Sweet Dreams

Well...last night I had a dream, and I know that, as stated by Always Sunny, "Dreams are like pictures, if I'm not in any of them, and no one is having sex, I don't care." However, some people are in this one.

My buddy Zach calls me up and asks if I'd be interested in going to Pittsburgh to invest in a coal mine. I agree, as I take great personal stake in the nation's coal supply. Anyways, we're driving for about two hours in the driving rain, and the turnpike starts going up these steep, unfinished mountain roads, our wheels are overhanging cliffs, it's all pure rock with gullies of rushing water. Zach repeatedly insists that we're going the right way, and that I do not remember this part of the turnpike because it's under construction.

We go for a little longer and we see this big building made of logs in the distance. Zach says pull over, this is a good place to stop. It's a gravel/dirt lot, with many mud covered pickups. The lot is lit by overhead stadium lights, and we run through the mire to a door that says "Bar" over another sign that says "General Store."

We sit down at the bar, get a couple of looks from the locals wearing cowboys hats...it's obviously the only place for miles, as the bar is very large and filled to capacity. It takes forever, but we eventually get a beer and zach asks the bartender where the closest hotel room is. He gives us directions, but I'm upset because I need to get to Pittsburgh that night so I can be home the next day in time for a party I'm throwing. Zach says it's raining too bad to head home.

We go down a hallway to the general store area, were there are about 12 teenagers wearing kilts and suspenders with dirty button down white shirts made out of some heavy fabric. They all have bad punk-rock type haircuts, randoms lengths of hair long in one area, short in others, but since they obviously have never seen internet or television to know what a punk haircut is, these are actually more authentic punk than most. They area struggling to get a 55 gallon drum of oil to the checkout.

I go get a warm soda out of the cooler, and say "excuse me" to the teens, but they ignore me and continue to struggle with the drum. I go to pay the old man for the soda at a front counter, but one of the teens is blocking the counter who says "we're in front of you, city boy."

I tell him that I'll be done before they even get to the counter, and he repeats that they were in front of me. I hand two dollars to the old man, and go to exit, where another teen has his hand on the doorknob. He goes "poor choice." I grab the doorknob and leave.

The rain has slowed, so Zach and I start walking across the big parking lot to the car to decide if we should head towards the 'burgh or head for home. I look over my shoulder, where I can see the group of teens have left the barrel outside and are slowly following us. I just finish saying "let's just get on the road and we'll decide, I don't feel like dealing with them," when I notice that the teens have gathered together and are looking towards the far end of the lot. Suddenly, someone at the far end of the lot bursts from the passenger side of the car and starts running across an open area behind the building, the teens run after him, picking up broken 2x4s, over run him and begin beating him with the 2x4's and pieces of chain.

Zach and I are both like, "Holy Shit!" but sort of hang around in disbelief, when the teens drag the dude they were beating over to the barrel of oil where they start dousing him with the oil and trying to set him on fire. At that point, Zach and I quietly roll the car out of the lot and head for home.

When we get back to my house, people are swarming the yard. Spot lights are everywhere, as a crew of men are assembling a large stage with "ANDREW WK" emblazoned across the top. I fight my way through crowds of people, some of whom I know to varying extent, to my front door, where one of the girls from the rugby team I coach is standing there in full kit.
"Coach, what's going on?" She asks, although it seems she knows more than I do.
"What're you doing here?" I ask.
"Oh, I just needed a..." she trails off, distracted by the stage.
"Why are you in full gear?"
"Oh, well I just came here to see if you had a...," again, she is looking at the stage.
"What? What do you want?" Just then my boss from England bursts out of the door.
"She wants a beer, just like every other bloody rugger!" he shouts, forcing a beer into her hand, goes back inside and slams the door.
"Why are you here?" I ask again.
"I just wanted to get, a, um, " pausing to look at the stage, "a mouthpiece!"
"It's 2 months until we start practice, I don't have any moth pieces. Besides, you have one stuck in your headband, one in your collar, and one in each sock if i'm not mistaken."
"Oh, well, then I guess I can go then," and disappeared into the crowd, beer in hand.

Andy Young, who I've seen once, maybe twice since high school, uncharacteristically tears up through my yard in a convertible cabriolet, top down with tall dune grass planted in the back.
"Well, glad to see you brough some grass to replant my yard." He hops out over the door carrying two six packs, shoves one into my arms, and goes inside without making eye contact.

I go into the house, where it is wall to wall acquaintances from high school and college engaging in behavior that will cause long term detrimental effects to my home. I try to talk to them to find out what is going on, but shredding guitar music drowns out their answers.

I mosh back to my room, where Sean is guarding the door.
"I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO DUDE!!!"
"what's going on here!?" I ask him.
"I don't know what we're gonna do."
"About what?" I just want to know whats going on.
"ANDREW W.K." Sean yells over the music.
"Is he here, or is that just his stage?"

Sean opens the door to reveal Andrew W.K. sprawled out on my bed, unconscious.

I don't remember what happened after that, but I can only assume I went on and partied so hard that my heart exploded out of my chest at the end of the set, and everyone cheered as they were covered in a shower of Jager flavored blood.

Blocked Number

I got a phone call today, all that came up on my screen was "blocked." I was trying to think if I had blocked any ex-girlfriend's number, or, more likely, that of one of my friends who call late at night with stupid jokes and stories.

Goody: "Hello?"
Caller: "Yo!" (at this point I'm thinking it's a coworker, as we block our cell numbers so pool owners can't bother us directly.)
Goody: "What's going on man?"
Caller: "This is Jose." (I must have not heard that right)
Goody: "Who?"
Jose: "Jose. Who's this?" (I can't possibly know anyone named Jose."
Goody: "I'm Goody."
Jose: "something something your boy from the crib." (um, I was at a house party last weekend, but don't recall anyone named Jose.)
Goody: "How do I know you?"
Jose: "You gave me your number last night." (I went to work yesterday, bought a Christmas tree, had 'lunch' at Scooter's, and came home. Could there be someone else named Goody with a similar number?)
Goody: "I think you have the wrong number."
Jose: "Jose, from the white car. Who is this?" (Did I meet anyone in a crib or a white car recently? hmm, no.)
Goody: "I'm Goody. What white car?"
Jose: "the small one." (vague. very vague. I do intentionally piss off many other motorists, but how would they get my number?)
Goody: "What number did you dial? I don't want to miss out on your illegal activity if it's something cool."
Goody: "Hello?"
Goody: "Jose?"
Dialtone: "eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer"

Too Nice

My sister, Jacy, called me today from the Doctor's office. She was getting some botox shots to loosen up her arm so she can start working with it a little more and just to relax it. (She was in a car accident and her arm isn't working too hot, if you didn't' know) Anyway, the office didn't get pre-authorization, and couldn't get ahold of anyone at the insurance, so she had to sign something saying we would pay for it if insurance wouldn't cover it.

Anyway, the convo went like this:
Jacy: "Hey, we don't know if insurance will cover the shots, so we might have to sign a paper saying we'll pay for them if they don't"
Me: "Ok, we can do that."
Jacy: "Well, it's expensive...a couple thousand" (she said the exact price)
Me: "Ok, well you want the shots, right?"
Jacy: "Yeah"
Me: "Well then sign the paper, and if insurance doesn't pay for it, we will"

How it should have gone:
Jacy: "Hey, we don't know if insurance will cover the shots, so we might have to sign a paper saying we'll pay for them if they don't"
Me: "Ok, we can do that."
Jacy: "Well, it's expensive...a couple thousand" (she said the exact price)
Me: "Oh."
(Silence)
Jacy: "What should I do?"
Me: "Well you know how I want a TV that goes on the wall."
Jacy: "you could still get that, they're not that much."
Me: "yeah, but you still need another session in your leg...why don't you just pick one or another?"

and I could've kept going like that forever...lucky for her, I was busy framing windows in the basement and couldn't mess with her....maybe next time she needs something important.

Lemme Upgrade Ya

I'm sick of companies trying to sell me guarantees on products/services. I was at the post office today, and after standing in a dense line while clerks complain about their job to the old people who must be in there every day because they have enough free time to not just buy a book of stamps and mail from home, they ask me if I would like to upgrade to priority mail, and if I would like to require a signature/notification of receipt.
To put it simply, I'm paying $1.17 for this envelope to be shipped from Lititz to Western Lancaster in a timely fashion. If I pay that money, USPS does that. Why should I pay extra money to make sure it gets done? If you can't do it properly for one dollar and seventeen cents, charge more for the flat rate.
It's as if I would come to you and say, "Hey, I'll build you a doghouse for $100." Then, after we agree upon that rate, I go: "Hey, I'll be sure to do a good job of it for $125."

Apple pulled the same stunt on me. Don't get me wrong I love my laptop and phone, but they offer extended warranties for extra money, which I can understand. However, I recently had an issue with the iPhone...I don't know what it was, it was working off and on, i took it to the Apple store and they replaced it, no questions asked....awesome, great customer service, iSatisfied. However, the warranty on the replacement phone is not one year from when it was issued, but from the date of the original purchase.
If you sell a product and guarentee it for a year and it fails, shouldn't the exact same product have the exact same warantee? To make it even worse, to make a selling point, they tell me that the $80 extended warranty transfers with the phone if I ever sell it...meaning they acknowledge the fact that a waranty goes along with an individual item, not along with the person who bought it.
It's as if I build you a doghouse and as I leave I say, "Yep, I did an extra good job on this one (thanks for the extra 25 bucks), if anything happens to it in the next year, gimme a call and i'll come fix it."
364 days later, you come out and the dog house is a pile of boards in the yard. You call me, I come out and explain that I must've gotten some faulty nails, no way I could have known that, but I'm a man of my word and I'll build a brand new one just like the old one. When you ask what if this one falls apart in 364 days....well, that's not my problem, I guarenteed that first one for one year, so if this one falls apart tomorrow, I'll fix it, but after that, I have no guarentees that the work I just did will last any longer.
....but for an extra 50 bucks, I promise it will last at least 3 more weeks...

Seriously, who is stupid enough to actually pay extra money to be sure what should've been done right the first time actually gets done? Sorry if you do spend extra money on these types of things, and if you're offended, send me 5 bucks and I'll write a personal appology post. Send me $20 and it will be sincere.

Nightmares

I had a dream the other night. I was sitting in my car in a parking lot. A man came up and knocked on my window, it was my dad. My old-school dad with a mustache. I didn't recognize him at first, but it was him. I was so incredibly happy to see him. He told me it was all just a test to see how Jacy and I would do in a crisis situation and that we excelled in the test.

I asked to see mom...and he said that she died in the accident, and Jacy's injuries were real...

I woke up then. It was sad...I never thought about the massive insurance fraud that would have been committed if it were true...I was just happy to see Dad.

Sorry, it's a bit sentimental...I'll go back to drinking with Sean so I don't dream.

Mood: Angry, nauseous.

So it's a pretty low key night...reading a book by the fire until i decide to change the music, then someone IMs me, and before I know it, I went from a positive, intellectual activity to searching youtube for classic Hulk Hogan clips. Then the Undertaker. Then the Million Dollar Man...I'm not sure why, I never watched WWF. Anyway, Million Dollar man's sidebar has "Money Talks" on it, so I watch that video...and a few more sidebar clicks, and I find these:

Shakira, singing a song that I probably would be titled "Back in Black," had I no prior knowledge of AC/DC.


...she kinda looks like Dee Snider...

Shania Twain...try to block out the singing, focus on the headflips to give it some humor, assuming she's trying to headbang and not just keep the hair out of her eyes.



...Celine Dion. By far a crime against all nature...and that's my opinion of her before I saw this video. The worst part is, you can tell she thinks she is really rocking.



p.s. The only people who should be wearing heels anywhere near an AC/DC song are strippers, Gene Simmons, and, as much as I hate to mention him twice, Dee Snider.

I remember the first time I heard AC/DC. I was in Kindergarten. It was my first contact with rock music...my dad's copy of "Dirty Deeds." We used to watch a lot of "Cops," not having cable television and all, so naturally I was drawn to the blacked out faces on the cover art and the disclaimer that "only the names have been changed to protect the guilty."

But yeah, these videos really upset me. It's like finding out that someone brutally raped and slowly disfigured your childhood friend. And you know exactly who did it...and you know that not only were they paid to do it, but they're proud of their heinous crime.

Sorry, I can't get all worked up over this...if I'm going to drive a van packed full of explosives into a concert, it will be a Jimmy Buffet concert, I can't let this distract me from the reason God put me on earth.

Also, I'm afraid my quotes key will wear out if I continue with this post. and this is the most my "Dee Snider" key has been used in awhile.

Culmination!

Finally, I get to put all my acquired beer drinking skills to a good cause...well...a cause....a self serving one. Kinda. My buddy Kurt is getting married next year. He's opting to have cash bar, as most of their family members (aka Killjoys) won't drink enough to warrant the low low price of $5.75 for the first hour, $5.25 for the second, and $4.75 for the third. Why he let me see the menu, I'm not quite sure, although I did abstain from picking out entrees.
However, he has assured me that he will be picking up the tab for those in the wedding party. While this is a kind gesture, it is not my concern, as I will get drunk at Stoudt's no matter what the cost, whether I need smuggle in a flask, blow a wad of cash, lose a limb, or promise my firstborn to a life of servitude. It's everyone else that be to be intoxicated, as to make my impending words and deeds seem borderline socially acceptable.
So here's the plan. I need to prove to Kurt that it will be cheaper to pay for everyone to have open bar than it will be to pay tab. If we figure 150 people at the wedding, the hourly rates add up to $15.75 per person for three hours of open bar. That would be $1,575 dollars for 100 people, plus half of that for another 50, which is, (let's see...750 is half of 1500, and half of 75 is like...38ish...785...plus 1575...2200....carry the 1....160)....about $2360? I could use a calculator, but I like approximate mental math, and as I type what I think, there it is.
So, let's say 5 bucks a beer, 5 goes into 2 G's 400 times, into three hundred 60 times, and into sixty 12 times....so 472 beers. In 3 hours. I'm confident...and if I can only get down 400 some beers in 3 hours, i'll remind him how much of a tip he'll need to leave on 400 beers.

Ah, my first anonymous criticism on this site...take it easy...I don't want any puppy mills, as I find the vast majority of dogs incredibly annoying. They used to breed dogs on a farm behind me...they would all get each other barking...I hated that puppy mill, and all the dogs in it.
I like independent, low maintenance animals such as cats and fish. Just so long as they have food and water (especially the fish), and they wouldn't care if they never saw you. I wouldn't want a pet dog cheap, expensive, or free. If I wanted a noisy pet that drools and needs tending every few hours for exercise and to go to the bathroom I'd have a kid...or maybe a second coal stove so that I could use any puppies that might wander into the house as kindling.
Speaking of which, I left the stove burning overnight by itself for the first time, I was thinking about it so much I could barely have a good time. The party started at 8...I didn't leave until 10 so that it wouldn't be burning untended for as long. I woke up at 7am to be sure I would get home in time to take care of it....I wonder how old a kid would have to be before it could be in charge of a coal stove....

Some Puppy Mills!

...while from what I understand, Puppy Mills are bad, but I also don't want to pay premium prices for my dogs (if I did for some reason want a dog)...do you think we could reach some sort of compromise, such as some puppy mills? And does someone make a sign that represents such that I could put in my yard?

Jacy is gross. Or Dedicated.

My sister started reading my blog, so for some reason I feel ok to pick on her here because it's not behind her back...but yeah, she is all about drinking cocacola red caps to enter to win free coke and prizes. To the point where I can't buy her a case of cans, as she wants the lids.

The thing is, it's not the quantity. She drinks one bottle every 3 or 4 days, which means it must be syrup-flat. The coal stove also keeps the living room at 82-85 degrees, meaning her soda, which she likes to drink at room temp, is in the mid-eighties.

However, she has polished off about 8 in this manor, so she is getting a coupon for a free coke. Although they could just ship it to her, as she wouldn't mind it being warm from being in the mail.

Dan Shaw the Cat.

Loki the cat spends about 23 hours a day under my sister's bed. The only reason I know it leaves is because every morning the litter box is full and the food dish is emptied, and it falls upon me (who did not want a cat) to reverse both situations. From time to time I catch Loki in the living room, usually around midnight when I go out to the kitchen for some water. He freezes, stares, and runs for cover.

Dan Shaw also sleeps about 23 hours a day, also usually not on a bed, but on a pile of dirty comforters and pillows strategically located an equidistant between a TV and air conditioner. He also sleeps all day, and will usually only be seen out of his nest when he's headed to the fridge or bathroom (this only occurring if all his old iced tea bottles have been filled with urine or dip spit.)

On second thought, I would like to apologize to cats, as they clean themselves and bury their bodily waste.

True Calling

Well, it turns out that my true calling in life has nothing to do with rugby, nor the Pabst Blue Ribbon Brewing company. My aunt and grandma were coming up to visit, which I hate. Visits from relatives have increased dramatically since Jacy came home, and as much as I like wasting two hours sitting around chatting about how I'm doing, I find it's easier to drive to a supermarket parking lot and read a book, make phone calls, play with the laptop, etc. than sit around insisting that I'm doing fine and explaining to every relative over and over that I will not be attending any sort of Thanksgiving this year so we can all sit around, shake our heads and talk about how strange it is without Jay and Jean around.
Anyway, sitting in parking lots isn't my true calling. While I was in the parking lot, my buddy Kurt called and said Kerri, his fiance, was at the house they're remodeling if I wanted to meet over there to do some painting as we had discussed earlier. I drover over to the house, opened the back door trying not to mess up the drop cloth, and hear that Kerri is upstairs washing brushes out in the sink. I went into the dark living room and hid around the corner from the stairs, figuring I would surprise her. She came down the stairs and turned the other way, and as I ran up behind her, she screamed.
Not a startled scream, but a "bloody-murder straight out of a cheap horror flick" scream. She was like a wounded cornered rabbit. I had no idea such a small human could produce that amount of noise.

I want to hear it again, so I may become a serial killer. Or at least invade some homes.

Side note: We later discussed that she knew I was there, and that the scream was just instinct as she knew it was me running up behind her. The real question is...was the terror a result of being snuck up on, or knowing that she would be alone with me for upwards of half an hour?

Let he who hath understanding reckon....

THE NUMBER OF THE BEAST! 666 page views! However, if you're reading this, you, or someone like you, ruined it.

All Apologies

Left is now beginning to regret his decision to take his frustrations out on Right, as he neglected to consider that Right also takes care of some of the less desired tasks, mainly everything that takes place within a bathroom. He is continuing to help clean and dress Right and hopes (somewhat self servingly, I'm afraid,) for Right's full and speedy recovery.

He never saw it coming...

After never suspecting what Left was doing, Right suffered a near fatal blow earlier this evening while splitting kindling to get the coal stove fired up. Right was simply lending a hand, holding a piece of wood. Things had been moving rather quickly, with Jacy getting ready for bed, and Goody went against his better judgement of pausing to use the hatchet as a wedge with a hammer and carefully lined up the center of the 1.5" piece of oak, making sure Right tucked himself away as much as possible. Left, however, saw his opportunity and took it, hacking cleanly through a think clump of skin on Right's index finger, pausing for a second to emphasise the fact that the blade of the hatchet was now drawing a line through the curled digit.

Goody's reactions were mixed. While able to tolerate internet images of massive innards and gore, injuries to the hands have always bothered him. Upon withdrawing the hatchet, the initial inspection did not seem dire, until he peeled back the V-shaped flap to reveal striations of white indicating deep tissue. This lead him to believe that he should quickly make his way to the nearest hospital emergancy room, but quickly remembered that stitches could be installed hours after the cause, but a budding coal fire takes hours to rear, and the one he was building was catching on quick and would burn for days if properly managed. He then turned to his Boyscout/Rugby/Too drunk to seek medical attention medical training to clean and dress the slab. He realized that he had a full range of motion in the finger, and knew that this meant the had avoided damage to the ligiment/tendon portion of his finger. Furthermore, the tip of the finger had feeling, meaning the nerves had also remained intact. The blood loss was not overwhelming, and the tip has retained a healthy color, so bloodflow was also not hampered. These factors combined, he decided against a trip to the doctor, despite his newly gained health insurance. Besides, he would have had to look up if he was covered at Ephrata or Lititz, or if he would have to travel into Lancaster.

Released on his own recognizance, Left was unappologetic. "Let this serve as a warning," Left muttered. "Too long I've been stuck with all the taskwork: writing, drawing, all the fine motorwork, but as soon as something flashy comes along like throwing or opening a jar, Right comes barging in, finally deciding to quit lazing around in Goody's lap for a change."

Right, his index finger dressed in a loose gause wrap, declined to comment when asked if he planned to continue with his semi-ambidextrious ways.

Photo credit: Goody, who in a surprising move, decided to clean up the wound before retrieving his phone from the car.

Social Pariah

Yesterday, Saturday October 11th, I received zero emails. None. Not even from facebook.

randoms

I have a cat now. It's name is Loki, picked over "Head Trauma 1" and "General Tso." Little Miller's cousin gave it to me. Her husband is allergic to it, they had to get rid of it. I'm not sure how I got involved, I imagine it went something like this.

Tiana: "I have to get rid of my cat."
LM: "you know who doesn't want a cat? Goody."
Tiana: "Oh, let's give it to him!"

Jacy is excited though, as she is not the one laying on the floor trying to get it out from under her bed, and will not be emptying the litter box.

Black Gold

I think that might oil, but I'm firing up the coal stove. Sean is currently tending the fire in a rocking chair. I'm on the computer, DJing and drinking a Pabst ("a" meaning my 11th of the afternoon), I decided I should be drunk to start a fire and Sean sort of took over from there. Kind of like how I get drunk to cook and Sean usually takes over. So I guess Sean is firing up the coal stove, although I do split all the wood.

Not to badmouth the good people of Centralia, but Jesus H. Christos, they must've gone out of their way to start that fire. We've been at it for about 3 hours and have one glowing peice of coal...it's literally trying to set stone aflame.

a post!

Yeah, I haven't been blogging again, although I've been told that having an online reference to the Shaw boys so that people can prove to their friends that they actually do exist is a help.

Jacy's home, so I've been spending a lot of time cooking and cleaning, although people bring meals, which is nice. Jacy doesn't so much create the extra work as I actually have to keep up after my own messes so she can navigate the house.

But today I finally found what I had been waiting for...the Good family treasure. Previous searches had yielded only half a Goodwill's worth of well worn socks and undershirts, ties from the 70's, my dad's collection of true crime novels, his wisdom teeth, and an overflowing four drawer filing cabinet that after removing all the maps, vacation brochures and other paperwork long rendered obsolete by the internet, was decimated to one half drawer of important documents and one drawer of old newspapers. While moving said filing cabinet, I found it in the corner of my parent's closet behind 14 containers of generic Gold Bond, stacks of bar soap, shampoo bottles and disposable razors...a box with a combination lock on it.

I could pry the box open slightly, enough to see more disposable razors, but that just had to be a ruse. I managed to get 2 of the 4 bolts off of the latch, but the other 2 would not budge. I chiseled at the weld, but couldn't get it to peel off. I fruitlessly tried sawing through the lid around the latch. I tried to knock the pin out of the hinge to no avail, so I found a grinder and took it to to bolts. Then I went and got a pair of sunglasses should a spark land in my eye. After my second attempt was aborted due to fear of a spark nesting in my hair, I got a hat, and after catching a few live ones on my feet, put on jeans and shoes. My fourth attempt was pay dirt, I slowly ground off the head of the bolt, and, not equating 2 minutes of showering sparks with friction related heat, promptly burned myself.

I opened the lid.

On top, World War II commemorative stamps. These were mine from approximately 1991, and instinctively knew that they were not worth enough to mail a letter. Next, a peanut butter container filled with old coins, along with an appraisal sheet stating their value at a little under 300 bucks. Not bad.

And finally, there it lay. A pile of various shotgun shells and .22 rounds. The most valuable thing known to man, 'cause once the economy falls through, no one can afford utilities and we're back to the dark ages, the only thing a man is left to do is terrorize his neighborhood, shootin' 'n' lootin'.

I'm lazy

yeah, i went into another period of neglecting my blog. I've been kinda busy.

1)I've been working a few days a week. Breaking rules, closing pools. My new favorite situation is when a customer calls and says that their automatic cleaner isn't working properly. We go out, and of course, to their dismay, "of course it works when you're here!" We stand there and watch for it to go in circles, get stuck on the drain, only do the deep end, etc. but it never does. Because it's not broken. They just don't understand that it's random, so its not going to zip all over the pool picking up spots of dirt. You tell them this, and they swear it happens all the time. Then you point out how clean the pool is, and they go "oh, it works great, I love it, it just [reason they think it's broken]" and never seem to realize that they just exclaimed that it's not broken. Then I pretend to adjust something and tell them to call again if they notice it's not cleaning the pool.

2) My long-distance not-official girlfriend broke up with me...or whatever it is they do when it's not official. However, this continues the streak of girls I've been interested in who "don't want a boyfriend right now." I understand this is often code for "you're funny and cool to hang around, but after you have a few beers, the way you look at me kind of scares me. And you sweat a lot. A Lot," but obviously that's not always the case, as some of them let me...um...sweat on them. I wonder if it's me, or if I have some uncanny ability to spot girls who truely don't want relationships.

3)I bought an iPhone. It's pretty cool, but I miss coming home and going "I wonder if anyone e-mailed me?!" But now the excitement is gone. I already know that only Apple (wanting to sell me an ipod touch), my bank (with an exciting new offer/change in terms), and a J.D. Salinger mailserver I joined in college have tried to contact me.

um. that's all I can think of right now. Jacy should be home next week...I'm excited/terrified. It'll be the greatest thing that ever happened to me to have her living with me. It'll be hell when relatives come every night to "visit" aka sit around and force awkward conversation all night so I can't get shit done and/or drink heavily. Um, that's about all for now, although I have some funny conversations.

Aunt: "Now I don't want to nag you like your mom, but you haven't been drinking too much have you?"
Goody: "Oh, well yeah...but not anymore than usual."

Neighbor: "Let us know if you need anything"
Goody: "I think I'm fine, Jacy and Steve might like some meals when they move in."
Neighbor: "Ok, Whatever you need!"...starts to walk away..."is your lawn mower still working?"

...yeah, I guess I should take a hint and get on that. One more mow before snowfall should be fine, right?

Jared M. Good Home for Wayward Ruggers

It's been a little while. The week at the shore ended spectacularly, with Dan "Sea Mammal" Shaw and me going Kayaking in the ocean. Ten-year-old Krista repeatedly reported to us that Dan "sucks" (her words, not mine) at paddling. I thought this would only be semi true...however, it was very true. We were kayaking for 3 hours, a trip that I think I could have made in 1 given the amount of time I spent paddling back out to Dan in order to make sure that his progress was sufficient enough not to warrant his mom calling the coast guard to come get us.

We saw a pod of dolphins. I hoped they were friendly, but not too friendly, as I think they would have flipped my unsteady kayak if they jumped over it. Dan said he never felt so close to his kin.

Then I went to Alexandria for a weekend with Muhammad Aubri, who does not approve of that nickname. Probably the first time I can report being happy and care free in a long time.

In other news, the UCR team was kicked off campus for preseason due to partying on the first night, so Huggy has taken up an internship at the Jared M. Good home for Wayward Ruggers. We've been running 1-2 miles every night, plus walking about another, so he is somewhat in training. Not only will he be ready for rugby matches, but also for drinking Pabst and sleeping on a sofa.

Dan's Mom's Misconceptions

Dan went for a jog today, he was gone for about two hours, causing some concern for his well being, as Dan's mom claimed that Dan had "not run in two months" and "weighs almost as much as me." We had to inform her that Dan had not run in what was closer to two years, and had, in fact, probably surpassed her in weight in the mid 90s.

She called the hospital to see if they had admitted anyone wearing a yellow nascar bandana. However, we felt certain that he would not be at the hospital, as the hospital does not serve icecream.

Apparently, his jog included someone yelling "hustle fatass!"

one fish, two fish, red fish, SHARK!

So I was swimming yesterday, if you want to call it that, as we're by the bay (no watermelons growing from what I can tell) and the water is fairly shallow. Anyways, we're out there and I felt something large brush against both my legs, I could feel it had some girth to it, and it was obviously big enough to span my stance. and it was kinda warm.

then today some guy in a boat told Berber that they had seen a shark, so maybe one touched me.

Kristin: "touched by a shark" sounds like an awesome TV show.
Goody: yeah, but it wouldn't be. It would just me giving dan a scared look, realizing he's too far away to touch me with his leg and going "something just touched me. something big." and rapidly exiting the water and peering back at it looking for a fin for 45 minutes.

this and that

nothing too spectacular. Slept till noon, rested my sunburn today, I have a nice stripe on me where I fell asleep yesterday morning with my arms folded on my stomach. I'll see if I can get a pic.

Last night we went to rehobeth.
Goody: "Dude, seriously, what were you thinking when you put on that fucking straight brimmed hat and plaid shorts, were you trying to look as douchey as possible?"
Random Kid: "You're wearing a vest."

Alex Morra should be coming down to add to the excitement tonight. We're building a fire in celebration, and perhaps sacrificing the contents of Jenna's stomach if all goes well, despite the memorandum prohibiting vomiting posted momma Shaw.

Goody: "I hope everyone on this beach understands that it's perfectly fine to take a leak in public just so long as you take a knee..."
Dan: "I'd be more worried about the people on the ferry"
Goody: "You were there when the girls I coach were shocked by a guy pissing at the tourney?"
Dan: "yeah, although a rugby field is the only place before today that I saw someone do that, although you are wearing rugby shorts."
Goody: "I think rugby shorts are key to the process."
Dan: "I think a lack of shame and a lack of a need for privacy are key to the process."
Goody: "and 5 beers."

After a bought of drinking Berber made it the worst brother's day ever by fighting with his brother. Dan responded by sleeping till 1, and then deciding to go get something to eat.

Due to the snoring involved with this choice of action, I went and slept on the beach from nine to noon and am now somewhat burned.

Danny Dan: Tomorrow is going to be the best brother's day ever.
Berber: I don't know if I can drink tomorrow
Danny Dan: What's tomorrow?
Berber: ....Brother's day....

ALSO: in what was by far THE most spectacular event I have ever witnessed, Krista, age 10, after being thrown by Dan into the ocean multiple times while she was clinging to him for security, blow a massive load of clear, yet gooey, snot onto the back of Dan's neck.

.

Berber: how about instead of a nap we go to the bar?
Goody: how about we freak out after we go to bed early and someone comes to have fun?
Berber: I only got mad because you tried to stick your balls in my mouth after you got back from the bar
Dan: that was before we went to the bar
Berber: no, mom was in bed, it was like 3:30.
Berber: it must have been both.

Sunday Update

went to a bar last night, where some lady talked to Dan a lot about being from Media, it was pretty uneventful, other than dan ordering the world's gayest drink involving whipped cream. We walked home, trying out a few shortcuts through fields which resulted in walking back to the road the way we came.

We've been lazing around the house, I've filled an empty soda can with Rye and packed up my hammock, Dan has disappeared, but we're planning on packing some beers, going to the beach and getting to work.

10:30

Rickshaw Shawnshaw Shaw-Shaw (Dan): "Did Berber go to bed?"
Mrs. Shaw: "Yeah, she's not feeling well...I think it might have been the tomato, how much did he drink?"
Rickshaw Shawnshaw Shaw-Shaw: "2 beers."

Top Ten Reasons Berber is Extremely Hated

10. Leaped onto my "weight sensitive" hammock
9. Broke a bottle rocket.
8. Clumsily pulled out my laptop, GPS and phone charger in a matter of 8 seconds. The outlets are hard to get to.
7. Passed out early
6. Constant "I don't feel well" pungent farts
5. Lack of Tactical vest
4. Mouth Breathing
3. "On our way to Cape May"
2. Locked us out on the 2nd story deck, then came out without unlocking the door, chronically locking us all out
1. Wasted a tomato.

Back story:
Mrs. Shaw: "Does anyone want anything?"
Berber: "Can I just have a tomato?"
Mrs. Shaw: "Sure, just sliced?"
Berber: "yeah"
...ten minutes later
Berber: "Hey mom, where's that tomato?"
Mrs. Shaw: "You're not going to waste one if you're just going to drink beer!"

A Room with a View.

From Dan's Bed:


From my Bed:


I can't help but feel that Dan got the bed with a better view, as evidenced here...

This is now a multimedia blog.

Hopefully I can get through this post. Berber is in our room farting up a storm. Here is Berber in his Dan waking uniform, which he wore the entire trip down. I kept to the right hand lane.

After coercing Dan out of bed, we spent the next two hours getting him to pack and put on pants.
I then spent the next three hours stop and go all the way down with Dan yelling in my ear.
Dan: I'm really excited for the schwarzlager to come out.
Goody: Whats the schwarzlager?
Dan: It's a black german lager.
Goody: I had assumed from the name, whats so great about it?
Dan: Well Bavaria set purity laws set in the 1500's regulating (I zoned out here for about 5 minutes) and these laws extended to all of Germany (zoned out for 10 minutes) but now they don't apply them to beers made for export such as Beck or Heineken.
Goody: I'm afraid to get you started, but what did any of that have to do with that beer you were talking about?

Me trying to blend into the walls in an attempt to not be seen with Dan.

Travelshawcity.com

We woke Dan around 9am after picking the lock to the door. Berber in his frog hat and tactical vest confiscated Dan's blanket to reveal his lack of pants. After arguing with their parents about loading kayaks, cleaning feret cages, taking out their trash, throwing away spitters, moving their cars, and hearing Berber sing "On the Way to Cape May" in a bullfrog voice for several hours, we were on the road about 11am.
To conserve battery life of my GPS (the cigarette lighter in my car quit working), I allowed Dan to give me initial directions, being that we had to stop at his bank. After going through some back alleyways, we arrived at 11:04am behind a Rita's where Dan hopped out, reminiscent of a young, 270lb. Dan Shaw to purchase "sustenance."

8:45

Berber: Apparently Dan was wasted at 5am this morning.
Goody: Well yeah, no shit.
Berber: Oh, did he come try to get you drunk?
Goody: Surprisingly, no.

7:15 am

I wake to make small water. Brenden "I wake up everyday at 6:15 no matter what" Shaw is snoring. Dan never arrived last night, and I have a lingering hunch that he has yet to pack...however, this is a bright yellow McNabb throwback jersey and a pair of pajama pants in a laundry basket...maybe he did.

12:30

an hour has passed...no sign or word of rickshawshawnshawshawshaw. I expect this to be about par for the week.

Berber's Basement Bedroom

Got here to the Shawshack about 2 hours ago. exactly 2 hours ago now that I look at the clock. I've had a few big beers with berber, we're still waiting for dan to get home, who claimed he would be off around 10. If we get up in a timely fashion, we can make the dogfish brewery tour tomorrow.

Berber, who was reading over my shoulder, just chomped his teeth at me. When I said "what was that," he responded: "I don't know, I'm Iceman."

We're off to a start.

Shaw shaws seashaws by the Shawshore. Shaw.

I'm headed to the beach for a week with former roommate Danial Shaw, future father of Rickshaw Shawnshaw Shaw-Shaw. Oh, and his entire family will be there, which should make this much more interesting.
The Shaw parents love me for some reason which I cannot understand, as I cannot help but feel partially responsible for introducing Dan to the rugby team.
Also along will be Jenna, who despite living with Dan for a year and having been to the Shaw household on numerous occasions, I believe I have seen once, sitting in a car. Dan claims to have friends dating back to high school who have seen her less.
Krista, the youngest sister, is terrified of me. Both of the Shaw girls work part time for Dan, who offers them pittances to do what he's too lazy to do, which is just about everything from cleaning feret cages to getting food from the fridge, so I can only imagine they're in a higher tax bracket than Dan.
Also playing a prominent role in this fiasco will be Berber and Kate Re. With their help, my only memories of this trip will be from blog posts...assuming I can a)type b)steal interweb.

Previous quotes to prelude this trip (we need a name. suggestions? Swimmin' with the Shaws?)

Dan: "My mom was mad that I didn't give her 24 hours notice that I was coming to see you so that she could cook you food."
Goody: "My mom loves me more than you."
Dan: "She said your long hair makes you look like a European model."

Krista (having not ever seen Goody with any hair): "Who are you?"
Goody: "Goody."
Krista: (shrieks and runs behind a group of friends who follow her out of the room.)

Aight, I'm gonna get out of here. Lata suckas.

Iggy & the Stooges

So I'm hanging around on Saturday, and Dana mentions that she had won tickets to go see Iggy & the Stooges open for the Killers that evening, but she was probably not going to go for some stupid reason that I don't quite understand, and while I'm thankful for the tickets, still can't help but question her devotion to Iggy Pop.

Anyways, the show was great, Iggy has somehow lived to 61, but overall it was a very weird experience. I'm used to big sell-out stadium shows, with parking lots brimming with denim, camo, and black t-shirts. It was a bit shocking to find ample parking, as many spaces are usually lost to canopies flying confederate flags. No one in the parking lot even tried to get me stoned as we walked in, or even offered a shot of cheap warm vodka from a solo cup.

Inside was more bizzare. It may have been me, having never been sober to a concert before, but I can't imagine how people thought they were going to mosh with all the blankets and lawnchairs all over. Not to mention little kids running around, maybe there would be a kiddy mosh pit or something.

Anyways, after watching a shitload of 15-19 year olds hop wildly up and down to four poppy Killers' songs did I didn't know, Sean and I left, as some of us have to be up for work from time to time.

Brave, Stupid, or...

I know a family that had 2 healthy, happy, bratty kids. Then they decided to have a third. After several miscarriages, stillborns and a doctor telling them that it is not advisable for them to conceive again, they had another kid. "Special" and wheelchair bound for life, the kid had a wheels strapped to him to just to crawl. Just now I saw that went ahead and had a 4th child, which I don't quite understand. You love your kids no matter what (while I don't have a kid to know this, my parents love me, and I'm me, which is definitive proof in my book,) but I don't know what goes through people's minds. They're either brave, stupid, or just plain don't believe in birth control.

Lex wins

after reviewing all the submissions, Lex has come out the clear winner, although he did make me promise not to relate the counter to people being eaten by tigers. (for those of you who don't know, a mutual friend (kurt) and I made an over/under bet on lex being eaten by a tiger in 2 weeks.) Having the over, all I need is for Lex to be eaten by a tiger(s), which includes the Detroit, and I win 50 bucks.

All the more reason I should devote this blog to befriending Mike Tyson.

Lex Sucks

Anyone who can tell me how to get a visitor counter on the blog will receive either their name mentioned in a post, or a promise that I will never mention them by name in a post.

Oh...my rice is done...I thought the beeping was on tv, so I ignored it...I only realized it's not on the tv due to the fact that not every commercial would feature a truck backing up.

Mérge à trois

How are people such horrible drivers? I understand that some people, such as Asians, women, and folk originating from states starting with the word "New" (under this system, our nation's capital is now New Washington D.C.), cannot help it, but I seriously think that there needs to be some sort of more selective process in gaining a driver's license.

Driving down to see my sister involves several construction areas, and I don't think people understand how to merge. Even though the sign says "use both lanes until merge point," no one gets that if they form a single file as opportunities become available, there is no longer a set merge point and traffic can flow through the narrowing without interruption rather than having 2 lines and stopped people trying to edge into the moving lane, causing that lane to stop as well. However, just last night I realized how foreign that concept is to people.

We were in the usual back up from people's lack of knowledge, and I used the stopped traffic to dick with my ipod, as I was traveling without a personal assistant to DJ and send txt messages for me. Just before the merge point, we were moving slowly, and I just let the car idle forward so the 3 cars in the other lane could pull forward. Not being used to someone actually allowing them in, they hesitated, and the 3rd care, seeing that I was not going, swerves over and jams on the gas, then the brakes, effectively blocking out the other 2 people trying to merge and making everything pointless.

On one major highway by my house, they're clearing all the brush back about a hundred feet from the road for one reason or another, something about needing more room for billboards. Anyways, they have everyone merge down to one lane, which usually goes fairly smoothly (all assholes considered,) and we all go our way down the road at a reasonable rate of speed. Until we approach someone working. Keep in mind this is not work where men in orange shirts are right next to you in danger of being sideswiped, everything is well back off the road. But we need to look, watch, rubberneck, and to take it all in, slow down to 15 miles per hour. More spectacular is even when the crews have gone home for the day, the phenomenon continues as people continue to slow to gawk at the still equipment.

Also: If a stoplight for whatever reason quits working, it will often default to flashing red and flashing yellow. Flashing yellow means proceed with caution (aka "Warning! Cross traffic has a flashing red and don't know what to do!") Flashing red should be treated just like a stop sign. I came to one the other day, it was chaos. People with a flashing red just driving slowly through the intersection, people with the yellow stopping while informed drivers at the red were also stopped.

I want to start imposing a traffic system that involves me running you off the road, knocking on your window, demanding your license and promising to return it when you've written a letter explaining why you lack the skills necessary to operate a motor vehicle and how you plan to correct the problem. After receipt of this letter, I will continue to hold your license until I feel like dealing with rummaging through the pile of confiscated licenses and mailing it (your license could come back in a day, could be 3-8 weeks), and return your license.

-imagined conversation-
"Hey dude, want to come hang out?"
"Can't. That Goody dude has my license...I drove 4 blocks with my turn signal on."

Oh, and some dude ran a red, pulled in front of a truck, causing it to swerve head on into my family's car. He also sucks at driving and will soon face consequences, whether they be with the law, litigation, or a concrete saw.

rugby

I think I can finally apply rugby to real life in words,
While I hate to admit it, sometimes you get hit so hard from a blindside, the ball gets knocked loose, and if you're fortune enough that you don't knock it on, there's only so much you can do:
1) Lay there and wonder what just happened...chances are you'll lose possession.
2)Grab onto the ball and get a penalty...no use doing nothing with what just happened.
3)Get back on you feet, pick up the ball, and continue forward. Seriously, what else can you do. No matter how hard you get knocked down, you need to get back up, regain possession and carry on. If you need a friend or teammate...they well always be there in support...you can pass it off and let them carry the load for a bit, but you need to stay in support of them and regain the ball.

This is a little bit sentimental, but after all the support I've gained from teammates, friends and family...from my early days with Warwick to my "it's not gay, it's rugby" Bearcox back to coaching the Swarm, thank you all for the support. It's been a heavy load, and it's great to know everyone is there cheering Jacy and me on to score that try.

Patience is a virtue....

I made my latest impulse buy today (no, this isn't a post about the $6 tub I bought at walmart that should hold a keg so I no longer have to rent one. Or the GPS. Or the automatic shower cleaner thinger, which I've already been sprayed in the eyes because I wanted to see if it really does target corners...maybe I should ask about that trust fund.)
After driving back from the Trappe after being in Malvern monday, Malvern and back Tues, down Wednesday and back today, then realizing how hard it is to dig for change while keeping myself entertained while driving, and I came home and bought an EZ Pass online. Which brings me to my topic.
Is internet shopping truly an impulse buy? On one hand, it's the epitome of impulse. You get the urge and you don't even need to go anywhere, leave the house, or do anything. On the other, it lacks a key factor to impulse purchases: instant gratification. Now I have to wait an indiscriminate number of days until the EZ Pass arrives. Is it the spending of money that makes it an impulse buy, or receiving the goods that releases the impulse endorphins? Maybe internet shopping both gives you the thrill of buying something, followed by the anticipation of waiting for it to arrive. Whatever it is, I'm $300 richer due to the new iPhone only being sold in stores.

Evolution

I bought a GPS the other week. Between running to see Jacy and probably crashing at various people's houses, going down to Virginia to see Aubrey (who, hearing the stern GPS lady voice tell me what to do, realized she too can boss me around) and finding my way to familiar places, I can't be distracted by trying to read directions from google maps hastily written on a cardboard flap from a beer case. I need my hands free to steer, find songs on the ipod, light cigarettes, balance slushies, send text messages, change which station the ipod is playing on, and switch chargers to keep everything up and running.
But the GPS really does help. Last night I couldn't have checked the mail without it. I arrived home around 2am (no, not because I stayed at the bar until last call...I was at a bar that was an hour away, thank you), and had my hands full with various devices and charger, and being unable to reach my cell to use as a flashlight, I managed my way using the glow of the GPS.
Just tonight, rather than stumbling back to my room in the dark, I used my computer screen to find my way, which lead me to another thought...with all of these light emitting devices so close at hand, I'm never going to evolve into anything bioluminescent. Depressing really.

Also, next time I go to a concert and want to ruin the entire evening for everyone, instead of a lighter, do I hold up a cell phone or something else?

Family Guy

Well, I don't think Jacy should be allowed to watch Family Guy anymore. When she gets agitated, she includes anything she hears into conversation, and tonight we had family guy on.

Jacy: "Jared, should I call them for a gay orgy in the living room? I don't have to call them if you don't want to, but I think we should call them for the orgy. I'll call Bill Clinton for you for a gay orgy in the living room."

and later

Jacy: "If you guys need to expose my boobs to the nachos you can."
Goody: "I don't think it will come to that, but I'll keep you in mind i it does."
Jacy: "Thank you. Thank you for keeping me in mind if you need me to expose my boobs to the nachos."

Karma

Yeah, all those times I told people I couldn't do simple favors for them because of then hilarious excuses such as "I'm having major surgery on my intestines" or "my family was ran over by a milk truck" have really come back to bite me in the ass, as people oft do not believe me that my family was in fact ran over by a milk truck.

The latest example being my sister:
Jacy: "Jared, where are mom and dad, are they alive?"
Goody: "Jacy, I'm sorry, they're not. They were in the same car as you."
Jacy: "Thats not funny."

I was born in a small town...

Yeah, so approximately last year I was hanging out with (let's be honest, trying to bang...not even close if you were wondering) this bartender from around the way. Anyways, she abruptly quit answering her phone, which was kinda odd, but I wasn't too tore up over it. About a week later, I walk into the beer store and there she is, holding hands with a guy I know who works there (ok, again with the honesty, I don't know him and he works there, I know him because he works at the beer store.) It was pretty funny cause I really wanted to go "oh, so this is why you haven't been answering my calls.....and this is why your ex-wife was in the bar last night hitting on my roommate telling us how you can't keep your dick to yourself."

Well, having moved to the other side of town, I haven't been getting to the bar she works at often due to my inability to keep my BAC under .08, so I hadn't seen or talked to her in almost a year.

Wednesday I walk into this new bar with some buddies, and there she is sitting with some guy who was obviously not happy that she turned to say hi to me, and of course the only place to get in to order is right next to her. So I go force some conversation, congratulate her on turning 21, ask if she's still working at the same place, whatnot and whathaveyou. Anyways, I get my beers and as I'm about to turn and head back to our table, guess who is sitting directly across the bar: the beer store guy.

Man, I bet she felt awkward.

It seems like bad things always happen to good people...

and I can't imagine how sad all this would be if that were the case.

My relatives brought up the idea of setting up a trust fund with any monies that come of this, paying a financial institution to manage the money and dole out a monthly allowance with interest gained, "just to be sure that Jacy doesn't go out and blow all of her money on something not worthwhile."
When they brought it up, I almost blurted out, "that really doesn't sound like anything Jacy would do...hell, that sounds like something I would do," but then I realized..."oh."

So yeah, if any money comes of this, Greenpeace, look for a sizable check from Jacy. Everyone else, it may be wise to invest in Pabst, Stoudts, and Columbian drug cartels.

Painting

Sean: I think we put too much lacquor on this window, a second coat doesn't really soak in
Goody: by "we," do you mean "you?" and by "you," I mean me.

a single tear for you

Sorry for not producing any rhetoric here, I've been busy as shit gets hectic quick when your family dies and whatnot.

I'm not going to try and claim I haven't cried throughout this process. I have. Manly tears. But yeah, when I found out my sister is actually ready to ship out to rehab, I cried. But happy tears, like I honestly never cried because I was happy before.

Recent times I remember crying not as a result of heavy drinking: Papa's death, last match w/ UCR (although since I have played some very out of shape and lackluster B side), and a bunch times over my folks...but yeah, never because I was happy.

Sorry, I didn't want this to resemble a serious post...um, please direct your comments as to what level of homosexuality this brings me to. If I were you and reading this, I would feel compelled to use the word "Felcher"

Rehab

I toured a potential Rehab center today.....one for Jacy. Whoddathunk Jacy would be in rehab before me?

lawyers.

Lynn: So do you just have an estate lawyer or what?
Goody: I have a team of lawyers, high priced ones.
Lynn: I've always known that I'd hear you say that phrase...
Goody: yeah, me too, I just didn't think I'd be on this end of it.

Stealing Jokes

Q: Which one of these doesn't belong: Meat, Eggs, Wife, Blow Job?

A: Blow Job, as you can beat your meat, you can beat your eggs, you can beat your wife, but nothing beats a good blow job.

stolen from eric miller, who stole it from something else.

In retrospect....

while spackling the 6 million thumb tack holes in my room, I now understand why my dad wasn't happy with me hanging every single comic book I owned on the wall...or later when I hung every football card I owned, or for when I punched holes in the wall for that matter...

One of these things is not like the others...

Bruce Wayne, Goody Good, Peter Pan, Peter Parker.

If you said Bruce's obvious lack of alliteration, I guess you're right but that's not what I was going for. Goody doesn't fit in, for while he is an orphan, he does not wear tights....yet.

It's a hard knock life

Life at the orphanage has been pretty so-so this week. My experience as captain of the rugby team has allowed me to rise quickly in the ranks of my street urchin rabble. I've instituted newspaper selling as a guise for our pickpocket operation.

However, the adoption process isn't going so well. Most of the people who come in tend to take the cuter, younger children. Also, most of the prospective seem to be either younger couples or older single women, while I'm sort of hoping to be adopted by either jungle animals or pirates.

Major shit storm...and I forgot my goggles

Two weeks ago...I think...I was cracking jokes about how my life was over when my hard drive crashed...and then last sunday the shit hit the fan.

Usually when I told someone that my parents are dead, it would be to get out of something I didn't want to do when I didn't have a legitimate excuse and didn't want to bother thinking up a believable one, which is what made it all the worse to tell people that my folks were killed in a car crash.

While trying to clean up the spray from said shit fanning, I have to deal with credit card companies.  It usually takes about 20 minutes to speak to a live person.  Which is why I was so angry when the first person I spent 20 minutes getting a hold of patched me back to the automated system.

Boscov's Credit Card Representative: "And are you the executor of Jean Good's will?"

Goody: "I believe so, I'm her son."

BCCR: "Well unless you're the executor, we can't do anything."

Goody: "Ok, I'm the executor."

BCCR: "We can't do anything unless we know you are."

Goody: "I could have just said yes before, you couldn't tell if I was lying or not."

BCCR: "Well I'll just make a note here."

Goody: "Ok, is that going to do anything?"

BCCR: "It lets us know that she passed."

Goody: "A payment is due monday, will we be charged a late fee if it's not in?"

BCCR: "I can't discuss the finances with you unless you're her executor."

Goody: "This week I buried both of my parents and my little sister is in a coma from a car crash that happened on the way home from her college graduation, but this phone call is by far the worst thing that has every happened to me."

Sucks to the gas shortage

http://www.foxbusiness.com/markets/industries/retail/article/trouble-brewing-hops-shortage-slams-beer-makers_538996_7.html

Beer prices are up due to a massive hops shortage. I just paid 47 bucks for a case of Fat Dog Stout...up like 7 bucks from last fall.

Fuzzy math:
355 ml per beer, so 710ml in 2 beers.
710ml is close to 750ml, which is a 5th.
Ergo, 10 beers = 1 Gallon
24 beers is then 2 2/5 gallons
2/5ths is almost half a gallon
2.5 goes into 50...let's see...multiply by ten and 25 goes into 50 twice, so twenty.

20 bucks for a gallon of beer.
I can ride a bike, but I can't have beer without hops...

Dan le Sac vs. Scroobius Pip

My newest in English rap:

Running vs. drinking.

I've been jogging a lot...about 90 miles in the past two months. I had been training for a Stoudt's 10k run in September, but after further research, I've discovered that it was a one time event that had taken place in 2006. I have no real plans to enter any other races, as that was the only one sponsored by a brewery.

Anyway, I've discovered that running is kind of like drinking in a few ways ways (yes, going for a jog just about every day gives you plenty of time to think.)

First of all, you feel good initially, if you do too much of it, or eat the wrong thing, you end up throwing up. Although while running you'd puke in someone's front yard, opposed to the bark yard, where most drinking voms occur. Although puking in a field can be achieved in both categories.

You wake up the next day feeling like crap. Especially if you haven't done it for awhile. You wake up dehydrated and sore after falling asleep early.

There are two different ways to test your skill. Speed and endurance. Sometimes you pace yourself to see how many miles/beers you can do. Other days you go all out, knowing that you're going to be a mess shortly, but you go out at a pace you can't possibly maintain to see how quickly you can drink/run.
However, when doing one, you can't completely discount the other. No one is impressed by how quickly you can chug half a beer, if you can walk 6 miles in a day, how fast you can run 30 feet, or if you can drink a case over the course of a week. You need a respectable amount in the shortest amount of time.

Finally, I think that competitive results should be grouped by weight, not age. When running, it doesn't matter how old someone is, if they weigh 150lbs, they're obviously going to beat me. If you're drinking, a 240lb freshman is going to be able to out drink a 145lb senior.
While I guess I could find another suitable race to run, I'd much rather be compared to other fat people who are running rather than fit people my age.

KAZAAM!!!!

goodysmack: i had this dream last night where you, rod, miller and brett were playing this game in my front yard when i got home

goodysmack: and it involved throwing a tennis ball into the air, then jumping to catch it and you had to yell KAZAAM before you landed with it or else you'd get smeared by everyone

goodysmack: but sometimes instead of catching it, you would want to bat it....i dont remember the object of the game...i guess you dont either?

legerlotz: hahahahah

legerlotz: what the hell?

goodysmack: i donno

legerlotz: KAZAAAM!!!

goodysmack: i remember it being fun

goodysmack: and miller was really good at it

legerlotz: so we actually played this game?

goodysmack: well....yes, in my dream

legerlotz: haha

goodysmack: wait..its not a dream

goodysmack: more of a vision

legerlotz: haha

legerlotz: wait wait wait

legerlotz: thats it

legerlotz: we need to play this game for real now

legerlotz: lets make rules when we get home

legerlotz: write everything down you remember

goodysmack: haha

goodysmack: i just saw you guys playing

goodysmack: you'd throw the ball straight up into the air

goodysmack: a tennis ball

goodysmack: then everyone would jump for it, and the person who caught it would yell KAZAAM

legerlotz: hahahaha

legerlotz: thats the best part

goodysmack: but sometimes people would bat it back up into the air

goodysmack: ok...how about this...its kinda like australian rules football

legerlotz: haha

goodysmack: we have teams

goodysmack: and you have to advance into the goal

goodysmack: and the ball cant touch the ground or its a turnover

legerlotz: ok

legerlotz: haha

legerlotz: can you carry the ball? or hold it?

goodysmack: so the thrower throws the ball up, and his teammates go for it

goodysmack: no...cant run

goodysmack: oooh....you can run

legerlotz: hahaha

goodysmack: unless you yell kazaam

legerlotz: and then what happens

goodysmack: which is like a fair catch, and you have a free throw from there

legerlotz: aha

legerlotz: so the games name is kazaam then?

goodysmack: well yeah

legerlotz: excellent

legerlotz: gotta run

goodysmack: this was the best thing weve ever been sent from above

goodysmack: ok....spread the word

legerlotz: will do

goodysmack: later

further rules: If you don't yell "kazaam," you can run with the ball. However, if you are tackled while in possession of the ball, it is a turnover.

The ball must be thrown overhand, and at least at a 60 degree angle to create jump balls, no just direct passes. This rule will be loosely enforced and considered a point of gentleman's honor.

...of course these rules (as written in the prophecy) will have to be test played and then augmented to fit human limitation, as we can not possibly be held to the same standards as the gods who infiltrated my dreams.)

The real question is: will the other coaches be willing to forgo coaching rugby for a few weeks while I iron out the kinks in the game using the Swarm Rugby girls as a focus group?

Dreams from HS

There was a sofa at Kurt's house that we all had weird dreams on it whenever we fell asleep on it..this is one of mine from HS that we wrote down:

I was at a party at Kim's house, and I was asleep on the sofa with Kim. She got up and sat on the back of the sofa and I got a blanket, but when I rolled over, Jenn was sitting on the back of the couch. We went outside on a castle turret and she was wearing Nicole's prom dress. I kissed her once, and stopped to fix my lip ring. i couldnt get it and Some guy came with one ring through 2 holes walked up and tried to help me...then i realized that he was standing on the ground and saw he had 20' legs. He just shrugged and ducked inside. I went to look for him, but Sean and My dad (who was dressed up) came looking for me. I went outside and Sean said i could leave with him and i was carrying a pillow. I just threw the pillow towards the house to leave it there, but it hit this caterer thing and i ran away and saw bretts car with the hood up (the wrong direction, like the hinges were in the front). I went to ask him what was wrong with it and he was standing by lex's van watching little black kids play bball.

For intended use only.

The forward button. Once an efficient way to relay important information to those who need to be in the know. Now it is used improperly, clogging inboxes with random crap that some ignoramus thought up and added "forward this to 15 friends and you'll meet your true love. I you don't, you'll have bad luck for a year." They could at least come up with a better threat, such as being accused of child rape, malignant taint cancer that will rapidly spread to both the anus and genitals, or a pimple on the day of prom.

Unless it's scat porn, I'm probably not interested in your forward. If it is scat porn, I've probably already seen it thanks to the poor time management of the students on the UC Rugby team.

And since this blog itself is a blatant misappropriation of internet that could be hosting said scat porn, I've deleted my myspace as repentance.

Olives

What food group exactly does an olive fall under? It's not a vegetable, as olive oil is not vegetable oil. I'm fairly certain it's not a fruit. This sounds like a job for wikipedia.

Spite Child

Since my grandparents are devouring my entire weekend with a dinners for my Dad's birthday and one for Easter on Saturday then Sunday respectively, I've decided to have a kid out of spite.

My child will be absolutely devastated if his great-grandparents don't make all three performances of his middle school play (Th-Sat), its soccer game on Sunday (forecast: freezing rain), and maybe they could watch it Monday while I run some errands. Tuesday it has a little league game, and Wednesday it will have a confirmation or baptism of somesorts somewhere.

See how they like mandatory invitations.

PBS

Pool Boy School was hell. I have yet to regain my strength to tell about it.

Cleaning Frenzy.

I'm going out of town for 4 days for Pool School. It's only really two, as I'm leaving Tues morning and getting back Friday evening.

However, for some reason I've been preparing for like two days for the excursion. I've never left my dwelling completely unattended for several days, I've always had a roommate or someone who would be there.

Before I could abandon my abode, for some reason I had to do the dishes. Between stealing from Wismer Cafeteria for four years and my mom giving me the dishes my dad's parents gave to her, I have enough place settings that I could use a different set for three meals a day for a week and not have to do dishes. I have enough pots and pans to cook these meals, thanks to my mom and aunt giving me pots and pans, as well as my newly acquired plunder from helping my buddy Vance move some stuff (I will gladly come help anyone carry stuff, no problems. However, I will always express interest in something not being used, and the person I'm helping out will feel compelled to offer it as a sign of gratitude. This is also how I got my knife set from Jonboy. I'll want some beers too.)
So in short, there was no way in hell those dishes would've been done before the weekend, but for some reason, I could not stand the thought of them being here dirty and alone.

I also brought in my snowshovel, broom and the rugby water cooler in from the porch. The cooler is a waste of time, money, and space anyway, as I've rapidly discovered that 25 high school girls do not drink 5 gallons of water in a two hour period, especially when a) some bring their own water b) we rarely give them water breaks c) if they do get a water break, I spend it yelling "back here in 60 seconds...hustle! hustle! hustle!
All three have been outside for the taking ever since I moved in, but they were at least semi-attended.

I also had to eat everything in the fridge that could possibly spoil. This took some planning, as I'm trying to quit being fat. Normally I don't average 4 eggs a day and it would've taken me about 3 more weeks to finish the carton, but those eggs might turn without me here. Same with the cheese. Luckily they go well together. The leftover tomato sauce needed a separate dish, but cheese goes with that too.

I threw away the eggnog (even though we went out of the way to buy eggnog last week, for some reason Sean and I just drank rum and coke) and potatoes with kidney beans (due to the fact that my proportions were off and it was 85% kidney bean), but haven't taken out the trash, as I may have to throw something away in the morning. However, as I am getting picked up at 7:30, I will obviously forget to take out the trash, leaving the eggnog, egg shells, and kidney beans to decay at their own rate and making my consumption of the perishables negligible.

I just realized I probably shouldn't be advertising on the web that I'll be gone from Tuesday morning until Friday evening, but I'm taking the laptop with me, so there's really nothing of value here, minus the 12 year old tv that will be obsolete before you know it. But yeah, if for some reason you do feel compelled to break into my house (just you try, I've closed all the blinds for added security!), could you please take out the trash if your arms aren't too full with the cooler, broom and shovel?

Dear Girl in Clinton 3am Ad,

Please cease appearing in any type of media. You cannot vote, as it has been deemed that minors are not capable of generating an informed opinion. For this reason, who you support is irrelevant, especially since you admittedly formed your opinions when you were 14. Thank you for making it known that you enjoy both the Jon Stewart Show and your American Politics class, I'm sure your fellow high school students enjoyed the shout out.
If you are angry about being in the ad for 4 seconds, you should probably discuss it with your parents, as they are the ones who sold those images of you for financial gain. I hope some lonely prisoners who will be released soon saw you on CNN.

Deal or No Deal.

Seriously, how is this a show? I would like to appear on this show and either sit in a lawn chair reading a magazine while bells and whistles go off all around me and calmly turn down each offer and pick the suitcases sequentially until they open my case. Or maybe even better, immediately take the first offer they give me, as who in their right mind would ever flat out refuse a free 8 grand?

...if it ain't about the money, Puff, I just don't care.

Yeah, there's broken glass everywhere. Someone, maybe me, broke a glass in my living room. I can't really specify when, but I vaguely remember it happening. I know it was when people were over, so it was more than a month ago, but I still constantly find shards in my carpet. It's worse than glitter.

I guess I should buy a vacuum, but currently I find picking up whatever little bits of dirt i find while laying on the floor with the computer much cheaper.

Unrelated: After spending some time on ratemyink.com, I have decided that if you have a nautical star tattoo and have never raided a spanish galleon, you are shunned from society.

A Toute Le Monde...

I guess I better keep posting content, or people who read my blog will stop checking it, right?

I've decided that life is, in fact, a game. Not that I've ever taken anything seriously....but yeah, I'm trying to lose some weight, which is fun when you're fat, because with some well focused exercise and watching what you eat, you can practically stand on the scale and watch it spin backwards.

I found a site I used when I was in England, fitday.com. You enter what you eat and what you do, and then has graphs for if you're getting enough of various nutrients, calories burned v. consumed, etc. But yeah, it's like a game. Eat less than you burn!! While this is the base concept of weight loss, it's much more fun when you have numbers and charts. The best thing is, I think I'm addicted to it. I'll go for a run in the morning, do pushups and situps at random throughout the day, and if I'm bored at night, I check my calories and decide I'd win big if I go to the gym and ride a bike to nowhere for half an hour.

And just like a game, there's ethics. You get X amount of calories burned from your base, a.k.a. how many calories your fat ass burns just by existing, and then you select a lifestyle from sedentary, some activity, active, very active, which figures out how many calories you burn during your every day routine. Now here's the bit I refuse to take part in. When inventorying your activities from the day, you can include anything. Seriously. i.e. Going to the bathroom, brushing your teeth, getting dressed, showering, and various other things that obviously should be included in your lifestyle. You can even include eating as an activity. I feel that's just cheating to include eating. If you could burn a significant amount of calories by eating, I could have starred in Schindler's List my senior year of high school.

The other part of my life that I've made into a game is money. That started ever since my crappy 5 branch bank went online. I used to have to pay for things by taking money out of an ATM and paying with cash. Now I just use my debit card and check my bank account all the time. It's no longer money, it's a score! If your score is higher than someone else's, you're beating them...unless you're not materialistic and shallow....

two thoughts from this blog:
1)Today I lowered the heat in the apartment to 60 degrees. The thinking is that if I'm cold, I'm more likely to be active and not just lay around. Second, if it's warm, my body has to do less work to keep to maintain 98 degrees. Thus, the colder it is, my shiver reflex will burn calories trying to keep warm. I would go cooler than 60, but it's as low as my thermostat goes. I asked my landlord if he could adjust that, but he said no. Something about the pipes.

2)Next Christmas, I'm gonna confront one of those bell-ringers from the Salvation Army and break it to them that their profits are presumably down because nobody has change anymore. Cold, Hard Currency is obsolete...and it sucks, I can't save it in a big jar because I never have any shrapnel because you don't get change from using plastic. But I digress, I'm going to tell those annoying-do-good-ers that instead of a change bucket, they should have a swiper thing that I could just run my card and it would charge it a dollar, because then I would donate. Unless I had to sign something or put in my pin. That would just take too long.

Bone and Sinew

I've been watching a lot of medieval movies lately. When I die, I hope Valhalla is just a great big mead hall in the sky, for if I see one more Elysian field with a slow, haunting, woeful hymn, I'm going to puke.

After seeing Beowolf & Grendel, 300, and about all 14 hours of the extended Lord of the Rings movies in a week's time, I have a question. Just how easy is it to shear a limb asunder using a sword? From the looks of the sword play in these movies, almost effortlessly. I can understand how rending the head from the body could be achieved with a single blow with some regularity, as the blade could pass between vertebrae.

However, I believe that arms and legs would be a different matter. While I believe you could do an arm at the elbow, it would have to be a perfect landing. I can't imagine that a sword can cleanly cut through an arm for two reasons: (a) The limb would most likely give. Unless the arm would be irrevocably being swung into the path of the oncoming sword, it would give, drastically reducing the force of the blow, the bringing rise to my second issue, (b) bone. Could a sword pass through flesh, cleanly cut through the bone, then continue through more flesh? I imagine it would shatter the bone similar to a bullet, but you would think that would cause some sort of resonance along the sword, causing it to lose momentum.

Having seen various Al-Qaeda videos, it looks much harder than they make it look in the movies...unless maybe a sword has a sweet spot. Does a sword have a sweet spot?
Maybe it's just that Monty Python is more true to life than we ever considered.

Furthermore, I also discovered what Bullion is made out of. Basically, they take all the meat by-product that they can't use and boil it down, dehydrate the meat flavored water and add a ton of salt. To me this means they use whatever can't be used to make hotdogs and scrapple. Then figure the other inedibles used to produce glue, oils, pet food, cosmetics, anything collagen based, jell-o, leather, and, to some degree, scrimshaw. I have formulated two conclusions from this.
1. Bullion is probably pretty gross when you think of it.
2. Bullion is proof that industrial society truly uses every part of animals, thus in turn showing how wasteful Native Americans truly were.

p.s. I recently saw "Spamalot." While it was hysterical, I was disappointed when King Author failed to parry the Black Knight's errant blows.