Rain on Xmas is a slap in the jolly old face. It's like...Santa getting drunk and deciding he wants to talk about football while you sit on his lap instead of what presents you want. And then he drools on you...only it's freezing cold. Don't get me wrong. I've had a great holiday season so far. But good lord, cold rain makes me hate...and Xmas is no time to hate.
We had a most amazing meal at my mom's on Xmas eve. Roast chicken that was moist and flavorful, baked yams, mashed potatoes, rich dark gravy, classic stuffing, and this collared greens/pear/caramelized onion/smoked Gouda/dried cherry casserole that my sister made. Straight tasty. Then we opened presents...which is always fun. Everyone liked what we had gotten them although we were missing two key presents...the 3rd season of 6 ft Under for my sis and bro-in-law, and knives for my mom...which sucked (friggin Amazon!), but they weren't the only presents we had for them so...Xmas was saved.
Xmas day was spent with The Lady's fam and was great. Honestly I could have eaten breakfast before we started getting into the avalanche of presents dominating half of their living room, but thankfully I got a few Clif bars in my stocking to tide me over. Not even opening presents can distract my fat ass from sausage and eggs. I got Beck's and Built to Spill's new albums, a gc for dinner at an Italian place (to be used with her siblings), some fine chocolates, some new-fangled razor with 42 blades (they're lifting the skin!), a portable DVD player (for both of us), and a few bottles of hot sauce. And...The Lady bought me an ipod. 30 gigger vid. That honestly almost made me cry. I've never been hell bent on an ipod but I've definitely always wanted one. It was really more how sweet and awesome of a present it was. Great rubber case that even covers the click wheel. Never saw it coming. She loved her coat too (which she never saw coming either) and her parents got her skis, so she was feeling pretty good.
Some reindeer manure hit the holiday fan when pops realized a bad power cord had been included with the young one's xbox 360 (friggin ebay!)...but all it needed was a standard PC-tower type three-pronger and I had ma dig one up for us in the basement (the one that came in the box was missing a grounding socket on the female end). Of course it wasn't as simple as just that...the stupid xbox power converter has a ridge below the grounding pin in the socket that the female end plugs into...making it nonstandard in a most asinine fashion. Upon realizing this I offered a quasi-desperate/quasi-heroic "I'll cut this," which I suppose was some sort of misplaced attempt to get permission for the risks that attend tampering with power cords and 120 volts, etc. Of course everyone was all in favor, primarily I think due to the sheer terror at the thought of their child/brother not being able to play with his primary gift on Xmas morning. So I proceeded to gouge out a spot for that stupid little nonstandard Xbox ridge that only Bill Gates would be stupid enough to include on his game console's power converter. Ultimately it worked, I got to frag some alien invaders in vivid resolution and with a rumbling controller, and no one got electrocuted...yet. So...Xmas was again saved.
Xmas night saw everyone (The Lady's full family...my mom, sister, bro-in-law) at our place for dinner which was great. I overcooked the steaks (med-med well when most everyone asked for med rare) which I was far more disappointed in than anyone else...and we forgot the mushrooms (which would have been a great topping for the steaks), but the scallops were great and aside from having to grill in the rain while hating with extraordinary bitterness the total lack of snow and presence of steady sky piss, everyone swam in holiday cheer.
And then to top it off...yesterday saw the arrival of not only The Lady's ski boots (they fit perfectly...which is awesome), but also my snowboard. I will get bindings as soon as my correct boots arrive (friggin The House!)...and move to Canada if it doesn't snow heavily by the time my rig is complete.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
old and busted, as they say
So I tweaked my back in training today. Training to be a 10th dan black belt in The Way of The Fist you might ask? No. Training to optimize an air traffic control system. And most of the time it's really more of a lecture type class than it is a training. And I actually did it coughing. That's right...I coughed and my back was instantly tweaked. What the hell am I gonna feel like at 55 if I tweak my back coughing at 28? It made for a rather angry morning. I mean, I'm in decent shape. I work out a few days a week. I made contact on a bike this past Sunday in our playoff indoor game (it kinda had training wheels on it truth be told...but hey...it was the only bike I saw that night). Point is, I should be tweaking my back carrying old ladies out of burning nursing homes or holding Carmelo Anthony back from making an ass out of himself on national television...not coughing. Jeez.
So...not to gloat, but I got all my Xmas shopping done. It's nice to be doing it all in tandem I must say. Financially and in terms of the exhausting creativity required to buy with confidence a gift for someone you love. I think everyone is going to be pretty happy. We'll see.
And...I have a new snowboard and boots in the mail on their way as we speak. Slightly touched in the head over that one...I keep losing my slim grasp of an attention span in training, dreaming about floating on powder...although before I go gettin all amped on that, I still need to get some bindings. And get my other gear off the now inaccessible floating second story of my ma's busted garage. And oh yeah...it needs to snow here. Cold rain makes me want to drink...something...prolly booze. December rain = might as well live in S Jersey.
So...not to gloat, but I got all my Xmas shopping done. It's nice to be doing it all in tandem I must say. Financially and in terms of the exhausting creativity required to buy with confidence a gift for someone you love. I think everyone is going to be pretty happy. We'll see.
And...I have a new snowboard and boots in the mail on their way as we speak. Slightly touched in the head over that one...I keep losing my slim grasp of an attention span in training, dreaming about floating on powder...although before I go gettin all amped on that, I still need to get some bindings. And get my other gear off the now inaccessible floating second story of my ma's busted garage. And oh yeah...it needs to snow here. Cold rain makes me want to drink...something...prolly booze. December rain = might as well live in S Jersey.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
the cackalackies
So we took a weekend down to the cackalackies to see some friends from 'swego who just got married. They both had the same first name (shortened version of their full name anyway), so now they really have the same name. It was a bit of a rush to get out of town. You know...that tension that attends gearing up to go somewhere shuffling the unspoken knowledge that any one random set back could put you into panic mode...or worse, flight-missed resignation mode? And of course some hefty lake effect tumbled down for the first 20 minutes of our drive to Webster or Brewster or Baxter or whatever. Which always puts The Lady in a fine mood. She needs some new tires.
We left straight from the parking lot of Beck and Riley's apt in Webster or Brewster or Baxter or whatever. You could tell Riley was feeling the aforementioned tension. But he's a good driver insomuch as we made it to the garage with time to spare. Naturally, our flight was delayed to the point of having ~1 min to make our connection in BWI.
I was surprised I let The Lady convince me that the new regulations about liquids and gels and such had been lifted because I should have known better. Fortunately the AirTran ticket jockeys were nice enough to pack all the ladies' special scents and lotions in a cardboard box to be checked down to CLT. Riley got a cologne in there I suppose and I my cough syrup and utility blade off my key chain too. It was a sorry little box.
It's funny how logic gets less playing time under pressure. After contemplating the loss of our luggage for the night considering our checked bags would probably not make the transfer, we were offered The Box...and yet we still stood around for a few minutes contemplating what to do, getting more and more disgruntled about the state of world affairs and The War of Terror. I was honestly just surprised and grateful that The Box had been offered at all.
Finally The Box was filled with our precious beauty products and other contraband (I really do like that lil utility knife) and we were on our way. Only to find out that our plane was not delayed and that we would be in BWI more or less on time.
There was some ominous emergency response that followed our plane in as it arrived at the gate. But as I stared out the window wondering where the firemen had gone, I apparently missed the men in the Mylar suits assisting with a medical emergency up the hallway towards security.
Before takeoff, it turned out that The Lady and I had first class, VIP seats...to an incredible nose picking display! A woman in a pink sweatsuit opposite us couldn't get enough of her nasal passage as she stared out the window thoughtfully. The Lady found it fascinating and begged me to watch. But it turned out I was all set.
Oh god the joy of seeing your plucky little box emerge from the swaying curtain of the baggage claim...only to have the brains of that joy smashed out against the metal edge of the carousel. I guess that's a bit dramatic...but damn...how many of those boxes are the AirTran people packing for people? Turns out, they packed a similar box for one Jeff Geauliardeaugensen with some "L'oreal Product" who promptly up and rolled with our box. The nerve! Good thing the AirTran baggage bitch was smart enough to check the tag on the box and call him direct. His box smelled as though something horrible had happened en route, which, all told, made me exceedingly happy that it wasn't The Box. But he graciously returned to the ticketing counter with The Box and took his stanky L'oreal Product Box (sounds like a derogatory term for a make-up model, yes?). The Box was ours. That shit had Seinfeld written all over it.
Hey...remember when Nic took matrix algebra in college and then bought a Matrix? Me neither...but I remember hearing it discussed. Anyway, our starving asses drove to Fishbone, got denied (which was very sad), and then to Brewster or Baxter or Webster or whatever for a salty roast beef melt. Met Nick...went back to their nice little, tastefully painted house and fell asleep with a quickness. Big Box (lotta box in this post, hunh?) shopping, helped Beck open her newly purchased drier balls and dropped them into her purse. Obvious jokes ensued about them being Riley's...and lucky for Riley and everyone else there, they were blue. It was glorious.
Packed tight in the Matrix (packed tight in a car was a theme for the weekend) we got some great BBQ at Courtney's in Clover and then home for low impact party prep. Then a drive through bright lights of Charlotte and to Allan and Lauren's house. We rolled with a beer pong table, a quarter keg, a liter of Ketel, some gourmet olives, and a couple lemons. Nothing like a wood burning fireplace and a group of well dressed pregnant ladies. Well...three anyway.
The Ketel 1 was gone in 40 minutes. Sad. Good thing Nic brought some Absolut Nilla too.
I tied one on carefully and then let Riley drink our penalties as I found a tight mark in pong. I matched him with slugs of my martini as I remembered but we really didn't have to do much drinking. We played four games and went undefeated. I think I went 5-6 the last game. Wooot. Allan said I must be taking some performance enhancing drugs.
The trip home when Saturday is the only day you get is tough. You're just tired. And you didn't take enough of what you went for and loved. And I forgot my soccer gear...for which I punished myself thoroughly. All told, it was nice to go home and chill but I'm only getting one game in a week these days which hurts.
Congratulations to the two Nic(k)s...good times in the cackalackies.
We left straight from the parking lot of Beck and Riley's apt in Webster or Brewster or Baxter or whatever. You could tell Riley was feeling the aforementioned tension. But he's a good driver insomuch as we made it to the garage with time to spare. Naturally, our flight was delayed to the point of having ~1 min to make our connection in BWI.
I was surprised I let The Lady convince me that the new regulations about liquids and gels and such had been lifted because I should have known better. Fortunately the AirTran ticket jockeys were nice enough to pack all the ladies' special scents and lotions in a cardboard box to be checked down to CLT. Riley got a cologne in there I suppose and I my cough syrup and utility blade off my key chain too. It was a sorry little box.
It's funny how logic gets less playing time under pressure. After contemplating the loss of our luggage for the night considering our checked bags would probably not make the transfer, we were offered The Box...and yet we still stood around for a few minutes contemplating what to do, getting more and more disgruntled about the state of world affairs and The War of Terror. I was honestly just surprised and grateful that The Box had been offered at all.
Finally The Box was filled with our precious beauty products and other contraband (I really do like that lil utility knife) and we were on our way. Only to find out that our plane was not delayed and that we would be in BWI more or less on time.
There was some ominous emergency response that followed our plane in as it arrived at the gate. But as I stared out the window wondering where the firemen had gone, I apparently missed the men in the Mylar suits assisting with a medical emergency up the hallway towards security.
Before takeoff, it turned out that The Lady and I had first class, VIP seats...to an incredible nose picking display! A woman in a pink sweatsuit opposite us couldn't get enough of her nasal passage as she stared out the window thoughtfully. The Lady found it fascinating and begged me to watch. But it turned out I was all set.
Oh god the joy of seeing your plucky little box emerge from the swaying curtain of the baggage claim...only to have the brains of that joy smashed out against the metal edge of the carousel. I guess that's a bit dramatic...but damn...how many of those boxes are the AirTran people packing for people? Turns out, they packed a similar box for one Jeff Geauliardeaugensen with some "L'oreal Product" who promptly up and rolled with our box. The nerve! Good thing the AirTran baggage bitch was smart enough to check the tag on the box and call him direct. His box smelled as though something horrible had happened en route, which, all told, made me exceedingly happy that it wasn't The Box. But he graciously returned to the ticketing counter with The Box and took his stanky L'oreal Product Box (sounds like a derogatory term for a make-up model, yes?). The Box was ours. That shit had Seinfeld written all over it.
Hey...remember when Nic took matrix algebra in college and then bought a Matrix? Me neither...but I remember hearing it discussed. Anyway, our starving asses drove to Fishbone, got denied (which was very sad), and then to Brewster or Baxter or Webster or whatever for a salty roast beef melt. Met Nick...went back to their nice little, tastefully painted house and fell asleep with a quickness. Big Box (lotta box in this post, hunh?) shopping, helped Beck open her newly purchased drier balls and dropped them into her purse. Obvious jokes ensued about them being Riley's...and lucky for Riley and everyone else there, they were blue. It was glorious.
Packed tight in the Matrix (packed tight in a car was a theme for the weekend) we got some great BBQ at Courtney's in Clover and then home for low impact party prep. Then a drive through bright lights of Charlotte and to Allan and Lauren's house. We rolled with a beer pong table, a quarter keg, a liter of Ketel, some gourmet olives, and a couple lemons. Nothing like a wood burning fireplace and a group of well dressed pregnant ladies. Well...three anyway.
The Ketel 1 was gone in 40 minutes. Sad. Good thing Nic brought some Absolut Nilla too.
I tied one on carefully and then let Riley drink our penalties as I found a tight mark in pong. I matched him with slugs of my martini as I remembered but we really didn't have to do much drinking. We played four games and went undefeated. I think I went 5-6 the last game. Wooot. Allan said I must be taking some performance enhancing drugs.
The trip home when Saturday is the only day you get is tough. You're just tired. And you didn't take enough of what you went for and loved. And I forgot my soccer gear...for which I punished myself thoroughly. All told, it was nice to go home and chill but I'm only getting one game in a week these days which hurts.
Congratulations to the two Nic(k)s...good times in the cackalackies.
Wednesday, December 6, 2006
oh jeez...I think I just blogged myself
I can start blogging. I mean, sleazy interns and all the kids nowadays and even old people do it...so I'm sure it's safe for me. I have to admit that I do feel a little pressure to have some sort of theme though. Like I should be complaining about stuff all the time or letting slip what senators I've slept with or telling people how to...like...broadcast their pirate signal and hack into the Matrix and whatnot. I've got nothing like that though. I mean I could probably complain pretty effectively but that's not what blogging should be about, is it?
I once read this blog that was linked to Fark about this woman who had found out her husband was cheating on her and was on this warpath to publically humiliate him. She conveniently started her blogging existence about a week before she discovered his infidelity and proceeded to come up with some pretty ridiculous stunts to expose him. It all screamed "publicity stunt for Jennifer Aniston's and Owen Wilson's next movie." I guess there's no reason why it can't be true (http://thatgirlemily.blogspot.com/ check it out for yourself). But I can't say I'm sold. Anyway...my point is, that's not the sort of thing that I want my blog to be about. You see blogging is a such a powerful and unique outlet for creating a virtual community in this remarkably networked world of ours and to use it as a personal tabloid is just...hmm...uh...yeah, not my point. People can cheapen anything...and blogging might be one the most effective mediums with which to cheapen content since television. It's like global cable access for the most personal and generally meaningless of written words. Think everyone's own 'The Denise Show.'
It's so perfect that blog sounds like a bodily function. It's a verb and sounds gross. A shoo-in for a new onomatopoeia, no doubt. And yeah, it's "shoo" and not "shoe." I looked it up. And onomatopoeia. Thank god for the interwebbings. Thank god for blogging.
I once read this blog that was linked to Fark about this woman who had found out her husband was cheating on her and was on this warpath to publically humiliate him. She conveniently started her blogging existence about a week before she discovered his infidelity and proceeded to come up with some pretty ridiculous stunts to expose him. It all screamed "publicity stunt for Jennifer Aniston's and Owen Wilson's next movie." I guess there's no reason why it can't be true (http://thatgirlemily.blogspot.com/ check it out for yourself). But I can't say I'm sold. Anyway...my point is, that's not the sort of thing that I want my blog to be about. You see blogging is a such a powerful and unique outlet for creating a virtual community in this remarkably networked world of ours and to use it as a personal tabloid is just...hmm...uh...yeah, not my point. People can cheapen anything...and blogging might be one the most effective mediums with which to cheapen content since television. It's like global cable access for the most personal and generally meaningless of written words. Think everyone's own 'The Denise Show.'
It's so perfect that blog sounds like a bodily function. It's a verb and sounds gross. A shoo-in for a new onomatopoeia, no doubt. And yeah, it's "shoo" and not "shoe." I looked it up. And onomatopoeia. Thank god for the interwebbings. Thank god for blogging.
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