Never the 'Tween Shall Meet

My homebizzle Dom from the B-lo sent me an e-mail today. To it he attached a Venn diagram that I think might clear up a few questions for those of you who may have had different experiences to those we had back in high school. Take a gander and let me know if there's anything you don't understand.

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Is Wu Tang Clan Anything to Fuck With?

If you're having trouble seeing where Wu Tang Clan and Things to fuck with overlap, click the picture. It should be clear that The Wu Tang Clan ain't indeed nothin' to fuck with.

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Big Ups to The RZA, The GZA, the Old Dirty Bastard, Inspecta Deck, Raekwon the Chef, U-God, Ghostface Killa and the M-E-T-H-O-D Man. Rest in Peace, Big Baby Jesus.

Over and Out,
Old Coot

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List of Things To Do: Update

Hey guys. I was just perusing my Olde Blogge (remember the blog I had before I came here to Blogger?) and I stumbled upon a list I made on January 11, 2006. I had been inspired by a popular television show to come up with a list of things I wanted to do before I turned 30. I still have plenty of time, but I thought I'd check in and see how I'm doing.

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The List

1. Run a marathon
2. Take a bike trip somewhere far (not a day trip)
3. Throw a huge party
4. Get married
5. Have people genuinely cheer for me
6. Work at a coffee shop
7. Take a cruise
8. Have somebody work for me
9. Be mentioned in a magazine
10. Skydive
11. Rescue a Damsel in Distress
12. Get my ass kicked by a woman (not the Damsel, preferably)
13. Travel outside of North America
14. Grow a vegetable garden

Okay, let's take a look at these one at a time:

1. Run a marathon - Haven't done it yet, but I have plans in the works.
2. Take a bike trip somewhere far - I assume this means further than a day trip. Haven't done it yet, but I would still love to.
3. Throw a huge party - Nope
4. Get married - Negatory and highly unlikely at this point. This is a dumb goal anyway, probably part of the reason we have a 50% divorce rate in this country.
5. Have people genuinely cheer for me - Well, at the Brock Trot I had people cheering for me (although, they didn't know my name). As I got closer to the finish line they really started cheering, and it seemed genuine. I'm taking credit.
6. Work at a coffee shop - Nope. I think this is more of a lifetime goal anyway, not a "by 30" goal. I wouldn't put it on the list if I rewrote it today.
7. Take a cruise - Nope, and probably won't happen. Again, not a real "by 30" goal anyway.
8. Have somebody work for me - Not yet, but maybe soon.
9. Be mentioned in a magazine - Nope, but I've been in the paper several time. Wait, I was in Berkshire Living magazine, but only in a picture and they spelled my name wrong. I'm taking credit.
10. Skydive - I'm thinking next summer for this one.
11. Rescue a Damsel in Distress - Hmm, tried once but she was a bitch anyway. I'll take credit but it's not exactly what I had in mind.
    
12. Get my ass kicked by a woman (not the Damsel, preferably) - Still working.
    
13. Travel outside of North America - Done! Went to Japan this past summer.
    
14. Grow a vegetable garden - Damn, still haven't done this.

Conclusion: I've achieved only 3 of the goals. If I remove the ones I think are dumb (or at least have no place on this list) that's 3 out of 11, still not a good number. Some of them are not necessarily under my control (getting ass kicked by a woman), and some I truly think I'll be able to fit in during the next year. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

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Over and Out,
Old Coot

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The Weekend Three-Banger

Hey y'alls, what's up? Or, in the words painted in blaze orange on one of the boulders up in The Boulders "Whast (sic) tha (sic) word". Yes, that's correct. Two misspelled words in a three-word sentence, painted on a boulder for all to see. Dumb bastards.

FYI, The Boulders is 634 acre piece of land owned by Crane & Co. (they make the paper on which our money is printed) and protected by the MA Department of Fish and Game. At the top is, you guessed it, a bunch of boulders. It's a popular destination for hikers, bikers, runners and unfortunately, punk-ass high school kids.

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Friday, Perfect for Spring Cleaning

This past Friday we had the day "off" as the 10th day in our 9/80 schedule. The company counts this as a vacation day, and likes to tout it as a real bonus. In reality it's just a day filled with all of the chores that you couldn't do for the last two weeks because everything was closed by the time you got out of work. Anyway, I put it to good use this week.

My plan was to clean out the garage (or put the shit back in the basement where it belongs), take the 5 bags of lawn detritus (needles, etc) to the transfer station, "winterize" my kayak (put a tarp over it), get new panes of glass for my last remaining storm window, take the four bags of clothes to one of those clothes bins (like Goodwill, only convenient), mow the lawn and have a fire.

Well, I did manage to pick up the glass (damn, $18 a pane for a window I barely need), drop off the sacks o' pine needles and clothes, mow the lawn, run the gas out of the lawn mower (for winter) and do a bunch of laundry. I didn't get to the garage or the kayak, but I had my reasons.

Back Story: I have two storm windows with two panes of glass in each. A few years back one pane in each window was broken in a wind storm. Conclusion: two windows with one good pane and one broken pane in each.

After picking up the 2 panes of glass for my storm windows, I felt inspired to start working on them. I scraped the paint, got the old glaze out of the track, removed the little glazing points (the little metal things that actually hold the glass in place) and was ready to install the glass. That's when I thought to myself, "Well, I really should re-do the glaze on the old glass too. Why half-ass it?"

So I set to work removing the glaze and glazing points from the good pane. I cleaned it up real purdy-like and just when I almost had the glass out, CHINK, the damn thing broke. Now I have three panes to replace. My next step was to steal the glass out of an old window I don't need, cut it down to size and replace both panes.

With handsaw in hand, I cut the old window frame to pieces, gently removed the glass, set it aside, and quit for the day. That was enough suffering for one day. I didn't want to risk breaking another piece of glass.

I think tonight I'm going to reassemble the first storm window and get started on the next. Hmm, maybe I'll clear out the garage so I can work in there.

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I Know There's a Reason...

This weekend I decided to rearrange my bedroom. It's always a refreshing task that seems to give you the feeling of having a whole new bedroom. As with any task, it also introduces a few more tasks that, if tackled, improve your quality of life. This one was no different.

For a while now I've been trying to figure out a new configuration for my bedroom furniture. Every time I think I have a plan, there's some reason why that plan won't work: the bed would be right in front of the door, bad Chi, outlets in the wrong places, etc. This time, I threw caution to the wind and basically just mirrored the old setup, switching the bed with the rest of the stuff.

My bedroom is not quite a square. It has a little cove-like area where my bed used to be. This made sense because it kept me from losing floor space, and it gave me that cozy cave-like feeling that hermits like me enjoy. Needing a change, I decided I could live without that and I moved everything around.

Besides a new arrangement, there's the added benefit of a clean room. Anyone who's ever moved furniture knows that you better have a HazMat team on call to deal with the shit behind/beneath that furniture once it's moved. Rearrange everything and you're really asking for it. I had more dust, cat fur, spiders and cobwebs than I could imagine in an otherwise clean room and thanks to my decision to rearrange everything it's now all clean.

The other benefit is that my bed (and a pound of cat fur/dust/spider carcasses) used to cover the return vent for the heat. This of course resulted in no (or at least very little) heat in the bedroom. In a house where the warmest room is 58 degrees at night, an unheated (or scarcely heated) room gets mighty cold. We'll see how that works out.

As I rested my head on the pillow Saturday night (the first night in the "new" room) I was prepared for a good night's sleep. It was early and I had a sense of satisfaction that can only come from checking myriad things off a to-do list. I double-checked the alarm to make sure it was off then rolled over to drift off to sleep. BAM! A street light was shining right in the freaking window, right in my freaking eye! Maybe that was the reason I never moved the furniture around.

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Alright, I've been working on this for days. If I don't just cut it loose now it'll never get posted.


Over and Out,
Old Coot

Get the Whole Story Here...

Off the Dome

I've been trying to keep posting on a regular basis. Over the weekend I spent hours writing, but then pulled the plug at the last minute when I deemed my monologues unworthy. Instead of talking about what I've been doing, I'm just going to put down some thoughts I've been having lately.

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Feel-Good Lyrics Pop Quiz

There are some songs in regular rotation in my living room and in my head, songs that just plain make me feel good. Below you'll find a few lyrical selections from those songs (I, II, III). Below those you'll find the artists (A, B, C). See if you can match them up correctly. Since this won't be graded, don't cheat and look up the answers on Google.

I

The Good Life.
Let's go on a livin spree.
Shit, they say the best things in life are free.
The Good Life.

Sorry, this one doesn't look as good on paper as it does on the airwaves.

II

The telephone's singing, ringin'
it's too early don't pick it up.
We don't need to,
we got everything we need right here,
and everything we need is enough.
It's just so easy when the whole world fits inside of your arms.
Do we really need to pay attention to the alarm?
Wake up slow, mmm mmm, wake up slow.

III

Fuck you too, bitch.
Call the cops.
Ima kill you and them loud ass mothafuckin' barkin' dogs.

Okay, this one is not a feel-good lyric at all, but I hate loud ass mothafuckin' barkin' dogs. In fact, whenever I hear a dog barking incessantly (which is often) that line runs through my head over and over.

Artists:
A. Eminem
B. Jack Johnson
C. Kanye West

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Lost Meanings

You know how old people are so worried that today's youth won't know how to tell time on an analog clock? If their fears are correct, in a short while when you yell "Zombie at Five O'Clock!" the kid won't know where to shoot. He'll be so busy digging his mobile phone out of his pocket he'll probably barely even notice that his flesh is being torn from his body.

Some additional phrases in danger of losing their meaning include:

• Dial a Phone
• Tapping your wrist to silently ask someone the time (no, not a phrase but if people use the clocks on their cell phones they won't know what that motion means)
• Area codes - meaningless these days. Phone numbers will soon just be 10 digits with the first three loosely identifying the region of the country where someone resides
• Rewind - No tapes to rewind. Hell, even CDs are on their way out. You can't rewind a Flash drive. Now the term is "back that up", as in "Yo son, that was tight. Back that up." Remember "Be Kind, Rewind"?
  
• Cigarette Break (AKA Smoke Break) - This one I'm trying to keep alive, but with a different meaning. I take smoke breaks but just walk around outside to clear my head.
• Turn Signal - Use it or lose it.
• Common Cold - Nobody just gets sick anymore, we have super viruses now.
• Responsibility - Think about it, this is a do what you want and someone else will cover you society.

Sorry, this list got a little lame on me. I had a real reason for starting it, but nowadays it's taking me several days to put together a posting.

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That's it. I'll holler at y'all later.


Over and Out,
Old Coot

Get the Whole Story Here...

Another Asskicking Weekend

Another weekend has come and gone, but it was once again a fun-filled two days. I watched most of the Sox game on Saturday, a first for me. Yesterday I caught most of the Pats game, a first this year. Last night I even watched some regular television programming over at the COW abode. But let's look at the weekend in detail...

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I'm Ruuuuuuning in the Rain

Saturday I let myself sleep until almost 11 in the AM. I had been running myself ragged and decided to treat myself to a really great night's sleep. I even put my new flannel sheets on the bed for eggstra comfort.

When I awoke, I found that during the night the temperature outside had risen from somewhere in the mid-30s to nearly 70. I went downstairs, turned off the heat, opened some windows and breathed in the sweet autumn air. You know that smell when it's raining on freshly fallen leaves. Mmm mmmm bitch.

I took my time with breakfast, read a magazine for a bit, then headed out for a short, easy run. I knew that Sunday morning was The Brock Trot, a 10K complete with all the hill trimmings so I planned on a nice easy couple of miles to keep the legs loose. Well, the warm autumn rain combined with the nice dirt roads turned a couple of miles into too many miles. Come morning this will have turned into a big mistake.

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How to Guarantee Failure

Ladies, if you're looking to pick up a guy at a bar (or get picked up, I guess) the recipe is pretty simple. Walk up, sit down next to your top choice, smile, introduce yourself, receive compliments and free drinks, done. Any of those steps can probably be skipped and your success rate will probably be pretty good. However, screw up too many and you're S.O.L. Well, Saturday night I met a bar-fly who was so wack I'm guessing she woke up under a park bench the next morning.

First of all, I was out with JC and HECOW, enjoying the baseball game and a few orders of chicken wings. In saunters a young-ish chick who wasn't completely unappealing. She sat down right next us, ordered two shots (with $10 of her last $12). Not bad, I thought at first, but it went straight downhill from there. Her first mistake was opening her mouth.

As soon as she started talking her chances of getting anything other than an extra napkin out of us were shot. For one thing, I was the only single guy in the group, and for another she had the mouth of an ashtray, figuratively and literally. With each white trash syllable that came spewing from her ash hole, you could hear the cartons of Marb Reds and speed rack whiskey that had ravaged her body. Then, if you made the mistake of directing your eyes in her direction you were greeted with a "set" of teeth that pointed every which way but vertical.

I'll spare you the details of the ensuing "conversations" and instead provide you with the laundry list of things she said to dis-impressed me:

• "My fiancée ..."
• "Oh, did they cut you off?" - The only reason she could think of that I might turn down a free shot.
• "Oh, so you're on parole too?" - Too? Also, the next logical reason for turning down a shot.
• "I quit drinking for about 2 years, but for some reason I fell off the wagon." - Clearly, and you might want to grab that wall before you fall off your feet.
• When her friend went to smoke a cigarette with her boyfriend she screamed "Did they just leave? I only have $2." It was true, she showed me the two crumpled bills.
• "She's the reason I got kicked out of my fucking hotel!" - Hmm, a local girl lives in a hotel. Top choice.
• "My son..." - Nothing against single moms, but if you have a kid, no place to live and you're in a bar with your last $12, you're screwed up.
• After hearing a comment made by a Yankee fan and walking straight into the edge of a divider wall: "If I was drinking like I used to, that guy would have his throat slit by now."

It wasn't all bad, she did touch my leg.

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Brizock Trizot

Between running too many miles and staying up too late the night before, I was not in prime shape for the race Sunday morning. I managed to drag my sorry ass out of bed, have some breakfast and drive over to Lenox. It was a balmy 41 degrees, and I haven't had a chance to really acclimate to the cooler weather yet. This would be a test.

I checked in, got my race shirt, my bag of goodies and a cup of coffee and headed back to the car to change into my race costume. Last year I ran in my strong arm sailor shirt thinking the rest of my crew would be in costume. They were not. This year I thought others may have taken my cue and dressed up. They did not. No biggie, I don't mind the attention.

The starting line is about 3/4 of a mile from where the festivities are held, so I had a short run to warm up. It was there that I realized I may have overdone it the day before. I had more creaks than a horror flick staircase and some would never work themselves out. I stretched and ran another few blocks to at least get the blood pumping.

After the speeches and National Anthem we were off. The trick to races is to find an attractive girl who is slightly faster than you. You then stay behind her as long as possible, improving your time while enjoying the scenery. This technique proved very useful as I passed the first and second miles well before I expected, following three lovely ladies. Eventually I lost all three of my escorts, but at that point I was in the zone.

Fast forward to the last 0.2 of the 6.2 mile race. The course comes up a hill and around a bend before you hit the 6-mile marker. Just then the finish line appears before you, complete with clock. As I got closer I picked up the pace, then noticed I had exactly 5 seconds to cross the line if I wanted to hit my target time. The crowd was literally cheering "Go Muscle Man" as I approached the finish, and as my pace quickened to a full sprint they only got louder. I crossed the finish line a second off my goal (it would be exactly my goal time once they adjusted for my chip time instead of the gun time) to a cheering crowd, something I have never before experienced. It was AWESOME!

The lady at the finish who takes the chip off your shoe was having trouble with my safety pins, and I very nearly threw up on her. After pushing with everything I had, then instantly stopping, my body was shaking and ready to revolt and this woman was going to feel the wrath of that revolt if she didn't hurry. Just in the nick of time she got the chip off and I was able to walk it off, eat a bagel and grab a water. Close call.

New 10K personal record (PR) for yours truly: 42:30 (6:50 min/mile).

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Eat at Joe's

You know that Normal Rockwell painting, "The Runaway"? As I learned yesterday, that was set in Joe's Diner, a small eatery in Lee, MA. As we sat there having breakfast after the race, I noticed the photos on the wall and put two and two together. They had a copy of the painting, a photograph of the kid and the cop, and another of them 30 or so years later. Pretty neat.





Over and Out,
Old Coot

Get the Whole Story Here...