Well it's a Sunday - so for me, that usually involves plenty of snoozing, but today I managed to get a wee bit of writing done this morning as I could not sleep in. I've got plenty more to do, unfortunately, but I'm trying to utilize my free time a bit more wisely, so we'll see what I can get done.
Anyway, why could I not sleep in you might ask? Oh that's simple, dear reader. It's because of Yoga.
For those of you out there that are not aware of the dimensions of my human form, I'm sorta tall, and pretty skinny, so I've always been interested in Yoga, in the way that really short guys are interested in trying to kick dudes asses in bars. Tall skinny guy syndrome I guess.
Bygones.
I've gone before, and tried it out, but sweet baby hayzeus, it was intense yesterday.
First, it was Bikram - so I was in a room of 110 degree wet heat, with 34 other people (including some of the most flexible women I've ever seen in my entire damn life. I mean, seriously. These bitches could do things that i've only seen in cartoons.), and while i'm pretty flexible for a dude, the 87 year old guy next to me was showing my ass up the whole time.
So I did what every young dumb chip on his shoulder guy does in a given situation like this, and I pushed myself even harder.
Whoooooo boy. Dizzzzzzzzzzzy.
So I swallowed my pride, and sat my ass down. Heart pounding, head spinning, but in a good way.
I made it though the whole class, but next time I go, i'm going to make sure that I have something to eat in the morning before class. 18 hours without eating and then 90 minutes of hot hot hot makes this boy a dizzy sumbitch.
Anyway, how this all relates to Sunday?
Well, coming out of class, I was pushing on a pretty decent buzz of energy - and that lasted all day. Yoga might be a fun thing for me to mix in with my running and climbing diversions, but I tell you this. It gave me TONS of energy - up to and including Sunday morning, and then pulled the rug out from under me. I went from being out and about, writing, to utter crash and burn, and retreat home to rest up for this afternoon.
So now, i'm rocking the couch - about to head back out to another Bikram class with my friend who randomly took it yesterday too (bizarre...), to see how I survive this one.
I've eaten, but a few hours ago.
I'm hydrated.
and I'm mildly sore.
*grin*
Should be interesting.
on a totally awesome sidenote - Karate Kid II is on right now. I went to see this flick in my young impressionable days with my parents, and I still remember that Power of Love (or whatever) by Peter Cetera was the most incredibly romantic thing my 10 year old ears had ever heard.
Somewhere, in the back of my mind, i think i thought I had to kick some dude's ass in a ancient okinawan castle in order to win the girl. That made for some awkward moments in college...
alright, wish my ass luck.
here's some Peter Cetera goodness for you. This is some cheesy shit looking back:
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Yeah yeah yeah...
I know, I'm a big freaking liar.
I promised I'd update a wicked long time ago, throw some words up, entertain the zero of you that come here, blah blah blah.
LOOK, I WAS BUSY OK?
I'm here now, so can we just get on with it?
Well you can be mad, but I'm just going to keep typing.
Bygones -
Can I tell you people to check out Braid?
Seriously. I know I bought an Xbox 360 pretty much only to get Rock Band, and then Portal, but this game is blowing my damn mind.
it's DEEP peoples. Makes my little English Major soul proud of how far the lowly video game has come. An amazing story, and get this, it's not this upbeat super mario clone. It's pretty melancholy. It's a video game that makes you THINK.
Portal makes you think, and there are lots of other puzzle games that could seem to fit that mold, but trust me when I tell you that this game is set apart.
Here's a quick video to give you an idea: Braid Video
I love the background music. Irishy, like me.
Anyway, enough dorky dorkism.
That's my quick update. I'm rocking to Joe Biden's DNC speech right now. He's a firebrand this guy.
Let's go Obama!
I promised I'd update a wicked long time ago, throw some words up, entertain the zero of you that come here, blah blah blah.
LOOK, I WAS BUSY OK?
I'm here now, so can we just get on with it?
Well you can be mad, but I'm just going to keep typing.
Bygones -
Can I tell you people to check out Braid?
Seriously. I know I bought an Xbox 360 pretty much only to get Rock Band, and then Portal, but this game is blowing my damn mind.
it's DEEP peoples. Makes my little English Major soul proud of how far the lowly video game has come. An amazing story, and get this, it's not this upbeat super mario clone. It's pretty melancholy. It's a video game that makes you THINK.
Portal makes you think, and there are lots of other puzzle games that could seem to fit that mold, but trust me when I tell you that this game is set apart.
Here's a quick video to give you an idea: Braid Video
I love the background music. Irishy, like me.
Anyway, enough dorky dorkism.
That's my quick update. I'm rocking to Joe Biden's DNC speech right now. He's a firebrand this guy.
Let's go Obama!
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Blowing up.
The floodgates on NFT have opened, and my prolific words are gushing out onto an unsuspecting public.
Welcome. I swear I'll update soon. I've been rather busy as of late.
Welcome. I swear I'll update soon. I've been rather busy as of late.
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Rhythm
Bear with me today...this might be a bit of a ramble.
I was thinking about this last night as I fell asleep, and thought I'd put it down before it evaporated. The more I get used to pouring things out on electrons here, the more I have to, because my head just pushes it out on it's own now.
Stupid head.
Regardless, rhythm.
If you know me, and none of you do, you might notice that I drum incessantly on every available surface. Car wheel, legs, desk, people, etc. If I'm not drumming I'm tapping my fingers, or feet, or something.
True, a great deal of that probably has something to do with the massive amounts of caffeine I consume on a daily basis, but, and this is why this came up in mah brain, I think I hear things differently.
Take this example. For a few years now, there's a fan running while I sleep. That goes back all the way to college, when sleeping in my 2ND floor, greatest room ever created, apartment, I'd swelter in the summer months, so a box fan was a permanent addition to the window frame.
Now, I sleep with a white noise machine. Until that noise machine was turned on, I didn't realize the difference in sleep, because without fan/noise machine, I sleep like a rock.
With Fan, I slept fine.
With Machine? I think I die for about 6 hours. Insomnia, good bye!
So I finally figured out the difference.
It's the rhythm of the fan that keeps me awake longer. I hear it, and in my head I'm counting beats, and filling in rolls.
When I was a kid, I decided to go with sax for my instrument of choice, because it seemed the coolest to a kid who thought Springsteen and through him The Big Man, was a god. I still stuck around and fooled around with the drums a bit though, every chance I got. Knowing how loud I am on a normal basis, I knew my parents weren't going to fund me on the drums at all, so it just became a sometimes thing...until College.
College I found out the girl across the hall, who was SO god-damned cute, and totally broke my heart, had a bongo drum...and a Guster CD.
Here was a guy, with no formal training, slapping away at a bongo until his hands bled, and I suddenly was drumming allllllll the time and I realized what I'd always been listening to.
Now, if you happen to be driving in the Boston area, and you glance over, and see someone pounding furiously at their steering wheel, It just might be me.
In order to channel this addiction of mine?
Oh hell yes Rock Band.
Oh.
Hell
yes.
I was thinking about this last night as I fell asleep, and thought I'd put it down before it evaporated. The more I get used to pouring things out on electrons here, the more I have to, because my head just pushes it out on it's own now.
Stupid head.
Regardless, rhythm.
If you know me, and none of you do, you might notice that I drum incessantly on every available surface. Car wheel, legs, desk, people, etc. If I'm not drumming I'm tapping my fingers, or feet, or something.
True, a great deal of that probably has something to do with the massive amounts of caffeine I consume on a daily basis, but, and this is why this came up in mah brain, I think I hear things differently.
Take this example. For a few years now, there's a fan running while I sleep. That goes back all the way to college, when sleeping in my 2ND floor, greatest room ever created, apartment, I'd swelter in the summer months, so a box fan was a permanent addition to the window frame.
Now, I sleep with a white noise machine. Until that noise machine was turned on, I didn't realize the difference in sleep, because without fan/noise machine, I sleep like a rock.
With Fan, I slept fine.
With Machine? I think I die for about 6 hours. Insomnia, good bye!
So I finally figured out the difference.
It's the rhythm of the fan that keeps me awake longer. I hear it, and in my head I'm counting beats, and filling in rolls.
When I was a kid, I decided to go with sax for my instrument of choice, because it seemed the coolest to a kid who thought Springsteen and through him The Big Man, was a god. I still stuck around and fooled around with the drums a bit though, every chance I got. Knowing how loud I am on a normal basis, I knew my parents weren't going to fund me on the drums at all, so it just became a sometimes thing...until College.
College I found out the girl across the hall, who was SO god-damned cute, and totally broke my heart, had a bongo drum...and a Guster CD.
Here was a guy, with no formal training, slapping away at a bongo until his hands bled, and I suddenly was drumming allllllll the time and I realized what I'd always been listening to.
Now, if you happen to be driving in the Boston area, and you glance over, and see someone pounding furiously at their steering wheel, It just might be me.
In order to channel this addiction of mine?
Oh hell yes Rock Band.
Oh.
Hell
yes.
Monday, May 05, 2008
Empire Building
And not the one Spider-Man sticks to.
Fareed Zakaria: The Future of American Power
Long as hell, but a great read for history obsessives like myself, who also worry about the future of this tired little nation of ours.
Worth a read if you have a half-hour or so to dedicate to it.
But you don't have to take my word for it. (see below)
Fareed Zakaria: The Future of American Power
Long as hell, but a great read for history obsessives like myself, who also worry about the future of this tired little nation of ours.
Worth a read if you have a half-hour or so to dedicate to it.
But you don't have to take my word for it. (see below)
Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?
People Watching.
Yes, people watching. You see a Latin quote and you think I'm going to have this in-depth profound post? Not so much. Sorry to disappoint. Next time I'll do a lecture on why Iago is the true protagonist of Othello, and how his lack of anything approaching morals makes him one of the most dynamic characters in the Bard's folio.
Bygones, on to the meat of the matter.
When I say people watching I'm not talking creepy surveillance methods, like a stakeout, or what-not, but the act of going to a very public place like a park, and just observing the people around you doing people-like things.
I remember one particular instance of such activity, in college, that was one of those days you remember for a long long time. Perfect weather, just warm enough to be outside and laying on the lawn, and throngs of people walking by, stopping to talk, and interacting all in plain view. My girlfriend at the time and I skipped our morning class to get breakfast in town, and came back to the lawn next to the campus center of school (20,000+ undergrads = lots of people to watch), and we proceeded to sit there for the full day. We talked, ate, and had friends stop and join us for different lengths of time throughout, and we all had an ongoing discussion about the people strolling by.
A great deal of it was just silent appraisal of how people walk, fashion trends, backpacks, etc. Another chunk dealt with making fun of acquaintances and friends as they passed us, unaware that we were there. The majority was just straight observation, noticing faces, expressions, and the distinct differences between people.
Faces are one of the most fascinating things on earth. You know your own well enough, yet your mental image of what you look like is slightly skewed, which is made apparent anytime you pass a mirror and that first second is slightly odd. Seeing people walk by you without them knowing that you're there, (in public remember, I'm not talking creepy shit.), a lot of time they have their guard down, and you can see them for who they really are.
The reason I'm mentioning all this is because I've had a full people watching weekend. I went to two Sox games, on Saturday and on Sunday, and passing through the crowds on the T and at Kenmore gives one plenty of ammo.
A few key moments stand out.
The homeless man who always says:
silently sitting on the subway reading the Weekly Dig Crossword puzzle.
Another homeless man with a sign that stated, "All I need is money for a case of beer and a hooker."
The tiny Asian woman who was stuck in front of me for the rush for the Kenmore train who thanked me in broken English for not running her over.
The woman on the redline who used a fabric marker to draw an intricate symbol from her wrist to the inside of her elbow for nearly 10 minutes as we were stuck between stations.
The little beanhead (translation, tiny kid.) who played peek-a-boo with a very patient dog.
And the kid who might have been 13, who was covered with Guns N Roses stuff. THAT was awesome.
and so many more.
We're one of the only species on the earth that can watch each other for not other reason than to just take a look, to empathise, to try to feel what it's like to be someone else, if just for a moment.
It's well worth the time.
Yes, people watching. You see a Latin quote and you think I'm going to have this in-depth profound post? Not so much. Sorry to disappoint. Next time I'll do a lecture on why Iago is the true protagonist of Othello, and how his lack of anything approaching morals makes him one of the most dynamic characters in the Bard's folio.
Bygones, on to the meat of the matter.
When I say people watching I'm not talking creepy surveillance methods, like a stakeout, or what-not, but the act of going to a very public place like a park, and just observing the people around you doing people-like things.
I remember one particular instance of such activity, in college, that was one of those days you remember for a long long time. Perfect weather, just warm enough to be outside and laying on the lawn, and throngs of people walking by, stopping to talk, and interacting all in plain view. My girlfriend at the time and I skipped our morning class to get breakfast in town, and came back to the lawn next to the campus center of school (20,000+ undergrads = lots of people to watch), and we proceeded to sit there for the full day. We talked, ate, and had friends stop and join us for different lengths of time throughout, and we all had an ongoing discussion about the people strolling by.
A great deal of it was just silent appraisal of how people walk, fashion trends, backpacks, etc. Another chunk dealt with making fun of acquaintances and friends as they passed us, unaware that we were there. The majority was just straight observation, noticing faces, expressions, and the distinct differences between people.
Faces are one of the most fascinating things on earth. You know your own well enough, yet your mental image of what you look like is slightly skewed, which is made apparent anytime you pass a mirror and that first second is slightly odd. Seeing people walk by you without them knowing that you're there, (in public remember, I'm not talking creepy shit.), a lot of time they have their guard down, and you can see them for who they really are.
The reason I'm mentioning all this is because I've had a full people watching weekend. I went to two Sox games, on Saturday and on Sunday, and passing through the crowds on the T and at Kenmore gives one plenty of ammo.
A few key moments stand out.
The homeless man who always says:
DO YOU HAPPPEN TO HAAAAAVE ANNNNNY SPARRRRRRRRE CHANNNNNNNNNNGE?
silently sitting on the subway reading the Weekly Dig Crossword puzzle.
Another homeless man with a sign that stated, "All I need is money for a case of beer and a hooker."
The tiny Asian woman who was stuck in front of me for the rush for the Kenmore train who thanked me in broken English for not running her over.
The woman on the redline who used a fabric marker to draw an intricate symbol from her wrist to the inside of her elbow for nearly 10 minutes as we were stuck between stations.
The little beanhead (translation, tiny kid.) who played peek-a-boo with a very patient dog.
And the kid who might have been 13, who was covered with Guns N Roses stuff. THAT was awesome.
and so many more.
We're one of the only species on the earth that can watch each other for not other reason than to just take a look, to empathise, to try to feel what it's like to be someone else, if just for a moment.
It's well worth the time.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Coffy.....Two sugars...and a SHOTGUN, MOTHAFUCKA.
Click here...dammit
Alright, I'll admit it. My movie watching prowess, as amazing as it may be, does not include a great deal of blacksploitation films of the 70's. I did not realize how horrible a mistake that was until last night, I stumbled on Coffy.
I've had pretty awesome insomnia lately, so when I'm still awake at 1am, trying to write, and I find a movie about a stunningly beautiful woman who decides to kill every drug dealer near her, I stopped for a moment. When it became obvious that the director wanted to use any excuse to have the female leads accidentally have their bjoobs pop out?
Well, I was intrigued.
You come to me with the DVD of Wonder Boys, that's a guaranteed viewing.
You come to me with a 70's era movie about drugs and a liberal use of the word motherfucker, and I'm intrigued.
You come to me with a movie about a crazy woman with an afro, a shotgun, and her ability to lose her clothing...I'm making popcorn right then.
Now, I do have a tendency to enjoy movies that are outright terrible...BECAUSE they're terrible (see: The Warriors, Xanadu, and the best dude movie ever, The Tao of Steve), and this one is no exception. It's outright horrid, and yet great at the same time.
I say rent the bad boy, pop it in, and then sit back and wonder what the fuck my parents generation was thinking when they decided to wear a yellow jumpsuit with matching cape. Slight warning, there's a liberal amount of man camel toe in this film...just an FYI.
I'm going to go try to go to bed. I'm sure I'll end up staring at the ceiling for another five hours so here's hoping there's something as bad on tonight.
Insomnia blows.
F
Y
I.
Alright, I'll admit it. My movie watching prowess, as amazing as it may be, does not include a great deal of blacksploitation films of the 70's. I did not realize how horrible a mistake that was until last night, I stumbled on Coffy.
I've had pretty awesome insomnia lately, so when I'm still awake at 1am, trying to write, and I find a movie about a stunningly beautiful woman who decides to kill every drug dealer near her, I stopped for a moment. When it became obvious that the director wanted to use any excuse to have the female leads accidentally have their bjoobs pop out?
Well, I was intrigued.
You come to me with the DVD of Wonder Boys, that's a guaranteed viewing.
You come to me with a 70's era movie about drugs and a liberal use of the word motherfucker, and I'm intrigued.
You come to me with a movie about a crazy woman with an afro, a shotgun, and her ability to lose her clothing...I'm making popcorn right then.
Now, I do have a tendency to enjoy movies that are outright terrible...BECAUSE they're terrible (see: The Warriors, Xanadu, and the best dude movie ever, The Tao of Steve), and this one is no exception. It's outright horrid, and yet great at the same time.
I say rent the bad boy, pop it in, and then sit back and wonder what the fuck my parents generation was thinking when they decided to wear a yellow jumpsuit with matching cape. Slight warning, there's a liberal amount of man camel toe in this film...just an FYI.
I'm going to go try to go to bed. I'm sure I'll end up staring at the ceiling for another five hours so here's hoping there's something as bad on tonight.
Insomnia blows.
F
Y
I.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Unearthing.
Today was interesting.
I read something today, that made me think of some of the old poetry floating in my hard-drive, some of which I have not read or thought about in five years.
I took six writing courses in college, and my poetry became the focal point for me nearly immediately. The majority of it was about childhood, relationships, old memories, and the like. Things that had been shaking about in my brain for years without any real way to be expressed suddenly had a way out.
The best part? I had an automatic audience (unlike this blog) in all my classes, as we work-shopped each others pieces. We also had a few regular readings in local bookstores and coffee shops (yes, yes, i know. Hipster Heaven.)
Anyway, I found out two things about my writing in short order. The first was that my heartfelt pieces, about my girlfriend at the time, or about my parents, or pretty much about anything slightly wistful was a crowd pleaser.
The second, was that as my writing style matured, I greatly preferred writing stuff that was more of the...well fuck it. Here.
Ok, so it lacks something without being read out loud. Still, a few classmates and I soon realized that writing something that made the audience go "huh?" was way more fun than writing something that made the audience go "hmmm.." At one point, one of the guys in my class composed a poem on the back of his notebook AT a reading. The title? "Composed on the back of my notebook during this reading," or some such thing. It also stopped in mid sentence, as he ran out of room.
God those were fun.
Anyway, re-reading these is like going back in time and looking at how my mind processed information back then.
It's an odd feeling, as it's been quite awhile since I've written a poem.
Now to see if I can still do it.
I read something today, that made me think of some of the old poetry floating in my hard-drive, some of which I have not read or thought about in five years.
I took six writing courses in college, and my poetry became the focal point for me nearly immediately. The majority of it was about childhood, relationships, old memories, and the like. Things that had been shaking about in my brain for years without any real way to be expressed suddenly had a way out.
The best part? I had an automatic audience (unlike this blog) in all my classes, as we work-shopped each others pieces. We also had a few regular readings in local bookstores and coffee shops (yes, yes, i know. Hipster Heaven.)
Anyway, I found out two things about my writing in short order. The first was that my heartfelt pieces, about my girlfriend at the time, or about my parents, or pretty much about anything slightly wistful was a crowd pleaser.
The second, was that as my writing style matured, I greatly preferred writing stuff that was more of the...well fuck it. Here.
Oh you JUST missed him!
Dear god, I know I really don’t pray all that much but if you can get me through this I would be really thankful. Maybe I’d even start going to church ag...
oh.
He’s not in.
No, no message. Thanks.
Ok, so it lacks something without being read out loud. Still, a few classmates and I soon realized that writing something that made the audience go "huh?" was way more fun than writing something that made the audience go "hmmm.." At one point, one of the guys in my class composed a poem on the back of his notebook AT a reading. The title? "Composed on the back of my notebook during this reading," or some such thing. It also stopped in mid sentence, as he ran out of room.
God those were fun.
Anyway, re-reading these is like going back in time and looking at how my mind processed information back then.
It's an odd feeling, as it's been quite awhile since I've written a poem.
Now to see if I can still do it.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Cant...Stop...Posting...
I just realized the first episode of the new season is on my dvr.
Oh hell yes.
I love *beeping* whatever the amount!
I know I exaggerate alot, and pretty much everything I say is the greatest thing I've ever seen, blah blah blah.
It's how I talk, fuck you.
Regardless? This really is the greatest YouTube video ever. I'm glad I finally remembered to post it.
The first time I watched this? I laughed so hard I could not breathe.
Rock,
X-51
It's how I talk, fuck you.
Regardless? This really is the greatest YouTube video ever. I'm glad I finally remembered to post it.
The first time I watched this? I laughed so hard I could not breathe.
Rock,
X-51
BOSTON'S 10TH MAN CANNOT BE WRONG!
Is it wrong that this still gives me goosebumps?
Answer?
Fuck to the no.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Somedays I miss poetry.
Usually when something like this pops up:
I was a poet all through college. Readings, open mics, etc. Life felt more hurried, more dramatic, and more immediate then, and a few printed words helped to encapsulate it well. It also made me popular with the chicks who thought sensitive douchebags were fun to hang out with.
Life lesson? There's always a double meaning.
Regardless, check out the video. It's a pretty remarkable message.
Rock.
X-51.
I was a poet all through college. Readings, open mics, etc. Life felt more hurried, more dramatic, and more immediate then, and a few printed words helped to encapsulate it well. It also made me popular with the chicks who thought sensitive douchebags were fun to hang out with.
Life lesson? There's always a double meaning.
Regardless, check out the video. It's a pretty remarkable message.
Rock.
X-51.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Running, climbing, movies, mascots, singing, soccer moms, not for tourists, Roller Derby, and the Religion of my IPOD set on shuffle.
Yes, yes. There’s been a purge.
Looking back on some past posts, with broken links and rambling accounts of various idiotic occasions, I realized that trying to type and post to a blog while at work is less than ideal for a person’s writing style.
So I’ll give this another go, and actually pay it the attention it deserves. I hope. In reality, I’ll probably post six times and then just fade out slowly like the last six times.
Let’s see, updates…updates…I just signed up for the Harpoon Five miler road race, which 5 years ago I might have stood a chance of being competitive, but now I’ll be lucky to finish in under 35:00. I’m going to give it my all though, unlike the 5K last year where I showed up to run with barely any training, kicked ass on the race itself, and then could barely walk for 3 days after. Un-savory.
Rock climbing should be kicking back in again soon as well, as the local rock gyms have been spamming me with the latest routes for the Quincy Quarries (as seen in the lovely Gone Baby Gone), and with discounts on gear and such. I haven’t been in so long I have no idea how much my hands have weakened, so the first time on rock should be a painful awakening. Also, I have absolutely no fucking clue where my gear is, including the $140 dollar shoes I bought at the end of the season. Son of a fuck.
What else, what else. Got a new gig, working north of the city now, but still in a sales environment. Seems like a fantastic spot to work, friendly peoples, etc. I tend to keep the really personal details off of here, as my internet paranoia still runs deep, so that’s about all you’ll hear on that subject. I will say that the walk to work at my last gig was fantastic, but that it’s kind of refreshing to jump in the car, crank some music, and then sing along totally unselfconsciously, at the top of your lungs, while passing soccer moms who laugh at you into their Dunkin Donuts as they navigate the highways to pick up various brood and meet brazillian wax appointments.
Ipod on shuffle is my new religion. Anything that takes you from Queens of the Stone Age, to Queen, to Neil Diamond, to Samples, to They Might Be Giants in one sitting? Genius.
NFT – where you might have come here from – still continues to be a fantastic side gig, and the editorial staff simply rocks. I worked on editing the NFT Boston 09 book, so anything in there that’s funny, I’d thank them. Anything in there that’s incorrect, blame me. I will stand by my assertion that Yada Yada Café was my workplace oasis, and while I’ve only been gone from that job 3 weeks, I miss it, and the family who ran it like fire. They put my review in their window! How much do they rock?
Going back a bit – Gone Baby Gone, or as I call it, the movie set in my neighborhood, at a bar I go to a lot, with a main character that shares my name, was a great flick. The Afflecks impressed me with their performance and direction respectively, but FUCK what a depressing god damn film. And this is coming from a Dennis Lehane fan. Knowing how the book ends does not prepare you for actually seeing it. It got a bit dusty I will say. Also, seeing a character get shot in my local bar, and then die on the roof of the building I go to for haircuts? Unsettling.
The only other bit of wisdom I’d share with you, my non-existing audience, would be how fucking obsessed I am with this: Boston Derby Dames. Seriously. I’m not being the little fun hipster douchebag who likes something that should by no means be liked. Ever since I watched Rollergirls, on A&E last year: Hot and Smart Chicks on Rollerskates, I’ve been interested in watching relatively hot, bad ass chicks, on rollerskates, kicking each others pierced and tattooed asses. NOTE: While their asses may be tattooed, I highly doubt they are pierced. Just saying.
The next bout is on April 12th, which means I’m missing that one due to being booked all day Saturday with important things like, boozing, eating, and boozing again. Come May 10th bitches, we’re ON. I applied to be a mascot for them if they expand to any other teams, even though my skating ability and my ability to breath underwater are about equal. I could be the lovable mascot who falls down a lot! Hell, I could just put a costume on of myself, with a whiskey bottle in hand. St. Stumbles!
That’s it mon ami. Consider yourselves updated. Keep checking the site for additional radars, blurbs, and random warblings from my end, and feel free to throw me an email. Also, I’m part of a political themed website, so my writings should start showing up there sooner than later as well, and when they do, I’ll share the details.
The typical love, monkeys, and now bears:
Bears. Serious Business.
x-51.
Looking back on some past posts, with broken links and rambling accounts of various idiotic occasions, I realized that trying to type and post to a blog while at work is less than ideal for a person’s writing style.
So I’ll give this another go, and actually pay it the attention it deserves. I hope. In reality, I’ll probably post six times and then just fade out slowly like the last six times.
Let’s see, updates…updates…I just signed up for the Harpoon Five miler road race, which 5 years ago I might have stood a chance of being competitive, but now I’ll be lucky to finish in under 35:00. I’m going to give it my all though, unlike the 5K last year where I showed up to run with barely any training, kicked ass on the race itself, and then could barely walk for 3 days after. Un-savory.
Rock climbing should be kicking back in again soon as well, as the local rock gyms have been spamming me with the latest routes for the Quincy Quarries (as seen in the lovely Gone Baby Gone), and with discounts on gear and such. I haven’t been in so long I have no idea how much my hands have weakened, so the first time on rock should be a painful awakening. Also, I have absolutely no fucking clue where my gear is, including the $140 dollar shoes I bought at the end of the season. Son of a fuck.
What else, what else. Got a new gig, working north of the city now, but still in a sales environment. Seems like a fantastic spot to work, friendly peoples, etc. I tend to keep the really personal details off of here, as my internet paranoia still runs deep, so that’s about all you’ll hear on that subject. I will say that the walk to work at my last gig was fantastic, but that it’s kind of refreshing to jump in the car, crank some music, and then sing along totally unselfconsciously, at the top of your lungs, while passing soccer moms who laugh at you into their Dunkin Donuts as they navigate the highways to pick up various brood and meet brazillian wax appointments.
Ipod on shuffle is my new religion. Anything that takes you from Queens of the Stone Age, to Queen, to Neil Diamond, to Samples, to They Might Be Giants in one sitting? Genius.
NFT – where you might have come here from – still continues to be a fantastic side gig, and the editorial staff simply rocks. I worked on editing the NFT Boston 09 book, so anything in there that’s funny, I’d thank them. Anything in there that’s incorrect, blame me. I will stand by my assertion that Yada Yada Café was my workplace oasis, and while I’ve only been gone from that job 3 weeks, I miss it, and the family who ran it like fire. They put my review in their window! How much do they rock?
Going back a bit – Gone Baby Gone, or as I call it, the movie set in my neighborhood, at a bar I go to a lot, with a main character that shares my name, was a great flick. The Afflecks impressed me with their performance and direction respectively, but FUCK what a depressing god damn film. And this is coming from a Dennis Lehane fan. Knowing how the book ends does not prepare you for actually seeing it. It got a bit dusty I will say. Also, seeing a character get shot in my local bar, and then die on the roof of the building I go to for haircuts? Unsettling.
The only other bit of wisdom I’d share with you, my non-existing audience, would be how fucking obsessed I am with this: Boston Derby Dames. Seriously. I’m not being the little fun hipster douchebag who likes something that should by no means be liked. Ever since I watched Rollergirls, on A&E last year: Hot and Smart Chicks on Rollerskates, I’ve been interested in watching relatively hot, bad ass chicks, on rollerskates, kicking each others pierced and tattooed asses. NOTE: While their asses may be tattooed, I highly doubt they are pierced. Just saying.
The next bout is on April 12th, which means I’m missing that one due to being booked all day Saturday with important things like, boozing, eating, and boozing again. Come May 10th bitches, we’re ON. I applied to be a mascot for them if they expand to any other teams, even though my skating ability and my ability to breath underwater are about equal. I could be the lovable mascot who falls down a lot! Hell, I could just put a costume on of myself, with a whiskey bottle in hand. St. Stumbles!
That’s it mon ami. Consider yourselves updated. Keep checking the site for additional radars, blurbs, and random warblings from my end, and feel free to throw me an email. Also, I’m part of a political themed website, so my writings should start showing up there sooner than later as well, and when they do, I’ll share the details.
The typical love, monkeys, and now bears:
Bears. Serious Business.
x-51.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Wii-tarded
Damn it Nintendo.
StarTropics was just released, and now I'm all fucking addicted to it all over again.
I thought I'd quit that damn thing back in fucking 8th grade. DAMN YOU NINTENDO AND YOUR DELICIOUS OFFERINGS OF FUNTIMEGAMEYNESS.
StarTropics was just released, and now I'm all fucking addicted to it all over again.
I thought I'd quit that damn thing back in fucking 8th grade. DAMN YOU NINTENDO AND YOUR DELICIOUS OFFERINGS OF FUNTIMEGAMEYNESS.
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