I've taken some time to reflect on 2007 and I'm realizing that my mother was actually right this time. She told me about a year ago that 2007 would be MY year, for whatever reason. I'm not exactly sure what 'my year' meant, but I can say with absolute certainty that this was the best year I've had in probably 10 years.
Looking back 10 years, I was in high school and living out those days with little to no responsibility, playing sports constantly and I was in really good shape. Then I went to college, became kind of fat, borderline alcoholic, prone to smoking weed on a regular basis and a host of other things that probably don't deserve any mention. But who's counting? Isn't this essentially what college is for? As an 18 year-old kid who had lived a fairly sheltered life up until college, it wasn't exactly difficult for me to go catapulting into that black hole of mischief and malaise. Alas, here I sit at 28 and I'm back at the weight I was in high school. This only bears mention because at the start of 2007 I weighed in at a chunky 197lbs. This morning I was 167. That's right bitch, 167 pounds and I'm proud of it. I turned a new leaf in 2007, and it was a giant fucking leaf.
I don't know why, exactly, that I waited as long as I did to try and regain some form of fitness and health. Oh wait, yes I do. Because implementing an entirely new and challenging way of life into my routine is akin to passing a stone (or so I would imagine). No matter now, because it's done. I think Christmas was most indicative of my current state of being, as was manifested in some of the gifts I received: health-conscious cookbooks and a gift certificate to a running store that ultimately paid for my new running shoes. Really good stuff there, and elsewhere in the presents, too...but those are representative of the new me, I guess.
Enough about my metamorphosis, because I'm sure you're all just tickled pink that I've found this new path. I'm done talking about that for the year. I'll move onto the year in sports, but I'll keep it nice and terse for all of you non-sports fans. Besides, I'm sure there will be a much more in depth analysis of the year in sports on Hammen's blog over the next week or so. (no pressure, bud...but get it done) I can turn to Christmas gifts as a fair representation of 2007 in Boston sports once again. As a way to bring my father back down to earth from his Red Sox & Patriots euphoric utopia, my oldest brother Chris presented him with a pin from the 1986 Super Bowl and a blown up photo of Buckner and the infamous ground ball off the bat of Mookie Wilson in 1986. What a year that was, indeed. I thought these were the most creative gifts of the holiday season, especially coming from Chris. He's not what you might call a "sports fan"; at least not in the traditional sense. But he know exactly what might conjure up past turmoil in the eyes and heart of our father. That being said, I don't think my dad gives a shit anymore. I already know that the highlight of his current vacation in Florida occurred on the 4th day of the trip, when he was able to watch the Pursuit of Perfection in his motorhome...something that was previously thought impossible due to the NFL Network. I'll say this about 2007 for Boston sports fans: I might not deserve this success, nor may thousands and thousands of other fans in this area and nation-wide who are currently living the proverbial dream as a result of said success. But for the older generations, such as that of my father and other baby boomers...they deserve this. They went through far more than I have in terms of disappointment and misery. (hang in there, Cubs fans. It'll happen.)
The past year brought some certain high points for me in the travel category. When all is said and done for 2007, my feet will have stepped foot in the following states: MA, CT, NY, NH, ME, VT, OH, IN, CA, NV and PR. PR is technically the 52nd state...Guam being the 51st. That's not too bad, especially considering I went to Cali three times over the course of the year. PR was the best trip by far, though. It was my 28th birthday gift from Lauren along with a few other things and it was the best birthday present to date. Thanks baby.
2007 was a momentous year for this blog, too. Hell, I made and kept plans with some dude from North Dakota that I know as a result of our blogs. Because of that, I have corresponded with some fine, young men who make their homes in various parts of our country. I gotta say that those friends are much more manageable than local friends of any variety because there's never any pressure to see or contact them. Cheers, boys. And Ben, I'm waiting for the re-ship on the Very Schneweis Holiday 2007. And to the rest of you blogworld inhabitants...Bowen, Ponch, DVJS, D-Lo, Alex, Hambone, Lovetron, Tallman from ND...Happy New Year. Here's hoping we all continue to litter the virtual literary world with non-sensical babble for another year.
To the various and sundry category, I've got new outlooks on so many new things because of 2007. I now pay close attention to every urinal I piss in; I have a great, new appreciation for breasts and breast cancer (you know who you are, Ms "feel this and tell Lauren what it's like"); I've now been to 2 Sox Playoff games and both were walk-off Sox wins; I've successfully orchestrated a charity event and attended two other fancy ones; I've learned to be ok with the love of my life loving another man (even if he is 4 years old); I've greatly expanded my horizons in terms of sushi that I am willing to eat; I've parted ways with red meat and pork and also my jiggly gut and puffy thighs; I don't smoke anything anymore; I know a good amount more about wine, albeit only red wine and it's really not that much at all...just a lot more than before this year...that might be it.
I think I'm ready for 2008, as I prepare to enter my final year of being in my twenties. Man, now I'm not so sure that I'm ready for 2008. That prospect alone is a shitty one at best.
Some goals for 2008:
Go to France, trim down to a lean 160 by the summer, be able to bench 200lbs at least 5 times, make 100k and one more thing that I don't feel like mentioning on here because it's not necessary. If I can do all these things in 2008, it will surpass 2007 as the best year of my life.
Good luck to you all on your resolutions and remember: make enough of them so that even if you only accomplish a couple of them, you can still view those as successes. And listen, don't go getting too fucked up tonight, whoever you are.
31 December 2007
26 December 2007
Tidings of Boredom and Complacency
Ahh yes, the day after Christmas in the working world. It's days like these that allow me to sit at my desk with no regard for anyone else in the office, simply because there's really no one else in the office to regard. I'm pretty sure someone in the lobby of the building could hear Zeppelin's The Ocean emanating from my desktop speakers (which I stole from someone else who's not here today), but the lobby is and will remain empty throughout the day.
another hiatus...
I've got to stop taking these breaks between paragraphs...it's killing my train of thought, which is entirely different today than it was when I began to write this post on Wednesday. I've got no reason as to why I haven't been able to finish this post since I began to write it. These last three work days have been positively fruitless from a business standpoint. I suppose plenty of people are off this week and the rest of us who have chosen to go into work are battling those holiday hangovers that accompany the typical three and four-day marathons of family, food and fun. I'm not talking about actual hangovers from booze, because I didn't consume too much alcohol during the marathon this year. I'm talking about the hangover that comes as a result of catching up with so many people...eating so much crap...driving all over the map.
Oh, that reminds me...I need to welcome another reader to the blog. This is someone who has felt it necessary to hide his identity on the blog for the last several months, although he has only commented a couple times. Cousin Brian...the one cousin I have that is just about my age. You do understand that since your identity has been revealed, you need to comment as such from here on in? Well, I suppose I am jumping the gun here, assuming that you actually read this with any regularity. But if you choose to comment again, I hope I can expect to see some sort of alias that suggests it's you. Either way, thanks for reading, B. Welcome, and good luck wherever grad school accepts you.
Speaking of my cousin Brian, I'd like to add that he is a part of one instance in my childhood that I wish I could have back again...one stretch of about three minutes that I want to do over again. See, being that we were about the same age and from neighboring towns, we had the opportunity to play against each other in a Little League game one summer when I was 11 and he was 12. This was the age group that plays to get to Williamsport, or the LLWS. It was a big deal to me back then...to be an All-Star second basemen and on a team of really good players. Anyway, I was a reserve on my team and Brian was probably the best player on his. It also happened that he was a pitcher above all else, and he indeed pitched for his Salem National squad against my Beverly East squad. All you need to know as a reader is that the opening paragraph of the article in the local news the next day was something like "Chad Benoit struck out on three pitches against his cousin Brian Benoit in Salem National's win over Beverly East in District 15 action last night, but he shouldn't feel bad..." The writer was saying that I shouldn't feel bad because B struck out everyone on my team that evening, sending us to the Loser's Bracket (where we would eventually lose in the final round) of the tournament.
Well, I want that at-bat back. I want it back so I can get a better look at that first-pitch fastball instead of being all nervous and overwhelmed by the situation. I want it back so I don't watch the second fastball whizz by me, just as my knees stopped shaking. And finally...and most of all...I want that fucking third pitch back. That off speed junk that was served up, which I missed badly. Whaddya say, Bri? Me, you, a bat and a ball and field...rematch. You up for it?
I think that's all I have for today/the last three days. I'm kinda thinking that all the shit that's in my brain right now might be on lockdown because it's not coming out. Oh, here's one thing...
La and I had drinks and appetizers at the upstairs bar at the Four Seasons in Boston a week or so ago, and the urinal at this place was phenomenal. It was like pissing into a giant salad bowl, but the beauty of it was the angle of the bowl. It was tilted ever so slightly forward, so that all streams could gently deflect off the inside lip of the bowl and spray harmlessly outward...not back towards you. I tried to take a photo with my phone but to no avail. Regardless, I was really pleased with that urinal.
another hiatus...
I've got to stop taking these breaks between paragraphs...it's killing my train of thought, which is entirely different today than it was when I began to write this post on Wednesday. I've got no reason as to why I haven't been able to finish this post since I began to write it. These last three work days have been positively fruitless from a business standpoint. I suppose plenty of people are off this week and the rest of us who have chosen to go into work are battling those holiday hangovers that accompany the typical three and four-day marathons of family, food and fun. I'm not talking about actual hangovers from booze, because I didn't consume too much alcohol during the marathon this year. I'm talking about the hangover that comes as a result of catching up with so many people...eating so much crap...driving all over the map.
Oh, that reminds me...I need to welcome another reader to the blog. This is someone who has felt it necessary to hide his identity on the blog for the last several months, although he has only commented a couple times. Cousin Brian...the one cousin I have that is just about my age. You do understand that since your identity has been revealed, you need to comment as such from here on in? Well, I suppose I am jumping the gun here, assuming that you actually read this with any regularity. But if you choose to comment again, I hope I can expect to see some sort of alias that suggests it's you. Either way, thanks for reading, B. Welcome, and good luck wherever grad school accepts you.
Speaking of my cousin Brian, I'd like to add that he is a part of one instance in my childhood that I wish I could have back again...one stretch of about three minutes that I want to do over again. See, being that we were about the same age and from neighboring towns, we had the opportunity to play against each other in a Little League game one summer when I was 11 and he was 12. This was the age group that plays to get to Williamsport, or the LLWS. It was a big deal to me back then...to be an All-Star second basemen and on a team of really good players. Anyway, I was a reserve on my team and Brian was probably the best player on his. It also happened that he was a pitcher above all else, and he indeed pitched for his Salem National squad against my Beverly East squad. All you need to know as a reader is that the opening paragraph of the article in the local news the next day was something like "Chad Benoit struck out on three pitches against his cousin Brian Benoit in Salem National's win over Beverly East in District 15 action last night, but he shouldn't feel bad..." The writer was saying that I shouldn't feel bad because B struck out everyone on my team that evening, sending us to the Loser's Bracket (where we would eventually lose in the final round) of the tournament.
Well, I want that at-bat back. I want it back so I can get a better look at that first-pitch fastball instead of being all nervous and overwhelmed by the situation. I want it back so I don't watch the second fastball whizz by me, just as my knees stopped shaking. And finally...and most of all...I want that fucking third pitch back. That off speed junk that was served up, which I missed badly. Whaddya say, Bri? Me, you, a bat and a ball and field...rematch. You up for it?
I think that's all I have for today/the last three days. I'm kinda thinking that all the shit that's in my brain right now might be on lockdown because it's not coming out. Oh, here's one thing...
La and I had drinks and appetizers at the upstairs bar at the Four Seasons in Boston a week or so ago, and the urinal at this place was phenomenal. It was like pissing into a giant salad bowl, but the beauty of it was the angle of the bowl. It was tilted ever so slightly forward, so that all streams could gently deflect off the inside lip of the bowl and spray harmlessly outward...not back towards you. I tried to take a photo with my phone but to no avail. Regardless, I was really pleased with that urinal.
13 December 2007
When You're Strange
Or maybe that title should read "When I'm Strange". I'm not sure about that one yet, but I'll keep you informed. Ok, I'm pretty sure I'm strange. The whole "It's All French To Me" is just a different way to purport that I'm kind of a weirdo, deep down. Stay tuned to see if I decide to change the title of the blog to simply "I'm Weird". Then again, I feel as though "weird" is all relative. It's not like I'm out there molesting family pets or something. I do, however, like to think that I have unconventional thoughts that occur in my brain on a daily basis. My blog is my vehicle for these thoughts.
I get in these moods sometimes...such moods that make it so that I will make an effort to strike up a conversation with anyone who I encounter over the course of a day. Not people in the street that I pass necessarily, or people in the elevator. I mean, it could be these people, for sure. But it varies. I just find it incredibly amusing to test people that you don't know and that don't know you.
Lunch lines are a good place to make off-the-cuff remarks to those around you. Depending on what others order and maybe what you order, this can be a good way to spur on a random remark. "Yeah, that looks healthy." You can say this to pretty much anyone who orders something revoltingly unhealthy, wherever you're eating. (you can say this to anyone at Boloco) I've only done this once, and it was more of an oral vomit situation in this case. I didn't mean to say it, really. But I did and thankfully, the guy wasn't pissed off. He replied, "Well, it's Friday and I'm hungover. So it's fine." Well played, well played. I think most would concur that hangovers breed unhealthy, greasy food cravings. Another good one in a food line is as follows: when the person in front of you orders something really whacky with all sorts of modifications like "hold this" and "add this" and "no tomatoes" and "extra sprouts", say to him or her "Oh my god, I was going to order the same, exact thing!" Without fail, he or she will say "really?" Then you say, "no, not really" and proceed to order whatever you were going to get. You get weird looks, but whoever hears it will laugh.
I also like to talk to people who are walking around outside during incredibly inclement weather. This morning, for instance, it was 15° in the city as I walked to my office. The reported wind chill was right at 0°, so it was frigid. For some reason, people seem to be a lot less guarded, maybe because that sort of thing (weather) bonds people together. Like, everyone has the mentality that we're all in this thing together, and we can all sympathize with each other. I was beaten to the punch this morning, as I approached a meter maid. I had literally removed my hood just before I passed this woman on the street and she says to me "Where's your hat?" Keep in mind, she says this as we pass each other. So I reply, "I have a hood." But as I mentioned, I had just taken it off. So she remarks "Put it on!" What could I do or say? I put on the fucking hood.
I get in these moods sometimes...such moods that make it so that I will make an effort to strike up a conversation with anyone who I encounter over the course of a day. Not people in the street that I pass necessarily, or people in the elevator. I mean, it could be these people, for sure. But it varies. I just find it incredibly amusing to test people that you don't know and that don't know you.
Lunch lines are a good place to make off-the-cuff remarks to those around you. Depending on what others order and maybe what you order, this can be a good way to spur on a random remark. "Yeah, that looks healthy." You can say this to pretty much anyone who orders something revoltingly unhealthy, wherever you're eating. (you can say this to anyone at Boloco) I've only done this once, and it was more of an oral vomit situation in this case. I didn't mean to say it, really. But I did and thankfully, the guy wasn't pissed off. He replied, "Well, it's Friday and I'm hungover. So it's fine." Well played, well played. I think most would concur that hangovers breed unhealthy, greasy food cravings. Another good one in a food line is as follows: when the person in front of you orders something really whacky with all sorts of modifications like "hold this" and "add this" and "no tomatoes" and "extra sprouts", say to him or her "Oh my god, I was going to order the same, exact thing!" Without fail, he or she will say "really?" Then you say, "no, not really" and proceed to order whatever you were going to get. You get weird looks, but whoever hears it will laugh.
I also like to talk to people who are walking around outside during incredibly inclement weather. This morning, for instance, it was 15° in the city as I walked to my office. The reported wind chill was right at 0°, so it was frigid. For some reason, people seem to be a lot less guarded, maybe because that sort of thing (weather) bonds people together. Like, everyone has the mentality that we're all in this thing together, and we can all sympathize with each other. I was beaten to the punch this morning, as I approached a meter maid. I had literally removed my hood just before I passed this woman on the street and she says to me "Where's your hat?" Keep in mind, she says this as we pass each other. So I reply, "I have a hood." But as I mentioned, I had just taken it off. So she remarks "Put it on!" What could I do or say? I put on the fucking hood.
two-day hiatus...
I'm back from the aforementioned hiatus now. I couldn't finish up this entry over the last two days and now, here I sit, trying to finish it up by the end of business today. I keep getting distracted by various things. The latest came in the form of a piece of organic swiss milk chocolate that was waved in front of me. But what do you care? I'll tell you what, the chocolate sucked. I had a tiny nibble, just because I wanted to delight myself in some organic chocolate and I was let down. But I will rest easy because the chocolate I ate was produced in an environmentally friendly way. (it still sucked)
I want to now talk about another kind of encounter that I create in the elevators at work sometimes. I was recently in one of said elevators with a colleague of mine and one other person; an older woman who ultimately got off on a floor before ours. We were talking about a few different things at once...the Santana deal, the frigid temperatures...she was clearly listening and looking at both of us as we chatted. I was aggrevated by this, and upon her exit, I said "Hope you enjoyed our conversation. Have a good one." She turned slightly, but the door shut and that was that. I haven't seen her since that day, either. Perhaps I should have kept my mouth shut, but understand that I didn't use a negative tone when I spoke to her. It was light-hearted, and for all she knows I was being somewhat serious because of the fact that she had to be subjected to our conversation. As in, maybe she didn't have a choice but to listen. We're loud, she's got ears. I really wasn't trying to be a jerk, honest injun.
The whole uncertainty of a situation when you make some sort of comment to a stranger is what makes these things fun, isn't it? More often than not, I find that people are generally nice and open to partaking in a totally surprise, unsolicited conversation. Unless, of course, you're a total dbag and you totally make someone feel like an asshole. One thing I'd really like to do is go into Boloco during peak lunch hours, holding up a sign with the caloric value of their most popular burritos. I walked past there today and the line was out the door. Hey , it's -4° in the sun. Do you really need Boloco that bad? By the way, what you're about to eat has about 1150 calories. What's that? No, I have no idea what you're about to order but all of that shit is BAAAAD. I feel like Kramer in the Kenny Rogers Roasters episode of Seinfeld. Don't eat the burritos...baaad burritos. Mess you up. I've got to say again that I'm really not against that place because they're just another fast food joint, trying to make a buck off of something that tastes pretty good. It's just that, I feel like they advertise as though their product is somehow good for you, and it's just not. It's garbage.
In closing, I need to extend a huge THANK YOU to Jackie, whom I welcomed to this blog no more than a week or so ago. You'll recall that I posted a plug for the Toy Drive that I'm doing with Youk's Kids. I received a delivery from Jackie yesterday, with some toys to donate to these kids and a card saying that she and her fiance wanted to help in some way. And that's awesome. Thanks Jackie and Jason. You guys rule. Hell to the Yeah.
12 December 2007
Bobby Petrino Is...
"HIGH ON THE HOG".
This was the leading headline on ESPN.com this morning. I don't even want to go into the many, many innuendo-tastic ways in which this headline is wrong.
I'm sorry, I can't resist writing this next quip. (for those family readers, I apologize ahead of time...it's beyond me) ***DAD - DO NOT READ THIS ONE TO MOM OUT LOUD. BIG MISTAKE***
Gay men are sometimes referred to as "cocksmokers". Thus, they are also "high on the hog", no? Too much? Listen, if you read this blog then you've read the disclaimer right below the title. It explicitly states, welcome to my brain and its daily malfunctions. They can't all be warm and fuzzy.
11 December 2007
Urinal Etiquette, Take Three.
Interesting comments thus far regarding Urinal Etiquette and the multitude of quandaries that we, as men, are presented with daily.
Another thing I failed to mention about the three urinals in my office is that the one on the far right smells like a piece of haddock that's been sitting out in the summer sun for three days. But I'm drawn to it because the one on the far left doesn't have a splash guard (more to come on these fucking things) so I choose to hold my nose but keep my pants dry.
D-Lo, I can't explain the 45° angle at the urinal. But I have to think that this dude has a bit of stage fright when it comes to emptying the old tank in public. He wants to make absolutely sure that not a sole on this earth can see his peter, much less see him pee. It's weird as hell, though. For sure.
Ok, onto urinal splash guards and why the fuck man can't seem to find a viable way to avoid the urine bouncing back and spraying a man's slacks. The thing that I find to be most confusing is the layout of the guard in the urinal. It's almost always just over the drain in the urinal, making it so you have make sure your stream is pointed straight down at all times. Now, I don't know about you but my trajectory totally varies on a day-to-day basis. If I'm not guiding it, it can go straight down on some days and straight ahead on another. Thus, a splash guard that covers both angles would be great. And I've seen these from time to time and I applaud those urinal manufacturers that use these types of guards. But not nearly enough of you manufacturers do and it's alarming. Here's what happens to me nine times out of ten when I use a new urinal. I take a very basic, bare bones inventory of the unit upon entering the latrine. As long as everything seems pretty normal, I let fly and, as I've mentioned is my norm, look skyward and either whistle or just close my eyes and enjoy the evacuation. The problem is, most of the time I haven't taken a comprehensive enough inventory and I overlook the fact that the splash guard isn't where I'm peeing. I go to zip up and half of the urine is festively decorating the upper part of my slacks.
Why can't all urinals just be lined all around with some sort of foamy piece of material that absorbs the piss? Like a spongy thing that doesn't allow any splashing? Is that too much to ask? I have to figure out how to get the piss out of the sponge so that it doesn't fester...not sure about how that can work from a logistical standpoint but surely there can be some sort of action when you flush that presses the sponge and releases the pee. Feel free to expound on this if it behooves you.
Another thing I failed to mention about the three urinals in my office is that the one on the far right smells like a piece of haddock that's been sitting out in the summer sun for three days. But I'm drawn to it because the one on the far left doesn't have a splash guard (more to come on these fucking things) so I choose to hold my nose but keep my pants dry.
D-Lo, I can't explain the 45° angle at the urinal. But I have to think that this dude has a bit of stage fright when it comes to emptying the old tank in public. He wants to make absolutely sure that not a sole on this earth can see his peter, much less see him pee. It's weird as hell, though. For sure.
Ok, onto urinal splash guards and why the fuck man can't seem to find a viable way to avoid the urine bouncing back and spraying a man's slacks. The thing that I find to be most confusing is the layout of the guard in the urinal. It's almost always just over the drain in the urinal, making it so you have make sure your stream is pointed straight down at all times. Now, I don't know about you but my trajectory totally varies on a day-to-day basis. If I'm not guiding it, it can go straight down on some days and straight ahead on another. Thus, a splash guard that covers both angles would be great. And I've seen these from time to time and I applaud those urinal manufacturers that use these types of guards. But not nearly enough of you manufacturers do and it's alarming. Here's what happens to me nine times out of ten when I use a new urinal. I take a very basic, bare bones inventory of the unit upon entering the latrine. As long as everything seems pretty normal, I let fly and, as I've mentioned is my norm, look skyward and either whistle or just close my eyes and enjoy the evacuation. The problem is, most of the time I haven't taken a comprehensive enough inventory and I overlook the fact that the splash guard isn't where I'm peeing. I go to zip up and half of the urine is festively decorating the upper part of my slacks.
Why can't all urinals just be lined all around with some sort of foamy piece of material that absorbs the piss? Like a spongy thing that doesn't allow any splashing? Is that too much to ask? I have to figure out how to get the piss out of the sponge so that it doesn't fester...not sure about how that can work from a logistical standpoint but surely there can be some sort of action when you flush that presses the sponge and releases the pee. Feel free to expound on this if it behooves you.
10 December 2007
Urinal Etiquette, Take Two.
Ok, no joke...I just went to the bathroom immediately after posting the previous post about urinal etiquette and I encountered a brand new situation. This fucking guy just brought a sandwich in there with him. And then he didn't wash his hands.
I'm not even going to go into how many things are wrong with this scenario. Be your own judge. I'm gonna be sick.
I'm not even going to go into how many things are wrong with this scenario. Be your own judge. I'm gonna be sick.
Urinal Etiquette, Take One.
Let me start off by congratulating the dynamic duo of Chuck and Steve, who collaborated to come up with the correct answer to my lyrical inquisition:
This line:
I want to be Jackie Onassis
I want to wear a pair of dark sunglasses
I want to be...Jackie O, O, O, oh please don't DIE.
is from the Rage Against the Machine song "Tire Me", off of their Evil Empire disc. As my father so appropriately pointed out, Steve is a Yankee fan/member of the Evil Empire...wait, the former Evil Empire. Some things are just meant to be, I guess. And as of this morning, both my father and Steve are proud owners of a Hollister fleece. Navy blue with white typing on the left breast. Quite nice, quite nice. More contests to follow...the next one will involve a prize of a Hollister fleece blanket. It's nice, you'll like it.
I had a few thoughts at the urinal this afternoon, as I drained my bladder for the third time today. There has got to be some sort of set guidelines for the bathroom, especially the urinals. The stalls carry their own set of codes and regulations but they're far less stringent since it is, after all, a private stall with a door. In terms of the urinal, there are some unspoken laws that need to be addressed because as some guys prove almost every day, these laws aren't universal.
First off, depending on the layout of your men's room, there are probably several stalls in a line or something of that nature. I have not been blessed with stall walls, or dividers, at this building's men's room. So privacy is at a minimum. Nonetheless, there are three urinals total. As a rule of thumb, when all three stalls are vacant, you are to choose either stall on the end. Further, if either end stall is taken, you choose the opposite end stall. The point here is that it is imperative to maintain as much space between urinators as possible. It's a matter of comfort, a matter of privacy and a matter of common sense...in my opinion.
Second, we have GOT to determine a universal distance for standing at the urinal. As in, you should be standing no more than three inches away from the actual urinal when you start to urinate. Ever been next to that drunk d-bag at the bar who stands like three feet away and kind of acts like he's shooting fish in a barrel? Yeah, unacceptable. Peeing is not a game, it's something we all do quite often as a human necessity. Let's keep it on that level and just stand no more than 3-4 inches away as we piss, ok?
Third, you may look up, you may look down, you may look straight ahead. Side to side is absolutely out of the question. Me personally, I'm a fan of looking up at the ceiling and whistling as I do my thing at the urinal. It's a great way of saying, "don't talk to me while I pee".
Fourth, if you must converse with another dude at the urinals, please keep this conversation contained within the following topics: sports, beer, cars. Actually, can't we just can all urinal discussion in general? There seems to be this feeling in corporate America that the urinals are a great place to catch up on the weekend, talk about the game, etc. Just wait until you're at the sink to do that shit. Conversation may spark the urge to look at the other person in the conversation and that's not supposed to happen at the urinal. See above.
Finally, there's this issue of noises that you may be allowed to make while you evacuate. This morning, and this kind of prompted this whole post, I was at a stall over from this janitor-looking fella who was making some truly weird noises at his stall. His etiquette was atrocious, by the way. Eyes side to side, standing a foot away and his method of getting out the last drops appeared to be borderline pornographic from my periphery. I digress...we're talking moaning, grunting, panting...everything. Aside from a medical condition, I can't think of any good reason why a man would have to grunt and moan while taking a piss. I'm ok with the occasional "oh, man" or "good god" if it's one of those times where you've been in a car for eight hours and your bladder nearly exploded. But avoid the noises. ***extenuating circumstances here might include passing a stone...noises totally ok in this case***
I think that does it, but feel free to add your own clauses and amendments to this list. One alternative form that I've seen and used at the urinal is the lean-to. I've used this in the past when inebriated....you put your forearm on the wall that the urinal is attached to and lay your head on your arm in a resting pose. This leaves out any possibility to look astray or talk. And it's relaxing.
This line:
I want to be Jackie Onassis
I want to wear a pair of dark sunglasses
I want to be...Jackie O, O, O, oh please don't DIE.
is from the Rage Against the Machine song "Tire Me", off of their Evil Empire disc. As my father so appropriately pointed out, Steve is a Yankee fan/member of the Evil Empire...wait, the former Evil Empire. Some things are just meant to be, I guess. And as of this morning, both my father and Steve are proud owners of a Hollister fleece. Navy blue with white typing on the left breast. Quite nice, quite nice. More contests to follow...the next one will involve a prize of a Hollister fleece blanket. It's nice, you'll like it.
I had a few thoughts at the urinal this afternoon, as I drained my bladder for the third time today. There has got to be some sort of set guidelines for the bathroom, especially the urinals. The stalls carry their own set of codes and regulations but they're far less stringent since it is, after all, a private stall with a door. In terms of the urinal, there are some unspoken laws that need to be addressed because as some guys prove almost every day, these laws aren't universal.
First off, depending on the layout of your men's room, there are probably several stalls in a line or something of that nature. I have not been blessed with stall walls, or dividers, at this building's men's room. So privacy is at a minimum. Nonetheless, there are three urinals total. As a rule of thumb, when all three stalls are vacant, you are to choose either stall on the end. Further, if either end stall is taken, you choose the opposite end stall. The point here is that it is imperative to maintain as much space between urinators as possible. It's a matter of comfort, a matter of privacy and a matter of common sense...in my opinion.
Second, we have GOT to determine a universal distance for standing at the urinal. As in, you should be standing no more than three inches away from the actual urinal when you start to urinate. Ever been next to that drunk d-bag at the bar who stands like three feet away and kind of acts like he's shooting fish in a barrel? Yeah, unacceptable. Peeing is not a game, it's something we all do quite often as a human necessity. Let's keep it on that level and just stand no more than 3-4 inches away as we piss, ok?
Third, you may look up, you may look down, you may look straight ahead. Side to side is absolutely out of the question. Me personally, I'm a fan of looking up at the ceiling and whistling as I do my thing at the urinal. It's a great way of saying, "don't talk to me while I pee".
Fourth, if you must converse with another dude at the urinals, please keep this conversation contained within the following topics: sports, beer, cars. Actually, can't we just can all urinal discussion in general? There seems to be this feeling in corporate America that the urinals are a great place to catch up on the weekend, talk about the game, etc. Just wait until you're at the sink to do that shit. Conversation may spark the urge to look at the other person in the conversation and that's not supposed to happen at the urinal. See above.
Finally, there's this issue of noises that you may be allowed to make while you evacuate. This morning, and this kind of prompted this whole post, I was at a stall over from this janitor-looking fella who was making some truly weird noises at his stall. His etiquette was atrocious, by the way. Eyes side to side, standing a foot away and his method of getting out the last drops appeared to be borderline pornographic from my periphery. I digress...we're talking moaning, grunting, panting...everything. Aside from a medical condition, I can't think of any good reason why a man would have to grunt and moan while taking a piss. I'm ok with the occasional "oh, man" or "good god" if it's one of those times where you've been in a car for eight hours and your bladder nearly exploded. But avoid the noises. ***extenuating circumstances here might include passing a stone...noises totally ok in this case***
I think that does it, but feel free to add your own clauses and amendments to this list. One alternative form that I've seen and used at the urinal is the lean-to. I've used this in the past when inebriated....you put your forearm on the wall that the urinal is attached to and lay your head on your arm in a resting pose. This leaves out any possibility to look astray or talk. And it's relaxing.
06 December 2007
Oh, Jackie.
Anyone that can name this tune gets a free fleece from the company I work for. Seriously, I'll send it to you...the first one to get it.
I want to be Jackie Onassis
I want to wear a pair of dark sunglasses
I want to be...Jackie O, O, O, oh please don't DIE.
Don't use google, that's just pathetic.
How many people named Jackie do you know? I don't know many, that's for damn sure. The one Jackie that I remember is someone that I never even met. She was a friend of a friend from college and she was someone that a group of girls playfully referred to as 'Jackie Buttcrackie'. I always loathed to hear this nickname spoken, because it really got under my skin. I don't know why, and it still does to this day. There's no reason for it, except for maybe not liking the people that came up with this nickname. That must be it. Wow, I just figured out why I hate it so much. Today is a good day.
I'd like to tell you of a girl named Jackie that is slowly becoming more of a part of my life as time goes on. I've spoken with her recently, but we've never met in person. Her story is one of true beauty and wonder...achievement and defying odds...struggle and depression. I'd like you all to listen to this story and think about what it means to you. It may mean nothing at all, and truthfully that's what I expect. But that just means you're a terrible person without a heart, soul or modicum of decency. Nah, I'm kidding. 'Tis the season to be a sardonic asshole, right?
Jackie is special. I know her through a close friend of mine that wanted me to have a chance to know someone like Jackie. There aren't many people in the world like her and you're about to find out why that is.
Standing not a shade under 7 feet tall, Jackie is a behemoth. Born a normal size, she sky-rocketed to over six feet tall by the fourth grade. Imagine the torment of fourth-graders to a six-footer...that happens to be female. Forget about glories on the basketball court at recess...no one wanted her on their team, no one wanted her as a friend...even teachers were reluctant to have Jackie in their classrooms. She was intimidating, gangly, and downright scary to be around. And it's pretty tough to make yourself invisible at that height. She had to have a special desk, a special cubby hole, a special coat hook and even a special lunch. Her appetite was massive and no single taco, apple sauce and snack pack pudding lunch was going to feed her rapidly growing frame. (the local high school would send over three regular lunches on a daily basis for Jackie...at least someone cared)
By the end of fourth grade, a six-foot, four-inch Jackie couldn't take it anymore. She told her parents that school wasn't for her and there had to be something else out there...something that would make her feel accepted; feel like a part of something where others were like her. After some careful research, she finally found a group of people that shared her plight. Enter Barnum & Bailey and their travelling freak show; more specifically, freakishly tall.
You've probably all at least heard of the freaks at the circus, right? And don't be afraid to use that term loosely because Jackie will be the first one to tell you that she's an absolute fucking freak. She interviewed with 20/20 once; they were doing a piece on such circus folk. When asked if it upset her that she had been cast out in such a cold way, she replied "Are you serious? Look at me. I'd have done the same thing if I were on the other end. I'm seven feet tall, open your eyes." Indeed...and I suppose it's better to accept your freakishness early on. It's probably much less damaging.
Since the normally tender age of nine, Jackie has been travelling with the B&B Circus and loving her life. People look at her in awe every day. Children ask for autographs all the time, a far cry from pointing and either laughing or screaming in fear. She's famous, in a way. She has fans, many friends and a family of circus folk who are just like her. She's even found love with a man named Igor from Romania. Igor stands over eight feet tall and has been featured on several documentaries on the Discovery Channel. To Igor, Jackie is not a freak. She's more normal, more beautiful and more special than any average-sized human could ever be. They've been married for three years this January and are expecting their first child over the summer. Odds are, that kid will be a fucking freak, too. But not to them.
Sure, none of this is true. But there really is a girl named Jackie that I don't know all that well. And for all I know she is in the circus.
And now I've wasted a really decent chunk of my day coming up with this mumbo-jumbo. And it was all for you, Jackie. Oh, Jackie. Maybe we'll meet someday.
I want to be Jackie Onassis
I want to wear a pair of dark sunglasses
I want to be...Jackie O, O, O, oh please don't DIE.
Don't use google, that's just pathetic.
How many people named Jackie do you know? I don't know many, that's for damn sure. The one Jackie that I remember is someone that I never even met. She was a friend of a friend from college and she was someone that a group of girls playfully referred to as 'Jackie Buttcrackie'. I always loathed to hear this nickname spoken, because it really got under my skin. I don't know why, and it still does to this day. There's no reason for it, except for maybe not liking the people that came up with this nickname. That must be it. Wow, I just figured out why I hate it so much. Today is a good day.
I'd like to tell you of a girl named Jackie that is slowly becoming more of a part of my life as time goes on. I've spoken with her recently, but we've never met in person. Her story is one of true beauty and wonder...achievement and defying odds...struggle and depression. I'd like you all to listen to this story and think about what it means to you. It may mean nothing at all, and truthfully that's what I expect. But that just means you're a terrible person without a heart, soul or modicum of decency. Nah, I'm kidding. 'Tis the season to be a sardonic asshole, right?
Jackie is special. I know her through a close friend of mine that wanted me to have a chance to know someone like Jackie. There aren't many people in the world like her and you're about to find out why that is.
Standing not a shade under 7 feet tall, Jackie is a behemoth. Born a normal size, she sky-rocketed to over six feet tall by the fourth grade. Imagine the torment of fourth-graders to a six-footer...that happens to be female. Forget about glories on the basketball court at recess...no one wanted her on their team, no one wanted her as a friend...even teachers were reluctant to have Jackie in their classrooms. She was intimidating, gangly, and downright scary to be around. And it's pretty tough to make yourself invisible at that height. She had to have a special desk, a special cubby hole, a special coat hook and even a special lunch. Her appetite was massive and no single taco, apple sauce and snack pack pudding lunch was going to feed her rapidly growing frame. (the local high school would send over three regular lunches on a daily basis for Jackie...at least someone cared)
By the end of fourth grade, a six-foot, four-inch Jackie couldn't take it anymore. She told her parents that school wasn't for her and there had to be something else out there...something that would make her feel accepted; feel like a part of something where others were like her. After some careful research, she finally found a group of people that shared her plight. Enter Barnum & Bailey and their travelling freak show; more specifically, freakishly tall.
You've probably all at least heard of the freaks at the circus, right? And don't be afraid to use that term loosely because Jackie will be the first one to tell you that she's an absolute fucking freak. She interviewed with 20/20 once; they were doing a piece on such circus folk. When asked if it upset her that she had been cast out in such a cold way, she replied "Are you serious? Look at me. I'd have done the same thing if I were on the other end. I'm seven feet tall, open your eyes." Indeed...and I suppose it's better to accept your freakishness early on. It's probably much less damaging.
Since the normally tender age of nine, Jackie has been travelling with the B&B Circus and loving her life. People look at her in awe every day. Children ask for autographs all the time, a far cry from pointing and either laughing or screaming in fear. She's famous, in a way. She has fans, many friends and a family of circus folk who are just like her. She's even found love with a man named Igor from Romania. Igor stands over eight feet tall and has been featured on several documentaries on the Discovery Channel. To Igor, Jackie is not a freak. She's more normal, more beautiful and more special than any average-sized human could ever be. They've been married for three years this January and are expecting their first child over the summer. Odds are, that kid will be a fucking freak, too. But not to them.
Sure, none of this is true. But there really is a girl named Jackie that I don't know all that well. And for all I know she is in the circus.
And now I've wasted a really decent chunk of my day coming up with this mumbo-jumbo. And it was all for you, Jackie. Oh, Jackie. Maybe we'll meet someday.
04 December 2007
Whoa, baby.
There's this one commercial on tv that I've seen a few times lately...it kind of bothers me because the tagline is "It's the most advanced piece of technology you'll ever pee on." I don't remember the product name, but it's obviously a pregnancy test. Is it just me, or does anyone else find this a little unsettling? I mean, for one thing it's a pregnancy test. I don't think most women like to associate something as delicate as a pregnancy test with a rather sardonically intonated commercial such as this. Shouldn't there be a softer, gentler tone for a pregnancy test commercial? If not, then I have some ideas that might share the same philosophy of this piece of advanced technology that you can pee on.
I think we're all aware that most pregnancy tests offer a simple symbol of the results. Maybe (+) and you're pregnant, (-) you're not. I think 'Clear Blue Easy' comes up blue if you're pregnant and some other color if you're not. And some of them can be confusing, like say, maybe it shows one line if you're pregnant and two lines if you're not. I don't know for sure but it sounds familiar. There are tons of commercials for these things out there.
My first thought after seeing this latest commercial was, why not just create a test that gives a verbal result as opposed to the symbol? For instance, if you're pregnant there would be a programmed response of "baby" and if you're not, "no baby". Then it occured to me that people might not hear the "no" or think they didn't hear the no and get all excited for no reason. No good, right? Then again, nothing is fail proof so who knows. Perhaps it would be more effective if the responses were a crowd cheering if you're pregnant and a crowd booing if you're not. This would be ideal for the sports fan out there. For the game show fan, there would be a series of 'dings' if you're pregnant and a buzzer if you're not. Carnival fans would have a test that sounds a siren if you're pregnant and a 'wah, wah, waaaaaaah' for not pregnant.
Purely sports-themed pregnancy tests would be as follows:
For Red Sox fans, the Sox logo appears if you're pregnant and the Yankee logo appears if you're not. The opposite happens for Yankee fans. Cubs fans see Derrick Lee's face for pregnant, Steve Bartman's face for not. Giants fans (football) see Phil Simms face for pregnant, Eli Manning's face for not. This next one might be confusing...Man United fans see Beckham in a Man U jersey for pregnant, but for not pregnant, they see him in a Galaxy jersey. Could be tough. For bowling enthusiasts, you'd hear a ball hitting pins if you're pregnant and a gutter ball if you're not. Golf fans would hear a ball going in the cup for pregnant, and a ball going in a water hazard for not. Cycling fans would see Lance Armstrong's face for pregnant and Floyd Landis' face for not.
There's really no end to the possibilities for a pregnancy test and how to show the results. What about a simple thumbs-up or thumbs-down? Maybe a smiley face or a frown? I think there should be a line tailored towards men, where for a negative result you hear something like "somebody's firin' blanks", or "can you say Erectile Disfunction??"
I think we're all aware that most pregnancy tests offer a simple symbol of the results. Maybe (+) and you're pregnant, (-) you're not. I think 'Clear Blue Easy' comes up blue if you're pregnant and some other color if you're not. And some of them can be confusing, like say, maybe it shows one line if you're pregnant and two lines if you're not. I don't know for sure but it sounds familiar. There are tons of commercials for these things out there.
My first thought after seeing this latest commercial was, why not just create a test that gives a verbal result as opposed to the symbol? For instance, if you're pregnant there would be a programmed response of "baby" and if you're not, "no baby". Then it occured to me that people might not hear the "no" or think they didn't hear the no and get all excited for no reason. No good, right? Then again, nothing is fail proof so who knows. Perhaps it would be more effective if the responses were a crowd cheering if you're pregnant and a crowd booing if you're not. This would be ideal for the sports fan out there. For the game show fan, there would be a series of 'dings' if you're pregnant and a buzzer if you're not. Carnival fans would have a test that sounds a siren if you're pregnant and a 'wah, wah, waaaaaaah' for not pregnant.
Purely sports-themed pregnancy tests would be as follows:
For Red Sox fans, the Sox logo appears if you're pregnant and the Yankee logo appears if you're not. The opposite happens for Yankee fans. Cubs fans see Derrick Lee's face for pregnant, Steve Bartman's face for not. Giants fans (football) see Phil Simms face for pregnant, Eli Manning's face for not. This next one might be confusing...Man United fans see Beckham in a Man U jersey for pregnant, but for not pregnant, they see him in a Galaxy jersey. Could be tough. For bowling enthusiasts, you'd hear a ball hitting pins if you're pregnant and a gutter ball if you're not. Golf fans would hear a ball going in the cup for pregnant, and a ball going in a water hazard for not. Cycling fans would see Lance Armstrong's face for pregnant and Floyd Landis' face for not.
There's really no end to the possibilities for a pregnancy test and how to show the results. What about a simple thumbs-up or thumbs-down? Maybe a smiley face or a frown? I think there should be a line tailored towards men, where for a negative result you hear something like "somebody's firin' blanks", or "can you say Erectile Disfunction??"
03 December 2007
Why? Because. Because Why?
One of my favorite exchanges to overhear is the classic 'why, because' dialogue.
"Why?"
"Because."
"Because why?"
"I don't know, just because."
"But it can't be just because. Why exactly? There must be a reason."
I don't have much more to comment on as far as that type of dialogue is concerned, but I was reminded of it recently by overhearing a conversation between this guy I work with and one of his candidates (I work for a recruiting firm, in case that was in question. Why do I work for a recruiting firm? Because.). I also overheard this conversation recently:
"Hi, Bill? Hey, it's Pat. How are you?"
"Pat, I'm good thanks, how are you?"
"Good, how are you?"
Hilarious. But it just goes to show that programmed responses sometimes just can't be avoided because they may just jump out of your mouth without the chance to retract them. This previous dialogue is exactly one of those such responses.
Maybe it's more of a nervous reaction, I don't know. Having worked in sales for quite some time, I've heard some pretty funny things come out of the mouths of co-workers. I used to work with a guy who, when asked how he was doing, would say the word "good" about ten times.
"Hi Zack, how are you?"
"Good, good, good, good, good, good, good, good."
I certainly think this is more of a nervous reaction but man, it was fucking funny to hear. I tend to say weird things to clients who give me a hard time on the phone. I have interesting conversations every day I pick up the phone and call potential clients...most don't really have the time to talk when they hear my voice, but my favorite road blocks to overcome are those cold calls to people who have no idea what my company does. I'll say things like "Oh, it's your lucky day then. You'll be pleased to know that I'm a recruiter..." You have to understand that these people that I'm calling receive upwards of twenty calls a day from people who do what I do. I'm pretty much willing to make an ass out of myself on the phone if it means that person at least remembers my name...with positive connotation or not. I recently left a ridiculous voicemail for a client that hadn't returned one of my calls in over three months. It was a play on the Comcast Digital Voice Commercials (sorry Roger, you Tiger now). I explained that I now had Comcast Digital Voice and that we could do business together now. There was more to it, but you get the point. And this woman emailed me shortly thereafter, explaining that I'd have to contact someone in another department, blah, blah, blah. But she got back to me. She did not, however, acknowledge my off-the-cuff voicemail and that would lead me to believe that she wasn't amused in the slightest bit. I need to start listening to Lauren when she tells me that most of the things I find funny really aren't that funny.
So the Sox have upped the ante for Santana, in figuring Jacoby into the final equation. On one hand, as I've discussed with me father and countless guys in my office, I would hate to watch him leave town. I can see him playing center for the Sox for years to come. At the same time, I was very reluctant about the Hanley/Beckett deal and look at where the Sox are following that deal: world champs, 2nd best pitcher in the AL this season. Yes, Florida owns the NL's most productive shortstop and bonafide superstar but Beckett basically won the Sox a World Series. Fans can't complain about that deal. Hooking Santana would be a really good insurance policy for a repeat title and maybe more to come, depending on the health of the whole pitching staff. There's also no guarantee on successful, young September call-ups who tear it up that first time in the bigs; see Dwayne Hosey, 1995 Sox call up with similar numbers. Point is, we just don't know if Ellsbury will be as good as he's shown himself to be in a short amount of time. However, his raw ball skills are undeniable and that's why I love him. He has tremendous intangibles and his baseball IQ is off the charts. In my opinion, those types aren't flashes in the pan. You can't teach speed or the ability to read the ball off the bat in the outfield. We'll see what happens, but Ellsbury is a superstar in the making.
In closing, I'd like to welcome the month of December in a most unloving fashion. Way to make a grand entrance, what with 20-degree temperatures, snow, slush and just a general shittiness. Thanks, and screw you.
Hi Lisa. And Dina. Thanks for reading.
"Why?"
"Because."
"Because why?"
"I don't know, just because."
"But it can't be just because. Why exactly? There must be a reason."
I don't have much more to comment on as far as that type of dialogue is concerned, but I was reminded of it recently by overhearing a conversation between this guy I work with and one of his candidates (I work for a recruiting firm, in case that was in question. Why do I work for a recruiting firm? Because.). I also overheard this conversation recently:
"Hi, Bill? Hey, it's Pat. How are you?"
"Pat, I'm good thanks, how are you?"
"Good, how are you?"
Hilarious. But it just goes to show that programmed responses sometimes just can't be avoided because they may just jump out of your mouth without the chance to retract them. This previous dialogue is exactly one of those such responses.
Maybe it's more of a nervous reaction, I don't know. Having worked in sales for quite some time, I've heard some pretty funny things come out of the mouths of co-workers. I used to work with a guy who, when asked how he was doing, would say the word "good" about ten times.
"Hi Zack, how are you?"
"Good, good, good, good, good, good, good, good."
I certainly think this is more of a nervous reaction but man, it was fucking funny to hear. I tend to say weird things to clients who give me a hard time on the phone. I have interesting conversations every day I pick up the phone and call potential clients...most don't really have the time to talk when they hear my voice, but my favorite road blocks to overcome are those cold calls to people who have no idea what my company does. I'll say things like "Oh, it's your lucky day then. You'll be pleased to know that I'm a recruiter..." You have to understand that these people that I'm calling receive upwards of twenty calls a day from people who do what I do. I'm pretty much willing to make an ass out of myself on the phone if it means that person at least remembers my name...with positive connotation or not. I recently left a ridiculous voicemail for a client that hadn't returned one of my calls in over three months. It was a play on the Comcast Digital Voice Commercials (sorry Roger, you Tiger now). I explained that I now had Comcast Digital Voice and that we could do business together now. There was more to it, but you get the point. And this woman emailed me shortly thereafter, explaining that I'd have to contact someone in another department, blah, blah, blah. But she got back to me. She did not, however, acknowledge my off-the-cuff voicemail and that would lead me to believe that she wasn't amused in the slightest bit. I need to start listening to Lauren when she tells me that most of the things I find funny really aren't that funny.
So the Sox have upped the ante for Santana, in figuring Jacoby into the final equation. On one hand, as I've discussed with me father and countless guys in my office, I would hate to watch him leave town. I can see him playing center for the Sox for years to come. At the same time, I was very reluctant about the Hanley/Beckett deal and look at where the Sox are following that deal: world champs, 2nd best pitcher in the AL this season. Yes, Florida owns the NL's most productive shortstop and bonafide superstar but Beckett basically won the Sox a World Series. Fans can't complain about that deal. Hooking Santana would be a really good insurance policy for a repeat title and maybe more to come, depending on the health of the whole pitching staff. There's also no guarantee on successful, young September call-ups who tear it up that first time in the bigs; see Dwayne Hosey, 1995 Sox call up with similar numbers. Point is, we just don't know if Ellsbury will be as good as he's shown himself to be in a short amount of time. However, his raw ball skills are undeniable and that's why I love him. He has tremendous intangibles and his baseball IQ is off the charts. In my opinion, those types aren't flashes in the pan. You can't teach speed or the ability to read the ball off the bat in the outfield. We'll see what happens, but Ellsbury is a superstar in the making.
In closing, I'd like to welcome the month of December in a most unloving fashion. Way to make a grand entrance, what with 20-degree temperatures, snow, slush and just a general shittiness. Thanks, and screw you.
Hi Lisa. And Dina. Thanks for reading.
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