Out Like a Smaller, Less Aggressive Lion

March came in like a fairly aggressive lion with a small chip on his shoulder and it's leaving us as a lesser version of its former self. Or if you'd prefer, it's going out like a pretty bad ass lamb. You know, a lamb on a chopper with black, dread locked wool, shades and a butt hanging out of his mouth. My point is that the weather is still a heaping spoonful of shit and I've had enough.

First off, let me apologize for the abomination of a blog that drunk French posted this weekend. Truthfully, I had to go back in and edit some of the garbage that I put in there originally. I can't for the life of me remember what prompted me to alert the faithful that I love salt. I mean I do...I really love it. Hey Bowen, kudos to you for pointing out that I sounded a bit rattled in that last post. You've got a keen sense on you, pal.

Onto other things...I've got a serious problem with the Outback Steakhouse jingle. "Let's Go Outback Tonight" is the jam I'm referring to. Not "Let's Go TO Outback Tonight". Or "TO THE" Outback. The jingle suggests that we should all go out back tonight and that life will still be here tomorrow. I don't see how they can make that claim though, considering the fact that if the average patron consumes part of a Bloomin' Onion, a good portion of those who "Go Outback Tonight" might indeed develop a serious heart condition. Check it out: 2310 calories and 134g of fat in that bitch. And that's before you chow down on a Caesar salad, jackaroo chips, a bonzer Ribeye and probably several Oil Cans worth of Foster's. Outback: Australian for coronary.

The funny thing about the Outback is how hard they try to be Aussie. No, I'm not a French Aussie but I was friendly with a group of Aussie exchanges during my senior year at UMass and they had never heard of this place. I told them about it and of the ridiculous sayings they used on the menu and obviously they demanded that we go there. And we did. And I've never seen people laugh as hard as they did when they got a load of Outback Steakhouse. Apparently the word 'bonzer' isn't really used. They also found it quite amusing that the walls were well adorned with boomerangs. It's funny how over-the-top a place like the Outback can really be, but at the same, how ridiculous it all appears to be to an actual Australian. Now, any Mexicans out there that would care to accompany me to On The Border to detect authenticity?

Five For Blogging

It's not too late...it's never too late.

There's some shit to discuss, friends. Aside from the fact that this represents five entries in five days, this also represents some pretty big doins in the lives of Le and La French. As follows:

La got her wish. She is now the nanny/Personal Assistant of a certain local sports figure's wife and she gets to leave her current job of several dudes' bitch. She's pumped, I'm pumped but I'm a little bummed about the fact that she gets to ride back on the team plane following road trips this season. Also, no divulging the date of the start of said season.

In a way, I got my wish too.

...oh god yes, Tyus Edney commercial. So sick. I know we all remember that shit. And I just realized that Davidson beat the Badgers. Awesome, awesome, awesome. Stephen Curry, friends. Listen, Nate and I used to rain threes with Dell Curry in NBA Live so it's only fitting that the man's son makes all this noise from a mid-major in the ultimate clutch time pertaining to college basketball. Keep it up.

I love salt.

Peanut Gallery

The peanut gallery that I also know as the comment section of the blog has had a particular suggestive presence as of late. Don't get me wrong, it's a real joy to login and find such pleasantries as "seek help", or something along the lines of "double check that you have a dick". But it's all in the spirit of keeping the blog world a place where one can be literally free...verbally voluptuous and totally ignorant of feelings and opinions. I have an obsession with urinals. There, you happy now DK? They're a little piece of inventive genius with just so many little nuances from one piss guard to the next. And how each man approaches each visit to the urinal deserves a Harvard PHD's dissertation. Just my opinion.

Frankly, I'm only writing a blog today because of Hammen's comment from yesterday's post. Hey, when a fellow blogger speaks, I listen...especially when that blogger owns and enjoys plaid shorts. (more on this later...plaid should be incorporated in the pro sport unis)

Just once I'd like to hear Dan Rather (well, the former anchor Dan Rather) sign off from CBS News as such:

"Thanks for watching. This is Dan Rather, CBS News. Peace."

Rather had that little whistle lisp, much like Herbert in Family Guy. I always wanted to hear him give a outro that involved the word "peace" and he never did. But it would have been a real treat, I can assure you of that.

I did 'hot yoga' this past Tuesday night. For those of you unfamiliar with this, it involves typical yoga positions only you're in a room where the heat blows to maintain a comfortable 108 degrees F. I survived. 90 minutes of something that could be on par with any form of Central Intelligence torture...and it gave me just about all I could handle. I've done double sessions in full football pads...in 100% humidity and 95 degree heat. This was worse. My heart rate stayed at roughly 170 bpm and I produced enough sweat to drown a small Somalian village...filled with thirsty Somalians. Hot yoga is a nightmare and I don't know if I'll ever do it again. But know this: once you walk out of that studio and into the brisk winter air, you feel totally out of body. And you're hair freezes because it's soaked with sweat.

Enjoy tomorrow, friends. It's Friday. It's almost April. Warm weather is a sniff away here in New England, and the Sox are back from the Land of the Rising Sun (and the land of glorious sushi). It's getting there...we're getting there. Happier moods are imminent and they will manifest themselves within a month.

I'd like to give a shout out to my love, who is awaiting something pretty, pretty big right now. It's going to be ok, baby. Good things lie ahead.

Peace.

And I'm Spent

Three blogs in three days is bordering on insanity for me at this point. In fact, I think I'm still at work for the sole purpose of banging out a blog entry. To tell you the truth, I had some good stuff running through le brain last night but it's gone. Poof. Just like that. But I got some interesting emails today about the fucking crazy comeback that UMass made against Syracuse yesterday in the NIT (No one's Interested Tournament? No good? Took me a while to come up with that one). Down 14 with under 8 to play and they pulled it out. Go. Go U. Go Umass. Go U - Mass. Alums will appreciate that cheer, as will mon pere.

Today I was in the urinal at work and I noticed that guy a few urinals over was in an interesting pose. I'm wondering if any men out there have seen the likes of 'the croucher' at the urinal. He stood there, knees bent, head nearly in the urinal itself, seemingly having a battle with the stream of his urine. I know, you're thinking that I probably had myself too long of a look to be mentioned in the hetero crowd anymore, but I was a bit taken aback by his stance and his gritty disposition. I mean, he was really fighting it, and his stance was one that suggested that his life depended on this evacuation. If I can analogize this scenario, picture a guy bending down with his head forward. He's got a beer in his hand that he just can't get the cap off of and he's really, really thirsty. That was this guy at the urinal. Has anyone been this guy before? God knows we've all taken a painful piss before, but this was something extraordinary.

Last Friday I bought a can of Tab soda. I didn't buy it because I wanted to drink it; rather, I bought it because it was Tab. Who sells Tab??? I'll tell you who. The Middle Eastern market on the corner of Broad and State St. in Boston. If you should venture in there and attempt to purchase a Tab, be sure to exclaim "I can't fucking BELIEVE this shit...TAB!" as you hand the cashier your money.

I gotta get out of here.

Could It Be?

I mean, is this an illusion? Am I really seeing a second blog in two days from French? These questions may or may not being fleeting through your mind at this time. But more than likely, you're rolling your eyes and silently accusing me of being presumptuous. Well played, well played.

As I was mentally thumbing through BeachBum's Daily Diversion this afternoon, I felt suddenly inadequate as my eyes glanced over to the right sidebar of this blog where you can see previous posts and the total for 2008: 52 posts. I have to say, he rarely posts a mail-in, or a gimme, if you will. There's always substance and some heartly, good, old-fashioned witty rhetoric in there for the blogging buddy's consumption. John, I applaud you and your seemingly expansive curiousity compartment of the brain. You're a cool cat. Did anyone get that? No? Ok. Eat shit then. Just not chicken because of this: http://www.goveg.com/factoryFarming_chickens.asp

I'm piggybacking onto the second part of BeachBum's blog because it warrants a second mention. I feel informed as of yesterday, thanks to my loving and concerned girlfriend, and I feel as though you should be informed, too. So, read the shit. Knowledge is power, remember? 'Tis also a burden at times.

I was asked about March Madness the other day and to be honest, I'm just as in tuned with the current brackets in the NIT. Even though Umass once again took a steaming shit on their season during the A-10 Tournament this year, they are still the #2 seed in the NIT and they have a rematch with 'Cuse (the #1 seed) that could be very entertaining. Umass won round one...

I think I gotta can this post for today since I'm losing control of what's happening at this point. You know the cliche "when it rains..."? Well it rained on my desk, then the equivalent of a silo full of water was dumped over my head in the last 10 minutes. I love it when that happens because it's awesome.

Someone do me a favor and crack open a can of Moxie please. Enjoy its bitter, unusually terrible flavor and think of me as you wonder why someone invented this vile soda.

Cheers.

Lies...ALL LIES!

I lied. I promised I would make a more concerted effort to be faithful to the French Faithful in this month of March and I have failed miserably. I continue to write partial blogs that never amount to anything more than a brief peep of chit chat and then suddenly my brain goes "oh fuck...my bad...totally forgot what I was going to say..." I got no other excuse. But in the span of two days, I've received comments from my brother Mike and Dunny about the lack of posting lately. And when Krechmer tells me it's been a while since I've blogged, I know that I have to get back on le horse and bang out a post...no matter how much it drags on and on and on about schtuff. Gimme a schtickle of fluoride.

I love/hate March. I hate it because it's the purgatory that exists between Winter and Spring and it can never make up its about which way it's leaning. This morning it was bone-chillingly cold yet this afternoon, it's a pleasant 45° and being outside kind of makes me feel like being alive again. What I love about it is this lack of belief that exists in those who spend a good portion of their commute outdoors.

The way I see it, there are three different kinds of people out there in the purgatory:

1) Winterlings

These people, no matter what the forecast or the temperature when they walk out the door in the morning, bundle up like it's Christmas in the North Pole and they don't let it go until about May. And I can't blame them because 50% of the time, mother nature rears back and pukes up a giant storm in the middle of fucking April, debilitating the city for a few days. The Winterlings will happily sweat like Frank Purdue at a PETA convention until it's beyond every fathomable doubt that it's Spring.

2) 'Tweeners

These indecisive hopefuls can't decide from one morning to the next what the hell season it is, so they kind of do a little of both in terms of dressing. For instance, I might see this one dude in the morning with flip flops and wool hat, or a woman in a mini skirt sans leggings but a massive wool scarf all but cutting off her circulation. They're caught in this purgatory like none other and you can almost feel their morning struggles in front of the closet based on their outfits. Listen, just go one way or the other. Trust me. And remember, you can always shed layers...but you can't add once you're out that door.

3) Springlings

I envy these people as they continually display the hope of Spring and Summer on their morning walk to work. Light jackets, pastels, iced drinks...you name it, they're supporting warm weather regardless of how nippy it might be on a given day. But this is one of those conditions that exists only in New England, where most people yearn so deeply for the warmer months that they start to go a little loopy and thus, dress like idiots.

There, I actually managed to get something fairly complete into a blog. It only took me two weeks.

What Color Is Your Parachute?

Better question: what gauge is the rope you use to strangle people? I gotta tell you, I've had some really vivid imagery lately...in terms of how I might go about maiming a few of the people that I work with. It's just that my mind has been working overtime today and I've had several urges to go postal.

One thing that I fantasize about often is taking a colleague of mine from the back of his head and proceed to pound his face against the keyboard on his desk, as I watch the screen type "bgyukyuk" over and over with each impacting thrust. I imagine doing this four or five times, real quick-like, then putting him back in place in his swivel chair. I turn back towards my cube and fix my cuffs and say "Now, can a guy get a fucking cup of coffee around here?"

Another one I have is less violent and involves another individual that irks me on a daily basis...usually more than once in a day. I go over to his cubicle area when he's on the phone with a client and pick up his monitor very deliberately and then wind up throw it as hard as I can into the adjacent wall. I look at him after this and say "Next time, it's your motherboard, motherf*cker."

My office anger goes far beyond the usual PC Load Letter anger. I don't care to deliver a body blow to the printer in the copy room, nor do I wish to jab my right fist clear through the slim monitor I am currently watching as I type.

How To Kick A Habit In 10 Days

It has been brought to my attention that one of my scant few readers would like to know how to stop biting his fingernails. I've decided that he's got a great suggestion and that I should indeed dedicate a blog to it. If I'm going to keep any sort of regularity with this thing, suggestions are definitely welcome in the comment section. Also, feel free to tell me to shut the fuck up at any point in time.

How To Stop Biting Your Nails in 10 Days

Day One

Before you leave the house in the morning, halve one jalapeno pepper. Proceed to dig out the seeds with your fingers, ensuring that each of your fingers touches seed. Take heed when urinating or touching any part of your body, for that matter...for the rest of the day. I can assure you that the first time you raise a fingernail to that stinky gullet you call a mouth, you're going to regret it. This should be something you will need to repeat over the course of the ten day period because while it's effective, it does need to be repeated in order to sustain effectiveness.

Day Two

Get yourself out there and find a nice girl who cares enough about your hygiene to slap your hands or yell at you each time she catches you nibbling on your fingers like some sore of rodent. If she's good at this, she'll make you feel downright abhorrent about your little habit, and eventually you'll feel so shitty about yourself when you're doing that you'll be more likely to not do it. Now, if you're lucky enough to find a young lady that is so good at this that merely a glance in your direction is enough to get you to stop the bullshit, be thankful. I've been lucky enough, but unfortunately my self-control in the nail-biting department is ever-wavering. But my fingers used to resemble bloody stumps and now they're at least respectable. I just need to quit gnawing on my thumbs.

Day Three

You should start to notice some progress in the length of your nails by now. This is a defining time of the process because habitual nail biters look at nail growth as a dynamite opportunity to bite those guys off and chew the shit out of them. AVOID THIS AT ALL COST. Go dig out a jalapeno if you have to, but don't bite. I know, you really want to chew that shit but you must not. Show some willpower, already.

Day Four

I'm confident that if you can get to day four without much of a setback, you're in the clear...for now. You'll have some good growth, maybe even enough to leave the house and shake a hand or two without being totally embarrassed. You may even experience a little bit of pride and satisfaction because you have actually withstood the test of time and grown fingernails. Be proud, bro. It's an achievement.

Day Five

Ok, enough with the fingernail saga. If it takes you ten fucking days to grow nails, you should probably just give up because you're a giant failure and always will be. Get on with your life and always remember what a jackass you look like when you're sitting there nibbling on your fingers like you used to.

Marches On

2008 hasn't exactly been the year of consistent bloggery for me. I haven't lost the inspiration but I have sort of lost my closeability. I liken myself to Bronson Arroyo in a Red Sox uniform...a guy who couls start off strong and appear like he could take it home, only to lose all momentum and come to a fizzling end halfway through his outing. I've been writing a lot of partial blogs and I never get back to finishing them...they are now in blog purgatory with access only to my eyes and Lauren's eyes. Sorry, but one of the only perks of living with me is getting to read my half assed, half done blogs. The other perks are negotiable in terms of actually being perks.

I'm going to ramble now.

I stumbled upon a new urinal phenomenom at the Oceanaire in Boston...ice in the urinal. It makes peeing both competitive as well as satisfysing. Go ahead and fill up a urinal with ice and see how many cubes you can melt down. if you have crushed ice, do the same but watch pockets of ice turn yellow. It's insanity!

If I tell you there's a man out there who can eat four donuts in a day, will you laugh at me? If I tell you that this same man will eat one of said donuts in the morning, be it a coconut donut, and then eat the coconut shavings off of his sweater later in the day as a snack, will you say 'boloney'? If I tell you there's a man out there who has managed to outfit himself in garb solely from the shelves and bins of Costco, will you call my bluff? Well my friends, I've now told you of the one and only Neal Goldstein...a man who never met a donut he didn't like. Keep your eyes peeled for a man about 6'2 with a jelly stain on his multi-colored sweater.

You know what's really scary? When you're walking the streets of Manhattan at night and a strange man barks at your girlfriend at point blank range. Like this: "Roof, roof ROOF." It's fucking scary, man. My question is, was he implying that she's a dog? Because that's just a crock of shit and if you've met her you'd agree. Perhaps he was implying that he wanted to hump her leg.

I think that's about all for today, but I am vowing that March will be a productive month for in terms of bloggery. I shall blog like I have in the past and I shall write of all things great and small. Future posts are sure to reflect upon the following topics: Cassell to the C's, the Sox, fingernails, urinals, some big event, jibberish.