Saturday, October 27, 2007

What I'm Into Right Now...

Being that I'm at work and bored--you're shocked, I know--I decided that I'm going to go over a quick list of the things that I'm really into right now and share them with all of you. Simply because I'm bored and if you're actually reading this...you are too.

...enjoy


Batter Blaster

This is easily my favorite thing in the world right now. I’ve never actually seen it. I’ve never actually eaten it. In fact, I probably never will. Most of that is due to the fact that you can seemingly only purchase it in California and even then, only in certain stores that are certified Batter Blaster Distribution Centers.

Logic would say, just order some online and have that crap delivered ASAP. Unfortunately, they don’t take online orders. In addition to that, this pressurized goo has to be kept refrigerated, thus turning a simple request, (“please purchase and ship”) into a very complicated pain-in-the-ass request (“please hunt down at the only distribution center in your area and then send, via refrigerated overnight delivery”) for my California connection.

As such, I will forge on in my life, sans Batter Blaster. Although if ever there was a reason to go visit Johnny in California, this is it!

Website: http://www.batterblaster.com/
MUST WATCH!!! TV Ad: http://www.batterblaster.com/tv.html

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Singing Voicemails

Right now I have two saved voicemails. Now, if you’re not one of these two saved voicemails…don’t take it to heart. I’m sure it has nothing to do with you and/or the message you left. I’m sure that you used proper grammar and there’s no doubt in my mind that you have a wonderful speaking voice. It’s not you, it’s me.

Back to the two saved voicemails. The two voicemails are both people singing to me. What makes them even better is that they both came out of nowhere.

The first is Mr. Johnathon Kunkel singing Journey’s heart-felt ballad “Don’t Stop Believin’” whilst in what sounds to be a moderately intoxicated state. I woke up to find this waiting for me rainy Saturday morning in June. Needless to say my day was immediately made by this seemingly-random middle of the night call.

What makes it even better is that in addition to the song…it ends with a patented John Kunkel…“I Love You, Goodbye!”

…and let’s be honest is there a better way to end a singing voicemail?

Wait…there just might be a better way…

On Thursday, for no apparent reason at 1:26pm in the afternoon…I’m at work and I get a call from Mr. Travis Mofitt. I’m all confused because first of all, Travis doesn’t call other people. He doesn’t return calls. He sometimes won’t even respond to email. He is pretty much a hermit who—with the exception of his personable attitude and public service oriented job—avoids people at all times.

Oh he’s also bat-shit crazy.

However, at 1:26pm on a Thursday afternoon in October he decided it was the right time to call and leave me a voicemail; a quasi-singing voicemail. What was he singing you ask?

The theme from Walker Texas Ranger.

He was part-singing and part-talking, but it was the perfect combination that it left me assuming my life was to be taken at any given second…a feeling that was only further emphasized by his closing message.

Once he was done singing the song, there was a brief pause. Just long enough for him to kill a kitten with tack-hammer or take a big bite of watermelon and swallow…and then he sorta lets out what is a whisper turning into a violent warning…“roundhouse kick the face!”

He then hangs up.

Those are the only two saved messages in my phone. I love those two kids.

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The World Series

I know, this one is lame and everyone expected it. But seriously, how would I not be into the World Series right now, or ever for that matter.

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Mustaches

Now, we all know I don’t mean my mustache. Because we’ve seen what I can do with a mustache and let’s be honest folks…it ain’t pretty.

I’ve got the weird peach-fuzz ‘stache thing that just makes people feel sorry for me and I’ve got the crazy-ass molest-stache that just makes people keep their children indoors when I’m wandering through the neighborhood.

So moving on from my lame ‘stache, let’s get into some good upper lip action. For whatever reason, I have found myself very drawn to an impressive. Perhaps it was due to the handlebar mustache craze that swept through work for roughly a week when the outgoing (“leaving”) Joe Lemelin busted out the handlebars for his going away party or perhaps it was the outgoing (“vibrant in social interaction”) Ryan Gray who whipped out his bars for a themed party at the beach and proceed to keep them around just long enough to intimidate and/or arouse 84% of the MIT campus.

This also coincided with my trip to Cooperstown where the aforementioned Johnathon Kunkel paid never ending homage to the incredible ‘stache (and player) that is Dennis Eckersley.

As if two sets of bad-ass handlebars and the presence of the “Almighty Eck” weren’t enough to give a brother some serious ‘stache envy…there’s the one and only Nikola Tesla.

Anyone who’s paid attention to my blog since I started here knows that I have many wavering feelings toward Tesla. Sometimes we’re friends. Sometimes we’re enemies. Sometimes I think he’s haunted and out to kill me. Yet…he always has that immaculate ‘stache….staring, taunting, tantalizing…damn you Tesla. Damn you.

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Buffalo Chicken

I don’t know why, but for the last two weeks or so I’ve been craving (and devouring) Buffalo Chicken in its many entities left and right. I purchased some chicken breast patties and made Buffalo Chicken nuggets. Then I made a Buffalo Chicken sub. Then I just took a cold (yet, precooked) chicken patty and covered it in hot sauce and ate it out of my hand while standing in the kitchen and feeling like—I can only assume—a lion must feel after it takes down a wild gazelle and just goes to town.

What’s sad is that since I arrived in Boston I’ve had a consistent, visceral craving for really good Buffalo wings, much like the delicious little slabs of chicken flesh I used to eat at B-Dubbs (Buffalo Wild Wings – for those who never experienced the joy). Unfortunately, delicious wings have escaped me and it’s been nearly a year since I had me some of that sweet, sweet B-Dubbs action. Perhaps that’s where the craving is stemming from?!

Only time and a December jaunt to B-Dubbs will tell.

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Photos with Mascots and/or Statues

I don’t know why, but I find that I enjoy getting my picture taken with not only mascots, but statues of people as well. It doesn’t really make a whole lot of sense, but I have a theory that is has something to do with my lack of interaction with real celebrities. So essentially, this is like my shot to meet up with celebrities (the statues) and the mascots thing…hmmmmmmmmm…you know I think mascots just sorta kick ass.

A Shout-Out to My New Undies...

I’d like to use this little space of the internet to send a quick shout-out to my new undies.

That’s right ladies and gents, I recently purchased some new underwear and I am quite happy with the results. Especially considering that I bought them at—wait for it—the dollar store! That’s right; I purchased a fine pair of Hanes new undies at a dollar store.

Now, I know what you’re thinking and let me cut you off right there. They were not pre-worn. They are not made of skinned cats. They are not free-floating undies that have been stolen from major department stores. They are not by any means low-class underwear, they just happen to be sold at a dollar store. They are still Hanes.

Okay, I can already see where your mind is going now. Why would anyone actually decide to purchase underwear at a dollar store, regardless of the brand and/or the apparent security of the plastic wrapping?

Well, I have three answers for that.

1) I hadn’t done laundry in about a month and I was on my last pair of under-roos.

2) Much like ladies do when they buy a sexy new pair of panties; I felt like splurging on a new pair of man-ties…manties…does that work? Does that sound really weird out-loud? Say it once…okay…twice. Does it still sound weird? Whatevs…I’m rolling with it…MANties.

3) I really liked the colors.

So anyway…that leads us to my bad-ass new underwear. They are super soft, with this new ComfortSoft waist band and offer plenty of support for my “dude parts.” They also, as is the new norm, lack any sort of annoying tag. Tags suck...and did I mention that they were super-comfy?

Now, just to clarify…I’m not actually working for Hanes and I don’t make any sort of profit if you run out at buy them…but they do rule and, as such, I figured they deserved a well-earned shout-out.

Saturday, October 20, 2007

The Early Nerd Gets the Worm...

At roughly 12:30pm...thirty full minutes before the library is to open…there is a gaggle (a full-on gaggle) of nerds hanging out in the lobby waiting for the library to open. It's a gorgeous day, 70 degrees and mostly sunny---yet here these nerds are---sitting and waiting for the doors to open.

Even more unnerving; between 11:30 and 12:00 six different nerds...let me rephrase that, half-a-dozen of the smartest students in the world...who have been admitted to the most prestigious technical institute in the known universe, all wander up to the door.

The lights are off.
The doors are closed and locked.
The sign on the door clearly says we don't open until 1pm.

Yet, each of these six future-bazillionaires finds it necessary to tug and yank and pull and bang and rattle the door. When that yields no satisfactory results, they begin pressing their faces up against the glass to peer in at me as I’m counting the money in the cash box. They then pound on the glass and usher me to come and let them into the library; which is usually when I die a little inside and walk away…

Now, correct me if I’m wrong but libraries aren’t that cool. I mean I love my job and I love my coworkers, but if it’s a gorgeous Saturday afternoon…and let’s be honest, by mid-October, there aren’t too many gorgeous Saturday afternoons left…who in their right mind is going to choose a library over any other venue.

I mean seriously…let’s look at this objectively:

Things our library offers…

-Books
-Journals
-Restrooms
-Computers
-Comfy Chairs
-A Bust of Nikola Tesla
-Me, Bored Out of My Mind

Things our library does not offer…

-Guns
-Prostitutes
-Mascots
-Alcohol
-Sports
-Dancing
-Gambling

Just looking at those two lists makes it very hard for me to even fathom why one would not only choose to spend their time here, but to show up well before the place opens and beg to get in. The library is not a swank nightclub. The library is not a hot new bar. The library is not even a Chucky Cheese with a ski-ball table. It’s a library and as such, it’s not worth knocking down the door to get in. We rarely reach capacity, there is no VIP list and if you show up after the doors have opened you don’t even have to wait.

So please, someone…anyone…tell me why in the world people who clearly have a much, much, much higher IQ than lil old me are showing up and trying to get in when they know full well that what’s on the other side of those locked doors is boredom and not just boredom, but boredom that isn’t available until 1pm.

Now, if you’ll excuse me…we’re closing in about half-an-hour so I need to go ready the cattle prod and mustard gas to get these nerds back out the door.

One of My Pet Peeves...

I like a lot of people. I really do. In fact, it takes quite a bit for me to dislike most people.

Although, one sure fire way to flip my switch and turn me into a total hater is to run your mouth about baseball and simply be spewing bullshit that is: A) inaccurate B) outdated and/or C) just plain stupid.

In the last five minutes these three dudes--whom I can only assume are visiting from BC or BU--just sauntered in with their popped collar polos and crooked hats looking about as Abercrombie and Fitch'd out as any dude can on a Friday morning.

That part doesn't bother me. I've seen enough douche-bags dressed the exact same way a million times that...much like violence on television or politics as a whole...I'm completely desensitized to it.

It was what followed their Seventeen Magazine-esque entrance that has…as the old saying goes..."put a burr in my ass."

Wait...that's a really bad saying; just typing it makes me feel very uncomfortable sitting here. In fact, I think I’m going to stand up to type for a little bit. Let me try a more PG-phrase..."ruffled my feathers!"

That's right, folks, these Justin Timberlake wannabes ruffled my freakin' feathers without even stopping to talk to me.

Lemme lay it out for you in simple chat room format...

DBag1: u c the sox game?
DBag2: no
DBag3: no i luv the sox
DBag2: me 2
DBag1: u missed it? that sux
DBag1: it wuz a gr8 game
DBag2: sweet
DBag3: badass

Okay, doing that hurts my brain. Perhaps I’ll just try to hit the main points. Essentially, the first Douche-Bag was the only one who’d actually seen the game…which he later admitted to not having seen, but rather watching the highlights on SportsCenter. That’s one of the first things that bugged the piss out of me. Who starts a little rant about a game that they “saw” when they didn’t really see the game? If you want to run your mouth about a game you saw…please tell me you actually saw the game.

That’d be like me reading the back of a Harry Potter book and then showing up to some cult convention with a stick, weird glasses and a freakin’ lightning bolt on my forehead. It’s just not right. If you saw the trailer to a movie, it doesn’t mean you’ve seen the movie.

Thus, if you watched a two minute recap of the Red Sox/Indians game, you didn’t watch the game. You didn’t watch Josh Beckett absolutely own the Indians for eight innings. You didn’t watch the Sox pour it on all over a fading CC Sabathia and then obliterate the middle relief. You didn’t see the line drive that Grady Sizemore didn’t get to earlier that set up his missed diving catch. Shut your pie-hole, poser. You didn’t watch the game. Don’t tell your friends what a great game they missed out on because you don’t know what a great game you missed on a-hole.

Whew…that felt good.

Moving on…my next big problem was what DBag1 focused on about last night’s awesome game. Not once did he mention the fact that Josh Beckett looked like Bob Gibson on the mound. Not once did he mention Kevin Youkilis tearing the cover off the ball. Not once did he mention how well CC Sabathia held the Sox in check for the first six innings before they finally got to him in the seventh. Not once did he mention the way Travis Hafner has been completely hand-cuffed by the Red Sox.

What did he mention? He mentioned Manny Ramirez’s long fly that turned into a 390 foot single. He went on a rant about how lazy Manny is and how he should be traded. He went off about how Mike Lowell is a better offensive weapon than Manny and a better fielder too.

Things to note…a) Manny Ramirez is one of the most prolific right handed hitters of the last 30 years. b) Mike Lowell is not a better offensive weapon. c) Manny is a left-fielder, Lowell is a third baseman thus comparing their defensive prowess makes no sense. d) Lowell is a free agent after the World Series and is not a sure thing to stay in Boston.

All the while DBag2 and DBag3 are just eating it up and acting like this dude is some sort of preppy Peter Gammons/Bob Costas/Joe Buck hybrid who is all knowing and should be worshiped for his baseball knowledge.

When DBag2 asked when they played again, DBag1 replied: “beats me….probably next week or something.”

When DBag3 asked where they played the next game, DBag1 replied: “I think they’re still in California…”

At this point they got up and walked away; which was probably good timing, because I was actually in the processing of fashioning a prison shiv out of number 2 pencils, book tape and the remnants of a book on heat and mass transfer.

So please, people of Boston…people of the world…people within my hearing range…feel free to talk all the bullshit you want around me; 94% of it won’t really bug me. But please…PLEASE…don’t run your mouth about baseball when all that’s flappin’ from your gums is horseshit.

I’m an easy man to get along with if you follow this one simple rule. So please, know your baseball or save it for another time.

Random Ponderings...

So I’m sitting here at the circulation desk…a place I seem to spend many an hour pondering and/or staring off blankly into space while intermittently helping nerds acquire reading materials and refreshing my Facebook account…and what dawns on me?

I haven’t posted a new blog thingity-thing in awhile.

Then I had to stop and ask myself a few simple questions…

-Have you not posted because your creativity and wit are as shriveled up and dead as Carrot Top’s stand-up career?

-Have you not posted because you’re pretty sure no one reads your crap and if they do, it only serves to damage the already dwindling respect they had left for you?

-Have you not posted because until you start “Livin’ La Vida Lohan” all your stories are gonna seem super lame and boring?

-Have you not posted because all of your stories are, in actuality, really super lame and boring?

-Have you not posted because you’re just super lazy?

In the end, I determined it was most like the latter. As such, I bring to you, the fan of my blog – you know who you are – a new post! *cue balloons and confetti*

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~I’ve determined that I really enjoy observing people, if for no better reason than because 94% of them are absolutely whacked out of their minds. In the last half hour I’ve witnessed an old woman wander into the library and stare at something hanging on the wall for a solid 10 minutes. What was it you ask? Was it a painting? Was it a photograph? Perhaps it was some other work of art or a finely crafted poster with an intriguing font?

No, no…she was staring at the pencil sharpener underneath the window.

Maybe she found it shocking that a modern institute that is always on the cusp of new technology such as MIT would have an old-fashioned pencil sharpener.

Maybe seeing that pencil sharpener jogged some long forgotten memory of a man named Tony…no, no…Stanley…definitely a Stanley…who was her boyfriend before he was called off to war and the night before he left he whisked her away to the backseat of his car, proposed and then proceeded to knock her up before hauling ass to Germany…never to be seen again.

Maybe it was just shiny and she liked shiny things.

I’m not one to make these kinds of judgment calls. All I know for sure is that after 10 minutes, I asked what her if I could help her with anything and she tilted her head to the side and looked at me as if I’d just asked for her blessing to euthanize Tom Selleck [Magnum PI Tom Selleck, not no-mustache Tom Selleck]…and then she let out this sort of snort-grunt-wild-pigmy noise and sashayed out of the library and into the lobby. Where she proceeded to sit for another 20 minutes, staring at the elevator buttons prior to finally entering an elevator and exiting my life forever.

In a situation like this I always wonder: Should I have been nicer? Could I have helped her more? Should I have asked for money? What are the odds she was on vicodin? Does she have a family to take care of her? Does she know how to make a pot roast?

I’ll never know the answers to any of these questions…but nonetheless…she didn’t smell bad, which was a nice change of pace. Lots of old people smell bad.

Really bad.