was a variety of bad breath that I am not entirely accustomed to and that it's really not so terrible if only for a minute or two.

The next guy had that breath that can only occur to someone who breathes with his mouth open at all times. It's a very dry smell but it's overpowering and pungent. it didn't exactly cancel out guy #1's breath...on the contrary, it left it much more potent. And for some reason, he was breathing really heavily and seemingly blowing it in my direction. That may sound ludicrous, but he was facing me in his end-of-table chair and i could feel his exhales on my face at times. The worst of it is, he was picking up the trail of the two other breath offerings on the way to my nose, thus creating that rare 3-in-1 halitosis hurricane that destroyed everything in its path. His breath gets an 8 on the scale, simply for portability. When you can so easily spread the virus, it makes it that much worse. And finally...

The third and final piece to this smelly puzzle is what's known as shit breath. It's what might prompt one of your co-workers to ask the person possessing this breath if he indeed ate a shit sandwich for breakfast. ("Whatcha have fuh breffis, son? A shit sandwich?") I mean, literally, there's got to be a literal piece of dog shit under your tongue for your breath to be that bad. And this guy at the table had such breath...such breath that could choke a fucking donkey in the words of the immortal Fat Bastard. I don't understand how someone whose breath is THIS bad can not realize the caustic nature of his/her breath. It would seem to me that someone would really have to forgo brushing his teeth and pretty much every form of oral hygiene known to man in order to produce such a foul smell. This breath gets a 10 on the scale because it smells like literal shit. And bad shit, like I drank all night and at taco bell at 4am, then got up and puked and shit at the same time.

The amalgamation of these three genres concocts a smell so foul...so nasty...so nose-crinkling, that you have no choice but to turn the other way and ignore each person. And be sure not to let these guys near your car because they'll strip the finish right off of it.

Now if you'll all excuse me, I'm gonna eat a mint.

Die, Seacrest. Die!

Simply because a common plague in my industry is referred to as having a 'dirty hole', I hear a lot of innuendo over the course of the day. The 'dirty hole' is caused by caustic polymers that a lot of my customers extrude to make whatever it is they make and they often run into issues with the reliability and accuracy of their process because their polymer will corrode/abrase/fuck up their shit. Thus, they've got a dirty hole. There's nothing like talking to one of the scientists in the lab at Cal-Berkeley (most of whom are women) and saying "Ahhh, yes. This is nothing more than you having the classic dirty hole, Vanessa." The response can be so priceless when you say this to someone...

Scientist: "Um, dirty hole? I'm sorry? That sounds quite alarming and equally unsettling."

Me: (snickering) "Yes, yes...the old dirty hole. Not what you think though...I would never suggest that you have a filthy, rotten vagina. I'm referring to your thread holes...you're using polystyrene and it's too abrasive for your threading. Thus, you have a dirty hole."

It never ceases to amaze how much innuendo is truly out there and how often people either don't recognize it, or simply pass on a perfectly good opportunity to burst into laughter or add some off-the-cuff remark and make someone uncomfortable. Something recently overheard that could have been taken advantage of and wasn't...

Mailroom conversation between nasty lady at work and mailroom guy:

"Is that mine? Yeah ok, just throw it in my box. I haven't taken anything out of it in a while as you'll see, but just stuff in in there. I don't mind."

The mailroom dude failed miserably and didn't say a thing back. He could have said: "Oh, I bet there's plenty of room...I'm sure you've got a huge box."

Moving on, I caught a portion of American Idol last night...not my choice, but I watched and took in the show that, to most people, is my 24...can't miss and look forward to from Monday night at 10pm until it's on again. I still don't get it. What is the big draw to this show?

Is American Idol not a perfect little microcosm of why certain Middle-Eastern, Islamic cultures despise us with such unbridled passion? You're damn right it is. Last night, some average-looking white girl butchered a Diana Ross tune and then proceeded to cry tears of thanks and joy when the much-maligned but more maligning Simon Cowell told her that he was impressed with her composure and presence on stage and didn't think the poor quality of the performance really mattered too much. Well, thanks be to Lord Cowell! God save the man who may have preserved her shot at having the whole country wish they were her! How can she produce enough tears to show him that she's so very thankful that she could still be in the running to make enough money to sit around and get fat, then lose weight, then get fat, then lose weight, then get fat, then lose weight just like Mariah Carey? Me! Me! Me! I want people to be me and you, Simon, have preserved that chance!

Maybe a better course of action for the US would be to broadcast American Idol 24/7 in the streets on Iraq, on on the airwaves of public radio/tv in Afghanistan. My parents watch that show, I know they do. And they probably really like it and my mom is just really pulling for that handsome boy who reminds her of a young version of my dad to win this week and oh, they're singing Neil Diamond songs! We must DVR this one! I don't care. I hate this show more than a Very Brady Christmas. It fucking sucks, especially when they push Friday Night Lights back a week in order to run a 2-hour episode in its place. Ryan Seacrest should be executed in front of the entire mass of people who watch American Idol and then they should ask the audience to vote on whether or not they think he really has a vagina under there. I bet he does.

Gator Hater

I've been thinking a lot lately...about why I sometimes have these really long processes of thought with a consistent theme, and why sometimes I have several hundred thought strands that never materialize into anything more than a line or two, maybe a quip and then a question like "ever thought about that?" or "know what I mean?" To tell you the truth, I annoy myself sometimes because of these inconsistencies but there's really nothing I can do about it. Look, you're brain's either in one frame of mind or another and to fuck if I can really send it in certain directions.

That being said, I'm having another one of those really scatter-brained days but I have also found that some of my best ideas come out of these hodgepodges. That reminds me...anyone seen that Honda Element ad with the platypus who uses the word hodgepodge? The Element ads are very funny. Thus, I have begun a new amalgam of random thoughts. Ergo...

I fucking love the Slowsky's. Ipso facto, I would love to be writing for Comcast but only the Slowsky's commercials. You know the one where they're in Hawaii and the wife is talking...you can see Bill Slowsky start to nod off and then all of a sudden he breaks into a full snore. It gets me every time. But there just aren't enough clever, funny commercials on anymore. The Southwest 'Wanna Get Away' campaign has legs but I feel they could be so much more edgy and creative. How about this: a skinny white kid is walking through an all-black neighborhood. As he passes a huge family cookout (unknowingly) he's conversing about jelly beans with his girlfriend. You hear her talking about how she only likes the black ones and the dude yells "Oh, I hate the blacks!" He then looks up and notices where is and everyone is glaring at him...'Wanna Get Away?'

My boy B sent around another blog link (http://lioninoil.blogspot.com/2007/03/this-just-in-joakim-noah-is-douche.html ) this morning about Joakim Noah, and I was going to write about this yesterday and just kind of spazzed the idea. Anyway, nice work B. If you saw Noah's dance following the SEC Championship game, you know what we're all talking about here. He did that 'whipping the bull' dance-thing and then the 'slapping the ass' dance-thing on the court, post-game, as if they'd won the National Championship. I'm not even sure he acted with such abandon last year when they actually did win the National Title, but as Lion In Oil pointed out, Noah needs to act like he's been there before, not like a walk-on freshman who hasn't played more than a minute all season that somehow had to play in this game and ended up winning it for them in OT at the buzzer. I mean, I'm all for Noah making an ass out of himself because I despise him as a person. I don't know where he gets off doing that little 'shame on you' thing during gameplay, but dude, you're not Mutombo. You're not even that good this year, as you've underachieved and underproduced all season. Statistically he was a better player last season and his stock has gone down for the NBA Draft from last year. I'm not saying I hope he fails in life or anything, but he should be a little more humble and mature this season.

Well, last night was the first meeting between the Sox and Yanks this season...all be it Spring Training and such. But here's a highlight worth making note of: JD Drew hit his first HR of the Spring in the game...one that the Sox won, 7-5. Again, Spring Training and blah blah blah, but hey...if you're gonna hit HR's, hit them against the Yankees, would you JD? Seriously, I was thinking about his spot the other day and what it must be like to hit 5th in an order that features the best 3-4 combination in the history of baseball (arguably, I know). He's gotta be the luckiest man alive, especially when you look at the production from that spot last year...it's pretty non-existent. The opportunity for him to shut people up and have a MONSTER year is so large...and let's not forget that JD Drew is still a really good ballplayer behind all the criticism and scoffing. He could very well make or break our team this season...and that's a lot of pressure for a new guy in Boston. And that could suck.

Anagram Slam Jam

Amidst a flurry of Ray Allen silky-smooth J's last night during the C's-Sonics game, Doc Rivers decided to pull a little nifty name-game with Ray-Ray...here's what may have gone through his head as he watched Allen taking over:

Hmm...how can I stop Ray Allen...how can I-Oh shit, what if I put Allen Ray on him? I'm pretty sure that if anyone can stop Ray Allen, it's the guy who has the opposite name. Wow, and they want to fire me here? I'm a fucking genius.

Thus, Allen Ray entered and virtually shut Allen down and the C's went on to win by 15. This marked the first victory by the C's in a game that I've been at in nearly 2 seasons, but I have to say that no matter the outcome of the game, there's never a shortage of fun to be had at the Garden. For one, the gritty, pasty Brian Scalabrine will never leave you short of emotion at a game. Whether your cheering his hustle, ogling his stroke from downtown, ogling his remarkably unathletic physique, steaming at his inability to look like a basketball player-much less play like one-or laughing at all of the above, he's entertaining. The guy in front of us loved our commentary...

"Ohhh, come on Scal! You're better than that."

-or-

"Doc! Get Scal OUT OF THE GAME! NOW!"

-or-

"Whoa, who was that awkward looking white man burying a j in your eye? It was Scal. Mhm."

Closing thought on the C's game...Petro for the Sonics has the biggest feet ever. EVER.

As we all know, the brackets were released yesterday evening. I just read through Bob Ryan's synopsis of the seedings and it's pretty clear that 'Bracketology' and all the hype surrounding it is not his favorite subject. Don't bother reading that article from today's Globe is all I'm saying. But I'm sure you all heard Boeheim crying about 'Cuse not getting in, but you can't go 3-7 against the RPI top 50. There's not much more to say about that. Xavier got in, which infuriates me because that would suggest that all Umass had to do was beat St. Louis in the 2nd round of the A-10 Tournament and they'd probably be in. Instead they'll face an underachieving Alabama team in the NIT. Listen, take a look at the NIT brackets if you haven't yet. There are some pretty intriguing matchups in there: Drexel v. NC State, K-State v. Vermont and Bradley v. Providence...not to mention a final game that could very well pit West Virginia against Clemson...the same Clemson that started the season as the last undefeated team in the country at 17-0. There's a gut-wrencher for Tiger fans.

I love incentive -laden contracts. The signing of Dante Stallworth this weekend could turn out to cost the Pats 3.6 million dollars for the 2007 season but only if he does what we want him to do: be a #1 receiver, act like it and play like it. Rosenhaus' drawn-up contract is a work of art, especially if you're Stallworth. This guy now plays for a the AFC favorite to represent the conference in SB XVII, he'll be lead on the field by the best QB in the game (and the one with most potent semen) and he's going to be playing in Foxborough where, if he succeeds and plays hard, he will be adored by week 4 of the preseason. Not a bad deal and that's not even mentioning what he stands to make in '08 if he has a good year in 2007. The guy is only 26 and he really has nothing to lose in my opinion. He has been given a golden ticket to Belichick's chocolate factory...as long he doesn't pull an Augustus and get stuck sucking, he should be a good fit here.

I watched a bit of Good Will Hunting this weekend and it got me thinking; what the hell does one have to do to be brought up on a mayhem charge? Mayhem is some pretty bad shit as far as I know, but all I can think of is some dude running around with a bandanna and bullet-proof clothing, lighting everything in sight on fire, blowing shit up and yelling really loudly. That would be absolute mayhem, wouldn't it now? Can someone tell me what would translate into being brought in for mayhem? Also, try using the word 'corpuscle' in your everyday vocabulary today. For instance, if you get a sandwich at lunch, ask for a corpuscle of mayonnaise.

Here's my Final Four:

Wisconsin v. Kansas

Texas v. Ohio State

Kansas will beat the Badgers and Texas will beat the Buckeyes (as Durant shows Oden who the best freshman in the country and best player in the country is) and we see a rematch of that awesome Big 12 Championship in the National Title Game.

Sweet Revenge

I got to thinking about revenge this morning, on account of two incidents that were reported to me over the last 12 hours. I tell you, people do some pretty weird shit when they're pissed off and have the opportunity to fuck up someone's shit.

From a poker game conversation last night, there was a story told about a buddy of mine who had this roommate in college that dipped a lot; or chewed, whatever. Anyway, apparently the roommate got into the habit of leaving his spitters (spitter: any empty container used for disposing of gathered spittle from chewing tobacco or dip) on my buddy's night table. After several failed attempts at trying to get his roommate to stop leaving his spitters on his night table, he decided that best course of action would be to dispose of his phlegmy, clammy lungies in this dude's tins of dip. Surely, when the dude went to pack the tin, the loogie would be absorbed into the tobacco and eventually consumed. Gross, yes. But a great act of revenge.

Another incident was reported just a few hours ago and to save any implications of which friend this might be, it wasn't Carl. You're welcome. Anyway, this is a story about a guy who lives a in fucking fantasy world to begin with. Somehow, he lives consequence free in a pretty risky environment that he creates for himself. I love it though, because there's never any shortage of stories and mishaps that result from his debauchery. Let me go back a week or so here...he had set up some sort of date with a girl that he had seen before, I think went on one date with...and they had set up another meeting in which she was to meet him at his place and they would go from there. She subsequently arrived in a trench coat and heels and NOTHING ELSE. No, they didn't make it to dinner nor anywhere else that night. From the recount of the story, there ensued a night of unadulterated fornication and pretty much nothing else. Moving on, my buddy got up very early the next day to skip town on holiday and left his prey asleep in his bed. First off, this was a risky move in my opinion...you just never know with someone you have only had a few dates with, even if you may or may not work with her. So he goes on this trip and arrives home a week later and opens his apartment to what he described as the smell of "stinky sex". After settling in a bit, he goes to take a piss in his bathroom and finds a week-old shit sitting there...unflushed. A few moments later, he found a single woman's shoe at the foot of his bed that had not been there when he left town (as the story goes, the girl found this lone shoe and inferred a prior female visitor...therefore setting her off). Do the math. I guess it's ok to leave a heap of excrement in someone's toilet if you're pissed at them.

Hang on...before I go on, I have to comment on one thing...my buddy refers to the smell in his apartment as one of "stinky sex". Now, I'm not going to infer too much here, but I'm not accustomed to my room smelling like human excrement following intercourse. And again, ALL INFERENCE ASIDE, but I would have to assume that perhaps something different played out in his apartment that morning...something out of her control. I'll explain...

I believe there to be some sort of medical phenomenon where one could experience uncontrollable defecation following a bout of anal intercourse...that is, if the person had something brewing when he/she engaged in the act in the first place. It could be that my pal's partner experienced this anal exodus as a result of their night of fun, but in a panic, she fled the scene without realizing that the toilet didn't flush because of the mass of toilet paper she left in the bowl. Maybe she never knew that it was a floater.

Well, I'm getting nauseous from writing about this so I'm putting down the electronic pen for now. Anyone else have any drawn conclusions that might offer a better explanation as to why a young lass might leave such an unholy gift in the latrine of a lover?

I'd also like to hear some good stories of revenge if you have them. I can see a future top 10 Acts of Revenge list being spawned from this.

Here's to hoping your day is filled with empty toilets and good-smelling apartments.

Anyone? Anyone?

Why are there so many fruity metaphors for women? Perhaps your girl is a real peach, or maybe she's got some melons on her...could be she's just the apple of your eye. I like the animal references that are used for women...you know, she's a real fox, she's a minx, I bet she's a fucking cougar, oh good lord she's a beast, she's a cow...some lesser known references that have come out of my friend's mouths are sasquatch, giraffe, lion and bigfoot. Oddly, I think they were all referring to the same girl...eeeeeeee.

I was 'that guy' this morning at the toll booth. I got about a thousand yards from the booth and realized that I didn't have any money. So I scrounged as much as I could while slowly approaching the attendant and I came up with about 55 cents. I then spent a good 3 minutes looking around my entire car to find that last 45 cents to complete the dollar. I was actually so mad at myself that I tried to go slow enough out of the toll so that the guy behind me could pass alongside me and see that I was apologizing...because I know that if I was him, I'd be pulling some Spy Hunter shit at that point.

Has anyone ever known anyone cool that's also named Doug?

Anyone read or hear about the plane crash that Rulon Gardner was in recently? If not, here: http://sports.espn.go.com/oly/news/story?id=2789548&lpos=spotlight&lid=tab6pos1 This is some pretty astonishing shit...I was fucking freezing last night on my walk from dinner back to La's apartment...all of about a hundred yards. Gardner and his buddies had to swim for 2.5 HOURS in 44 degree water before spending the night in 25° temperatures on a deserted beach. I officially feel like a douchebag for complaining about the cold weather after being outside for 2 minutes.

Anger Management

If only real life were like Spy Hunter. It's apparent to me that my bad moods are almost always spawned on my drive to work in the morning. Granted I listen to Dennis and Callahan and their political views positively make my blood boil, but their sports commentary and the 20/20 Sports Flash are what keep me interested. They were interviewing Adalius Thomas this morning at 9am but that's far too late for me...I would really have loved to hear that interview. Anyway, I digress..the morning commute and how it pertains to my anger. And how it pertains to Spy Hunter and why we could all use some of that in real life to make things a little more bearable.

This morning carried a prime example of why I get so pissed when I'm driving. You should know that no matter where I am going, I'm in the passing lane because the fools on the inside always go the exact speed limit. I can't hang with these people because I am really fucking impatient. It has nothing to do with me needing to go fast. I drive a Saturn, for Christ's sake. I just can't stand to be driving any longer than I should be at any given time. And I drive a lot. Here's what sets me off. This morning I'm in my usual position in the Mass Turnpike...travelling at about 80mph in the passing lane and settled into the usual flow of traffic on any given morning. Enter asshole in black Chrysler 300M behind me, with Delaware plates. From the SECOND he started to tail me I knew I was going to end up fuming at this d-bag.

So he tails me for a solid mile or two, but there's nowhere for me to go. I'm not going to move into the right lane because I'd never get back into the passing due to the long line of cars behind me. And I can't speed up any more because I'd end up in the back seat of the Honda Accord in front of me. So I let captain dicklips tail me until I can see that I can move into the right lane and keep my speed for a ½ mile or so. I figure this way, he'll just tail the guy in front of me until he moves and so on. But not the case. He follows me into the right lane after seeing there's nowhere he can go if he stays in the passing lane and he tails me again. Up goes the first bird of the morning, and it's not of the g-rated variety. I was already steamed by now, so I held the wheel with my left hand, turned fully around in my seat, looked right at the prick and fired a strong bird in his direction. He actually got off me a bit after this, but crept back up shortly thereafter. He then passed me on the left at first opportunity and looked into my car. You guessed...second bird of the day rears itself, but only now it was the classic double bird with eye contact. Have a nice day, dipshit.

Here's where Spy Hunter comes into play. Remember that game? How you could leave oil slicks for those fuckers? Or shoot missiles at them? Picture yourself driving along and some d-bag gets all up on you. You load a special CD into your CD player and before you know it, Peter Gunn is blasting through your speakers and you're in full-on spy mode. Before long, you spot the weapons van ahead of you and you make your move up the ramp to get those fucking missiles and the smoke screen. Before long, you're on the asshole's tail and firing huge fucking missiles at the back of his ride and next thing you know, his car explodes and he dies instantly. Ipso Facto, no more bad mood. Problem solved with a little Spy Hunter on your morning commute.

Tuesday Tidbits:

I love the Wes Welker pickup by the Pats. This guys has been on the NFL's All-Unsung Team for the last two seasons and he's going to help us in a few areas...he'll give us another return option since Maro-ro will be the #1 TB, he'll give us a great hitch route runner and he's extremely reliable on 3rd downs. I'm not so thrilled about what we gave up, but hey. We all make sacrifices.

Gerald Henderson is such a bitch. If you saw the play against Tyler Hansbrough, you know what I'm talking about. And granted, I've hated Duke basketball for years but this was so far beyond an intentional foul. He should be out for the season, in my opinion. I wasn't aware that you lead with your elbow when you go to block a shot, Coack K. It's one thing to defend your players, but it's another thing to defend a huge pussy who doesn't know how to play the game the right way.

That new show 'The Winner' is actually worth a viewing if you get a chance. After one minute of it, I turned to La and made a comment about how bad it was, but after the first full episode, I laughed genuinely several times and the same can be said for the second episode.

***Cambodian Jungle Woman Update***

Hector Rifa of Psychologists without Borders and University of Oviedo (Spanish News), said the woman "made some words" and smiled in response to a game involving toy animals and a mirror.

I'm sorry, toy animals and a mirror? I'm curious, were the toy animals actually bags of a white, powdery substance? If not, what the fuck game were they playing? Cambodians are kinda weird.

In Like a Lion...

Yeah, not really. March kind of came in like a lion on heroin, if you ask me. Case in point, today's 'blizzard' turned out to be rain and wind...you know, I'm sorry if you're a meteorologist, but who the fuck needs these people? Yes, people make this argument probably every day because it is so fucking rare that the weatherperson is actually accurate...but seriously. How do you study weather patterns and such for so many years only to be continually fooled by erratic storms and a fickle sun? Well, I'm not a scholar by any stretch of the imagination but listen...why not just get up there and say something resembling the following:

"Ok, and now for today's AccuWeather Forecast...let's see, looks like there's a chance of this enormous storm barreling through the city and dropping a foot of snow within two hours. There's also a chance that it might not even come close to coming through the city...in fact, there's a great chance that it might be sunny and unseasonably warm today. Who the fucks knows?! You know, if you're paying any mind to my weather report, you might as well know that when I'm done here at Channel 7, I travel across town to Channel 9 and give a weather report as well, only it's the exact opposite of what I tell the people who watch Channel 7. This way, at least I have a 50/50 shot of being right and that's more than any other meteorologist can say. Tune in tomorrow morning, as I will be letting my three year-old son predict the weekend weather. And then next week's weather will feature me talking dirty to a stripper with the voice of Al Roker patched over it, giving the weather report." Bottom line, if this is 'in like a lion', 'out like a lamb' should consist of something like 75° days, pure sunshine, parasols falling from the sky and the occasional storm but instead of rain, there will be Malibu rum coming down.

I was thumbing through my phone this morning and I picked out the top 5 text messages I have received thus far in 2007...as follows:

5. (2/18 at 5:19pm) From: Nate

"Brady planted the seed in Moynihan, now she owns his soul, which leads me to my next point..."Wrap it up, keeeeeeeed!" (keeeeed is our version of kid)

4. (2/17 at 3:57am) From: Yost

"P-U-double S-why. Because I love it. Much love, player."

(dude I went to college with...haven't spoken to him in 5 years, but he texts me every time he gets laid. Honestly. He calls himself the Pussyman, yet i've only received about 8 texts in 5 years. If you call yourself Pussyman, you'd best be living in pussy, my friend.)

3. (2/4 at 11:46am) From: Nate

"The Portuguese word for turkey is peru, also slang used for the male genitalia, as in 'how's your little peru doing?'"

2. (1/13 at 2:58pm) From: Richie

"Hey guys, 'Dunston Checks In' is about to start on Showtime! You down to order up a couple pizza pies and watch it at my pad?" (1st reference to 'Dunston Checks In' I've ever heard, by the way)

1. (1/1 at 8:24am) From: Gza, aka G-Money

"Woke up at some random chick's place after getting no ass...decided to walk home, little did I know it was raining..an hour later, I made it home. The next 364 will hopefully be a lot better."

Some incredible shit right there, and I had to sift through 477 texts to find these gems. I'm considering saving all of the texts for the year and posting a top 10 next January. On another front, I got the 'Motorin' sing-along going again this morning. I was feeling a little down because of the massive amounts of rain and thought it would help...it sure did. It's especially awesome when one of the executives walks by my cube, mid-song, and says "Wow, Night Ranger? Incredible." I also got yelled at this morning for not knowing that Germany doesn't use the mark as currency anymore...I have got to travel more.

Ok, time to go..."Love Hurts" is playing and I have to walk by customer service. This is the point in the day where they all reminisce about that last time they got any ass...which subsequently was in 1974. Yes, love hurts, but so does celibacy, no?

Have a special weekend.