Chili Dog

I'm not Mr. Sports by any means, but this is a sports story that inspires a little mention here in Stinktown. Rod Beck was found dead in his home on Saturday. Two things motivated me to write here.

The first is that he was 38. This always freaks me out. It sounds pretty young to die to begin with, but then I realize that I'm only four years younger than that and I think "shit I'm old" and also reinforces that 38 is too young to die. At least for me.

The second thing is my friend and former co-worker, Matt D. Matt is probably the only reason I paid any legitimate attention to Beck. This happened back when Beck was on the (hated) Red Sox. One night we were watching the some Yankees/Red Sox action on the work TV (watch CNN my ass!) and Beck was just being his usual fat, messy, crazy mustache-wearin' self, but that was enough for us.

Matt says to me something like, "You know what that guy's favorite food is?"

I say, "No, what?"

"Chili dogs."

"What? How do you know that?"

"I don't know. He just looks like he eats chili dogs all day long."

"You have a point. That's entirely possible."

I was sort of mulling over the idea of eating nothing buy chili dogs a little while later while still watching the game and Matt comes by again.

"You know the flavor that gum Beck is chewing?"
I look over at Matt and before I could throw out a guess ... "Chili dog."

So, ever since that day I've referred to Rod Beck as "Chili Dog" and probably always will. I hope Beck will understand that this isn't all that much of an insult coming from someone with my eating habits and won't ask God to drag me off this wacky planet in less than four years. I've got shit to do around here still.

Thanks for the memories, Chili Dog.

Smokey Wakeup

So I'll start by saying that I sleep pretty heavy. If there is one thing I do in this world well, it's sleep. I've been known to sleep through some pretty loud shit in my day and honestly it is nice.

So, that said, last night I'm doing my usual deep sleep and I get blown out of it with the sound of breaking glass. The first one I'm thinking maybe it is just some A-hole garbage truck guys throwing shit in the back of the truck, and don't allow myself to get all the way awake, but then another one comes and another. I jump out of bed. It's 2:50am. I go to the window figuring that someone is smashing up someone's car windows or something. Maybe some sort of Jerry Springerish love triangle exposed or something. When I look out, there's none of that. Instead, it's a big fucking fire truck, ladder extended up to the 5th floor (just three floors under me) with a fireman smashing out my neighbors windows so they can get at what? A fucking fire. A fucking fire! Just three floors below. Holy shit!

Years of stupid fire drills at work and school and then all kinds of PSAs and educational pamphlets and movies and whatever else fire-related shit I have in storage fly through my head. I grab some shorts, jump in them, throw on my newly purchased flip flops and gather up money, cell phone and credit cards/ID. I quickly rethink my process and then opt for sneakers instead of flip flops as that seems like open toe style could be a mistake. I open the door (after feeling it first, of course) and the hall is filled with smoke. Stinky smoke. It wasn't so bad that I had to crawl or anything, but I did put my shirt over my mouth and nose. I knock and ring doorbells waking up neighbors (Hero!!) and hit the stairwell furthest from the fire.

Once I got below the 5th floor I felt a little safer and tried to get the adrenaline under control. I was still pretty jittery for awhile though. I think waking up to glass breaking alone would have gotten me riled up, but the fire along with it was sort of overdose.

Anyway, the fire was put out and other than the usual water/smoke damage I think everything ended well. My hall still smells a bit smokey and I'm sure there are some messed up apartments, but mine is fine. Phew. I was able to get back in bed around 4ish and got back to what I do best, sleep ... and oversleep, making myself late for work. Perfect.

Here are some photos from the night taken with my cell. I missed most of the action (the smoke, flame and glass smashing) but at least it's something:

From the ground, looking up:




From my living room window looking down:

Nothing Like Sex To Bring Back The Blog

I've had some complaints about my lack of blogging. You know what? Fuck you guys. Really. I do this for free and to be quite honest I have quite a bit going on in my world.

I kid. I'll admit it. I have been pretty lazy, but I guess that's nothing new. I've been really lazy. Really, really lazy. Plus I've been just feeling rather lacking in the creative or interesting I guess.

Anywho, here's something for you complainers, those of you with patience and maybe even for me as perhaps this will get the old creative juices flowing a bit ...

I went to the Central Park Zoo this weekend. The polar bear swimming around on his back was cool as were the wacky penguins, but this was my favorite part of the day:
That's right. Reptile sex!! Note how the guy doing the riding is using his buddy's (or maybe competition's) head for leverage. Just step right on there and you've got a whole new angle to work from. You can click on the photos for a bigger version if you want to really inspect the method in use and perhaps incorporate it into your own bedroom or barnyard antics.

Although I couldn't get him to turn his head any further, this shot still manages to capture the O-face pretty well:

Good times!