WhereTF is Batman?

So here's how I found my car on Sunday morning. Apparently I had a minor stroke and left it outside with its windows down and- oh no I didn't put a hole in the door. Or rip out the ignition cylinder.
The windows were rolled down to varying degrees, the wipers were in the 12 o'clock position, and the manual was missing, along with my Maine EZ-Pass. Not exactly a king's ransom. The battery was also dead.

Having never been a victim of a crime before (excluding having 'my' Nintendo stolen by thieves who also relieved my parents of other inconsequential items like jewelry and gold ingots) I tried out a few different reactions before settling on depression, which I often do.

I'm not really all that upset that the car is damaged, although it is turning into a pain trying to get it fixed and coordinating the repair with the insurance company. I am upset that someone can have so little regard for me (or anyone else, for that matter). I am upset that there are no consequences for whomever did this. I am upset that they suck so badly at what they do they weren't able to steal the car. I am upset the police function only as a means for generating a report number, and not as any sort of investigative or preventative unit, though I would concede they have bigger fish to fry. I am upset I didn't notice anything going on. I am upset there's nothing I can do about it, and little I can do to prevent it from happening again.

I didn't really experience the feeling that nearly everyone I speak with mentions - the feeling of 'violation' that someone was in your car/home whatever. I'm mostly just continuously angry off that something I spend a fair amount of time/money/effort on is so quickly reduced to a 3500 lb paperweight. And I realize that the car will be fine once I get it back (eventually) and there are much greater tragedies happening in a lot of places. But the theft/vandalism seems like an apt metaphor - some people just don't give a shit about you or the things you care about. And they'll resort to whatever means they can to profit from you. I guess I lost some of my naivety, and it's more of a shock than I would have guessed.

can't do my 'job'

Was toiling away, diligently-like, when I received the following message.


Oh, you know what? I don't 'care'. You're a piece of 'garbage'. You just cost me like 2 'hours'. But I suppose none of that 'matters'. Want to 'kill' you. I also appreciate my options: 'OK dump all that work I just did' or 'stare at this box in disbelief indefinitely'.

Yes I'm dumb for not saving more frequently.

Contrast with the pleasant message from pandora:


Oh, you know what? I'm sorry too - I got a little impatient and may have clicked 44 times too quickly. Thanks for all you do, what with your entertaining me and rarely asking for anything in return. Good luck retrieving whatever information it is you need - I'm going to give you a break for a few hours. See you soon!

It's all about accountability.

haiku quintet

woeful umbrella
you protect nothing from rain
an embarrassment

shelter sought beneath
your spindly arms, thin fabric
i leave you broken

if you really made
a wet journey a dry walk
no one would hate you

mangled pathetic
Dickens wouldn't adopt you
bastard orphan trash

a Rihanna song
has not improved your function
and it's annoying

an open letter

Dear fellow gym patrons:

It is me, your humble companion in fitness, writing to ask the slightest of courtesies. Whilst exerting oneself to the fullest, as I am sure you do each and every trip to the gymnasium, it is expected that you may demand of your body some cooling. I trust your body produces, as does mine, a certain amount of moisture - perspiration if you will - that evaporates and takes with it some of the excess heat from that proud pantheon of athletic achievement known as your body. This perspiration has an odor to it, partially due to the presence of uric acid, and partially due to the fact that you naturally exude an air of rotten chicken fat and fermented baby shit. While I appreciate your efforts to rid yourself of this scent through showering (a truly noble, yet ultimately fruitless effort), please do not disrobe and do any of the following:

-strut through the common locker space clad only in your crocks, with nary a towel in sight.
-sit on the carpet. actually - don't sit anywhere.
-attempt any sort of conversation or discourse with me or any other patron of the fitness club.
-engage in any sort of pre-pubescent tomfoolery such as snapping your towel at your similarly geriatric compatriots. or me, for that matter.
-groom your hair (regardless of location on your body) prior to donning, at a minimum, undergarments.

I thank you in advance for your cooperation. No, I will not pick up your soap.

is this thing on?

Hi, 'tubes.

i know, it's been awhile.

i don't know. i don't know what i've been doing. what have you been doing?

oh, that's good.

yeah, but i have this rash i don't really know how to deal with...hmm?

yeah, well. i was thinking i would try and keep in touch a little better.

i'm aware i've said that before, and the only time i really did it was after the zoo.

yes, giraffes are awesome. i'm sorry i don't have any pictures of any, too.

no i don't know why the daily show stole your joke about how the end of obama's campaign was a lot like 'brewster's millions'. that's good material though.

really? interesting.

well, i can only say i'll try. the holidays are coming up, and they're typically depressing/inspiring.

i plan to, yes.

i guess you could probably take santa in a MMA match. you're not in the same weight class though. and you also couldn't handle the resultant violent backlash of 4-8 year olds.

oh, ok. um, i'll talk to you soon?

yeah.

ok.

Trash picka

As many of you know, I'm a great friend of the environment, but I'm an even greater friend to those in need. This past weekend, 'those in need' happened to be TGCOM(The Great Commonwealth of Massachusetts)'s own Department of Conservation and Resources. Or Recreation. Either way - the DCR. And thanks in part to a terrific gesture on the part of my company's CEO to volunteer his employees' time (thanks big guy!), I had the opportunity to help the good folks of the DCR, and moreso the good folks of TGCOM. We were going to help clean up Pleasure Bay. And I pretty much covered all the jokes pertaining to that name, so you needn't waste comedic effort.

L and I rolled up stylishly late, at around 9:15am. There was a throng gathered, and a nervous excitement was palpable. We were soon met by a DCR representative, who informed us we'd parked in the wrong lot and we should move.

Queue 30 people getting in their cars and driving about 200 yards away. Now we're in the correct spot. Phew - we almost wasted a bunch of time!

Next, our 'equipment' is handed out. I elect to take a long stick with a tetanus-inducing spike on the end of it. L grabs some trash bags. I commence trying to stab her foot. Subtle body language indicates she isn't enjoying the game. These are the signals you learn to interpret when you're with someone for a long time. In unrelated news, kicks to the groin are unacceptable in all but life or death situations.

We're given minimal instruction and sent out to improve the park. For L and me, this task consists primarily of stabbing (or picking up with gloved hands) cigarette butts and tiny pieces of trash. I'm pretty sure they sent us to the cleanest park in the Metro area. Maybe it's to give us the false idea that this sort of activity is fun, rewarding and easy. Well, I'm not fooled.

Not to say we didn't improve the area - I mean check out some of our treasures:
Score one for the good guys. That's an unused needle, for those of you counting at home. Needless to say the rest of the day was pretty great.

I should probably clue everyone in to what L has been doing for work since we moved to TGCOM:

Don't smile - you're here to pay society's price for what you did.

Probably going to have to go ahead and put the effort in and open that image to get it. My apologies.

Gingivitis doesn't take days off.

Enthusiasm doesn't always translate into aptitude, even though it should. Leave that alone.

So after all that work, it was already 11:15am. Where does the time go? At this point, we returned all our prison shiv/trash pickers and were treated to lunch at a local takeout place. Delicious tax write off.

Immediately following these activities, I got us hopelessly lost in South Boston, turning a 40 minute drive into a 75 minute drive. And that's with a map. It's really not a weekend unless I get to drive through neighborhoods I'm pretty sure I saw on The Wire.

Cure for what ails me

I decided to take notes to document the effects of Chaser prior to, during, and after imbibing alcoholic beverages. Turns out I'm a pretty spotty journalist with beer in my hand, and most of what I wrote was not very interesting. Either way, here it is, with only the slightest editorial modifications:


So L had a brilliant idea for a reason to have 40 ounce beverages and pizza. She called it a 4-4-4-40 party. I call it a pretty fantastic caloric intake. For whatever reason, the anticipated personnel flaked out and resulted in only two test subjects. I welcome a challenge, so at the crack of 3:30pm, we started experimenting.

3:30 Two chaser tablets each prior to consuming beverages, and if the pills were any bigger I'd have had to chew them. They were approximately the size of my fist. Schlitz for me, delicious Carling Canada (aka generic Molson) for L.

L is trying to watch something like American's Next Top Model or something, so I'm going to try and bang out my taxes. This has success written all over it.

3:38 Taxes are fucking hard. Screw this. Note to self: Don't make a tax return so complicated that 'TaxCut' won't support the forms I need to file my state returns. I'd make those states come after me for their money if I hadn't already given it to them. Plus, my old return is on the computer/TV and that's all they way in the other room, like 8 feet away.

4:28 Schiltz = nectar of the gods. Or at least nectar of 20 something losers wasting their Saturday afternoon. How this gem escaped my attention for so long, I don't know. I mean, how many times did my grandfather have to tell me about it before I listened? Something to be said for age and experience. L's brew, Carling Canada Black Label, is also very good. Turns out I have a remarkable palette for beers under 5 cents an ounce. Who knew.

5:11 King Cobra!!

5:13 Turns out King Cobra is awesome too. I hope none of these fantastic fermentations result in diarrhea. The inevitable beer farts I can live with.

5:31 I just made a salad for dinner to complement the pizza. No more knives for me!

5:33 I just tried to unscrew a cap that wasn't on the bottle. OK!

5:51 L just told me she likes me more when I'm drunk. I'm pretty sure that's not what my AA sponsor wanted her to say.

7:13 A little break for some pizza and salad, and now a decision to make. Steel Reserve (old friend) or Busch?

Let's compare and contrast:

Steel Reserve:
-taste not a priority
-higher degree of drunkenness (comparable to degree of difficulty in less manly endeavors, like diving)
-maybe vomit

Busch
-heavenly taste
-will maintain, but not increase my drunken state
-probably no vomiting
-more womanly


It's time to separate the wheat from the chaff. Come here, old friend.



I think it's time to separate the wheat from the chaff.
Come here, old friend.

7:24 Steel Reserve is still ass-tastic. L has switched to vodka and diet Pepsi. That's one of the big reasons her career has a lot more promise than mine. It's also one of the reasons her liver has a lot more promise than mine.

Editorial sidebar: One of these days I need to test if the 'process' for making SR is just dumping crappy vodka into a normal beer. Maybe next weekend we'll do a taste test.

7:23 Second dose of Chaser, two more pills. Supposed to be every 3 hours or 3-4 drinks. Guess we're not going to be able to take the full dose if this goes on too long.

7:26 Just tried to unscrew a cap that was no longer on the bottle (2nd instance). I guess driving's out of the question now.

8:01 SR is a lot stronger than the others. Very drunk. Motor functions deteriorating (along with handwriting). Also, I'm pretty sure I'm gay now, thanks to a marathon of America's Next Top Model.

8:18 Feeling very tired. I have no idea where this came from.

8:52 What's with the 211 sign? I'll tell you:

Yep, that's about as well as I can read it at this point, too. Note to self - 9pm much too early to be this drunk, and be this old. Also note: Scrubs is awesome. Someone compile me the soundtrack. How come JD can get a crazy fast piggy back ride from Elliot, but my friend K can't take me more than two feet before blowing out her pathetic knee? I think TV might be made up.

9pm on - What follows is a very hazy fade to black. From the documented records (my retarded note sheet) it seems that we went to bed sometime around 11 pm, just before we should have taken another dose of Chaser and maybe taken shoes off before getting in bed.


AFTERMATH:

Wake up surprisingly early (around 8am) which isn't all that incredible given the early bedtime. What is unusual is my minimal nausea or cottonmouth, and surprising appetite and will to live. I'm not ready to say that Chaser doesn't work - there's some kind of placebo effect going on, at least. I don't much feel like going for a run or anything, but there's noticeable improvement.

The outlier in the data set is L, who feels just as crappy as usual. Although maybe she just palmed her pills. I wasn't watching that closely.

I guess the only conclusion I can draw is that I'm not sure it doesn't work, but I'm not sure it does work. Wow, way to take a stand on the issue, huh?

I plan on taking the last two pills whenever the urge strikes next weekend, I'll have to see if just one dose is enough to stave off my inevitable hangover.

Thanks for reading.

I'll try this instead of intentionally vomiting

As I consider myself a scientist at heart, I've decided to do a little experiment on the effectiveness of this little guy:


This site seems fairly optimistic. I will be, too. I think I'll make L try it with me, and as a hangover inducer - none other than our friend Steel Reserve. Since the chosen beverage of the evening will be 40 oz bottles, I shall have no choice but to unleash the worst invention of all time:
Pretty excited to mention my photo shows up on the first page of google images when you search for "Steel Reserve". All that hard work, finally pays off. Keep clicking so it stays there. It's all I've got. That and this delicious beverage.

I'll keep you posted for the review.

Voting? Then you should have all the facts.

(Edited to allow readers to get joke)

Judging from the expansive reader base I have here, I'm sure there are some of you in Oregon, Montana, South Dakota, Indiana, West Virginia, Kentucky, or North Carolina that have not yet cast your ballots in the Democratic primaries, caucuses, show of hands or game of gin that will decide who runs in the general election. I ignore the Republican side of things because they've managed to nominate a candidate and not cannibalize their party in the process.

Anyway, lots of things have come to light lately, what with Hillary having erroneous PTSD flashbacks of Bosnia, or Barack's involvement with a former member of the Weatherman's Underground.

Really, though, the important thing is to remember that there is truth in music. And it just so happens that Obama's got a slight lead in that department, thanks to the good folks FMB.



I think your choice just got easier.

(link credit due to dudes at uhh yeah dude, an incredibly entertaining podcast for no reason at all. Available at iTunes or your local podcast directory.)

Red light. Green Light. Brown Light.

Thanks to a generous subsidy from a friend for my birthday, I was able to take a trip to Chicago last week to see some baseball games and a bit of the windy city. I'm sure an anecdote or two will filter their way through my brain eventually, but for the time being, I'll give you my favorite.

My generous friend (MGF) also invited his sister (SoMGF) and brother in law (BIL). We elected to take the elevated train to the White Sox/Yankee game, and were unlucky enough to be about a mile from the hotel upon returning. Commencing on the 20 minute or so walk back, I noticed that BIL was lagging behind the group a little. Chalking it up to his previously stated animosity for public transportation, I didn't think much of it.

At one point, BIL said he'd like to hail a cab to get back to the hotel. Assuming he was just lazy, I continued on my walk, as I was down to my last $4 and couldn't justify the lavish expense of a personal chauffeur. Plus, I had my walkin' shoes on. BIL didn't have any luck hailing a cab so he crossed the street to be walking in the same direction as traffic. I believe this maneuver, along with showing colorful tailfeathers, is a common tactic used to attract a cab-mate.

After a few more blocks, MGF, SoMGF and I stopped to wait for the still lagging BIL and discuss if there were to be any postgame antics (D&D perhaps?) We noticed BIL was standing, motionless, on the sidewalk approximately 100 feet behind us. I didn't see any taxi nearby, and we weren't at the hotel or any other local attraction, so I didn't know what the deal was. Being the patient sort, I politely asked MGF and SoMGF what the f*ck BIL's problem was.

Turns out his problem was digestive in nature. He was concerned that any sudden movement could have triggered an colon-splosion so severe it would have potentially leveled Lincoln Park. Being fairly volatile myself, I could sympathize, but had never been in a situation that called for cessation of all movement. Judging from BIL's facial expression and the sheer panic of the taxi driver, I hope never to experience one. Ballpark food is good for GI tract diagnostics, not so much for long haul walking performance. After a brief consultation with SoMGF, BIL jumped in the next taxi to stop and raced the remaining quarter mile to the hotel.

All reports are the explosive situation was defused, and no innocent bystanders or hotel furniture were harmed.



Awww, come on - I haven't written in a month, you can't expect friggin' Shakespeare up in here.

I think I'm making the wrong impression

I think it's an indication I lack focus, what with 'interactive bestiality' next to 'age appropriate snacks' as keywords to find one's way to this blog. I'll work on that in the future.

I heart candid photos

Here's lookin' at you, America!

Pls read before dinner k thx

I have itchy feet. My feet have itched, in fact, for close to a year. Being the responsible adult that I am, I promptly saw a doctor about the condition. Last week. For a fun exercise, let's go through what I expected the consultation to go like, and how it actually happened.

EXPECTED
-Go to doctor's office
-Be examined within 20 minutes of appointment time
-Get examined by doctor.
-Treated with some modicum of respect/restraint
-Get prescription lotion or balm of some sort.

ACTUALITY
-Go to weird house converted to office
-Get examined 45 minutes after 'appointment'
-Be examined by nurse with skin fetish.
-Have photos taken of feet by aforementioned nurse.
-Get prescription, and BONUS biopsy both feet.

Some details, if you're interested:

-Nurse had new Treo, or some smartphoney looking thing. She sort-of-in-passing asked if she could take pictures, all the while oohing and ahhing about 'what a fantastic contact rash this is' as if my feet were an adorable newborn. They are not.

-The last photo was so disturbing to the electronic device that it froze the phone. The photo stayed on the screen, not moving, and the phone remained unresponsive. If I'd thought this was some sort of punishment for the nurse it would have been appropos, but instead I think she might have just snuck off to post it on some rash messageboard somewhere. VIOLATION.

-Why would you biopsy my rash? Is it just because you biopsied the guy next door (aside - the walls were paper thin. I could hear the goings-on of this procedure on the patient next door. It is a little unnerving when the nurse asks the patient if they're on blood thinners after the biopsy. Even more so when she asks me at the same point during my procedure. HI, YOU'RE BAD AT YOUR JOB. STOP MAKING PEOPLE BLEED LOTS.) I'm pretty sure the little cores taken from my feet were sold on some weird foot-black market e-ped or something. Hope they fetched a good sum.

-The nurse suggested I could have 'a friend' take my stitches out, and that really the only precaution I should take is to 'make sure everything's sterile'. Neat-O Home Suture Removal Kit - in stores now! ha, no, just use tweezers and little scissors, along with a fifth of vodka for your friend to 'sterilize their liver/ steady their hands'.

Photos to disturb you:Lefty



Righty

Thanks for reading. I am available for children's birthday parties and also for 'scared straight into foot hygiene' sessions at local high schools.

This hasn't been deleted yet? crap.

Hi. I feel like a stranger to my own inter tube. I have a few quick updates, though. Neat, huh?

-I got two refunds from the MBTA yesterday, for delays of over 30 minutes. They are in the form of ticket vouchers. Which are useless to me, as I have to buy a monthly pass anyway. I don't really see how that's a form of compensation for my delay, since I still pay the same amount every month, even if the train never comes. People who buy 12-ride tickets, or pay cash, get free rides on these 'delayed' rides (saving an actual quantity of money) since they can use that ticket one additional time or use the money saved to buy three 40 oz beers. AND they can still apply for ticket vouchers. At least they responded to my letter.

-One of the reasons that the site hasn't been updated in like a month is that I no longer have a home computer. (the other reason is because I hate you) To remedy the first reason, I tried to buy a computer yesterday, online. As I haven't received an email confirmation yet, I called tech support to see how things were going. To navigate the menu, I had to use one of those 'voice-activated' menus, instead of the touch-tone style ones. The conversation went something like this.

Computer People: Please enter your order number, or if you don't have one, say "I don't have one"
Me: I don't have one.
Computer People: -long pause-
Me: I don't have one.
Computer People: Please enter your order number. If you don't have one, say "No". (I suppose they figure the instructions got a little tricky for Mr. Sam)
Me: No
Computer People: Would you like me to connect you to a customer service representative? Say Yes, if you mean yes, and say No, if you mean no.
Me: -stunned silence- YES.
Computer People: Hang on, I'll go get someone to help you, right away! -robotic voice scurries off down hallway-
Random Indian Tech Supporter: -gibberish-
Me: Chicken Dansak and garlic kulcha.

Now, while that was racist and inappropriate, it effectively illustrates three points. First, even the automated phone system though I was a moron. Second, those verbal menus are worthless, and make me sound like an asshole when other people are around (I don't have one. I don't have one. I_don't_have_one. No. No. No. NO. fuck.) Third, I never got an answer to my question. Apparently orders can take 24 hours to confirm. So much for instant gratification. AND I didn't get delicious Indian food for lunch. Dell sucks.

Best Weekend Ever?

Note: To be read and cross referenced with Trina's entry.

T-Money came to visit last weekend. This was great for several reasons.

-I got to surprise L by bringing one of her friends to her birthday party
-I didn't have to pay for T's ticket
-L got entertained by someone other than me


All pluses for Sam.

Anyway, my version of events goes something like this:

I was supposed to meet T at the airport. I've been to Logan several times, so I didn't think this was a big deal. Of course, it turns out I've never actually been INSIDE to pick someone up, so I didn't know where the 'Arrivals' showed up. And since I was unable to locate it, I'm fairly certain it doesn't exist. Instead of waiting for T to deplane (stupid word) I wandered like a small lost child, clinging to the hope that by wandering close to the baggage claim area she'd have to find me sooner or later. Which she did. Good thing.

I've had most of the successes in my life because I've relied on other people not to fail. Thanks, world.

Then I was incompetent at trying to find where the silver line picked up outside the terminal (yes, despite being dropped off by the very same bus not 20 minutes earlier), but we managed to find our way back to my workplace, where I promptly abandoned T at the mall (I'll be a great dad some day, no doubt - hey kids, just go play in the large public space for a few hours, I'm gonna grab some 'me' time...) for 4 hours.

Then we got to Salem (approximately 2 hours later than I'd planned, so L was already there) and the surprise was unleashed - still a big success. (side note - dudes: chicks dig surprises, but not dick-in-a-box. write that down). Hooray for everyone. After that, I remembered that I'd neglected another friend who was driving down from Portland, K. K was lost and had called for directions while I was riding home with T. I missed the call, and K had to be led into Salem by following some dude leaving the laundromat where she got directions. She made it to our house, and I hear she only got raped twice. I'll call that a success.

Then we sat around getting drunker for like 2 hours until we decided we were sufficiently obnoxious to go out. Eating, drinking, dancing, yelling commence. L got a birthday dedication from the 84 person band playing that night. It was a very special night for everyone.

Got home, watched some hot girl on girl action, then inflated the air mattress and passed out. Morning, and the mandatory breakfast feast commenced. It started with us squeezing into a 4 person table the size of a postage stamp, bordered closely on two sides by other patrons (who were none too impressed with us; they were bombarded with vulgarity and idiocy for a solid hour, setting aside the drinking straw assault and battery), progressed to me turning into a 9 year old gigglepants at the meal title 'Bald Billy omlette' and subsequently eating my body weight in pancakes and sausage, and ended with me in tears from laughing. At my own joke. Have I mentioned how popular I am?

After that, T and K went to Quincy, and the plan was to meet T and head to IKEA since K was going to stay in Boston that night. Which would have worked fine, if I actually knew where I was going (ongoing theme in my life - lost...hmm, provacative). But I didn't, and L decided she wasn't going to help, so we were a little late (other ongoing theme). This made me a little grumpy, which I'm sure was fun for my delightful guest T. But she's a little ray of sunshine, so she spent quite some time cheering me up. She fell asleep on the return trip, after my circular arguments had exhausted us all. I'm pretty much a black hole of dumb.

Then, a tired (but delicious, and free - thanks T) meal at the brew pub, consumption of 40s while watching L assemble the IKEA chair to round out the night. By the way, if you can get someone else to assemble your furniture, I highly recommend it. Not only do YOU not have to do it, you can criticize someone else. Pretty much win-win.

So for those of you scoring at home, the final tally was:

T- friend score of 87,555,432 out of a possible 10
L-8 on surprised score out of possible 10.
Sam- Lost, late, but full. Still pegged at -29 life score, out of a possible 10. Keep that chin up.

New objective rating system

I have an idea. It's another really good one, like bottling farts. I propose a rating scheme to evaluate one's looks. This system aims to eliminate oddly matched couples. It's very simple. Each person is issued 100 evaluation forms. They hand them out to the next 100 people they run into. Each evaluator has up to 60 seconds to complete the form, which allows for the evaluation of the evaluatee's appearance. Collect the results, average, and - voila --> an objective evaluation of your looks. There's no real motivation to lie on the evaluation, I don't think. Actually, maybe there is, as it artificially inflates your own score to mark everyone else down. Hmm. Larger sample size, and you have to give the evaluator the number of high fives that they gave you as a numerical score. Who doesn't like high fives?

This new system would finally give me the numerical value of my worth as a person, at least as it relates to the vast majority of my inter-personal interactions, which last anywhere from 3 seconds (walking by someone on the sidewalk) to a half hour (public transportation ride). My only value is if I'm either attractive, or doing something interesting. Since I'm usually picking my nose or looking confused, most of my value would be gleaned from how attractive I am. If it turns out I'm not very valuable, I'll know to hide my face in shame more often. And if I'm more attractive, then I can look down the end of my more-handsome-than-your nose and make you feel like the 5.8 you are, as compared to my 6.1

I actually just used some heights for those numbers - maybe that's an easier way to the same result?

Anyway, if you're offended, here's a picture of Frosty the Snowman trying to off himself, but he got too drunk and couldn't muster the courage:And, as always, your frank assessment of anything of mine is welcome in the comments section.

quickly

First, sorry for the long hiatus. I'd like to say it was because of the holidays and such, but the real reasons are far more mundane. Mostly, I'm lame, but also my computer destroyed itself at home and is currently in pieces. I guess I thought it would heal itself faster if I took it apart? Anyway, I have more content but no time to write it. In the meantime thought I'd throw a little nugget your way, from my morning.

- Few things in this world make me feel more like a 4 year old than the broken zipper on my coat. There's no good reason it should take me 7 minutes to take my jacket off, because I'm not a stripper.

- There is a dime in the urinal at work. Let's just say if it was a quarter, I'd have the stench of wealth on my hands for the rest of the day.

- Train was about a half hour late this morning. I sent a refund request to the MBTA. I'll let you know if and when I get it.

Does not perform as advertised

This is the train I ride home almost everyday. Giggity giggity.
I'm 10 years old, by the way.

New Addition

Ha, no, not that kind. Perhaps you've forgotten I'm shooting blanks. Nevertheless, I had a fun surprise on Christmas morning (although not a divinely conceived son of Christ delivered in a manger).


Robo-retard from Sam on Vimeo

Silly friend got himself stuck in the fireplace, hence all the soot. Perhaps he was looking for Santa!!!! but he was too late!!! because it's January!!! and Santa doesn't give presents to robots anyway!!! oh that's sad.

Do not attempt to duplicate

This Christmas, I decided what I wanted was a new wheel bearing. What I got was the worst repair experience ever. Compounded by the fact I no longer live in the state. Attempted to change the LR wheel bearing (changed RR last spring with minimal issues besides a broken 1/2" breaker bar). I figured this time would be even faster, with my 'experience' to guide me.

After not receiving the part via FedEx in time, I stopped in at my friendly local dealer, who gladly sold me the part at 150% of the online price. After disassembling (and trashing the old bearing in the process) I found that the new part wasn't for my car. And wouldn't fit. After that, I reassembled, which went poorly and resulted in a wheel that would turn only grudgingly. At that point, I put my tail between my legs and had it towed. On Christmas Eve.

Happily the garage was available to fix it on Thursday, and my mom (awww) met me halfway in Kittery last Saturday. In the meantime we drove L's uninsured Mazda (thankfully we hadn't sold it yet, and thankfully I didn't hit any children before we were able to get it insured - I mean, just kidding police who happen to be reading this blog - I wouldn't operate a motor vehicle in ANY state without appropriate levels of insurance; that's irresponsible). I returned the dealer part (gave them a dirty look - should have given their bathroom an upper decker) and will return the online part (it had arrived in my holiday absence) and will never speak of this again.

The good folks at Phil's Foreign Auto didn't ask too many questions, and I can live with a few laughs in the shop at my expense in exchange for a fully functional automobile (and a few dollars). Yet another healthy slice of humble pie to build character. So I'll be taking a brief hiatus from the world of DIY, methinks.

Other than that mishap, the holidays were very nice, I hope yours went as well or better.