I love to go running. I've been doing it for the last 5 or so years. I typically run between 3 and 5 miles on an average run, though I have done 13.1 in the one half-marathon I've run. I've run a 4.5 mile leg through the hills of New Hampshire at 3:30am while doing Reach the Beach. I 've run 3 miles at a 6:52 per mile pace, which is faster than the 2 mile timed run we had to for high school soccer when I ran it at a 7:05 per mile pace.When I run 5K races, I typically finish in the top 10%. I . . . am a MAN.
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5 years ago I started running because I looked in the mirror and was disgusted with myself. I was 30 pounds heavier than I was when I graduated high school. Now, I'm 20 pounds lighter and 1 jean size smaller than I was in high school, and 50 pounds lighter than I was when I started running. It's been a HUGE self esteem boost, but to make sure I don't slip back, I keep track of my weight. In fact, before I shower every morning, I look at myself in the mirror, and then weigh myself. If it's just a few pounds heavier than I like, I'm once again disgusted. I calorie count almost every day. I . . . am NOT a man.
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More after the JUMP
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Item #46 - Take a Guitar Lesson
"Well, it's one louder, isn't it? It's not ten. You see, most blokes, you know, will be playing at ten. You're on ten here, all the way up, all the way up, all the way up, you're on ten on your guitar. Where can you go from there? Where?"
"I don't know."
"Nowhere. Exactly. What we do is, if we need that extra push over the cliff, you know what we do?"
"Put it up to eleven"
"Eleven. Exactly. "
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A set of random music-based lists, because there's just too much shit to cover in a single post about music, and because lists are so damn easy to write about and then talk about in the comments.
Top 3 Concerts
"I don't know."
"Nowhere. Exactly. What we do is, if we need that extra push over the cliff, you know what we do?"
"Put it up to eleven"
"Eleven. Exactly. "
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A set of random music-based lists, because there's just too much shit to cover in a single post about music, and because lists are so damn easy to write about and then talk about in the comments.
Top 3 Concerts
- Sloan. Clutch Cargo's, Pontiac. 1-29-99. My favorite band, in a probably my favorite venue. They played for 2 hours. Then a break. Then a 30 minute encore. No opening band. Non-stop Sloan action . . . except for that one stop.
- The Hives and The Mooney Suzuki. The Roxy, Boston. 6-11-02. "Howlin" Pelle Almqvist from the Hives controlled the crowd like nobody I've ever seen. And I had never heard of the Mooney Suzuki before, but they were the one opening band I've seen where they finished and I said, "I must download their stuff tonight." A small venue that RAWKED.
- Suicide Machines. Detroit. 2000? I may not be into punk as much as I once was, but the venue for this can't be ignored. A now-deceased radio station in Detroit used to occasionally have these concerts for maybe 20 people at a small studio, with a decently popular band (Suicide Machines were fairly big in Michigan, as far as punk goes. Bostonians, think of a less popular, less anoying Dropkick Murphys). I ended winning a radio contest to get in, so I went with my little sis. Loud punk rock in a 20 x 20 room with 20 people is pretty bad-ass.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Item #45 - Go Surfing
One of my favorite arguments is the classic "what's a sport?" debate. So in an effort to encourage discussion in the comments, or in an effort to just piss some people off, here are Alan's 2 simple guidelines to what is and is not a "sport" - it must be objective, and it must be athletic. See the handy dandy chart below.
Rule #1 - There must be a concrete and objective scoring system.
So Rule #1 typically pisses off the following types athletes - figure skaters, gymnasts, cheerleaders, half-pipe snowboarders, divers, etc. Because if there are judges (as opposed to a referee or umpire), then I'm not buying it. The engineer in me thinks judging these events is like grading an English paper. Just too much subjectivity. Maybe I'd be OK with it if you increased the sample size and instead of having 10 judges from different countries, you have 1 from every country in the UN. Either that, or have every competitor have the exact same goal, AKA, they all do the exact same routines. Everyone keeps doing triple axles. You fall, you're out. Last man standing wins. That's concrete goodness! Take your artistic merit and go back to the ballet, hippie.
Rule #1 Tough Call - boxing. At least, when it goes to a decision. A knockdown in which one man is barely alive and bleeding profusely is a fairly good indication of a winner. But with just 3 judges, and fights often getting split decisions, its too damn subjective to just pick a winner. And in the spirit of the previous paragraphs, I say bring back the early 1900's and have every fight go like 100 rounds so that there will always be a winner, preferably one with a handlebar mustache. The cock fights I saw may not have been humane, but at the end of each one, there was no question about who won.
Rule #1 Disclaimer - These people are ABSOLUTELY "athletes". 90% of female college gymnasts could kick my ass (please don't hurt me Lisa). But, these are "athletic competitions" to me, not "sports".
Rule #2 - An ample amount of "athleticism" must be exhibited
Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart once said about porn "I shall not today attempt further to define (it), . . . but I know it when I see it." Well, that's the same with the "athleticism." Darts . . . no. Billiards . . . no. Bowling . . . no. Poker . . . you're an idiot. Golf . . . now we start to see the gray. PGA Tour golf? No. It's no more taxing than being a hippie on a disc golf course. Playing 18 on the weekend, but while carrying your own clubs? Maybe, because now we're actually bringing a little stamina into the equation. Speed Golf? Hells yes.
Rule #2 Toughest Call - Baseball Pitchers. A lot of people can argue against golf simply saying the words John Daly
Well, David Wells = John Daly. And CC Sabathia isn't exactly helping the cause either. But, since theoretically every pitcher has to "sprint" to a ball occasionally to field it, and every NL pitcher has to "sprint" to first base if they ever actually make contact, they just barely qualify. Sprinting is required in the sport of baseball, its just that some of these guys are really, really, really shitty at it.
Rule #2 Disclaimer - These folks may not be athletes, but becoming a pro at these "games of skill" is still near impossible. I like golf. I play golf several times a year. Yet, a few weeks ago, instead of walking 100 yards from the 15th to 16th holes, I walked 100 yards to the parking lot to leave early because I could've probably thrown a ball further than I could have hit one. I've gotten better every single year I've been playing soccer, however, I could probably play my 12 year old self right now at golf and win by maybe a stroke. It's embarrassing.
So to quickly summarize with examples:
Anyway, I kind of wanted to try a new sport during the last year, but the closest I came to that was the trapeze and the unicycle. So I figured if I did one more "athletic competition", 3 halves would make a whole (I should be better at math). So I headed down to Narragansett RI for some surfing lessons with my friends Ryan and Sarah (Narragansett Beer, while arguably the best cheap beer around, is not actually made in Narragansett).
Surf Lesson #1 - Be an adult and don't stare at the instructor's metal peg leg. Yes, our surfing instructor had a metal peg leg . . . and he was a bad-ass. And being someone who loves to break the tension by using humor as a crutch, I totally appreciated the fact that he made a joke about it before anybody every said anything (not that I expected anyone to say anything. But, trying to figure out the logistics of surfing with a peg leg may have made someone inquisitive enough to say something). But he absolutely made a joke about sharks getting his leg, and I absolutely enjoyed it. And to answer any lingering questions, I think his peg had a suction cup on the end of it (he didn't actually get on a board during the lesson).
Surf Lesson #2 - Learn to pop up on your board while you're still on the beach, and try not to look like a total tool while doing so. Lesson 2B is hard.
Lesson #3 - Show up with upper body muscles. Considering I hadn't lifted weights since sophomore of gym class when it was required, I did not pass lesson #3. This lesson I didn't expect, but I learned about it pretty quickly when we got out into the water. The hardest part of the day was a combination of timing the waves as they came in, and getting yourself up to speed to actually catch the wave. That meant lots and lots of paddling, and lots and lots of disappointment about not having enough arm strength to get your damn board up to speed as your watch a fantastic wave go by. Luckily, Bad-Ass Instructor Guy was there to occasionally give us kids a push. Thanks dad.
And that's about all there was to it. The longest I ever stood on the board was probably a whole 3 seconds, but considering the size of the waves and the minimal time they actually existed, I'll take it. So I spent a lot less time on the board than when I first learned to snowboard, but this time I got to walk away, instead of having to waddle away with a sore ass.
Rule #1 - There must be a concrete and objective scoring system.
So Rule #1 typically pisses off the following types athletes - figure skaters, gymnasts, cheerleaders, half-pipe snowboarders, divers, etc. Because if there are judges (as opposed to a referee or umpire), then I'm not buying it. The engineer in me thinks judging these events is like grading an English paper. Just too much subjectivity. Maybe I'd be OK with it if you increased the sample size and instead of having 10 judges from different countries, you have 1 from every country in the UN. Either that, or have every competitor have the exact same goal, AKA, they all do the exact same routines. Everyone keeps doing triple axles. You fall, you're out. Last man standing wins. That's concrete goodness! Take your artistic merit and go back to the ballet, hippie.
Rule #1 Tough Call - boxing. At least, when it goes to a decision. A knockdown in which one man is barely alive and bleeding profusely is a fairly good indication of a winner. But with just 3 judges, and fights often getting split decisions, its too damn subjective to just pick a winner. And in the spirit of the previous paragraphs, I say bring back the early 1900's and have every fight go like 100 rounds so that there will always be a winner, preferably one with a handlebar mustache. The cock fights I saw may not have been humane, but at the end of each one, there was no question about who won.
Rule #1 Disclaimer - These people are ABSOLUTELY "athletes". 90% of female college gymnasts could kick my ass (please don't hurt me Lisa). But, these are "athletic competitions" to me, not "sports".
Rule #2 - An ample amount of "athleticism" must be exhibited
Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart once said about porn "I shall not today attempt further to define (it), . . . but I know it when I see it." Well, that's the same with the "athleticism." Darts . . . no. Billiards . . . no. Bowling . . . no. Poker . . . you're an idiot. Golf . . . now we start to see the gray. PGA Tour golf? No. It's no more taxing than being a hippie on a disc golf course. Playing 18 on the weekend, but while carrying your own clubs? Maybe, because now we're actually bringing a little stamina into the equation. Speed Golf? Hells yes.
Rule #2 Toughest Call - Baseball Pitchers. A lot of people can argue against golf simply saying the words John Daly
This man won 2 majors
Well, David Wells = John Daly. And CC Sabathia isn't exactly helping the cause either. But, since theoretically every pitcher has to "sprint" to a ball occasionally to field it, and every NL pitcher has to "sprint" to first base if they ever actually make contact, they just barely qualify. Sprinting is required in the sport of baseball, its just that some of these guys are really, really, really shitty at it.
Rule #2 Disclaimer - These folks may not be athletes, but becoming a pro at these "games of skill" is still near impossible. I like golf. I play golf several times a year. Yet, a few weeks ago, instead of walking 100 yards from the 15th to 16th holes, I walked 100 yards to the parking lot to leave early because I could've probably thrown a ball further than I could have hit one. I've gotten better every single year I've been playing soccer, however, I could probably play my 12 year old self right now at golf and win by maybe a stroke. It's embarrassing.
So to quickly summarize with examples:
Surf Lesson #1 - Be an adult and don't stare at the instructor's metal peg leg. Yes, our surfing instructor had a metal peg leg . . . and he was a bad-ass. And being someone who loves to break the tension by using humor as a crutch, I totally appreciated the fact that he made a joke about it before anybody every said anything (not that I expected anyone to say anything. But, trying to figure out the logistics of surfing with a peg leg may have made someone inquisitive enough to say something). But he absolutely made a joke about sharks getting his leg, and I absolutely enjoyed it. And to answer any lingering questions, I think his peg had a suction cup on the end of it (he didn't actually get on a board during the lesson).
Surf Lesson #2 - Learn to pop up on your board while you're still on the beach, and try not to look like a total tool while doing so. Lesson 2B is hard.
Lesson #3 - Show up with upper body muscles. Considering I hadn't lifted weights since sophomore of gym class when it was required, I did not pass lesson #3. This lesson I didn't expect, but I learned about it pretty quickly when we got out into the water. The hardest part of the day was a combination of timing the waves as they came in, and getting yourself up to speed to actually catch the wave. That meant lots and lots of paddling, and lots and lots of disappointment about not having enough arm strength to get your damn board up to speed as your watch a fantastic wave go by. Luckily, Bad-Ass Instructor Guy was there to occasionally give us kids a push. Thanks dad.
And that's about all there was to it. The longest I ever stood on the board was probably a whole 3 seconds, but considering the size of the waves and the minimal time they actually existed, I'll take it. So I spent a lot less time on the board than when I first learned to snowboard, but this time I got to walk away, instead of having to waddle away with a sore ass.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Item #44 - Run the Brooklyn & Manhattan Bridges
In #43, I went to NYC to go to a Mets game and finish out the 30 stadium tour. The game was at 1:00, and there was a Michigan game at 8:00 that night (why explore all that NYC has to offer when you can stay inside and give yourself multiple heart attacks watching a college football game!), so I had a few hours to kill in between. So earlier in the week, before heading down, I decided to keep up my running and at least spend 45 minutes touring NYC by doing a 5 mile run. I was staying with my buddy Aaron in Brooklyn, so I could do the Brooklyn Bridge and Manhattan Bridge on the same run. Convenient . . . until this news item came out:
The obvious spoiler to the story is that nothing happened. However, I did get a little freaked out on the bus ride down to the city. Right before crossing into Manhattan, less than 100 yards from the bridge (coming from the Bronx), our driver, who was either Arabic of Afghani, pulled over to the side of the road. He didn't say anything. He just got up, went to the back of the bus and closed the door. My first thought? Well, we're dead. We're near a bridge. He's wiring up his bomb. This thing's gunna blow. But after a couple, I stopped being an irrational profiler, because our driver finished his poop break and got back to driving. A bathroom break with just a few miles to go wouldn't normally make sense, but thanks to the added security from the aforementioned threats, it took us another 45 minutes to get halfway down Manhattan to our stop. Our driver knew that. Your idiot author did not. So much for being a bad-ass.
Eventually I made it into Brooklyn and then to the Mets game. And afterwards, I took the following route, which proved to be pretty interesting for a threat-level-midnight kind of weekend.
B - 10 year anniversary of September 11? Of course I had to run by Ground Zero. The new tower was obviously not done, and the memorial wouldn't be open until the next day, but that didn't stop the area from being flooded by people, included a dude ranting and raving about the US and Muslims while in full traditional garb. I'm all for free speech and freedom of religion, but dude, have you met some of the people from this country? Sometimes common sense needs to prevail. That guy was basically asking someone to recreate the Die Hard Harlem scene for him.
C - Coming back across the Brooklyn Bridge. For a site that may have been target #1 based on the report mentioned above, this place was even more hopping than Ground Zero. You want to put a threat on our bridges? New York says "Fuck you, we're doubling on foot traffic on it." America . . . fuck yeah.
U.S. security forces in high alert after the latest intelligence information said the militant group Al Qaeda planning to detonate a car bomb on the bridge or tunnel in the city of New York and Washington DC at the 10th anniversary 9 / 11 attacks, this weekend.Just great. But rather than pick a different non-bridge-crossing route, or not run altogether, I said fuck it, and proceeded as planned. Because if I didn't run, I'd be letting the terrorists win, right? And after having been in NYC September 7-9 of 2001, I had always wanted a NY disaster story of my own (see Item #25). So maybe this was my chance. I could be running on the Brooklyn Bridge, have a bomb go off in the middle, breaking the bridge in 2, and then I would have to pick up the nearest child and sprint back to land as a hero, as the rest of the bridge continued to crumbled behind me. Or more likely, something would explode and I would curl up in a ball and start crying, as the children around me pointed and laughed, because I freaked out over an M80. Yeah, that's the more likely one.
The obvious spoiler to the story is that nothing happened. However, I did get a little freaked out on the bus ride down to the city. Right before crossing into Manhattan, less than 100 yards from the bridge (coming from the Bronx), our driver, who was either Arabic of Afghani, pulled over to the side of the road. He didn't say anything. He just got up, went to the back of the bus and closed the door. My first thought? Well, we're dead. We're near a bridge. He's wiring up his bomb. This thing's gunna blow. But after a couple, I stopped being an irrational profiler, because our driver finished his poop break and got back to driving. A bathroom break with just a few miles to go wouldn't normally make sense, but thanks to the added security from the aforementioned threats, it took us another 45 minutes to get halfway down Manhattan to our stop. Our driver knew that. Your idiot author did not. So much for being a bad-ass.
Eventually I made it into Brooklyn and then to the Mets game. And afterwards, I took the following route, which proved to be pretty interesting for a threat-level-midnight kind of weekend.
A - The view from the Manhattan Bridge looking downtown and to the Brooklyn Bridge. Perfect time of day that lead to a postcard-esque view of the city. And "postcard" is an apt word as I certainly looked like a tourist trying to get on the Manhattan Bridge. There was only one pedestrian lane open, and there was a sign that said "bikes only." So I kind of puttered around looking for another path across, not wanting to be yelled at by the scary New Yorkers. Eventually I asked some lady on her bike, and she was perfectly nice in telling me that the bike path was the only way to get across, as I'm sure she then inaudibly muttered "pussy ass tourist."
From mile 1-2 I ran through Chinatown and its countless street vendors. Chinatown grocery vendors + big city smog/sewer/piss smell does not equal a pleasant running air. Somehow I made it through though without purchasing a live chicken.
B - 10 year anniversary of September 11? Of course I had to run by Ground Zero. The new tower was obviously not done, and the memorial wouldn't be open until the next day, but that didn't stop the area from being flooded by people, included a dude ranting and raving about the US and Muslims while in full traditional garb. I'm all for free speech and freedom of religion, but dude, have you met some of the people from this country? Sometimes common sense needs to prevail. That guy was basically asking someone to recreate the Die Hard Harlem scene for him.
C - Coming back across the Brooklyn Bridge. For a site that may have been target #1 based on the report mentioned above, this place was even more hopping than Ground Zero. You want to put a threat on our bridges? New York says "Fuck you, we're doubling on foot traffic on it." America . . . fuck yeah.
D - Shots from the end of the run, just outside my friend's apartment, looking at the Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridges. From just outside my apartment, I can see a Starbucks and a nail salon . . . I'm slightly jealous.
So I didn't get blown to bits (despite 1 instance of irrationally fearing it), but nor did I get to save my own life by showing off my wheels, running from a collapsing bridge. Eh, we'll call it a win-win.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Item #43 - Go to a Mets Game, and finish the 30 stadium tour (Part 2)
For Part 1 go HERE. If you haven't read it, this will be pretty random, and you need context dammit.
For Part 2, continue reading after the jump
For Part 2, continue reading after the jump
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Item #43 - Go to a Mets Game, and finish the 30 stadium tour (Part 1)
"I never realized how boring this game is"
-Homer Simpson, while at a baseball game sober
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I graduated from Michigan in 2001 and moved out to Boston with my buddy Walter shortly after. Near the end of that summer, the 2 of us decided to meet up with 4 of our Detroit friends (Matt, Joe, Dave and Chris) in Pittsburgh so we could take in a Pirates game at their new ballpark. It was kind of in the middle of our 2 cities, so we all could drive there . . . and then we all got stupid drunk. Just like that, a tradition now known as The Baseball Trip was born. And for the last 11 years, we've been meeting up once a year at various ballparks, so we can enjoy America's Pastime in a new venue. At least that's what we tell people. The reality is that it gives us an excuse to get back together once a year, get loaded, and act like we're still in college - girlfriends, wives, babies, travel distances, maturity be damned. Of the 6 of us, MAYBE 3 of us care about baseball (me being one of those. Anyone else excited to see Brad Pitt in a movie about baseball statistics? I AM!).
Different people have joined and ditched the trip at various points through it's 11 years, but the Original 6 still remain, and we'll keep going as long as humanly possible. Granted it may now be just a 3 day weekend like it was this year in Minneapolis, as opposed to the 9 day, 4 city excursion we took back in 2002, but The Trip lives.
The Trip itself has now been to 27 different venues, but I had been to Toronto and Cleveland on my own. So for me, I only had the Mets left on my list. And this Saturday, I took a bus down to NYC to meet my friend Aaron, and we crossed off the final franchise on my list.
I use the word "franchise" because I can't technically say I've been to every team's current home ballpark. Over the last 11 years, multiple team's have built new stadiums, and 1 has even moved to a new country. These new stadiums give us a great excuse to keep the trip going, as the number of possibly immature adventures continues to grow. But the spirit of the every-ballpark mission has been accomplished. And frankly, I would have rather of been to the ones I've been to than the current 30 because while a lot of the new ones are nice, they lack the character of the older ones (and even the semi-older shitty domed ones).
So 30 franchises, 30+ ballparks. ESPN has it documentary series called 30 for 30? Well, here's 30 pictures and 30 very short stories about my own 30 adventures, capped off by the weekend trip to Citi Field in Queens. Some stories are about the parks, but most are about the journeys in and around the parks. Hopefully all are at least slightly amusing.
Continued after the jump
-Homer Simpson, while at a baseball game sober
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I graduated from Michigan in 2001 and moved out to Boston with my buddy Walter shortly after. Near the end of that summer, the 2 of us decided to meet up with 4 of our Detroit friends (Matt, Joe, Dave and Chris) in Pittsburgh so we could take in a Pirates game at their new ballpark. It was kind of in the middle of our 2 cities, so we all could drive there . . . and then we all got stupid drunk. Just like that, a tradition now known as The Baseball Trip was born. And for the last 11 years, we've been meeting up once a year at various ballparks, so we can enjoy America's Pastime in a new venue. At least that's what we tell people. The reality is that it gives us an excuse to get back together once a year, get loaded, and act like we're still in college - girlfriends, wives, babies, travel distances, maturity be damned. Of the 6 of us, MAYBE 3 of us care about baseball (me being one of those. Anyone else excited to see Brad Pitt in a movie about baseball statistics? I AM!).
Different people have joined and ditched the trip at various points through it's 11 years, but the Original 6 still remain, and we'll keep going as long as humanly possible. Granted it may now be just a 3 day weekend like it was this year in Minneapolis, as opposed to the 9 day, 4 city excursion we took back in 2002, but The Trip lives.
The Trip itself has now been to 27 different venues, but I had been to Toronto and Cleveland on my own. So for me, I only had the Mets left on my list. And this Saturday, I took a bus down to NYC to meet my friend Aaron, and we crossed off the final franchise on my list.
I use the word "franchise" because I can't technically say I've been to every team's current home ballpark. Over the last 11 years, multiple team's have built new stadiums, and 1 has even moved to a new country. These new stadiums give us a great excuse to keep the trip going, as the number of possibly immature adventures continues to grow. But the spirit of the every-ballpark mission has been accomplished. And frankly, I would have rather of been to the ones I've been to than the current 30 because while a lot of the new ones are nice, they lack the character of the older ones (and even the semi-older shitty domed ones).
So 30 franchises, 30+ ballparks. ESPN has it documentary series called 30 for 30? Well, here's 30 pictures and 30 very short stories about my own 30 adventures, capped off by the weekend trip to Citi Field in Queens. Some stories are about the parks, but most are about the journeys in and around the parks. Hopefully all are at least slightly amusing.
Continued after the jump
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Fun Facts
I haven't disappeared. Just busy. I'm woefully behind in posting (4 items done that haven't been posted). But the self-imposed deadline is less than 2 weeks away, so getting stuff done > writing. 6 still to go. Will I finish? Oh the drama! Feel the excitement!. . . of a blog read by like 60 people.
And speaking of the people that read this blog, let's have some fun with, ummm, fun facts. Google Blogger keeps a bunch of stats, including where your web traffic comes from, and if they got there through a search, what words were used. So here's some of the search keywords that have gotten people to my site.
"do52new" (searched for 54 times) - OK, that makes sense. You know the blog name or idea, but forgot the site. Pretty basic.
"52 new things detroit cockfighting" (1 time) - one of you knows me well! Same idea as the one above, but a little more specific, in case there was someone from NYC doing 52 new things that included cockfighting.
"segathon.com" (2) - From the post on the video game tournament. Link by association, since the guys we played have a website setup at segathon.com.
"university of michigan naked mile" (4), "ann arbor naked mile" (2) "campus naked" (2) - I reference the Naked Mile in the post about chest waxing, still by far the most popular post. As per usual, sex sells.
"colleg naked" (2) - for the spelling-challenged pornography connoisseur, which got me linked to not once, but twice.
"zubaz" (1), "zubaz shorts" (2) - From the post on Second City in Chicago. I'm glad to see someone out there isn't just trying to bring them back, but trying to bring them back in shorts form.
"i think i have too much chest" (2) - again with the chest waxing, you masochistic bastards.
"rick porcello shirtless" (7!), "rick porcello shirtless pic" (2) - Wait, what? . . . .I had to search the blog, and indeed, the words "Rick Porcello" (the Tigers pitcher) and "shirtless" appear in the post about being on the Jumbotron, though I didn't put the words together, not do I have a shirtless pic of Rick Porcello posted (though apparently maybe I should to drive up traffic).
"the flintstones gays" (1) - No idea. No post has these words in it. (though coincidentally, one year when we went out on yearly guys baseball trip, Walter had shirts made up with Fred Flintstone and the saying "We'll have a gay ole time" on the front. Complete coincidence though)
" "dildo comes to life" -mindy " (1) - Apparently Mindy has a famous quote about a dildo coming to life. Again, nowhere on this site . . . until now! Bring on the traffic!
And now if someone wants to really help me drive up traffic, they can create a Photoshopped picure of Rock Porcello getting his chest waxed while wearing Zubaz and holding a magical dildo at a cockfight in Ann Arbor.
And now if someone wants to really help me drive up traffic, they can create a Photoshopped picure of Rock Porcello getting his chest waxed while wearing Zubaz and holding a magical dildo at a cockfight in Ann Arbor.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Item #42 - Go to a Boston Breakers Game
"Is your remarkably sexist drivel intentional, or just some horrible mistake?" -Lisa Simpson
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Ummm, its intentional. I love to debate, and I love to get a rise out of people, and one of my favorite ways to do both is by being intentionally sexist.
Note: I don't actually believe my sexist drivel. I've veered way too far to the left to actually mean it. However, my views on equal rights/politics have no correlation to my being an ass for the sake of being an ass.
And by "sexist", i mean way over-the-top sexist. Saying you don't think Hillary Clinton should ever be president because she's a woman and would have mental breakdowns once a month? Meh . . . too believable of sexism. I think 70% of the South actually backs that thought. Saying that a woman's best jobs are either in the kitchen cooking or typing memos for her boss? Come on, that's too Mad Men. That's like, cool retro sexism or something. And it was already done to perfection by one of my favorite comedians, Andy Kaufman.
NOBODY was better at getting rises out people just for the sake of it than Andy Kaufman. He created several personas (a foreigner comedian, a lounge singer). He wrestled women. He got slapped by Jerry Lawler on Letterman. He fought a producer on an SNL ripoff . . . and it was all bullshit for the sake of bullshit. If you were smart enough to be in on the joke, then he was a genius. But if you were on the outside, he was a fucking asshole. And he was the best at it (even though I was 4 when he died. I may be smart (on occasion), but not smart enough to get Andy Kaufman at 4).
More fake-sexism after the jump below
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Ummm, its intentional. I love to debate, and I love to get a rise out of people, and one of my favorite ways to do both is by being intentionally sexist.
Note: I don't actually believe my sexist drivel. I've veered way too far to the left to actually mean it. However, my views on equal rights/politics have no correlation to my being an ass for the sake of being an ass.
And by "sexist", i mean way over-the-top sexist. Saying you don't think Hillary Clinton should ever be president because she's a woman and would have mental breakdowns once a month? Meh . . . too believable of sexism. I think 70% of the South actually backs that thought. Saying that a woman's best jobs are either in the kitchen cooking or typing memos for her boss? Come on, that's too Mad Men. That's like, cool retro sexism or something. And it was already done to perfection by one of my favorite comedians, Andy Kaufman.
NOBODY was better at getting rises out people just for the sake of it than Andy Kaufman. He created several personas (a foreigner comedian, a lounge singer). He wrestled women. He got slapped by Jerry Lawler on Letterman. He fought a producer on an SNL ripoff . . . and it was all bullshit for the sake of bullshit. If you were smart enough to be in on the joke, then he was a genius. But if you were on the outside, he was a fucking asshole. And he was the best at it (even though I was 4 when he died. I may be smart (on occasion), but not smart enough to get Andy Kaufman at 4).
More fake-sexism after the jump below
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Item #41 - Play the Ponies at Suffolk Downs
"No more peanuts until you pick a winning horse"
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This is Tablelegs.
Tablelegs was my hamster in grad school. Not grade school. Not middle school. I had a hamster in grad school. And he was the man.
Another very middle school thing I did in grad school? Cover my walls in posters. Like, every poster I had, in an attempt to cover up all available wall space. This included posters of Scooby-Doo and Kelly Kapowski. But, I at least I had a good excuse - I didn't want my place to look like it hosted 70's key parties. You see, my 420 square foot studio apartment was wall-to-wall wood paneling, and 80% of the floor was covered in orange and brown shag carpeting. It was like if John Holmes had a ski lodge. So it wasn't so much what was on the posters, so much as how much space they could cover ("but Alan, why didn't buy some updated posters, and perhaps frame them, so you looked like an adult?" Because I was a poor grad student happy to have enough spare change to buy a 12 pack of Natty Light. Stop judging me)
Anyway, Tablelegs was awesome. He was my little homie while I lived away in a little cow town (see many many previous posts for explanations and bitching). He lived to be 2 and a half year old, and yes, there were some tears shed when he died. He was a trooper, and he was also a little speedster, often waking up in the middle of the night because he wanted to go for a light 30 minute jog on his wheel. But this was fitting, as Tablelegs was named after a race horse.
More after the jump (this is the first time I'm trying the whole page break thing, where you click below to continue reading. Hopefully it will make the front page a little cleaner. And hopefully it actually works).
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This is Tablelegs.
Tablelegs was my hamster in grad school. Not grade school. Not middle school. I had a hamster in grad school. And he was the man.
Another very middle school thing I did in grad school? Cover my walls in posters. Like, every poster I had, in an attempt to cover up all available wall space. This included posters of Scooby-Doo and Kelly Kapowski. But, I at least I had a good excuse - I didn't want my place to look like it hosted 70's key parties. You see, my 420 square foot studio apartment was wall-to-wall wood paneling, and 80% of the floor was covered in orange and brown shag carpeting. It was like if John Holmes had a ski lodge. So it wasn't so much what was on the posters, so much as how much space they could cover ("but Alan, why didn't buy some updated posters, and perhaps frame them, so you looked like an adult?" Because I was a poor grad student happy to have enough spare change to buy a 12 pack of Natty Light. Stop judging me)
Anyway, Tablelegs was awesome. He was my little homie while I lived away in a little cow town (see many many previous posts for explanations and bitching). He lived to be 2 and a half year old, and yes, there were some tears shed when he died. He was a trooper, and he was also a little speedster, often waking up in the middle of the night because he wanted to go for a light 30 minute jog on his wheel. But this was fitting, as Tablelegs was named after a race horse.
More after the jump (this is the first time I'm trying the whole page break thing, where you click below to continue reading. Hopefully it will make the front page a little cleaner. And hopefully it actually works).
Monday, August 8, 2011
Item #40 - Indoor Rock Climbing
"Nothing is over until we decide it is! Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no! And it ain't over now." - Bluto
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Last year I lived with 2 gal friends, Jill and Danielle. They're both running freaks, and because of the constant exposure to them, and their freakish running habits ("it's 25 degrees out, but I need to keep up my training, so I'm ONLY going to run 16 miles today"), I slowly made the final transition from soccer-player-who-runs to soccer-player-AND-runner. I began to up my mileage, and slowly went from running 3 miles to running 4 . . . and 5 . . and 6 . . . and 7. And around that point, Danielle decided to get me drunk enough that she could take advantage of my body . . . by getting me to sign up for a half-marathon she was running on Memorial Weekend, despite me never having run a race over 5 miles. The half marathon was on May 30. I signed up for on April 30. That . . . was a mistake.
Over the course of the next month, I trained as reasonably much as I could train. I went to 8, then to 10, then to 11 miles. Granted I hit 11 miles a week before the race, and most training regiments apparently say you should be hitting that 3 weeks before the race, but who cares? I'm a bad-ass. I'm 31 years old, play 3 soccer games a week and only sub out when I get dragged to the sidelines kicking and screaming. I have no stop button . . . or at least I have no stop button for the 70 minutes that out soccer games last.
On race day, I felt pretty good. Despite the rookie mistake of missing the first water station, I hit the turn (it was an out-and-back race) at around an 8:30 per-mile pace. Probably a faster pace than I should have been setting, back again, who cares? Bad . . . . ass.
At around the 8 mile mark (coincidentally about the length of my soccer games), I got caught by Danielle. Up to that point, I had actually thought she was ahead of me, so to finally see the veteran runner catch me at that point kind of gave me a runner's high . . . that lasted all of about a 1/4 mile. I then promptly waved good-bye to her and sent her on her merry way, as my body decided to say "Hey dummy. You're 30. You've never run a race over 5 miles. You want to run a half-marathon? Maybe you should have put a little planning into it, fuckhead." I tried to reason with my body, but all my engineering logic is sadly located north of my equator, and the dogged legs in the south ended up winning the argument (actually, that's the usual case when it comes to arguing with any part south in my southern hemisphere, especially my Cape of Good Hope (too many geography metaphors? Whatever. Look at map. It makes sense, I swear)).
So with 4 or 5 miles to go, the occasional walking began. A good 45 seconds worth, about every 4 minutes. I ended up finishing the race in 1 hour, 57 minutes and change, with a 8:59 pace. BUT . . . who cares. I am a bad-ass no more. I finished. I finished in a decent time for a first half-marathon. But I walked. And to continue the half-baked sexual metaphors, it was the difference between sex and masturbation. Sure, they both get you to the same finish line, but one is a way more satisfying way to get there, and far less embarrassing than the other. Sigh. It was a tough realization to face - I fought my body, and my body won.
When I was in Chicago last month, I went another round with my body, this time with the Northern Hemisphere, as I went indoor rock climbing with my friends Megs. Megs works at a college as a rec sports something or other (sorry Megs. You can define this in the paperback version), and she has full access to their facilities, which includes an indoor climbing wall. So I jogged a mile over to her work from where I was staying, we geared up, and we attacked. Oh, one thing I should mention - my lifetime preperation for this moment was about as thorough as my half-marathon training.
Besides mandatory weight lifting for 6 weeks in gym class in high school, and a very brief period before I started actually getting off my ass and running where I thought I could sit on my couch and do a few curls for 10 minutes and develop a 6 pack overnight, I haven't lifted. I find it boring, and I kind of just figured I'd wait until (maybe) having kids and then gaining my Dad Strength (you cannot beat your dad at arm wrestling until you've owned a house for 5+ years and had kids for 2+ years. Its science). So me climbing a rock wall was like bring a knife to a gun fight, as pictures from the chest waxing post clearly show that I do indeed lack guns.
So yeah, the rock wall. The wall itself had 2 parts. The main part was 10 feet up, and just a giant wall of grips. To get there, you could either use a ladder and start at the bottom of that section, or, you could first traverse the very bottom part of the wall - the much tougher lower section that actually went into a 30 degree inversion. Being hard-headed and forgetting anything my body had previously told me about no longer being a bad-ass, I went the inversion route . . .
. . . and I failed. I got my hands on the grips on the main section, but couldn't overcome the inversion. So I tried again . . . and I failed again. So I tried again . . . and I failed again. So I then said fuck that, we got the ladder, and I started at the bottom of the main wall . . . and I failed again.
My self-proclaimed-god-like legs were worthless, or at least, I made them worthless. At this point, my spotter finally got it through my head that I should have been using my legs for the majority of the climbing, while only using my arms and hands to hold on to the wall. Up until now, I had been doing 90% of the climbing with my weak-ass arms, and bringing my legs along for the ride. Big mistake, especially after initially trying the inverted route, which absolutely crushed my forearms. I was then lowered down, so I could watch Megs take care of the wall (sans inversion) in her first try, furthering my embarrassment. Also furthering my embarrassment? The 15 children that were there for a summer camp and watching us the whole time. "Hey kids! Do you know what the word emasculation means?"
So after seeing Megs conquer the wall, I decided that quitting is for quitters, and that I should give it one more try . . . and I succeeded. I rang the bell. Hooray for me. I'M A MAN!
Bu the damage had been done. Like the half-marathon, I had finished, but I had basically "walked" my way up the wall with multiple stop-and-go's. Success and failure all at once. What a country!
Sadly with my upper body stamina, the whole indoor rock climbing excursion only took about 10 minutes. I was sweaty. I was tired. Afterwards, I needed a nap. I finished after the girl, and that was after she had made me feel embarrassed . . .
(insert final sexual metaphor here)
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Last year I lived with 2 gal friends, Jill and Danielle. They're both running freaks, and because of the constant exposure to them, and their freakish running habits ("it's 25 degrees out, but I need to keep up my training, so I'm ONLY going to run 16 miles today"), I slowly made the final transition from soccer-player-who-runs to soccer-player-AND-runner. I began to up my mileage, and slowly went from running 3 miles to running 4 . . . and 5 . . and 6 . . . and 7. And around that point, Danielle decided to get me drunk enough that she could take advantage of my body . . . by getting me to sign up for a half-marathon she was running on Memorial Weekend, despite me never having run a race over 5 miles. The half marathon was on May 30. I signed up for on April 30. That . . . was a mistake.
Over the course of the next month, I trained as reasonably much as I could train. I went to 8, then to 10, then to 11 miles. Granted I hit 11 miles a week before the race, and most training regiments apparently say you should be hitting that 3 weeks before the race, but who cares? I'm a bad-ass. I'm 31 years old, play 3 soccer games a week and only sub out when I get dragged to the sidelines kicking and screaming. I have no stop button . . . or at least I have no stop button for the 70 minutes that out soccer games last.
"Too Much, Too Soon" - my half-marathon training / many a girls response to my advances
On race day, I felt pretty good. Despite the rookie mistake of missing the first water station, I hit the turn (it was an out-and-back race) at around an 8:30 per-mile pace. Probably a faster pace than I should have been setting, back again, who cares? Bad . . . . ass.
At around the 8 mile mark (coincidentally about the length of my soccer games), I got caught by Danielle. Up to that point, I had actually thought she was ahead of me, so to finally see the veteran runner catch me at that point kind of gave me a runner's high . . . that lasted all of about a 1/4 mile. I then promptly waved good-bye to her and sent her on her merry way, as my body decided to say "Hey dummy. You're 30. You've never run a race over 5 miles. You want to run a half-marathon? Maybe you should have put a little planning into it, fuckhead." I tried to reason with my body, but all my engineering logic is sadly located north of my equator, and the dogged legs in the south ended up winning the argument (actually, that's the usual case when it comes to arguing with any part south in my southern hemisphere, especially my Cape of Good Hope (too many geography metaphors? Whatever. Look at map. It makes sense, I swear)).
So with 4 or 5 miles to go, the occasional walking began. A good 45 seconds worth, about every 4 minutes. I ended up finishing the race in 1 hour, 57 minutes and change, with a 8:59 pace. BUT . . . who cares. I am a bad-ass no more. I finished. I finished in a decent time for a first half-marathon. But I walked. And to continue the half-baked sexual metaphors, it was the difference between sex and masturbation. Sure, they both get you to the same finish line, but one is a way more satisfying way to get there, and far less embarrassing than the other. Sigh. It was a tough realization to face - I fought my body, and my body won.
When I was in Chicago last month, I went another round with my body, this time with the Northern Hemisphere, as I went indoor rock climbing with my friends Megs. Megs works at a college as a rec sports something or other (sorry Megs. You can define this in the paperback version), and she has full access to their facilities, which includes an indoor climbing wall. So I jogged a mile over to her work from where I was staying, we geared up, and we attacked. Oh, one thing I should mention - my lifetime preperation for this moment was about as thorough as my half-marathon training.
Besides mandatory weight lifting for 6 weeks in gym class in high school, and a very brief period before I started actually getting off my ass and running where I thought I could sit on my couch and do a few curls for 10 minutes and develop a 6 pack overnight, I haven't lifted. I find it boring, and I kind of just figured I'd wait until (maybe) having kids and then gaining my Dad Strength (you cannot beat your dad at arm wrestling until you've owned a house for 5+ years and had kids for 2+ years. Its science). So me climbing a rock wall was like bring a knife to a gun fight, as pictures from the chest waxing post clearly show that I do indeed lack guns.
So yeah, the rock wall. The wall itself had 2 parts. The main part was 10 feet up, and just a giant wall of grips. To get there, you could either use a ladder and start at the bottom of that section, or, you could first traverse the very bottom part of the wall - the much tougher lower section that actually went into a 30 degree inversion. Being hard-headed and forgetting anything my body had previously told me about no longer being a bad-ass, I went the inversion route . . .
. . . and I failed. I got my hands on the grips on the main section, but couldn't overcome the inversion. So I tried again . . . and I failed again. So I tried again . . . and I failed again. So I then said fuck that, we got the ladder, and I started at the bottom of the main wall . . . and I failed again.
So after seeing Megs conquer the wall, I decided that quitting is for quitters, and that I should give it one more try . . . and I succeeded. I rang the bell. Hooray for me. I'M A MAN!
Bu the damage had been done. Like the half-marathon, I had finished, but I had basically "walked" my way up the wall with multiple stop-and-go's. Success and failure all at once. What a country!
Sadly with my upper body stamina, the whole indoor rock climbing excursion only took about 10 minutes. I was sweaty. I was tired. Afterwards, I needed a nap. I finished after the girl, and that was after she had made me feel embarrassed . . .
(insert final sexual metaphor here)
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- Thanks to Megs for the free indoor rock climbing
- After having done generic yoga and then hot vinyasa yoga, Friday I did bikram yoga (thanks to Katie, Sarah and Malinda), also done at 100+ degree temperatures for 90 minutes. It was a quality ass-kicking, and I dug it more so than the hot vinyasa (though maybe it was just teacher dependent). The vinyasa was like going on a distance run - a constant exersion of of a moderate amount of energy. Bikram was like playing soccer - constantly going back and forth between going as hard as you can and taking short breaks.
- Friday - bikram yoga in Harvard Square. Saturday - degenerate gambling at the horse track (post forthcoming). Sunday - an exhibit at a Boston Library (another post forthcoming), followed by an impromptu 3 person pub crawl . . . I am a man of many faces.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Item #39 - Climb the Bunker Hill Memorial
"Everywhere is walking distance if you have the time" - Stephen Wright
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The Bunker Hill Memorial resides in Charlestown, MA. It actually sits atop Breed's Hill, as some jagoff screwed up his history back in 1827 when the construction began. The 221 feet tall obelisk was finished in 1843 and has 294 steps. I've been to the bottom of the monument before, but didn't actually climb it (partly out of apathy, partly out of pure laziness), so I had added it to the list. But, since my tree trunk soccer legs can knock that out no problem (I may have average self-esteem about most of my body, but my legs bring out the cockiness), I decided to up the level of difficulty. Boston likes to call itself America's Walking City? Well, I decided to prove that moniker by walking 7 miles to the monument before walking up it.
So at 11:00am Sunday morning, I put on a dry-fit running shirt and a pair of soccer shorts (I initially had on cargo shorts, but the vast amount of swass I expected to have on a mid-80's day with the sun beating down made me decide otherwise), threw on my backpack, and headed out to Charlestown. Here's the rundown of my adventure, noting my personal monuments along the way.
A - Cafe Nation. My first stop (and really, my only stop) to fuel up for the trek with some iced coffee. If you're an anti-big-corporation hippie that dislikes Dunkin Donuts because of their connection to the Bush family and the Carlyle Group (damn you Aaron G for teaching me this), then this is your place in Brighton Center
B - Devlin's. A nice bar with an outdoor patio. I've gone on a few internet dates over the last year+, but on that patio is the only time I've met up with someone and the second she walked in I said "Ah crap. She. . . . does not look like the picture." I'm no 10, but I at least know how to set up a profile without false advertising.
C - A statue of a hammer thrower, in which the artist could not afford an extra $200 for some steel chains to connect the handle to the ball. You want me to use my imagination? Screw you fancy artist guy.
D - Redneck's BBQ. They have several items they call "double stuffed subs." We got one once there. It was a version of a chicken parm sub that had chicken, cheese, marinara sauce . . . and waffle fries . . . and cheeseticks. U-S-A! U-S-A!
E - Sunset Grill. Mandatory dining for all visitors that don't think a a good beer includes the word "lite" in its name. 380 beers. 112 on tap. Dee . . . lite . . . full.
F - Agganis Arena. Home to the BU terriers. I've seen Michigan play basketball and hockey here, and we had front row seats for both. One required connections. One required us showing up 5 minutes before game time to buy $15 tickets. I'll let you figure out which was which.
G - Fenway Park. I've been to home games for 29 of 30 MLB franchises, and this is my favorite. 35+ games, and I STILL haven't been kicked out of one. Something to strive for I suppose.
H - Former home of my friend Katie, who lived on the 9th story and had a roof deck. It was basically the perfect place to watch both the marathon and the fireworks. However, she's since moved out to the burbs with her hubby and daughter. So, until I become better friends with Tom Brady, I'm going to need one of you people to move to a top floor apartment in Back Bay so I can abuse your living situation as well.
I - Lir. The bar that's home to the Santa Speedo Run. I'll be hitting you people up for donations for the 2012 charity run soon enough, but in the meantime, you can go back and read Item #10, which, according the Blogspot stats, is the most read post on this site because apparently you people are a bunch of masochistic bastards. Either that, or because it will eventually turn up as a hit if you search for the words "naked" and "mile." (though now that those words are in this post too, maybe this one gets some extra hits also? and if that's the case . . . . boobs boobs boobs)
J - Mindy Kaling. AKA, Kelly Kappor from the office. I rarely see famous people in public. I've seen Hulk Hogan at a casino in Fort Lauderdale. I've seen Fab 5 legend Jalen Rose at a steakhouse in Mandalay Bay (maybe I just to to hang in casinos more often). And I've seen Mindy Kaling walking Newbury St. I'm so hip and cool.
K - The Rattlesnake Bar. When I first moved to Boston with Walter, and we didn't really know anyone yet, I think this is the only place we went to (once) as just 2 guys going to the bar. Walter thought it was "kind of gay" for just 2 guys to go to a bar, and I don't think we did it again. In 4 months, I will be giving the best man speech at his wedding. If I can keep the Walter stories under 20 minutes, it will be a miracle.
L - The start to the Corporate Challenge, a 3.5 mile charity race with approximately 10,000 runners. In a normal race at that length, I'll typically run at a 7:15-7:30 per-mile pace. The last time I ran this clusterfuck? 8:49 pace. Though with the amount of weaving we had to do, we probably ran 5 miles. This . . . . is not an enjoyable race.
M - The Duck Pond, which is now a wading pool and fountain for kids. Approximate ratio of water to piss? 50-50 at best.
N - Massachusetts State House. Massachusetts? More like TAXachusetts! Right? I just came up with that.
O - The Greenway. For you non-Bostonians, as you can of see on the map, the highway runs underground here, thanks to the Big Dig, which was definitely not built by the mafia with substandard materials. It's actually pretty damn cool. Though what's not cool the is $800 I end up paying each year in tolls. Occasionally, I do miss the free pot-hole-ridden constantly-under-construction highways of the Motor City.
P - The part where I got a little lost. Damn you Boston and your wacky unlabeled curvy roads.
Q - 7 miles and approximately 12,320 steps later . . . I'm there.
And after an additional 294 vertical steps . . . .
Nice. Maybe not "I spent 135 minutes walking in 85 degree heat while sweating my balls off" nice, but nice none-the-less. (I realize that we have soldiers in much more gear doing much more bad-ass things for much longer times in much hotter conditions . . . . but I'm a pussy, soooo . . . ya know).
So after my adventure, I put in another 0.7 miles and walked over to my friend Megan's place (R) to enjoy the quintessential American monument to summer and opulence. U-S-Freakin-A.
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The Bunker Hill Memorial resides in Charlestown, MA. It actually sits atop Breed's Hill, as some jagoff screwed up his history back in 1827 when the construction began. The 221 feet tall obelisk was finished in 1843 and has 294 steps. I've been to the bottom of the monument before, but didn't actually climb it (partly out of apathy, partly out of pure laziness), so I had added it to the list. But, since my tree trunk soccer legs can knock that out no problem (I may have average self-esteem about most of my body, but my legs bring out the cockiness), I decided to up the level of difficulty. Boston likes to call itself America's Walking City? Well, I decided to prove that moniker by walking 7 miles to the monument before walking up it.
So at 11:00am Sunday morning, I put on a dry-fit running shirt and a pair of soccer shorts (I initially had on cargo shorts, but the vast amount of swass I expected to have on a mid-80's day with the sun beating down made me decide otherwise), threw on my backpack, and headed out to Charlestown. Here's the rundown of my adventure, noting my personal monuments along the way.
A - Cafe Nation. My first stop (and really, my only stop) to fuel up for the trek with some iced coffee. If you're an anti-big-corporation hippie that dislikes Dunkin Donuts because of their connection to the Bush family and the Carlyle Group (damn you Aaron G for teaching me this), then this is your place in Brighton Center
B - Devlin's. A nice bar with an outdoor patio. I've gone on a few internet dates over the last year+, but on that patio is the only time I've met up with someone and the second she walked in I said "Ah crap. She. . . . does not look like the picture." I'm no 10, but I at least know how to set up a profile without false advertising.
C - A statue of a hammer thrower, in which the artist could not afford an extra $200 for some steel chains to connect the handle to the ball. You want me to use my imagination? Screw you fancy artist guy.
D - Redneck's BBQ. They have several items they call "double stuffed subs." We got one once there. It was a version of a chicken parm sub that had chicken, cheese, marinara sauce . . . and waffle fries . . . and cheeseticks. U-S-A! U-S-A!
E - Sunset Grill. Mandatory dining for all visitors that don't think a a good beer includes the word "lite" in its name. 380 beers. 112 on tap. Dee . . . lite . . . full.
F - Agganis Arena. Home to the BU terriers. I've seen Michigan play basketball and hockey here, and we had front row seats for both. One required connections. One required us showing up 5 minutes before game time to buy $15 tickets. I'll let you figure out which was which.
G - Fenway Park. I've been to home games for 29 of 30 MLB franchises, and this is my favorite. 35+ games, and I STILL haven't been kicked out of one. Something to strive for I suppose.
H - Former home of my friend Katie, who lived on the 9th story and had a roof deck. It was basically the perfect place to watch both the marathon and the fireworks. However, she's since moved out to the burbs with her hubby and daughter. So, until I become better friends with Tom Brady, I'm going to need one of you people to move to a top floor apartment in Back Bay so I can abuse your living situation as well.
I - Lir. The bar that's home to the Santa Speedo Run. I'll be hitting you people up for donations for the 2012 charity run soon enough, but in the meantime, you can go back and read Item #10, which, according the Blogspot stats, is the most read post on this site because apparently you people are a bunch of masochistic bastards. Either that, or because it will eventually turn up as a hit if you search for the words "naked" and "mile." (though now that those words are in this post too, maybe this one gets some extra hits also? and if that's the case . . . . boobs boobs boobs)
J - Mindy Kaling. AKA, Kelly Kappor from the office. I rarely see famous people in public. I've seen Hulk Hogan at a casino in Fort Lauderdale. I've seen Fab 5 legend Jalen Rose at a steakhouse in Mandalay Bay (maybe I just to to hang in casinos more often). And I've seen Mindy Kaling walking Newbury St. I'm so hip and cool.
K - The Rattlesnake Bar. When I first moved to Boston with Walter, and we didn't really know anyone yet, I think this is the only place we went to (once) as just 2 guys going to the bar. Walter thought it was "kind of gay" for just 2 guys to go to a bar, and I don't think we did it again. In 4 months, I will be giving the best man speech at his wedding. If I can keep the Walter stories under 20 minutes, it will be a miracle.
L - The start to the Corporate Challenge, a 3.5 mile charity race with approximately 10,000 runners. In a normal race at that length, I'll typically run at a 7:15-7:30 per-mile pace. The last time I ran this clusterfuck? 8:49 pace. Though with the amount of weaving we had to do, we probably ran 5 miles. This . . . . is not an enjoyable race.
M - The Duck Pond, which is now a wading pool and fountain for kids. Approximate ratio of water to piss? 50-50 at best.
N - Massachusetts State House. Massachusetts? More like TAXachusetts! Right? I just came up with that.
O - The Greenway. For you non-Bostonians, as you can of see on the map, the highway runs underground here, thanks to the Big Dig, which was definitely not built by the mafia with substandard materials. It's actually pretty damn cool. Though what's not cool the is $800 I end up paying each year in tolls. Occasionally, I do miss the free pot-hole-ridden constantly-under-construction highways of the Motor City.
P - The part where I got a little lost. Damn you Boston and your wacky unlabeled curvy roads.
Q - 7 miles and approximately 12,320 steps later . . . I'm there.
And after an additional 294 vertical steps . . . .
Nice. Maybe not "I spent 135 minutes walking in 85 degree heat while sweating my balls off" nice, but nice none-the-less. (I realize that we have soldiers in much more gear doing much more bad-ass things for much longer times in much hotter conditions . . . . but I'm a pussy, soooo . . . ya know).
So after my adventure, I put in another 0.7 miles and walked over to my friend Megan's place (R) to enjoy the quintessential American monument to summer and opulence. U-S-Freakin-A.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Item #38 - Go to the Roller Derby
"And so we're running just as fast as we can
Holding on to one another's hand.
Trying to get away into the night
And then you put your arms around me
and we stumbled to the ground"
-Tiffany
Is there a better anthem for the days of the 80's school-sponsored skating party night? No. No, there is not. Every single time I hear it I think of the ole-timey skating parties, and it's still one of my favorite guilty pleasure songs (and yes, I know it's actually a cover song).
And do yourself a favor right now and go watch the video. It's mall-tastic.
Even the lyrics are a near-perfect anthem.
Running as fast as we can (or skating. use you imagination people).
Holding hands.
Getting away into the night (I think a dimly lit rink with disco ball-created stars is damn close).
Tumbling to the ground with that special girl because you have problems skating together, as you share a flirtatious laugh. Tee hee hee
Of course, the only difference for me was that I wasn't nearly the suave and witty ladies man you see before you today. I was . . . . slightly less-than-smooth, as the big-ass glasses, braces and slicked-back side part probably didn't help.
Yeah, that guy isn't asking any girls to skate with him. That guy had enough problems trying to not fall on his ass by himself, let alone while holding hands. In fact, that guy spent most of the skating party in the arcade. You could laugh at that, though maybe you just don't understand how much cooler it was to play Paperboy in the arcade than on Nintendo. I mean, come on - it had actual handlebars for you to steer the bike! I could have talked to girls during class (theoretically . . . not that I actually did), but you only got to play Paperboy with bike handlebars once a month at the skating party. I think I made the right decision.
20 some years later, and approximately 20% cooler (I'm sure that number is up for debate), I was once again off to the skating rink. This time, it was a shriner's auditorium in Winchester, MA, with Alycia, Buddy, Megan and Daniel, a native German who was in town for a few weeks for work, and what better way to showcase Americana than drinking piss beer in a dimly lit hall while girls in short shorts body check each other? Actually, you can make that scenario better - have that same German catch a T-shirt from the T-shirt cannon.
The red team earned lead jammer status, and their jammer has just caught the back of the pack in the video. Meanwhile, the blue team's jammer is lagging behind, a half-lap behind the pack. The red jammer is able to fight her way through the pack, passing the 4 blue blockers and earning her team 4 points in the process. At this point, she sees the blue jammer is a half lap ahead, so she can either
The inter-Boston was a nice way to pop our derby-cherry, but the Boston-Chicago match kicked it up a notch, as the Chicago ladies were . . . slightly more aggressive. Elbows were thrown. Bodies were checked. Winds were knocked out (as 2 Boston gals had to limp back to the bench after jams). It was an old-school 70's style derby smackdown, and sadly they put the hurtin' on the hometown Boston gals (the Windy City Rollers ARE the #1 ranked team in their division. Yes, there are rankings. Yes, you Detroiters have a team. And yes, you should go check them out).
But despite being 147-44 losers, unlike skating party Alan, the Boston Derby Dames still managed to be pretty damn cool.
Holding on to one another's hand.
Trying to get away into the night
And then you put your arms around me
and we stumbled to the ground"
-Tiffany
Is there a better anthem for the days of the 80's school-sponsored skating party night? No. No, there is not. Every single time I hear it I think of the ole-timey skating parties, and it's still one of my favorite guilty pleasure songs (and yes, I know it's actually a cover song).
And do yourself a favor right now and go watch the video. It's mall-tastic.
Even the lyrics are a near-perfect anthem.
Running as fast as we can (or skating. use you imagination people).
Holding hands.
Getting away into the night (I think a dimly lit rink with disco ball-created stars is damn close).
Tumbling to the ground with that special girl because you have problems skating together, as you share a flirtatious laugh. Tee hee hee
Of course, the only difference for me was that I wasn't nearly the suave and witty ladies man you see before you today. I was . . . . slightly less-than-smooth, as the big-ass glasses, braces and slicked-back side part probably didn't help.
Yeah, that guy isn't asking any girls to skate with him. That guy had enough problems trying to not fall on his ass by himself, let alone while holding hands. In fact, that guy spent most of the skating party in the arcade. You could laugh at that, though maybe you just don't understand how much cooler it was to play Paperboy in the arcade than on Nintendo. I mean, come on - it had actual handlebars for you to steer the bike! I could have talked to girls during class (theoretically . . . not that I actually did), but you only got to play Paperboy with bike handlebars once a month at the skating party. I think I made the right decision.
20 some years later, and approximately 20% cooler (I'm sure that number is up for debate), I was once again off to the skating rink. This time, it was a shriner's auditorium in Winchester, MA, with Alycia, Buddy, Megan and Daniel, a native German who was in town for a few weeks for work, and what better way to showcase Americana than drinking piss beer in a dimly lit hall while girls in short shorts body check each other? Actually, you can make that scenario better - have that same German catch a T-shirt from the T-shirt cannon.
The T-shirt was a Small. No offense to Daniel, but he's no Small
We showed up for 2 matches, 1 between a couple Boston teams and 1 between a Boston All-Stars team and a Chicago team, and we went into knowing, well, almost nothing besides the fact that we'd see skating chicks beating the crap out of each other. So after some pre-gaming Wikipedia lessons, and 3+ hours of live lessons, here's the gyst:
- There's 2 30-minute running halves. Each half is broken into a bunch of small periods, or jams.
- Each team has 5 girls on the rink at once. 4 girls are blockers, with the 5th girl being the jammer.
- The 8 blockers on the rink form a pack that has to stay together. When a jam begins, the jammers start behind the pack and try and break through it. The first jammer through the pack is the lead jammer.
- After that first pass of the pack, the jammers try and catch the pack again, and for each person they now pass, they get a point.
- The jam ends either after 2 minutes, or when the lead jammer decides to end it by putting their hands on their hips. So being the lead jammer is a damn good thing, because they can strategically stop the jam. Simple example - the Team A jammer gets through the pack first, becoming the lead jammer. Team A's jammer stays ahead of Team B's jammer as they re-catch-up to the pack, and gets through the 4 Team B blockers, scoring 4 points. Team B's jammer is just 15 feet behind, at the back of the pack about to score points, so Team A's jammer, the lead jammer, ends the jams. Make sense? (just nod your head).
- Most of the scoring ended up being 4 point per jam, as 1 jammer would get through the pack of 4 blockers before the other jammer got through any blockers, and then they'd call off the jam. But, you can continue to score as many points as possible in 2 minutes if you'd like. This usually happened when there were penalties, in which skaters would basically get sent to a penalty box, leaving their team short-handed
The red team earned lead jammer status, and their jammer has just caught the back of the pack in the video. Meanwhile, the blue team's jammer is lagging behind, a half-lap behind the pack. The red jammer is able to fight her way through the pack, passing the 4 blue blockers and earning her team 4 points in the process. At this point, she sees the blue jammer is a half lap ahead, so she can either
- Bust her ass, hope the blue jammer slows down enough for her to pass her, and then get through the pack again before the blue jammer does.
- or realize that the more likely scenario is that the blue jammer will catch the pack and start scoring before she can re-catch the pack and start scoring again, and just call-off the jam . . . and she does by putting her hands on her hips at the end of the video.
The inter-Boston was a nice way to pop our derby-cherry, but the Boston-Chicago match kicked it up a notch, as the Chicago ladies were . . . slightly more aggressive. Elbows were thrown. Bodies were checked. Winds were knocked out (as 2 Boston gals had to limp back to the bench after jams). It was an old-school 70's style derby smackdown, and sadly they put the hurtin' on the hometown Boston gals (the Windy City Rollers ARE the #1 ranked team in their division. Yes, there are rankings. Yes, you Detroiters have a team. And yes, you should go check them out).
But despite being 147-44 losers, unlike skating party Alan, the Boston Derby Dames still managed to be pretty damn cool.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Item #37 - Go to Second City in Chicago
"polish sausage . . . Ditka . . . Ditka . . . . sausage . . . . bears . . . . " -Todd O'Conner
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I love Chicago. It's been my 3rd home for the last 10 years. After graduating from Michigan in 2001, I'd say a good 1/4 of the people I knew ended up moving there. And why the hell not? If you're from the Midwest and wanted to stay close enough to your family that they were just a half day drive away, and wanted to be in a city that wasn't 10 years behind the trends of the coasts, it was the place to be (oooooh! burn! that's right. I'm an East Coast Elitist now. Just like the Michigan Fight Song instills a sense of intellectual arrogance with the "leaders and best" lines, living on a coast makes you feel a decade of trends ahead of you flyover folks. I think yesterday's Detroit News had a story about a new fad called "Zubaz" . . . I kid because I love).
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I love Chicago. It's been my 3rd home for the last 10 years. After graduating from Michigan in 2001, I'd say a good 1/4 of the people I knew ended up moving there. And why the hell not? If you're from the Midwest and wanted to stay close enough to your family that they were just a half day drive away, and wanted to be in a city that wasn't 10 years behind the trends of the coasts, it was the place to be (oooooh! burn! that's right. I'm an East Coast Elitist now. Just like the Michigan Fight Song instills a sense of intellectual arrogance with the "leaders and best" lines, living on a coast makes you feel a decade of trends ahead of you flyover folks. I think yesterday's Detroit News had a story about a new fad called "Zubaz" . . . I kid because I love).
Estimated Date of Photo? . . . 2009
So with so many friends living there, I've consequently made many many trips there. And Chicago, you've supplied me with some damn good times. All-you-can-drink happy hours, deep dish delisciousness, two great weddings, redheads, trough peeing in Wrigley, roofdeck parties, Old Style bars, and Chicago even let me date my biggest crush ever (spoiler alert - it didn't work out). Granted, I've also spent one night puking in a cab, and another getting kicked out of a cab because I had no money and then ended up on a corner in the middle of northern Chicago without a fucking clue where to go (kudos to Hillary and Regan for making sure I woke up in a bed as opposed to a puddle of some homeless dude's urine), but the good has far outweighed the bad. Chicago, you're my kind of town.
But having been to Chicago so many times, I've already exhausted a shit ton of the possible new things to do, or at least all the things the average tourist would do. Sears Tower. Shedd Aquarium. Millenium Park. Navy Pier (its like Fanieul Hall, but with 225% more mustaches!), etc. But as I brainstormed with 52-partner-in-crime Megs, I remembered that I was a comedy elitest, and that Chicago was home to the single greatest breeding ground of comedy over the last 30 years - Second City Chicago.
I've been to improv before. Hell, I've been to Second City in Detroit before. But this is different. This is a comedy landmark.
I've been to improv before. Hell, I've been to Second City in Detroit before. But this is different. This is a comedy landmark.
I don't even need to give the detailed history of the place to justify it having that status. All I need to do is list their famous alumni, and holy shit, there's quite a few - Fred Willard, Harold Ramis, John Belushi, Gilda Radner, Dan Aykroyd, Bill Murray, Mike Myers, Chris Farley, Steve Carell, Stephen Colbert, Amy Poehler, Tina Fey. And that's just the start. Check out the rest of the list, and you'll find a bunch of other second tier names (Dan Castellaneta, AKA, Homer Simpson) and "that guy"s (Jack McBrayer, AKA, Kenneth from 30 Rock). That's comedy gold, Jerry . . . GOLD!
Since I count an even 20 people on the Chicago alumni list that have connections to Saturday Night Live (mostly as stars), let's have a little SNL diversion, shall we? It's a nice coincidence that SNL has a musical act every week, because just like with music, older people will always tell younger people that SNL was better back in their day, with "in their day" typically occurring around ages 11-16. Darrell Hammond was basically filling the role Phil Hartman left, but I'm always going to prefer Hartman because I was raised on a Hartman-backed SNL. So now at the age of 31, I of course think SNL . . . well, blows (save for the occasional Digital Short or Timberlake-hosted episode), even though its basically the same formula of 1-note jokes being retold 6 times in a 5 minute span. Landshark = Hans & Franz = Gap Girls = Spartan Cheerleaders. It is what it is, it's just that most of our comedy tastes have evolved. I mean, I consider myself a comedy elitist, but even I once thought . . . . Dane Cook was funny (forgive me Mitch Hedberg, for I have sinned). So even though it appears to suck, maybe it only mildly sucks these days. I don't know. Or maybe I just need to drink more during it. But one thing I do know? Norm MacDonald was the greatest host of Weekend Update in SNL's history, regardless of your generation. If you disagree, your opinion is wrong.
So Megs and I had a nice little pseudo-date by attending the 8:00 show on a Tuesday, which was surprisingly, a packed house, despite Second City actually having 2 different theaters there. And maybe we saw the next Bill Murray up there . . . or maybe we saw the next Horatio Sanz (star of Boat Trip!). Either way, it was funny as expected. Though what I didn't expect was the mass exodus after the second act and just before the final half hour of 100% improv (the first 2 acts were probably 70% sketches, 30% improv). What gives? You could have set your Tivo to make sure you don't miss your Jay Leno, dammit. And you ditch early and miss the best part of the night? To quote another great comic: "Whooooooooo . . . . are these people?"
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Item #36 - No TV or Video Games for a Week
"What's he's typed will be a window into his madness"
"No TV and no beer make Homer something something"
"Go crazy?"
"Don't mind if I do!"
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Saturday, 07-09-11, 11:11am
I have been up for just over an hour. I plan to go the next 7 days without TV and without video games, and so by Friday night, I assume I'll have unleashed my inner Homer. Perhaps some giant murals of my favorite television characters on my living room walls. Maybe life-sized homemade cut-outs of my team that I've been playing FIFA 2010 with. I'm not sure. But it could be ugly, as I'm definitely one of those people that likes the comforting white noise of TV - even when I'm sitting down and writing one of these oh-so-hilarious posts, the TV's on in the background. Doesn't have to be anything good. Just has to be on.
From here on out, we'll be shortening No TV and No Video Games to just NTVNVG, because that's what the cool young kids with their hippety hop music and Snoopy Doopy Dogs would do.
Of course, in today's wacky technological world, "no TV and no video games" needs to be a little more defined. If I wanted to, I could just leave me TV off all week and stream Slingbox from my parents house direct to my smartphone . . . but that's cheating, and cheating is for pansies, communists and Jesse Ventura ("Win if you can, lose if you must, but always cheat!"). So we'll try and live within the spirit of the list item, and outline some particulars.
Sunday, 07-10-11, 12:18pm
One day down, though it was a fairly easy one. A soccer game, followed by the roller derby, followed by the bar. Fin. Today will be tougher. I may have to actually get outside and do stuff on my own, as crazy as a thought as that might be. Soccer in 8 hours. Lots of time to do . . . stuff. And as I type, the US women's soccer team is leading Brazil 1-0. Yes, I want to watch. No, I won't watch. Sigh.
Sunday, 07-10-11, 2:48pm
I haven't really done anything positive yet today. But, apparently I did end up missing A RIDICULOUSLY GREAT WORLD CUP GAME. Strike 1, NTVNVG. I had the game cast going (just stats, no video). But according to the Facebook universe, I really missed out. Non-soccer folk commenting on how awesome it was.
"Dude... that game is easily in the top 5 greatest sports moments ever"
"One of the best sporting events I've watched in a while. Wow. "
The US ties Brazil in overtime with basically no time left, and then they win on penalty kicks. For the second time today . . . sigh. Even when I try and pick a week when I have little chance of missing anything important, I miss something important (and yes, I DO consider the women's World Cup important). They play the semi-final Wednesday, and since I'm pot-committed now, I'll miss that one too. Hopefully they make it through and I can watch the final Sunday.
Sunday, 07-10-11, 6:33pm
I certainly haven't done much today. A soccer game yesterday combined with one tonight and tomorrow have prevented my old man knees from wanting to do anything active. But, I did do one thing I probably wouldn't have done if I had been watching TV instead - for the first time in the 2 years and 8 months I've had it, I actually vacuumed my car. I guess that's something. Oh, I went to Target, which in itself is a vacuum for money. According to the Spicer Theory, it's virtually impossible to spend less than $50 in a trip to Target. Today's trip hit $90. Damn you Target and your reasonably priced plain T-shirts and picture frames!
Monday, 07-11-11, 9:48pm
Back in college, I used to play on a Sunday men's club team over the summer. Games were at 10am, 12pm or 2pm. And after awhile, I figured out 2 different correlations to how well I played in game. First, if the previous night was . . . . fruitful? . . . .I ended up playing worse. However, the drunker I got the night before, the better I played, which held true even if I was out until 3am and then played in the early 10am game.
After 3 days of going cold turkey, I now think that either video games, TV or both, also have an effect. Saturday, early into the experiment, I had a 1:00pm game. I played pretty damn well. I had a goal. We won 3-1. Hooray. Then yesterday, Day 2, I had another game. I had 2 goals, we won 4-1, and overall I played pretty decently. Today? 72 hours without TV or video games? We lost 4-1 and I played like garbage. Easily my worst outdoor game of the 15 or so I've played this season so far. It even warranted the classic Alan slink-away-silently-afterwards-as-I-mentally-yell-at-myself move. Thankfully my next game isn't until Saturday, for which I'll apparently have to wake up at 6am to rejuvenate myself by playing FIFA Soccer on XBox, with a TV in the corner showing whatever the hell is on at 6am on a Saturday.
Today's missed viewing includes the WWE (which is the quintessential have-it-on-in-the-background-as-I-play-on-my-laptop viewing. I grew up with it - go watch your shitty reality TV and stop judging me jerk) and the Homerun Derby. Hmmmm, missing 3 hours of Chris Berman yelling BACK BACK BACK BACK BACK BACK BACK BACK BACK BACK BACK BACK BACK BACK? Hooray for NTVNVG!
Wednesday, 07-13-11, 10:57pm
My scheme has worked to perfection the last 2 days, and I think I'm now well over the hump.Yesterday a group of 10 of us golfed immediately after work (while I may play better or worse under varying conditions for soccer, at least my golf game is still consistant . . . . ly shitty). I got home and made a busy man's grilled cheese sandwich, which consisted of me microwaving some cheese in between slices of bread while running out the door, as I had to hurry up and catch the bus for a friendly little social outing, aka, a date (for which you'll get no details. Maybe the dating blog comes after the 52 are knocked out).
Today was another busy day. Work, then an oil change (which took almost an hour and a half, so they gave it to me for free. Hooray for good business practices), and then a softball game (3-5, with some stellar outfield play). And now instead sitting down with a frosty beverage watching the Daily Show, I'm content to sit with a frosty beverage and type.
So since that's all I have for the last 2 days, let's tack on a list my 5 favorite TV shows going right now:
Oh man. Thursday at 8:00pm. Reruns or not, I'm about to miss my murderer's row of TV, with Community, Parks & Rec and 30 Rock on in a 2 hour span. Painful.
Also painful? Getting a cold. I only get them in the winter. 1 cold per year. Slowly fades in and then out over a 2 week span. But I got the slight tickle in my throat a few days ago and now have the tickle-cough going on. I am convinced its from me not getting my daily dose of Vitamin TV.
And the bad omens for going TV-less continued today on my way home. I got rear-ended about 2 blocks from my house. Not badly, and as of now there doesn't appear to be any damage (yes, I got his info), but annoying none-the-less. And for all my friends that work at a certain speaker company in Framingham - he was wearing a work badge from your mountain-top company, and he had a license plate holder from Georgia Tech. I will let you draw your own conclusions.
Off to fill-in for a softball team again. Under 30 hours to go. . . . 30 . . . long . . . hours . . . .
Thursday, 07-14-11, 11:34pm
Went 3-4 in softball, in a league that uses wooden bats (old school, yo!). One positive trend for the NTVNVG week.
And since we did the 5 best yesterday, let's rattle off my 5 worst, or at least 5 random ones I want to bitch about.
Friday Night, 07-15-11, 1:48am
The last time I really watched TV was over a week ago, but we'll roll with the idea that a week isn't limited to exact hours, but rather 7 days and nights. So no TV until I wake up tomorrow.
Technically, I did see some TV this week. Though it was really only while I was out at bars, so that more of a coincidence than anything. And despite having Netflix movies in-house, I said "fuck it" and was able to go without movies this week too. Hooray for me.
I was able to kill off today by again going out. Went to Revere to see a sand castle competition (some cool stuff, but a little underwhelming on the whole) with a new friend of the female variety, and then we headed back downtown for dinner and drinks. A delightful little night overall.
Again, its almost 2am. I'm tired. I'm in the middle of a full-on cough-ridden bug (though I'm not so bad that I can't have a tall-boy Narragansett). Sorry for the lack of jokes at this point. It's been an exhausting immunity-lacking week. I'll try and come up with something to tie it all up tomorrow morning. Hopefully over a cup of iced coffee . . . while watching a Magic Bullet infomercial, or whatever the hell is on at 9am. TV! I'm coming back for you baby!
Saturday, 07-16-11, 10:31am
They say "If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, its yours forever. If it dosent, then it was never meant to be." Well TV . . . I'm back, and I'm yours forever! (though maybe in a reduced capacity). I've been up for over an hour without you, let's see what I'm missing.
(channel surfs)
Well, that was less than exciting. But I guess I'm down to 2 choices. 3rd Round coverage of the British Open, or a movie called The Promotion on Comedy Central. Its from 2008, and it stars John C Reilly and Sean William Scott. I've never heard of it, which means its either a underground indie film, or a straight-to-DVD kind of film. And considering Wikipedia has no info on how much money it made, I'm guessing its the latter (Rottentomatoes top critics have it at 48%). So yeah, that's what I've been missing.
One week of no TV and no video games. What did we learn about myself? Well, lets do it in handy graph form.
7 days of experimentation. Thus the above chart is 100% factual. Its science. And its science that doesn't need to be repeated.
"No TV and no beer make Homer something something"
"Go crazy?"
"Don't mind if I do!"
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Saturday, 07-09-11, 11:11am
I have been up for just over an hour. I plan to go the next 7 days without TV and without video games, and so by Friday night, I assume I'll have unleashed my inner Homer. Perhaps some giant murals of my favorite television characters on my living room walls. Maybe life-sized homemade cut-outs of my team that I've been playing FIFA 2010 with. I'm not sure. But it could be ugly, as I'm definitely one of those people that likes the comforting white noise of TV - even when I'm sitting down and writing one of these oh-so-hilarious posts, the TV's on in the background. Doesn't have to be anything good. Just has to be on.
From here on out, we'll be shortening No TV and No Video Games to just NTVNVG, because that's what the cool young kids with their hippety hop music and Snoopy Doopy Dogs would do.
Of course, in today's wacky technological world, "no TV and no video games" needs to be a little more defined. If I wanted to, I could just leave me TV off all week and stream Slingbox from my parents house direct to my smartphone . . . but that's cheating, and cheating is for pansies, communists and Jesse Ventura ("Win if you can, lose if you must, but always cheat!"). So we'll try and live within the spirit of the list item, and outline some particulars.
- Hulu episodes. . . illegal. That's pretty obvious. It's TV, but just on my laptop
- TV DVD's . . . illegal. I could easily kill my spare time this week by going through all 53 of the Bluth family's issues, or by following Bret and Jemaine's wacky New York misadventures (see what I did there? "mis"adventures? get it?), but that definitely goes against the spirit of the law.
- Youtube/Hulu clips . . . allowed. I'm talking about the short stuff that will keep me up to date in the world of internet memes, because a world without Keyboard Cat is a world I don't want to live in.
- Netflix Streaming . . . illegal. There's like 70 movies on just my instant streaming queue. Too easy of a time killer.
- Netflix 2-at-a-time physical DVD's . . . allowed. The point of NTVNVG is to not get sucked into doing nothing. It's the anti-Seinfeld I suppose. Sitting down to watch a DVD is more like an actual event. There's purpose. And since I only have 2 at a time, and it's the weekend, and I've already watched 1 of my 2, and it takes 2 days to send one in and get it back, the most I could possibly watch this week is 3.
- Live Sports at home. . . illegal. This one pains me. Copa America is going on (the South American soccer championship). The women's World Cup is going on. And yes, I'm soccer-geeky enough to care about watching both.
- Sport Highlights Online . . . legal. No different than reading the news in the year 2011.
- XBox games . . . illegal. Obviously
- Games on my phone . . . legal. So long as it doesn't mean me losing 30 minutes out of the day because I got too involved in a game. But most of the time its just Sudoku anyway.
- Its a shitty TV week. No new episodes for any of my favorite weekly shows (though I will miss my man crushes Stewart and Colbert).
- Its a shitty sports week on the whole. No NFL. No college football. No English Premier League. No NHL playoffs. Just the aforementioned soccer competitions and meaningless midseason baseball.
- I've actually got some stuff going on this week. 3 soccer games. Golf with work folk. Maybe a softball game. Oh, and an oil change scheduled for Wednesday! How exciting!
Sunday, 07-10-11, 12:18pm
One day down, though it was a fairly easy one. A soccer game, followed by the roller derby, followed by the bar. Fin. Today will be tougher. I may have to actually get outside and do stuff on my own, as crazy as a thought as that might be. Soccer in 8 hours. Lots of time to do . . . stuff. And as I type, the US women's soccer team is leading Brazil 1-0. Yes, I want to watch. No, I won't watch. Sigh.
Sunday, 07-10-11, 2:48pm
I haven't really done anything positive yet today. But, apparently I did end up missing A RIDICULOUSLY GREAT WORLD CUP GAME. Strike 1, NTVNVG. I had the game cast going (just stats, no video). But according to the Facebook universe, I really missed out. Non-soccer folk commenting on how awesome it was.
"Dude... that game is easily in the top 5 greatest sports moments ever"
"One of the best sporting events I've watched in a while. Wow. "
The US ties Brazil in overtime with basically no time left, and then they win on penalty kicks. For the second time today . . . sigh. Even when I try and pick a week when I have little chance of missing anything important, I miss something important (and yes, I DO consider the women's World Cup important). They play the semi-final Wednesday, and since I'm pot-committed now, I'll miss that one too. Hopefully they make it through and I can watch the final Sunday.
Sunday, 07-10-11, 6:33pm
I certainly haven't done much today. A soccer game yesterday combined with one tonight and tomorrow have prevented my old man knees from wanting to do anything active. But, I did do one thing I probably wouldn't have done if I had been watching TV instead - for the first time in the 2 years and 8 months I've had it, I actually vacuumed my car. I guess that's something. Oh, I went to Target, which in itself is a vacuum for money. According to the Spicer Theory, it's virtually impossible to spend less than $50 in a trip to Target. Today's trip hit $90. Damn you Target and your reasonably priced plain T-shirts and picture frames!
Monday, 07-11-11, 9:48pm
Back in college, I used to play on a Sunday men's club team over the summer. Games were at 10am, 12pm or 2pm. And after awhile, I figured out 2 different correlations to how well I played in game. First, if the previous night was . . . . fruitful? . . . .I ended up playing worse. However, the drunker I got the night before, the better I played, which held true even if I was out until 3am and then played in the early 10am game.
After 3 days of going cold turkey, I now think that either video games, TV or both, also have an effect. Saturday, early into the experiment, I had a 1:00pm game. I played pretty damn well. I had a goal. We won 3-1. Hooray. Then yesterday, Day 2, I had another game. I had 2 goals, we won 4-1, and overall I played pretty decently. Today? 72 hours without TV or video games? We lost 4-1 and I played like garbage. Easily my worst outdoor game of the 15 or so I've played this season so far. It even warranted the classic Alan slink-away-silently-afterwards-as-I-mentally-yell-at-myself move. Thankfully my next game isn't until Saturday, for which I'll apparently have to wake up at 6am to rejuvenate myself by playing FIFA Soccer on XBox, with a TV in the corner showing whatever the hell is on at 6am on a Saturday.
Today's missed viewing includes the WWE (which is the quintessential have-it-on-in-the-background-as-I-play-on-my-laptop viewing. I grew up with it - go watch your shitty reality TV and stop judging me jerk) and the Homerun Derby. Hmmmm, missing 3 hours of Chris Berman yelling BACK BACK BACK BACK BACK BACK BACK BACK BACK BACK BACK BACK BACK BACK? Hooray for NTVNVG!
Wednesday, 07-13-11, 10:57pm
My scheme has worked to perfection the last 2 days, and I think I'm now well over the hump.Yesterday a group of 10 of us golfed immediately after work (while I may play better or worse under varying conditions for soccer, at least my golf game is still consistant . . . . ly shitty). I got home and made a busy man's grilled cheese sandwich, which consisted of me microwaving some cheese in between slices of bread while running out the door, as I had to hurry up and catch the bus for a friendly little social outing, aka, a date (for which you'll get no details. Maybe the dating blog comes after the 52 are knocked out).
Today was another busy day. Work, then an oil change (which took almost an hour and a half, so they gave it to me for free. Hooray for good business practices), and then a softball game (3-5, with some stellar outfield play). And now instead sitting down with a frosty beverage watching the Daily Show, I'm content to sit with a frosty beverage and type.
So since that's all I have for the last 2 days, let's tack on a list my 5 favorite TV shows going right now:
- Community - This season it may not have been the absolute funniest show on TV (though it was damn close), but they are doing shit no one has ever done before, or doing things people have done but in completely new and creative ways. The depth of the jokes is ridiculous, so much so that it even once took a blog to point out an entire plot/joke to me in one particular episode, because that entire joke was going on in the background of the actual story. All you people who got on the Arrested Development bandwagon well after it was canceled? Get on this show while you still can.
- Parks & Rec - This is the show that WAS the funniest show of the year. Amy Phoeler's character is the rock of the show, but the supporting cart nails it, even more so than the supporting cast of the American Office did early on. Tom Haverford is delightful, and Ron F-ing Swanson is the fucking man.
- Breaking Bad - There's apparently only 2 answers to the question "what's the best drama on TV?" And since I have no interest in the love affairs of NYC advertising exec's in the 60's, Breaking Bad is the best drama for me. It may not be the fastest paced show, but it always pays off with some absolutely thrilling and jaw-dropping moments (Hank vs the Mexicans in the parking lot, or the night Walt came into Jesse' apartment and . . . and we'll stay spoiler-less). Season 4 starts Sunday people (what a nice way to come back from NTVNVG - the women's World Cup final, and then Breaking Bad). Get into it.
- The Daily Show - Consistently funny 4 nights a week. Man crush on Jon Stewart. Enough said.
- Modern Family, 30 Rock, Always Sunny - I can't choose. At their peak, they're all hysterical, but, they're not always at their peak these days like Parks & Rec or Community are. But if all 3 have a new episode in a week, at least 1 is guaranteed to be incredibly funny. Tracy Morgan can read a health care bill and make me laugh. Charlie Day may be able to just play one note, but he's sooooo freaking good at it. And Modern Family can pull off the cheesy Full House-esque happy ending and not make me want to punch an Olsen twin in the face. You got that, dude?
Oh man. Thursday at 8:00pm. Reruns or not, I'm about to miss my murderer's row of TV, with Community, Parks & Rec and 30 Rock on in a 2 hour span. Painful.
Also painful? Getting a cold. I only get them in the winter. 1 cold per year. Slowly fades in and then out over a 2 week span. But I got the slight tickle in my throat a few days ago and now have the tickle-cough going on. I am convinced its from me not getting my daily dose of Vitamin TV.
And the bad omens for going TV-less continued today on my way home. I got rear-ended about 2 blocks from my house. Not badly, and as of now there doesn't appear to be any damage (yes, I got his info), but annoying none-the-less. And for all my friends that work at a certain speaker company in Framingham - he was wearing a work badge from your mountain-top company, and he had a license plate holder from Georgia Tech. I will let you draw your own conclusions.
Off to fill-in for a softball team again. Under 30 hours to go. . . . 30 . . . long . . . hours . . . .
Thursday, 07-14-11, 11:34pm
Went 3-4 in softball, in a league that uses wooden bats (old school, yo!). One positive trend for the NTVNVG week.
And since we did the 5 best yesterday, let's rattle off my 5 worst, or at least 5 random ones I want to bitch about.
- Two and a Half Men. Hate . . . you . . . so . . . .much. I have "play a Two and a Half Men drinking game" on the list, and still haven't been able to put myself through it, despite it being relatively easy, and despite all the Charlie Sheen news 4 months ago. This show is the epitome of lazy-ass writing that appeals to boring rural housewives who think a Friday night out at Chili's is a wild weekend. Actually, that's all of CBS. And this is its flagship. Again, I hate you.
- The Tonight Show with Jay Leno. Just because your shirt is made from the same material as your jeans, doesn't mean it goes together, and it definitely doesn't make you a cool middle class guy, you 2-time show-stealing son-of-a-bitch. 10 monkeys on 10 typewriters could write his monologue.
- Fox News. All of it. Yeah, I'm liberal. Deal with it.
- Big Bang Theory. Kind of a Two and a Half Men lite. I've seen a few episodes. Not horrible, as far as CBS sitcoms go. But it just got nominated today for Best Comedy, and it had 2 actors get nominated for Best Actor. At the same time, Community was completely shut out. No Best Comedy nod. No Joel McHale for Best Actor. No Annie, Britta, Troy or Abed for Best Supporting. So because its got the Emmy nods Community deserved, and because its actually on at the same time as Community, and could help lead to its early Arrested Development-esque downfall, it gets on the list.
- How I Met Your Mother. Probably the best of the CBS comedies, but that's like being the skinny kid at fat camp. Actually this show has its moments and isn't half bad. NPH is funny. I've seen a fair amount of episodes. I've laughed on occasion. But I have a beef with it for 3 reasons. 1 - It gets WAY overrated. I know a lot of people that LOVE this show, when in reality, its nowhere near the comedies I've mentioned above. 2 - Just like Friends, its a rom-com movie disguised as a sitcom. Don't be fooled people. Just because NPH throws in a few man-I-love-banging-chicks jokes doesn't mean this isn't just a relationship show at its core. And 3 - Speaking of Friends, Ted is the most punchable TV character since Ross. You're not romantic. You're a whining unbearable douche. Grow a pair dammit.
- (bonus!) Sportscenter .The easy thing to do is rag on Sportscenter because it went from being cool in 90's to thinking it was way cooler than it actually was in the 2000's. Or because all is does these days is kiss the superstars' asses and appeal to the big markets (Jeter hit his 3000th! Slurp slurp slurp). But, the real reason I can't stand is much simpler. When I used to watch it before school back int he day, it was a half hour, and it was a filled with highlights. 30 minutes jam-packed with actual sports. Over the course of a bowl of cereal, I could get almost completely caught up in yesterday's games. Now? 60 minutes, and maybe 5 minutes of highlights. You'd figure that a show called Sportscenter would, at its core, show a lot of sports . . . but no (and I realize bitching about this is probably as cliche as bitching about MTV not showing music videos, but whatever. My blog. Deal with it).
Friday Night, 07-15-11, 1:48am
The last time I really watched TV was over a week ago, but we'll roll with the idea that a week isn't limited to exact hours, but rather 7 days and nights. So no TV until I wake up tomorrow.
Technically, I did see some TV this week. Though it was really only while I was out at bars, so that more of a coincidence than anything. And despite having Netflix movies in-house, I said "fuck it" and was able to go without movies this week too. Hooray for me.
I was able to kill off today by again going out. Went to Revere to see a sand castle competition (some cool stuff, but a little underwhelming on the whole) with a new friend of the female variety, and then we headed back downtown for dinner and drinks. A delightful little night overall.
Again, its almost 2am. I'm tired. I'm in the middle of a full-on cough-ridden bug (though I'm not so bad that I can't have a tall-boy Narragansett). Sorry for the lack of jokes at this point. It's been an exhausting immunity-lacking week. I'll try and come up with something to tie it all up tomorrow morning. Hopefully over a cup of iced coffee . . . while watching a Magic Bullet infomercial, or whatever the hell is on at 9am. TV! I'm coming back for you baby!
Saturday, 07-16-11, 10:31am
They say "If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, its yours forever. If it dosent, then it was never meant to be." Well TV . . . I'm back, and I'm yours forever! (though maybe in a reduced capacity). I've been up for over an hour without you, let's see what I'm missing.
(channel surfs)
Well, that was less than exciting. But I guess I'm down to 2 choices. 3rd Round coverage of the British Open, or a movie called The Promotion on Comedy Central. Its from 2008, and it stars John C Reilly and Sean William Scott. I've never heard of it, which means its either a underground indie film, or a straight-to-DVD kind of film. And considering Wikipedia has no info on how much money it made, I'm guessing its the latter (Rottentomatoes top critics have it at 48%). So yeah, that's what I've been missing.
One week of no TV and no video games. What did we learn about myself? Well, lets do it in handy graph form.
7 days of experimentation. Thus the above chart is 100% factual. Its science. And its science that doesn't need to be repeated.
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