TORRINGTON CT, December 23, 2008 - While visiting a friend in the hospital, a nurse comes into the room with chart in hand and starts with the vitals check and record. During this ritual she sticks something in John's ear, removes the device, takes a reading and records it.
"What's that for?" John asks.
She replied, "Just checking your temperature. This is how we do it these days."
I commented, "I'd hate to see how you check someone's hearing these days."
She didn't laugh, though John did. Apparently his hearing is just fine.
... which reminds me of an old joke. If memory serves, my father told me this one many years ago:
Having concluded an examination, a doctor goes to write a prescription for the patient. Reaching to his breast pocket he pulls out a thermometer, momentarily stares at it, and says, "Damn. Some asshole has my pen."
... and one more for the road. This time a riddle:
QUESTION: What's the difference between an oral and rectal thermometer?
ANSWER: Taste
WINSTED CT, December 22, 2008 - I love listening to Michael Savage on the radio. He's certainly not for everyone, but he does speak his truth and minces no words. Tonight's classic:
You ever notice how Al Gore disappears when the weather gets cold? He's like the groundhog of the political world.
My take? How about an example of, ahem ... polar opposites:
Gore's movie/scam: An Inconvenient Truth.
Gore's disappearing act? A Convenient Absence.
KENNEDY EYES HILLARY'S SLOT - a promiscuous political pursuit
WINSTED CT, December 16, 2008 - In what can only be characterized as blatant, entitlement-driven opportunism, Caroline Kennedy has been a busy little socialite in anticipation of a U.S. Senate seat in the state of New York soon becoming vacant. Kennedy is calling all the right people and rubbing important elbows to ensure Governor Blind Melon Paterson chooses her to fill the seat so torturously punished by the expansive hips and gluteous maximus of one Hillary Rodham Clinton.
And if that isn't bad enough, philanderer, adulterer, and disbarred lawyer, former President Bill Clinton has aspirations for daughter Chelsea's political future.
After the Bush and Clinton years, two decades worth in the Presidency alone, perhaps it's time for the American people to stand up and demand a Constitutional Amendment prohibiting such dynasties to exist in the political world.
Neither Mary Jo Kopeckne, Marilyn Monroe, nor Rosemary Kennedy were available for comment.
WINSTED CT, December 8, 2008 - Whilst perusing some long misplaced text files, the one named bose.txt sparked a bit of an attitude. For the uninitiated, Bose manufactures radios. In a commercial broadcast way back in January, the Bose ad men proclaimed:
"no confusing dial to adjust"
It was only a matter of time. With L-C controlled tuners fading into yesteryear and virtually everything electronic having an inexpensive digital readout, there's an entire generation of people who don't know how to read an analog clock, let alone read and interpolate a radio frequency on a dial.
It's just another step in the dumbing of America under the guise of progress.
WINSTED CT, December 3, 2008 - It's 3:57 A.M. as I'm typing this entry. My sleep schedule is AFU. I've just turned off Coast to Coast AM, as Noory's guest is a low rent, fear mongering kook. A visit to the Drudge Report hasn't provided any counterbalance to Coast to Coast AM. Sadly. Let me explain.
Once upon a time I really liked Google. It provided links related to search terms I entered. This was good. But since those days, Google got into the lucrative world of advertising. Fair enough, I guess. Utilities to run server farms aren't free. But then Google morphed into hardcore information harvesting and making strange bedfellows along the way.
Larry Page and Sergey Brin buy jets but need a place to store them. So they jump in bed with NASA and negotiate a sweetheart deal for VIP treatment at Moffett Federal Airfield - an airport run by NASA that is generally closed to private aircraft.
Then I read that Page and Brin had jumped in bed with the CDC.
And just today is was reported that they're cavorting about with Zicam/Matrixx.
Am I the only person on this planet that find this trend rather troubling?
Winsted CT, December 3, 2008 - In doing some digital housecleaning I've uncovered a note made on Christmas Day of 2005. I must have been on my way to my sister's house for day two of our family's Christmas festivities, as the note takes umbrage with our local Citgo station charging 75-cents to use their air machine.
There was once a time in America, and it wasn't that long ago, when a gas station attendant not only pumped your gas, but also cleaned your windshield, checked your oil level and offered to check tire pressures.
Which conveniently brings us back to air and a poem:
Where e'er thou be,
let thy wind blow free.
In church or chapel,
let it rattle!
Reference: http://www.davidpbrown.co.uk/poetry/grandad.html
Adherents of the Church of Political Correctness may want to pass on the following:
Do you know why Jews noses are so big?
Because air is free.
Let the deluge of hate mail commence ...
WINSTED CT, December 3, 2008 - The following was recently unearthed in some notes I had made about an early morning fishing excursion up to Highland Lake in late July. I thought this was already up on the site somewhere, but I can't seem to find it. So here goes ...
After tossing and turning through a night of insomnia, I decided to hit the lake early and see if anything interesting could be extracted from its depths. After a half hour of peaceful, ease into the day fishing, a woman a few houses down the way decided it was perfectly neighborly to fire up an electric leaf blower at 6:30 in the morning and carry on some sort of OCD flamed, ritualistic de-pollenization of her deck. The early morning tranquility had been shattered.
After nearly fifteen minutes of that insanity, the racket finally stopped. Then a kayak silently rounded the bend and I had a brief yet enjoyable chat with the woman piloting said craft. She was also appalled with the leaf blower cacophony, and quipped, "It takes all kinds, doesn't it?" And altogether too soon she paddled off to take on the rest of her day.
However, unbeknownst to her, she had helped return the tranquility by neutralizing some negativity that had crept into my psyche. Some negativity that untreated would have probably prevented me from noticing three fellow "fisherman" in for forms of osprey, American bald eagle, and great blue heron!
So it turned out to be a most glorious start of the day after all.
WINSTED CT, December 2, 2008 - Here's a beaut linked to from the Drudge Report. It's on msnbc.com and appears to be a SNAFU courtesy of the Washington Post. I've underlined the offending portion of the photo's caption for the clueless.
For the profoundly clueless, which apparently includes the Washington Post's photo caption editor, red is a higher level of alert than orange ...
So much for attention to detail in the world of journalism, eh?
Memo to the Washington Post: Nice job, asshats.
WINSTED CT, November 29, 2008 - There's a store front office on Main Street that has two different business's signage displayed. One is the Northwest CT Diabetes Center. It's run by a Rph, CDE. Don't feel bad: I didn't know what that acronym soup meant, either, until it was Google to the rescue. Rph is Registered Pharmacist, and CDE is Certified Diabetes Educator. Fine so far, right?
The other business is a hyposis center and is run by the Rph, CDE.
Am I the only one here that find that a, ahem ... peculiar combination?
WINSTED CT, November 29, 2008 - For the next few days, what appear to be two bright stars are low in the southwest sky in the early evening. I've seen them the past few nights, knew they were planets and not stars, but couldn't remember which planets. It was the Internet to the rescue.
The answer, and so much more, can be found reading The "Venus & Jupiter" Show , courtesy of Sky and Telescope's website. Of particular interest, at least to this very amateur sky viewer, is the information the article conveys about distances from Earth and comparative sizes of these planets.
For instance, consider this: light travels at approximately 186,000 miles per second. Venus and Jupiter are far, far away, so the light you see when looking at them is what I'll call "old" or "past tense" light. The light you see from Venus was being emitted approximately 8.4 minutes prior to you seeing it. For Jupiter, the emission took place 42 minutes prior!
Heady stuff, indeed.
Keep an eye in the early evening sky on December 1 when the Moon, Venus, and Jupiter appear very close together. Remember that "close" is an illusion.
And show Venus and Jupiter to a kid. Spark some curiosity. Help feed a brain.
WINSTED CT, November 29, 2008 - "Black Friday" shoppers driven by greed and lust are responsible for the death of a 34 year old man at a Valley Stream, NY, Walmart store. It's all over the news, so I won't bother to rehash details of the tragedy.
However, I do propose that police should carefully review security camera video of the event and do a mass arrest. Shoppers who can be identified as having trampled the victim should be charged with involuntary manslaughter. Shoppers who tore the doors off hinges should be charged appropriately as well. Fill the courts with the bastards, try them, convict them, and let them carry some official guilt for the rest of their lives.
And you know what? It's not Walmart's fault, either. People are greedy fucking animals. They were intoxicated with Christmas shopping and cheap, Chinese electronics goods.
This crowd ill-behavior is nothing new, though. On December 3, 1979, eleven concert goers were killed during a stampede for seats before a Who concert at Riverfront Coliseum in Cincinnati, OH.
Frenzy. Me. Mine. More. Now.
Two quotes are particularly worthy of note here:
Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it. - George Santayana
We learn from history that we learn nothing from history. - George Bernard Shaw
One thing is for certain: this isn't going to be a merry Christmas for friends and family of Jimmy Damour.
WINSTED CT, October 24, 2008 - WTIC-1080 news announced that a portion of Interstate 95 had been shut down due to some sort of police activity in the area. The announcer then added, "All DOT cameras have been turned off."
It's interesting how the police can have those cameras turned off at will, as if to say:
"We don't want this publically documented. You'll get the news OUR way, or no way."
It was later reported that the incident involved an armed standoff and cameras were turned off due to the potential for gunfire. Apparently they didn't want the citizenship to witness that sort of thing real time in the real world. I guess it's okay if it's on TV during prime time and is "only a movie" or "series."
I don't know any other way to read it ...
WINSTED CT, October 8, 2008 - A friend both near and dear sent me an email suggesting I read Robots Ate My Check Out Lady. I did so and a resonant chord was struck.
Instead of pontificating on and agreeing with what article author Peter Kay wrote, I'll share the reply to my friend.
heh ... kindred spirit. I've actually sassed back at robotic cashiers at Home Depot, Walmart and Price Chopper - much to the amusement of fellow shoppers.
I've since given up on the "roboshiers." When approached by a carbon life form employee suggesting I use the self-check out line, I ask "What is the discount for using self-check out?" That question is usually met with disbelief and suspicion.
I've also asked said carbon life forms "When are you going to have customers stock the shelves for you as well?"
Sometimes I just hate "modern."
WINSTED CT, September 18, 2008 - That's right, folks. The Department of Homeland Security will now be known as the Department of Homeland Idiocy. Though the renaming has yet to be publically announced, the foundation has been laid.
And the only reason why Jim Henson isn't rolling in his grave is because he was cremated.
WINSTED CT, August 25, 2008 - "Bless this house, oh Lord we pray. Make it safe by night and day." That was the text adorning the facing surface of a wall mountable knife holder in the window of a local antique store. Makes sense. Knives can afford a certain degree of safety, provided enough of them are spread around the house in strategic locations. The problem is they're a close range device, unless they happen to be the throwing variety and the dweller is skilled in the art thereof.
Better yet would be that same quote decoratively inscribed on the barrels of a sawed off, 12-gauge, double barrel shotgun ... or three. A couple-three of those suckers around the house would sure make it safe both night and day!
A compromise that affords the luxury of the best of both worlds is my preference: the baseball bat. It's not quite as close range a device as the knife, but it packs a serious punch all it's own. And unlike the shotgun, there usually aren't body parts and massive amounts of blood splattered all over the place. One could also load 'em like the cheaters in Major League Baseball do, except with lead instead of cork.
I prefer the baseball bat because there's that ever important tactile feedback. When the bat hits the target, you actually feel the affect of the strike all the way up the handle. It's quite intoxicating ...
And perhaps the best part is, besides being multi-purpose devices, they're also free of governance by the ATF Federales.
Batter up!
WINSTED CT, July 24, 2008 - Excuse me, but what the fuck is up with this shit:
George Michael's tip for Obama -- run with Clinton
I found that via a Drudge Report tickler link which was up only briefly, I can't find it in their archives, so Drudge is temporarily off the hook. Reuters isn't. I'm boycotting Reuters and encourage you to do so, too.
I chastised Drudge before. Now it's Reuter's turn.
Dear Reuters,
I DON'T GIVE A FLYING FUCK WHAT GEORGE MICHAEL, BOY GEORGE, OR ANY OTHER EURO FAG (OR STRAIGHT) THINKS ABOUT AMERICAN POLITICS. Knock off the bullshit and fluff and report some real news, for fuck's sake.
And while I'm at it ...
Memo to George Michael,
You're not a political commentator, so please stick to what you do best: giving blow jobs to complete strangers in public rest rooms.
I feel much better now ...
URBAN SEARCH AND RESCUE GOES RURAL
Winsted CT, June 9, 2008 - I'm really trying to avoid being consumed by thoughts instigated by conspiracy theorists such as Alex Jones and others whom are frequent guests on Coast to Coast AM. And though I've downloaded and watched Zeitgeist, I only buy into a portion of what is presented. However, a recent event has me wondering about such things.
During what otherwise would have been a typical night in Winsted, CT, a rather large and brand-new-spiffy looking box truck came rolling down Main Street, U.S. Route 44, heading east. Though I'm not positive, I seem to remember it even being a tri-axle, which would indicate it being able to carry some significant weight. I can't remember if it was a Kenworth, Volvo, or whatever, but it was a big-ass diesel powered beast - all painted up in official State of Connecticut blue, the state seal, and all manner of serious business print on the sides.
What I did remember was seeing Urban Search and Rescue on the side. A quick search on the Internet revealed that this vehicle is part of the State of Connecticut Department of Emergency Management and Homeland Security's (DEMHS) Urban Search and Rescue branch.
Unless this truck was being delivered, I can't imagine what it was doing up in Winsted, as this isn't exactly urban. There's nothing urban either north or west of us in the northwest corner. And there weren't any catastrophic emergencies up here that day, either.
Never fear, though. It's a government vehicle and a part of DEMHS, so all is well, right?
Oh yes: pleasant dreams ...
CONFIRMED! SNOW DOES CAUSE INSANITY
WINSTED CT, March 19, 2008 - Many of you thought I had really gone over the edge in February 2003 with my brash proclaimation Study Finds Snow Responsible For Insanity. The related news story out of Philadelphia told of a girl getting hit in the face with a snowball, her enraged father getting in an altercation eventually broken up by police, and him returning later to shoot a gun at the original perpetrators, only to leave an innocent 10-year old with permanent brain damage (originally reported dead, apparently erroneously).
Then late last month history repeated itself and in Philadelphia, PA again! So much for the "City of Brotherly Love," eh? In a story dated February 27, 2008, CBS Channel 3 reported Arrest Warrant Issued In Snowball Shooting. Police were after 24-year old Jose Mendez to personally deliver an arrest warrant and quite possible offer "three hots and a cot."
A scant two weeks later on March 12, 2008, Reuters reported Guns and fists as "snow rage" erupts. Quebec City police spokeswoman Catherine Viel said snow-related fights were unusually common. Though a worrisome story, it's at least some relief knowing that the United States of America, and more specifically Philadelphia, PA don't command a monopoly on "snow rage."
Now in the consideration of the original and two recent news stories, I pose the following three questions:
1) What the in Hell is wrong with the Philadelphia municipal drinking water suppy?
2) Isn't the use of guns to settle snowball fights, snow removal and parking spaces insane behavior? And,
3) In retrospect, isn't the original brash proclamation, ahem ... dead nuts on-target?
And now I rest my case.
WINSTED CT, March 10, 2008 - I frequent the sidewalk. Living on the main drag through town means that a variety of businesses are within comfortable walking distance from where I reside. A sometimes interesting side benefit to walking is that one can feed one's eyes and imagination without the burden of driving and concentrating on traffic and suicidal, jay-walking pedestrians.
I first spotted the sandal sticking out of what a snow plow had left on the side of the road by the curb. It looked sad, or was it me who was sad? Or were we both sad? Neither of us had mates by our sides, though the sandal at least had a mate somewhere.
In keeping with the sadness thread, it's threads are blue. There are some stitched patterns on it that appear to be Oriental. It almost looks like a slipper and not a sandal at all. Now that I think about it some more, it very well may be a slipper. But "Slipper in a Slippery Snowbank" doesn't have much of a ring to it, does it?
As time wore on and a few days of thaw warmed an otherwise cold town, the sandy snowbank on which the sandal was precariously perched slowy declined in stature - as if to have resigned itself to the inevitability of spring approaching.
And just tonight I noticed that the snowbank is gone. The sandal sits patiently in the sand seemingly unaffected by its plight - defiantly waiting against all odds for the reunion.
My high school English teacher was right: there's always something to write about.
Now want to take a quick peek inside my mind? I just envisioned the owner of said sandal hopping around on their left foot in a frantic search for the one missing from the pair. And that's just a snippet of the insanity that I have to deal with day to day.
And yes, I did note which foot the abandoned sandal was for ...
WETHERSFIELD CT, March 10, 2008 - The gauge read just below 1/4 full. Though alone in the vehicle and the radio was off, I could hear my father's voice saying "Never, ever let your car's gas level go below 1/4 of a tank." Not wanting to tempt falling prey to the fate of an ill-behaving gas gauge, I pulled into the nearest filling station. I may be insane, but I'm no fool. Were I to run out of gas somewhere in the wilds of Montana, let alone Wethersfield, my father would find out about it. I don't know how and don't care. It's just the way it is. I accept it.
To paraphrase Jeff Kay of the West Virginia Surf Report, "So I'm 56 years old and my father is 81. What of if?"
Once fueling had commenced, I noticed across the way from me an attractive 30-something woman oozing "yuppie." She had the requisite UberSUV with a Cape Cod sticker in the rear window, requisite ballcap with her ponytail pulled through the size-adjustment cutout on the back, and requisite stylish sweatpants and requisite hoodie pull-over. But it wasn't all that exterior nonsense that initially caught my attention.
At first I thought she either had to pee in a serious way or had been doing meth. However after brief thought, I determined she was just maniacally doing aerobic step exercise right there on the raised concrete island which the pumps are mounted upon. I'm not kidding about the maniacal part - she appeared Hell-bent on wearing the white paint right off that pump island pedestal!
Now for two confessions:
1) I have never struck a woman, and
2) I really wanted to walk up to this step maniac, slap her across the face and yell "STOP IT! THIS IS A GAS STATION, NOT THE GYM!"
There! I feel better now.
WINSTED CT, March 10, 2008 - It has been just shy of one month since Jane Fonda unashamedly dropped the C-bomb on NBC's Good Morning America. Not only has the story gone nearly stone cold, but it appears that NBC and FCC executives rock from heel to toe, hands deep in their pockets, nervously whistling while scanning the ceiling as if nothing of the sort ever occured in the first place.
Anyone remember Don Imus? He was as much as drawn and quartered after merely saying "That's some nappy-headed hos there." That quip, and make no mistake about, that's exactly all it was, cost Imus dearly. Which makes one wonder ...
... could it possibly be that starting in 2008 it's completely acceptable for a woman to drop the C-bomb on nationwide daytime television? How about blacks calling other blacks niggers or nappy headed hos? What about one man calling another 'an insufferable prick?'
I need some fucking answers here! Get my lawyer on the phone.
Back to the topic, ahem ... at hand: is it too much of a stretch of the imagination that Fonda's estranged sugar daddy may have padded the wallets of NBC and FCC executives to kill this story? Lord knows the King of Atlanta has the means ...
Until more is officially revealed in the Great C-bomb Controversy, I'll have to continue petitioning Webster's, Funk and Wagnel's and Merriam to add the following into their 2009 Editions, complete with an image as an example:
cunt \cunt\, n.
1. The female pudenda; specifically the vagina. [vulgar slang]
2. A woman; -- usually used derogatorily and considered obscene.
NOTICE: The following five entries, although out of chronological order, are added here as they are new pieces. They are the result of a recent cellphone voice memo purge.
NORTH OF ALBANY NY, September 11, 2007 - It's with increasing frequency that I'm reminded what a good friend once said: "There are no such things as a coincidences." That statement rings especially true with regard to this entry.
I was returning home from a most glorious week of camping in the Adirondack Preserve in northern New York State. I had turned the radio off a few miles back, as some station had played a recording of a cellphone call made from inside one of the collapsing WTC towers. Anniversary remembrance aside, the emotion in the voice on that recording was just too haunting to bear. So instead, I travelled in silence.
Just north of the state capital, a city that must have been very busy on this day six years earlier, I noticed a tiny, little cemetery a few hundred feet off the right hand side of the highway. It was perhaps 100 by 100 feet in size and appeared to be a very old family plot.
A white fence bordered this hallowed property that sat within a much larger plot of cleared land. But what struck me as peculiar was the position of a beautiful shade tree. It grew out of what appeared to be close to the very center of the cemetery. I wondered if this tree, now quite mature, was there by way of human design or virtue of natural happenstance.
Memories rushed through my mind of planting trees as a child during Arbor Day ceremonies behind Union Elementary School in Unionville, Connecticut. A quote of Alexander Smith rang in my ears: "A man does not plant a tree for himself, he plants it for posterity." And all this on the sixth anniversary of 9/11 ...
My hastily and probably highly illegal cellphone voice memo was made while barreling down the Adirondack Northway at 65 MPH. In it was reference to "mile marker 2.6 north of Albany." Though I really wanted to include an aerial image with this entry, a couple of hours seaching with both MapQuest and Google Maps proved fruitless. I'll keep at it, though in hindsight it would have been nice to have noted some landmark.
Aerial imagery or not, let us never forget the events of September 11, 2001.
FARMINGTON CT, December 30, 2006 - True story. This black guy walks into Dunkin Donuts. Style? Baseball cap "bill back" and bandana underneath. Need I say more? Says to clerk "Hi. Joo got blueberry?" Upon hearing a reply to the, ahem ... affirmative, he orders a blueberry coffee, whatever the heck that is, with three(!) Sweet and Lows. Oh yes. All that sweetitude just wouldn't be the same without half a dozen Dunkin Munchkins, which he also ordered.
I nearly developed spontaneous diabetes just standing next to this guy. Sheesh!
IMPROBABLE STORE TENANT CHANGE
NEWINGTON CT, November 21, 2006 - From the Things You Don't See Everyday Department, the initially much heralded and uber-popular Krispy Kreme donut emporium has moved out of a building that is now home to Citibank. Go figure.
WINSTED CT, November 16, 2006 - Spotted a pick up truck in front of me when waiting for a light to change. It was a Nissan Frontier - yet another Americanization of a Japanese brand. And oddly enough, this took place in a town that once was home to a dealership for a domestic automobile manufacturer.
The name of the dealership? How does the name Frontier Ford grab you? Sad, isn't it?
* Yoshikazu Hanawa, either President or CEO of Nissan in 1997 - the first year of the Nissan Frontier's production.
ON DOING ONE'S PART FOR ECOLOGY
AVON CT, December 23, 2005 - Two days before Christmas is not the best time to be shopping, though more often than not, that's when I find myself in last minute panic/guilt mode. It was during such time that I came to the startling realization that significant chunks of otherwise pedestrian-friendly real estate are hopelessly isolated by very pedestrian-unfriendly roadways.
Having parked my car at a strip mall on Route 44 in Avon, I casually purchased some items at Strawberry's Records. The next planned stops of my mission were a few hundred feet away at the Bushy Hill Mall across the highway. Thinking it foolish to start the car up, drive through a circuitous maze of parking lot islands, traffic lights and even more parking lot islands, only to park and turn off the car five minutes after starting it, I opted to make the journey on foot.
Silly me.
I stood at the edge of Route 44 just a couple-three hundred feet east of an intersection with a traffic light, and barely 100 feet east of another light - but although operating in concert, they didn't afford me enough time to jog across the highway. I waited. And waited some more. Then counted the lanes. Six! What has happened to the Albany Turnpike? Trying to cross this road at 3:30 P.M. would be sheer lunacy. And I wouldn't want to commit suicide this way if my life depended on it. heh.
I remember years ago telling people "it's only a matter of time before Route 44 through Avon and Canton becomes just like the Berlin Turnpike. It's more than likely, though, that I was repeating something I had heard my father say. Regardless of who made the prediction, it was accurate and has become reality - all except for the motels.
Ultimately, the highway and uncivil engineering won. I returned to my car, started it, drove through a circuitous maze of parking lot islands, traffic lights, even more parking lot islands, parked my car and turned off the ignition. You try to think conservation. You try to live it. You try to practice it ...
CLINTON DAUGHTER BREAKS CAMERAS ON CAMPAIGN TRAIL
WINSTED CT, February 19, 2008 - In a December 30, 2007 AP news story, reporter Beth Fouhy stated, "Tall and attractive, Chelsea cuts an impressive figure on the campaign trail..."
Uh, Beth? I'm having problems with that quote.
Tall? Perhaps. More data is needed, though I'm willing to let it slide. That is, unless you're a midget or dwarf with the expected differing point of reference.
Attractive? It's said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And again there's the matter of a point of reference. Here are some recent press photos of Shrillary the Shill and Slick Willy's spawn. I'll let website visitors decide ...
Impressive? Most certainly, but in my mind not favorably so.
Kind of makes you glad the WJC/Lewinski tryst was just for a blow job. Can you imagine ... ?
Memo to Beth Fouhy: you're overdue for your bi-annual eye exam.
WINSTED CT, October 29, 2007
WINSTED CT, July 28, 2007 - News headline writers at the Drudge Report, Yahoo, and the Daily Mail really dropped the ball on a recent story. Not me, though. And not A View from the Fringe, either. Very, very sad this apparent lack of attention by "established" media for not cashing in on a sitting duck of an otherwise humorous potential headline.
To wit: Britney's son gets hit in Las Vegas brawl and Britney's anger after child is hurt in fight with photographer
NOT THE USUAL WATERED DOWN ENTRY
BARKHAMSTED CT, July 24, 2007 - Perusing a community bulletin board in the lobby area of a bank netted a rare find in these parts: a business card for a local dowser. The standard fare for such boards usually consists used car, boat or motorcycles for sale, various more pedestrian business cards of realtors, plumbers, carpenters, painters, landscapers, babysitters and day care providers. As you can imagine, this dowser's card stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb.
The business owner, apparently not satisfied with being in a rather small, niche vocation, seemed to find it necessary to further distance himself from an already small field by noting "Specializing in Energies." Also noted on the card were geopathic clearing, intuitive dowsing and labyrinth layout services. Do you notice a pungent hint of "new age?"
Less than 10-minutes of web surfing confirmed my suspicions, so I'll share my findings - all strictly in the interest of consumer awareness and the mockery of new age shenanigans of legerdemain.
No Energizer Rabbits here - only pendulum.
Note the dream catcher on this geopathic clearing page.
See what a Man in the Cosmos has to say about intuitive dowsing.
Take a walk on the wild side once your labyrinth layout has been completed.
And authors of books like this don't help to stockpile dowser credibility to the skeptics amongst us.
Now where in the Hell are my sage and incense?
GM DROPS CADILLAC, INTRODUCES NONCHALANT
WINSTED CT, July 23, 2007 - Okay, okay. That's not entirely true. The Cadillac has been dropped and the Nonchalant has been introduced, though not by General Motors, but by Joe Castiglione. Let me explain ...
Joe is THE voice of the WEEI Red Sox Radio Network. A long-time baseball fan and broadcaster, Joe is now the senior announcer for BoSox games throughout the northeast on the network. What Joe's voice lacks in resonance and polish, he more than makes for with intellect, wit, and knowledge of and passion for the game. While listening to Joe call a game, you can see him jump out of his seat in the excitement of a close play. He's that good.
I was listening to a game last Friday night when a player casually moved under a fly ball - a sure out - and one-handed it, only to drop the ball. Joe's description was that the outfielder "nonchalanted" the play. The "verbing of nouns" is very commonplace today, much to the dismay of educators trying to teach proper English. However, I don't recall hearing anyone "verb an adjective" before. More surprising was Joe's apparent abandonment of both more familiar and now classic terminology for such a play. Were this the 2006 season, he would have painted the picture as "that would have been an out if he didn't Cadillac that play."
A necessary aside: Castiglione doesn't slaughter the King's English. Quite the contrary, Joe has a BA from Colgate, an MFA from Syracuse University, and is more than articulate.
Standard dictionaries won't shed much light on these new verbs, to Cadillac and to nonchalant, though the classic definition of nonchalant is sufficient to extrapolate the transition from adjective to verb. With the Internet and the new resources it has spawned, a quick trip to Urban Dictionary revealed the, ahem ... official definition thereof. To wit:
Cadillac - verb. To chill out; Cool it; Take one's time. "You're tryin' too hard man, just cadillac."
The inevitable question, at least for me, is this: why did "Cadillac" fall from grace, only to be mysteriously replaced by "nonchalant"? Here's my guess ...
It's probably a case of the Politically Correct Police over-reacting to protect imagined victims with imagined sensitivity to imagined pejorative association to imagined Cadillac prejudice. Both groups - the politically correct crew and all those suffering from hyper-sensitivity and acute victimitis - should all grow some callous, fur and gonads. And if they don't like it, they can STFU or GTFO.
Long live the Cadillac, both on the road and in openly spoken slang. Now lets play ball!
WINSTED CT, July 22, 2007 - I'm no authority on the neo-classic separated at birth Internet genre, but have probably checked out more such sites than the average surfer. So it's with a hefty bit of dubious expertise that I say the following two people from the world of arts and entertainment haven't been prominently featured on any separated at birth sites. Ahem ...
The impetus for this entry was rather interesting and the path circuitous. While lurking in the #phreadom Libertarian channel on the Freenode IRC network, user Largo posted a link about a conspiracy theory professing NASA had doctored colors of photos sent back from Mars. Reading from the linked web page reminded me of a music CD title and cover art. While image searching for a suitable reciprocal photo link to send to Largo, I stumbled across a photo that vaguely reminded me of another photo I saw quite a few years ago, which instigated another search. This is the way my life goes and there's no relief in sight ...
My attraction to and fascination with Orson Welles started with reading about his infamous hookwinking radio listeners on Halloween night, 1938, with The Mercury Theater radio rendition of H.G. Wells's War of the Worlds. I'm sad to report that I've never seen the movie Citizen Kane. And I only managed to get through about one-third of a torturously boring biography of this most exciting personality. I should probably give another bio author a try. For now, the bulk of my Welles info spelunking takes place on the Internet.
The music of Matthew Sweet smoothed out otherwise jagged and ragged playlists on Alternative Rock FM stations in the 1990s. Though altogether too often stations would only play "Sick of Myself" from the "100% Fun" CD. It's a great tune destined to be a second tier pop classic, but there's so much more to Sweet. Contrary to popular belief, he can kick ass and rock. Too bad FM stations of the era, both corporate and independent, and most jocks were so short-sighted with playlists.
Now it's time for you to decide: were Orson Welles and Matthew Sweet separated at birth?
For the ininitiated, Welles is on the left and Sweet on the right.
TECHNOLOGICALLY ADVANCED, MY ASS
WINSTED CT, February 18, 2007 - This is somewhat misplaced, as it was garnered from a news report on December 18, 2006. It strikes me as inconceivable that a full seven years after the Great Y2K Scare that something like the following would be freely and apparently shamelessly admitted by our friends at NASA. Here's the quip:
"NASA wants Discovery back from its 12-day mission by New Year's Eve because shuttle computers are not designed to make the change from the 365th day of the old year to the first day of the new year while in flight. The agency has developed a fix, but would prefer not to try it."
A (HOPEFULLY) BRIEF EXPERIMENT IN TORTURE
WINSTED CT, February 14, 2007 - Tell me I'm not the only one who has occasionally seen pictures such as this in print and electronic advertising media. It always seems to be some cute, young woman computing away on the floor as if this were the most normal position for such activity. Just look at the woman in the picture: she looks so happy tapping away at the keyboard of that laptop!
I decided to conduct a little experiment to either confirm or debunk my preconcieved notions on this position for computing. The laptop computer was put on the floor with a text editor patiently awaiting my input. I laid down in the same position as the cutie in the picture and hit the date/timestamp hotkey. The display spat back "11/30 @ 21:46:45" and I began to do some simple offline tasks. The first thing I noticed was discomfort in my, uh ... pubic bone region: it was as much as mashing into the floor. And it wasn't the type of carpet I'd prefer to be mashing that part of my body into ...
Then it was time to type some text, but this was torture, too, most noticable in my elbows. By this time the muscles in my lower back began to scream at me, but I kept at it, strictly in the interest of science.
After what my body thought was an eternity, I finally gave up and again hit the date/timestamp hotkey, fully expecting something other than what was to be displayed.
"11/30 @ 21:49:21" - a mere 2-1/2 minutes. So there you have it. Experiment results show that it's either an incredibly un-natural and foolish position for computing, or I'm getting old and out of shape ... or both.
Now doesn't "laptop" suggest the preferred placement for the electronic device be on, uh ... the lap?
IRONY MEETS KARMA IN CALIFORNIA (LA IRONÍA RESUELVE KARMA EN CALIFORNIA)
WINSTED CT, January 31, 2007 - The Feds recently cracked the whip in Orange County, California, according to this story garnered from the Drudge Report. Coincidental or not, the AP writer is one Jeremiah Marquez.
Of particular note was the plight of one of the detainees:
Erik Omar Galindo-Vazquez, a Mexican national taken in during the sweeps in Orange County, was charged with illegal re-entry to the United States after felony deportation _ a federal crime that can carry up to 20 years in prison.
ICE officials said Galindo-Vazquez was deported in October 2005 after being detained in Arizona and was convicted six years earlier in Orange County for assault with a deadly weapon, a felony charge.
While federal law makes it a crime to enter the country illegally, only a fraction of the tens of thousands of illegal immigrants caught every year are ever prosecuted under criminal laws. There just aren't enough agents, prosecutors and prison space.
So authorities go after serious offenders such as Galindo-Vazquez, whose wrap sheets combine past deportations with convictions for crimes such as assault, murder and drug trafficking.
So not only is Galindo-Vazquez a "serious offender," but apparently he's also a slow learner.
It looks like Erik Oman Galindo-Vazquez may very well get his wish of residing in the USA, however la casa in which he will reside is a going to be a far cry from what he had expected. At least he'll have plenty of time to bone up for the citizenship exam - considering he's a slow learner and all ...
BURLINGTON CT, May 4, 2006 @ 1:20 P.M. - I pull into the parking lot at Torrington Saving Bank's Burlington branch and slip the Explorer into the spot next to the handicap slot. While getting out of my vehicle, I notice a sign attached under the requisite "HANDICAP PARKING - STATE PERMIT REQUIRED" sign. It warned:
CAUTION - PARKING LOT MAY BE SLIPPERY WHEN ICY OR WET CONDITIONS EXIST
Memo to the legal department of Torrington Savings Bank: having a physical handicap does not necessarily include stupidity.
DON'T TALK TO ME IN THAT TONE OF HAND
BRISTOL CT, October 4, 2006 @ 1:04 P.M. - This was a first for me: witnessing two deaf people arguing. During what would have otherwise been a very boring lunch break, I noticed a very animated couple having what appeared to be an extremely heated argument; and all in what I assume was American sign.
Though I don't know what they were arguing about, it was obvious that the man was making some sort of impassioned plea to the woman; not an uncommon occurance in relationships - hearing impaired or not.
After a while of "overhearing" their "conversation," it got a bit depressing and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. So I ordered two dogs with the works instead ...
RADIO DEVOLUTION IS AIRWAVE POLLUTION
WINSTED CT, Saturday, June 3, 2006 - Though not in the least bit nervous or phobic, the instant I heard WTIC's weather clown Joe Furey announced there was "a back door cold front that's trying to push its way in right now," my sphincter clenched up tighter than a vault door at Fort Knox.
Is "back door cold front" a bona fide meteorological term? Inquiring minds want to know. A quick web search revealed that the terminology in question has been blessed by the American Meteorological Society. Ahem.
Okay, so it's official. It still sounds both silly and almost perverse; at least to me. Apparently there has been a move afoot to liven up weather forecasts with catchy phrases and such. However, I long for the days when after hearing a weather forecast you could actually remember what the forecast was. Today's weather announcers spit out so much nonsense in the interest of being clever that the forecast - the meat of the matter - gets completely lost in all that silly cleverness.
And if I ever hear Joe Furey and Angela Dias joke on-the-air calling each other "Joe Joe" and "Ang" like I did a few weeks ago, I'm going to be more than tempted to drive down to Farmington, burst into the studio and commandeer the broadcast facilities - I shit you not!
Another one of WTIC's weather types is Bob Cox, whom isn't nearly as pretentious as Furey, though has a few quirks of his own that contribute to the devolution of radio broadcasting. To wit, Cox has recently taken to speaking abbreviations such as "accum, precip" and "temps" as if they were real words. Ugh.
He also constantly breaks a long established rule of broadcasting - the station ID - with the lazy pronunciation of the letter "W" as "dubba-u" instead of the proper and standard "double-u." I fear Bob Steele may not be resting in peace, but instead rolling in his grave ...
I suppose getting all worked up over this is silly. Pity is more appropriate than criticism. After all, can you imagine going through life having your career zenith be pulling a four-hour shift on the Weather Channel?
Me neither.
Saturday morning program host Stan Simpson was recently interviewing a guest; an entertainment industry attorney. During the course of the interview, this attorney used the expression "non-gay." It sounded as if, or implied that being "straight" was the exception rather than the rule and that perhaps "straight" was politically incorrect terminology. WTF is up with that?
I'd bet a dollar-to-a-dime that if you were to hear someone refer to gays as "non-straight" there would be an uproar from the gay community charging straights with "orientation prejudice" or some such ACLUese garbage.
And please don't tell me that we "straights" are supposed to accept being referred to as "non-gay."
During an excursion into Radio Terra Incognita, I was tuned in and listening to a Hartford-area, uhm ... R&B/Hip Hop station, and one of their station-produced commercials caught my attention. The commercial was for a local college and the "non-Caucasian", "non-male" announcer proclaimed that institute of higher learning was "...offering more opportunity than you can emagine."
Well, shit, yo. Welcome to the new world of ethnic commercial voice-over in the year 2006. Emagine that!
I guess I'll just have to patiently wait for an R&B or Hip Hop cover of John Lennon's classic Emagine to be released.
Let the hate mail begin ...
WINSTED CT, Tuesday, March 21, 2006 - One of the few cell phone ancillary functions that I do use from time to time is the voice memo feature. Instead of fumbling around for a pencil and paper to note something of dubious interest that has been observed, I'll fumble around for my cell phone and stumble all over the tiny keypad. Ah, modern technology's "conveniences" and "progress."
A while ago when trying to record a memo, I found that the memory was chock-full. So to avoid this from happening again and having some rare free time this morning, I decided to clear out the voice memo bank. Here's what was uncovered:
PROTOCOL OR UNORTHODOX EXPEDIENT: The Simpsons program has perpetuated the rumor of law enforcement officers lust for donuts and the use of lights and sirens to lubricate the aquisition and delivery of such deep fried pastry. Now I'm not exactly certain whether the following was a real life Simpsons moment or simply an ironic and coincidental twist of fate. Until more investigating can be done, I'll let you decide.
Traffic snarls heading east out of Winsted on Main Street where two lanes merge to one in front of McDonalds and Dunkin Donuts. It was there that I saw an ambulance trying to get out of McDonalds and into the westbound lane - a true effort in patience and sometimes futility. Suddenly all manner of strobe lighting got turned on, traffic stopped and the ambulance pulled out through the newly formed void in vehicular congestion.
I was too preoccupied with traffic to notice if the lights remained on once the vehicle was safely in the westbound lane, though no siren was used. Were they on-call or not? I'll try to follow-up on this, so stay tuned. -Thursday, March 9, 2006 @ 7:32 A.M., Winsted, CT
SOMETHING YOU DON'T SEE EVERY DAY: While driving on Route 44 eastbound, my vehicle was passed by a new, silver-grey hearse sporting dealer plates. I don't think this was an omen. Had the hearse incessantly followed behind me for any appreciable distance, there would have been reason for worry. I hesitantly add a guarded "heheh" to this entry. - Tuesday, February 28, 2006 @ 11:52 A.M., Barkhamsted, CT
LOOKING INTO THE FUTURE: In a last minute Saturday morning run to the bank, I was standing in line as an elderly man was apparently wrestling with a transaction. Obviously frustrated with the process, he said to the teller, "You sure make things awful complicated." Then came muffled snickering from some customers standing in line.
Some people either forget or simply refuse to accept that if fate treats them favorably that they'll be old someday, too. - Saturday, February 18, 2006 @ 12:02 P.M., Torrington, CT
SCHLOSSER STUCK ON STUPID: Joseph Schlosser, the unworthy replacement for Howard Stern on Hartford, Connecticut FM radio, just displayed his lack of knowledge of '60s music. Schlosser, otherwise known as Sebastian, has been around radio and pop music for a long time, so there's no excuse for him incorrectly crediting Jimi Hendrix for writing All Along The Watchtower. Although Hendrix did perform and record the song, it was Bob Dylan who wrote it.
And to the Fringe Faithful that are about to take me to task for listening to Schlosser when I proclaimed in an essay that I wouldn't do so; I'm sorry. It was purely in the interest of investigative reporting. My beliefs have been confirmed: Schlosser is a low talent fucktard. -Friday, January 27, 2006 @ 7:24 A.M., New Hartford, CT
LET HE WHO IS WITHOUT SIN CAST THE FIRST STONE
WINSTED CT, February 14, 2006 - According to a link on the Drudge Report, congressional Democrats have their panties all bunched up over Vice President Cheney's apparent foot dragging in releasing news of his recent hunting accident.
Mary Jo Kopeckne was unavailable for comment ...
HARTFORD HOSTS MIRACLE - POPE RESPONDS: "INCREDIBLE"
WINSTED CT, Janaury 30, 2006 - I honestly thought I'd never see the day that I'd openly admit to having a renewed faith in mankind, let alone this revelation occuring in Hartford's bustling south end during the tail end of lunch hour. Let me explain ...
While working in the city last week on a new construction project, a run to the hardware store was necessary and I was elected gopher. Having already fought a traffic jam on I-84 on the way in to work from the boonies and hearing that a huge electrical transformer had caught fire at Bulkley High School, I wasn't looking forward to trying to navigate through the the city's south end. All the TV news helicopters circling overhead were an omen. Or so it seemed.
Off I went and about half way to the store the busy intersection of Airport Road and Wethersfield Avenue greeted me with a line of cars, a dead traffic control light and a bunch of those old "portable" stop signs. It was one of those times when you want to see a cop, yet none was anywhere near the intersection. It was every driver for himself ...
I feared that I was in for a long, long wait to make my left hand turn at the intersection. If you scroll down to the August 12, 2005 entry, HUMANITY REARS ITS UGLY HEAD, you'll realize the memory that was playing through my head. But although drama was about to occur, it was not the drama I expected.
Traffic was actually moving. Slowly. Deliberately. Cautiously. But moving, nevertheless. Drivers were actually reading the situation and being courteous. What could have been a clusterfuck of selfish driving behavior had instead somehow evolved falling into a graceful rhythm. And it was a gift.
Coincidentally, I was reading from bukowski.net the other day and stumbled upon this interview response to a question regarding "conventional morality:"
"There may not be a hell, but those who judge may create one. I think people are over-taught. They are over-taught everything. You have to find out by what happens to you, how you will react. I'll have to use a strange term here..."good." I don't know where it comes from, but I feel that there's an ultimate strain of goodness born in each of us. I don't believe in God, but I believe in this "goodness" like a tube running through our bodies. It can be nurtured. It's always magic, when on a freeway packed with traffic, a stranger makes room for you to change lanes...it gives you hope."
Leave it to Bukowski to aim the shot across my bow "warning" me of an impending miracle.
WINSTED CT, January 30, 2006 - Lets face it: like it or not, we're all drowning is a sea of acronyms. In an earlier penned screed, I listed a few of them. However, some acronyms have deceptively disguised origins.
Unless you've been living in a cave (or Wyoming), you've been a target hit by the marketeers of GEICO insurance. Clever ad men have cloaked The Truth by diverting our curiosity and attention from the company "name" to their mascot: that foolish, sometimes animated gecko lizard. Then came that tired "I just saved a bunch of money on my car insurance" campaign. One can't even open up a piece of commercial mail without it containing an insert sporting the GEICO gecko.
And it was when I opened my most recent Internet access bill from Charter Communications that I was enlightened. There amongst a plethora of advertising inserts was one from GEICO. Before ripping it up, curiosity got the best of me, so I checked it out. That's when I noticed in very small print the words "Government Employees Insurance Company."
My initial reaction was suspicion and probably based on some genetic hardwiring that red-flags anything with a wiff of government about it. Further research alleviated most of my suspicion, though not entirely. There's more snooping for me to do ...
If you're interested, check out the GEICO version of the company's history. And this friendly authored bio of mogul Warren Buffet is a good read.
WINSTED CT, January 29, 2006 - The supposed King of Pop recently made an appearance at a Bahrain mall dressed in the manner women of that country. With children in tow in their usual disguises, Jackson sashayed about hiding his hideously disfigured face behind a veil, donned an abaya and black gloves. Such modesty and desire for privacy certainly is contrary to his otherwise Attention Whore behavior.
This news follows a November report of Jackson entering a shopping mall ladies room in the United Arabs Emirates. According to local newspapers, he was applying makeup, though Jackson's host dismissed the makeup story as a rumor. You can decide for yourselves.
Jackson's trips to Bahrain as the guest of the son of Bahrain's king reportedly revolve around negotiating a consulting gig with a Bahrain-based entertainment and education outfit. Yeah, okay. Some say Jackson is planning on setting up residence in Bahrain. I've got a different take on these junkets.
From what I remembered of geography studies in school, that general area of the globe doesn't have a hell of a lot going for it other than oil and religious fanaticism. I mean, people aren't exactly flocking to Bahrain, Saudi Arabia or Kuait. This left me with a question gnawing at my brain. Of all the beautiful places on this planet, why the hell would anyone pick Bahrain? So I decided to refresh my memory and took advantage of what one government agency's website had to report about Bahrain.
It didn't take long to confirm my suspicions: Bahrain does not have an extraditon agreement with the United States. Could it possibly be that Michael Jackson is checking out real estate only in nations that would provide a safe haven from further stateside-based litigation?
MARQUETTE TO UCONN: GET OUT OF TOWN
WINSTED CT, January 3, 2006 - Major League Baseball is about the only sport that I follow with any degree of consistency, and the Boston Red Sox are my team. I only casually follow football and the New England Patriots my faves. What the heck: the BoSox and Pats are our "local" teams, but that's where any local or regional loyalty ends.
Around here, rooting against the UCONN basketball teams is risky behavior at best and usually only for the foolhardy or suicidal. Be that as it may, I despise UCONN's mens and womens basketball programs, including the pompous coaches Calhoun and Auriemma. So it was with this long established loathing that led me to listen to the men's game tonight.
And what a game it was. UCONN simply couldn't get their act together and Marquette took full advantage of every Husky foul up. It was simply delightful listening to the jock strap sniffing Joe D'Ambrosio doing the game call while obviously in pain watching his team lose. The most delicious moment, aside from the final score, was when rabid Marquette fans starting the chant, "OVER-RATED! OVER-RATED!" I just about shit myself laughing.
Tonight the hammer came down, and it came down hard. In Marquette's debut game in the Big East conference, they beat the living shit out of the UCONN Huskies, 94-79, a sound and just beating. The post-game wrap up was more ear-candy as apologist broadcasters tried in vain to justify UCONN's poor showing. The only disappointment for me was not hearing the press conference with coach Jim Calhoun after the game. Whether not broadcast or I missed it when stepping out for a bit, it would have been simply excellent listening to Calhoun cry like a school girl.
A particularly annoying promo that is running on WTIC-AM 1080 is for the UCONN basketball program includes a clip of a woman exclaiming "I thought they had great ball movement tonight." Some fucktard engineer at WTIC even ran the promo after the game broadcast. To the woman in the promo, I politely reply, "Sorry honey, you can't be talking about UCONN.
And I not-so-politely proclaim "UCONN sucks." They are over-rated.
WINSTED CT, January 1, 2006 - First site entry for 2006. By the way, happy new year.
A couple of weeks ago I was standing in line at our local IGA supermarket getting some groceries checked out. The guy in line behind me happened to be a rather well known personality, as he's the area's most prominent bail bondsman who happens to be the brother-in-law of a good friend of mine. In this neck of the woods, and Winsted in particular, he has plenty of business.
For the uninitiated, a bail bondsman is basically an insurance agent who guarantees to the court that defendants show up for cases. Please don't ask me how I know this ...heh.
Meanwhile, back at the check out counter, this bondsman was giving me what I felt was the evil eye, so I innocently (heh) said "hello" to him. He sharply responded, "You better get your ass up to court. They're looking for you, you know."
To say this "greeting" was alarming would be an understatement. My brain went into turbo-scan mode in search of some clue as to why The Court was interested in my attendance. Was there some stupid traffic or parking ticket that got lost in the madness and transformed into a warrant? Had I forgotten to keep various folks supplied with an up-to-date residence and mailing address? Had I developed schitzophrenia and "the other Jeff" committed some sort of crime? The search came up "no files found."
All I could come up with for a response was "Unless there's a terribly old warrant floating around I'm not aware of, could you be mistaking me for someone else?" The bondsman's facial expression dropped from stern to what appeared to be troubled concern. "What's your name?", he asked.
I identified myself and this guy's puffed up macho melted and he profusely apologized, saying that I'm a dead ringer for some local miscreant who has been pulling no-shows for court dates. My reply was something like "So I've got a clone running around, eh? Poor bastard walking around with a face like mine, huh."
Like I said, this was a couple of weeks ago, and though initially relieved, in restrospect I'm a little perturbed about this case of mistaken identity. There were others besides the cashier who overheard all or only part of the exchange. I think this is the first time I've faced being slandered in public and it doesn't feel good.
It is kind of funny, though, in a sick kind of way.
BOSTON TO DAMON: GOOD RIDDANCE ... ASSHOLE
WINSTED CT, December 21, 2005 - While listening to the call-in portion of Sports Talk on WTIC-AM tonight, a caller brought up what has to be the hot story for New England sports fans: specifically, the recent defection by Johnny Damon to archenemy New York Yankees. The caller was obviously repulsed by Damon's move to the Evil Empire and the program host rhetorically asked what kind of reception Damon will get in his first 2006 season game in Fenway wearing the gray pinstripes.
His reply? "I'm going to boo him 'til my eyes pop out of my head!" heheh. Gotta love the Boston fans!
On a personal note just for the record: Jeter sucks; A-Rod swallows; Steinbrenner sucks; Yankees suck; and now Johnny Damon sucks.
I trust that clarifies what side of the Beantown-NY rivalry I'm on.
NORTHWEST CONNECTICUT LATEST GLOBAL WARMING VICTIM
WINSTED CT, December 15, 2005 - One of my rituals is to check the temperature on my outside thermometer before heading out for work. Living in New England with its wild "mood" swings, one can never bank on the weather, other than on its unpredictable nature. I was greeted with quite the surprise this morning.
I'll initially put the media spin on this. Today's temperature was TWICE as high as it was yesterday at the same hour. Sounds incredible, no? Well, remember this is New England and it's December.
Yes, this morning it was a balmy 10-degrees Fahrenheit: twice the numberical reading of yesterday. I'm ready for Spring ...
POOP PATROL PROTECTS PERFECT PAWS
WEST HARTFORD CT, December 13, 2005 - Spoiler warning: if you haven't read it yet, scroll down four entries and peruse PERFECT PAWS PROMPT PREGNANT PAUSE. This update is built upon that posting.
Today's work found me back at the upscale neighborhood where the friendly Perfect Paws van makes its rounds. While on a coffee break, my brother-in-law was gazing out a window and exclaimed, "Jeff! Come here QUICK! You're going to LOVE this!"
A van had pulled up in front of the house we were working in. Four, uh ... special citizens (sounds better than 'tards) disembarked as well as a some sort of supervisor. WTF now? This crew walked up into the yard and the challenged citizens (also sounds better than 'tards) started picking up dog shit with small shovels and "dropped the droppings" into the bucket the supervisor was carrying around.
Three minutes later they all piled back into the van and were off, apparently to another turd strewn yard. And the donut I was eating, an unpowdered cruller, didn't quite taste the same. Neither did my coffee.
As the van drove off down the road, I was left with two gnawing questions -- one of which is rhetorical.
1) Other than carrying the bucket, what else does the supervisor do: insure that her wards didn't mistake small sticks or the unlikely cigar butt or pipe heel for turds?
2) What did the inside of the van smell like with that uncovered bucket stowed aboard?
And that's all I have to report at this time ...
BROADCAST BABE BOASTS BATTY BEHAVIOR
WINSTED CT, December 12, 2005 - Our local AM radio powerhouse, WTIC 1080, features a "Traffic Control" segment mornings and afternoons, apparently for the benefit of commuters. Though the moniker "Traffic Control" is both dillusional and arrogant, as much as I'd like to, I won't go into that right now. What I will report is hearing Traffic Contol's Gerri Griswold recently warning motorists of "a deer strike" on an entrance ramp to I-84 in Southington.
Hello? Politically Correct Police? I suppose it was more prudent than exclaiming "another Bambi has been bopped by a Bronco ..."
Meanwhile, back to this "deer strike" proclamation. Perhaps my brain chemistry is all out of kilter, but when I heard this on the radio my mind's eye painted a picture of a herd of deer blocking the entrance ramp, walking around on their hind legs and holding signs proclaiming "Deer are pedestrians, too!" and "Think of Bambi."
Oddly enough, announcer Gerri Griswold is from my current home town of Winsted. She is also known as Geri Greb-Lasky and Gerri Griswold Greb-Lasky. I wish these effen people would settle on one name, dammit! Besides being an announcer on the radio, Gerri Geri Griswold Greb-Lasky is also a state licensed wildlife rehabilitator specializing in, now get this ... bats.
An odd aside: she's got a peculiar yet strangly familiar laugh when engaging in what sounds like uncomfortable banter with morning show hosts Ray "Dunaway" Goldsich and Diane Smith. It took a while to make the connection, but the bat lady sounds just like Lily Tomlin's character Ernestine.
WINSTED CT, December 5, 2005 - Clicking on a link on the Drudge Report brought me to a story with the headline "Deadly bacteria spreading through US hospitals." As I read on, one rather concise paragraph struck me as odd. It stated:
"Symptoms include watery, malodorous diarrhea and cramps."
Malodorous diarrhea, eh? Is that opposed to the more olfactory-friendly fragrant variety of diarrhea?
No Coincidence Department: the original story is copyright Agence France-Presse. Now it makes sense, as everyone knows the French think their shit doesn't smell ...
WINSTED DINER DESTROYED BY FIRE
WINSTED CT, December 4, 2005 - The distinct smell of burning wood faintly drifted through the building a couple of hours ago. After checking out the three floors of our building, I went outside see what was burning. Lo and behold, less than 100-feet away a long time landmark, the Winsted Diner, was burning.
Of course the Winsted Fire Department had all manner of apparatus on the scene to combat a relatively small blaze. Better too much equipment than not enough, I suppose. But this town has a penchant for municipal overkill, and tonight's display underscores some of the silliness of it all. You'd have thought a whole block of buildings was ablaze. Typical Winsted.
Meanwhile, back to the diner: it has been a tough go of it the past few years. First the owner's wife passed away, then he took ill, passing the reins over to the daughter and son. Then just last month the son died unexpectedly. Now this. Hell of a holiday season for that family, huh?
I remember morning visits to the Winsted Diner to dowse the gastric flames of the previous night's abuses. First up was the famous 32-ounce mug of chocolate milk. Then came black coffee, eggs, homefries and toast. The pancakes were awesome. Order pancakes and you got one cake: a 12-incher that took up all the real estate on the serving plate! And those cakes were thick, too.
The diner has been for sale for years now, so the fire marshall and insurance people will probably be sniffing all over the place for the next week. It will be interesting to see what happens with that odd shaped piece of real estate.
ENGLISH, MOTHERFUCKER! DO YOU SPEAK IT? - take two
WINSTED CT, November 28, 2005 - Just heard a neighbor out in the hall say: Where y'all at?"
So I cranked up the volume on the audio system and played this.
Ten times ...
Repetition for emphasis.
PERFECT PAWS PROMPT PREGNANT PAUSE
WEST HARTFORD CT, November 27, 2005 - Recently while working on an upscale neighborhood association property, I noticed an odd looking van driving down the street. The vehicle had one of those extended roofs like a camper; what appeared to be exhaust ventilation ducting; and an outboard air conditioner. It turned out to be a mobile pet grooming van for a business going by the name of "Perfect Paws."
A brief search on the web revealed a franchise operation going by the same name based in Australia, a few domestic outfits, and a listing for Perfect Paws in Bloomfield, which is adjacent to West Hartford.
The more I thought about this business, the more ridiculous it seemed: more accurately, the need for such a service. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. A lot of the people who call Perfect Paws are too busy with their careers and hire domestics to clean their houses and nannies or au pairs to care for the children. Parents too wrapped up in themselves to wash and care for their own children certainly can't be expected to provide basic care for their pets.
By coincidence or fate, I ended up stepping in some dog shit from one of the property owner's pets. I guess the Dog Shit Removal service was running a little late that day ...
NICE HAT, SISSY BOY - TAKE TWO
WINSTED CT, November 23, 2005 - It was the flash of color in my peripheral vision that caught my eye: brash, fluorescent orange, to be specific. Having never witnessed that color while tapping away at the keyboard, I got up to look out the window.
There was my neighbor in a fluorescent orange jacket of some sort and streamlined safety helmet reclining on a recumbent tadpole tricycle; complete with a "watch out for me" safety whip adorned with not one, not two, but three fluorescent flags. The hell?
Now these recumbent trikes provide an incredibly low center of gravity. Couple that with the fact that they're inherently more stable than their two-wheeled cousins, and I ask "why the freaking helmet, sissy boy?"
Aren't we going a little overboard on the personal safety accoutrements?
This sighting provided an innocent target at which to take a cheap shot from the relative anonymity of this web site. However, in working on this entry I had to check out some sites dedicated to recumbent bikes and learn some of the terminology so I wouldn't come across as a complete idiot. These cycles are peculiar in a number of ways and, well, interesting.
I've included a couple of good starting links for The Curious. Here's a decent overview of recumbent trikes and here's a manufacturer's site.
Enjoy your recumbent edification ...
A SCAM BY ANY OTHER NAME IS STILL A SCAM. PERIOD.
WINSTED CT, November 23, 2005 - If a deal seems too good to be true, then chances are it's simply too good to be true. Such is the case with two recent advertisements I've been subjected to.
The first was on the inside front cover of a TigerDirect catalog received in the mail. "Two Incredible Deals!" as much as shouted out at me: a complete home computer system for $199.98 and a fully-loaded notebook pc system for $399.99 -- with no rebates required. Both sport decent specs and Intel Celeron processors. The home system even includes a printer.
The second was a radio ad for CompUSA. They're having an oft used "midnight madness sale" are hawking computers at an incredibly low prices. I checked their web site and noted the super "deal" to be a home computer for $89.99, though qualified with the ominous "after savings & rebate."
A plethora of disclaimer fine print items adorned ads from both outlets, of course. And as is the case with most deals that seem too good to be true, the devil is in the details.
The devil in both of these advertisements is this: the price is only good if you're willing to commit to 12-months of AOL membership at $23.90 a month. That's $286.80 for the year. All of a sudden these "deals" don't seem so seductive, do they?
Something I found particularly funny in the TigerDirect ad was the quip "The AOL™ Optimized PC." You've heard the expression "understatement of the century?" Well, "The AOL™ Optimized PC" has got to be the "conflict of terms of the century."
WTIC BESTS STERN IN GUTTER-SPEAK
UCONN STORRS CAMPUS CT, November 12, 2005 - It started innocently enough: listening to the UCONN girls basketball game on the radio while dinner was cooking. Baby faced and normally mild-mannered WTIC-AM sports announcer Bob Joyce was doing the play-by-play with his irritating, high-pitched, pre-adolescent voice. However, this seemingly innocuous broadcast took a rapid and decidedly suggestive nose dive into the toilet.
UCONN was driving down court and Joyce announced to the world: "... Turner goes to the hole ..."
Excuse me? I couldn't help but wonder if Joyce was aware of what he just said. It's not exactly news that womens sports teams are frequently suspected of being elaborate covers for rampant lesbianism. With that one remark, Joyce added a few logs to that fire of suspicion.
I listened closer. Minutes later Turner was charged with an offensive foul. heh. Well that made sense. Going for the hole without the consent of the owner of said hole is certainly both foul and offensive behavior. Justice had been served, at least for the moment.
Joyce went on with some other beauts, such as "a backdoor move," so-and-so "penetrates," and so-and-so "dribbles down court." That last one did it for me. I was about to sit down to dinner, thank you very much. I don't care to defile my taste buds with thoughts of ANY player leaking bodily fluids (or solids, for that matter) all over a basket ball court. That's not a visual image I want trapped in my head as I'm gazing down at a bowl of steaming, hot chili.
Wonder if anyone is going to call the FCC and report this open-and-shut case of broadcasting indecent content?
WINSTED CT, November 9, 2005 @ 2:50 P.M. - My cell phone just rang and a flip of the lid let the display inform me that it was my brother-in-law calling. Not normally being one to hide using caller ID, I broke tradition and let the call go to voice mail. Call it sick retribution or revenge, but I can't tell you how many times I've called his house, a long distance charge, only to be stuck talking to a machine. When confronting him on this, I'm drowned with a plethora of excuses, so I don't feel bad about sending him to voice mail.
I called my voice mailbox as soon as I got the prompt, and was greeted by what had to have been 2-minutes worth of Verizon advertising. "That's new," I mused. They were telling me about this new voice mail call back feature in altogether too much detail, being something that could certainly have waited and been included with their monthly billing statement.
My feeling is this was an advertisement, though I'm sure Verizon would call it an announcement of a new, free feature. Well, attention Verizon: those were my prime airtime minutes you just gobbled up. Stay the fuck out of my voice mail or I'll put a caller block on your fucking ass.
It's bad enough having to repeatedly listen to my brother-in-law's frantic gibberish in order to decypher it into something vaguely resembling English ...
BILL BONK BONKED BY POLLING - OUCH!
UNIONVILLE CT, November 3, 2005 @ 11:49 A.M. - It's election time and one such placard caught my eye by announcing, "Bill Bonk for Town Council," or something like that. Some surfing on the Internet proved there is, in fact, a town council candidate Bill Bonk. A call to the Farmington Town Clerk's office revealed very close election results for that position and Bonk did not come out on the top of the heap. A recount is in the works.
The reason for this entry has little to do with politics, though. I saw that placard and couldn't help what it must have been like to go through life with Bonk as a last name. In our neck of the woods, the word "bonk" is frequently used as a verb synonymous with bang, tap, drill, bop, stab, hit, nail, and jump -- all slang for a physical activity resulting in the carnal knowledge of another human being. Therefore, life on the old school bus must have been challenging for Bill Bonk.
This "bonk" matter reminded me of an excellent joke, though I can't remember the whole thing, dammit. What I do remember is an avian character of the joke delivering the punchline with the parrot saying, "Bonk, bonk, bonk!"
If someone starts telling you a joke where this fits into the storyline, please feel free to cut the joke teller just short of the punchline and proudly say, "Bonk, bonk, bonk!" It will deprive the joke teller of the tactile feedback of laughter he or she so desperately seeks, and might quite possibly ruin his or her day.
Then drop me an e-mail and fill me in on the joke. I hate it when I can only remember part of a joke!
I just got a sinking feeling that the actual punchline was "Bop, bop, bop!" and not "Bonk, bonk, bonk!" Oh well, what's a little wasted hard drive space and Internet bandwidth?
NOTE TO ECO-ACTIVISTS: GLOBAL WARMING, MY ASS!
WINSTED CT, November 3, 2005 @ 6:30 A.M. - Cyclical planetary alignment be damned: today marks the first day of winter, as far as I'm concerned. It's the first day I've had to scrap any appreciable amount of frost off the windshield of my truck before heading out on my appointed rounds. This is not a good thing ...
NO DRESS CODE BUT GAS MASK OPTIONAL
MANCHESTER CT, October 29, 2005 - When working in the construction trades, it's not unusual for several tradesmen to be working in a relatively small area. Such was the case today, with five of us in a 12 by 20 foot room. Working in such close quarters requires more than an average amount of patience and it doesn't take much to rock the good ship Tranquility.
One trademan's dinner from the previous night was becoming problematic for the rest of the crew. Though there was no audible warning, it was painfully obvious that the air in the room was rapidly becoming more and more befouled with hydrogen sulfide, mercaptans and methane. After a half dozen or so silent but volumous expulsions, the general contractor had apparently had quite enough.
Mustering up all the scant eloquence in his possession, he emphatically implored, "I'd really appreciate it if the person responsible for the air quality in here would just get it over with and go take a fucking shit."
Well seeing how you asked so nicely ...
WINSTED CT, October 28, 2005 - My upstairs neighbor is making far too much noise tonight. Again. She's not just "stuck on stupid;" she's incredibly selfish and doesn't give a flying fuck about her neighbors. The world revolves around her, or so she seems to think. I'm still formulating a plan to resolve this matter that is both legal and spiritual -- a huge challenge for me on both fronts.
If I ever needed an excuse to fire up a CD, tonight's the night. And tonight's choice is the Counting Crows' 1996 release, Recovering the Satellites. Without getting into a lot of history and the bloody details, this CD came into my life at a most appropriate time. Many hours were logged on this one -- an insane number of hours. As a result, a lot of memories are rushing into my head as it plays away: some good, some bad. Melancholy baby, baby. However, even the bad memories are good. Funny how time heals.
God how I love listening to Adam Duritz masterpieces before he got fat, happy and successful. Anything I've heard after the Crow's Live on a Wire CD has sucked HUGE.
I feel the same way about James Taylor material. His Flying Machine and Sweet Baby James albums were incredibly real. Then he bedded down Carly Simon (or she bedded him down), they got married, and the music went to hell. If you need proof, one spin of Mocking Bird ought to drive my point home.
It's almost as if the very marrow of artistic creativity is neutralized when one is getting laid on a regular basis, thus lending new meaning to being "tapped" or "drained." Imagine, if you will, the copious amounts of creative juices dribbling down thighs or being absorbed in motel room bedspreads, Kleenix tissues, undergarments and carpet fiber.
ENGLISH, MOTHERFUCKER! DO YOU SPEAK IT?
WINSTED CT, October 19, 2005 @ 10:03 A.M. - I just heard a radio interview on WTIC-AM 1080 of some Hartford community leader, who repeatedly referred to the city's north end as the "nor-then."
The United States Coast Guard is running a recruitment ad on the radio with similar slacker English, such as "we ah (are) the she-el (shield) ah (of) freedom" and "join the Unied (United) Stays (States) Cose (Coast) Gar (Guard). Infuriating, no?
And if you really want to hear some seriously-stuck-on-stupid, listen to the latest radio ad for Bank North, featuring New England Patriot wide receiver Troy Brown. Brown wears the number "80" for the Pats; a number which, from the sound of the radio ads, may very well be his I.Q. Whoever made the decision to have Brown read ad copy should be kicked soundly in the nuts.
Is it any wonder why corporate board rooms across the country aren't exactly overflowing with bruthas an sistas?
MEMO TO: HUNTER S. THOMPSON - SUBJECT: IT JUST GOT WEIRD ENOUGH
WINSTED CT, October 15, 2005 @ 2:00 A.M. - A very rainy night drifted into Saturday morning while I busied myself with some mundane computer tasks. The popular late night program Coast to Coast AM was playing on the radio, providing the usual background for such late night/early morning hacking. Little did I realize that abject wierdness was lurking around the corner.
Program host George Norry was interviewing Ryan Reynolds, a self-proclaimed expert on budgies: small parakeets that are formally known as budgerigars. A quick check of the Coast to Coast AM website tipped me off to the potential for fun with this tickler: First Hour: Researcher Ryan Reynolds will be sharing some of his talking parrots' predictions concerning earthquakes and the end of times.
But it got way more weird than that.
I forgot the exact exchanges, but the interview drifted into religion. Norry asked Reynolds what the budgies had to say about the coming of Christ.
WTF?
Without missing much of a beat, Reynolds replied that his budgies tell him that "Jesus will return soon."
That was all I needed to hear. I shut down the radio and stared out the window. How the hell is anyone going to top that? It's a new High Mark in Weird for Norry and Coast to Coast AM. I'm marking my calendar "The Day Sanity on the Radio Evaporated."
If you have a local AM radio station that runs Coast to Coast AM and they are anything like our local station, you'll hear a repeat of this particular program sooner or later. Should you stumble across it, please listen in. It's about an hour long excerpt with a few interesting parts, but the vast majority is simply a riot. Check it out if you can!
Oh yes - nearly forgot. Reynolds' website is budgieresearch.homestead.com. Check it out if you dare.
COMMERCIAL PROFANITY IN THE NORTHWEST HILLS
BARKHAMSTED CT, September 16, 2005 @ 10:30 P.M. - A late evening milk and bread run found me passing on a stop at our local Cumberland Farms store. The parking lot was its usual Friday night freak show and there was a long line at the checkout counter with only one cashier on duty. The visualization of getting stuck in line behind some dolt buying lottery tickets consumed me, so instead of flirting with the distinct possibility of being arrested for aggrevated assault, I opted for "door number two."
Ledgebrook Plaza's Stop and Shop supermarket is a place I generally avoid as the store's prices are rarely competitive unless one "cherry picks" for items on sale. Besides the higher prices, I simply don't like the way the store "feels," as silly as that may sound.
While waiting in the check out line, I noticed that Stop and Shop had jumped the gun at the Christmas advertising starting blocks with a large, inflatable display encapsulating Santa Claus and a snowman (presumably Frosty) in a faux snowstorm.
What the effin' fawk? It's only mid-September, for goodness sake. The kids have been back in school for only two weeks. The autumnal equinox is still a week away. There is still two weeks of regular season baseball, let alone wildcard play, pennant races and the World Series. Halloween is over a month away; Thanksgiving more than two. Is it really necessary for Stop and Shop to start the Christmas blitz this early in the year?
Could it possibly be that someone in the advertising department at Stop and Shop Corporate Hq believes that inflating that otherwise innocuous display in mid-September is going to give Stop and Shop any perceivable edge on consumer holiday grocery purchases?
Stop and Shop just lost my holiday grocery dollars. And future late evening milk and bread run dollars.
WINSTED CT, September 11, 2005 @ 12:28 P.M. - I shared the previous entry, STÖRUNG IST VERBOTEN, via e-mail with Jim MacPherson, host of WTIC-AM 1080's "Car Doctor" talk show. Lo and behold, Jim was kind enough to write back and shared this:
"The most distressed owner of a broken down car that I ever recall seeing was the driver of a Rolls Royce. She was very young, but looked very mad as she stood by her car with the hood raised on the Massachusetts Turnpike."
"Trust me. Every brand gets towed."
Thanks Jim!
HARTFORD CT, August 19, 2005 @ 1:41 P.M. - The Alien experienced a "first" today. While merging onto Route 5/15 South from Route 2 West, I spied a dead Mercedes-Benz up on the tapering traffic island. I honestly can't remember ever seeing a Mercedes dead on the road, hooked to the back of a tow vehicle or on a flatbed hauler. It really looked quite odd ...
I'll grant you that there are many more Fords, Chevys, Hondas and Toyotas on the road than Mercedes and Lexus, so the chances of seeing a luxury vehicle broken down on the side of the road are pretty slim. Math is math and odds are odds.
Devotees of Mercedes Benz automobiles or all things German engineered will no doubt scoff at this entry and counter that operator error had to be the reason for this breakdown. Automotive purists will decry the Daimler Chrysler merger and blame "the American connection."
Others, like me, drive by this inoperable vehicle in our Fords and though we don't wish automotive ill will on anyone, are still slightly bemused. And I'm German!
* Malfunction is forbidden
FARMINGTON CT, August 12, 2005 @ 3:14 P.M. - My commute home today brought me off I-84 West and onto Route 6: usually a faster, albeit longer and more serpentine path back to the northwest hills. This "short cut" to circumnavigate the bowel blockage of Farmington center is the route du jour for those like me whom would rather add a few miles to their commute in a moving vehicle than to crawl along like snails with palsy on the most direct route.
However, today my plan was foiled. The following transcript of the voice memo I recorded on my cell phone pretty much says it all:
"The lights are out at the intersection of U.S. Route 6, Fienemann and Bird's Eye Roads. If you really want to see the collective intelligence of a mass of humanity, turn off the traffic lights at an intersection of a highway and you'll see greed and a total disregard for, or oblivion to just doing the right thing."
CVS GOES GOTH IN YE OLDE NEW ENGLAND
WINSTED CT, August 7, 2005 @ 12:52 A.M. - I rarely go looking for trouble or things to piss and moan about. Honest! The vast majority of the time these things just present themselves, as if by some sort of divine intervention or perhaps fate. The fodder for this entry presented itself while I was staring out the window of my car waiting for a traffic light to change.
Winsted has a CVS "drug store," though CVS sells a lot more things than just drugs. It's not quite what one would consider a department store; that's a more appropriate label for WalMart, Target, Caldors and Ames.
Meanwhile, back at the traffic light, I noticed that there is block letter signage on the side of this modern design CVS building that spells out "Food Shoppe."
What's with this faux Olde English spelling "Shop" as "Shoppe?" If it's an attempt at being cute or clever, it fails. It's simply stupid.
Just for the record, for readers who feel my reaction to this signage is hypercritical or inappropriately negative, I hasten to add that a quick Google search reveals that there's at least one other soul on planet Earth who shares my feelings.
Now for a rare positive spin: for the curious seeking personal edification, here's a link to a BBC webpage about Anglo-Saxon (Old English).Consider the link my gyldan to you for visiting and reading from my website.
CONNECTICUT DOT ALERTS DRIVERS TO MORE OF THE OBIVIOUS
WEST HARTFORD CT, February 21, 2005 @ 12:14 P.M.- Now before some benevolent ad hoc editor/proofreader gets a huge, raging, blood engorged woody over spotting the next few items being out-of-order, let me explain. I'm cleaning out the voice memo cache on my cellphone. If I were to weave these items into this webpage chronologically, there's a good chance that "regulars" checking for new additions might miss these items altogether. So I've decided to bunch these relics right here. Dig? Here we go ...
Mad Magazine used to have a page or two with comics depicting the contrast of what people say and what they really mean. I don't know if this feature is still something they run, as I haven't bought a Mad Magazine in years. But this "what they say" vs "what they really mean" seems worthy of reference when considering the message on this sign on the interstate.
Hanging above the highway in all its technological splendor, this illuminated sign warned drivers:
USE CAUTION
Is it safe to assume that were we experiencing perfectly dry conditions it would be fine to forgo driving with caution?
COLLINSVILLE CT, July 30, 2004 @ 11:05 A.M.- I don't know about the rest of the country, but walking and bicycle paths are all over the place in Connecticut. "Paths" is actually a misnomer in many cases, as a lot of these supposed paths are paved, thus elevating their stature to something loftier than being mere paths. But I digress.
The "path" through Collinsville intersects Route 179 in the center of town. It was at that intersection that I noticed there were scaled down stop signs on either side of Route 179 warning walkers and bicyclists of the obvious danger of not stopping there. Duh! And to add a little more to this Pile of Obvious, in the center of the "path" were painted lane divider lines. Again, duh!
Two things come to mind immediately. One is that apparently the "traffic" on these "paths" has gotten great enough to become problematic, thus necessitating the addition of lane divider markings be painted on the paved surface of these "paths." And two, have we all become so mentally lame that we can't even take a stroll along a scenic walkway or ride down a bike path that we have to be constantly reminded of basic safety matters by such signage and markings?
Or perhaps it's the towns being overly cautious in this litigious world we live in.
Here the extreme measures some state, county or town's powers-that-be enacted to ensure safety on a walk/bike "path." My guess is California ...
ROUTE 44, AVON CT, June 7, 2005 @ 1:42 P.M. - I spotted two guys, framers, working on a construction site. A concrete foundation had been poured, floor beams and joists installed a while ago. These guys were laying down a plywood sub-floor over the joists. Got the picture?
This had to be a union job, as progress at this particular site has been barely keeping up with a snail's pace. Another hint that it was a union job was that both these framers were wearing hard hats.
Don't get me wrong. I work in the construction trades and occasionally don my hard hat. However, there has to be good reason for doing so besides anally-retentive OSHA laws, union stipulations or contractual strong-arming. Apparently OSHA, unions and contract writers aren't familiar with physics and the basic concept of gravity. Though not a physics major nor scientist of any sort, I'm fairly certain that the chances are pretty slim that one of those sheets of plywood could come flying up from the joists and then come down on the workmen's heads. Someone correct me if I'm wrong.
On a psychotic flip side to this entry, I recently stumbled across a rather gruesome, fatal accident scene photo on the Internet. A motorcyclist had been, er ... torn in two at the waist. The caption to the photo was "Thank God he was wearing a helmet."
Sure enough, upon closer examination of the photo, it was noted the biker was, in fact, wearing a helmet. Ride safe, dude ...
WHAT: More questionable signage
WHEN: June 7, 2005 @ 1:40 P.M.
WHERE: Avon Old Farms Inn, Avon CT
My commute home brought me down Avon Mountain on Route 44. As luck would have it, the traffic light at the bottom of the "hill" was red, and I stopped right next to the Avon Old Farms Inn; a high-brow restaurant where VIPs and celebrities are sometimes seen. There is a small paved area for a vehicle to pull off Route 44 close to the building, but not large enough for parking. That's where I saw a sign instructing drivers:
For whatever reason, I imagined a collection of urine-filled plastic soda bottles and "loaded" Depends® underpants unceremoniously adorning the pavement.
There has to be a better way to word that particular sign ...
WHAT: contestable quote
WHEN: Wednesday, April 13, 2005
WHERE: today's Cato Daily Dispatch e-mail
"We are driving people into the high-cost and high-risk cash economy where criminals have easy pickings while, in fact, good public policy should be directed toward making it easy for everybody to get into the digital economy using digital money."
Searching the Cato website for a link to reply to the author or publisher was an aggrevating effort in futility. The Cato Institute apparently isn't interested in hearing the opinions of others, instead choosing the locked-in-transmit modus operandi.
WHAT: questionable signage
WHEN: Tuesday, March 29, 2005 around noon
WHERE: Farmington, CT
It was exploration time: I had some time to kill as a job for the day didn't pan out. The Pequabuck River was very high as a result of the recent few days of heavy rain. As I was checking the flooding out, there was a sign on the side of the footpath that struck me as rather peculiar. It said:
Enjoy!
Please do not pick.
Isn't that odd? This planet has been around for a long time. A search on Google netted a whole range of figures, but suffice to say it has been a while. During a significant amount of the time our planet has been around, wild flowers have peppered many a landscape -- and quite successfully.
Isn't it odd that Man's arrogance has deemed it necessary to set up a test area for wild flowers?
I didn't bother checking to see if there was an "End of Wildflower Testing Area" sign ...
WHAT: an answer to my Schiavo morphine drip question
WHEN: Tuesday, March 29, 2005 @ 1:42 P.M.
WHERE: my e-mail inbox
Leave it to Warren -- friend, former co-worker and walking encyclopedia -- to set me straight on the question I ended the previous posting with. To wit:
"The reason they gave Schiavo morphine sulfate (or anyone else in that condition) is that it regulates the breathing -- you take long, slow, regular breaths.
This is less stressful to the person breathing, and less stressful to the people around them -- for otherwise, especially when they're not hydrated, et al, they can seem as if they're struggling for breath, or they'll have very irregular breathing. When the breathing stops, everything stops.
Although this nightmare will continue, I'm sure Terri Schiavo won't be dead and cold before her parents file a suit for wrongful death."
For the uninitiated, Warren and I used to be enslaved in involuntary servitude for the same "employer" years ago. He and I, as well as a number of others, eventually moved on after the HR department decided to violently shake the Staff Etch-a-Sketch clean. Although Warren resides on the Left Coast, he's Right Thinking.
Thanks for the clarification, Warren!
WHAT: news update on Terri Schiavo
WHEN: 11:30 P.M. broadcast, Saturday, March 26, 2005
WHERE: WTIC-AM 1080 radio
It was just reported that Terri Schiavo is now being administered morphine.
Morphine? Sister Morphine?
During the past week's legal chicanery to defend Michael Schiavo's decision to starve and dehydrate Terri to death, medical professionals testified that Terri's brain damage rendered her incapable of feeling pain. Apparently this was to somehow justify the starvation and dehydration death sentence imposed on her.
That said, someone please explain to me why a woman incapable of feeling pain would be administered a pain killer such as morphine.
I smell several rats ...
WHAT: a dark thought
WHERE: while sitting in front of the computer
WHEN: Friday night, March 25, 2005
I initially sent this out to a single, special e-mail recipient whom I thought would appreciate the dark irony of the thought. Then it occured to me that there were a number of such souls in my e-addy book. Here's what was sent:
"An Alien prediction ... either by Divine design or conspiracy, Terri Schiavo and the Pope will die on the same day. Just wanted this on the record somewhere.
And Heaven help us all should they both die on Easter Sunday."
WHAT: a rude and ironic awakening
WHERE: home sweet efficiency
WHEN: about 7:15 P.M., Tuesday, March 15, 2005
I don't know if this has happened to any of you, but it's something I found incredibly funny. While relaxing on my bed I was disturbed by incredibly loud snoring. "Who the hell is snoring so freaking loud?", I thought to myself. Oddly enough it was me!
Relaxation had become sleep and I had woken myself up with my own snoring. Inasmuch as I live alone, I really can't justify picking up Breathe Right® strips. However, should this evolve from a humorous incident into an ongoing problem ...
WHAT: a vaguely familiar melody
WHERE: radio station WTIC-AM 1080
WHEN: Sunday, March 6, 2005
During a UCONN v Syracuse basketball game, in the background audio one of the college bands was playing a song that sounded vaguely familiar. Tuning out the announcer and concentrating on the background music revealed the unimaginable: Ozzie Ozbourne's Crazy Train.
Note to Hunter S. Thompson: it's almost weird enough.
WHAT: yoga going to the dogs
WHERE: afternoon news on a local NPR station
WHEN: Friday, October 22, 2004 - 4:47 P.M.
It had to be on NPR - a news item about some place that "partners yoga for people and their dogs. That's right: dogs."
I've always been suspicious of yoga types. Altogether too many of them seem to be granola crunching, tree hugging, aroma-theraputic, pallid vegan malcontents on some weird quest for Nirvana via the most unorthodox paths. And now they're dragging their dogs along with them.
This dog yoga stuff just further supports my suspicion of anything "new age." Mean spirited as this may seem, I hope there is a rash of dog bites at these Yoga for Dogs events.
WHAT: the slow decay of quality broadcasting
WHERE: 104.1 MHz FM in Hartford, CT
WHEN: forgot when, sorry
Utilizing the scan button on my car radio accidentally confirmed something I had caught wind of but had yet to personally witness: the format change of the station occupying 104.1 MHz. From carrying "modern" rock (aka "alternative" rock) to "new" rock under the call sign WMRQ, 104.1 had become a refuge for music fans tired of the same-old-same-old. Station owner Clear Channel Communications apparently wasn't seeing enough market share or ROI (return on investment) from WMRQ, so in September of 2003 abruptly changed the format to "urban." What has followed has been the rapid decay of quality broadcasting, at least on this particular spot of the FM radio dial.
Under the call sign WPPH and moniker "Power 104.1," the station DJs spew out slack jaw, urban-speak, ghetto "gangsta" trash talk; all under the not-so-mindful oversight of general manager Manuel Rodriguez. Most of the on-air personalities and those doing commercials exhibit the type of linguistic handicap that virtually sentences urban hipsters to a lifelong career of either flipping burgers at McDonald's, pimping, whoring, hustling, selling drugs, or some combination thereof.
It amazes me that this station is closing in on celebrating its third "birfday" ...
WHAT: sensationalist headline baiting of readers
WHERE: Jerusalem Post - online version
WHEN: Monday, August 9, 2004
While checking out the latest on the Drudge Report website, the headline "JEWISH STUDENTS ATTACKED AT AUSCHWITZ" jumped at me from the computer monitor screen.
It was only after the hook of the headline had pierced the skin and its barb prevented the unwary reader from shaking loose, did the truth come out after reading the entire linked article. To wit:
"While on a tour of the museum at the Auschwitz death camp in Poland on Sunday, a group of around 50 Jewish university students from Israel, the U.S. and Poland were verbally attacked by a three-member gang of French male tourists."
Let me get this right, okay? Fifty Jewish university students were "attacked" by "a three-member gang of French male tourists?" Note that the word "gang" was used to describe the "attackers." I don't know about your dictionary, but mine shows that the word "gang" is a more accurate description of the fifty Jewish university students.
Well whoopty-fucking-doo. Three against fifty. Those students must have been scared shitless! And the poor, defenseless bastards were verbally attacked. Oh, the fucking horror!
If those fifty students didn't have the collective gonadal fortitute to kick the living shit out of the "three-member gang," then they deserve the insults thrown at them.
I can understand the Jerusalem Post running the headline, but as for the the Drudge Report website carrying the headline word for word: shame on you, Matt.
WHAT: two recent news stories
WHERE: the Internet
WHEN: Friday, July 30, and Saturday, July 31, 2004
The Drudge Report website carried a story by Amos Harel, a Haaretz correspondent, that announced "Israel and the United States on Thursday held a successful test of the Arrow anti-ballistic missile system" and "Since the last Gulf War, Israel - with U.S. financial backing - has developed the Arrow anti-missile missile."
Less than 24-hours later, the New York Times ran an article reporting "Coordinated bomb attacks struck the perimeters of the American and Israeli embassies on Friday in Tashkent, the capital of Uzbekistan, killing at least two people and wounding several more ... " and "The blasts, one of which was described by officials as the work of a suicide bomber, carried potent political symbolism."
Like it or not, American financial and military cross-breeding with Israel carries a significant price tag of its own. Can you say "cause and effect?"
I wonder what kind of oil reserves sit under Israli soil and if the Israelis would mind if we'd tap into said reserves?
WHAT: abject automotive idiocy
WHERE: Route 44, West Hartford, CT
WHEN: Thursday, July 29, 2004
Commuting provides otherwise monotonous time with glimpses of humanity that are sometimes enlightening, other times disturbing, but always entertaining. My commute du jour took me from Winsted to Hartford, Connecticut, on Route 44, aka the Albany Turnpike. Part of this journey involves a torturous climb up the west side of Avon Mountain, an abbreviated breather at the summit, and a serpentine descent down to Mountain Road. It was on the serpentine descent where I witnessed something I had never seen before.
I'm from the "keep right except to pass" school and stick pretty close to the posted speed limit, so I'll frequently see the same cars and occupants as they pass me, get stuck behind someone making a left turn - only to pass me again. One of these drivers maniacally intent on getting to the next stop light first was a "first" in commute-time people watching for me. To wit:
She was a middle aged woman driving a silver-blue, late model Mercedes Benz convertible. Never mind that the temperature was in the mid-80s, dew point rising and resultant humidity unbearable, but this woman had the top up and windows closed, presummably subjecting her nipples to frostbite from the turbo-charged, German engineered air conditioner cranking away. She probably didn't want to mess up her $250 style and permed "do." Go figure.
But it wasn't the sleek car, salon coif or erect nipples that commanded my attention. She was talking on a cell phone, which in and of itself certainly isn't uncommon. Altogether too many people use their cell phones while driving. However, this woman displayed a new twist in the sometimes dangerous world of multi-tasking. With cell phone firmly held to her head with her right hand, she repeatedly removed her left hand from the steering wheel (!) to make different hand gestures - apparently to emphasize specific points of her conversation. It was a palm up, palm down, index finger pointing, clenched fist plethora of hand signs, with steering the sporty $60,000 two-seater taking a non-existent backseat to these gestures.
Descending Avon Mountain in traffic is treacherous enough without pulling the kind of stunt this woman was doing. It's no wonder the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration has and continues to take long, hard looks at the distractions that contribute to "accidents."
Now consider this: all the hand gestures were wasted, as the person at the other end of the cell phone conversations wasn't able to see them!
WHAT: roadside store signage
WHERE: Dutchess County, NY
WHEN: Friday, July 2, 2004
As far as I'm concerned, there are far too many ostentatious and pretentious names for businesses. The latest on my hit list was spied while driving through Dutchess County in Eastern New York state. I didn't recall what town it was in, due in large part to the fact that the towns kind of blend together and form one long, boring string of sterile antique stores and upscale cafes and restaurants. But with a little help of the Internet, I found the town to be Pine Plains. The sign by the roadside read:
Well isn't that special? A word or two, sometimes a hyphen, and a brief description. And in all lower-case print! If you're a business owner and you think this type of thing is cute, then you should get your fucking head examined, because there's something seriously wrong with you.
Am I the only person on planet Earth who is completely fed up with such nonsense? Whatever happened to "Joe's Lunch" or "Main Hardware?"
I pray that sooner or later someone will start up or rename a business in the "crumpets spirit" and have a HUGE advertising budget that will allow them to proclaim:
a septic system waste removal service
WHAT: an item on a grocery store receipt
WHERE: from Price Rite, Torrington, CT
WHEN: Monday, June 28, 2004
It was right there on the itemized cash register receipt: PLASTIC BAG PURCHASE $ .03 T
"They're charging me for a plastic shopping bag in which to stuff groceries that I bought from them?" I fumed. I cursed. I swore. Fortunately, I was at home. Had I noticed this line item in the store, I may have made an embarrassing scene for which an apology would have ultimately been necessary. Let me explain.
Though initially outraged upon finding that Price Rite had the audacity to charge 3-cents for a plastic bag, the more I thought this one out, the more I liked the idea. There's some printing on the bag itself that states: "Reduce, Re-Use, Recycle" and "RE-USE THIS BAG FOR 2-CENTS CREDIT The Next Time You Shop!" So the actual cost of the bag, after rebate, if you will, is only 1-cent. By itemizing the cost of the bag on the register receipt and offering credit, as printed on the bag, Price Rite isn't just hiding the cost of these bags (which must be a significant number in total) by adding it to the cost of every item in their stores.
Not only that, but it reminded me of one of my yet-to-be fulfilled promises: to start bringing back some of those "paper in plastic" grocery bags that are so neatly folded in a pile under the sink and actually re-use them when I go shopping.
There's nothing wrong with raising the ecological awareness of one's customer base, not to mention provide a round-about lesson in the cost of doing business. Thank you, Shop Rite!
Food for thought ...
WHAT: a poster in a child's room
WHERE: the affluent town of West Hartford, Connecticut
WHEN: some time ago ...
Work this one day found me installing a slide-away keyboard system on a desk in a child's bedroom. The walls of the room were festooned with an odd collection of posters, but one in particular caught my attention: the one of Kobe Bryant. I wonder if, and if so, how the parents of the child explain what "accused rapist" means.
The fact that the poster remains on the wall after so much publicity of Kobe's current legal dilemma makes me wonder. However, this is the land of "innocent until proven guilty," unless you've been pegged as an "enemy combatant" ...
WHAT: a Nutmeg State cowboy
WHERE: Torrington, Texas - ah, Connecticut
WHEN: Monday night, March 29, 2004
I'm the last person in the world who should be critical of how other people choose to spend their free time. Seldom do I choose contructive activities to fill idle time. I won't bore you (or embarass myself) listing my favorite time killers. Meanwhile, back to the observation ...
On the way to a grocery store after meeting with some friends tonight, I was stopped at a traffic light across the street from a Knights of Columbus hall when something briefly appeared in a window of the KoC building. It returned to view and turned out being some guy wearing a black cowboy hat. Then he disappeared and returned to view seeming to be walking backwards.
Ah, square dancing! Yup, that's it. The good Catholics of Torrington had apparently rented out a room in their hall to someone conducting country dancing. While watching a few cycles of the particular step or dance they were practicing, the traffic light had turned green. Bemused with "Black Bart's" antics, I didn't see this. A car horn blared out one, long honk that shook me from this odd hypnosis. I didn't check my rear view mirror to see whether I was in front of some ever-alert and impatient Johnny-on-the-spot driver or someone had suffered a heart attack and slumped over the steering wheel and onto the car horn accuator.
Cowboy hats aren't real big here in Connecticut, so whenever I see someone wearing one I make a point of greeting them with a loud "Howdy!" It's my abbreviated (and safer) way of saying "Hello Mister All-Hat-No-Cattle" or "You look like an asshole in that hat." I suppose it's only a matter of time before such a greeting is going to cause a problem ...
WHAT: advertising on grocery carts
WHERE: in front of Stop and Shop, Barkhamstead, CT
WHEN: May 17, 2004
Perhaps it's a "man thing" or simply poor planning, but I don't grab a grocery cart when I hit the supermarket, instead opting for one of those hideous baskets that hold only 2/3 of what ultimately ends up being bought. So I can't remember when the last time I used a grocery cart.
While killing some time while my vehicle was getting an oil change, I walked by our local Stop and Shop supermarket. It was there where I spotted a grocery cart and for the first time noticed the advertising placards. We have to eat, so we have to shop. Can't we even push a grocery cart around without this insidious advertising staring us in the face?
Apparently not ...
Click here to see the Smart Source Marketing carts webpage.
WHAT: ABS taking control
WHERE: a parking lot in Winsted, Connecticut
WHEN: March 18, 2004
Snow has been falling on and off everyday for nearly a week, which is uncharacteristic for Connecticut and even more so considering that tomorrow is the first day of Spring! With the snow comes slippery driving. Having many Winters under my belt, I'm no stranger to the white stuff, however this year I feel like a new driver all over again.
My "new" pre-owned SUV, a 1993 Ford Explorer XLT, is equipped with ABS (automatic braking system) - seven years newer than my now-retired 1986 Bronco II (yes, I have a thing for Fords). While negotiating some slippery pavement, I apparently applied too much brake pressure and started to skid. Before I even had a chance to correct this error by gently pumping the brake pedal, the ABS kicked in, taking "control" of the situation at hand, or rather, the situation at foot. Although a bit unnerving. I'll get used to this seemingly obnoxious monitoring and questioning of, and ultimately infringement on my driving skills.
This got me to thinking about what would happen when a driver wanted to power-brake a vehicle equipped with ATC (automatic traction control) and ABS. There would have to be instants of time when the control systems' computers would be fighting one another due to conflicting input data - dueling computers, if you will.
And that reminded me of an old line of comedian and king of deadpan, Steven Wright:
"For my birthday I got a humidifier and a dehumidifier. I put them in the same room and let them fight it out."
WHAT: an odd road hazard
WHERE: westbound lane of Route 44 between Canton and Satan's Kingdom
WHEN: Saturday, February 28, 2004
As I rounded the curve on the crest of a hill, I spied a HUGE rock that had broken away from the roadside ledge. This mass of rock came to rest in the middle of the westbound lane of the highway and apparently someone had reported this hazard to the police, as there was not just one, but two state police cruisers at the scene: one on each side of the rock.
This seemed like overkill to me, as only westbound traffic needed to be warned of the hazard. Perhaps the first responder had previous experiences with such matters and called in for back-up. With two of them there, they could box the obstacle in, thus preventing the offender from escaping ...
WHAT: signage in front of health facilities
WHERE: Dutchess County, New York state
WHEN: February 4, 2004
I'm not certain whether it's a manifestation of "kinder, gentler" or "political correctness" but two signs recently viewed are symbolic of something that has swept across the land like a plague of locusts. One read "Dutchess Country Department of Mental Hygiene. Mental hygiene? Whatever happened to simple, mental health? Apparently using the term "mental health" to describe a facility conjures up negative images akin to those derived from reading the Kesey novel One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest or watching the video thereof. I don't know about you, but hygiene sounds more foreboding than health, at least to my ears.
The other sign read "Dutchess Center for Medical Arts. Tell me something: exactly when did medicine change from a science to an art? Are medical school courses a part of colleges' art departments?
WHAT: news blurbWHERE: WTIC-AM 1080
WHEN: Sunday, December 21, 2003
The UCONN women were playing basketball and WTIC was covering the game live. During a lull in the action, the board operator back at the station ran a news tickler announcing "Terrorist Alert raised to Orange; details after the game." To add insult to injury, or at least potential injury, after the game the station switched to the Clark Howard Show in-progress, apparently saving the Terrorist Alert news story for the next regularly scheduled news broadcast "on the half hour."
I don't know about you, but in my world, new of the Terrorist Alert system being raised takes presidence over ANY basketball game, college or professional. This judgment call on the part of WTIC further confirms my feelings of how short a memory span the vast majority of Americans have.
WHAT: Ad for Mercedes Benz
WHERE: Most frequently on WTIC-AM 1080
WHEN: Altogether too often
Disclaimers read at 1,700 word per minute at the end of already obnoxious commercials seriously piss me off. My target du jour is the tag end to a commercial I've heard far too many times on WTIC-AM 1080 of late.
This German automobile manufacturer, taking advantage of people's fear of driving in the rapidly approaching New England winter, is pushing their "four-matic" four wheel drive system. Fair enough. But are automobile consumers so stupid and/or litigious that Mercedes finds it necessary to add to the disclaimer that "best performance on snow and ice obtained with winter tires"?
One wants to believe that anyone with enough money to buy a new Mercedes equipped with four-matic four wheel drive has enough brains to already have the tire selection issue figured out. However, there's that old saying "more money than brains" ...
WHAT: A roadside sign
WHERE: Torrington, Connecticut
WHEN: Tuesday, November 4, 2003
It seemed like a simple and innocent enough shopping trip: swinging by the auto parts store to pick up some oil and a filter for a slightly past due oil change on my 1986 Ford Bronco II. Weirdness in the new millennium sneaks up on us everywhere, or so it seems.
Shopping completed and loading said oil and filter into my trusty steed, I noticed a few temporary signs by the roadside with the Advance Autoparts logo on them. Never one to want to miss a special, closeout or bargain, I checked out the signs only to find they were hawking "Jumbo Cashews $4.88 full pound."
Cashews on sale at an auto parts store? Maybe I'm slow, but I don't get it. Hey, I'm all for product line diversification, but shouldn't there be some kind of connection between lines than "working on your car can be hard work, so keep your energy level up with some high protein cashews?"
So be it known that the Torrington franchise of Advance Auto Parts not only carries lug nuts, Tinnerman nuts and acorn nylock nuts, but cashew nuts, too! I wonder who the nut was that came up with that marketing idea ...
WHAT: signage in a store front window
WHERE: West Hartford, Connecticut
WHEN: Monday, October 27, 2003
Can someone please tell me why Farmington Avenue Pizza, a small, hole in the wall generic pizza joint, considers it necessary to have, let alone promote with signage, their own website, fapizza.com?
Oh, what the hell. I suppose there are some asking why I need my website. When I'm pointing a finger someone else's way, there are three fingers pointing back ...
WHAT: Robert Whitley
WHERE: The Travel Show on WSNG-AM 610
WHEN: Saturday, October 4, 2003
While talking about the recent demise of a number of tour operators and the resultant travelers stranded abroad, Robert Whitley, of the U.S. Tour Operators Association, kept referring to some Mediterranean country by the name of "Itly."
I'll grant you that Whitley isn't necessarily a broadcast professional, but more probably just an association representative willing to be interviewed on a radio program. However, by dropping the middle letter/syllable from the spoken word "Italy." he doesn't exactly strike me as being terribly professional, let alone literate.
Or perhaps Whitley is a graduate of the G.W. Bush School of Enunciation...
WHAT: a guest on the Ernst and Young radio program
WHERE: WTIC-AM 1080
WHEN: Sunday, August 31, 2003 at about 6:40 P.M.
An attorney from the law firm Wiggins and Dana was being interviewed on the program. This man made reference to "experienced lawyering."
Attention lawyers: lawyer is a noun. If you're going to charge $120 per hour or more, you should at least exhibit superior command of the English language. To conveniently start "verbing nouns" does nothing to support your hourly rate or retainer fees.
Practice law, not Slacker's English.
WHAT: Poor sportsmanship at UCONN football game
WHERE: Renschler Field, East Hartford CT
WHEN: Saturday, August 30, 2003
A wall of sound consisting in large part of boos was what greeted the visiting team as they took to the field on the opening day to this new venue - "home" to the UCONN Husky football team. It's funny how their "home" field is 20 miles or more off campus.
Times have brought changes, some of which aren't for the good. When I was brought up, we were taught to say please and thank you. We held doors open for women to pass. Applause was acceptable, but booing was considered ill behavior and poor sportsmanship.
Yet at this high profile, local sporting event, supposedly educated fans in the stands welcomed its visitors with boos.
For shame!
And no, I wasn't at the game. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't attend a game at Renschler even if I were given free tickets for primo seating. In my opinion, there’s entirely too much attention, time and money devoted to collegiate sports, including UCONN. The poor sportsmanship exhibited by sports fans at Renschler’s very first game further solidifies my resolve.
WHAT: Three power outages and one brownout
WHERE: 480 Main Street, Winsted CT
WHEN: Saturday morning and afternoon, August 30, 2003
With the recent big power outage freshly burned into memory, my thoughts immediately toggled into paranoia mode. Then came the questions. How widespread was the power interruption? Was this just a problem in the building where I was or had the entire neighborhood been affected? Could it be town wide? Statewide? Regional?
Or was it simply another squirrel scampering across a high voltage insulator somewhere on the Ohio power grid causing the majority of the northeast quadrant of the United States to be plunged into forced energy conservation?
Yeah, that’s it: just another suicidal squirrel that had coincidentally found a critical weak point of our power grid. It's the truth. I have a witness: the Easter Bunny saw the whole thing and Santa Claus will corraborate.
WHAT: A sign on a store entrance door
WHERE: Ledgebrook Plaza, Winsted, CT
WHEN: August 28, 2003 around 3 P.M.
We've all seen them before: signs warning, "Shoplifters will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law." Fine. I understand. The stuff on the shelves is for sale, not free. Got it!
However, the sign and its familiar message were different. This particular sign was affixed to the door a mere 18-inches up from ground level, so just whom were the storeowners warning?
I'm 6'6" tall, so this sign definitely wasn't directed at me. Toddlers or babies can't read, so it wasn't targeting them. So one can only assume that it was the Little People who were in the sights of the storeowners in the interest of striking fear in the hearts of dwarfs, midgets or otherwise vertically challenged citizens afflicted with kleptomania.
In this kinder, gentler, politically correct day and age, it's only a matter of time before some national association of little people comes to Winsted to boycott this store. They'll be in for a surprise, though, as the store has been unoccupied for some time and is undergoing renovations.
WHAT: A hyperlink that read "Advertorial"
WHERE: The New York Times web site
WHEN: August 28, 2003
I didn't even bother to click the hyperlink, as I suspected it was going to lead me to an editorial written by some commercial interest. Over the course of any given day, I'm subjected to too many advertisements as it is, and don't need to be hit broadside by a New York Times advertiser.
This is yet another freshly invented word where some editor commands a word processor's spell checker to ignore the misspelling and add this new word to the program's dictionary. It's similar to how diseases spread.
WHAT: Quotes worthy of note
WHERE: The WEEI Red Sox Radio Network
WHEN: During some of pro baseball's 2003 season games
I know, I know. Yes, I'm a Red Sox fan. I don't believe in The Curse. Miracles do happen. But I digress ...
Over the past baseball season I've heard a few interesting things on the radio broadcasts originated by the WEEI Red Sox Radio Network, aired by our local station, WTIC-AM 1080. These broadcasts include a collection of "crowd noise" mixed into the background of the show from several microphones placed around the stadium. And sometimes funny things are heard during these live broadcasts.
To wit, on August 31 during game three of a Sox/Yanks series, bottom of the 8th inning when White of the Yankees was on the pitcher's mound, a female Red Sox fan could clearly be heard yelling out "White, you ain't got shit!" Apparently the engineer in charge of mixing the remote was too wrapped up in the game to hear this, as it went on for the better part of the inning before another crowd microphone was chosen for background noise.
Common in Yankees versus Red Sox games is that ever familiar "Yankees Suck!" chant. This particular chant is difficult to mix out of the broadcast, because nearly every Red Sox fan in the crowd yells this.
And perhaps one of my all time favorites is how WEEI broadcasters describe when a batter "fouls" a pitched ball and it hits the catcher: "That one was fouled off the catcher's equipment. I hope I'm not the only listener that wonders if this is a polite way of saying that the catcher just took a foul ball in the nuts. Gotta watch out for your equipment, you know ...
WHAT: A segment on the news
WHERE: Somewhere on the radio dial
WHEN: August 2003, exact date unrecorded
I heard this one during a news broadcast on the radio, so it had to be either WTIC AM 1080 or one of the NPR stations on FM. The report said:
"A certain percentage of 'clinically infected horses' would fall prey to the equine strain of the West Nile virus."
I'll grant you that it has been quite a few years since I sat down to a boring 44-minute class of senior English in high school, but doesn't (or couldn't) that news blurb imply that the horses were infected while in clinics?