And I quote: "... the guy offering the tip doesn't seem to be any sort of food expert or anything. He's just some dude who had a hangover on Sunday and decided to blog away."
Yeah, no shit. I am still more than qualified to critique the great "expert" Rachael Ray.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Monday, April 24, 2006
It Always Goes Back To The Basics
A friend of mine is having a 30th birthday party this summer. My friend AP (the one whose knee I may or may not have destroyed) e-mailed me last week to see if I was planning on going and what the date was. This of course, got off the subject in a hurry:
From: AP
To: WJR
Time: 2:30
When was WD planning a party for TD? What's the date?
From: WJR
To: AP
Time: 2:35 PM
I think it is in July, but I am going to have to check my calendar when I get home.
From: WJR
To: AP
Time: 2:37 PM
Boo-ya! I found it. [date inserted here, 2006]
From: AP
To: WJR
Time: 3:42 PM
do you plan on heading up for this?
From: WJR
To: AP
Time: 3:43 PM
I do. I am going to act like I am 20 all over again (and possibly kick Tom's cat a couple of times too).
From: AP
To: WJR
Time: 3:47 PM
Will you take a wiz out the third floor window?
From: WJR
To: AP
Time: 3:49 PM
I will if instigated. I am also hoping to sleep in the backyard.
From: AP
To: WJR
Time: 3:54 PM
If instigated? I don't remember a 20 year old WJR needing much pushing or incentive to piss out the window. As a matter of fact, you did it with glee and reckless abandon with childlike wonderment.
From: WJR
To: AP
Time: 4:00 PM
You are correct. Consider it done. Nothing beats high elevation urination. I was just thinking about how if I were one of the people that got stuck in that Roosevelt Island tram the other night I would have been pissing out the window as often as possible. Urine at 250 feet has gotta be good.
From: AP
To: WJR
Time: 4:06 PM
I was thinking the same thing as I was watching the live coverage that night. I admit that I wouldn't have been watching it had anything of interest been on. But, I stopped on Channel 7 with a live shot from their chopper. I wondered aloud what a piss stream would look like from that angle and if they'd dump right into a commercial.
I was waiting for some big fat welfare mom to stick her gigantic tukus out the window to take a dump. No such luck.
From: WJR
To: AP
Time: 4:14 PM
Did nobody bring up the bathroom situation? I heard someone mention that a little kid peed in a cup, but that was it. I have days where if I were delayed in my commute I would probably pee and/or shit my pants. There had to be someone like me on there.
From: AP
To: WJR
Time: 5:06 PM
I don't think anybody is as focused on bodily functions as we are.
I was flying home from someplace a couple of weeks ago when I got up to pee about three times in one hour because I had two pints in the bar before boarding. At my last visit, I heard an elderly woman say to her flying-mate, "I don't know, maybe he goes to the bathroom so much to snort drugs." I told her to mind her own fucking business or I'd flush her head down the vacuum toilet. Well, I didn't really say that. I just thought it would be cool if I did.
From: WJR
To: AP
Time: 5:20 PM
I wish you had said that. Or offered her some drugs. Or offered a ticket to the mile-high club.
Old bitch.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Sunday Detox
Last night I had myself a little birthday celebration out in Astoria. Surprise! I got drunk.
I woke up around 10:30am which was earlier than I should have considering we didn't even leave the bar until after 3:00am. When I woke up I thought I had escaped a horrible hangover. As the day progressed I realized this wasn't the case. It all caught up to me. The pierogies, the pitchers of beer, the shots of whisky, vodka and tequila ... all caught up, jumped on my back and smashed my face into the floor. I was not as hungover as I was a couple of Saturdays ago, but it was close. I even had a bout of the sweats. Just like Albert from Little House on the Prairie when he was coming off of morphine.
Some notes for a hungover Sunday:
Dear TBS,
Please give me a fucking break with your Sunday viewing options. This is what you offered me today? Sweet November, Sleepless In Seattle, Fools Rush In, Stepmom and Pretty Woman (2x). Torture. Total torture. What happened to "Very Funny" as you like to say?
Dear Rachael Ray,
Just a quick kitchen tip. When you are frying up Canadian bacon in a nonstick pan you don't need E-V-O-O.
Dear Old School,
You are fucking funny. Almost funny enough to stop being pissed off at TBS and Rachael Ray
Dear Paquito's,
If human/food unions are ever legalized, I would marry your soft tacos.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
It's Not Actually Cake
The bathroom at work has three urinals. Nothing exceptional to report there. However, this past week I noticed an odd trend in the style of the cleaning staff. There was only one urinal cake. For those of you not familiar with urinals, there is normally one in each urinal, not one to share by three urinals. I don't really think much of it at first since this is actually somewhat of a step up, as often there are none. Maybe the management company ran out or something. What do I know? Then I notice, as the week goes on that the cake (or big blue mint as I like to call it) has switched urinals. It seems the cleaning staff or some other concerned bathroom user has got some sort of urinal cake rotating schedule going on. It was literally going through the cycle of urinals, switching each day. Left. Middle. Right. Middle.
I just don't know why this is happening or why I even notice or give a shit. I just hope this stops soon.
I just don't know why this is happening or why I even notice or give a shit. I just hope this stops soon.
Friday, April 21, 2006
Lumpy
There has been some discussion at my place of employment the last few days of the mumps outbreak in the Midwest. Everyone is generally perplexed about how people are getting that shit despite the MMR vaccination that everyone gets. I don't really have the answer to that, but I can say that I got a MMR shot when I was young (whatever age that is normally done) and then again before I began college and guess what? I got the fucking mumps. I blame the sister of my girlfriend at the time, but I won't get into all that theory here.
Freshman year in college wasn't exactly my most healthy time during my stay on this planet. There was a lot of poor nutrition mixed with cramped living quarters, booze, staying up late and getting up for early mornings rowing on the Hudson. I managed to get a lot of pink eye and strep throat and cooties, but the surprise was mumps. I mean, who the fuck gets mumps?
I had a crew race the Friday of Easter weekend against Manhattan and RPI, somewhere in the Harlem River. That morning, I thought I felt a little funky, but didn't really think it was anything to be concerned with. By the time we got down to NYC my throat was sore. Not like germ-based sore throat, more like I slept contorted sore. I still didn't care, as once this race was through, it was back home for a weekend of eating and sleeping to my heart's content. After not winning (as was so often the case) and getting in trouble for mooning a Circle Line boat full of tourists, it was back to school. My parents picked me up and home we were headed. My mother had been thoughtful enough to pick me up a sandwich from Subway. My mouth and the rest of me was so out of sorts by that point that I ate about two bites of my sandwich -- which is very unlike me, if you have ever seen me around food.
So, I get home and start to get very swollen and sore. I got to the doctor. Since I thought I might be dying, I just went to whatever doctor I could see instead of my usual guy. I got some old doctor who told me, "Yup, you've got mumps," as though it were something as common and unalarming as a blister or ingrown toenail. I wondered if maybe he didn't realize what year it was and the uncommon predicament I had found myself in. This shit hurts, makes me look funny and can lead to infertility (which at the time would have been nice, but probably not in the long term).
Anyway, there isn't a lot you can do about mumps other than sit around and occasionally stare in amazement in the mirror. So that's what I did. I wish I had taken a picture. My face was so bubbled out, I couldn't even see my ear lobes when I looked in the mirror because my swollen face was blocking the view.
So, that is my story. A pointless story, but a story nevertheless. I was one of 92 cases of mumps in New York State in 1992. Where were my headlines? Damn that Midwest ... always stealing my media spotlight.
Freshman year in college wasn't exactly my most healthy time during my stay on this planet. There was a lot of poor nutrition mixed with cramped living quarters, booze, staying up late and getting up for early mornings rowing on the Hudson. I managed to get a lot of pink eye and strep throat and cooties, but the surprise was mumps. I mean, who the fuck gets mumps?
I had a crew race the Friday of Easter weekend against Manhattan and RPI, somewhere in the Harlem River. That morning, I thought I felt a little funky, but didn't really think it was anything to be concerned with. By the time we got down to NYC my throat was sore. Not like germ-based sore throat, more like I slept contorted sore. I still didn't care, as once this race was through, it was back home for a weekend of eating and sleeping to my heart's content. After not winning (as was so often the case) and getting in trouble for mooning a Circle Line boat full of tourists, it was back to school. My parents picked me up and home we were headed. My mother had been thoughtful enough to pick me up a sandwich from Subway. My mouth and the rest of me was so out of sorts by that point that I ate about two bites of my sandwich -- which is very unlike me, if you have ever seen me around food.
So, I get home and start to get very swollen and sore. I got to the doctor. Since I thought I might be dying, I just went to whatever doctor I could see instead of my usual guy. I got some old doctor who told me, "Yup, you've got mumps," as though it were something as common and unalarming as a blister or ingrown toenail. I wondered if maybe he didn't realize what year it was and the uncommon predicament I had found myself in. This shit hurts, makes me look funny and can lead to infertility (which at the time would have been nice, but probably not in the long term).
Anyway, there isn't a lot you can do about mumps other than sit around and occasionally stare in amazement in the mirror. So that's what I did. I wish I had taken a picture. My face was so bubbled out, I couldn't even see my ear lobes when I looked in the mirror because my swollen face was blocking the view.
So, that is my story. A pointless story, but a story nevertheless. I was one of 92 cases of mumps in New York State in 1992. Where were my headlines? Damn that Midwest ... always stealing my media spotlight.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Bring Your Mom
With some boozing planned for Saturday (with the partial excuse of me getting older) I have had a few wiseass comments from here and there.
My favorite response, which I think was actually serious and not wiseass has come from a gal I work with:
---------
To: WJR
From: Xxxxxxx Xxxxx
how exciting --
I'll come after my mom's wedding reception!
---------
That's the dedication this world needs!
Speaking of the excitement, if you don't have your mom's wedding reception to attend, feel free to stop by for some brews and stupidity. Here are the details:
[The details have been removed due to concern by a few, that I might attract the likes of those who murder children or other undesirables. If you want the details, you can e-mail me, then after a thorough background check I perhaps will let you in on the details.]
My favorite response, which I think was actually serious and not wiseass has come from a gal I work with:
---------
To: WJR
From: Xxxxxxx Xxxxx
how exciting --
I'll come after my mom's wedding reception!
---------
That's the dedication this world needs!
Speaking of the excitement, if you don't have your mom's wedding reception to attend, feel free to stop by for some brews and stupidity. Here are the details:
Saturday, April 15, 2006
F.U. to the E.B.
I was in that odd period, when I was old enough to pretty much do what I wanted to during daylight hours, yet was a few years too young to acquire myself the freedom of a license to drive. So much time available, but what to do?
During this time, my friend down the street had a map of our township and we decided we were going to see how many of the roads in the 52.7 square miles of town we could bike. It was a ridiculous idea, but what else did we have to do over an entire summer? Nothing.
Easter weekend, if I recall correctly, was our inaugural ride. Probably on Saturday. After a good chunk of riding, we get to a fairly busy intersection. There is a guy on the corner dressed in an Easter Bunny costume waving at cars, I guess trying to spread some holiday spirit (aka luring people to shop at the store he was in front of). We pull up near him, and wait for a chance to cross. The bunny turns to us and says, "Get the hell off my corner." Not very much in the spirit of Easter or very consumer friendly. I didn't say anything, as back then I was a bit more quiet and more easily surprised than I am today. My friend however shot right back, "Fuck you Easter bunny." And off we peddled.
Stupid bunny.
I think this may be the very same bunny, obviously further down the same road of evil:
Happy Easter!
I'm celebrating by goin' out drinking. I think that is what Jesus and the Easter Bunny would want.
During this time, my friend down the street had a map of our township and we decided we were going to see how many of the roads in the 52.7 square miles of town we could bike. It was a ridiculous idea, but what else did we have to do over an entire summer? Nothing.
Easter weekend, if I recall correctly, was our inaugural ride. Probably on Saturday. After a good chunk of riding, we get to a fairly busy intersection. There is a guy on the corner dressed in an Easter Bunny costume waving at cars, I guess trying to spread some holiday spirit (aka luring people to shop at the store he was in front of). We pull up near him, and wait for a chance to cross. The bunny turns to us and says, "Get the hell off my corner." Not very much in the spirit of Easter or very consumer friendly. I didn't say anything, as back then I was a bit more quiet and more easily surprised than I am today. My friend however shot right back, "Fuck you Easter bunny." And off we peddled.
Stupid bunny.
I think this may be the very same bunny, obviously further down the same road of evil:
Happy Easter!
I'm celebrating by goin' out drinking. I think that is what Jesus and the Easter Bunny would want.
Talkin' Baseball
I just finished an interview in the latest Playboy (May 2006) with Ozzie Guillen, manager of the Chicago White Sox. I think it may be the only interview I have ever read where the person being interviewed curses more than I do. So, of course I am now an instant fan.
There was a brief discussion of the White Sox/Cubs rivalry in Chicago, which leads to this question and answer that I think is a classic:
PLAYBOY: Are the Cubs cursed?
GUILLEN: No, they're just horseshit.
Sombody get me a Sox hat!
There was a brief discussion of the White Sox/Cubs rivalry in Chicago, which leads to this question and answer that I think is a classic:
PLAYBOY: Are the Cubs cursed?
GUILLEN: No, they're just horseshit.
Sombody get me a Sox hat!
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Another Victim
Back in January I encountered a bird wing mystery. Pretty nasty.
Today, while out at lunch I have another encounter with the aftermath of the wing ripper. Different bird, slightly less exposed bone, and only one wing, but certainly the work of the same villain:
The mystery continues.
Today, while out at lunch I have another encounter with the aftermath of the wing ripper. Different bird, slightly less exposed bone, and only one wing, but certainly the work of the same villain:
The mystery continues.
Monday, April 10, 2006
That's What Saturdays Are For
Saturday night I hit the sauce pretty hardcore for the first time in awhile.
During the day I was supposed to go the see the Mets game, but that bitch Mother Nature had other plans. Yup, after riding the John Rocker's favorite 7 train out to Shea they announced the game was off. It had been raining all day, but I guess they didn't want to call it until they knew there was no hope. So, with a block of time suddenly wide open, my baseball cohorts and I decided we could go for something to eat. This of course led to something to wash that food down, and all of a sudden I was mildly drunk. I didn't think I was, but when I got on the A train to head home, I was so into my music that I looked up at the stop past where I needed to get off.
Idiot.
Anyway, I finally got my ass home, made some phone calls, chilled for a bit and then was back out.
Out for one blind cavefish Jess' birthday celebration. This was our first meeting since we first crossed blogs back in (I think) late 2004. As it turns out, she is neither blind or a fish, so that was a relief. I don't want to talk for all parties involved, but I think it is safe to say a good drunken time was had by all.
For myself, a whole lot of Jack and gingers, an unnecessary shot of tequila and a slice of pizza on my walk home resulted in me waking up on my couch at 7:45 am fully clothed. I moved to my bed and stayed there until about 11:45am. Then I got up for a big move back to the couch. I watched some Mets baseball (the game I should have seen, a day late), checked my e-mail, ate a PB&J and then hit the couch again. There I put on the world's greatest sleeping pill -- auto racing. That shit puts me out cold. I don't know if it is the hypnotic motion of the cars circling a track or if it is the noise or what, but it works like a charm. I snoozed for another couple of hours, got up watched a couple of movies and ate some Chinese food and with another fun work week just around the corner, packed it in for good.
Boo-ya ... another productive Sunday.
During the day I was supposed to go the see the Mets game, but that bitch Mother Nature had other plans. Yup, after riding the John Rocker's favorite 7 train out to Shea they announced the game was off. It had been raining all day, but I guess they didn't want to call it until they knew there was no hope. So, with a block of time suddenly wide open, my baseball cohorts and I decided we could go for something to eat. This of course led to something to wash that food down, and all of a sudden I was mildly drunk. I didn't think I was, but when I got on the A train to head home, I was so into my music that I looked up at the stop past where I needed to get off.
Idiot.
Anyway, I finally got my ass home, made some phone calls, chilled for a bit and then was back out.
Out for one blind cavefish Jess' birthday celebration. This was our first meeting since we first crossed blogs back in (I think) late 2004. As it turns out, she is neither blind or a fish, so that was a relief. I don't want to talk for all parties involved, but I think it is safe to say a good drunken time was had by all.
For myself, a whole lot of Jack and gingers, an unnecessary shot of tequila and a slice of pizza on my walk home resulted in me waking up on my couch at 7:45 am fully clothed. I moved to my bed and stayed there until about 11:45am. Then I got up for a big move back to the couch. I watched some Mets baseball (the game I should have seen, a day late), checked my e-mail, ate a PB&J and then hit the couch again. There I put on the world's greatest sleeping pill -- auto racing. That shit puts me out cold. I don't know if it is the hypnotic motion of the cars circling a track or if it is the noise or what, but it works like a charm. I snoozed for another couple of hours, got up watched a couple of movies and ate some Chinese food and with another fun work week just around the corner, packed it in for good.
Boo-ya ... another productive Sunday.
Saturday, April 8, 2006
Friday Night Kick
This past Friday I went to see some asskicking at Mayhem on Mulberry. It was pretty sweet. I was just complaining about how I never see any knockouts at these things -- just beatings -- but in the last fight, Nat McIntyre (from Minnesota), who I thought was looking like the lesser fighter at first, pulled a kick from out of nowhere and landed it on the side of the head of Ahmed Fahim Mohammed (from Egypt). It was fucking sick. It knocked Ahmed's mouthpiece out of his mouth, and down he went to his ass and slumped on the ropes. This was all like five feet in front of me. He was counted out, and then the doctor came into the ring and laid him down and gave him some oxygen. By the time he got to his feet he had a really nasty bruise right around the temple/side of his eye and I swear he had a dent there.
I wish I could have seen him Saturday morning. I bet he looked and felt like he had fallen in front of a bus. Welcome to America, Ahmed.
I wish I could have seen him Saturday morning. I bet he looked and felt like he had fallen in front of a bus. Welcome to America, Ahmed.
Thursday, April 6, 2006
Show Me Respect and Dial it Now!
At work today I had to call someone at glaceau (makers of vitaminwater). Give this number a call and listen to their automated phone assistant: 718-746-0087. Funny business.
Monday, April 3, 2006
Kneed
If for some odd reason, during your times reading this blog you start to take a liking to me and you start to think you may like to be friends with yours truly, think again. Before you make such a plunge into the unknown, read this e-mail I received today. You may reconsider your craving for friendship.
This e-mail comes from my friend Andrew. Andrew and I met back in 1993. We lived together for a semester in college, rowed together competitively, vandalized things, went on road trips, dressed up in tuxes for each other's weddings, laughed our asses off at all kinds of inappropriate shit and numerous other things that certify us as friends.
Here is the e-mail I get today from Andrew:
From: AP
To: WJR
Date: Apr 3, 2006 2:22 PM
Subject: You're an asshole......
I'm having problems with my knee again. I swear, if I need surgery, I'm coming to NY to beat you with my crutches.
AP
I vaguely remember this knee injury but can't for the life of me remember what the incident was. I was fairly certain booze was involved (ya think?), and remember feeling bad, but other than that all was blank. I have to e-mail him back:
From: WJR
To: AP
Date: Apr 3, 2006 3:20 PM
Subject: Re: You're an asshole......
What were the circumstances around this injury again? I can't for the life of me remember how I damaged you.
The answer arrives:
From: AP
To: WJR
Date: Apr 3, 2006 3:47 PM
Subject: Re: You're an asshole......
WE: Chris N.'s bachelor party on a bus.
YOU: Drunk standing in the aisle
ME: Drunk sitting in a chair with my right knee in the aisle.
YOU: Somehow fall on my outer right knee forcing it to the ground.
ME: Damaged MCL.
ME: Something else is going on in there. My knee clicks and snaps whenever I straighten my leg. Problems walking up and down stairs. Hurts to the touch. Never had a problem until this happened.
If it wasn't so painful, I'd laugh. I'm seeing a knee specialist in two weeks.
Thanks for nothing, asshole.
AP
See how I work? We'll be out drinking, smoking cigars, and having a grand ol' time one second and the next I'll be destroying your medial collateral ligament. And this was a good friend of mine. Imagine if you were fresh on the friendship scene! It'd be uglier for sure.
Heed my warning!
This e-mail comes from my friend Andrew. Andrew and I met back in 1993. We lived together for a semester in college, rowed together competitively, vandalized things, went on road trips, dressed up in tuxes for each other's weddings, laughed our asses off at all kinds of inappropriate shit and numerous other things that certify us as friends.
Here is the e-mail I get today from Andrew:
From: AP
To: WJR
Date: Apr 3, 2006 2:22 PM
Subject: You're an asshole......
I'm having problems with my knee again. I swear, if I need surgery, I'm coming to NY to beat you with my crutches.
AP
I vaguely remember this knee injury but can't for the life of me remember what the incident was. I was fairly certain booze was involved (ya think?), and remember feeling bad, but other than that all was blank. I have to e-mail him back:
From: WJR
To: AP
Date: Apr 3, 2006 3:20 PM
Subject: Re: You're an asshole......
What were the circumstances around this injury again? I can't for the life of me remember how I damaged you.
The answer arrives:
From: AP
To: WJR
Date: Apr 3, 2006 3:47 PM
Subject: Re: You're an asshole......
WE: Chris N.'s bachelor party on a bus.
YOU: Drunk standing in the aisle
ME: Drunk sitting in a chair with my right knee in the aisle.
YOU: Somehow fall on my outer right knee forcing it to the ground.
ME: Damaged MCL.
ME: Something else is going on in there. My knee clicks and snaps whenever I straighten my leg. Problems walking up and down stairs. Hurts to the touch. Never had a problem until this happened.
If it wasn't so painful, I'd laugh. I'm seeing a knee specialist in two weeks.
Thanks for nothing, asshole.
AP
See how I work? We'll be out drinking, smoking cigars, and having a grand ol' time one second and the next I'll be destroying your medial collateral ligament. And this was a good friend of mine. Imagine if you were fresh on the friendship scene! It'd be uglier for sure.
Heed my warning!
Sunday, April 2, 2006
Just Like The Sun
So, for those of you who were wondering about my father's eye operation (apparently even some strangers were concerned), it seems that all has gone well. I guess the vision is about what it was before the operation, but it should gradually improve over the next six to 12 months.
I got an e-mail from my mother giving the non-scientific prognosis: Your dad went to the dr. today and got the bandage off. Right now he sees about as well as before the transplant and hopefully his vision will improve as the healing takes place. The dr. has a "TV screen" that shows what he sees when he looks into your eye. I saw dad's eye - big - and the stitches all around the cornea. Just like a little kid draws the sun!
Obviously, my mother is fascinated with the technology and kid art.
The donated cornea came from some guy who died from "a fall" (I'm guessing a high fall). You know your clumsy ass is going to wind up falling at some point, so, let this be a lesson to you . Sign up to donate your eyes and other junk your body doesn't need upon death. Your parts come in handy to someone rather than just being worm food.
I got an e-mail from my mother giving the non-scientific prognosis: Your dad went to the dr. today and got the bandage off. Right now he sees about as well as before the transplant and hopefully his vision will improve as the healing takes place. The dr. has a "TV screen" that shows what he sees when he looks into your eye. I saw dad's eye - big - and the stitches all around the cornea. Just like a little kid draws the sun!
Obviously, my mother is fascinated with the technology and kid art.
The donated cornea came from some guy who died from "a fall" (I'm guessing a high fall). You know your clumsy ass is going to wind up falling at some point, so, let this be a lesson to you . Sign up to donate your eyes and other junk your body doesn't need upon death. Your parts come in handy to someone rather than just being worm food.
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