The ‘woo-hoo, wee-hoo!’ hook from Gwen Stefani/Akon’s latest song is terribly catchy. I mean, I know it’s been out all summer, and I’ve heard it on the radio a lot, but for some reason it’s stuck with me today. My brain keeps doing it randomly. It’s intoxicating, but unsettling at the same time.
I’ve always wanted a shot at immortality. Rock star. President. Anna Nicole Smith’s baby’s father. None of which seem to be in the offing. But I did get to fulfill one of my dreams. I am finally a character on the Simpsons.
Now, I know what you want to know. How the hell did you pull that off? Well to be honest, I’m fucking around with the president of Fox’s daughter. But alas, that’s sadly not the case.
I’m actually colored yellow not because of the jaundice, but thanks to a great new Web application called the Simpsonizer. That’s right, plop a headshot of yourself on the net, and within a few minutes you’re awesome enough to hang on Evergreen Terrace.
I <3 da innernet.
Took a trip to Chimney Bluffs State Park. Not really sure why, has something to do with the fact that there are now six students left on campus for the summer, and three of them went home for the weekend. Awesome.
The Bluffs were formed from drumlins, which in turn were created by glaciers in the last ice age. The erosive power of wind, rain, snow, and waves — both from above and below — has formed the landscape into razor-sharp pinnacles.*
*“Wikipedia is the best thing ever. Anyone in the world can write anything they want about any subject, so you know you are getting the best possible information.”
Pictures really don’t do these things justice. The trail along the top comes right to the ledge in some spots, which is pretty much a sheer drop for a couple hundred feet. Makes you a little queasy knowing the top ledge can recede three feet a year, and you’re standing on the last six inches. Some of the spires go up as high as a fifteen story building. And one of them was no more than about 10 feet at it’s thickest point. Anyway, here’s a teaser, my full 20 shot spree before my outdated camera sucked the life out of a pair of Duracell’s are in a new photo gallery.
Template Style Switcher. Under the search box.
Use it. Relive it. Love it.
(I’m so happy I brought Bloghaus back, I’m downright giddy.)
There is a mini uproar going around since FOX News reported that the government was remotely turning your cell phone on and off to trace your location. Something, something “invasion of privacy,” something, something, [expletive], Bush.
Well, that makes sense, since last year my phone kept turning on randomly every night. Actually, at first I wondered if it was ghosts. After all, Dead Tenants taught me they are everywhere, up to no good, and that only crazy middle-aged British women can actually communicate with them through “non-haunted” means. But then I found out about this– which made sense, because who is more likely to turn on my cell phone– that creepy six year old girl brutally slaughtered on my property in 1826, or the president of the motherfucking United States? He’s probably just calling to check the score of the game anyway. When you have approval ratings that low, it’s hard to get the DirecTV guy to go out to the ranch on a given day to get the satellite rigged up. Imagine the Eminems spittin’ in his onion rings. So then I figured, why make it tough? I mean, if they’re going to keep waking me up with my Cingular startup tone without my control whenever my phone is off, why wouldn’t you just suck it up, and leave it on all the time. Net positive is my dream about a threesome of Jessicas (Biel and Alba should suffice) doesn’t get interrupted by Dick Cheney fucking around afterhours. And tracking? Hell, I usually drop the FBI a text whenever I go out anyway. It sucks though, Mueller never “wantz to hit up a gr8 partay.” Though it is a bit of a drag when he keeps wondering “Y the gurl at the bar doesnt like me?” I just tell him, “being in DC, that’s not a problem.”
I’m not really sure how long this has been around, but on iGoogle’s page (the default one I presume, since I don’t recall ever editing it), there’s a section in the bottom left corner that’s called “How to of the Day.”
In the past, a couple have caught my fancy. How to make caffeine jello shots? Well that’s interesting.
Upon clickage, you realize that it’s actually a giant Wiki database, appropriately enough known as wikiHow. Like many other Wikis, this one is absolutely fascinating. There are many reasonable how-to’s listed, likely including the contributions of many authors (how to study for a test, for example)
However, there are some completely brilliant ones. All are on the top 200 list, meaning people might actually try these.
How to Calculate Pi by Throwing Frozen Hot Dogs? Way too much setup for me, but hey, if they are allowed into the GRE testing facility, maybe it’s worth it.
How to Make a Homemade Lava Lamp? I was actually quite seriously disappointed when one of the ingrediants wasn’t actually lava. It would have been worth it.
How to Get out of a Car Gracefully Without Showing Your Underwear? Probably taped to the ceiling of Lindsay Lohan’s limo.
How to Regain Control of a Spooked Camel? Hells yeah. Summer in motherfucking Baghdad, here I come!
I am already envisioning how badly my next article of “How to Sky Dive Just Using a Pair of Kitchen Tongs” is going to end for someone.
Since Geneva is fucking boring, Friday after work I wandered over to Syracuse to catch the Pawtucket Red Sox (Boston’s AAA affiliate) play the Syracuse Chiefs. Formerly the “Sky Chiefs,” they claim the dropping of “Sky” was part of a rebranding movement. I call bull. Some Indians probably got uppity.
I really wanted to see Clay “I’m the #1 pitching prospect in the minor leagues now that Yovani Gallardo is sucking it up in the Milwaukee Brewers bullpen” Buchholz pitch, but of course, the Sox pushed him back to Monday so he could start his first AAA game in front of the hometown peeps at McCoy Stadium. Fuck them. I had to settle for Jon Lester.
To my amazement, no one buys tickets before they get to the gate. On Friday morning (while being wholly unproductive at work) I managed to snag a seat that was two rows behind the plate. Two fuckin’ rows. I haven’t been this close to home plate since I got barelled over by some kid from Bristol while catching senior year.
As for the game itself; it was teh suck. Lester has lost 3-4 mph off his fastball since his callup to Boston last season (although in his defense, he did have cancer at the end of last year) and he was wildly wild. Jacoby Ellsbury went 0-5, though mah boy George Kottaras went 3-4 with a dinger, hopefully signaling the end of him beating around the Mendoza line. The only true highlights of the day were watching Abe Alvarez pitch (just so I could tell the scout from the White Sox who I was seated next to, “Hey, I throw harder than that– so just keep that in mind if you are ever going to get your GM to trade for him”) and watching Edgar Martinez strike out the side in the ninth, giving hope to obese, former catchers everywhere, that yes, if you have a 97mph fastball, you can still play ball and have your chicken parmesan too.
Pics from the game from my sad, sad little digital camera (Hey, 3.1 megapixel was cutting edge like four years ago). Lester throwing pitches in the first two, Ellsbury at the plate in the 3rd. I refuse to post the picture of Michael Tucker staring me down in the fourth. The guy is just too creepy. Click to enlarge.
MSN.com thinks it’s funny to generalize all Chinese citizens. Shame on them
First off, I’d like someone to explain how this is any different from when I’m chastised for thinking all Asians look the same or speak a widespread (and seemingly unintelligible) language known as “Asian.” Sweeping generalizations my ass.
Secondly, well, quite simply, it’s a major website using the word “wangs” on its front page, content not withstanding. There’s an awful lot of humor in that itself. I’ll let you concoct some in your mind so I feel better about myself for not publishing my thoughts.
How good is Google News getting with their association technology. Well, check out the image they paired up with the story about how the US Supreme Court decided that since the secret, unconstitutional, and illegal domestic wiretapping program hides whose rights it violates, no one can challenge it in federal court. (Click to zoom)
In another nominal victory regarding a laundry list of minor irritations in my life, I have switched packaged salad brands. Why do I use packaged salad? Mainly for lettuce on my sandwiches, but on occasion, I feel dangerous and drop the antipasto or just throw a dish out in front of some pasta or something.
Typically I’m stuck buying the regular Dole-brand salad. Romaine, garden, Italian, even shredded lettuce– all come in this bitch of a thick poly-plastic shit packaging. And wouldn’t you know, every time I open one of the packages, I pull and pull and pull until WHAM, the package rips. And of course, it rips down the middle instead of just opening at the top like a bag of Doritos or something. And of course lettuce goes flying everywhere. I mean everywhere. I’ve probably almost started no less than seven fires because some’ll fly under the burner of the stove, and, as per the norm, I’ll be too lazy to clean it up, which then leads to complete negligence when I try to make my hard-boiled eggs after I realize that all I have left in my food storage is a dozen Eggland’s Best and a half jar of jelly because Passover is over and I can’t mooch off of the Jewish matzo in the apartment anymore. But back to the lettuce, every time I got a new bag, seriously, the same thing would happen. I jabbed it with knifes, cut it with scissors– but seriously, it’s just lettuce. I should be able to cut that shit and go.
But wait! Today I found out that Wegman’s has their own salad brand. And for price reasons, I went with the store leavery today. And wouldn’t you know, the package is a breeze to open. The best way to describe it is that it’s “crispier.” It doesn’t have that long, stringy, stretching quality the Dole bags have. So now, I can neatly open my lettuce, and roll up the bag when I’m done. Hell, I almost got down on my knees and yelled “Vic-tory!” … But not really.
…
Oh, and as response to the statement you are probably thinking in your head about me and my salad– fuck you. I care.
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