Thursday, April 27, 2006

Netflix: Picnic (1955)

Picnic is a very earnest movie. William Holden was 37 at the time and is supposed to be playing a (based on the story) 22-23-year-old guy. But I guess when you've got William Holden, every movie looks like Stalag 17.

It's good, but I wasn't badda-bah-bah-bah lovin' it. The acting was great, but exaggerated, as if it were a play. That's fine for a play, but on camera it seems obnoxious. Every character was seemingly seconds away from a complete mental breakdown.

At any rate, I wouldn't have commented on the movie, but one of the characters was named Madge. Given the emotionally charged atmosphere, other characters were frequent proclaiming, "Madge!" Every time that happened I said, "I soaked in it!"

Tuesday, April 25, 2006


If I give you a penny for your thoughts and then later on, your offer someone else your "two cents," why you gotta hold out on me?

Monday, April 24, 2006


Well, it's been nice knowing you all. Unfortunately, my days around here are numbered. For, my fair readers, Columbia Pictures will be shooting some scenes for the movie Spider-Man 3 in downtown Cleveland this week.

What's that? Did our hero, Peter Parker, decide that NYC was a little too hectic for his liking and wanted to enjoy the slower pace and decreased traffic (not to mention safer web-slinging conditions) of my beloved city? Well, not exactly. Apparently there are some "precision driving scenes" that take place in the film and NYC was charging too much to tear up their roads and sidewalks and we're all, "Hey money! Crash as many cars into our buildings as you like, Mr. Director!"

As of this writing, the film crews have moved in, I think. I mean, these people need to go to the bathroom a lot as they’ve set up about 15 port-a-johns across the street from my office. They put up store facades in front of the REAL stores (i.e. abandoned buildings). What? Our rundown building isn’t good enough for your "fancy" Hollywood movie? (In all fairness, the site of the shooting, Euclid Avenue, has seen better days and a lot of the structures are undergoing renovation. I promise that when I earn my first few million, I'll build a mansion on Euclid and help restore it to its former glory.)

Seeing as how Hollywood has come to me and afforded me the opportunity for fame and fortune without all the annoyances of moving out west and developing some discernable skill, I think it's time for me to seize the day and get myself discovered. I figure that if I went over to the set and starting talking to the director, I was sure to be discovered and become a huge TV and movie star. And then I'd get a really stupid show on MTV called Yo Mama where people try to make fun of each other. Wait? That already happened? Ok, then I'll become really famous and develop a nasty substance abuse problem and go into rehab. And then I'll be on Star magazine without my shirt on and the big headline, "Pregnant?" It'll be a blast!

To help my chances, I’ve been dilligently wearing my Spider-Man outfit (including the underoos) - you know, in case Tobey pulls a hammy, I'll be ready to go. I'm confident this is a done deal. All that’s left to decide is what day I should become famous. Monday? Wednesday? Should I just storm into my boss's office and quit right now or should I wait until I get that first fat actor paycheck? I think it’s a lot more dramatic if I go in and do it right now. It can be one of those "experiential acting lessons." Because I’m now an actor and I’ll probably also get a huge severance/gold watch.

Don't worry, I'm totally qualified for my new career. Besides those Hollywood types are always needing work on Excel spreadsheets and stuff, right? I'll be completely indispensable.

Friday, April 21, 2006

thought . . .

Cookie recipes don't look like "work." If you print a bunch of cookie recipes, skeedaddle over to the printer PDQ and pick them up. Otherwise, I print something and go over and see your recipes and think, "Cookie recipes don't look like work." What looks like work? I'm hoping vacuum cleaner recommendations from Consumer Reports.

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

coolest music in the majors

I don't know if the world's gone crazy or what, but I'm watching the Indians game and during a Baltimore pitching change what does my ear spy? Why it's, "Here Comes Your Man" by the Pixies. Holy good choice Batman. Not only is it appropos of the moment (pitching change), but it's also top-notch music. I imagine Baltimore had the good sense to hire somebody who's knowledge of music extends beyond Back in Black. That would be the simple explanation. Or I have astounding telekinetic powers, Kyle.


If I have to check the alarm clock twice before I go to bed, does that make me a oCD?

Tuesday, April 18, 2006


Working on picture posts tends to slow the blogging down around these parts (i.e. my fingers). I've been working on such a post for a while now. Don't get all excited. It's not great and will probably only serve to shock and dismay you. But, the very nature of it is conducive to spending a lot of time on it. All the while, I FEEL like I'm producing something - like I'm giving you something to read, like I'm not neglecting my blog, like I'm not constructing sentences in unconventional ways.

That is the reason posting has been light. Until I went and played roller hockey and lost a lot of water weight and then got back here and was way too wired to sleep and decided I'd post a bunch of crap, just to make it look like all kinds of cool stuff was going on around here. But such is not the case. I'm sitting around taking largish pictures and making them smaller and montaging them. Exciting.

p.s. Is there a doctor reading this? A hand doctor preferably or even better, a hand-swelling doctor? I play goalie and my left hand gets swollen after I play. At first I thought I had a bacteria or a beehive in the glove, but I got a new catch glove and the swelling still happened. Hmmm. In other news, the athlete's foot cleared up. Don't be shocked if I delete this whole site in the morning.

the blogging nun

I have an aunt that's a nun! She tends to EXCLAIM everything! Every sentence is a reason for excitement! Except when people die. That's sad! She's an excited lady though! And she's a tiny nun, I mean, really, have you no heart?! I have found myself falling into the exclamation trap! I think I use it in place of the smiley face!:) I'm saying, "Hey, I can't be an asshole, because I use exclamation points!!!" I promise to cut down! Next time!

mysteries of the unexplained

So I'm watching the Indians beat the bejeezus out of the Baltimore Orioles (Tivo delayed). Granted it's 13-0 and announcers run out of things to talk about, but Rick Manning just unleashed this gem on the world, "The Orioles will be glad when this game is over."

He went on to make the following observations:
  • "Hitler - not a nice guy."

  • "Cutting off your own finger's not as fun as it sounds."

  • "Husker Du Rules." [They were actually playing Husker Du over the PA, or maybe it was Sugar.]

I started this post with such high hopes, but I have failed us all.

Sunday, April 16, 2006

hittin' the links

Because you will undoubtedly be reading this on Monday morning at work (if you love me) and further dispelling doubt, you will be bored, I offer you these links. That's right friends. It's time to update you, once again, on stuffs to read, or readin' stuffs, as I like to call 'em. Not to be confused with eatin' stuffs. If you eat these blogs, you will probably be satiated, but indigestion would surely follow.

Monkey Business: Interesting observations abound, lots of funny family stories and plenty of posts explaining the differences between the sexes. Though I would prefer more monkeys, but that generally applies to all things and should not be construed as a criticism of the blog.

Minuscule Bibbles: Once world-famous, then blackmailed out of existence and now, reborn, better than ever. You may remember him as Nukie, but like the phoenix, he was burned up in a blog fire and has reemerged as . . . Bubba. Name choice aside, if you like my blog, you are a sad fool and you will probably like his blog. Don't get too attached though. It always hurts when his blogs disappears. Don't hurt us again Bubba.

Reality Check: What can I say about buggeringcrapmonkies . . . not much actually . . . purple monkey dishwasher? I'm not sure what the URL means, but I like the blog. May-B is Canadian. I'm not going to lie to you, sometimes the Canadians scare and confuse me and I'll read an entire post and have no idea what she's talking about. But then, it's true all Canadians are nice, and someone will explain to me that Tim Horton's is a doughnut shop and not a guy that sells drugs.

Friday, April 14, 2006


At about 1:30 this afternoon the upper-upper management told my upper management that if the machine cogs (aka me) were at a good "work" breaking point we could go home for the day. And wouldn't you know it; at that EXACT SECOND I had reached the ideal work breaking point. Funny how things work out that way. At any rate, Happy Easter! If you're not into that, Happy Seventh Cycle of the Beast or Happy Random Spring Sunday!

Thursday, April 13, 2006

thought . . .

Baseball statistics look surprisingly like "work." This blog? Not so much.

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

spelling mnemonics

cemetery: where e's go to die.

more hoboes!

There seems to be a lot of curiosity and concern about my many, many hobo run-ins. So, allow me to take some time to humor you and flatter myself.

I think there a lot of reasons why I have so many encounters with hoboes:

  1. Travel Time. When I'm in my shiny, new lot, I have about a 30-second walk. While it takes me a good 10 to 12 minutes to walk to old reliable. Now, despite my post about having a new lot in my life, more often than not, I'm in the old lot. With the return of warm weather, I will almost always be parking in my old lot. More time out on the streets means more "opportunities" for running into hoboes.

  2. Good Disposition. I'm have a really hard time completely ignoring someone. If a hobo starts talking to me, I will at least afford him the respect of listening to what he has to say, even if it's some crazy story about being tossed around by ghosts inside a cemetery mausoleum. I'm as cold-and-dead inside as the next guy, but I'm unable to pretend people don't exist. Yet.

  3. Talking Tribe. Indians games increase exponentially the number of hoboes on the street. My long haul to my parking lot takes me right by the hobo hotbed that is Jacob's Field

  4. Bad sense of smell. I'm told dry heaving works wonders at keeping hoboes away. Unfortunately, my sniffer is barely functional; the gag reflex is avoided; the hobo happily approaches.

  5. Hobo networking. I'm convinced there's a Cleveland top 10 hobo target list posted on They see me and they get the dollar signs in there eyes and they bring out their "A" game in an effort for some cash. While I've cooled considerably on the amount of cash I dole out, it still has to be like 40% of my income.

I hope this isn't your first time to this blog, because right now you'd be thinking, WTF?

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

a homeless man who happens to provide sound financial advice

"Hey man, don't look down; look up! That's where the money is!"

I would contend that the money is usually down, on the ground, when you run into it out on the street like that. But that's solid advice nonetheless. Thank you warrenBuffett hobo.

Monday, April 10, 2006

thought . . .

That post was really stupid. But the stupidest posts take the longest to write and are the hardest to let go of and I have a weak constitution.

car fidelity

I've been cheating on my parking lot. She's getting up there in years AND she's never really been close to my building. Plus, she's always been a little on the cheap side. At first I thought her distance and relative - let's say - "lack of sophistication, were good things. I was attracted to them. But over time these qualities have grown less endearing. The lot and I didn't grow any FURTHER apart, but she hsasn't gotten any closer either.

And so it was when I found my new lot. She's close, really close. She's a classy gal. She costs me three times as much as my old lot, but, did I mention she was really close? She lets me get nine extra minutes of sleep in the morning when I'm with her. That's a whole extra snooze cycle. You can't really put a price on that.

Friday, April 07, 2006


I was walking by the Erie Street Cemetery, which is perhaps the number one destination for downtown hoboes. Ok, maybe not number one, but it's up there, which is surprising because if there's not an Indians game, there's not a lot of foot traffic. On the other hand, when someone does walk by, there's no place to escape as to your right is a busy street and to your left is the iron fence of the cemetery. A hobo could expect a small, but captive audience.

I’m walking up to this fairly well-dressed (by potential hobo standards) and rather hefty guy. He looked like he had what the doctors call a “a little bit of a weight problem.” Anyway, as I approach, I notice he’s wearing a Browns wool cap . . . a read beard . . . and . . . . an eye patch! I kid you not. He had an eye patch. (No parrot was sighted.) Wait. It gets better. I usually read on my way to my lot (because it’s so far) and I’m not really paying attention because I’m thinking NOThobo. But, I can feel his eyes staring me down as I walk up to him. That’s a pretty strong sign they’re going to panhandle you. The staring and the asking for money. No, the staring and the fact that they’re just standing in front of something and not going anywhere.

At this point I’m about to walk by the guy. He says something to the effect of – and this was tough to make out because I’m trying to zoom by – he says, “If you cook dinner tonight, could you bring me some leftovers for tomorrow?” I mean, it actually kind of pissed me off because who’s going to believe eye patch AND asking for my leftovers which I will hand deliver to him the following day. I was perplexed, but still walking. And I must have had the most quizzical WTF face in history going. I’m like, “Uhhhhhh, ok.” And I’m thinking, “What if I did make him dinner? Do I need to worry about points? Is he on the Weight Watchers?” He interrupts my inner-dialogue by saying, “I’ll be out here tomorrow around 5.” I keep walking. “I’ll understand if you don’t come by.” By now I was far enough away to chuckle to myself and kind of yell, "Ok," over my shoulder. I spent the rest of the walk home deciding what to make for dinner for myself and EncoreFamilySizeMealPirateHobo.

Thursday, April 06, 2006

Netflix: Iris (2001)

Iris, for when you need a good cry.

thought . . .

You can't spell stronger without ronger - wait, I mean, roger. Stupid brain.

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

true words

theMonica: Hey, you shaved your beard! You look 10 - 20 years younger.
me: Ewww - does that mean you're dating a 9-year-old?

Monday, April 03, 2006

the walking dead

Well, considering the outcome, I foolishly stayed up to watch the game last night. By most measures (especially the numerical representation we call the "score"), the Indians suffered a huge embarrassing failure at the hands of the White Sox. The game ended after 2.

Today was rough. I was a zombie. Well, I was all the negatives of a zombie - the heavy bags under my eyes, the guttural monotone, the flaking-off skin, the inability to form complete sentences - without any of the positives - the indefatigable walking, the inordinate strength, the life-sucking biting skills. At some point, work was done. Being a zombie makes for a long day.

Sunday, April 02, 2006

st. patrick's day

Drinking all day is hard work. A couple of weeks ago, on St. Patrick's Day, I took on the challenge. As I remember from my extensive Catholic education, St. Patrick was incredibly drunk most of the time. It is in honor of this that on St. Pat's day, Catholics and non, get together to honor him by imbibing excessively. The good Patrick wouldn't have it any other way.

I started my day early. A bunch of us went to Pickwick and Frolic to get in on the all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet. From there to the House of Blues for some music and beers. We stayed there for an hour or so and then traveled on to Flannery's.

While I was at Flannery's, who did my eye spy? It was none other than Luke Jackson of the Cleveland Cavaliers. Now while Luke was (and is) injured with a broken wrist, I did find it somewhat odd that he was out-and-about on St. Patrick's Day. Perhaps compounding the problem was the fact that the Cavs had a game that night. And Luke is not inconspicuous. He's a tall lanky white kid with crazy hair. He kind of stuck out, despite the fact he was sporting dark sunglasses. He ordered a beer and I was kind of worried that he'd get drunk and wouldn't be able to cheer on his teammates later that day. But, after a quick drink, Luke left the bar, perhaps in search of rainbows.

I ended my night at about 9 p.m. due to the stresses of a splitting headache. I sometimes forget I have to remain hydrated during all-day drinking binges. Normally I drink a lot of water. But on that day, I switched all my liquid comsuption from the normal liquids to beer. As we know, man can not live on beer alone.

life update

It's almost midnight here in Cleveland and I'm waiting to hear if the Indians will be playing. I'm not waiting to see the conclusion of the game. I waiting to see if they'll resume the fourth inning. Right. Such is the nature of my addiction to baseball. I could never give up the opening game of the season - sleep be damned!

As an aside, Danny Graves and Jason Michaels are in serious need of haircuts.