Friday, March 31
The toughest man who ever lived has died.
Create your own flipbook. Endless Friday fun.
If you were to start an NHL franchise tomorrow and had your choice of one of the following, who would you take?
Lundqvist
Phaneuf
Ovechkin
Crosby
Lundqvist
Phaneuf
Ovechkin
Crosby
Thursday, March 30
Delores and Sense (99% true)
So you're at the midpoint of a $4 cab ride, and the cabbie is a pretty interesting weirdo. You've exchanged names. Your name is whatever your name is, and his name is Soupma. Or maybe SooJa. Possibly Soochrah. It's hard to pronounce, the cabbie's name is. Don't call him "Susan", though, because either you're not funny or he doesn't get the joke.
Names are important to the driver of your cab, and names are not a laughing matter. He will drop you off right here if you call him "Susan" again. He's told you so.
His name sounds Southeast Asian, but he looks South American, and you make the mistake of mentioning that.
"I am from Colombia. We honor our mothers. We honor our fathers. We honor our sisters. We honor our brothers." (Colombians have honor. Okay already, you get it. At this point you have to wonder if he's going to honor those shitty Colombian red cola drinks, but he doesn't. It's nice that he didn't try to strong-arm you into nodding along to his revelation of the worst thing to be mixed with rum since Dr. Pepper.)
You say: "My mother's name was Diana. She was the Goddess of the hunt, in Rome or maybe Greece. Cool name, right?" Maybe you read a few books. Bad move.
Cabbie says: "My mother's name was Delores(sp?). She raised seven boys and some girls too. Her name means "Bell" (You may have misunderstood this.)
"Delores!" Come on, Delores? You know that one. It means "sadness." Sadly, after being assertive about this fact, you are kicked out 2 blocks away from your apartment. Could have been worse.
What did that cost you? How many Delores and how much sense?
Whatever, Susan.
So you're at the midpoint of a $4 cab ride, and the cabbie is a pretty interesting weirdo. You've exchanged names. Your name is whatever your name is, and his name is Soupma. Or maybe SooJa. Possibly Soochrah. It's hard to pronounce, the cabbie's name is. Don't call him "Susan", though, because either you're not funny or he doesn't get the joke.
Names are important to the driver of your cab, and names are not a laughing matter. He will drop you off right here if you call him "Susan" again. He's told you so.
His name sounds Southeast Asian, but he looks South American, and you make the mistake of mentioning that.
"I am from Colombia. We honor our mothers. We honor our fathers. We honor our sisters. We honor our brothers." (Colombians have honor. Okay already, you get it. At this point you have to wonder if he's going to honor those shitty Colombian red cola drinks, but he doesn't. It's nice that he didn't try to strong-arm you into nodding along to his revelation of the worst thing to be mixed with rum since Dr. Pepper.)
You say: "My mother's name was Diana. She was the Goddess of the hunt, in Rome or maybe Greece. Cool name, right?" Maybe you read a few books. Bad move.
Cabbie says: "My mother's name was Delores(sp?). She raised seven boys and some girls too. Her name means "Bell" (You may have misunderstood this.)
"Delores!" Come on, Delores? You know that one. It means "sadness." Sadly, after being assertive about this fact, you are kicked out 2 blocks away from your apartment. Could have been worse.
What did that cost you? How many Delores and how much sense?
Whatever, Susan.
Monday, March 27
This Spartan Life is like a normal talk show that has episodes available for download on the internets. Well, it's sort of normal. See this short Wired write-up for more details.
Saturday, March 25
A) I'm not a big fan of drinking and driving, but sometimes it's just not your business to butt in - Especially if you need a ride home. Dan seemed okay(ish) to drive, and I wasn't about to make waves, since he lives a block and a half away from me, and me and Dan, well, we aren't friends anyway. We just know people in common.
It's a pretty sweet car, Dan's car is. On a cold night you can press a button and the seat gets all warm. Unnecessary but cool. Or warm. Whatever, I'm getting a ride home. Dan's kind of an asshole driver, and an asshole talker, and I'm not sure if I'm more uncomfortable about the illegal left-turn he just made or the fact that he used "cornhole" and "fiancee" in the same sentence. It's nice outside and I'm thinking it might have been a better idea to just walk home. Dan thinks it's funny to swerve around the street like he's riding one of those awesome Diamondback bikes that your best friend had in the 80's. Two blocks from my apartment (they always say it's within a mile of your house when it happens), Dan drives directly into a car parked on the right side of the road. He's wearing a seatbelt, but because I'm tough and all, I'm not. Driver's side airbag deploys, but nothing happens over here in the passenger seat except for my face hitting the dashboard. I saw my left hand reach out to help avoid the impact, but it was too late. So that's how I got that cut on my face.
--
B) Skilled yet small hockey players. Man, those guys are my favorites. Martin St. Louis, Sergei Samsonov, even that nutjob Theo Fleury - those are guys I model myself after. Me and a few of my friends get together once in while to rent out some ice-time in a rink in Morristown, and we play us some hockey. None of us played hockey in high school or anything, but we all know and love hockey. It's mostly a joke, but it's still fun.
Small and quick, baby. (Yeah, that's what she said.) Anyway, Sammy , Martin, and Theo are the benchmarks for tiny hockey players. The pisser is that small and quick in real life doesn't match up with small and quick on ice. I always think I'm faster than I really am. So I'm skating up the right wing, and if I can beat Dan (playing defence, and playing poorly to boot), it's a breakaway. No way this douche beats me. He's moving towards the boards, and so am I, but I'm really fast, right? Skate fast! Skate fast! I have to remember to not look at the puck when I'm skating fast. By the time I look up, Dan's about a foot away from me. I'm going to hit something, and it's either Dan or the boards. I choose nothing, which basically means that Dan hits me (unintentionally, I think), and then I hit the sideboards face first. I saw my left hand reach out to help avoid the impact, but it was too late. So that's how I got that cut on my face.
--
C) Remember that Dave Matthews lyric? It was something like "keep the big door open, everyone will come around". I guess it makes me old and lame, but I've always liked that line. It's sort of like what my apartment is like, and I'm happy about that. We're not party people or anything, but on any given Friday, you're bound to meet new people at our place. Hello Dana. Nice to meet you, Penny. Annika, hey, cool name. You get the picture.
I like our open door policy, but if you come to 512 late in the evening, it might be a little messy. I'm always bugging Dan to clean up before he goes to bed if he has friends over. What Dan does to convince me that he's made some sort of half-assed effort to clean up is to leave the cleaning products out. Like that's evidence of his tidyness or something. But hey, I won't lie to you: I was a little tipsy on Friday. I walked up the stairs, noticed that Dan had "cleaned" (or at least he left the Swiffer on the stairs), and started to get ready for bed.
I left my damn phone in my jacket downstairs. My phone has a pretty good battery, but putting my phone to sleep is part of the routine of putting myself to sleep. You can't mess with your routine. So I have to get the phone.
This part is my fault. I knew the Swiffer was there, and I completely forgot about it. There are 16 steps from my room down to the living room, and I caught the side of my foot on the Swiffer and tumbled down 11 angry stairs. I saw my left hand reach out to help avoid the impact, but it was too late. So that's how I got that cut on my face.
--
D) Dan and I played beer pong last night. At some point I saw my left hand reach out to help avoid the impact, but it was too late. Nasty spill. So that's how I got that cut on my face.
It's a pretty sweet car, Dan's car is. On a cold night you can press a button and the seat gets all warm. Unnecessary but cool. Or warm. Whatever, I'm getting a ride home. Dan's kind of an asshole driver, and an asshole talker, and I'm not sure if I'm more uncomfortable about the illegal left-turn he just made or the fact that he used "cornhole" and "fiancee" in the same sentence. It's nice outside and I'm thinking it might have been a better idea to just walk home. Dan thinks it's funny to swerve around the street like he's riding one of those awesome Diamondback bikes that your best friend had in the 80's. Two blocks from my apartment (they always say it's within a mile of your house when it happens), Dan drives directly into a car parked on the right side of the road. He's wearing a seatbelt, but because I'm tough and all, I'm not. Driver's side airbag deploys, but nothing happens over here in the passenger seat except for my face hitting the dashboard. I saw my left hand reach out to help avoid the impact, but it was too late. So that's how I got that cut on my face.
--
B) Skilled yet small hockey players. Man, those guys are my favorites. Martin St. Louis, Sergei Samsonov, even that nutjob Theo Fleury - those are guys I model myself after. Me and a few of my friends get together once in while to rent out some ice-time in a rink in Morristown, and we play us some hockey. None of us played hockey in high school or anything, but we all know and love hockey. It's mostly a joke, but it's still fun.
Small and quick, baby. (Yeah, that's what she said.) Anyway, Sammy , Martin, and Theo are the benchmarks for tiny hockey players. The pisser is that small and quick in real life doesn't match up with small and quick on ice. I always think I'm faster than I really am. So I'm skating up the right wing, and if I can beat Dan (playing defence, and playing poorly to boot), it's a breakaway. No way this douche beats me. He's moving towards the boards, and so am I, but I'm really fast, right? Skate fast! Skate fast! I have to remember to not look at the puck when I'm skating fast. By the time I look up, Dan's about a foot away from me. I'm going to hit something, and it's either Dan or the boards. I choose nothing, which basically means that Dan hits me (unintentionally, I think), and then I hit the sideboards face first. I saw my left hand reach out to help avoid the impact, but it was too late. So that's how I got that cut on my face.
--
C) Remember that Dave Matthews lyric? It was something like "keep the big door open, everyone will come around". I guess it makes me old and lame, but I've always liked that line. It's sort of like what my apartment is like, and I'm happy about that. We're not party people or anything, but on any given Friday, you're bound to meet new people at our place. Hello Dana. Nice to meet you, Penny. Annika, hey, cool name. You get the picture.
I like our open door policy, but if you come to 512 late in the evening, it might be a little messy. I'm always bugging Dan to clean up before he goes to bed if he has friends over. What Dan does to convince me that he's made some sort of half-assed effort to clean up is to leave the cleaning products out. Like that's evidence of his tidyness or something. But hey, I won't lie to you: I was a little tipsy on Friday. I walked up the stairs, noticed that Dan had "cleaned" (or at least he left the Swiffer on the stairs), and started to get ready for bed.
I left my damn phone in my jacket downstairs. My phone has a pretty good battery, but putting my phone to sleep is part of the routine of putting myself to sleep. You can't mess with your routine. So I have to get the phone.
This part is my fault. I knew the Swiffer was there, and I completely forgot about it. There are 16 steps from my room down to the living room, and I caught the side of my foot on the Swiffer and tumbled down 11 angry stairs. I saw my left hand reach out to help avoid the impact, but it was too late. So that's how I got that cut on my face.
--
D) Dan and I played beer pong last night. At some point I saw my left hand reach out to help avoid the impact, but it was too late. Nasty spill. So that's how I got that cut on my face.
Friday, March 24
Download-to-own movies --- A great idea made ridiculous by stupid people.
Tuesday, March 21
It's pretty clear you've become desensitized to this sort of thing when in the span of three paragraphs, you go from disappointment and indignation at one man's treatment of his fellow man to sincere enjoyment and smiles that you can get charged with "one count of conspiring to make a contest of making detainees soil themselves."
This trick would be impressive if I had never played Tony Hawk. Since I have played Tony Hawk, it kinda seemed easy to me.
Thursday, March 16
An ordinary house in Tennessee hides a giant cavernous pot farm. Pics and description here.
Monday, March 13
Saturday, March 11
I got picked up last night. Not by a beautiful, beautiful lady, but by a threehundredandfiftypounds man. And when I say picked up, I don't mean hit on. I mean that the guy lifted me into the air. I've always wondered what things look like from nine feet above the ground, and now I know.
I guess the dude was getting married or something. At your bachelor party, it's okay to lift people up. Just so you know.
I guess the dude was getting married or something. At your bachelor party, it's okay to lift people up. Just so you know.
Thursday, March 9
So I worked in Soho today. For the record, and I really mean this, Soho rocks. I decided to walk around during my lunch break, because it was beautiful today. When I say beautiful, I mean the weather was beautiful. Because the people, well - I guess the people were something else.
But before I get to the people, I have to mention that the streets of Soho are one big scavenger hunt. My office is on Broadway. Did you know that in Soho there's a West Broadway and a regular Broadway? I didn't. Good thing I budgeted an extra half-hour for the commute. When you cross Sullivan Street, you get a Counting Crows tune stuck in your head. Dammit. When you cross Varick Street, you get a Soul Coughing tune stuck in your head. Aww, fuck! And so on. Who needs an Ipod?
During lunch I followed a trail of graffiti for five blocks. "Being French is the coolest," someone had spraypainted. I saw "You wish you were French" a block and a half later. "Pretentious ->" a few blocks later. And then, "Frenchies Rule!" on the outside wall of a French restaurant. Hilarious. Honorable mention goes to a stenciled tag of "Pray for Balls", with a weird vehicle of some sort below it. Whoever created that was probably trying to be all avant-garde like Banksy or some such, but hey, I laughed.
So anyway. Sew. Anyway. The people in Soho was what I wanted to mention. It kind of goes like this:
Wow, that girl would be gorgeous, if only she brushed her teeth once in a while and wasn't chain-smoking. And also wasn't dressed like a flapper for some reason... Hey, that guy is wearing a Beret AND combat boots!... There's a really ugly girl who must have paid thousands of dollars for that outfit. Except for the ugly, she's a model! Nice legs, though... Apparently dressing like a pirate and writing in your journal in the window of a Starbucks aren't mutually exclusive activities... Ooh, a real life businessman! Oh, he's making a drug deal on his cell-phone, I think. Really loudly, and in the middle of the sidewalk... Look at that, a 60 year-old lady wearing a Pac Man T-shirt. Is that ironic? Do I even know what ironic means? I'm not sure anymore... Hey wait - that dog has a mohawk?
At first, I couldn't figure out what the deal was. Maybe while bumbling aimlessly through the maze of streets without numbers, I'd entered a universe where cool just isn't cool. Nope. Soho took me a while. It's a place where if you're good looking and/or successful, you make yourself out to appear like a pauper (or a pirate for some reason?). If you're ugly, you either buy really nice clothes, or buy really bad clothes. Either one works. Basically, Soho is a place where no one is cool, or maybe everyone is. I'm not sure. It's confusing. How do you fit in?
Before returning to work, I mussed up my hair, unbuttoned two buttons on my shirt, tied a yellow bandana around my left bicep, and rolled in a pile of dogshit. By the time I made it to my desk, I had been given two high-fives, a falafel, a Rambo T-shirt, and two free passes to a concert that is so mysterious that I could lose all of my contacts on MySpace just for talking about it. See you on the flip side, squares!
But before I get to the people, I have to mention that the streets of Soho are one big scavenger hunt. My office is on Broadway. Did you know that in Soho there's a West Broadway and a regular Broadway? I didn't. Good thing I budgeted an extra half-hour for the commute. When you cross Sullivan Street, you get a Counting Crows tune stuck in your head. Dammit. When you cross Varick Street, you get a Soul Coughing tune stuck in your head. Aww, fuck! And so on. Who needs an Ipod?
During lunch I followed a trail of graffiti for five blocks. "Being French is the coolest," someone had spraypainted. I saw "You wish you were French" a block and a half later. "Pretentious ->" a few blocks later. And then, "Frenchies Rule!" on the outside wall of a French restaurant. Hilarious. Honorable mention goes to a stenciled tag of "Pray for Balls", with a weird vehicle of some sort below it. Whoever created that was probably trying to be all avant-garde like Banksy or some such, but hey, I laughed.
So anyway. Sew. Anyway. The people in Soho was what I wanted to mention. It kind of goes like this:
Wow, that girl would be gorgeous, if only she brushed her teeth once in a while and wasn't chain-smoking. And also wasn't dressed like a flapper for some reason... Hey, that guy is wearing a Beret AND combat boots!... There's a really ugly girl who must have paid thousands of dollars for that outfit. Except for the ugly, she's a model! Nice legs, though... Apparently dressing like a pirate and writing in your journal in the window of a Starbucks aren't mutually exclusive activities... Ooh, a real life businessman! Oh, he's making a drug deal on his cell-phone, I think. Really loudly, and in the middle of the sidewalk... Look at that, a 60 year-old lady wearing a Pac Man T-shirt. Is that ironic? Do I even know what ironic means? I'm not sure anymore... Hey wait - that dog has a mohawk?
At first, I couldn't figure out what the deal was. Maybe while bumbling aimlessly through the maze of streets without numbers, I'd entered a universe where cool just isn't cool. Nope. Soho took me a while. It's a place where if you're good looking and/or successful, you make yourself out to appear like a pauper (or a pirate for some reason?). If you're ugly, you either buy really nice clothes, or buy really bad clothes. Either one works. Basically, Soho is a place where no one is cool, or maybe everyone is. I'm not sure. It's confusing. How do you fit in?
Before returning to work, I mussed up my hair, unbuttoned two buttons on my shirt, tied a yellow bandana around my left bicep, and rolled in a pile of dogshit. By the time I made it to my desk, I had been given two high-fives, a falafel, a Rambo T-shirt, and two free passes to a concert that is so mysterious that I could lose all of my contacts on MySpace just for talking about it. See you on the flip side, squares!
Deadline hopes? I hope the Rangers don't trade any picks. I hope the Rangers don't trade any prospects. They can trade Ville (as they did), Marcel Hossa, Colton Orr, Lee Falardeau & Dale Purinton. Other than that, stand pat.
I think we know where Ninja stands on his hope for the Leafs. Any thoughts from you Sammy?
I think we know where Ninja stands on his hope for the Leafs. Any thoughts from you Sammy?
Wednesday, March 8
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah are the subject of a Metafilter thread. Those fucking mefi nerds will bitch about anything, man.
Vote early, vote often. The Steven McDonald Extra Effort Award is given to the New York Rangers Player who "goes above and beyond the call of duty." In year's past, fans voted for the one player on the team who didn't suck on virtually every shift. This year, it's nearly impossible to choose the one player who deserves the honor. Betts? Moore? Orty? Prucha? Strudwick? Hell, ever Weekes deserves some consideration for the way he's handled the goalie situation.
In the end, Jason Ward got my vote.
And now I have to go make up a new login so I can vote for Betts and Moore.
In the end, Jason Ward got my vote.
And now I have to go make up a new login so I can vote for Betts and Moore.
I didn't think it was possible after the 03/04 season, but the reffing in the NHL is worse than it's ever been. I had to cry myself to sleep last night because of the garbage that got called and went un-called in the games I watched. And note, the Rangers weren't even playing last night so my grapes aren't sour from some hometown slight.
At one point in the Leafs vs. Habs game, Aki Berg was given a two-minute minor for thinking about hooking a guy. And no, I'm not kidding. Ask Ninja, he'll confirm this one for me. Amazing stuff.
At one point in the Leafs vs. Habs game, Aki Berg was given a two-minute minor for thinking about hooking a guy. And no, I'm not kidding. Ask Ninja, he'll confirm this one for me. Amazing stuff.
Tuesday, March 7
When you have about six minutes watch as two SuperGeeks race to complete Super Mario Brothers on NES. Believe it or not, it's captivating. And the fans go nuts throughout. Yeah, that's right, "fans".
Wednesday, March 1
From now on, according to new NHL rules, a defenseman shooting the puck over the boards is only assessed a penalty if it's deemed intentional. I can hear Hal Gill sighing in relief from here. It's a kind of giant breathy Nordic sound. As far as shootouts go, each shooter's stick will be checked before their chance, and if the sticks don't meet requirements, the shooter must return with a legal stick before taking the shot.
I like the first one. The second one, meh, I don't know about. Maybe they should be ejected from the shootout or something. That seems right. Or maybe they should have to go to Modell's to get a new stick. And they should have to hitchhike there. Or maybe it should just be an automatic miss? In any case, I think this is a weak wink-and-nod for illegal sticks.
I like the first one. The second one, meh, I don't know about. Maybe they should be ejected from the shootout or something. That seems right. Or maybe they should have to go to Modell's to get a new stick. And they should have to hitchhike there. Or maybe it should just be an automatic miss? In any case, I think this is a weak wink-and-nod for illegal sticks.
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