If you have seen any form of media recently, you know that Tim Russert died abruptly of a heart attack. When most public figures die, I must admit that I really don't get broken up about it. I don't feel any personal connection in these instances. With Tim Russert, however, I felt like like I was losing someone close to me. It's not as much sad as it is a testament to this man. He has plenty of media people talking about how he was so significant in peoples' lives so I will leave it to them, The Experts.
As far as the "someone else," I will back up a bit. I was watching the NBC Nightly News tonight with a segment on Mr. Russert. Yes, it was sad, but there was something else. It felt familiar. The way I felt watching this segment reminded me of another public figure in the DC area who wasn't as well known as Tim Russert, but he had the same ability to relate to people: Glen Brenner, a local TV News Sports Anchor Man...the funniest TV News Reporter I ever did see.
When my family moved to the DC area, Glen Brenner became the area's unofficial ambassador. I would seldom miss his reports, because anything could happen during them. He would make fun of his co-anchors or go off on tangents. He would make me laugh. Glen Brenner made watching the News a True Event.
This describes him fairly well:
"The infectious zeal for life that Brenner had could not help but make all those around him more fun. His chemistry with his channel 9 colleagues, especially Gordon Peterson (who is still on local TV), was magical. He was irreverent without being snarky (something ESPN could learn from) and a joy to watch."
Unfortunately, he died of brain tumor. He had been off the air for months following a “vascular event” in his brain that occurred as he finished the 1991 Marine Corps Marathon. He was only 44 years old.
I am sure that if he hadn't died so young, you would know his name too. Just like Tim Russert, he could relate to people. It shows that if you extend yourself a little, you won't be forgotten. I haven't forgotten him.
Here he is...the Funny Man...
Making fun of a co-anchor's Asian Style Dress:
Making fun of Gordon Peterson:
Laughing at a Bull Rider who gets stomped in The Pills.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Brother Tim in South America
My Brother Tim (not Brother Tim like a monk, but my brother) is in South America..for eight months. He is currently learning Spanish and traveling around Ecuador. He'll visit numerous countries along the way, including my second homeland, Chile.
Lucky Guy, traveling the globe and experiencing all kinds of new things! Good for you Tim!
Other ideas for photo poses:
The Hungry Man: http://images.inmagine.com/img/ingram/inggl/1525r80927.jpg
The Graduate: http://www.photoimages.com/portraits/hendlge.jpg
The Happy Distraction: http://bleedingcheese.com/images/family%20portrait%20002.jpg
The White Family on the floor: http://www.bracedoctor.com/Images/Portrait_family_sm.jpg
Oops, Tim has a buddy! http://www.rstolley.com/ReflectivePose.jpg
Maybe it's a secret society: http://farm1.static.flickr.com/157/402682039_4943f70112.jpg?v=0
looks like a valley.
I see this pose in cheesy Prom Photos. I call it "The Thinker."
He is a long way from Maryland..and his home, The Virgin Islands.
There he is again..The Thinker! This time, looking toward the heavens for dramatic effect.
Lucky Guy, traveling the globe and experiencing all kinds of new things! Good for you Tim!
Other ideas for photo poses:
The Hungry Man: http://images.inmagine.com/img/ingram/inggl/1525r80927.jpg
The Graduate: http://www.photoimages.com/portraits/hendlge.jpg
The Happy Distraction: http://bleedingcheese.com/images/family%20portrait%20002.jpg
The White Family on the floor: http://www.bracedoctor.com/Images/Portrait_family_sm.jpg
Oops, Tim has a buddy! http://www.rstolley.com/ReflectivePose.jpg
Maybe it's a secret society: http://farm1.static.flickr.com/157/402682039_4943f70112.jpg?v=0
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Ireland 1997: The Curse of Rob
Over ten years ago, I traveled to Ireland with my brother Pat and my childhood friend, Rob. We spent six days, driving around the country, with the primary goal of seeing as many "touristy" places as possible less than a week. We saw a lot: A literary bar crawl in Dublin, a St. Patrick's Day parade in Galway, and a tour of the Cliffs of Moher. The most noteworthy experience relates not to the tourist attractions, but an unfortunate illness which befell my friend Rob and its effect (ie, doodie) on the unlucky town of Ennis.
The story begins with Rob's affinity for Guinness beer. The moment we set foot in the Dublin airport, Rob and I celebrated our arrival by ordering a Guinness. If you are familiar with Guiness, you know it is more like a milkshake than a beer. For this reason, it is very difficult for me to consume one quickly, let alone a second. My friend Rob, on the other hand, could put one down in about two seconds. His ability didn't diminish with a second one..or a third..or a seventh. My brother and I marveled at his peculiarity..or dark gift. Just like any dark gift though, this one had its downside.
After leaving Dublin, we traveled to Galway via rental car. Galway, Ireland, is a sea town on the West Coast, known for the famed Irish Fisherman's sweater. I know it as the place where they serve dirty beer. After walking around Galway on a March afternoon, my brother and I found Rob at a mangy old bar. An empty glass of Guinness sat in front of him. With his back facing us, he chatted with an elderly Irish Gent who looked to be about 107 years old (and who seemed to be sitting in that same chair for around 102 of those years). It seemed that Rob had found a kindred spirit. Their faces were close to each other as they appeared in deep conversation. Maybe they spoke of the old country and times long since passed as the ancient one bestowed his knowledge on young Rob. If so, the old man's advice didn't include a warning to not drink Guinness beer from keg lines that hadn't been cleaned since Darby O'Gill was the same size as The Little People.
The day we left Galway was the day Rob became ill with stomach problems. We could not travel more than an hour without Rob having to stop to visit the facility. When he wasn't at a rest stop, Rob could be seen slumped over in the back seat, eyes closed, in a cold sweat. The illness made poor Rob extremely lethargic. Rob was always two steps behind us, unless he had to go to the bathroom. After each each rest stop visit, he'd lumber into the backseat of the car and fall asleep. If I had been more aware, I would have known that Rob was leaving a path of destruction in our wake. I wouldn't be surprised if the folks in these small villages had to sleep outside for a couple of days, just like other disaster victims who lack faith in the soundness of recently affected structures.
Finally, we arrived in an Irish town named Ennis and stopped at a Bed and Breakfast. At least in 1997, the idea of a B&B basically meant that anyone with extra rooms in their home could hang a shingle outside and call it charming. What this meant for us is that we were basically staying in someone's house. This house, I mean B&B, had one bathroom. In addition to our presence, the 'staff' included a mean-looking Maintenance Man, the owner, who was the spitting image of my deceased grandmother, and a mischievous gnome.
We never saw the gnome. He was like a ghost in a horror movie whom you never can get a good look at..only shadows and glimpses. We knew about the gnome, because each time one of us would walk downstairs (where they lived) to take a shower, we'd see a little shadow followed by a whoosh. Then the bathroom door would slam shut, followed by the sound of the lock turning. Maybe twenty minutes later, we'd hear the lock turn again and the sound of the bathroom door slamming and another whooosh, indicating the gnome's departure from the bathroom and back to his room. I guess he wanted us to know our place in the pecking order. Maybe he enjoyed inflicting frustration on unknowing travelers. Either way, he would pay dearly.
The morning we left the Ennis B&B was 'D Day.' As we began to pack our things and get on the road, Rob excused himself to visit the bathroom. This time, he beat the gnome. About ten minutes later he walked back upstairs. He looked a bit concerned but we didn't take note. For the past two days, Rob had moved sooo slowly. We were used to stopping while walking so he could catch up. On this morning, Rob moved like a seasoned Delta Force Commando with a mission to pack a suitcase and leave a building within 15 seconds. Without giving us time to even think, we heard Rob say "Guys, you look like you'll need some time to get ready. I'm gonna hang out outside. I'll see you in the car." Before we could respond, he was gone. Out of site. Like the gnome.
My brother and I looked at each other like "What the heck just happened? What's his problem?" Keep in mind we were still waking up and not yet fully conscious. We proceeded to pack our bags. Then, ever so slowly, a MERCILESS ODOR quickly wafted into the room. We looked at each other again. This time, our expressions expressed panic. We've been set up by ROB. Rob had known what happened in that bathroom and only knew one Law of Impending Disaster: Every man for himself. Run. Flee. Save yourself, Man. Get out of there.
As my brother and I stood in fear and bewilderment (and disgust), we heard the whooosh of the gnome. The gnome was racing towards the bathroom. The next few moments went as followed:
9:30 am and 19 seconds: whooosh
9:30 am and 22 seconds: slam! (door to bathroom)
9:30 am and 25 seconds: sound of the lock turning.
Count off slowly.....One, Two, Three.....
9:30 am and 29 seconds: sound of the lock frantically turning the other way...Slam!.....Whoooosh!
The gnome had just walked into a cocoon of horror and got out of that bathroom as fast as he could. Though we didn't have the seemingly miraculous, cat-like reflexes of a reborn Rob, we knew we must get out of the building as quickly and silently as possible to avoid detection. Maybe they'd blame it on the gnome. My brother Pat went first and I followed behind. With our bags in hand, we exited the room, and proceeded to walk down the stairs.
It was early still, so we thought perhaps we could leave unnoticed. We still had the audacity of hope. As we walked down the stairs, we could see the corner that led to the front door, the door to freedom. Our chances improved with each step down. The morning sun peered through the windows of the first floor. But this is no After School Special and there's no happy ending. Every tale of woe has its victim and in this case it was my brother Pat.
As we reached the bottom of the stairs, the door to the bathroom was right in front of us. Suddenly, a second door to the right, furiously swung open. It was the angry-looking maintenance man, looking especially sour. Since Pat was in front of me, he bared the full fury of the maintenance man. Both of his hands were occupied. In case Pat needed help understanding the situation, the maintenance man held his hands up in dramatic fashion. In one, he held a match box and the other...a nice, long match. His face contorted into a frightening configuration and he opened his mouth, as if to speak. Only he didn't. He was an animal now.
GRRRRRRR!!!!!!
He actually growled at my brother.
We didn't stick around to initiate diplomatic dialogue. The maintenance man reached his goal: to identify and shame the violator. In this case, the true violator was sitting in the car..probably checking out his hair in the rear view mirror or simply enjoying the Irish morning sun.
Epilogue: To this day, all three of us still recall the incident. Rob particularly enjoys the story. He has made me retell it numerous times, like the day after his wedding, in front of his extended family, including numerous 80-year old ladies. No matter who or how many people there are in the room at the time, Rob is always the one who laughs the loudest.
The story begins with Rob's affinity for Guinness beer. The moment we set foot in the Dublin airport, Rob and I celebrated our arrival by ordering a Guinness. If you are familiar with Guiness, you know it is more like a milkshake than a beer. For this reason, it is very difficult for me to consume one quickly, let alone a second. My friend Rob, on the other hand, could put one down in about two seconds. His ability didn't diminish with a second one..or a third..or a seventh. My brother and I marveled at his peculiarity..or dark gift. Just like any dark gift though, this one had its downside.
After leaving Dublin, we traveled to Galway via rental car. Galway, Ireland, is a sea town on the West Coast, known for the famed Irish Fisherman's sweater. I know it as the place where they serve dirty beer. After walking around Galway on a March afternoon, my brother and I found Rob at a mangy old bar. An empty glass of Guinness sat in front of him. With his back facing us, he chatted with an elderly Irish Gent who looked to be about 107 years old (and who seemed to be sitting in that same chair for around 102 of those years). It seemed that Rob had found a kindred spirit. Their faces were close to each other as they appeared in deep conversation. Maybe they spoke of the old country and times long since passed as the ancient one bestowed his knowledge on young Rob. If so, the old man's advice didn't include a warning to not drink Guinness beer from keg lines that hadn't been cleaned since Darby O'Gill was the same size as The Little People.
The day we left Galway was the day Rob became ill with stomach problems. We could not travel more than an hour without Rob having to stop to visit the facility. When he wasn't at a rest stop, Rob could be seen slumped over in the back seat, eyes closed, in a cold sweat. The illness made poor Rob extremely lethargic. Rob was always two steps behind us, unless he had to go to the bathroom. After each each rest stop visit, he'd lumber into the backseat of the car and fall asleep. If I had been more aware, I would have known that Rob was leaving a path of destruction in our wake. I wouldn't be surprised if the folks in these small villages had to sleep outside for a couple of days, just like other disaster victims who lack faith in the soundness of recently affected structures.
Finally, we arrived in an Irish town named Ennis and stopped at a Bed and Breakfast. At least in 1997, the idea of a B&B basically meant that anyone with extra rooms in their home could hang a shingle outside and call it charming. What this meant for us is that we were basically staying in someone's house. This house, I mean B&B, had one bathroom. In addition to our presence, the 'staff' included a mean-looking Maintenance Man, the owner, who was the spitting image of my deceased grandmother, and a mischievous gnome.
We never saw the gnome. He was like a ghost in a horror movie whom you never can get a good look at..only shadows and glimpses. We knew about the gnome, because each time one of us would walk downstairs (where they lived) to take a shower, we'd see a little shadow followed by a whoosh. Then the bathroom door would slam shut, followed by the sound of the lock turning. Maybe twenty minutes later, we'd hear the lock turn again and the sound of the bathroom door slamming and another whooosh, indicating the gnome's departure from the bathroom and back to his room. I guess he wanted us to know our place in the pecking order. Maybe he enjoyed inflicting frustration on unknowing travelers. Either way, he would pay dearly.
The morning we left the Ennis B&B was 'D Day.' As we began to pack our things and get on the road, Rob excused himself to visit the bathroom. This time, he beat the gnome. About ten minutes later he walked back upstairs. He looked a bit concerned but we didn't take note. For the past two days, Rob had moved sooo slowly. We were used to stopping while walking so he could catch up. On this morning, Rob moved like a seasoned Delta Force Commando with a mission to pack a suitcase and leave a building within 15 seconds. Without giving us time to even think, we heard Rob say "Guys, you look like you'll need some time to get ready. I'm gonna hang out outside. I'll see you in the car." Before we could respond, he was gone. Out of site. Like the gnome.
My brother and I looked at each other like "What the heck just happened? What's his problem?" Keep in mind we were still waking up and not yet fully conscious. We proceeded to pack our bags. Then, ever so slowly, a MERCILESS ODOR quickly wafted into the room. We looked at each other again. This time, our expressions expressed panic. We've been set up by ROB. Rob had known what happened in that bathroom and only knew one Law of Impending Disaster: Every man for himself. Run. Flee. Save yourself, Man. Get out of there.
As my brother and I stood in fear and bewilderment (and disgust), we heard the whooosh of the gnome. The gnome was racing towards the bathroom. The next few moments went as followed:
9:30 am and 19 seconds: whooosh
9:30 am and 22 seconds: slam! (door to bathroom)
9:30 am and 25 seconds: sound of the lock turning.
Count off slowly.....One, Two, Three.....
9:30 am and 29 seconds: sound of the lock frantically turning the other way...Slam!.....Whoooosh!
The gnome had just walked into a cocoon of horror and got out of that bathroom as fast as he could. Though we didn't have the seemingly miraculous, cat-like reflexes of a reborn Rob, we knew we must get out of the building as quickly and silently as possible to avoid detection. Maybe they'd blame it on the gnome. My brother Pat went first and I followed behind. With our bags in hand, we exited the room, and proceeded to walk down the stairs.
It was early still, so we thought perhaps we could leave unnoticed. We still had the audacity of hope. As we walked down the stairs, we could see the corner that led to the front door, the door to freedom. Our chances improved with each step down. The morning sun peered through the windows of the first floor. But this is no After School Special and there's no happy ending. Every tale of woe has its victim and in this case it was my brother Pat.
As we reached the bottom of the stairs, the door to the bathroom was right in front of us. Suddenly, a second door to the right, furiously swung open. It was the angry-looking maintenance man, looking especially sour. Since Pat was in front of me, he bared the full fury of the maintenance man. Both of his hands were occupied. In case Pat needed help understanding the situation, the maintenance man held his hands up in dramatic fashion. In one, he held a match box and the other...a nice, long match. His face contorted into a frightening configuration and he opened his mouth, as if to speak. Only he didn't. He was an animal now.
GRRRRRRR!!!!!!
He actually growled at my brother.
We didn't stick around to initiate diplomatic dialogue. The maintenance man reached his goal: to identify and shame the violator. In this case, the true violator was sitting in the car..probably checking out his hair in the rear view mirror or simply enjoying the Irish morning sun.
Epilogue: To this day, all three of us still recall the incident. Rob particularly enjoys the story. He has made me retell it numerous times, like the day after his wedding, in front of his extended family, including numerous 80-year old ladies. No matter who or how many people there are in the room at the time, Rob is always the one who laughs the loudest.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Laugh for Tuesday
The part where I started laughing began with the statue and its need little trick.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Leon Harris Rogers
So, Aimee and I have been going back and forth with names for our little girl, coming soon. She'll say something like "What about XXXXX?" I'll say no, that reminds me of Tim Conway.
I'll say "What about XXXX?" She will respond that no, that name reminds her of the Borden Dairy Products Cow.
So tonight, during a TV News break (middle of "Lost"), she looks at the Anchor for WJLA DC Channel Seven, and says "What about Leon Harris?" (Leon is an Excellent News Anchor) Keep in mind, this is a girl we are talking about. I say "Leon Harris Rogers?" That sounds great.
So, until we come up with a real name, we'll say her name will be "Leon Harris Rogers."
I'll say "What about XXXX?" She will respond that no, that name reminds her of the Borden Dairy Products Cow.
So tonight, during a TV News break (middle of "Lost"), she looks at the Anchor for WJLA DC Channel Seven, and says "What about Leon Harris?" (Leon is an Excellent News Anchor) Keep in mind, this is a girl we are talking about. I say "Leon Harris Rogers?" That sounds great.
So, until we come up with a real name, we'll say her name will be "Leon Harris Rogers."
Monday, May 26, 2008
Movie Review
Aimee and I saw the latest Indiana Jones movie this past weekend. I was unimpressed. Yes, Harrison Ford can still pull it off, but I didn't enjoy it. Since I would prefer not to dissect the movie to support negativity, I have a better idea. Why not choose a random movie that I DID enjoy and recommend it. That way, someone may benefit.
I can't pick a well-known movie, because you'll say to yourself "Yeh, I saw it. Big Whoop." What about a movie that you wouldn't imagine you'd enjoy? How about if the protagonist doesn't have a real job and earns money in an unsavory way? What if he's a Ghetto-dwelling, ne'er-do-well, straight up Card Carrying P-I-M-P pimp? What if he's a pimp AND a drug dealer?
The movie in question is called "Hustle & Flow." The story concerns subjects that I really don't care about nor think it is entertaining to glorify (this movie does not): pimps, prostitutes, drugs, hip-hop music, dirty houses, and baby mama drama. Though this is true, I found myself rooting for the protagonist and caring about his outcome. So, if you want to chance a movie you wouldn't normally watch, choose this one. If you don't like it, recommend a movie you did like to someone who may not be inclined to see it.
I can't pick a well-known movie, because you'll say to yourself "Yeh, I saw it. Big Whoop." What about a movie that you wouldn't imagine you'd enjoy? How about if the protagonist doesn't have a real job and earns money in an unsavory way? What if he's a Ghetto-dwelling, ne'er-do-well, straight up Card Carrying P-I-M-P pimp? What if he's a pimp AND a drug dealer?
The movie in question is called "Hustle & Flow." The story concerns subjects that I really don't care about nor think it is entertaining to glorify (this movie does not): pimps, prostitutes, drugs, hip-hop music, dirty houses, and baby mama drama. Though this is true, I found myself rooting for the protagonist and caring about his outcome. So, if you want to chance a movie you wouldn't normally watch, choose this one. If you don't like it, recommend a movie you did like to someone who may not be inclined to see it.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Laughing at the TV
This morning The Today Show was on television. A famous young lady singer named "Fergie" was performing. During the performance, both Aimee and I began to laugh unusually hard at the same time.
The Today Show is not necessarily a "family program", though doesn't tend to get extremely out of hand. During Fergie's song this morning, I believe the situation reached DEFCON five. It was the perfect storm, consisting of the following conditions: 1.) the time of day(8:30 am on a Tuesday) 2.) painted on leather pants 3.) over-the-top provocative dancing and 4.) and seven year old children in the FRONT row.
The moment when we started laughing was when she began gyrating on stage, in front of children, like a Giant Ant Eater in Heat.
Her risque seizures seemed without end. After giving lap dances to third graders, she ran back towards the band and began doing some type of newfangled power gymnast flippy whirls WHILE singing.
But no, she was not finished. Her final salacious gesture was to shake her butt, leather pants and all, for what seemed like 27 minutes. She shook it in such an out of contol manner, that it seemed like someone laced her undies with Ben Gay ointment that started to kick in right at that moment.
I have one word that describes the moment: In-A-Pro-Priate! I guess it is not her fault.
If you do not believe this story. Click on the following link and access the second video down the page. Just make sure there are no children nearby. I wont be responsible. I warned you.
http://popsugar.com/1645578
The Today Show is not necessarily a "family program", though doesn't tend to get extremely out of hand. During Fergie's song this morning, I believe the situation reached DEFCON five. It was the perfect storm, consisting of the following conditions: 1.) the time of day(8:30 am on a Tuesday) 2.) painted on leather pants 3.) over-the-top provocative dancing and 4.) and seven year old children in the FRONT row.
The moment when we started laughing was when she began gyrating on stage, in front of children, like a Giant Ant Eater in Heat.
Her risque seizures seemed without end. After giving lap dances to third graders, she ran back towards the band and began doing some type of newfangled power gymnast flippy whirls WHILE singing.
But no, she was not finished. Her final salacious gesture was to shake her butt, leather pants and all, for what seemed like 27 minutes. She shook it in such an out of contol manner, that it seemed like someone laced her undies with Ben Gay ointment that started to kick in right at that moment.
I have one word that describes the moment: In-A-Pro-Priate! I guess it is not her fault.
If you do not believe this story. Click on the following link and access the second video down the page. Just make sure there are no children nearby. I wont be responsible. I warned you.
http://popsugar.com/1645578
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Baseball Caps across the Americas
My Dad has a baseball hat collection that numbers in the hundreds. For as long as I can remember, each closet in my parents house is stuffed with hats. You'll find a hat for every trip he's taken and about five variations for each sports team he likes. Every ten years or so, he'll clean out his collection. It doesn't matter though. It seems like the next week, there are 300 new hats stuffed in each closet. With our family all together today (a rarity), he asked my brother Tim to bring down the collection. Various family member sifted through the collection, selecting which ones to take. The remainder of the collection is destined for placement on heads in faraway South American places.
On Tuesday, my brother Tim begins another epic journey. He's traveled all around South East Asia, India, Australia, and Europe. This time, he travels to South America. He'll depart on Tuesday for the first leg of his journey: Ecuador. He will travel to multiple countries, learning Spanish, until December. Along with him, he'll bring my father's hats. He intends to give the hats to people he meets along the way, as gifts. When I heard this, I thought it was a great idea and added another. I told Tim that he needs to document this. Each time he presents a hat as a gift, he must take a picture. He seemed to think it was a good idea, so hopefully he will follow through on it. If he does, I'll do my best to post them here. Imagine if you are traveling to the deepest, darkest regions of the Amazon and meet a tribal elder, only to see him festooned with a Johns Hopkins Lacrosse Final Four Champions 2002 baseball cap. We shall see.
On Tuesday, my brother Tim begins another epic journey. He's traveled all around South East Asia, India, Australia, and Europe. This time, he travels to South America. He'll depart on Tuesday for the first leg of his journey: Ecuador. He will travel to multiple countries, learning Spanish, until December. Along with him, he'll bring my father's hats. He intends to give the hats to people he meets along the way, as gifts. When I heard this, I thought it was a great idea and added another. I told Tim that he needs to document this. Each time he presents a hat as a gift, he must take a picture. He seemed to think it was a good idea, so hopefully he will follow through on it. If he does, I'll do my best to post them here. Imagine if you are traveling to the deepest, darkest regions of the Amazon and meet a tribal elder, only to see him festooned with a Johns Hopkins Lacrosse Final Four Champions 2002 baseball cap. We shall see.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
We learned the sex ...
of our future little family member, due to meet the world in mid-September.
A girl!
Monday, May 12, 2008
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Boy or Girl?
In less than a week, we should find out if we are having a boy or a girl. As far as a preference, I think Aimee prefers a girl, though she is not counting on it. As for me, I really do not care...as long as the kid is not dumb and will be ready to start learning about housework at an early age (four? five?).
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
What are Gators?
I have no idea what "gators" are or why they attract dogs.
This guy will slap you across the face with a $100 bill.
"Okay..Here..it goes."
This guy will slap you across the face with a $100 bill.
"Okay..Here..it goes."
Monday, April 21, 2008
For Earth Day: A simple question in Fifth Grade Science
I (Matt) was listening to a story on the radio about an organization called Teach America. This organization recruits the highest achieving college graduates to teach in the most "in need" or lowest-performing school districts throughout the country. Think of it as a Peace Corps for the United States. The organization's success is a result of psychology. In order to recruit candidates, the requirements are extremely rigid. By making it extremely difficult to be accepted into the program, it establishes a need on behalf of Ivy League graduates:
"At Yale, no fewer than 12 percent of the graduating seniors--nearly 1 out of every 8--applied..... Altogether, over 17,000 seniors applied for 2,100 openings."
So, why do I write about this organization? I mention it because the radio piece reminded me of a funny (now it is) experience I had while in elementary school. I have no idea why it popped in my head today but it did. It was the first day of school during my fifth grade Science Class. The teacher, Mr. Doherty, sought to establish rapport with the students. After learning student names, he introduced fifth grade Science by asking questions. His first question seemed quite simple. Well, at least to me:
Can anybody tell me what the Earth is made of?
In a millisecond, my mind darted to my own 10-year old boy resume. I had much experience with the Earth. I dug it. No really, I mean I actually dug holes in the ground all the time. I dug them in the woods, next to streams, in the garden...everywhere. For whatever reason, this kid job gave me pleasure. After I dug a hole, I would always fill it back up again. Filling up a hole you just dug was just part of the kid handbook..instinctual. It's like a dog covering up a freshly made turd.
I was the first in the class to raise a hand. Not the smart kid or the smart-assed kid, but me.
Yes, Mr. Rogers, what is the Earth made of?
I felt elated with my hand up. It was a sign of victory. The benevolent gesture of a fatherly dictator or the risen hand on a statue of a venerated military General from long ago.
Mr. Rogers, what is the Earth made of????
I almost yelled out the answer:
DIRT! IT'S MADE of DIRT!
During the next few moments, time slowed down. The class roared with deafening laughter. It was like a movie where they play human voices in slow motion which lowers them ten octaves and each utterance is exponentially longer. I was puzzled by this. Even through the laughter I could not understand how or why this would seem like a dumb answer. I knew dirt. I knew the Earth.
Mr. Doherty obviously saw the confusion in my face and made an attempt to relieve me by saying that yes, dirt is part of what makes the earth, in addition to elements or magma or some other ridiculousness. Though stunned, some part of me refused to concede. I think this was the last time I was ever the first kid in class to raise a hand.
As I now look at the world through the eyes of an adult, things are much more simple. This is so because the majority of what people say is bulls**t. It's like a different language where most words mean nothing. Since there is so much of this, a truthful response is rare. I don't say this with cynicism or bitterness or frustration. In fact, I am now pleased with my fifth grade self. Why? Because the Earth is made of glorious DIRT.
"At Yale, no fewer than 12 percent of the graduating seniors--nearly 1 out of every 8--applied..... Altogether, over 17,000 seniors applied for 2,100 openings."
So, why do I write about this organization? I mention it because the radio piece reminded me of a funny (now it is) experience I had while in elementary school. I have no idea why it popped in my head today but it did. It was the first day of school during my fifth grade Science Class. The teacher, Mr. Doherty, sought to establish rapport with the students. After learning student names, he introduced fifth grade Science by asking questions. His first question seemed quite simple. Well, at least to me:
Can anybody tell me what the Earth is made of?
In a millisecond, my mind darted to my own 10-year old boy resume. I had much experience with the Earth. I dug it. No really, I mean I actually dug holes in the ground all the time. I dug them in the woods, next to streams, in the garden...everywhere. For whatever reason, this kid job gave me pleasure. After I dug a hole, I would always fill it back up again. Filling up a hole you just dug was just part of the kid handbook..instinctual. It's like a dog covering up a freshly made turd.
I was the first in the class to raise a hand. Not the smart kid or the smart-assed kid, but me.
Yes, Mr. Rogers, what is the Earth made of?
I felt elated with my hand up. It was a sign of victory. The benevolent gesture of a fatherly dictator or the risen hand on a statue of a venerated military General from long ago.
Mr. Rogers, what is the Earth made of????
I almost yelled out the answer:
DIRT! IT'S MADE of DIRT!
During the next few moments, time slowed down. The class roared with deafening laughter. It was like a movie where they play human voices in slow motion which lowers them ten octaves and each utterance is exponentially longer. I was puzzled by this. Even through the laughter I could not understand how or why this would seem like a dumb answer. I knew dirt. I knew the Earth.
Mr. Doherty obviously saw the confusion in my face and made an attempt to relieve me by saying that yes, dirt is part of what makes the earth, in addition to elements or magma or some other ridiculousness. Though stunned, some part of me refused to concede. I think this was the last time I was ever the first kid in class to raise a hand.
As I now look at the world through the eyes of an adult, things are much more simple. This is so because the majority of what people say is bulls**t. It's like a different language where most words mean nothing. Since there is so much of this, a truthful response is rare. I don't say this with cynicism or bitterness or frustration. In fact, I am now pleased with my fifth grade self. Why? Because the Earth is made of glorious DIRT.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
I logged into hotmail today
And I saw something familiar with the landing page, after you type in your user name and password.
Or is it a hybrid of James Garner and a Back Street Boy?
Or is it a hybrid of James Garner and a Back Street Boy?
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Sports
When I (Matt) was younger, I played Sports. Baseball, Lacrosse, Hockey, and Football. The Sport I was best at was Hockey though I never had intentions of hoisting up a Stanley Cup. I favored Hockey because when you were not practicing or playing a game, there were never expectations to be serious unless it was five minutes before the game began or you were in a timeout. Essentially, you could spend your off time making fun of your teammates.
On a road trip for my College Hockey Team, I drove down to Blacksburg Virginia with the Team Captain. I had to pee REAL bad while we rolled down the highway. The Captain refused to stop, handed me a bottle, and told me I would have to do my business in mid-drive. After I realized there would be no way that he'd stop, I reluctantly took the bottle, put my knees on the passenger seat (facing the wrong way), propped myself up so high in the car that my head was bent under the car ceiling, and began to try to..relax..to do my business. I quickly understood why this guy refused to stop at a highway rest stop. Every time I began, he would slow down the car so it was parallel to the closest car in the next lane. Imagine you are driving down the highway, a car pulls up next to you, and you see a kid with an embarrassed expression, propped up in the car, facing the wrong way, trying to pee in a bottle. This went on for about ten minutes. Though I was frustrated and embarrassed, I could not help but laugh at his creativity. This was Hockey.
Football, on the other hand, was serious. Before a high school football game, you'd have to arrive at least two hours before it began. Would you spend most of this time discussing plays? No. You had to sit in a corner and think about the game. For an hour and a half at least you would have sit in complete silence. While the most intense players would sit in a corner staring at the wall, I would try to stare at the wall. Instead of visualizing the big block or touchdown, I visualized--a wall. After about 30 seconds I would become bored. About a minute later, I would become very bored. I then began to fill this time by being a goof ball. I would talk like an old lady or, with a straight face, begin to put on my football pants as if they were a football jersey. Needless to say, I wasn't the Captain of the Football team, nor the most popular.
The reason I recall sports today is because of the video below, which my brother sent me. If you care to watch this high school football coach, you'll see the coach is half crazy. The video gets nuttier as it progresses. It speaks for itself. I don't believe it is bad or good. It is what it is. I could describe my high school football coach, but I don't really like to be negative (at least here). He was probably a good coach. The problem was that I just didn't belong in football.
So, do I have a point? Yes. I could never take Sport too seriously because it was not real. Did I want to win? Did I try to win? Of course, but there was always something in the back of my mind that pestered me..it's a game. A diversion. Life, on the other hand, is different. Life is serious (as opposed to football), especially when you get older. I can spend two hours in serious thought, staring at the wall, thinking about mundane and unexciting tasks. I spend about 99% of my day being serious. With this understanding, I do not hesitate spending the remaining one percent doing things like answering telemarketing calls in ridiculous voices or sing loudly in the middle of a grocery store with whatever song is blaring on the speakers at the time. I don't believe this to be good or bad. Like an angry football coach, it is what it is.
Here's the crazy coach.
On a road trip for my College Hockey Team, I drove down to Blacksburg Virginia with the Team Captain. I had to pee REAL bad while we rolled down the highway. The Captain refused to stop, handed me a bottle, and told me I would have to do my business in mid-drive. After I realized there would be no way that he'd stop, I reluctantly took the bottle, put my knees on the passenger seat (facing the wrong way), propped myself up so high in the car that my head was bent under the car ceiling, and began to try to..relax..to do my business. I quickly understood why this guy refused to stop at a highway rest stop. Every time I began, he would slow down the car so it was parallel to the closest car in the next lane. Imagine you are driving down the highway, a car pulls up next to you, and you see a kid with an embarrassed expression, propped up in the car, facing the wrong way, trying to pee in a bottle. This went on for about ten minutes. Though I was frustrated and embarrassed, I could not help but laugh at his creativity. This was Hockey.
Football, on the other hand, was serious. Before a high school football game, you'd have to arrive at least two hours before it began. Would you spend most of this time discussing plays? No. You had to sit in a corner and think about the game. For an hour and a half at least you would have sit in complete silence. While the most intense players would sit in a corner staring at the wall, I would try to stare at the wall. Instead of visualizing the big block or touchdown, I visualized--a wall. After about 30 seconds I would become bored. About a minute later, I would become very bored. I then began to fill this time by being a goof ball. I would talk like an old lady or, with a straight face, begin to put on my football pants as if they were a football jersey. Needless to say, I wasn't the Captain of the Football team, nor the most popular.
The reason I recall sports today is because of the video below, which my brother sent me. If you care to watch this high school football coach, you'll see the coach is half crazy. The video gets nuttier as it progresses. It speaks for itself. I don't believe it is bad or good. It is what it is. I could describe my high school football coach, but I don't really like to be negative (at least here). He was probably a good coach. The problem was that I just didn't belong in football.
So, do I have a point? Yes. I could never take Sport too seriously because it was not real. Did I want to win? Did I try to win? Of course, but there was always something in the back of my mind that pestered me..it's a game. A diversion. Life, on the other hand, is different. Life is serious (as opposed to football), especially when you get older. I can spend two hours in serious thought, staring at the wall, thinking about mundane and unexciting tasks. I spend about 99% of my day being serious. With this understanding, I do not hesitate spending the remaining one percent doing things like answering telemarketing calls in ridiculous voices or sing loudly in the middle of a grocery store with whatever song is blaring on the speakers at the time. I don't believe this to be good or bad. Like an angry football coach, it is what it is.
Here's the crazy coach.
Monday, April 07, 2008
Good Things
I've been arguing with Aimee on how to share good news. Neither of us is the type of person who likes to share something good unless it is with someone who we feel will sincerely appreciate it. We don't want to be that person who rambles on while not noticing the news recipient's eyes to glaze over. It happens. You know what I mean.
So anyway, Aimee is preggers. Knocked up. With child. As far as our ongoing argument, I told Aimee that if we don't announce it soon, the kid's gonna be taking his/her driving test before anyone learns she's pregnant. So, there you have it. More to come.
On a light note, I've been bothering Aimee recently, by yelling out "Wwwwwizard!" as seen in the TV commercial below. She always tells me to stop, but at least I enjoy it. I think our dogs enjoy it too.
So anyway, Aimee is preggers. Knocked up. With child. As far as our ongoing argument, I told Aimee that if we don't announce it soon, the kid's gonna be taking his/her driving test before anyone learns she's pregnant. So, there you have it. More to come.
On a light note, I've been bothering Aimee recently, by yelling out "Wwwwwizard!" as seen in the TV commercial below. She always tells me to stop, but at least I enjoy it. I think our dogs enjoy it too.
Friday, April 04, 2008
Okay, yes. We're in Miami
South Beach to be exact. Alas, not on vacation. We've been working the whole week. I wish it were a vacation:)
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Secret Location
I (Matt) am in a secret location. I will post images for you to guess (not people who know where I am). First correct gets a pat on the back. More to come later today.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Aimee's Big Adventure
Aimee, tonight, was attempting to initiate conversation. She said:
"Why don't you tell me about your big butt?"
Then she laughed.
Evidently, she has Rain Man recolection of Pee Wee's Big Adventure (movie).
See the last line uttered of this quick video.
"Why don't you tell me about your big butt?"
Then she laughed.
Evidently, she has Rain Man recolection of Pee Wee's Big Adventure (movie).
See the last line uttered of this quick video.
Monday, March 24, 2008
House of Pain Part Deux
In a previous post, I informed the reader about my cousin George. The Gist of the post is that the Rap Group, House of Pain, is making a come back (I called it a come back, so don't say don't). They are now known as La Coka Nostra. Well, they have a video out.
I found it on youtube. I won't post it here due to the graphic lyrics, because I try to keep it clean while I keep it real.
That's not to say that I don't think it's wiggity wack like the bozak (I like it). It's neat. Especially since I was a HUGE fan of House of Pain back in the day.
Which actually brings up a small story. Long ago, there were always a lot of street vendors in downtown DC. They would sell everything: wallets, clothing, hats, tee shirts, etc. My Dad used to buy ties and hats on the street all the time. This would be his indulgence. He has a baseball cap collection that numbers over 500..at least. If aliens ever study our species thousands of years from now and use my Dad as an example, they will most surely come to the conclusion that humans were not able to sustain themselves unless they covered the top of their heads with an cloth piece with a U Shaped cylinder sticking out.
My Dad came home one day and showed me his latest treasure find:
Dad: Hey, look at this fine Irish Baseball Cap I bought on the street!
Me: uh, Dad, do you know that your hat is not Irish, but represents a white rap group?
He chose to believe what the hat meant to him. Little did he know he was probably the only House of Pain fan over the age of 60.
Anyway, if you want to see the video, you can go on youtube and search:
La Coka Nostra - "That's Coke"
My favorite part is George's reference to "Paris, Nicole, Lindsay and Britney."
Warning: The lyrics are very blue. Don't say I didn't warn you. George is Rapper NUMBER two in the video. Oh, I mean Slaine, not George.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Family Ties
I just learned that Aimee is a very far removed descendant of General Robert E. Lee on her Mom's side of the family. Her relation is to his cousin, Samantha Jane something or other. Interesting.
She asked me today, who I am related to, insinuating no one. I said 'Darby O'Gill.' In truth, I am a descendant of John Rogers, who was a Union Soldier in the Civil War and is buried at Arlington National Cemetery, which is Robert E. Lee's House. I am always surprised to learn that most people don't know that Arlington Cemetery is is really his house. Or was his house.
Another factoid is Aimee's Dad's side of the family, who is related to the Dalton Gang.
History is interesting. Anyway, I was looking for a specific scene from Darby O'Gill (dance song scene to post here) where they are seen break dancing...or that's how I saw it when I was a kid.
I couldn't find it but I did find the following intense Boston Irish Anthem. Ya know, history and all.
Today is the first day of Spring. Enjoy it.
She asked me today, who I am related to, insinuating no one. I said 'Darby O'Gill.' In truth, I am a descendant of John Rogers, who was a Union Soldier in the Civil War and is buried at Arlington National Cemetery, which is Robert E. Lee's House. I am always surprised to learn that most people don't know that Arlington Cemetery is is really his house. Or was his house.
Another factoid is Aimee's Dad's side of the family, who is related to the Dalton Gang.
History is interesting. Anyway, I was looking for a specific scene from Darby O'Gill (dance song scene to post here) where they are seen break dancing...or that's how I saw it when I was a kid.
I couldn't find it but I did find the following intense Boston Irish Anthem. Ya know, history and all.
Today is the first day of Spring. Enjoy it.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Happy St. Patrick
If you drink and drive today, then may the Luck of the Irish be as far away from you as possible. Oh Begora Yes.
On another note, here is the new home of our friends Vincent and Anne-Laure, who just move to Paris, France. Bien Travail, les habitantes!
Lastly, if the invention below goes to Market, I am getting it.
On another note, here is the new home of our friends Vincent and Anne-Laure, who just move to Paris, France. Bien Travail, les habitantes!
Lastly, if the invention below goes to Market, I am getting it.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Governer of New York's Alias
If you read the news, you know the Governor of New York just got busted for soliciting prostitution. The name he chose as an alias was George Fox. I am not schooled on the process of hiring prostitutes, but I guess it's common to use an alias. George Fox is the name of my oldest brother's high school friend. I just thought I'd clear the air with you on this. My brother's high school friend did not solicit a prostitute, AKA a "ho."
Actually, he runs a watch company. I have one of his (George Fox) watches. It is great. I chose the "Blok" watch (tan band). Check it out. I wore it a lot..until Aimee got me a watch for my B-Day (I'm old). It's a titanium Swiss Army watch...nice.
Anyway, I am disappointed by the Governor. I thought he was doing a great job. Though Wall Street Crooks are clinging glasses right now, I still think that what the Gov. did was not as nearly as bad as inside trading. Thieves.
Actually, he runs a watch company. I have one of his (George Fox) watches. It is great. I chose the "Blok" watch (tan band). Check it out. I wore it a lot..until Aimee got me a watch for my B-Day (I'm old). It's a titanium Swiss Army watch...nice.
Anyway, I am disappointed by the Governor. I thought he was doing a great job. Though Wall Street Crooks are clinging glasses right now, I still think that what the Gov. did was not as nearly as bad as inside trading. Thieves.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Like Superheroes only Different
Last Year, I wrote about one of my parents three dogs named CHICO. The post is basically how Chico, a dog, is the Child Who Would Be President that my parents never had. It's a marvelous tale about a dog outshining human siblings..and two other dog siblings.
Well low and behold, if that little Chico hasn't lived up to his billing. He's special. He and my Mom are written up in a local newspaper. It's really a great story. Not only does it detail their efforts in helping children read, it also provides a brief history of the Rogers family in Maryland. Unfortunately, it's not all ice cream and bubble gum. But then again, neither is life. But then again..again...life is good. Very good.
Click Here to read the story. It is on page 14. Good Job Chico and Mom. We are very proud of you.
Monday, March 03, 2008
Nikolai Lives
About a month ago, I posted about Nikolai Volkoff. If you want some background, click here.
This morning, I arrived in Timonium, Maryland, for one of my visits. About fifteen minutes into the day, I see the woman who owns the gym above the office where I often visit. I didn't think too much of it, so I basically ignored her since I do not work there every day. I would let someone else handle her question. Then I heard it:
Nikolai is here.
Nikolai Freaking Volkoff. To most, this means nothing. To me, this means a lot. I watched this guy EVERY Saturday morning when I was a kid.
At first, it seemed that the guys at the office were a little shy. No one was making his way across the long office. I immediately thought that an awkward moment was about to present itself. The gym owner had said she'd bring Nikolai down when he returned from Iraq (visiting the troops). Now the time had come. He was in the office and no one moved. I jumped from my chair and walked quickly across the room.
"Hi, I am Matt. It is very nice to meet you. I watched you all the time when I was younger (I didn't say 'when I was a kid' cause I didn't want him to feel old). Thanks for coming down to see us. I am a very big fan of yours."
Twenty seconds later, he was surrounded by everyone in the office. He had a couple of jokes which landed and happily answered questions from the fellas. Any hint of awkwardness was out the door.
He looked old, but still strong. Sixty years old and can probably throw me across the room with one arm.
He took pictures with all of us. The gym owner had a camera. I didn't trust that I'd actually get the photo, so I had my friend Mike take a one with my crappy cell phone.
Within an hour, she sent us her photos.
This morning, I arrived in Timonium, Maryland, for one of my visits. About fifteen minutes into the day, I see the woman who owns the gym above the office where I often visit. I didn't think too much of it, so I basically ignored her since I do not work there every day. I would let someone else handle her question. Then I heard it:
Nikolai is here.
Nikolai Freaking Volkoff. To most, this means nothing. To me, this means a lot. I watched this guy EVERY Saturday morning when I was a kid.
At first, it seemed that the guys at the office were a little shy. No one was making his way across the long office. I immediately thought that an awkward moment was about to present itself. The gym owner had said she'd bring Nikolai down when he returned from Iraq (visiting the troops). Now the time had come. He was in the office and no one moved. I jumped from my chair and walked quickly across the room.
"Hi, I am Matt. It is very nice to meet you. I watched you all the time when I was younger (I didn't say 'when I was a kid' cause I didn't want him to feel old). Thanks for coming down to see us. I am a very big fan of yours."
Twenty seconds later, he was surrounded by everyone in the office. He had a couple of jokes which landed and happily answered questions from the fellas. Any hint of awkwardness was out the door.
He looked old, but still strong. Sixty years old and can probably throw me across the room with one arm.
He took pictures with all of us. The gym owner had a camera. I didn't trust that I'd actually get the photo, so I had my friend Mike take a one with my crappy cell phone.
Within an hour, she sent us her photos.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
If you know who Rick Astley is..
Rick Astley sounds like a neighborhood kid who is good at wiffleball.
In reality, he is a singer from the 80's/90's. If you have never heard of him, stop here. If you HAVE heard of him, check out the following nifty Pie Chart for all the things Rick Astley would never do to you.
If you know who Right Said Fred is, then you know the "I'm Too Sexy" song. They made a Pie Chart for them too.
In reality, he is a singer from the 80's/90's. If you have never heard of him, stop here. If you HAVE heard of him, check out the following nifty Pie Chart for all the things Rick Astley would never do to you.
If you know who Right Said Fred is, then you know the "I'm Too Sexy" song. They made a Pie Chart for them too.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Two Things that Made Us Laugh Today
1.) I was up and down the stairs and Aimee was watching the local News. As I walked into the living room, the News Reader was talking about some sort of local crime. I am not sure what the perp did or to whom, but the very last sentence was something like this:
Witnesses say the assailant was around (x) feet tall and possesses a very large right ear.
Maybe it was the way it was said, but we both busted out laughing. It was very random. Anyway, to help authorities, I drew a sketch in case you come across this villain. Click here to see.
2.) On the same news program, Aimee heard about The Pope coming to DC (Nationals Stadium).
She jokingly asked me:
Are you getting tickets to The Pope?
I had to ask her three times to repeat herself. When I finally understood, I said:
I don't know. Who's opening up for him?
I do know this. There is only ONE entity who could ever 'open up' for The Pope. See video below if you are interested.
Witnesses say the assailant was around (x) feet tall and possesses a very large right ear.
Maybe it was the way it was said, but we both busted out laughing. It was very random. Anyway, to help authorities, I drew a sketch in case you come across this villain. Click here to see.
2.) On the same news program, Aimee heard about The Pope coming to DC (Nationals Stadium).
She jokingly asked me:
Are you getting tickets to The Pope?
I had to ask her three times to repeat herself. When I finally understood, I said:
I don't know. Who's opening up for him?
I do know this. There is only ONE entity who could ever 'open up' for The Pope. See video below if you are interested.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
My Job
My parents don't know what I do for a living so I thought I would explain. This stems from a phone call my mother had with a second cousin who asked what I do. All she knew is that it had something to do with computers. No problem Mom.
I am a 'project lead' or 'project manager' for website development. Say you want to create a website. There are a lot of pieces to the puzzle: How it will look, how the information is laid out on the pages (this is more important than you may think), how it functions, how it is made (what computer language you use to develop functionality), how a database is structured and what information is stored, where and how the website is stored, etc. etc. and ergo epsum.
I manage all of that stuff. I am sure it sounds boring to a lot of people. For whatever reason, I thoroughly enjoy it. I've thought about it: What's a fella who leans towards History, Political Science, Sociology and all those other liberal arts subjects, doing making websites? I think it has to do with the fact that I am not very detail-oriented while a website must be. Aimee loves to kid me about my lack of noticing details. On the other hand, she never kids me about getting things done.
If one, tiny, minute detail is incorrect, a whole website can malfunction. I look at it this way: the website helps me do my job. If there is a problem, nothing progresses until that problem is fixed. I know enough about the Internet to distinguish the problem, so all I need to do is contact the person who must fix it. This person can be one of many different people. Instead of shooting an email (or calling or asking in person) to all these many different people, I send it to one person. I try to do as much homework on the issue so that the person who's responsible for fixing it has a lot of information and says to him or herself: no problem.
The above was the basic version. I could go into more detail but I don't like to bore. So, Mom, that's what I do.
I am a 'project lead' or 'project manager' for website development. Say you want to create a website. There are a lot of pieces to the puzzle: How it will look, how the information is laid out on the pages (this is more important than you may think), how it functions, how it is made (what computer language you use to develop functionality), how a database is structured and what information is stored, where and how the website is stored, etc. etc. and ergo epsum.
I manage all of that stuff. I am sure it sounds boring to a lot of people. For whatever reason, I thoroughly enjoy it. I've thought about it: What's a fella who leans towards History, Political Science, Sociology and all those other liberal arts subjects, doing making websites? I think it has to do with the fact that I am not very detail-oriented while a website must be. Aimee loves to kid me about my lack of noticing details. On the other hand, she never kids me about getting things done.
If one, tiny, minute detail is incorrect, a whole website can malfunction. I look at it this way: the website helps me do my job. If there is a problem, nothing progresses until that problem is fixed. I know enough about the Internet to distinguish the problem, so all I need to do is contact the person who must fix it. This person can be one of many different people. Instead of shooting an email (or calling or asking in person) to all these many different people, I send it to one person. I try to do as much homework on the issue so that the person who's responsible for fixing it has a lot of information and says to him or herself: no problem.
The above was the basic version. I could go into more detail but I don't like to bore. So, Mom, that's what I do.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Speculation on Getting Older
Occasionally, I will have Instant Message exchanges with my oldest brother. Yesterday, we were talking about me having a family one day. He knows that Aimee and I want to have children. While I am married and intend to have children, he is unmarried. Sometimes we enjoy giving each other a hard time for no other reason than the fact that we are brothers. So today, I was speculating on him at age 53 while he did the same for me.
Below is mid-exchange of our chat. Of course I censored a bit as this is a PG rated blog. Keep in mind we are making fun of each other and believe this is a fine age. Fifty is the new thirty anyway. It's not about the age as much as zinging one's brother.
Brother: you will be talking some punk out of getting his nose pierced
"I hate you Dad!!!!"
Me: While you'll be talking to a chair..
Brother: "Hey Dad, get borrow money....for some Crystal?"
Me: Your best friend will be a box of Cheerios
Brother: "Dad, I have feelings for the other boys"
Me: your neighbors will bring you meals on wheels
The Next exchange is censored.
.
Brother: you get to teach a kid how to go poopy!
Me: you get to have someone teach you how to go poopy in a diaper.
Brother: that fate awaits us all
Me: true
Robots Can Help with Dogs
Every morning I (Matt) wake up and feed our dogs, then take them for a walk. The following video gave me some ideas. But then again, I would need a life-sized vehicle to achieve the same results.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Julie's Wine Blog
Aimee's friend Julie has a new blog about Wine. She knows a lot about wine. I don't.
She is a sommelier at a Restaurant named Ran Azul. Ran Azul is a very good Tapas Restaurant located in Howard County Maryland. This part of Maryland is very beautiful and wealthy. There are a lot of horse farms, big houses and rich people. With your meal, Julie will arrive at your table and tell you what wine goes with what food. Izzz Nyyezz!
I like Wine. I pretty much like everything about it. I don't drink that much though. I was just speaking about it with Aimee. I really really enjoy wine or beer but I seldom partake (any more). The main reason is lifestyle, I suppose. If I won the lottery and didn't have to work, and hung around people who enjoyed wine a lot, I imagine that I too would enjoy the spirits.
Enough about me. Here's her blog. And if you are ever in Clarkesville, MD, check out the restaurant. Good Luck with your blog and restaurant Julie.
She is a sommelier at a Restaurant named Ran Azul. Ran Azul is a very good Tapas Restaurant located in Howard County Maryland. This part of Maryland is very beautiful and wealthy. There are a lot of horse farms, big houses and rich people. With your meal, Julie will arrive at your table and tell you what wine goes with what food. Izzz Nyyezz!
I like Wine. I pretty much like everything about it. I don't drink that much though. I was just speaking about it with Aimee. I really really enjoy wine or beer but I seldom partake (any more). The main reason is lifestyle, I suppose. If I won the lottery and didn't have to work, and hung around people who enjoyed wine a lot, I imagine that I too would enjoy the spirits.
Enough about me. Here's her blog. And if you are ever in Clarkesville, MD, check out the restaurant. Good Luck with your blog and restaurant Julie.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Valentines Day
Within the first month of meeting Aimee, I learned a peculiar (to me) predilection of hers: She loves Broadway Musicals from the 1950's. I learned this on a Sunday afternoon, when she became overly excited because Seven Brides for Seven Brothers was on TV. It had a tough looking Lumberjack as the lead so how bad could it be? About five minutes later I learned how it could be when a group of "lumberjacks" in multicolored outfits started dancing and singing. It was absolutely ridiculous..and Aimee loved it. That day was probably the 37th time she had seen it.
She also loves pretty much loves all of Rodgers and Hammerstein productions, including The Sound of Music and Oklahoma! (exclamation point is part of the title). For The Sound of Music, she is quite talented at singing the song that all the Children sing at the Ball (or whatever it's called) before they go to bed: Good night, farewell, Adieu adieu adieu and all that nonsense. One by one, the children roll out of the party with their special "good night." One boy in particular reaches an octave so high that dogs cover their ears. Aimee can't quite reach that level but she sure tries..and tries..then laughs..then tries again. If you want to know what I am talking about, the song is below and our special little guy does his thing at about minute 1:40. It comes out of nowhere and is really quick so pay attention.
So, why am I writing about this? Because for Valentines Day, I gave her a DVD set of Rodgers and Hammerstein: The Sound of Music / The King and I / Oklahoma! / South Pacific / State Fair / Carousel.
Our dogs are already looking for places to hide when the music starts blaring.
I also got her the movie "Once" which is a musical without the high octaves, prancing and tidy clothing. It's set in Ireland. A song from the movie is below. I hear it's good. We shall see.
Friday, February 08, 2008
Neat Youtube Video for Obama
After the Democratic primaries in New Hampshire, Barak Obama gave a speech. A guy named "Will I Am" from a musical group called "The Black Eyed Peas" became inspired.
So much so, that he made the speech into song and had himself and other famous people sing along at the same moment with the same lines as Barak. I (Matt) found it a bit inspiring and at the least interesting. Plus, it has Scarlett Johansen, who is a {censored censored}. I was a bit embarrassed watching some of the histrionics but like the idea overall. Does it change my mind on anything? Not necessarily. I have to learn more about him. He does seem quite presidential though.
Now, someone needs to make a video for Hillary and McCain.
McCain's video could be set to the music of GI Joe, a Real American Hero.
Hillary's, to the Golden Girls:
Bill Clinton?
George Bush (My Favorite vid......on this post)
Okay, I'll stop. One last one for Dick Cheney, because deep down inside, he's gotta have a heart.
So much so, that he made the speech into song and had himself and other famous people sing along at the same moment with the same lines as Barak. I (Matt) found it a bit inspiring and at the least interesting. Plus, it has Scarlett Johansen, who is a {censored censored}. I was a bit embarrassed watching some of the histrionics but like the idea overall. Does it change my mind on anything? Not necessarily. I have to learn more about him. He does seem quite presidential though.
Now, someone needs to make a video for Hillary and McCain.
McCain's video could be set to the music of GI Joe, a Real American Hero.
Hillary's, to the Golden Girls:
Bill Clinton?
George Bush (My Favorite vid......on this post)
Okay, I'll stop. One last one for Dick Cheney, because deep down inside, he's gotta have a heart.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Chicken Running
In 1990, I visited my brother Tim at his home base in St. Croix, USVI. He picked me and my friend up at the airport and we proceeded to drive off. It was just our group in an old, giant convertible, out on a quiet, two-lane road. We were surrounded by lush tress, where it was tough for the sun to poke through.
Suddenly, a wild chicken bolted in front of the car, running as fast as it's chicken legs could go. It was as if he was late for a job interview or was trying to catch a flight. A chicken flight, if you will.
As soon as we passed, Tim screamed out the following words in desperate and pleading tone:
WHYYYYYY DID YOU DO IT?????
I laughed.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Our French friends are leaving
A while back, I wrote a post about how our French friends are leaving Maryland to return to their homeland. The next day, I received a feverish call from Anne-Laure, Vincent's wife. She called to ask that I remove the post because Vincent was afraid that his co-workers would see it and their secret out. Even though I know few people read this blog and the chances of any of Vincent's co-workers learning of their departure were between 00.0 and 0.05, I changed the post to unreadable French thanks to Google language translator:
You can view it here. If you're curious about what it says, I posted the translation at the bottom of this post. Keep in mind it went from English to French, then back to English. I other words, it's goofy.
Now everyone knows they are leaving. Vincent's last day at his job is Friday and they're off in a couple of weeks. They are making all their arrangements like moving stuff and selling cars. They're even scoping out apartments in Gey Paree.
I told Vincent today (we had lunch together), that since he's moving back to France he must change his blog, which is now in French (a Frenchman in DiCi), to English so I can keep up on what's happening with them. He replied: yes, I could title it "A Frenchman in Paris." Maybe you had to be there, but the irony of a French person writing about his experiences in his own country, from a global perspective, is rather amusing. Anyway, I hope he does. I will miss that Leche Cul Encule. He taught me a lot.....of naughty French words.
I am not, on the surface, a very emotional person. I am especially uncomfortable with man-on-man affection. This is one of the few times I can say that I am genuinely saddened and appreciative at the same time. It's a rare kind of sadness because though it's an end to a chapter, the next one will most certainly be more exciting than the previous. This sentiment is not foreign to me. I imagine he's experiencing similar thoughts that I expressed here, recently.
As far as the "appreciative" part above, I am thankful to have made such a great friend. I don't have too many friends, but the few ones I have are friends for life. So don't lose touch, baiseur, and don't forget your English because I don't have time to learn your language except for the bad words. I would say "Good Luck" but there's no such thing. Even if there were such a thing as good luck, you don't need it.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Translation:
French:
Désolé Vincent. J'aurais pensé de la possibilité de voir les personnes nouvelles. Qui aurait WebFirst à regarder notre blog?
Quoi qu'il en soit, félicitations. Comme je vous l'ai dit auparavant, vous pourriez un jour bientôt éprouver les mêmes sensations je faire lorsque vous imiter mon accent américain. Préparez-vous, Super Leche Cul.
Vous permettra de ne plus se moquer de votre patrie d'adoption et ses habitants. Angry Quand les Français critiquent, vous, attention à l'horizon et une larme se déroulera votre joue, en pensant à Baja Fresh et Sam Adams. Je sais ces choses-là .
English:
Sorry Vincent. I would have thought the opportunity to see the new people. Who would WebFirst watching our blog?
Anyway, congratulations. As I said earlier, you may one day soon experience the same feeling I do when you imitate my American accent. Prepare yourself, Super Leche Cul.
You will no longer make fun of your adopted home and its inhabitants. Angry French critics When you look at the horizon and tears will run your plays, thinking about Baja Fresh and Sam Adams. I know these things.
You can view it here. If you're curious about what it says, I posted the translation at the bottom of this post. Keep in mind it went from English to French, then back to English. I other words, it's goofy.
Now everyone knows they are leaving. Vincent's last day at his job is Friday and they're off in a couple of weeks. They are making all their arrangements like moving stuff and selling cars. They're even scoping out apartments in Gey Paree.
I told Vincent today (we had lunch together), that since he's moving back to France he must change his blog, which is now in French (a Frenchman in DiCi), to English so I can keep up on what's happening with them. He replied: yes, I could title it "A Frenchman in Paris." Maybe you had to be there, but the irony of a French person writing about his experiences in his own country, from a global perspective, is rather amusing. Anyway, I hope he does. I will miss that Leche Cul Encule. He taught me a lot.....of naughty French words.
I am not, on the surface, a very emotional person. I am especially uncomfortable with man-on-man affection. This is one of the few times I can say that I am genuinely saddened and appreciative at the same time. It's a rare kind of sadness because though it's an end to a chapter, the next one will most certainly be more exciting than the previous. This sentiment is not foreign to me. I imagine he's experiencing similar thoughts that I expressed here, recently.
As far as the "appreciative" part above, I am thankful to have made such a great friend. I don't have too many friends, but the few ones I have are friends for life. So don't lose touch, baiseur, and don't forget your English because I don't have time to learn your language except for the bad words. I would say "Good Luck" but there's no such thing. Even if there were such a thing as good luck, you don't need it.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Translation:
French:
Désolé Vincent. J'aurais pensé de la possibilité de voir les personnes nouvelles. Qui aurait WebFirst à regarder notre blog?
Quoi qu'il en soit, félicitations. Comme je vous l'ai dit auparavant, vous pourriez un jour bientôt éprouver les mêmes sensations je faire lorsque vous imiter mon accent américain. Préparez-vous, Super Leche Cul.
Vous permettra de ne plus se moquer de votre patrie d'adoption et ses habitants. Angry Quand les Français critiquent, vous, attention à l'horizon et une larme se déroulera votre joue, en pensant à Baja Fresh et Sam Adams. Je sais ces choses-là .
English:
Sorry Vincent. I would have thought the opportunity to see the new people. Who would WebFirst watching our blog?
Anyway, congratulations. As I said earlier, you may one day soon experience the same feeling I do when you imitate my American accent. Prepare yourself, Super Leche Cul.
You will no longer make fun of your adopted home and its inhabitants. Angry French critics When you look at the horizon and tears will run your plays, thinking about Baja Fresh and Sam Adams. I know these things.
Monday, February 04, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Nikolai Volkoff
As a kid, I (Matt) used to watch professional wrestling every Saturday morning. Then, would practice the moves by jumping on to the bed with one, semi-furious elbow. I put a lot of pain into that bed.
One of the "Villains" who wrestled was named Nikolai Volkoff. He was an Evil Soviet who was most famous for singing the Soviet National Anthem before a match. There must have been thousands of other ten year old kids who could sing the Soviet National Anthem.
So, why is this of note? Because we'll be neighbors. Well, not house neighbors, office neighbors. There's a gym opening above the office where I often work, North of Baltimore and he'll be one of the trainers.
When he sees me, I may be sporting the same outfit he wears in the following classic video. Except mine will be purple and I will ridicule him in Vietnamese instead of Russian. Get a load of the OTHER guy in the video. Blondie says he has ten thousand dollars to pay Nikolai so he'll break another wrestler's arm. I think he should pocket the ten large, get a haircut and put on some pants. And watch Blondie totally haul off and punch Nikolai's chest at minute 1:20. That's the kind of force only my childhood bed knows.
Friday, January 25, 2008
A photo album of Aimee's car, by Mont. County government
Our local government Montgomery County has a great service. They actually take pictures of your car and create a photo album. They then send you a notice in the mail with login information so you can see it. That's swell of them, right? Not when you learn that it's because you've been speeding.
I thought it was a shame to waste such nice photos, so you can take a look at their work below:
I wish I could find out how they center a picture so well because I have no ability when it comes to this skill. From the looks of the picture, it does not appear that the car was speeding. It looks like I pulled in that little area and slowed down so the camera could take the best shot. I could argue that in court, justified by the fact that I think Aimee's car is Style-ing and the automatic picture taking computer went crazy for a moment in awe of it and just had to snap some pics. Or I could just pay the fine and move on because I don't have the free time. Plus, I learned long ago that it's a rough go if you ever try to fight The Man.
Oh well, I guess that's why the guys at the Car Club call me The Cruiser. If you get this movie reference and your first name is not Patrick, then I have a dollar and a high five for you.
I thought it was a shame to waste such nice photos, so you can take a look at their work below:
I wish I could find out how they center a picture so well because I have no ability when it comes to this skill. From the looks of the picture, it does not appear that the car was speeding. It looks like I pulled in that little area and slowed down so the camera could take the best shot. I could argue that in court, justified by the fact that I think Aimee's car is Style-ing and the automatic picture taking computer went crazy for a moment in awe of it and just had to snap some pics. Or I could just pay the fine and move on because I don't have the free time. Plus, I learned long ago that it's a rough go if you ever try to fight The Man.
Oh well, I guess that's why the guys at the Car Club call me The Cruiser. If you get this movie reference and your first name is not Patrick, then I have a dollar and a high five for you.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Winter doldrums
(Matt)
This is the time of year where not much happens. Here in Maryland, the winter is just short enough so that the people tend to wait it out rather than spend much time outside. Though this is true, I am outside numerous times each day because of the dogs.
In the spirit of celebrating the time of the year when there's not much activity, I give you one of Aimee's favorite songsters. From Texas, of course.
This is the time of year where not much happens. Here in Maryland, the winter is just short enough so that the people tend to wait it out rather than spend much time outside. Though this is true, I am outside numerous times each day because of the dogs.
In the spirit of celebrating the time of the year when there's not much activity, I give you one of Aimee's favorite songsters. From Texas, of course.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Pizza Palace Remembered
I (Matt) haven't thought much of my college years since I graduated, but my new job brings me very close to my Alma Mater, Towson University, at least a few times a week. If it weren't for my college experience, random references to the area where I often work today in 2008, would go unnoticed.
Since I used to live and study near the Timonium MD office (for my current job) which brings me to one of my colleagues who mentioned "Pizza Palace" yesterday. I know Pizza Palace. In fact, I worked there briefly back in 1991.
Pizza Palace was the place where all the college students would visit after drinking one or 27 beers. They would yell their order and proceed to eat, scream, fight, throw food, throw up, and generally do all the nasty things college students tend to do. Pizza Palace was the place for someone to study in order to write a comprehensive book on Health Code Violations. Just uttering the name would cause Rats to sweat nervously and Cockroaches make the sign of the cross.
I can only convey my Pizza Palace experience with a short story. I was working one Tuesday night behind the counter, taking orders and cooking food. I was adorned with a Red Pizza Palace Tee Shirt, A Red Pizza Palace Baseball Cap, and a large, dirty white apron. Around 1:00 am, the kids streamed in.
"Get me a meat ball sub and quick, punk!" "I want a Pizza....now!"
I then saw a friend of mine who is quite the wise @##. I thought to myself: Great. I thought that since he was so drunk, that he wouldn't notice me in my Halloween costume, dressed like a guy who worked in a Pizza Parlor.
Me: Can I help you?
Unnamed friend: "Yeah..I'll have a large pizza, a large fries.." he squints his eyes...looks confused..looks away..looks back.."ROGERS?.....Is that you? ROGERS????"
Me: Yes..it's me. What can I get you.
Him: "Heeeeeyy..Rogers..You work at Pizza Palace? Pizza Palace???"
Me: Yes. I work at Pizza Palace. Now what do you want.
Him: He proceeds to retrieve all the people who he is with, bring them in front of me and begins pointing at my like I am some time of lab experiment run amok. "I KNOW THIS GUY! Look at him, he's working at Pizza Palace! Just look at him!" Laughter, smirks, condescending glances, giggles. If it were a movie, I'd have a lone tear down my cheek.
About two days later, I was walking to class in the warm sunshine, with a spring in my step, ready to absorb all that knowledge. There were hundreds of student milling about and socializing.
The music stops. "HEEEYYYY....PIZZA PALACE! What's up Pizza Palace!" I look over to see my friend along with a group of other people I knew. "ROGERS WORKS AT PIZZA PALACE!"
The following is dead true. For the next two years, this same guy forgot my real name. He only referred to me from then on.....as "Pizza Palace."
The funny thing about the position at this restaurant was that it was one of the more normal jobs I had during college. I could go on about the others, but I am out of time..
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Music and Lyrics
Not too long ago, Aimee and I watched a movie title "Mysic and Lyrics." It's really silly. Hugh Grant stars as a former 80's Pop Idol who milks his former glory by playing amusement parks and high school reunions for people who graduated around that time period. For anyone who remembered the 80's along with it's Music, you know how light-hearted and goofy it seems now. The music in the movie is spot on in terms of its...well..Music and Lyrics.
Anyway, there's a scene in the movie where Hugh Grant's character is playing a high school reunion. The 30 ish ladies are brought back to their teen years and act as such. Hugh's character does not disappoint. So, how does this relate? At minute 2:01 of the following video, Hugh busts out what I call a Hip Thrust Motorcycle Revving Love Spasm. And Aimee, when asked, can mimic it enough to make me laugh. The movie itself is fairly fun to watch if I must say. So, if you dare, enjoy the following...
Anyway, there's a scene in the movie where Hugh Grant's character is playing a high school reunion. The 30 ish ladies are brought back to their teen years and act as such. Hugh's character does not disappoint. So, how does this relate? At minute 2:01 of the following video, Hugh busts out what I call a Hip Thrust Motorcycle Revving Love Spasm. And Aimee, when asked, can mimic it enough to make me laugh. The movie itself is fairly fun to watch if I must say. So, if you dare, enjoy the following...
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
From my Favorites folder
I (Matt) seldom bookmark sites. When I do, I don't often visit them. The following are sites that may be a bit strange, but at one time I found them interesting.
1.) China's Mystery Mummies. 2000 years before the baby Jesus, a group of people lived in China. The funny thing is that they weren't Chinese. They were of Celtic origin. It's a mystery that European mummies were found so far from Europe thousands of years ago.
http://www.giftofireland.com/Articlethree.htm
2.) A Youtube Video. It's a commerical from the 70's about a Worker's Union called AFSCME. When I saw it, I howled laughing. PLEASE don't view it if you are offended by foul language.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_3mw49mk_x0
3.) Written eye witness accounts of history
http://www.eyewitnesstohistory.com/eyindx.htm
4.) Urban Travel Guide to DC
http://gridskipper.com/travel/washington-dc
5.) The Last Supper Painting in crazy detail, allowing you to Zoom in wherever you want
http://www.haltadefinizione.com/en/cenacolo/look.asp
6.) Old Timey Family photos
http://www.squareamerica.com/s7.htm
7.) Eternal Sunset
The sun is always setting somewhere in the world. Someone has proven this.
http://eternalsunset.net/index.php
1.) China's Mystery Mummies. 2000 years before the baby Jesus, a group of people lived in China. The funny thing is that they weren't Chinese. They were of Celtic origin. It's a mystery that European mummies were found so far from Europe thousands of years ago.
http://www.giftofireland.com/Articlethree.htm
2.) A Youtube Video. It's a commerical from the 70's about a Worker's Union called AFSCME. When I saw it, I howled laughing. PLEASE don't view it if you are offended by foul language.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_3mw49mk_x0
3.) Written eye witness accounts of history
http://www.eyewitnesstohistory.com/eyindx.htm
4.) Urban Travel Guide to DC
http://gridskipper.com/travel/washington-dc
5.) The Last Supper Painting in crazy detail, allowing you to Zoom in wherever you want
http://www.haltadefinizione.com/en/cenacolo/look.asp
6.) Old Timey Family photos
http://www.squareamerica.com/s7.htm
7.) Eternal Sunset
The sun is always setting somewhere in the world. Someone has proven this.
http://eternalsunset.net/index.php
Saturday, January 05, 2008
Debbie Downer
I was speaking with a co-worker yesterday. He's lamenting the fact that he's turning 30 this week and has to spend the whole weekend at a marriage counseling session, from Friday night to Sunday, bunking in a dorm with other would-be grooms, sharing one bathroom. Though I did empathize with him in that it must be a drag to spend the whole weekend proving that one is ready for marriage, I put the most positive twist possible on it.
I then shared my "wisdom" about turning thirty (and being married): I said to him: "I am much happier with my life after I turned thirty and being married, than when I was in my 20's and single."
His response: "This is because you have less time to live on the planet and you feel that you have to enjoy the little time you have left."
After I laughed at him, I called him "Debbie Downer" and asked him if he's ever seen the SNL skit. He said he hadn't. So, this is for anyone who hasn't seen it.
http://www.nbc.com/Saturday_Night_Live/video/#mea=32806
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
The Mad Greek Diner Man
I watched the movie "Rounders" this evening. It's one of those movies that I can watch again and again and I don't know why. Anyway, it's set in New York. One scene depicts a card game in a Greek Diner in NYC. One Greek Diner guy says to another:
F$@# meeee? F#@ Ayoooou! (pardon the language)
This reminded me of a story from right after I moved to New York. The story includes blue language (which is inferred, not written). So if blue language offends you, please stop here.
When I moved to New York, I didn't have a job. I initially had considerable free time on my hands in Astoria, Queens. Astoria is traditionally known as a Greek neighborhood. There are Greek Delis, Greek Supermarkets, and a lot of Greek People sauntering about, gesticulating, sipping coffee and yelling at each other (for them, it's just talking).
Which brings me to George. George was the Greek owner of a Greek Diner on my block. Since I was unemployed, I went to George's Diner every day for a Greek Salad with extra anchovies. When you walked through the door of George's Deli, you were now in George Land, where George was King. George talked to everybody. George always talked (yelled). George never took any flack from anyone. In fact, whenever a customer would event hint of giving him a hard time, George would make a scene, yelling like a crazy man with dramatic hand gestures. There was only one law in this Diner: be respectful to George or George will silence you by causing a scene and threatening life banishment from his diner. Of course, every time this would happen, I would put down my paper, fixate my eyes on the scene and pray that I would not collapse in laughter. I liked George.
For example, the breakfast special ended at 11:00 am. If you ordered the special at 11:01 a.m., George would respond with disdain, shock and fury. On one particular Sunday, and elderly man (George didn't discriminate) demanded the breakfast special after 11 am. After the elderly man continued to pester him, George proceeded to do the following: He bean to unbuckle his pants and while doing so, said:
Shoooda I pull down my pants for you too?? What else do you want from me? Shoulda Eye take down my pants????
When I frequented the Deli, I often wore a black windbreaker-type jacket , so George thought I was some type of law enforcement man.
George: Ayy, where u frawm.
Me: Washington, DC.
George: U a cop? You gotta thatta blacka jacket. You looga lika cop. You CIA?
Me: No, not a cop. I am actually looking for a job.
George (sarcastically): Suuure yoo are a Mister Washingdun Dee Cee. Mr. CIA. Washoo want, Mr. Washingdun Deee Cee CIA.
Me: I'm not a cop. I'll have a Greek Salad with extra anchovies.
George: Yu got it, Mr. Washingdun Dee Cee CIA FBI. (wink wink wink).
Every time I walked in his Diner from then on, George would greet me by yelling: Heeeeey, Mister Washingdun Dee CIA Man! There was no problem with this but since he yelled it out, whoever was in ear shot would drop what they were doing and look straight at me. Earshot for George covered the whole diner and probably the hospital rooms across the street.
One day, there was a "mentally unstable" lady seated at the counter while I was at a table, eating a Greek Salad with extra anchovies. This lady was textbook: long gray hair, mangy clothes and surrounded by bags. She was chattering on at George. As went on, she became abusive. She began to yell and the volume of her voice began to rise. George maintained his composure:
George: Yes Janice. Okay Janice. No problem. I am trying to help you, Janice.
I began to feel a little bad for George and resentful of the lady. After what happened next, I was quickly reminded where I was: George Land.
After a long sentence of senseless yelling, the lady made a big mistake.
Lady in squeaky crazy lady voice: F$@$# yooou.
(Mee: newspaper slowly lowering down revealing my surprised eyes, thinking: Ohhhhh noooo.)
George, turns around and yells: F#@#$ Meeeeeeeeeeee??????? F#$@@ Yoooooooooou!!!!!
Even the crazy lady knew she made a big mistake because she immediately began to yell out:
Am Sorry! An Sorry! I won't do it again! I sweaaar!
Too late. George dramatically banished her from his domain. After she was gone, George proceeded to tell me her life story with considerable empathy. He didn't feel good about what what had just occurred. Though he may have been gruff, George was a good man. If it weren't for the foul language, I think it may have turned out differently. Knowing George, I wouldn't be surprised if he let her back in sometime later.
The best part about this story occurred about two weeks later. I was in the Diner with my friend Luke. In front of George, I retold the story. As I told the story, I began to impersonate the banished lady in her squeaky voice with the "Eff U" included. I then reached down into a deep place within myself, and performed, word for word, my best impersonation of George, in front of George, gesticulations included:
fff@%%$ Meeee? F%#$$ Yoooou!
For the next five minutes, George proceed to laugh as hard as anyone I have ever seen laugh in my life, tears included.
Okay Mister Washingdun Dee Cee, Maybe you are nodda cop.
Happy New Year
Aimee spent NYE with her family in Good Ole Texas. I am sorry I could not make it down there and hope to see the Stevenson Clan soon. It's been too long. Anyway, I spent a quiet NYE with the family at Dogfish Brewery in Gaithersburg Maryland. I ate like a pig. Later, I welcomed 2008 with Darla and Ginny.
Here are some pics from Christmas:
Aimee opening up Secret Santa gift.
Matt and Aimee.
Here are some pics from Christmas:
Aimee opening up Secret Santa gift.
Matt and Aimee.Monday, December 31, 2007
New Year's Eve
It was foggy this morning so I snapped a cell phone photo.
It's New Year's Eve. Don't Drink and Drive.
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