Monthly Archives: October 2004


When did communication become such a lost art? It seems as though these days interacting with people either involves walking on eggshells, playing games, being as unspecific as possible (so you don’t have to make a permanant decision), or its just outright lying.

There is no reason whatsoever why I should be sitting here, over a month after meeting Ashley and have absolutely no idea at all what her feelings are, or what her “plan” is. All I know is that it involves the phrase “I don’t know”. There is no reason for life to be this complicated. And there is no reason for any form of games. I shouldn’t have to play hard to get, and either should she. We talk constantly, and I constantly try to make plans, and it constant doesn’t happen, all for what appears to be legitimate reasons, but what the hell? Why do I not even know if she likes me?

And to you, “Katie” what the hell is the deal with giving me your number? why even say anything? better yet, why not tell me to fuck off? It was your idea in the first place.

For any girl that happens to read this.
if you are:
a) not insane
b) capable of having a sense of humor
c) not interested in dragging someone along until he takes one of these routes

Then email me (link taken out since I already found that girl)

Something is wrong with this country

So the Red Sox won the world series. whoopty doo!

I can understand feeling a little pride and excitement since it is our hometown team, but
the thing is, its a sport, a sport none of us play, none of us have an investment in, and
technically, a sport this is ripping us off.

I’ve played baseball all throughout my childhood, and I have my reasons for not getting
excited about it anymore, mostly because I sucked at it, and to top it off, Major League
Baseball is essentially a bunch of cry babies getting paid millions to cry when it rains.
They don’t cancel football when it rains…or when it snows. And they are a lot more badass.

The main point I am trying to “hit out of the ball park” is that the baseball is nothing
but a form of entertainment. the Red Sox is the equivelant of a popular cult movie.

When was the last time the world stopped when a movie made billions in the box office? or
when an actor won an emmy?

Now here is the problem:

On 9/11…you know, that day that 4 planes were hijacked, the pentagon was crashed into,
the world trade center was demolished, 343 fire fighters died, 3,000 some odd (or more?)
people died, and 100+ cops died. It was the biggest event in modern history on american
soil, at least in my opinion. On that day my work got about 8.8 million page views. and we
would have far surpassed that on 9/12 had we not hit the (at that point in time) bandwidth
limit on the site when we got 9.5 million page views. This was a major major event in US,
or better yet world history. It looked like the world was going to end, and more and more
news was pouring in as the days went on.

Now, the day AFTER the Red Sox won the world series, basically AFTER everyone in the free
world already knew the Red Sox had won, my work got over 20 million page views. 20 million
for old news, 20 million to look at a bunch of photo galleries of what everyone had
already seen live (and on the news, and everywhere else) the night before.

And that is what is wrong with the world today.

Aerosmith had it right all along

i hate lincoln

I have never been a Ford fan. I have also never been a foreign car fan. Although GM messed up royally discontinuing the firebird and the camaro, my allegiance has always been to them. So why do you ask did I buy a Lincoln LS? which, is actually built off of the Jaguar S-something (the S is for suck) platform.

I got it because I had a few simple demands when I was looking for a “reliable”,”new” car.

1. It had to be a V8. Why? I dont like cars with a smaller engine than that. I don’t like the high engine RPMs that lower displacement engines have to reach to produce power, and I just don’t like the feel.

2. It had to be rear wheel drive, because I hate front wheel drive, and don’t believe it is actually any safer. The police (and race car drivers) have been driving rear wheel drive cars for decades, and it is for a reason.

3. It had to be american. Yes, I know I technically bought a foreign car, but at the time I thought I found a loophole. I don’t like foreign cars, I dont like the way they drive, I dont like the way they feel, and I don’t buy into the whole “foreign cars last longer” mentality. Half the foreign cars you buy these days are made down the street from Ford or GM, same type of people working on them, same technology.

So what is all this about? It’s about me getting screwed over yet again.

My car is a 2000 Lincoln LS. Granted its not brand new, its pretty damn close compared to what I used to drive. I have had problems with the lug nuts on this car since I can remember. The first time I got a flat tire, I rounded off 1 lug nut, and snapped another one in half. Apparantly I am he-man. Push comes to shove, I had to get 2 wheel studs replaced, and pry off the rounded off lug nut with a chisel, locking pliers, and a crowbar.

This brings us to the winter of 2003. Come the first snow storm, my tires were getting stuck in everything, and my car was next to undrivable (no, it was not because of rear wheel drive). So, I did the right thing and bought 4 brand spanking new, top of the line, thoroughly reviewed snow tires, mounted and balanced on brand new rims. Why brand new rims? because its $96/tire for 16″ tires, but the 17″ version (which is the rims that came with my car) cost $240/tire. I bought them from, and since is awesome, they sent the tires to my house, all ready to go, complete with new lug nuts. Shiny…regular…new….lug nuts, unlike the butter ones that came with my car. So I took my old lug nuts and tossed them. I tossed them with extreme predjudice, and possible laughed maniacally as they dropped one by one into the trash barrel.

now we reach the summer. Apparantly my awesome snow tires have the opposite effect in the rain. I would fish tail and spin out constantly, and then one day, I lost control of the car going a SLOW SPEED, and NOT DRUNK (john…) and slammed into the guard rail on route 1. So it was time to put the original tires back on. Oh! but I threw out those lug nuts. Why don’t I just use the lug nuts currently on the car you ask? because the factory rims use “special” lug nuts. You can’t buy them aftermarket. Go ahead and look. Not online, not at Autozone, not anywhere.

I tried improvising, and found some lug nuts at autozone that looked pretty damn close, but they wernt close enough, and the lug nuts would either not clamp down enough, or would gradually loosen, both of which lead to unhappy things possibly happening while driving. I was waiting to be driving down the highway and watching my front tire go flying by.

The ONLY place you can get these magical lug nuts from (and they do look weird) is from the dealership. and Those communists at the lincoln dealership have the nerve to charge $8 per lug nut! thats $40 per tire!

There is no way in hell I am going to pay $160, plus whatever bullshit labor they charge, since my car is currently at the dealership getting the 20,000th squeak looked at, for stupud lug nuts. “Regular” lug nuts cost 50 cents at autozone. 50 cents!

I can get 4 brand new tires, mounted and balanced in place of the 4 snow tires I have, for $300.

I say screw jaguar, screw the UK, screw lincoln, and screw ford.

I can’t wait until I get a garage.


Thinking about this now, I think that if someone happened to be walking by my car and looked inside, they would have found this odd.

This was the contents in the back seat of my car:

1) a plastic shopping bag filled with loose hay
2) a cowboy hat
3) a 24 pack case of busch
4) a half empty (or half full?) jug of wine
5) an energy drink crammed in between the driver and passenger seat
6) a couple articles of clothing
8) a dead midget

okay, the midget part was a lie

Good Will Hunting

I think this is one of the best lines ever. Mostly because anyone that knows me knows I am a mental case and would say things like this:

Why shouldn’t I work for the N.S.A.? That’s a tough one, but I’ll give it a shot. Say I’m working at N.S.A. Somebody puts a code on my desk, something nobody else can break. So I take a shot at it and maybe I break it. And I’m real happy with myself, ’cause I did my job well.

But maybe that code was the location of some rebel army in North Africa or the Middle East. Once they have that location, they bomb the village where the rebels were hiding and fifteen hundred people I never had a problem with get killed. Now the politicians are sayin’, “Send in the marines to secure the area” ’cause they don’t give a shit. It won’t be their kid over there, gettin’ shot. Just like it wasn’t them when their number was called, ’cause they were pullin’ a tour in the National Guard. It’ll be some guy from Southie takin’ shrapnel in the ass.

And he comes home to find that the plant he used to work at got exported to the country he just got back from. And the guy who put the shrapnel in his ass got his old job, ’cause he’ll work for fifteen cents a day and no bathroom breaks. Meanwhile my buddy from Southie realizes the only reason he was over there was so we could install a government that would sell us oil at a good price.

And of course the oil companies used the skirmish to scare up oil prices so they could turn a quick buck. A cute little ancillary benefit for them but it ain’t helping my buddy at two-fifty a gallon. And naturally they’re takin’ their sweet time bringin’ the oil back, and maybe even took the liberty of hiring an alcoholic skipper who likes to drink martinis and play slalom with the icebergs, and it ain’t too long ’til he hits one, spills the oil and kills all the sea life in the North Atlantic.

So my buddy’s out of work and he can’t afford to drive, so he’s got to walk to the job interviews, which sucks ’cause the shrapnel in his ass is givin’ him chronic hemorrhoids. And meanwhile he’s starvin’ ’cause every time he tries to get a bite to eat the only blue plate special they’re servin’ is North Atlantic scrod with Quaker State. So what do I think? I’m holdin’ out for somethin’ better. Why not just shoot my buddy, take his job and give it to his sworn enemy, hike up gas prices, bomb a village, club a baby seal, hit the hash pipe and join the National Guard? I could be elected president.

On a side note, Good Will Hunting was released in 1997. Does this story sound familiar to anything at all?


Why is it that people feel the need to clap and cheer when watching movies or sporting events?

Clapping and cheering is a form of applauding. And applauding something is “To commend highly; praise”

So why clap when watching the game? why cheer? why start chants? and why give a STANDING OVATION at the end of a movie?

guess what? Ben Affleck isn’t in the theater. Either is Stephen Spielberg. None of them will ever know you liked the movie. In fact, they don’t even care. All they know is that you just paid $9.50 to watch the movie. You can hate it for all they care.

And when I go into a restaurant for a meal, why are bells ringing and people yelling and cheering every time someone moves during “the game”. Guess what? you all are losers and don’t have tickets to the game, so you’re pretending to be there at a crappy Fridays in peabody?

When I become president, I am going to model a law after how stealing works in Turkey. If you clap or cheer, or give standing ovations when you there is absolutely no reason to, your hand gets chopped off, then you can “one hand clap” until you pass out. Which hopefully you will.

I for one, and going to give a silent applaud to all quadra and parapalegics. They are the only ones that have it down.

The Good Smaritan

I was getting my hair cut today at great cuts, you know the place that secretly went from $9.99/cut to $12.99.

This guy comes in with his little kid, probably like 10 years old, and he looks all distraught and obviously not happy, and says “is there a payphone around here I could use?” the bitch hair dresser type that was cutting my hair says no. Now that brings a couple things to mind.

1) Isn’t she curious what the deal is with this frantic guy?
2) Who uses pay phones any more?
3) she couldn’t just say “No, but you can use the phone 5 feet from my lazy head”?

Since I have the easiest hair cut on the planet, I am in and out of that place in like 10 minutes, and that is including the time it takes to punch my “10th hair cut free” card. Just so you know, my next hair cut is #10! woohoo! free hair cut. So I go outside, and I see that the guy and his kid are in the next parking lot over, and the guy is bent over doing completely wrong things to the battery area of his sweet sweet station wagon. For some reason, my little heart grew like in the grinch who stole christmas, only instead of giving all the presents back to the wumples, or whatever they were called, I figured I would give him a hand. So i tell him I would come around, and try to give him a jump.

The best part about giving people a jump with my car is that the battery is in the trunk, so, whenever I help someone, they give me this look like I am a shithead or something, so, after I explain that, then he says that the jumper cables wont reach. I think at the point I knocked him out so that he could relax for a couple minutes. I have 20ft long cables. Its allllllll covered. His battery of course was really gone. So, I tell him, I have nowhere important to be, if he wants to charge it for a while, I dont mind waiting, at which point he asks me where am I going, so at this point I am thinking, man, it would be pretty awesome if this guy was a serial killer or something. For all I know that kid he is with is kidnapped, so I decide to play it out, You know the old saying “Dont dis it until you try it”. For all I know hanging out with a serial killer could be fun. So I tell him that ironically enough, I was going to autozone, but he needed to go to the one on rt 16, so I let him use my cell phone, he calls his wife, and she was going to meet us at Mr. Tux, which is right off of rt 1, so it isnt that far out of the way. So him and his “son” hop into the car, and away we go.

We get to Mr. Tux, his wife is waiting, and she also looks real happy. Then he yells to his wife, hey get out some money, and i am thinking oh sweet, I get paid? I did the whole no grandma, I dont want any christmas money routine, but he didn’t buy it and I made off like a bandit with $10 in cold hard cash 2 abe lincolns actually.

Water on the fire town

So this weekend, we go to visit Cheryl at the lovely Summer Shack, which we later realized is actually called the Summer Rack. Apparantly all the waitresses have the same “abnormalities”.
After we eat, Cheryl tells us she has 1 table left, and to go to kappys and then go to her house and start a fire in her back yard.

So we go to Kappys. I am wondering around picking my fate, and John and Janelle are in the back looking through the beer selection.

Meanwhile, the 2 guys minding the store are actually drinking up front where no one can sell them, yelling and joking around. From where I am, I can hear them but not seem them, and from John and Janelle are, they can hear yelling, but thats it. So John thinks the worst. He hears yelling, and he doesn’t see me, so he decides I am probably being held hostage by some robbers. When he told this later, I was suprised he didn’t think I was holding the store up. So while I am looking at the fine selection of liquor, janelle finds me, and from the back of the store whispers for me, and hurridly signals me to get back there. Then all of a sudden, john jumps out of nowhere, maybe from the ceiling, and with the look of death on his face, and tells me to get back there.

Apparantly we were under attack.

So I get back there, and he is like,
John: whats going on up there?
and still being oblivious..
Me: say, what do you mean?
John: I keep hearing yelling up there, is the place being robbed?
Me: what? no? haha, the guy was telling some crappy joke
John: he was? are you sure? I had the back door all staked out and was ready to bust out of here.

So we paid for our merchandise from the drunk (and high) salesman and left.

Now, in her back yard is this nice little metal fire pit type deal, maybe some day there will be a picture of it. Anyway, we grab some trigs, a log, paper, and leaves (because leaves are fun to burn) and try to get the fire going. Apparantly we all suck. the damn thing wouldnt light. The real problem is that all of us are too lazy to setup a real fire, and, its all wet out. So I do what any 23 year old male would do. Ask myself “what would McGyver do?”

I see the can of gasoline, a bucket of water, a propane tank, a grill, some random 2×4’s, a beer can, and one of those red party cups.

John’s idea (those damn engineers…) is to take the regulator off the grill, put it under the fire put, hook the other end up to the propane tank and screw making a real fire.

Personally I thought my idea was better (but more sane?). Fill the party cup with gas, and lob it into the embers of the fire from our previous failed attempt, and then run.

So…I proceed with my plan, and low and behold…nothing happens. From what I have understood throughout my life, gas + fumes + sparks or flames=big inferno. Apparantly not.

While standing there trying to figure out why the gas suddenly became non-flammable, the fire pit turns into a nice fireball, so we think everything is great, and that we have success! a fire.

but no. the fire just goes out minutes later. But I am still stuck on this whole gasoline plan, and worse, all that is left is the (almost) empty beer can, and I was curious if you fill a can with gas, then throw it in a fire…does the can explode? or does it just make the fire bigger. John and I can’t decide, and come to the conlusion a test is in order, so I fillt he can half way with gas…

now keep in mind that Cheryl, the owner of the apartment, still isnt home from work yet..

So me, being “safety conscious” has everyone back up, and I throw the can into the fire pit and run like a baby. As expected….nothing happens. zero. Not even a “poof”.

Now we have a big problem. A beer can full of gas, surrounded by at the very least glowing embers, and it is not burning. I tried fanning the fire, hoping that would make flames big enough to get the can, but nothing. John has the idea to take one of the 2×4’s and use that to push can around in the fire, and maybe empty it out.

Now the beer can is emptied out, and there is still no fire. fucking fire. Who fails at making a fire with a can of gasoline?

now Cheryl comes home, and decides to “buy wood” who does that? weird city people, thats who. Those same people that ride bikes through the city. So I go with Cheryl to “buy” wood. According to her, Home Depot was open 24 hours in her area, and Star Market usually has wood too. I decide Home Depot is a much better place to buy wood, because no matter what, there has to be something in that building that can be burned.

Try messing with that logic.

Of course Home Depot is closed, So we go to Start Market, and they have no wood. They have those duraflame logs, and thats it. But don’t worry, we got the colored duraflame logs. Who likes boring orange flames anyway!

so we get two of them, lite the corners of the duraflame log on fire, and put it in the pit that in theory still has “gas” in it. and sure enough, as expected, the “3 hours of burn time” duraflame log puts itself out within 2 minutes.

And thats when I started drinking. Stupid sexy flanders.

after John started working on it, and we threw both duraflame logs in there the fire finally started to pick up.

now…while this is going on. A couple people in the group kept commenting on how the neighbors fire was really going now, and we should go hang with them, because their fire doesn’t suck.

meanwhile, Cheryl for some reason had a hack saw, and I used it to cut up all the 2×4’s and we soon had a small bon fire.

now everyone is really liking this neighbors fire. Theirs is really going too! So everyone is looking at their fire (notice anything yet?) and I turn to John and quietly say
“I am going to end up sounding like an ass, but everyone knows thats the reflection of our fire right?”

hahaha…oh yeah, thats right. It was the reflection of our fire on the neighbors porch window or something. hahaha.

So now we are all happy. Life is good. Its a nice night out, we have a good fire going, we’re all just hanging around drinking, then someone notices the reflection of flashing lights on one of the neighbors houses, and then you hear the sound of the hydraulic breaks on a fire truck.

Now I think to myself..shit…this won’t look good, and go grab the gas can and the propane tank and hide them, and then go move everything as far away from the fire as possible.

See…look Mr. Occifer, we are responsible.

So the fire truck finally makes it to Cheryls house. It decided the street was too busy so it went around to the back instead. some guy comes over, and tells us to put the fire out, because in Watertown you arn’t allowed to have any open fires.

Then walks away…

So Cheryls boyfriend grabs the precious cooler full of water (how is that for foreshadowing!) that was being used to “collect rain water for the plants” and puts the fire out. Now Cheryl is unhappy about this. That was her plants water. Now what are they going to drink? Evian? Desani? that shit is dirty. Rain water is the way to go. Personally I think the fire truck should have put it out. It drove all the way over. Do some work.

And then out comes the crazy russians.

Russians you say? oh yeah…real ones. Broken english and all. Some russian couple lives in an apartment that overlooks Cheryls back yard, and apparantly the guy is a real light sleeper because he constantly complains, and yells, and threatens everyone. They have all failed in the past. John even had to escort him out of the back yard before. But this time this russian wasn’t messing around. Forget about the russian mafia, forget about the KGB…he sent his wife, and she was pissed.

The best thing about people with thick accents is that the louder/angrier/faster they talk, the less intelligible they are. This lady was rambling like no tomorrow. She claims she had called the cops, and her and her husband work all week, and he has to work tomorrow and this and that. We all do too, in fact some of us had to work the next day, and we were just talking outside, no music or anything. So just when you think it is over, the old crotchety man pokes his head out his window and starts yelling from a safe distance, while his wife was fighting the real battle on the ground (like how France operates)

They eventually went away.

And the constant threat of communism was put to rest for another week.