Saturday, January 06, 2007
Double Oh Seven
I've been away for a bit. Not much in terms of prose when I've posted, usually just a Chappelle Show clip or two.
No holiday greetings.
No humourous holiday anecdotes or use of the useless extra "u" in words, akin to British English.
No drunken holiday posts.
No foolish predictions.
No unrealistic resolutions. (and besides, New Year's resolutions are stupid...just stupid...you always resolve to do shit that you know is physically realistic but personally impossible..."i wanna lose 15 pounds," meanwhile you double-order those curly-fries...i have a new year's resolution: i want to be taller, see Iona win a game, and get a job as a microbiologist...get the shampoo out of here with this crap...)
Did I lose my muse? No, unless you count Ennui as a muse. I've just lacked that certain je ne sais quoi recently. In the MKE, it was often a bottle of red and the iPod Sounddock on level eight.
Now, it's just different. A better different. A different different.
This past year, the six or seven times I flew back to greater Metropolitan God's Country area, when the flight attendant welcomed me to Rhode Island/Boston/Hartford, I was euphoric.
And as he/she/he-she was reminding me that it was necessary to keep my seat belt buckled and for me to remain in my seat until the plane had stopped at the gate and the captain had turned the seatbelt sign off...forget that...I was looking for a way to climb out of the window, hop off the wing, and dance on the tarmac. I was home, if ever so briefly.
Just after Christmas, went on my first road trip at the new place, and came home on Dec. 31. When we arrived back in the PVD, it wasn't euphoria. It wasn't white blinding excitement.
I wasn't sitting in seat 14 A, trying to jump the rows five-at-a-time to get off the rig, running to gate 14 for a Dunkin Donuts (large hot, extra skim, one sugar), and then to grab my bags and whisk off to catch my ride...
Nope. I was just on a plane that landed.
Does that seem like a downer? Hardly.
I took off from PVD. I landed in PVD. That means...yep...home. Again. Jiggity-jig.
-----
Christmas provided me with some nice tangible gifts to unwrap under the tree. But the best gift came before Halloween.
Piece of mind. Comfort. Friends. Family. Old acquaintances. New mates. Dunkin Donuts every 150 yards. It's home.
Now, before y'all are thinking that I'm Little Mr. Sunshine now, you're wrong. I'm still in the running for the Nobel Prize for Cynicism. The Fields Medal for Sarcasm. JD Power & Associates still have me in the top three for angry flippant folk.
But it's all grounded now.
Because of the ground I'm on.
-----
Getting back to the previous flight allusion: Southwest Airlines.
More like Southworst Airlines. (I just made that up. I'm also going back to 4th grade for jokes.)
I realize they're making money - prolly the only airline to do such a thing these days - but damn...I know what the folks in steerage felt like on the Titanic.
Make it worse when it's a group of folks trying to fly SWA. Not good times. Especially if you lack the "A" boarding pass. Luckily I didn't get stuck with a middle seat. In fact, on flight segment 1 of like 9, I did have a rather attractive young miss next to me.
But then you do that quick goat math and realize: "yeah, I'm 10 years older than this one..." you feel like the creepy old guy in the club. You know that guy... You've seen that guy... You've made fun of that guy...
I'm that guy. Shampoo.
-----
Patriots play tomorrow.
I fear the worst. I just do. These Pats haven't shown me that sense of urgency that I always thought the team had in the past.
Whatever. The most important game of the day in Southern New England isn't in Foxboro at 1 p.m., it's in Kingston at noon.
-----
Back to the "old guy/club" thing - got my first official "so, when are you going to go on a date/meet a nice girl?" thing from the folks today.
Hov sang: Ain't no love in the heart of the city, ain't no love in the heart of town...
Sure as shit ain't no love at home games, either. So, the Cliff Notes version of that answer: no shampooing idea.
Can I Live?
-----
Jarvis Cocker has the song of the Year already. It's a tune from 2006, but I'm just getting turned onto it, so it's new to me.
And it's not out in the U.S. yet, so technically it's still new.
The song is called "Running the World." It's not the whole title of the song, as candor and decorum prevents me from listing it (despite it being my favorite four-letter word...)
But it's real.
Here's the YouTube video for the tune. Enjoy.
-----
That's it from here.
The goal is to try to resume regular postings, but who knows.
Maybe I'll make it a New Year's Resolution...
BALLIN'!
yh&os,
No holiday greetings.
No humourous holiday anecdotes or use of the useless extra "u" in words, akin to British English.
No drunken holiday posts.
No foolish predictions.
No unrealistic resolutions. (and besides, New Year's resolutions are stupid...just stupid...you always resolve to do shit that you know is physically realistic but personally impossible..."i wanna lose 15 pounds," meanwhile you double-order those curly-fries...i have a new year's resolution: i want to be taller, see Iona win a game, and get a job as a microbiologist...get the shampoo out of here with this crap...)
Did I lose my muse? No, unless you count Ennui as a muse. I've just lacked that certain je ne sais quoi recently. In the MKE, it was often a bottle of red and the iPod Sounddock on level eight.
Now, it's just different. A better different. A different different.
This past year, the six or seven times I flew back to greater Metropolitan God's Country area, when the flight attendant welcomed me to Rhode Island/Boston/Hartford, I was euphoric.
And as he/she/he-she was reminding me that it was necessary to keep my seat belt buckled and for me to remain in my seat until the plane had stopped at the gate and the captain had turned the seatbelt sign off...forget that...I was looking for a way to climb out of the window, hop off the wing, and dance on the tarmac. I was home, if ever so briefly.
Just after Christmas, went on my first road trip at the new place, and came home on Dec. 31. When we arrived back in the PVD, it wasn't euphoria. It wasn't white blinding excitement.
I wasn't sitting in seat 14 A, trying to jump the rows five-at-a-time to get off the rig, running to gate 14 for a Dunkin Donuts (large hot, extra skim, one sugar), and then to grab my bags and whisk off to catch my ride...
Nope. I was just on a plane that landed.
Does that seem like a downer? Hardly.
I took off from PVD. I landed in PVD. That means...yep...home. Again. Jiggity-jig.
-----
Christmas provided me with some nice tangible gifts to unwrap under the tree. But the best gift came before Halloween.
Piece of mind. Comfort. Friends. Family. Old acquaintances. New mates. Dunkin Donuts every 150 yards. It's home.
Now, before y'all are thinking that I'm Little Mr. Sunshine now, you're wrong. I'm still in the running for the Nobel Prize for Cynicism. The Fields Medal for Sarcasm. JD Power & Associates still have me in the top three for angry flippant folk.
But it's all grounded now.
Because of the ground I'm on.
-----
Getting back to the previous flight allusion: Southwest Airlines.
More like Southworst Airlines. (I just made that up. I'm also going back to 4th grade for jokes.)
I realize they're making money - prolly the only airline to do such a thing these days - but damn...I know what the folks in steerage felt like on the Titanic.
Make it worse when it's a group of folks trying to fly SWA. Not good times. Especially if you lack the "A" boarding pass. Luckily I didn't get stuck with a middle seat. In fact, on flight segment 1 of like 9, I did have a rather attractive young miss next to me.
But then you do that quick goat math and realize: "yeah, I'm 10 years older than this one..." you feel like the creepy old guy in the club. You know that guy... You've seen that guy... You've made fun of that guy...
I'm that guy. Shampoo.
-----
Patriots play tomorrow.
I fear the worst. I just do. These Pats haven't shown me that sense of urgency that I always thought the team had in the past.
Whatever. The most important game of the day in Southern New England isn't in Foxboro at 1 p.m., it's in Kingston at noon.
-----
Back to the "old guy/club" thing - got my first official "so, when are you going to go on a date/meet a nice girl?" thing from the folks today.
Hov sang: Ain't no love in the heart of the city, ain't no love in the heart of town...
Sure as shit ain't no love at home games, either. So, the Cliff Notes version of that answer: no shampooing idea.
Can I Live?
-----
Jarvis Cocker has the song of the Year already. It's a tune from 2006, but I'm just getting turned onto it, so it's new to me.
And it's not out in the U.S. yet, so technically it's still new.
The song is called "Running the World." It's not the whole title of the song, as candor and decorum prevents me from listing it (despite it being my favorite four-letter word...)
But it's real.
Here's the YouTube video for the tune. Enjoy.
-----
That's it from here.
The goal is to try to resume regular postings, but who knows.
Maybe I'll make it a New Year's Resolution...
BALLIN'!
yh&os,
