Archive for August, 2007
da twins »
Saturday, August 18th, 2007
First, the Twins game was horrible. It was so saturated with pathetic that I think I may have seen a homeless guy walk out in the sixth. And Punto was the biggest offender. He’s sucked sack for this entire down-turn. And then he gets a triple off a badly badly’s the wrong word; a fall-down-drunk Jim abbott would have had an easier go at it played ball into center. Then the Rangers pitcher threw a wild pitch and took about six hours to cover the plate. Yah! we won. ridiculous.
Second, I’ve never seen so many people rocked by fouled-off pitches in a single game. One batter took out three fans in one at bat. Hilarious. Well, not completely hilarious, but still. Super funny. Heartless? Me? No, because there was a P.S.A. over the jumbo-tron where Twins players were telling everyone to pay attention because a ball could jet toward the stands at any time. It ran about a quarter inning before the baseballs started raining over the lower deck.
This could be just me, because I don’t go to a lot of games, but it seems like skirts are more frequently pegged by the out-of-play ball than the guys. I don’t know if they’re not watching, aren’t as quick-handed, or get nailed because their boyfriends can’t catch shit. Whatever it is it’s unfortunate.
After a spectator directly in front of us, about five rows up we were back in 34, got rocked, the whole section proceeded to stand up. People behind us, to our left, and ourselves started yelling for them to sit back down. One of the smarter of the batch I can only assume turns back and throws this headache-inducing quote back at us:
It’s a ball game, so you can chill.
It appears that he somehow ignored the fact that the only reason he was standing was to catch a glimpse of some foul-ball-related carnage. The “ball game” was still going on as usual. And we couldn’t see it. Because of assholes like him trying to see if someone would need to be carried out on a board.
I hadn’t said anything, but I yelled back at him, “well at least let us know what’s going on. Is there blood? is she unconscious? you need to start relaying the information if you’re going to block the view. Are we winning? ’Cause I can’t see that either.” He didn’t look back.
On the way home we hit Bullwinkle’s and then [link disabled] reinacted a scene from a guide to recognizing your saints sorry for it being sideways on the tracks and took some album-cover-esque snaps of the three of us in out blazers. Twas a good night.
and you were in a rush to get it… »
Thursday, August 16th, 2007
I have a Razr. I have an iPod. I considered briefly a Mac lapbook. But who in their right fucking mind would rush like a 12-year-old on a harry potter high to the store for the iphone. I’ve had at&t since back when they used to be at&t awesome. As I’ve mentioned, it was only a matter of time before its luster faded.
Now the techsluts have something else to bitch about. After all that blind attraction and we look down on lemmings; almost ironic, dear iPhone buyer, you’re left with a phone hard to call from and a bill in a box.
But fuck, it sure is pretty though ain’t it?
I’d recommend going online to “Save trees, stamps, and time” at&t’s words, not mine and sign up for paperless billing. Between thirty and three hundred pages video below worth of useless information probably adds up quick. You can add ecoterrorist to your resume. Congratulations.
On second thought. I take all this back. There’s no way consumerism can’t work.
hazy »
Wednesday, August 15th, 2007
It’s catching up to me. There’s an ominous feeling. The closest thing that relates is the increased humidity and wet smell of a thunderstorm. I can’t see it like the dark clouds on the horizon, but there’s a weight to it.
The haze—the only name for it I can think of—used to come quite often in high school. It was around longer then too. In college the haze came less frequently. The drink may have ebbed its effects. For the year I was moving furniture it only came around two or three times. It’s caught up to me a few times already in the last couple months.
It comes with a feeling of distance from myself. Like going through the motions, or floating with a current. It’s hard to focus. I read less and watch more television or movies. I eat too much or too little. The headaches are worse and I sleep less. Thoughts are jumbled and flow into one another. It’s harder to be around people. Everything is less interesting. And then, after a few days, it’s gone.
It’s easier to handle them now. Generally people don’t notice it and I only mention it to a few. People don’t typically care to know, but I can still feel when it’s around. It comes around when I’m too busy, too tired, too caught up in everything else. I just need time to think. Time to sit, read, decompress, and find myself again.
Maybe it builds up and makes guys buy overpriced transportation in their middle-age. Maybe it’s why middle-aged women stereotypically buy worthless things. Is it the haze they’re trying to distract themselves from? That feeling that they’re too far away from where they should be? Do they hope to compensate for the disconnect?
Will it come and go until I pass on? Does everyone get their own form of the haze? Is this the price we pay for breaking out of the natural line? Is the defiance of nature coming back to haunt us? Sparking the necessity of drugs that alter how we think, feel, and act?
haha »
Wednesday, August 15th, 2007
When you come upon something that makes you laugh, even on mute, it’s noteworthy. you may disagree, but I’m the one noting it; so it’s pretty much a moot point. And that’s what happened when I came upon this little gem.
I’m sure I’ll watch it again later, with the sound, to see if it’s actually worthy of the short-burst laugh I gave it. For now, though, I’m back to work because this guy isn’t around the office next week. At all. For anything. And out of occupational email contact.
Another thing:
This almost makes me want to go out and pick up the issue. I haven’t read it in something like three years and it’s not interesting or informative after you’ve crossed the life-changing threshold of making out with more than five ladyfriends. But, at the same time, they have an ad that’s printed on untearable not a word? wrong; I just used it; so it is paper. It doesn’t seem worth the $5, seeing some quasi-famous-and-trying-to-be-more-famous skirt in her skivies, being inundated by worthless advertisements, or maybe finding out why my ex-girlfriend hated it when I did anything referenced in a handy bullet-pointed list surrounded by more skivy pictures, but it could be wicked sweet.
low-price registry »
Tuesday, August 14th, 2007
Wal-Mart has a gift registry. There is a place to go in order to find your brother Jeb’s requested gifts for his upcoming hitching to Darlene. A place where you can buy that $15 blender, $20 griddle, and the $40 Pizzazz for that most special of occasions.
This will come off as prejudice, but I promise I look no differently upon those who reside in mobile residences than I do the guy in the pin stripes walking past me downtown. They’re both sort of dumb and want to fit in to their respective cliques, but they’re separated by a rather wide economic fissure.
Really, what’s the difference between Pinstripes going online at Macy’s to get his soon-to-be-ex-buddy because ‘Pinstripes’ is a party animal and his buddy’s near-wife is a bitch a set of eight hundred thread count sheets and Wandering Toucan Get it? getting his ex-wife a set of $15 hot pink because it’s her favorite color sheets for her third go at it? Not much. Plus they’re sheets. Wash ’em a few times, Dick. Did I mention ‘Pinstripes’ real name was Richard? Damn; sorry ’bout that.
Now that that’s out of the way, who the hell runs the registry gun through the isles of Wal-Mart? Do a lot of people plan on being wed as long as their gifts last? Because you’d have a shitton of six-month annulments on your hands. There’s no way any of this crap can be remotely sentimental after the strong hand of the Waltons choked the lowest price out of every manufacturer. Although I’d hold this near and dear to my heart.
A wedding is a special occasion. It’s meant to be celebrated. It will be remembered for at least months afterward by all but aunt Gretchen; that drunken hag. Memories of it will be cherished until the hard-disc crashes or the tape is accidently left in the V.C.R. during the playoffs. To shop for your small little slice of those memories at a bottom-of-the-basement corporate whore retailer like Wal-Mart is just wrong.
The point is: I’m not only surprised Nut wasn’t registered there, but I’m going balls out low-price style with the registry gun when it’s my turn. Who in their right mind would not buy me six things for the price of one? Who, I ask?
Anyone named either verbally or digitally will immediately be written out of my life. Until their services become necessary. In which case, I will call months before to touch base and ask them out for coffee. I’ll butter them up into thinking we are fantastic pals again, and then ask them to help out with my move in a few days. Did I mention I’ll have three ridiculously large armoires unused in my basement and a low, narrow stairway? Forgot again? Damn; sorry ’bout that.