Procrastination to the max.
Strange but true: I got the same gifts for my 23rd birthday as I did for my 12th birthday: a bike, plastic baseball bases, and a Red Sox PEZ dispenser. The thing is though, I was no less excited this year than I was in 1998.
Speaking of PEZ, I think the quality of the product has decreased in recent years. I remember when I used to eat PEZ it was really hard and brittle. Now, it's softer and has the same consistency as Tums (still delicious though). This could be because my Mom would hide the PEZ from my sisters and I in a cabinet that was too high for us to reach and would only let us eat it occasionally. So, we were probably eating 5 year old PEZ thus resulting in the rock hard candy I remember.
Good music is better when you're the only one who thinks it's good. Just ask all the fans of J.D. and the Rattlesnakes. They'll tell you what's up.
You know what's inconvenient? The fact that I only get the urge to exercise in the middle of the day while I'm at work. It's 1:10 in the afternoon and I could totally run 3 miles, lift weights and do like 16 pushups right now. But I can't because I have to think about engineering. Why can't I get this urge at like 7 am? Or even 5:30 in the evening? Instead, at those times, all I want to do is sleep and watch Everybody Loves Raymond. I guess that's what separates me from people who are in shape. And people who can walk up two flights of stairs without having to take a 2 minute recovery break and change their shirt.
More on PEZ: Is there a more useless ritual in the world than filling a PEZ container? I mean there's no one who doesn't do it, but there's also no one who has a package of PEZ last more than 19 seconds. Does anyone fill up the Garfield head and then not finish it for 3 days? No. You fill it up, then you eat it as fast as you can. Why do we even bother filling it up? Because it tastes better coming out of a cartoon's neck, that's why.
Until I think of more stuff to bore you with, maintain status quot of not caring.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Musings...
Some quick hitters to welcome me back...
Had a dream last night that it snowed and my dad needed my help shoveling the driveway. I groaned and started to exit my bed. Then I remembered...it's June. And he has a snow-blower.
You know what's irrationally difficult? Putting in ear bud headphones with the off-hand. Putting the bud into the right ear with the left hand is like trying to tie your shoe with one hand. It can be done, but it never feels right and it's not worth the aggravation.
If you could possess one superhuman ability what would it be, go. If you said anything other than time travel, you are wrong.
Why doesn't MTV have HD? It boggles my mind. Aside from sports, music videos and reality shows with either really good looking or really ugly people are what HD was invented for. I find it just lazy on their part. Although Heidi in high-def might reveal some things that just shouldn't be revealed. Whatever that means.
Is there a better combination of flavors than peanut butter and jelly? I submit that there is not.
That's all I got for now, but this was way easier than my previous blog writing approach in which I tried to be Frank Deford in every post. Look him up minions. Peace out.
Had a dream last night that it snowed and my dad needed my help shoveling the driveway. I groaned and started to exit my bed. Then I remembered...it's June. And he has a snow-blower.
You know what's irrationally difficult? Putting in ear bud headphones with the off-hand. Putting the bud into the right ear with the left hand is like trying to tie your shoe with one hand. It can be done, but it never feels right and it's not worth the aggravation.
If you could possess one superhuman ability what would it be, go. If you said anything other than time travel, you are wrong.
Why doesn't MTV have HD? It boggles my mind. Aside from sports, music videos and reality shows with either really good looking or really ugly people are what HD was invented for. I find it just lazy on their part. Although Heidi in high-def might reveal some things that just shouldn't be revealed. Whatever that means.
Is there a better combination of flavors than peanut butter and jelly? I submit that there is not.
That's all I got for now, but this was way easier than my previous blog writing approach in which I tried to be Frank Deford in every post. Look him up minions. Peace out.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
This battle station is fully operational
Word and good day.
I'm coming to you live and in person from my living room. That's right, the laptop is back, Jack. And it's ready to test it's destructive power. You may fire when ready.
My insincerest apologies for the shortage of writings in the recent fortnights. My computer was broke and also, I was doing stuff. Thanks to those of you who continued to periodically check to see if I had posted though. Your dedication to my prose has kept me slightly ahead of Mike in page views, despite having not even considered writing anything for almost a month. Nevertheless, you'll be glad to read that I have returned from my hiatus with a new-found vigor for blogging (not really, my vigor is actually relatively unchanged). Get excited (or don't, your call).
To get back into the swing of things, I thought I would break out a mundane top 10. Apropos of the times (it being March and all), I will be unveiling my favorite non-Villanova, non-UMass collegiate basketball players of all time. I had to input this stipulation due to the fact that Wildcats and Minutemen would overwhelmingly dominate a top 30 of my favorite athletes, much less a dime-piece.
How do I go about selecting my favorites you ask? My criteria is three-fold. Any of the three parameters will do, a combination will guarantee a spot and a sweep will earn you legendary status in my basketball heart for all of time.
Skill-set required is as follows:
a) A moisture-filled jumpshot. As a magnificent shooter myself, I always appreciate a man who can rain J's on my level. There's not too many out there who can.
2) Toughness. A gutsy player will always find himself in my good graces. Even in the absence of skill, hardnose, hustle play will rise above all. Plus I can't stand wussies.
d) Tournament heroics. A clutch performance or cinderella run is always a good way to cement one's legacy as a Pat-favorite.
That said, I also enjoy fierce dunkers, warrior-rebounders and shot blocker extraordinaires. So, feel free to take my afore mentioned criteria with eight grains of salt. Furthermore, the professional careers (or lack thereof) of these players was not considered. I only count games where a band plays during timeouts.
In compiling this list, I discovered there were a lot more than ten players who have garnered my respect over the years. Thusly I have to break my rule of no honorable mentions and dish out some kudos to the following fine young men (even though most of them are now fully grown men).
Those who can be mentioned as having honor: Kirk Hinrich, Allen Iverson, Ricky Moore, Troy Bell, Tim Duncan, Deron Williams, Steve Blake, Acie Law, A.J. Guyton, Ed Cota, Maurice Ager, Scoonie Penn, Aaron Afflalo, Charlie Bell, Jacque Vaughn, Tom Coverdale, Marcus Williams (though I do not endorse laptop theft), James Posey, T.J. Sorrentine (one play was enough)
My college basketball lifetime has not been all bliss, sadly. Villains exist who also deserve to be pointed out and recognized for their (relative) evilness. There are two types of bad guys, players who killed my teams or general pukes. Here they are.
Out and out punks: Chris Thomas, Jared Dudley, Steve Logan, J.J. Redick, Eric Devendorf, Chris Taft, Jeff Adrien
Villanova killers: Kevin Pittsnogle (duh), Mike Gansey, Joe Herber, Rashard McCants, Marvin Williams, Carl Krauser (for being 29 and poking Allan Ray's eye out), Joakim Noah (just him, not Horford, not Dean, not Brewer, just him)
UMass killers: Alexander Koul, Ray Allen (hate to say it, but he was the face of UScared in the 90s), Larry Hughes, Pepe Sanchez, Lynn Greer, Randy Rutherford, Bryant Reeves, Antoine Walker, Tony Delk, Rick Pitino (the only coach to warrant my scorn)
Without further adu, here's the top 10. Probably only myself and Mike will watch the vids but if you enjoy college basketball, be sure to give these a look.
10. Dwayne Wade - Even before winning the NBA title with Shaq and the 2009 MVP award (What? That hasn't happened...oh.), D-Wade was a freak. He came out of literally nowhere to lead Marquette to the Final Four. His triple-double over hated Kentucky was sublime. Superman.
9. Carmelo Anthony - 'Melo sneaks in at the #9 spot despite only staying one year. He was OK that year though. Did some things, won some games, whatever you might have heard about it. If he had made good on this however, he would have been much higher.
8. Paul Pierce - This is not a homer pick as much as it looks that way. When PP fell to the Celts at number 10 I was extremely enthused because Kansas was always one of my favorite teams and #34 was one the key reasons. He was special from an early age.
7. Juan Dixon - The second national champion to crack the list will not be the last. What Joe Smith couldn't bring to Cole Fieldhouse, Juan Dixon did.
6. Chris Lofton - One of the best shooters I've ever seen and, as a cancer survivor, I think he passes the toughness test too. Anyone who can do this is going to be on my list.
5. Brandin Knight - No video of Brevin's little brother that I can find (I know you're all disappointed), but this dude was amazing in the early 00s. Talk about gutsy, Brandin led Pitt to back to back Big East regular season titles, their first Big East tournament title and consecutive Sweet 16s. His number rightfully hangs in the rafters both in Pittsburgh and in the Pat Hall of Champions.
4. Miles Simon - Another national champ. He may have been overshadowed by the pro careers of Mike Bibby and Jason Terry, but Miles Simon was the heart and sole (See what I did there? Like a sneaker. Get it?) of the '97 Wildcats.
3. Mateen Cleaves - I don't like to throw the word "warrior" around since it belongs exclusively to Lou Roe, but let's just say Mateen is close. A "combatant" if you will. As the leader of the Flint-stones he severely rolled his ankle in the National Championship game and came limping back into the game minutes later. I've recreated this moment countless times (at least twice this week) and fake-hobbled around my driveway as I led my team through the NCAA tournament. His mini-afro doesn't hurt his case either.
2. Stephen Curry - I know its cliche and bandwagony to like him now, but seriously were you around last March? He was otherworldly in their tournament run and has a chance to become enter the top 3 all time in NCAA scoring, which is moderately impressive. Also, he's possibly the only person who can match my range with the J.
1. Gerry McNamara - It started early. It was clinched late. Onions.
So there you have it. I probably missed some but whatever this took me all day.
Before I sign off, be sure to stay tuned later this week for an exciting announcement. Don't worry ladies, I'm not getting hitched just yet. Most of you still have a chance. The announcement will most likely mean nothing to anyone but I need to get it out there anyway. Until then, enjoy the madness.
I'm coming to you live and in person from my living room. That's right, the laptop is back, Jack. And it's ready to test it's destructive power. You may fire when ready.
My insincerest apologies for the shortage of writings in the recent fortnights. My computer was broke and also, I was doing stuff. Thanks to those of you who continued to periodically check to see if I had posted though. Your dedication to my prose has kept me slightly ahead of Mike in page views, despite having not even considered writing anything for almost a month. Nevertheless, you'll be glad to read that I have returned from my hiatus with a new-found vigor for blogging (not really, my vigor is actually relatively unchanged). Get excited (or don't, your call).
To get back into the swing of things, I thought I would break out a mundane top 10. Apropos of the times (it being March and all), I will be unveiling my favorite non-Villanova, non-UMass collegiate basketball players of all time. I had to input this stipulation due to the fact that Wildcats and Minutemen would overwhelmingly dominate a top 30 of my favorite athletes, much less a dime-piece.
How do I go about selecting my favorites you ask? My criteria is three-fold. Any of the three parameters will do, a combination will guarantee a spot and a sweep will earn you legendary status in my basketball heart for all of time.
Skill-set required is as follows:
a) A moisture-filled jumpshot. As a magnificent shooter myself, I always appreciate a man who can rain J's on my level. There's not too many out there who can.
2) Toughness. A gutsy player will always find himself in my good graces. Even in the absence of skill, hardnose, hustle play will rise above all. Plus I can't stand wussies.
d) Tournament heroics. A clutch performance or cinderella run is always a good way to cement one's legacy as a Pat-favorite.
That said, I also enjoy fierce dunkers, warrior-rebounders and shot blocker extraordinaires. So, feel free to take my afore mentioned criteria with eight grains of salt. Furthermore, the professional careers (or lack thereof) of these players was not considered. I only count games where a band plays during timeouts.
In compiling this list, I discovered there were a lot more than ten players who have garnered my respect over the years. Thusly I have to break my rule of no honorable mentions and dish out some kudos to the following fine young men (even though most of them are now fully grown men).
Those who can be mentioned as having honor: Kirk Hinrich, Allen Iverson, Ricky Moore, Troy Bell, Tim Duncan, Deron Williams, Steve Blake, Acie Law, A.J. Guyton, Ed Cota, Maurice Ager, Scoonie Penn, Aaron Afflalo, Charlie Bell, Jacque Vaughn, Tom Coverdale, Marcus Williams (though I do not endorse laptop theft), James Posey, T.J. Sorrentine (one play was enough)
My college basketball lifetime has not been all bliss, sadly. Villains exist who also deserve to be pointed out and recognized for their (relative) evilness. There are two types of bad guys, players who killed my teams or general pukes. Here they are.
Out and out punks: Chris Thomas, Jared Dudley, Steve Logan, J.J. Redick, Eric Devendorf, Chris Taft, Jeff Adrien
Villanova killers: Kevin Pittsnogle (duh), Mike Gansey, Joe Herber, Rashard McCants, Marvin Williams, Carl Krauser (for being 29 and poking Allan Ray's eye out), Joakim Noah (just him, not Horford, not Dean, not Brewer, just him)
UMass killers: Alexander Koul, Ray Allen (hate to say it, but he was the face of UScared in the 90s), Larry Hughes, Pepe Sanchez, Lynn Greer, Randy Rutherford, Bryant Reeves, Antoine Walker, Tony Delk, Rick Pitino (the only coach to warrant my scorn)
Without further adu, here's the top 10. Probably only myself and Mike will watch the vids but if you enjoy college basketball, be sure to give these a look.
10. Dwayne Wade - Even before winning the NBA title with Shaq and the 2009 MVP award (What? That hasn't happened...oh.), D-Wade was a freak. He came out of literally nowhere to lead Marquette to the Final Four. His triple-double over hated Kentucky was sublime. Superman.
9. Carmelo Anthony - 'Melo sneaks in at the #9 spot despite only staying one year. He was OK that year though. Did some things, won some games, whatever you might have heard about it. If he had made good on this however, he would have been much higher.
8. Paul Pierce - This is not a homer pick as much as it looks that way. When PP fell to the Celts at number 10 I was extremely enthused because Kansas was always one of my favorite teams and #34 was one the key reasons. He was special from an early age.
7. Juan Dixon - The second national champion to crack the list will not be the last. What Joe Smith couldn't bring to Cole Fieldhouse, Juan Dixon did.
6. Chris Lofton - One of the best shooters I've ever seen and, as a cancer survivor, I think he passes the toughness test too. Anyone who can do this is going to be on my list.
5. Brandin Knight - No video of Brevin's little brother that I can find (I know you're all disappointed), but this dude was amazing in the early 00s. Talk about gutsy, Brandin led Pitt to back to back Big East regular season titles, their first Big East tournament title and consecutive Sweet 16s. His number rightfully hangs in the rafters both in Pittsburgh and in the Pat Hall of Champions.
4. Miles Simon - Another national champ. He may have been overshadowed by the pro careers of Mike Bibby and Jason Terry, but Miles Simon was the heart and sole (See what I did there? Like a sneaker. Get it?) of the '97 Wildcats.
3. Mateen Cleaves - I don't like to throw the word "warrior" around since it belongs exclusively to Lou Roe, but let's just say Mateen is close. A "combatant" if you will. As the leader of the Flint-stones he severely rolled his ankle in the National Championship game and came limping back into the game minutes later. I've recreated this moment countless times (at least twice this week) and fake-hobbled around my driveway as I led my team through the NCAA tournament. His mini-afro doesn't hurt his case either.
2. Stephen Curry - I know its cliche and bandwagony to like him now, but seriously were you around last March? He was otherworldly in their tournament run and has a chance to become enter the top 3 all time in NCAA scoring, which is moderately impressive. Also, he's possibly the only person who can match my range with the J.
1. Gerry McNamara - It started early. It was clinched late. Onions.
So there you have it. I probably missed some but whatever this took me all day.
Before I sign off, be sure to stay tuned later this week for an exciting announcement. Don't worry ladies, I'm not getting hitched just yet. Most of you still have a chance. The announcement will most likely mean nothing to anyone but I need to get it out there anyway. Until then, enjoy the madness.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
He was a boy, she was a girl
I know I give the biddies a hard time in this space. Mostly due to their tendencies for evilness and cruelty. But there is one arena where the ladies really know what they're doing. Get your mind out the gutter perverts, I'm talking about music. Chick rockers are some of my favorite musical artists, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.
The passion and fire that babes bring to their rock music is unparalleled (except by Steve Winwood). And with the recent semi-resurgence of chick rockers in an attempt to recapture the magic of the Lilith Fair glory days, I felt it was appropriate to bang out a list of some of my favorites. The dames you'll read about below are not simply pop singers like Britney and the artist formerly known as Xtina, however. No ma'am, they can be seen slamming on their guitars or at the very least being the front woman of an otherwise all-male band.
The amount of chick rock songs that I enjoy numbers much greater than ten, but for the purposes of this list I had to cut some off. Unlike Mike's lame top tens, I refuse to give you honorable mentions because I think that's a cop out for not being able to whittle the list down to a dime-piece. But be sure that there were some tough omissions. So, without further ado, here is the top ten chick rocker songs.
10. Why Can't I - This gem from Liz Phair is a surprise inclusion, even to me. I like this song an inordinate amount, especially the explicit lyrics. The F-word caught me so off guard the first time I heard it, my ears did a double take. That's difficult to do.
9. Foolish Games - Fashionably sensative, but too cool to care. Oh Jewel. Little known fact, she was singing about yours truly right there. Truth syrup. So many great songs to choose from, but this one is so fresh. Probably the mellowest song on the list, but it merited inclusion due to the outstanding lyrics and powerful voice of the former trailer park resident. Doesn't hurt that she's a stone fox either.
8. Cruel to be Kind - The first non-solo artist to crack the list. Letters to Cleo lights up the prom in 10 Things I Hate About You, the movie that solidified my love of Alex Mack. This song is really enjoyable and impossible not to sing along to. Go ahead, try.
7. I'm a Bitch - The Ryan Kuhn theme song brought to you by Meredith Brooks! I'm just playing Ryan, even though I'm quite sure you don't read this. More harsh language in this one. I know you can say this word on ABC nowadays so it's kind of losing its luster, but back in the mid to late 90's...e gad was this racy. It's so catchy though, it was difficult to not sing when this song came on the radio while my mom was driving me to school. Damn you Lander in the Morning on Mix 98.5.
6. Head Over Feet - You knew there had to be an Alanis song on here. Some may have gone with "Ironic" or "You Oughta Know," but I think this is the best of her catalog in my opinion. The lyrics are quite good, and seriously she transcends gender. I don't know anyone who doesn't enjoy a good Alanis song every now and then. Really brings life to any party.
5. Everywhere - What happened to Michelle Branch? She had such a promising career going, but I don't think I've heard a new song from her in like 5 years. Weird. This one still stands up though, I love the slow, calm intro that morphs into the thundering chorus. Great jam.
4. Torn - How would I not pick Natalie Imbruglia? I don't imagine there being much argument with this one. I can't even here the word "torn" and not start singing this song. It's that good, and a great video to boot. Also, she's underratedly cute. Love that short hair cut.
3. Untouched - Easily the most recent song on this list. Many of you may be shocked I have it ranked this high, above the previously mentioned classics, but I am straight up obsessed with this song. It has so much going for it. The Veronicas are twin babes from Austrailia, who named their band after an Archie comic book character. Do you know where Archie creater Bob Montana is from? That's right, Haverhill, Massachusetts. Nice choice ladies. The song's not bad either.
2. Don't Speak (video Not Safe For Kellie) - If you ever wonder why Gwen Stefani is famous, watch this video. Holy Hell, she was simply a vision. This video directly contributed to me going through puberty. Not only that, it's legitimately a good song. Nay, great song. No Doubt was the first band with a girl singer that I ever really enjoyed. To the point that Tragic Kingdom was the third CD I ever bought with my own money (after Led Zeppelin IV and Nimrod, please I'm not insane). They opened the door to the chick rocker world for me and I have been hooked ever since.
1. Sk8ter Boi - Can I make it anymore obvious? Ah, be still my heart. Really, did you think it would be anything else? Avril is the bomb. If No Doubt invented the genre of chick rockers, Avril Lavigne perfected it (in my opinion anyway). I'm still a little hurt that she chose to marry that Sum 41 guy (in his defense, Fat Lip is a pretty kickin' song) instead of me, but I'm confident she'll come crawling back eventually. I love Avril with every fiber of my being and have her poster on my wall. No joke, I'm like an 11 year old with this crush. It's sad. There were so many songs of hers to choose from, but with Sk8ter Boi rockin' on MTV, it was really an easy choice.
So there you have it. If I left out your favorite, feel free to post in the comments section below. Just know that I don't care what you say or what you think, your opinions really mean nothing to me. I know what you're saying, so please stop explaining. What more can I say? I said see ya later boi.
The passion and fire that babes bring to their rock music is unparalleled (except by Steve Winwood). And with the recent semi-resurgence of chick rockers in an attempt to recapture the magic of the Lilith Fair glory days, I felt it was appropriate to bang out a list of some of my favorites. The dames you'll read about below are not simply pop singers like Britney and the artist formerly known as Xtina, however. No ma'am, they can be seen slamming on their guitars or at the very least being the front woman of an otherwise all-male band.
The amount of chick rock songs that I enjoy numbers much greater than ten, but for the purposes of this list I had to cut some off. Unlike Mike's lame top tens, I refuse to give you honorable mentions because I think that's a cop out for not being able to whittle the list down to a dime-piece. But be sure that there were some tough omissions. So, without further ado, here is the top ten chick rocker songs.
10. Why Can't I - This gem from Liz Phair is a surprise inclusion, even to me. I like this song an inordinate amount, especially the explicit lyrics. The F-word caught me so off guard the first time I heard it, my ears did a double take. That's difficult to do.
9. Foolish Games - Fashionably sensative, but too cool to care. Oh Jewel. Little known fact, she was singing about yours truly right there. Truth syrup. So many great songs to choose from, but this one is so fresh. Probably the mellowest song on the list, but it merited inclusion due to the outstanding lyrics and powerful voice of the former trailer park resident. Doesn't hurt that she's a stone fox either.
8. Cruel to be Kind - The first non-solo artist to crack the list. Letters to Cleo lights up the prom in 10 Things I Hate About You, the movie that solidified my love of Alex Mack. This song is really enjoyable and impossible not to sing along to. Go ahead, try.
7. I'm a Bitch - The Ryan Kuhn theme song brought to you by Meredith Brooks! I'm just playing Ryan, even though I'm quite sure you don't read this. More harsh language in this one. I know you can say this word on ABC nowadays so it's kind of losing its luster, but back in the mid to late 90's...e gad was this racy. It's so catchy though, it was difficult to not sing when this song came on the radio while my mom was driving me to school. Damn you Lander in the Morning on Mix 98.5.
6. Head Over Feet - You knew there had to be an Alanis song on here. Some may have gone with "Ironic" or "You Oughta Know," but I think this is the best of her catalog in my opinion. The lyrics are quite good, and seriously she transcends gender. I don't know anyone who doesn't enjoy a good Alanis song every now and then. Really brings life to any party.
5. Everywhere - What happened to Michelle Branch? She had such a promising career going, but I don't think I've heard a new song from her in like 5 years. Weird. This one still stands up though, I love the slow, calm intro that morphs into the thundering chorus. Great jam.
4. Torn - How would I not pick Natalie Imbruglia? I don't imagine there being much argument with this one. I can't even here the word "torn" and not start singing this song. It's that good, and a great video to boot. Also, she's underratedly cute. Love that short hair cut.
3. Untouched - Easily the most recent song on this list. Many of you may be shocked I have it ranked this high, above the previously mentioned classics, but I am straight up obsessed with this song. It has so much going for it. The Veronicas are twin babes from Austrailia, who named their band after an Archie comic book character. Do you know where Archie creater Bob Montana is from? That's right, Haverhill, Massachusetts. Nice choice ladies. The song's not bad either.
2. Don't Speak (video Not Safe For Kellie) - If you ever wonder why Gwen Stefani is famous, watch this video. Holy Hell, she was simply a vision. This video directly contributed to me going through puberty. Not only that, it's legitimately a good song. Nay, great song. No Doubt was the first band with a girl singer that I ever really enjoyed. To the point that Tragic Kingdom was the third CD I ever bought with my own money (after Led Zeppelin IV and Nimrod, please I'm not insane). They opened the door to the chick rocker world for me and I have been hooked ever since.
1. Sk8ter Boi - Can I make it anymore obvious? Ah, be still my heart. Really, did you think it would be anything else? Avril is the bomb. If No Doubt invented the genre of chick rockers, Avril Lavigne perfected it (in my opinion anyway). I'm still a little hurt that she chose to marry that Sum 41 guy (in his defense, Fat Lip is a pretty kickin' song) instead of me, but I'm confident she'll come crawling back eventually. I love Avril with every fiber of my being and have her poster on my wall. No joke, I'm like an 11 year old with this crush. It's sad. There were so many songs of hers to choose from, but with Sk8ter Boi rockin' on MTV, it was really an easy choice.
So there you have it. If I left out your favorite, feel free to post in the comments section below. Just know that I don't care what you say or what you think, your opinions really mean nothing to me. I know what you're saying, so please stop explaining. What more can I say? I said see ya later boi.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Absolutely, totally and in all other ways inconceivable
Let's get this done.
Before I begin, the Han Solo edition blaster must be turned towards myself. I am a nincompoop for spilling water on my laptop keyboard and forcing me to use a nerdy external keyboard via USB connection. It is now much less comfortable when blogging from my Laz-E-Boy. Veale....Jerk. That stings.
Now on to more serious business. I hate doing this again, especially since it was just yesterday that I reacted to Mike's television comparison to me, but people just keep dissing me for me no reason. I can't let it slide. Ne'er-do-wells must be held accountable for their reprehensible deeds.
This most recent slight comes from literally left field. Young Brian Ford started his blog on the wings of my success, capitalizing on the "blog-craze" that Michael and I brought to the forefront. Now, I won't give him the satisfaction of linking to his uninteresting and hate-filled diary because I refuse to endorse such nonsense. But rest assured, it's more rambling than Mike's blog, less funny than Kellie's blog (or anything she ever says) and more full of inaccuracies than Cormier's grossly exaggerated sagas.
In a recent post, Brian gave a scouting report of the athletic abilities of his home "friends" (and I use this term loosely after the stunt he's pulled), including comparisons to professional athletes. As I've gone over in much detail in this very space, some of my best attributes are my silky smooth jump shot and my cannon of a right arm. I also possess unparalleled competitiveness, strong game management skills and an astute sense of "the moment." Did Ford have the Focus (see what I did there) to pick up on any of these things in his scouting report of me. In a word...not even effing close.
First as a comparison for my wiffle ball ability...Tim Wakefield. A consummate professional and first class guy to boot, I do not wish to put down the Wake. But Ford, after the numerous times I have stymied you from the bump, you should know I don't even have a knuckle ball in my repertoire. Or maybe that is a contributing factor to your .084 lifetime average against me. You have no idea what I'm throwing. Granted I throw junk and have a rubber arm, but at least you could compare me to my boy of days past and present, Bronson Arroyo. Works at the plate too as both Bronson and I are a threat to go yard.
Ford, you spent a paragraph discussing the fact that I play quarterback roughly 80 percent of the time in our games (and at a level you could never dream of...Pat White...HA!), yet you compare me to some random scrub tight end from the Broncos. Really? I'm not gonna claim I'm the touch football version of Tom Brady. No one is, he's a god. But with my cannon, pocket presence and ability to sling the deep ball, you couldn't come up with a quarterback comparison that your readers don't have to look up on Wikipedia? I'll admit I'm prone to a costly pick from time to time, how about a Tony Romo or a Big Ben Roethlisburger? Considering I routinely have to quarterback without the benefits of having all-world receiver Chris Carrozza split out wide, I do alright.
Finally, we come to the most insulting, egregious, ludicrous comparison of the bunch, in undoubtedly my best sport no less. Yes, I may be something of a braggart. And yes, my skills in the above sports may be somewhat exaggerated by my own ego. But you have the gall to put down my ballin' stature. I got skillz son, you know this. Honestly, I'm a force and could fling your slight frame around the paint with ease and calmly step to the outside and knock down J's in your grille (notice I use the feminine form of the word...foreign language joke). Yea, I'm a chucker, hence your comparison to 'Toine Walker. Normally I'd have no problem with that. But when you compare yourself to Tayshaun Prince, Mike to Ray Allen, and Carrozza to Chauncey Billups (really?), all multi-time NBA all-stars, I get a little offended. Play me one on one. Then see how you feel about my game. I guarantee you'll be singing a different tune.
For these offenses, and several others I'm sure, you are the unanimous choice for Creep of the Week. You've trumped the hellacious misdeeds of such repeat offenders as Maddalo, Kellie and Nault (ouch...very ouch). That's seriously hard to do. Take heed, you are on thin ice, just a slight misstep away from the Hall of Shame. Tread carefully Brian.
Sorry to everyone except Ford about the rambling, had to get that off my chest. I'm sick of being hated on by my inferiors. That's it, I'm done. Be good and don't let 'em talk bad about ya.
Before I begin, the Han Solo edition blaster must be turned towards myself. I am a nincompoop for spilling water on my laptop keyboard and forcing me to use a nerdy external keyboard via USB connection. It is now much less comfortable when blogging from my Laz-E-Boy. Veale....Jerk. That stings.
Now on to more serious business. I hate doing this again, especially since it was just yesterday that I reacted to Mike's television comparison to me, but people just keep dissing me for me no reason. I can't let it slide. Ne'er-do-wells must be held accountable for their reprehensible deeds.
This most recent slight comes from literally left field. Young Brian Ford started his blog on the wings of my success, capitalizing on the "blog-craze" that Michael and I brought to the forefront. Now, I won't give him the satisfaction of linking to his uninteresting and hate-filled diary because I refuse to endorse such nonsense. But rest assured, it's more rambling than Mike's blog, less funny than Kellie's blog (or anything she ever says) and more full of inaccuracies than Cormier's grossly exaggerated sagas.
In a recent post, Brian gave a scouting report of the athletic abilities of his home "friends" (and I use this term loosely after the stunt he's pulled), including comparisons to professional athletes. As I've gone over in much detail in this very space, some of my best attributes are my silky smooth jump shot and my cannon of a right arm. I also possess unparalleled competitiveness, strong game management skills and an astute sense of "the moment." Did Ford have the Focus (see what I did there) to pick up on any of these things in his scouting report of me. In a word...not even effing close.
First as a comparison for my wiffle ball ability...Tim Wakefield. A consummate professional and first class guy to boot, I do not wish to put down the Wake. But Ford, after the numerous times I have stymied you from the bump, you should know I don't even have a knuckle ball in my repertoire. Or maybe that is a contributing factor to your .084 lifetime average against me. You have no idea what I'm throwing. Granted I throw junk and have a rubber arm, but at least you could compare me to my boy of days past and present, Bronson Arroyo. Works at the plate too as both Bronson and I are a threat to go yard.
Ford, you spent a paragraph discussing the fact that I play quarterback roughly 80 percent of the time in our games (and at a level you could never dream of...Pat White...HA!), yet you compare me to some random scrub tight end from the Broncos. Really? I'm not gonna claim I'm the touch football version of Tom Brady. No one is, he's a god. But with my cannon, pocket presence and ability to sling the deep ball, you couldn't come up with a quarterback comparison that your readers don't have to look up on Wikipedia? I'll admit I'm prone to a costly pick from time to time, how about a Tony Romo or a Big Ben Roethlisburger? Considering I routinely have to quarterback without the benefits of having all-world receiver Chris Carrozza split out wide, I do alright.
Finally, we come to the most insulting, egregious, ludicrous comparison of the bunch, in undoubtedly my best sport no less. Yes, I may be something of a braggart. And yes, my skills in the above sports may be somewhat exaggerated by my own ego. But you have the gall to put down my ballin' stature. I got skillz son, you know this. Honestly, I'm a force and could fling your slight frame around the paint with ease and calmly step to the outside and knock down J's in your grille (notice I use the feminine form of the word...foreign language joke). Yea, I'm a chucker, hence your comparison to 'Toine Walker. Normally I'd have no problem with that. But when you compare yourself to Tayshaun Prince, Mike to Ray Allen, and Carrozza to Chauncey Billups (really?), all multi-time NBA all-stars, I get a little offended. Play me one on one. Then see how you feel about my game. I guarantee you'll be singing a different tune.
For these offenses, and several others I'm sure, you are the unanimous choice for Creep of the Week. You've trumped the hellacious misdeeds of such repeat offenders as Maddalo, Kellie and Nault (ouch...very ouch). That's seriously hard to do. Take heed, you are on thin ice, just a slight misstep away from the Hall of Shame. Tread carefully Brian.
Sorry to everyone except Ford about the rambling, had to get that off my chest. I'm sick of being hated on by my inferiors. That's it, I'm done. Be good and don't let 'em talk bad about ya.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Back From Outer Space
Word.
My insincerest apologies for the shortage of writings in the recent weeks. I was doing stuff. Raise your hand if you missed me. Is your hand raised? If it is, you seriously need to stop what you are doing and obtain a life. Immediately. I'm a loser and blogs are stupid. Sorry, it's true. That said, you'll be glad to read that I have returned from my hiatus with a new found vigor for blogging. Get excited.
Kicking things off, I gotta react to Michael's ramblings of yesternight. I dug the idea of comparing people in his life to television characters. As you I'm sure recall, I love TV (especially the babes) and was quite curious to read the identity of the my doppelganger. Imagine my surprise at the wackitude assigned to me. Allow me to refute.
Danny F'ing Tanner. Easily the most egregious of the three. Am I a single father? Not that I know of. (If you know otherwise, call me immediately.) Am I neat freak who is prone to vaccuuming? Trust me, no. Would anyone in their right mind put me on a morning talk show with a slammin' babe as my cost host? Surely not. Sorry, don't see the similarities there.
Ted Mosby. First off, Ted is an architect. I am an aspiring structural engineer/professional athlete/blogger. Structural engineers and architects are pretty much opposites Mike. Get with it. Architects want buildings to look pretty. I want buildings to not fall down and thus save lives. I am a superhero. I think this was a veiled attempt to compare me to Sagot again. Nice try.
Creed Bratton. Aside from being under 70 years of age, in body and mind....true....true...aaaaand true. Not much argument here.
On the otherhand, there are a number of television personalities who are much closer to the actual phenomenon that is Pat. While no one character can pin me down (except Kelly Kapowski...zing!), a menagerie of several of television's best can come pretty close to getting it right.
Zach Morris. In addition to both of us having striking good looks and the ability to make ladies swoon, Preppy and I have a number of other things in common. We both possess the inane ability to have our cell phones ring in class. Granted his model was a bit older than mine, but they both annoyed teachers in similar fashions. Furthermore, unbeknownst to our contemporaries, Morris and I both have the ability stop time and have personal, witty asides to a studio audience. That's right, next time you're with me and you suddenly find a twirly mustache drawn in Sharpie on your face, it's because I stopped time a drew it there. Gotcha! Also, Zach and I are also firmly against drugs. Dumb. Stupid. Crazy. Dangerous. Stinks.
Don Draper. Suave, charming, intelligent, devastingly handsome. And Draper's not bad either.
Ross Gellar. This one kind of sucks for me because Ross is a tool. But the similarities are unmistakable. Nerdy and unashamed. A genius of physical comedy. Ability to score babes way out of his league. A sucker for Twizzlers. All me.
Kevin Malone. The similarites are kind of uncanny. First, we both have extremely wet jump shots. Done and done. In addition, he plays the drums in a Police tribute band. I pretend to play the drums and often enjoy the musical stylings of Sting. Kevin is addicted to gambling and loves M&M's. I'm really good at gambling and often use my winnings (at least 14.3% of them) to purchase M&M's. Finally, Kevin's favorite number is 69. I can't remember the last time I didn't laugh at the number 69. I thought it was funny before I even knew what it meant. It's a sex joke right?
Clark Kent. See above that I am a superhero. Futhermore, Kal-El and I both enjoy laborious, farmhand chores such as lawn-mowing, chopping wood, saving Lana from harm's way, carrying heavy objects, and being faster than a speeding bullet. Also, we wear the same jacket and have a shared affinity for plaid. Pretty much the same person. I'm clearly a mixture of all these characters, but Clark is by far the closest. Ask anyone.
Alright that's it for my comeback. I'm tired. I should be back to posting on a semi-regular to quasi-semi-regular basis. Stay tuned. Until then, I will leave you with a random anecdote/moral question.
This afternoon, I was in my "safe-haven" bathroom and I noticed some graffiti on the stall wall. Nothing out of the ordinary right? These inappropriate vandalizations exist in public bathrooms all over the world. Just ask Lloyd Christmas. However, the particular piece of art I had noticed was dated 2/18/09. That's right, TODAY! Fresh ink. It baffled me that people are still doodling on stall walls while dropping deuces. With all the gadgetry we have today...iPhones, blackberrys, Sidekicks, what have you...I had no idea some people still had to resort to making their mark in public bathrooms. I thought the practice had died out in the late 90's. Good to know. Needless to say I had to respond to the artist who had left today's date and promptly scribbled "Pat was here" right next to his work. Ever mindful of being punked, I preempted any future wisenheimers and wrote "and is dumb" in different color pen. Nice try a-holes. I'm also working Andy Dufresne style on creating a glory hole. Because that could never end badly (NSFW)...
PEACE!
My insincerest apologies for the shortage of writings in the recent weeks. I was doing stuff. Raise your hand if you missed me. Is your hand raised? If it is, you seriously need to stop what you are doing and obtain a life. Immediately. I'm a loser and blogs are stupid. Sorry, it's true. That said, you'll be glad to read that I have returned from my hiatus with a new found vigor for blogging. Get excited.
Kicking things off, I gotta react to Michael's ramblings of yesternight. I dug the idea of comparing people in his life to television characters. As you I'm sure recall, I love TV (especially the babes) and was quite curious to read the identity of the my doppelganger. Imagine my surprise at the wackitude assigned to me. Allow me to refute.
Danny F'ing Tanner. Easily the most egregious of the three. Am I a single father? Not that I know of. (If you know otherwise, call me immediately.) Am I neat freak who is prone to vaccuuming? Trust me, no. Would anyone in their right mind put me on a morning talk show with a slammin' babe as my cost host? Surely not. Sorry, don't see the similarities there.
Ted Mosby. First off, Ted is an architect. I am an aspiring structural engineer/professional athlete/blogger. Structural engineers and architects are pretty much opposites Mike. Get with it. Architects want buildings to look pretty. I want buildings to not fall down and thus save lives. I am a superhero. I think this was a veiled attempt to compare me to Sagot again. Nice try.
Creed Bratton. Aside from being under 70 years of age, in body and mind....true....true...aaaaand true. Not much argument here.
On the otherhand, there are a number of television personalities who are much closer to the actual phenomenon that is Pat. While no one character can pin me down (except Kelly Kapowski...zing!), a menagerie of several of television's best can come pretty close to getting it right.
Zach Morris. In addition to both of us having striking good looks and the ability to make ladies swoon, Preppy and I have a number of other things in common. We both possess the inane ability to have our cell phones ring in class. Granted his model was a bit older than mine, but they both annoyed teachers in similar fashions. Furthermore, unbeknownst to our contemporaries, Morris and I both have the ability stop time and have personal, witty asides to a studio audience. That's right, next time you're with me and you suddenly find a twirly mustache drawn in Sharpie on your face, it's because I stopped time a drew it there. Gotcha! Also, Zach and I are also firmly against drugs. Dumb. Stupid. Crazy. Dangerous. Stinks.
Don Draper. Suave, charming, intelligent, devastingly handsome. And Draper's not bad either.
Ross Gellar. This one kind of sucks for me because Ross is a tool. But the similarities are unmistakable. Nerdy and unashamed. A genius of physical comedy. Ability to score babes way out of his league. A sucker for Twizzlers. All me.
Kevin Malone. The similarites are kind of uncanny. First, we both have extremely wet jump shots. Done and done. In addition, he plays the drums in a Police tribute band. I pretend to play the drums and often enjoy the musical stylings of Sting. Kevin is addicted to gambling and loves M&M's. I'm really good at gambling and often use my winnings (at least 14.3% of them) to purchase M&M's. Finally, Kevin's favorite number is 69. I can't remember the last time I didn't laugh at the number 69. I thought it was funny before I even knew what it meant. It's a sex joke right?
Clark Kent. See above that I am a superhero. Futhermore, Kal-El and I both enjoy laborious, farmhand chores such as lawn-mowing, chopping wood, saving Lana from harm's way, carrying heavy objects, and being faster than a speeding bullet. Also, we wear the same jacket and have a shared affinity for plaid. Pretty much the same person. I'm clearly a mixture of all these characters, but Clark is by far the closest. Ask anyone.
Alright that's it for my comeback. I'm tired. I should be back to posting on a semi-regular to quasi-semi-regular basis. Stay tuned. Until then, I will leave you with a random anecdote/moral question.
This afternoon, I was in my "safe-haven" bathroom and I noticed some graffiti on the stall wall. Nothing out of the ordinary right? These inappropriate vandalizations exist in public bathrooms all over the world. Just ask Lloyd Christmas. However, the particular piece of art I had noticed was dated 2/18/09. That's right, TODAY! Fresh ink. It baffled me that people are still doodling on stall walls while dropping deuces. With all the gadgetry we have today...iPhones, blackberrys, Sidekicks, what have you...I had no idea some people still had to resort to making their mark in public bathrooms. I thought the practice had died out in the late 90's. Good to know. Needless to say I had to respond to the artist who had left today's date and promptly scribbled "Pat was here" right next to his work. Ever mindful of being punked, I preempted any future wisenheimers and wrote "and is dumb" in different color pen. Nice try a-holes. I'm also working Andy Dufresne style on creating a glory hole. Because that could never end badly (NSFW)...
PEACE!
Thursday, February 5, 2009
I lost my number can I have yours?
What's poppin' blogosphere? Sorry I haven't been posting every 8 seconds like my homeboy "Nims" does, but I actually have a life. Yeah, that's a lie, I don't. I'm just lazy. Anyway here's some thoughts for your enjoyment. Enjoy.
As you may know, one of my many passions is practical jokes (others include: ping pong, melting your heart, jump shooting, hot dogs, and free cell). As a prankster myself, I obviously appreciate a good ruse when I see one, especially when I am not the one getting punked. So, when I heard about a practical joke occurring at the Pro Bowl, I was intrigued to say the least. There is one caveat to my love for the art of the practical joke, however, and it is that none must be harmed in the creation of hilariousness, be it physically, mentally or otherwise. Which is why this story piqued my interest.
For those who didn't hear the saga involving famous people getting pranked, here's the short version. At the NFL Pro Bowl, Jay Cutler was the victim of a joke at the hands of criminal mastermind, and second rate quarterback Peyton Manning. Peyton plotted with a pair of hulking O-linemen to push Cutler into a large concrete hole that had been filled with water known in Hawaii as a "pool". Being the cerebral game manager he is, Peyton made sure to swipe Cutler's cell phone first. You know, to protect it from being ruined. Blah blah blah, they push him in and low and behold Cutler's diabetes monitor gets ruined because THAT was in his pocket. Now this is a semi-national story because Cutler was sans diabetes monitor for a few hours while he was lounging on the beach.
Here's the thing though. I think it would have been a far greater loss for Cutler if it was the cell piece in his pocket and not the diabetes monitor. First of all, imagine losing your cell phone. Sure, you'll get the numbers of your friends back. But think of all the random digits you've aquired over the years. I, for one, have at least two, maybe three phone numbers belonging to dope babes that, should I lose my phone, I would lose forever. Now imagine you are famous NFL quarterback. Kid's got to have ill contacts.
Picture this. Cutler is in Tampa for the Super Bowl last week. Likely, anyone who's anyone goes to the Super Bowl. Say he attends the Maxim party. Again, likely. He's an NFL quarterback in his mid 20's. Trust me, he was there. Said party would obviously be crawling with delicious babes and celebs alike. What if he was able to score some numerals? (This is not as likely. Cutler is kinda goofy looking. Not like myself. I would, of course, clean up. For the sake of the story, humor me though.) What if he got Marisa Miller's number? Megan Fox's? Imagine getting that number, having it for a few days, then losing it at the hands of Peyton F'ing Manning. Unreal. He may make decent commercials and throw a nice spiral, but if that stiff lost me Sophia Bush's phone number, it would be over for him.
Well that was the extent of my random thoughts for the evening. Not my best work I know, but I feel Jay Cutler's pain (or his would-be pain, whatever, I forgot I vented about a made up scenario) and thought I should weigh in. No, I never had my phone ruined by being tossed in a body of water. And no, I never lost a supermodel's number. But I have lost a phone before and thus been missing the digits of several young ladies who are no doubt still awaiting my call. Also I've had the misfortune of being thrown in a pool. Above ground. I don't know how I didn't see it coming, but rest assured, I will have my vengeance.
As you may know, one of my many passions is practical jokes (others include: ping pong, melting your heart, jump shooting, hot dogs, and free cell). As a prankster myself, I obviously appreciate a good ruse when I see one, especially when I am not the one getting punked. So, when I heard about a practical joke occurring at the Pro Bowl, I was intrigued to say the least. There is one caveat to my love for the art of the practical joke, however, and it is that none must be harmed in the creation of hilariousness, be it physically, mentally or otherwise. Which is why this story piqued my interest.
For those who didn't hear the saga involving famous people getting pranked, here's the short version. At the NFL Pro Bowl, Jay Cutler was the victim of a joke at the hands of criminal mastermind, and second rate quarterback Peyton Manning. Peyton plotted with a pair of hulking O-linemen to push Cutler into a large concrete hole that had been filled with water known in Hawaii as a "pool". Being the cerebral game manager he is, Peyton made sure to swipe Cutler's cell phone first. You know, to protect it from being ruined. Blah blah blah, they push him in and low and behold Cutler's diabetes monitor gets ruined because THAT was in his pocket. Now this is a semi-national story because Cutler was sans diabetes monitor for a few hours while he was lounging on the beach.
Here's the thing though. I think it would have been a far greater loss for Cutler if it was the cell piece in his pocket and not the diabetes monitor. First of all, imagine losing your cell phone. Sure, you'll get the numbers of your friends back. But think of all the random digits you've aquired over the years. I, for one, have at least two, maybe three phone numbers belonging to dope babes that, should I lose my phone, I would lose forever. Now imagine you are famous NFL quarterback. Kid's got to have ill contacts.
Picture this. Cutler is in Tampa for the Super Bowl last week. Likely, anyone who's anyone goes to the Super Bowl. Say he attends the Maxim party. Again, likely. He's an NFL quarterback in his mid 20's. Trust me, he was there. Said party would obviously be crawling with delicious babes and celebs alike. What if he was able to score some numerals? (This is not as likely. Cutler is kinda goofy looking. Not like myself. I would, of course, clean up. For the sake of the story, humor me though.) What if he got Marisa Miller's number? Megan Fox's? Imagine getting that number, having it for a few days, then losing it at the hands of Peyton F'ing Manning. Unreal. He may make decent commercials and throw a nice spiral, but if that stiff lost me Sophia Bush's phone number, it would be over for him.
Well that was the extent of my random thoughts for the evening. Not my best work I know, but I feel Jay Cutler's pain (or his would-be pain, whatever, I forgot I vented about a made up scenario) and thought I should weigh in. No, I never had my phone ruined by being tossed in a body of water. And no, I never lost a supermodel's number. But I have lost a phone before and thus been missing the digits of several young ladies who are no doubt still awaiting my call. Also I've had the misfortune of being thrown in a pool. Above ground. I don't know how I didn't see it coming, but rest assured, I will have my vengeance.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Jerks and Creeps Beware
Hi and hello.
It's time for the second installment of the Jerk List. (Quick programming note, the Jerk List has been moved from Fridays to Mondays so as to give me some weekend ammunition with which to load my Han Solo Edition Blaster.) Some of you may know that this is a ripoff, but somebody has to hold the hooligans outside Dameshek's blast radius accountable. If that duty falls to me, so be it. Without further ado..
Let it begiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnn.....
First up, I must take care of some business for my rival. Michael and I may have an ongoing blog-feud, but in reality this a Bird-Magic rivalry. While adversaries on the court, we fight together for a larger goal of saving the internet, one blog at a time. Much like Larry and Earvin saved the NBA, one icy jump shot at a time. So for this reason, I must single out Mr. Brian Ford. After MN unleashed his inspired Junior Goodwill Games analysis, Ford was wondering why he received no credit for the diatribe. What? Mike admits he mentioned this idea to Ford while in its incubation stages, but wherein does Ford's input lie? Are you that desperate for a shout out, Ford, that you are clamoring for one you don't even deserve? How's this for a shout out....YOU'RE A JERK!
Now that I got that out of the way, it's time for a Get Out of Jerk Free Card. Pete Butera stand up and be counted. Originally, I was going to give two of these out to both Peter and Cormier for their anti-Nimerowski (and pro-Pat) comments. But Butera had the wherewithal, the wisdom, the intestinal fortitude to post his sentiment for all the world (or the 6 people who read this blog) to see. For that he and he alone receives an unprecedented (as this is the second edition of this feature) second consecutive Get Out of Jerk Free Card. Take a bow son. You have been immense.
At this time I would like to announce a new running feature here on Pat thoughts. Inspired by Butera's trailblazing, I would like to take this opportunity to invite all of you to post your anti-Mike digs here in the comments section following my posts. Anytime you feel like hating on Mike or his lame blog, this is the place to do it. Jilted lover (Ford)? Feeling under appreciated? Just plain hate his guts? Empty your soul, don't be shy. Especially hurtful or comedic digs on Nimmy will earn a place in the main text of my next post. Quite a prize I know. Now back to the jerks.
A newcomer to this blog, it's my old pal Joe I. Insinuating that I may not produce offspring...HOW DARE YOU! An off the cuff remark, sure, but malicious and uncalled for nonetheless. Where do you get off disparaging my child bearing abilities? My lovely bride (to be determined...submit your applications now) and I will bring forth no less than three apples of my eye (God willing). For you to speak ill of this possibility is just in poor taste. For this reason, Joe I...JERK!
Next, it's a creep of the slimiest breed...a tattle-tale. You know who you are. You read the names on the Jerk List last week, and instead of being thankful for a society now a little bit more jerk-free, you feel the need to rush off and alert those who had in fact put themselves in such a position. What gives Ryan? Granted, the jerks I pinpoint should know of their standing as creeps, how else can they improve their ways. But there's no need for a bystander to point fingers in my direction. I didn't do this to them. They did this to them. Stop snitchin'...JERK!
Now for the Creep of the Week. And for those of you unfamiliar with the Dave Dameshek version on which this is based. Take a look here to experience the passion and seriousness with which I perform this task (also the theme song).
Matthew Maddalo. First you claim you can't vote in my fun-loving poll (quick aside: anyone who hasn't voted...JERKS!) because you feel uncomfortable complimenting another man, an undeniably handsome one at that. Fine, whatever, I leave you to your insecurities. But then, not minutes later, you send me via G Chat the MOST effeminate of smiley faces. Good gracious man, not even your boo (the poor dear) would send me such a questionable symbol and she spews smiley faces like tears at Backstreet Boys concert. Unacceptable.
But you don't stop there. You feel the need to warn a gaggle of evil females that I am on the prowl for jerks. Why should they be given warning!?! They should be perpetually mindful of their actions and live their lives in fear of the sting of the blaster. Who are you to influence their actions? Not only that, your little caution prompted McSweeney to actually TRY to get on this list (she'll get no such satisfaction). This is not how it works. For these, and I'm sure several other infractions...feel the sting. Jerkiness, two counts. Guilty. YOU'RE THE CREEP OF THE WEEK.
That's it. I'm done.
It's time for the second installment of the Jerk List. (Quick programming note, the Jerk List has been moved from Fridays to Mondays so as to give me some weekend ammunition with which to load my Han Solo Edition Blaster.) Some of you may know that this is a ripoff, but somebody has to hold the hooligans outside Dameshek's blast radius accountable. If that duty falls to me, so be it. Without further ado..
Let it begiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnn.....
First up, I must take care of some business for my rival. Michael and I may have an ongoing blog-feud, but in reality this a Bird-Magic rivalry. While adversaries on the court, we fight together for a larger goal of saving the internet, one blog at a time. Much like Larry and Earvin saved the NBA, one icy jump shot at a time. So for this reason, I must single out Mr. Brian Ford. After MN unleashed his inspired Junior Goodwill Games analysis, Ford was wondering why he received no credit for the diatribe. What? Mike admits he mentioned this idea to Ford while in its incubation stages, but wherein does Ford's input lie? Are you that desperate for a shout out, Ford, that you are clamoring for one you don't even deserve? How's this for a shout out....YOU'RE A JERK!
Now that I got that out of the way, it's time for a Get Out of Jerk Free Card. Pete Butera stand up and be counted. Originally, I was going to give two of these out to both Peter and Cormier for their anti-Nimerowski (and pro-Pat) comments. But Butera had the wherewithal, the wisdom, the intestinal fortitude to post his sentiment for all the world (or the 6 people who read this blog) to see. For that he and he alone receives an unprecedented (as this is the second edition of this feature) second consecutive Get Out of Jerk Free Card. Take a bow son. You have been immense.
At this time I would like to announce a new running feature here on Pat thoughts. Inspired by Butera's trailblazing, I would like to take this opportunity to invite all of you to post your anti-Mike digs here in the comments section following my posts. Anytime you feel like hating on Mike or his lame blog, this is the place to do it. Jilted lover (Ford)? Feeling under appreciated? Just plain hate his guts? Empty your soul, don't be shy. Especially hurtful or comedic digs on Nimmy will earn a place in the main text of my next post. Quite a prize I know. Now back to the jerks.
A newcomer to this blog, it's my old pal Joe I. Insinuating that I may not produce offspring...HOW DARE YOU! An off the cuff remark, sure, but malicious and uncalled for nonetheless. Where do you get off disparaging my child bearing abilities? My lovely bride (to be determined...submit your applications now) and I will bring forth no less than three apples of my eye (God willing). For you to speak ill of this possibility is just in poor taste. For this reason, Joe I...JERK!
Next, it's a creep of the slimiest breed...a tattle-tale. You know who you are. You read the names on the Jerk List last week, and instead of being thankful for a society now a little bit more jerk-free, you feel the need to rush off and alert those who had in fact put themselves in such a position. What gives Ryan? Granted, the jerks I pinpoint should know of their standing as creeps, how else can they improve their ways. But there's no need for a bystander to point fingers in my direction. I didn't do this to them. They did this to them. Stop snitchin'...JERK!
Now for the Creep of the Week. And for those of you unfamiliar with the Dave Dameshek version on which this is based. Take a look here to experience the passion and seriousness with which I perform this task (also the theme song).
Matthew Maddalo. First you claim you can't vote in my fun-loving poll (quick aside: anyone who hasn't voted...JERKS!) because you feel uncomfortable complimenting another man, an undeniably handsome one at that. Fine, whatever, I leave you to your insecurities. But then, not minutes later, you send me via G Chat the MOST effeminate of smiley faces. Good gracious man, not even your boo (the poor dear) would send me such a questionable symbol and she spews smiley faces like tears at Backstreet Boys concert. Unacceptable.
But you don't stop there. You feel the need to warn a gaggle of evil females that I am on the prowl for jerks. Why should they be given warning!?! They should be perpetually mindful of their actions and live their lives in fear of the sting of the blaster. Who are you to influence their actions? Not only that, your little caution prompted McSweeney to actually TRY to get on this list (she'll get no such satisfaction). This is not how it works. For these, and I'm sure several other infractions...feel the sting. Jerkiness, two counts. Guilty. YOU'RE THE CREEP OF THE WEEK.
That's it. I'm done.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
I fell for the girl that's on TV
Greetings Patheads. I know you've all been anxiously awaiting my next post, sitting at your computer, hitting the Refresh button every 19 seconds in hopes of some new brainchildren courtesy of yours truely. Well Refresh no more (maybe one or two more times, I usually have to make some corrections after I post stuff). I'm back at the keyboard again, typing at warp speeds (approximately 126 words per minute for those of you familiar with Mavis Beacon) to bring you my newest creation.
Now, many of you may recall my rival featuring a countown of lovely ladies birthed in 1986. Probably the best thing about this list was his introductory video link featuring the fine musical group 5ive. But what the Miz failed to mention was the original launching pad of the 5ive hit "Slam Dunk Da Funk." Does he know of what I speak? Do you know? That's right, it's the Disney Channel original movie Smart House. Maybe you've viewed it on some kick-butt video screens.
I would also like to entertain the masses with a countdown of fabulous females. However, I will not choose a lame stipulation like the year of their birth. Nay. I will instead provide a collection of television babes to whom I am very much attracted. Unlike Mike I will not limit my list to a mere 5-piece, but instead go the full 10 rounds.
But we are not without rules unfortunately. I was forced to draw the line somewhere, and my stipulations are such:
i. One babe per show - Taking two ladies from the same program is like putting two songs from the same artist on a mix tape. Faux pas. It's a cop out. Everyone has a favorite, make a choice and stick with it, you can't like Janet AND Chrissy. One or the other.
ii. Main characters only - You gotta be a legit cast member. Even though this means I have to omit my beloved Amanda Peet, who played Jerry's girlfriend on an episode of Seinfeld, if you didn't have your own story arc and your run didn't span multiple seasons (where applicable), sorry you're not making the list.
iii. Familiarity - I must watch (or have watched) the show on a regular (or semi-regular) basis. Enough that I can either recall distinct episodes, quotes, or at the very least hum the theme music.
iv. Fictional - No one from The Hills, Laguna Beach, Real World, Road Rules, The Real World/Road Rules Challenge, The Gauntlet, The Inferno, Fresh Meat, or The Duel are elligible, fake as they are (zing!).
v. Must be of legal age for me at the time your show aired - This one is complicated. Not in a creepy way, but in a practical way. If the character in question is from a show I watched in my youth, chances are the girl was under 18 at the time of the show. This is alright. However, if the character was under 18 on the show and I was over, say, 21 years of age...illegal. Pretty much that eliminates Hayden Panettiere. Too bad. (Lay off! She's 19 now.)
vi. Baywatch babes are inelligible. Just to make this fair.
vii. The most important stipulation, the ladies are chosen on the basis of my attraction to their CHARACTER, not the actress. As much as I enjoy looking at Jennifer Aniston in the role of Rachel, she's a wee bit annoying for me.
Enough with the rules, here are the TV gals I would take out for a romantic date if I were in fact a character on their show (or they a character in mine).
10. Kimberly Hart (aka The Pink Ranger) - Spunky, athletic, and cute as can be. Loses some points due to the fact that she could probably beat me up, but still, her cheerful demeaner and kickin' (see what I did there?) body would make her a pleasure to be around.
9. Bradley "Brad" Taylor - You may think I would have gone for Melody (portrayed by a young Christine Taylor-Stiller) from this classic Nickelodeon show. But something about that sultry voice of Brad's (damned if she's not ruined now by Kleinman) drove a youthful Pat crazy and to this day I would chop off my baby toe to work a summer at a dude ranch with the likes of Brad.
8. Lily Aldrin - I know, I know she's taken by Marshall. And for this reason, I almost went for the equally attractive Robin. However, I was swayed by several things. First, Robin is Canadian...minus one. Two, Robin is annoying...minus two. Three, Robin got with Barney...minus three, four and five. Plus, I'm kind of a Marshall-type so I feel like Lily and I would get along famously if I were cast in Marshall's stead. (Little bonus in that video for you, Cormier...cue evil laugh)
7. Kate Austin - Something of an upset pick for two reasons: 1) you might think she would have been higher on my list 2) many of you know I am partial to Claire and her saucy Austrailian accent. Allow me to explain myself. I would go for Claire if not for one thing, she's got that kid. I'm not ready for that kind of responsibility. Give me the ex-con who plays alpha males (like myself) off of each other for her own amusement. The scene provided also helped to tip the scales. Ay yi yi.
6. Buffy Summers - Stretching my own rules here because I didn't watch everrrry episode of Buffy, but definitely enough to fall in love with her for the entirety of eighth grade (until Britney Spears entered my life). Again, she loses points for making me question whether or not I could take her in a fight (answer: probably), but gee whiz what a gal. To this day, I have trouble tearing my eyes from her mesmorizing glare.
5. Brooke Davis - The one (1) and only reason I watched this show. A vision. Like #9 Brad, I am drawn to her raspy, transfixing voice and my goodness if she's not the best looking dame on TV. Not much else to say. Watch the clip. All her personality flaws are overshadowed by her astounding looks. I'm nothing if not shallow.
4. Betty Draper - Ooo La and La. Just a peach of a woman. Probably a touch old for me realistically, but I'll allow Father Time to fast forward me a few years (or back to 1960 in this case) if he'll kindly present me with Don Draper's place in life. Believe you me, I would never stray from the nest if I had the lovely Betty awaiting me at the homestead; dinner on the stove, Scotch at the ready and the kiddies in bed. E gad.
3. Carrie Heffernen - Another married woman makes the list, but what can I say, she's a doll. Carrie gets the slight edge over Betty due to her cutting sense of humor to go along with her glowing physical attributes. The fact that I may be subject to a witty repartee at the hands of my wife would no doubt keep me on my toes, and having Arthur Spooner in my life would certainly not be unwelcome.
2. Lana Lang - Be still my heart. It took a some serious deliberation to keep Lana out of the top spot. Kind-hearted, intolerably beautiful, and if she's good enough for Superman, she's good enough for me. She made some interesting choices in her life to say the least (leaving Clark to move to France? For art??), her first 3 seasons in Smallville endeared her to me for life. It took quite the gal to top Lana for me, and this is much closer than many may have expected.
1. Kelly Kapowski - Was there any doubt? Kelly has had a stranglehold on this category since I first laid eyes on her circa 1994. My first love, I was empathetic to Zack's plight as he pursued this beauty through the halls of Bayside and beyond. When Kelly dumped Zack for that waiter at the Max, it felt like she was dumping me. When I saw him cheating on Kelly at the over 18 dance club The Attic, I was steamed, but I also felt for Kelly. I only wanted her to be happy. The epitome of television babe perfection, Kelly was smart, nicer than my jumpshot, and swell to be around. Not bad to look at neither. Just the ideal lass for a lad such as myself. I would marry her on the spot.
So there you have it, the babes of TV who have caught my fancy over the years and lured me to the small screen with their encapsulating splendor. And because I believe that television is the true mirror of our lives, I am convinced that a facsimile of one of the above beauties will one day move into the house next door to me, allowing situation comedy (and obviously romance) to ensue.
Next time on patthoughts: Pat struggles to decide which of the dozens of foxy females interested in him is most worthy of his affection, all the while maintaining his overall level of awesomeness. Meanwhile, Mike struggles to cope with his blog's inadequacy and Scott and Pete compete over the attentions of Chappy in a hotbead of jealousy, greed and desire. Be sure to tune in next week to see how it all unfolds. Until then, keep your head on a swivel and don't drop the soap.
Now, many of you may recall my rival featuring a countown of lovely ladies birthed in 1986. Probably the best thing about this list was his introductory video link featuring the fine musical group 5ive. But what the Miz failed to mention was the original launching pad of the 5ive hit "Slam Dunk Da Funk." Does he know of what I speak? Do you know? That's right, it's the Disney Channel original movie Smart House. Maybe you've viewed it on some kick-butt video screens.
I would also like to entertain the masses with a countdown of fabulous females. However, I will not choose a lame stipulation like the year of their birth. Nay. I will instead provide a collection of television babes to whom I am very much attracted. Unlike Mike I will not limit my list to a mere 5-piece, but instead go the full 10 rounds.
But we are not without rules unfortunately. I was forced to draw the line somewhere, and my stipulations are such:
i. One babe per show - Taking two ladies from the same program is like putting two songs from the same artist on a mix tape. Faux pas. It's a cop out. Everyone has a favorite, make a choice and stick with it, you can't like Janet AND Chrissy. One or the other.
ii. Main characters only - You gotta be a legit cast member. Even though this means I have to omit my beloved Amanda Peet, who played Jerry's girlfriend on an episode of Seinfeld, if you didn't have your own story arc and your run didn't span multiple seasons (where applicable), sorry you're not making the list.
iii. Familiarity - I must watch (or have watched) the show on a regular (or semi-regular) basis. Enough that I can either recall distinct episodes, quotes, or at the very least hum the theme music.
iv. Fictional - No one from The Hills, Laguna Beach, Real World, Road Rules, The Real World/Road Rules Challenge, The Gauntlet, The Inferno, Fresh Meat, or The Duel are elligible, fake as they are (zing!).
v. Must be of legal age for me at the time your show aired - This one is complicated. Not in a creepy way, but in a practical way. If the character in question is from a show I watched in my youth, chances are the girl was under 18 at the time of the show. This is alright. However, if the character was under 18 on the show and I was over, say, 21 years of age...illegal. Pretty much that eliminates Hayden Panettiere. Too bad. (Lay off! She's 19 now.)
vi. Baywatch babes are inelligible. Just to make this fair.
vii. The most important stipulation, the ladies are chosen on the basis of my attraction to their CHARACTER, not the actress. As much as I enjoy looking at Jennifer Aniston in the role of Rachel, she's a wee bit annoying for me.
Enough with the rules, here are the TV gals I would take out for a romantic date if I were in fact a character on their show (or they a character in mine).
10. Kimberly Hart (aka The Pink Ranger) - Spunky, athletic, and cute as can be. Loses some points due to the fact that she could probably beat me up, but still, her cheerful demeaner and kickin' (see what I did there?) body would make her a pleasure to be around.
9. Bradley "Brad" Taylor - You may think I would have gone for Melody (portrayed by a young Christine Taylor-Stiller) from this classic Nickelodeon show. But something about that sultry voice of Brad's (damned if she's not ruined now by Kleinman) drove a youthful Pat crazy and to this day I would chop off my baby toe to work a summer at a dude ranch with the likes of Brad.
8. Lily Aldrin - I know, I know she's taken by Marshall. And for this reason, I almost went for the equally attractive Robin. However, I was swayed by several things. First, Robin is Canadian...minus one. Two, Robin is annoying...minus two. Three, Robin got with Barney...minus three, four and five. Plus, I'm kind of a Marshall-type so I feel like Lily and I would get along famously if I were cast in Marshall's stead. (Little bonus in that video for you, Cormier...cue evil laugh)
7. Kate Austin - Something of an upset pick for two reasons: 1) you might think she would have been higher on my list 2) many of you know I am partial to Claire and her saucy Austrailian accent. Allow me to explain myself. I would go for Claire if not for one thing, she's got that kid. I'm not ready for that kind of responsibility. Give me the ex-con who plays alpha males (like myself) off of each other for her own amusement. The scene provided also helped to tip the scales. Ay yi yi.
6. Buffy Summers - Stretching my own rules here because I didn't watch everrrry episode of Buffy, but definitely enough to fall in love with her for the entirety of eighth grade (until Britney Spears entered my life). Again, she loses points for making me question whether or not I could take her in a fight (answer: probably), but gee whiz what a gal. To this day, I have trouble tearing my eyes from her mesmorizing glare.
5. Brooke Davis - The one (1) and only reason I watched this show. A vision. Like #9 Brad, I am drawn to her raspy, transfixing voice and my goodness if she's not the best looking dame on TV. Not much else to say. Watch the clip. All her personality flaws are overshadowed by her astounding looks. I'm nothing if not shallow.
4. Betty Draper - Ooo La and La. Just a peach of a woman. Probably a touch old for me realistically, but I'll allow Father Time to fast forward me a few years (or back to 1960 in this case) if he'll kindly present me with Don Draper's place in life. Believe you me, I would never stray from the nest if I had the lovely Betty awaiting me at the homestead; dinner on the stove, Scotch at the ready and the kiddies in bed. E gad.
3. Carrie Heffernen - Another married woman makes the list, but what can I say, she's a doll. Carrie gets the slight edge over Betty due to her cutting sense of humor to go along with her glowing physical attributes. The fact that I may be subject to a witty repartee at the hands of my wife would no doubt keep me on my toes, and having Arthur Spooner in my life would certainly not be unwelcome.
2. Lana Lang - Be still my heart. It took a some serious deliberation to keep Lana out of the top spot. Kind-hearted, intolerably beautiful, and if she's good enough for Superman, she's good enough for me. She made some interesting choices in her life to say the least (leaving Clark to move to France? For art??), her first 3 seasons in Smallville endeared her to me for life. It took quite the gal to top Lana for me, and this is much closer than many may have expected.
1. Kelly Kapowski - Was there any doubt? Kelly has had a stranglehold on this category since I first laid eyes on her circa 1994. My first love, I was empathetic to Zack's plight as he pursued this beauty through the halls of Bayside and beyond. When Kelly dumped Zack for that waiter at the Max, it felt like she was dumping me. When I saw him cheating on Kelly at the over 18 dance club The Attic, I was steamed, but I also felt for Kelly. I only wanted her to be happy. The epitome of television babe perfection, Kelly was smart, nicer than my jumpshot, and swell to be around. Not bad to look at neither. Just the ideal lass for a lad such as myself. I would marry her on the spot.
So there you have it, the babes of TV who have caught my fancy over the years and lured me to the small screen with their encapsulating splendor. And because I believe that television is the true mirror of our lives, I am convinced that a facsimile of one of the above beauties will one day move into the house next door to me, allowing situation comedy (and obviously romance) to ensue.
Next time on patthoughts: Pat struggles to decide which of the dozens of foxy females interested in him is most worthy of his affection, all the while maintaining his overall level of awesomeness. Meanwhile, Mike struggles to cope with his blog's inadequacy and Scott and Pete compete over the attentions of Chappy in a hotbead of jealousy, greed and desire. Be sure to tune in next week to see how it all unfolds. Until then, keep your head on a swivel and don't drop the soap.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Cool as I wanna be
As I was strolling down the hall of my apartment building today, on my way to toss some clothes in the dryer (that's right ladies, I'm domestic, just like my idol) I heard one of my neighbors bumping to the Michael Jackson classic "Thriller." My first thought was, "Really guy? King of Pop on a Sunday?" But then something strange happened. I couldn't help myself. That hypnotic beat and evil laugh took over my body and without warning I began to Thriller-dance down the hallway until some guy came around the corner and scared the bleep out of me. That's when I realized, no matter how weird the dude is now, old-school Michael Jackson is freakin' cool.
So that got me thinking, now that we have newly inaugurated, cool president, I figured it was high time I put the cool stamp on some things that you may or may not have realized were awesome.
Let's begin with style. First off, the word "style" is outstanding and can be used in a variety of excellent ways, but we'll get to sweet verbiage in due time. For now, here are some cool style choices for you all.
Plaid shirts. Straight up, plaid shirts are awesome. So versatile, so multifaceted. They can be worn working in the yard or for a night of socializing on the town. Two of my most favorite past times, by the way.
Crew socks. You may not know this, but crew socks are so cool. Not only do they keep your calves warm in the frigid winter months, but they look downright mean with a pair of gym shorts and some sneaks.
Scarves. Mike mentioned how his mom always wants him to grab a hat and gloves. Well I have witnessed this phenomenon on several occaisions, always in my classy scarf, and each time Mrs. Nim chimes in with a "Pat's got his scarf." Condescending Michael never fails to respond, "I'm not a scarf guy." Oh yeah, Mike? You who are scarf guys? Me and my buddy Tom. Verdict: Cool as can be.
There are plenty more pieces of stylish apparel that I deem to be cool, but we'll save those for another time. Now, let's move to the tunage. Now I know Nimerhousekey likes to make his little "recommendations." Keep in mind, this is not what I'm doing. In fact, I was going to list some of the jams I have been enjoying lately, but I wouldn't want Mike to see them and recommend them as "finds" of his own (Kings of Leon anyone...). Plus if I divulge my current favorite songs, it would ruin the surprise and when I use them on upcoming mix CDs (get excited ladies). Don't want my mixes to feature stale songs, so I'll simply unveil the coolest song you've never heard, unless you happened to frequent 207 Moulden circa 2007:
Done and done. Moving on, doesn't get cooler.
Before we continue with the cool stuff, lets get some uncool things out of the way.
1. Being a wuss.
2. Being a wuss who feels the need to link to pictures of someone else's legitimate fear (obviously not including the orange, that's just stupid).
3. Trying to be cool. You look like a fool to me.
OK, back to cool stuff.
Wolves. You may not agree with me that wolves are the coolest animals around, but you gotta admit, they are pretty fierce. Not only do they have awesome fangs, unparalleled hunting skills and a family oriented society, they freaking howl. OWooooooooooooooOOww. Whatever, I'm weird. At least I'm not this guy. Actually I wish I was that guy. That is so cool.
Friday Night Lights. Read the book. Dug it. Saw the movie. Dug it. The TV show? Tops them all. I was skeptical at first, I'll be honest, but I am ON BOARD. Rolled through the entire series last week and am caught up and ready for this Friday. It's so ballin. I know I'm coming off like exactly what I disparaged Mike for with his recommendations, but this show is really good. It doesn't even pull the normal teen TV show crap and make the females look like decent humans. Nope, shows the reality that girls are mean. Sorry.
For the final addition to this installment of "What Pat thinks is cool" I give you medieval erotic fiction. What is that you ask? One of my hobbies includes writing short stories and novels. I've been know to dabble in fictional erotica based in the middle ages. For those familiar with the genre you may recognize such titles as "The Advertures of Sir Pantsareoff," "Joust the Four of Us," and "Hot Days, Passionate Knights," penned under my pseudonym H.E. Camealot (That's what she said). They are available at your local adult book and video store.
Well, that's all for now. Try not to think about what's right or wrong (or wrong or right) but think about what's cool or not. Peace out.
So that got me thinking, now that we have newly inaugurated, cool president, I figured it was high time I put the cool stamp on some things that you may or may not have realized were awesome.
Let's begin with style. First off, the word "style" is outstanding and can be used in a variety of excellent ways, but we'll get to sweet verbiage in due time. For now, here are some cool style choices for you all.
Plaid shirts. Straight up, plaid shirts are awesome. So versatile, so multifaceted. They can be worn working in the yard or for a night of socializing on the town. Two of my most favorite past times, by the way.
Crew socks. You may not know this, but crew socks are so cool. Not only do they keep your calves warm in the frigid winter months, but they look downright mean with a pair of gym shorts and some sneaks.
Scarves. Mike mentioned how his mom always wants him to grab a hat and gloves. Well I have witnessed this phenomenon on several occaisions, always in my classy scarf, and each time Mrs. Nim chimes in with a "Pat's got his scarf." Condescending Michael never fails to respond, "I'm not a scarf guy." Oh yeah, Mike? You who are scarf guys? Me and my buddy Tom. Verdict: Cool as can be.
There are plenty more pieces of stylish apparel that I deem to be cool, but we'll save those for another time. Now, let's move to the tunage. Now I know Nimerhousekey likes to make his little "recommendations." Keep in mind, this is not what I'm doing. In fact, I was going to list some of the jams I have been enjoying lately, but I wouldn't want Mike to see them and recommend them as "finds" of his own (Kings of Leon anyone...). Plus if I divulge my current favorite songs, it would ruin the surprise and when I use them on upcoming mix CDs (get excited ladies). Don't want my mixes to feature stale songs, so I'll simply unveil the coolest song you've never heard, unless you happened to frequent 207 Moulden circa 2007:
Done and done. Moving on, doesn't get cooler.
Before we continue with the cool stuff, lets get some uncool things out of the way.
1. Being a wuss.
2. Being a wuss who feels the need to link to pictures of someone else's legitimate fear (obviously not including the orange, that's just stupid).
3. Trying to be cool. You look like a fool to me.
OK, back to cool stuff.
Wolves. You may not agree with me that wolves are the coolest animals around, but you gotta admit, they are pretty fierce. Not only do they have awesome fangs, unparalleled hunting skills and a family oriented society, they freaking howl. OWooooooooooooooOOww. Whatever, I'm weird. At least I'm not this guy. Actually I wish I was that guy. That is so cool.
Friday Night Lights. Read the book. Dug it. Saw the movie. Dug it. The TV show? Tops them all. I was skeptical at first, I'll be honest, but I am ON BOARD. Rolled through the entire series last week and am caught up and ready for this Friday. It's so ballin. I know I'm coming off like exactly what I disparaged Mike for with his recommendations, but this show is really good. It doesn't even pull the normal teen TV show crap and make the females look like decent humans. Nope, shows the reality that girls are mean. Sorry.
For the final addition to this installment of "What Pat thinks is cool" I give you medieval erotic fiction. What is that you ask? One of my hobbies includes writing short stories and novels. I've been know to dabble in fictional erotica based in the middle ages. For those familiar with the genre you may recognize such titles as "The Advertures of Sir Pantsareoff," "Joust the Four of Us," and "Hot Days, Passionate Knights," penned under my pseudonym H.E. Camealot (That's what she said). They are available at your local adult book and video store.
Well, that's all for now. Try not to think about what's right or wrong (or wrong or right) but think about what's cool or not. Peace out.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Where's Your Head At?
From Scott's mouth to your computer screen...
Ok. The gracious Patty Veales has granted me a select guest appearances on his blog. This is mainly due to the fact that I am too lazy to do a blog myself and that I am wicked busy at work during the week until Fridays when I’m either sleeping off Thirsty Thursdays comma tossing in the office after Thirsty Thursdays, or actually soberly bored in the office staring at my co-worker on a Friday (Pete, I know I’ve never seen his most famous movie, but Handel does look like him).
Now this guest blog could have been a multitude of things. I had first indicated to Veale Cutlet that it would be like a “top moments of the week" type of thing. Then I also wanted to post a few specific stories from my past that always makes people laugh. Then, last night as I was watching the Celts destroy the Magic and Big Baby Davis deliver the game of his life (16 pts... D- Howard... 11pts, fouled out), I realized what I could do for this first blog. It’s gonna be modeled after Peter Griffin’s excellent reporting on the Channel 9 News. So for today, here is my “What the EFFF?” column...
What the EFFF Pat?! I cant EFFIN swear on this blog? You must be effin shizznating me. I’m so effin pissed that this shiz piece of crap column of mine has gone to waste.
What the efff is up with the entire world being obsessed with “The Matrix?” Keanu Reeves blows. For Christ’s sake he is the worst actor on the planet and can not even ever take down a broad in his movies. Ridiculous. Ridiculous. Name one good movie, besides all your coveted "Matrices" that he’s been in? Really? Really? What the efff? The day the earth stood still? Sam, Butes Tera’s girlfriend, even said that movie sucked. And she’s the type of person who’d be able to see the good in things even if the Earth Stood Still. The only two movies I could honestly say I liked that he was in were “The Replacements” and... sorry... only one. Speed... movie was made by Sandra Bullock, who ever since my childhood claim to fame moment, I have loved. If you don’t know this story... I swam underneath Sandra Bullock while she was on a float in a pool while I was in Mississippi. True Story. How do you like them apples? And just so you know, if there ever was a ranking of best trilogies of all time, this is order: 1) Star Wars 2) Indiana Jones 3) Mighty Ducks. No Matrix. No Lord of the Rings. Sorry Godfather. Done and Done.
What the efff? I feel like effin Will Smith in this blog. Cant effin swear. Effin Big Willie Style.
What the efff Nim? I totally forgot you had that crush on KM (Kellie, if you want her full name I’ll provide it at a later date.) To be honest, she had her moments, but anything tainted by a roided out crazy person really puts a sour taste in my mouth. She was definitely not as cool as the other side of the pillow.
Finally...
What the efff Kellie? Three Things...
First... Spell your name correctly. K-E-L-L-Y. Get off your high horse. Stop thinking your so special and all. You can never live up to the true and only Kelly.
Second... How the hell are you so good at bowling? I mean, obviously you’re a natural athlete and ill dancer... we get it. (Editor's Note: Kellie is a terrible dancer, Scott was using sarcasm here. Thought I should clear that up. Kellie cannot dance. Ok, back to Scott to bring it home.) But bowling??? I think that whole “starting the gymnastics team” bit with Jacquelyn was all a hoax now. I think you secretly had crushes on certain bowling team members and that you joined the Bowling Club and hit the alley during “gymnastics practice.” Seriously... I do believe this, and that you promised these fellow bowlers that you’d get them invited to a T-12 party in exchange for their silence on your attendance. Shame. Shame on you for promising such inexplicable things to those poor boys. You know well and good that you were attracted to Neubauher’s boogers and didn’t have to entice the fellow Kingspinners with the T-12 hussies.
Third... Why’d you let the cat out of the bag? Now Veale Marsala is gonna wreck me!
Ok. The gracious Patty Veales has granted me a select guest appearances on his blog. This is mainly due to the fact that I am too lazy to do a blog myself and that I am wicked busy at work during the week until Fridays when I’m either sleeping off Thirsty Thursdays comma tossing in the office after Thirsty Thursdays, or actually soberly bored in the office staring at my co-worker on a Friday (Pete, I know I’ve never seen his most famous movie, but Handel does look like him).
Now this guest blog could have been a multitude of things. I had first indicated to Veale Cutlet that it would be like a “top moments of the week" type of thing. Then I also wanted to post a few specific stories from my past that always makes people laugh. Then, last night as I was watching the Celts destroy the Magic and Big Baby Davis deliver the game of his life (16 pts... D- Howard... 11pts, fouled out), I realized what I could do for this first blog. It’s gonna be modeled after Peter Griffin’s excellent reporting on the Channel 9 News. So for today, here is my “What the EFFF?” column...
What the EFFF Pat?! I cant EFFIN swear on this blog? You must be effin shizznating me. I’m so effin pissed that this shiz piece of crap column of mine has gone to waste.
What the efff is up with the entire world being obsessed with “The Matrix?” Keanu Reeves blows. For Christ’s sake he is the worst actor on the planet and can not even ever take down a broad in his movies. Ridiculous. Ridiculous. Name one good movie, besides all your coveted "Matrices" that he’s been in? Really? Really? What the efff? The day the earth stood still? Sam, Butes Tera’s girlfriend, even said that movie sucked. And she’s the type of person who’d be able to see the good in things even if the Earth Stood Still. The only two movies I could honestly say I liked that he was in were “The Replacements” and... sorry... only one. Speed... movie was made by Sandra Bullock, who ever since my childhood claim to fame moment, I have loved. If you don’t know this story... I swam underneath Sandra Bullock while she was on a float in a pool while I was in Mississippi. True Story. How do you like them apples? And just so you know, if there ever was a ranking of best trilogies of all time, this is order: 1) Star Wars 2) Indiana Jones 3) Mighty Ducks. No Matrix. No Lord of the Rings. Sorry Godfather. Done and Done.
What the efff? I feel like effin Will Smith in this blog. Cant effin swear. Effin Big Willie Style.
What the efff Nim? I totally forgot you had that crush on KM (Kellie, if you want her full name I’ll provide it at a later date.) To be honest, she had her moments, but anything tainted by a roided out crazy person really puts a sour taste in my mouth. She was definitely not as cool as the other side of the pillow.
Finally...
What the efff Kellie? Three Things...
First... Spell your name correctly. K-E-L-L-Y. Get off your high horse. Stop thinking your so special and all. You can never live up to the true and only Kelly.
Second... How the hell are you so good at bowling? I mean, obviously you’re a natural athlete and ill dancer... we get it. (Editor's Note: Kellie is a terrible dancer, Scott was using sarcasm here. Thought I should clear that up. Kellie cannot dance. Ok, back to Scott to bring it home.) But bowling??? I think that whole “starting the gymnastics team” bit with Jacquelyn was all a hoax now. I think you secretly had crushes on certain bowling team members and that you joined the Bowling Club and hit the alley during “gymnastics practice.” Seriously... I do believe this, and that you promised these fellow bowlers that you’d get them invited to a T-12 party in exchange for their silence on your attendance. Shame. Shame on you for promising such inexplicable things to those poor boys. You know well and good that you were attracted to Neubauher’s boogers and didn’t have to entice the fellow Kingspinners with the T-12 hussies.
Third... Why’d you let the cat out of the bag? Now Veale Marsala is gonna wreck me!
Thursday, January 22, 2009
JERKS!
Hi and hello blogsters. It's your old pal, Pat. Pat Veale. What's goin down? Hope all is well where ever you are. Everything is just peachy here in the Wolf's Den out in Amherst, M-A. It's been a furious first week of blogging for me, and I must say I've enjoyed it quite a bit. Look forward to reading more of the great fan mail I have been receiving, especially from all you beautiful babies. Keep it coming (Double entendreeeeeeeee).
Oh no, wait a minute. What's that on the horizon? Looks like there's a storm a brewin'...And it spells bad news for all you jerks and creeps out there.
That's right, it's time for the first of what will become a weekly feature here at www.patthoughts.gov.www/patthoughts, The Jerk List. Yes, I did steal this from my bizoy Dave Dameshek over at 710 ESPN in Los Angeles, but seeing as he probably doesn't read this blog, I'm sure he won't mind if I mop up some of the business he left behind this week.
Now Dave usually takes care of all the jerks and creeps in the world of sports, but he specializes in taking care of the world on a national scale. That is far too heavy an endeavor for yours truely. Maybe in a few years, when DD hires me as a cohost I can take my rightful seat along side him and man the Han Solo Edition Blaster to eliminate those who deserve to be dusted.
For me though, I will be laying the hammer (still utilizing the Han Solo Edition blaster...let's be honest, he's a bad, intergalactic mother) on the jerks and creeps in my own life. I will not stand for jerky behavior or out and out lameness amongst my peers and those in my life who WISH they were my peers.
Before I kick things off, I feel I must give this precurser. Most people, aside from the perpetual creeps, don't enjoy being told that they are jerks. But if you're unhappy about finding yourself on this list, just remember one thing: I didn't do this to you, you did this to you.
That's enough jibber jabber...LET IT BEGIIIIIIIINNNNNN!!!!!
First up, it's a recent visitor I hosted here in Western Mass. Now, given my track record (JV captain, what) you would think I would be throwing Maddalo into the line of fire right here. Not so. Not this week anyway. No, no, I am referring to his loving boo Miss Christine (deal with it) McSweeney. This little lady recently confessed that the Louisville Cardinals were her second favorite college basketball team. Jigga what? Not only is Louisville a direct Big East rival to our alma mater the Villanova Wildcats, but do you know why Chrissy likes Louisville? She thought it was cool (COOL!!) that the Louisville coach Tricky Rick Pitino used to coach the Celtics. By coach, I think she means ruin and send into a decade long tailspin before The Big Ticket, Ray Ray, PP, and the gang could join forces under the power of Ubuntu to complete Operation: Green 17. Furthermore, I've often said that Pitino ruined not one, but two of my favorite sports teams. Immediately before walking through the door in Boston, he knocked out my beloved 1996 UMass Minutemen in the Final Four. What gives McSweeney? I'll tell you what gives....You're a JERK!
Next, we have a young man who may or may not have done anything in particular to earn himself a spot on this list of demonic rebels. I'm talking about Chris Dipietro. A seemingly innocent young chap who spends his days earnestly working a 9 to 5er, unlike 50 percent of the people I run around with. But you know what Dipietro. You too busy working to check out this witty piece of prose? Get off your high horse, climb down from that ivory tower and get to readin some blogs. Michael and I do some serious work to entertain the masses and a little recognition from our "friends" would be just super. Until then....JERK!
Now it's time for some Get Out of Jerk Free Cards. Much like Get Out of Jail cards in Monopoly, these little numbers will give you a free pass for any future jerky behavior. If you pull a creep move anytime from this point forward, just play one of these and you and me is square, see.
This week, I'll be presenting a Get Out of Jerk Free Card to Peter Butera, roommate and possible hetero-lifemate of my boy and blog favorite Scott Cormier. Pete has earned his stripes as my #1 fan due to his frequent comment posting (all of you take note, that's how it's done) as well as his steel trap memory for UMass basketball of yore. While he cannot match my brilliance in that category, he is the only one who appreciates my pathetic knowledge and for that I salute him. Peter, feel free to be jerk (preferably in the direction of Nimerowski or a vixen with bad acting skills) because you've got a free pass on me.
Now back to the jerks. This one pains me to dish out. I have throw myself on the Jerk List this week. With the creation of this blog and the growth of such a jaw-droppingly fierce mustache, I have simply become too awesome. It's making everyone else look bad. I mean it's one thing for me to be really, really, ridiculously good looking. And even my charming personality and side-splitting sense of humor can be overcome. But now things are just getting out of hand. Mike's self esteem must be rock bottom right now. It's not something I can help, it's just how it is. But nevertheless, I must do this....Veale..JERK!
That now brings us to, the CREEP OF THE WEEK!
Picture this: Saturday morning. I'm sleeping peacefully in my bed, resting from a long week of doing ill research. Approximately 9:00 am, I hear a grumbling coming from my nightstand. That grumbling turns to the soothing sound of the opening chords of the smash hit from Incubus "Wish You Were Here." But as the drums crash in with their mind-blowing awesomeness, I am jolted awake realizing that this is the sound of my phone ringing. Befuddled at who could be phoning me at such an un-Godly hour, I check the Caller ID. What eyes read, blurry with sleep but still dreamy enough to make your girlfriend weak in the knees, is "Massachusetts 978-xxx-xxxx."
"What the H is this?!?" I exclaim, thinking that the person calling me is some sort of state employee. Had I been fully functioning I may have assumed it was a representative from the University of Massachusetts asking me some sort of questions about my standing as a student. But seeing as I was 89% asleep, I assumed it was the police calling. Don't ask me why, I had done nothing wrong, that's just what I thought. So I clear my throat, and pick up the phone.
"HI PAT. IT'S KELLIE RYAN'S FRIEND HANNAH," a friendly, chipper, yet extremely loud female (they can't get enough) voice says into my now tone-deaf ear.
Come onnnnnnnnn Hannah. You are generally an excellent conveyer of fun and happiness and I enjoy your company a great deal, but at nine effing o'clock on a Saturday. The phone then proceeded to be passed to two other ladies who wanted to hear my soothing voice over the cellular waves, before I was abruptly hung up on and left to my thoughts of how great it would have been to sleep in. I know, two other babes were involved here Hannah, but I blame you as yours was the first voice I heard upon waking from my slumber. I'm sure the other two will receive theirs in due time, but for now Hannah.....YOU'RE THE CREEP OF THE WEEK!
Thus ends the jerk list. Until next time.....DON'T be a jerk.
That's all I got for today, but I think ridding the world of some jerks and creeps should satisfy all my fans for at least the next few hours. I'll be back over the weekend with some more glorious thoughts, but until then...Good talk. See ya out there.
Oh no, wait a minute. What's that on the horizon? Looks like there's a storm a brewin'...And it spells bad news for all you jerks and creeps out there.
That's right, it's time for the first of what will become a weekly feature here at www.patthoughts.gov.www/patthoughts, The Jerk List. Yes, I did steal this from my bizoy Dave Dameshek over at 710 ESPN in Los Angeles, but seeing as he probably doesn't read this blog, I'm sure he won't mind if I mop up some of the business he left behind this week.
Now Dave usually takes care of all the jerks and creeps in the world of sports, but he specializes in taking care of the world on a national scale. That is far too heavy an endeavor for yours truely. Maybe in a few years, when DD hires me as a cohost I can take my rightful seat along side him and man the Han Solo Edition Blaster to eliminate those who deserve to be dusted.
For me though, I will be laying the hammer (still utilizing the Han Solo Edition blaster...let's be honest, he's a bad, intergalactic mother) on the jerks and creeps in my own life. I will not stand for jerky behavior or out and out lameness amongst my peers and those in my life who WISH they were my peers.
Before I kick things off, I feel I must give this precurser. Most people, aside from the perpetual creeps, don't enjoy being told that they are jerks. But if you're unhappy about finding yourself on this list, just remember one thing: I didn't do this to you, you did this to you.
That's enough jibber jabber...LET IT BEGIIIIIIIINNNNNN!!!!!
First up, it's a recent visitor I hosted here in Western Mass. Now, given my track record (JV captain, what) you would think I would be throwing Maddalo into the line of fire right here. Not so. Not this week anyway. No, no, I am referring to his loving boo Miss Christine (deal with it) McSweeney. This little lady recently confessed that the Louisville Cardinals were her second favorite college basketball team. Jigga what? Not only is Louisville a direct Big East rival to our alma mater the Villanova Wildcats, but do you know why Chrissy likes Louisville? She thought it was cool (COOL!!) that the Louisville coach Tricky Rick Pitino used to coach the Celtics. By coach, I think she means ruin and send into a decade long tailspin before The Big Ticket, Ray Ray, PP, and the gang could join forces under the power of Ubuntu to complete Operation: Green 17. Furthermore, I've often said that Pitino ruined not one, but two of my favorite sports teams. Immediately before walking through the door in Boston, he knocked out my beloved 1996 UMass Minutemen in the Final Four. What gives McSweeney? I'll tell you what gives....You're a JERK!
Next, we have a young man who may or may not have done anything in particular to earn himself a spot on this list of demonic rebels. I'm talking about Chris Dipietro. A seemingly innocent young chap who spends his days earnestly working a 9 to 5er, unlike 50 percent of the people I run around with. But you know what Dipietro. You too busy working to check out this witty piece of prose? Get off your high horse, climb down from that ivory tower and get to readin some blogs. Michael and I do some serious work to entertain the masses and a little recognition from our "friends" would be just super. Until then....JERK!
Now it's time for some Get Out of Jerk Free Cards. Much like Get Out of Jail cards in Monopoly, these little numbers will give you a free pass for any future jerky behavior. If you pull a creep move anytime from this point forward, just play one of these and you and me is square, see.
This week, I'll be presenting a Get Out of Jerk Free Card to Peter Butera, roommate and possible hetero-lifemate of my boy and blog favorite Scott Cormier. Pete has earned his stripes as my #1 fan due to his frequent comment posting (all of you take note, that's how it's done) as well as his steel trap memory for UMass basketball of yore. While he cannot match my brilliance in that category, he is the only one who appreciates my pathetic knowledge and for that I salute him. Peter, feel free to be jerk (preferably in the direction of Nimerowski or a vixen with bad acting skills) because you've got a free pass on me.
Now back to the jerks. This one pains me to dish out. I have throw myself on the Jerk List this week. With the creation of this blog and the growth of such a jaw-droppingly fierce mustache, I have simply become too awesome. It's making everyone else look bad. I mean it's one thing for me to be really, really, ridiculously good looking. And even my charming personality and side-splitting sense of humor can be overcome. But now things are just getting out of hand. Mike's self esteem must be rock bottom right now. It's not something I can help, it's just how it is. But nevertheless, I must do this....Veale..JERK!
That now brings us to, the CREEP OF THE WEEK!
Picture this: Saturday morning. I'm sleeping peacefully in my bed, resting from a long week of doing ill research. Approximately 9:00 am, I hear a grumbling coming from my nightstand. That grumbling turns to the soothing sound of the opening chords of the smash hit from Incubus "Wish You Were Here." But as the drums crash in with their mind-blowing awesomeness, I am jolted awake realizing that this is the sound of my phone ringing. Befuddled at who could be phoning me at such an un-Godly hour, I check the Caller ID. What eyes read, blurry with sleep but still dreamy enough to make your girlfriend weak in the knees, is "Massachusetts 978-xxx-xxxx."
"What the H is this?!?" I exclaim, thinking that the person calling me is some sort of state employee. Had I been fully functioning I may have assumed it was a representative from the University of Massachusetts asking me some sort of questions about my standing as a student. But seeing as I was 89% asleep, I assumed it was the police calling. Don't ask me why, I had done nothing wrong, that's just what I thought. So I clear my throat, and pick up the phone.
"HI PAT. IT'S KELLIE RYAN'S FRIEND HANNAH," a friendly, chipper, yet extremely loud female (they can't get enough) voice says into my now tone-deaf ear.
Come onnnnnnnnn Hannah. You are generally an excellent conveyer of fun and happiness and I enjoy your company a great deal, but at nine effing o'clock on a Saturday. The phone then proceeded to be passed to two other ladies who wanted to hear my soothing voice over the cellular waves, before I was abruptly hung up on and left to my thoughts of how great it would have been to sleep in. I know, two other babes were involved here Hannah, but I blame you as yours was the first voice I heard upon waking from my slumber. I'm sure the other two will receive theirs in due time, but for now Hannah.....YOU'RE THE CREEP OF THE WEEK!
Thus ends the jerk list. Until next time.....DON'T be a jerk.
That's all I got for today, but I think ridding the world of some jerks and creeps should satisfy all my fans for at least the next few hours. I'll be back over the weekend with some more glorious thoughts, but until then...Good talk. See ya out there.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Moustachio Bashio
Word.
I'm sure by now you have read Michael's post regarding one, $c0tty C0rm$ and a certain photograph of him that may or may not have been taken against his will. If you are not presently familiar with what I am referring to, or just want a refresher, I suggest you do some research here. While Mike claims to be expressing a tribute to Scott and his astonishing mustachioed visage, it seems a touch condescending to me. This type of disparaging of the good Cormier name will not fly with yours truely. For this reason I must swoop to the defense Scott, if for no other reason than to make Mike look bad.
It goes without saying that the picture in question is, in a hyphenated word, mind-blowing. Not only does it feature Cormier's grinning mug, but also...that lip toupee that he's sporting...glorious. However, unlike Michael, I do not wish to question Cormier's choice of appearance. On the contrary, I wish to laud it. The mustache is currently a vastly underused facial hair style. For one reason or another it has fallen out of favor amongst the youth of the world in recent years and is no longer "cool" or "hip" or "groovy" or whatever the kids are saying now. Instead, the 'stache has garnered a reputation of being creepy or grown only as means for a joke. Girls don't date guys with mustaches, and frankly, I don't understand why. For generations, the mustache was a staple of male awesomeness. Now, it's a dying breed. But you know what? I don't give a damn what they say or what they think. The mustache is a bad (meaning good) look and I have examples to prove it...
You like gold medals? Mark Spitz had a killer stache and it took him to an unprecedented seven wins in the 1972 Olympics. That can never be topped right. If you've been alive for the last 6 months you know that's obviously not true. But it took a mustache, in addition to being a freak, for Mike Phelps to get it done.
Not an Olympics fan? How about MVP awards. And I don't mean Most Valuable Player. No, no. I'm talking about Most Valuable Pushbroom, as in the one seen on the upper lip of these legends. Ever heard of Larry Bird? Dennis Eckersley? Keith Hernandez? He won eleven straight gold gloves at first base. Not that you'd know the first thing about first base.
Sports examples not for you? How about rock and roll? Ever heard of famous mustache bearers: Frank Zappa, Freddy Mercury, or Villanova's finest Jim Croce (now THAT'S a mustache)? Or perhaps plumbing is more your thing. Maybe you're more a fan of the villainous type? Captain Hook had a pretty sweet pencil thin curly-Q number. As did Yogi Bear's nemesis Dick Dasterdly.
Still looking for a hero? How about the ultimate mustache. That's right, I'm talking about Mr. Tom Selleck.
A hollywood superstar and bona fide television icon. He's Magnum P.I. for goodness sakes. I mean the guy bedded down Monica.
You still think a moustache can't sell?
Boom.
That's right ladies. That picture was taken 20 minutes ago...you know how to reach me.
So as you can see, Scotty C was ahead of his time with that mustache of his. If he were smart he'd grow it back. Obviously, all the cool kids are doing it now. The mouthbrow is making a comeback and there's nothing to do but get on board.
Finally, as I'm sure you've noticed by now, I have added a poll to the blog. It is located to my right, your right as you're reading this, and attempts to pin down the ultimate attribute of your humble author. Or not so humble, whatever. I'd add my ability to grow a fierce mustache as an option to the poll, but I'm afraid we'd end up with a runaway. So, in the interest of fairness, let's just keep the voting status quo and figure out my second best attribute. Until we meet again...goodnight sweet...oh wait, that's taken. I guess I'll just send this in.
I'm sure by now you have read Michael's post regarding one, $c0tty C0rm$ and a certain photograph of him that may or may not have been taken against his will. If you are not presently familiar with what I am referring to, or just want a refresher, I suggest you do some research here. While Mike claims to be expressing a tribute to Scott and his astonishing mustachioed visage, it seems a touch condescending to me. This type of disparaging of the good Cormier name will not fly with yours truely. For this reason I must swoop to the defense Scott, if for no other reason than to make Mike look bad.
It goes without saying that the picture in question is, in a hyphenated word, mind-blowing. Not only does it feature Cormier's grinning mug, but also...that lip toupee that he's sporting...glorious. However, unlike Michael, I do not wish to question Cormier's choice of appearance. On the contrary, I wish to laud it. The mustache is currently a vastly underused facial hair style. For one reason or another it has fallen out of favor amongst the youth of the world in recent years and is no longer "cool" or "hip" or "groovy" or whatever the kids are saying now. Instead, the 'stache has garnered a reputation of being creepy or grown only as means for a joke. Girls don't date guys with mustaches, and frankly, I don't understand why. For generations, the mustache was a staple of male awesomeness. Now, it's a dying breed. But you know what? I don't give a damn what they say or what they think. The mustache is a bad (meaning good) look and I have examples to prove it...
You like gold medals? Mark Spitz had a killer stache and it took him to an unprecedented seven wins in the 1972 Olympics. That can never be topped right. If you've been alive for the last 6 months you know that's obviously not true. But it took a mustache, in addition to being a freak, for Mike Phelps to get it done.
Not an Olympics fan? How about MVP awards. And I don't mean Most Valuable Player. No, no. I'm talking about Most Valuable Pushbroom, as in the one seen on the upper lip of these legends. Ever heard of Larry Bird? Dennis Eckersley? Keith Hernandez? He won eleven straight gold gloves at first base. Not that you'd know the first thing about first base.
Sports examples not for you? How about rock and roll? Ever heard of famous mustache bearers: Frank Zappa, Freddy Mercury, or Villanova's finest Jim Croce (now THAT'S a mustache)? Or perhaps plumbing is more your thing. Maybe you're more a fan of the villainous type? Captain Hook had a pretty sweet pencil thin curly-Q number. As did Yogi Bear's nemesis Dick Dasterdly.
Still looking for a hero? How about the ultimate mustache. That's right, I'm talking about Mr. Tom Selleck.
A hollywood superstar and bona fide television icon. He's Magnum P.I. for goodness sakes. I mean the guy bedded down Monica.
You still think a moustache can't sell?
Boom.
That's right ladies. That picture was taken 20 minutes ago...you know how to reach me.
So as you can see, Scotty C was ahead of his time with that mustache of his. If he were smart he'd grow it back. Obviously, all the cool kids are doing it now. The mouthbrow is making a comeback and there's nothing to do but get on board.
Finally, as I'm sure you've noticed by now, I have added a poll to the blog. It is located to my right, your right as you're reading this, and attempts to pin down the ultimate attribute of your humble author. Or not so humble, whatever. I'd add my ability to grow a fierce mustache as an option to the poll, but I'm afraid we'd end up with a runaway. So, in the interest of fairness, let's just keep the voting status quo and figure out my second best attribute. Until we meet again...goodnight sweet...oh wait, that's taken. I guess I'll just send this in.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
A Rivalry Renewed
As many of you, my faithful readers, know, The Mikerowave's blog "dropped" (his word, not mine) on Thursday. What many of you also know, is that Michael and I have a friendly rivalry that stands to be rekindled with the generation of dueling blogs. Our current feud spans several genres of competition, from athletics to jokester shenanigans to worldly knowledge. While Michael may have gotten the upperhand in some place...track, being short, living in Methuen...I have dominated the young squire in most arenas.
Take, for instance, the epic one-on-one basketball matchup between myself and Mr. Nimerowski. He thought he had it locked up...but I had the house key. That's right, more rhyming. What can I say, it's a gift. While the Mikerowave (because he heats up so quick...get it) took a two games to none lead, yours truly (at this time dubbed "The Artful Dodger" by peers due to my uncanny ability to pick people's pockets) battled back. But down three games to two, my back was against the wall. I was forced to break out the big guns. Summoning the power of the jersey (#1 fan Pete...recognize), game 6 was mine, going away. The all-decisive game 7 loomed. Ahh, the most exciting event in sports. Winner take all, loser go home. Me. Mike. My driveway. Let's do this. It was a back and forth battle throughout. Not my best afternoon shooting the ball (meaning I only shot 65% from the field rather than my usual 80-90%), but I persevered. I was forced to rely upon my lockdown, shut 'em up, run home to momma hustle defense. True to my moniker, I stripped Nimmy of the ball in the waning moments as he tried to tie the game. My ball...game point...drive left...pull up. Ice. No reason to be ashamed Michael. My silky smooth J and dreamy low post moves create a nearly unstoppable inside-outside combination. Maddalo agrees, that's why he now refuses to play me. I'm a force.
I've also put a hurt on Life cereal prank style. Names will be omitted to protect the innocent, but mark my words, this happened. For reals. One evening during our high school years, I recruited a female accomplice to telephone my rival and good buddy. Said female claimed to be a younger vixen who was interested in Michael...romantically. Let's just say he was less than opposed to the idea. Truth be told, Michael and I were both quite taken with this track-and-field beauty, but I would never have been foolish enough to believe a call from her in the evening time without previous contact was a genuine one. They spoke via telephone for several minutes during which time Justin (host of the operation) and myself (mastermind) laughed uncontrollably in the background. Now I assumed Michael was aware of the deception and would not think on it after its conclusion. Whenst I arrived home, a full two hours later, and spoke to him over the online communication system known as "AIM," I learned otherwise. I'll spare the boy the embarrassment of the direct quote, but let it be known, he fell for it. Hard.
Now, "Ski" will claim that he has since returned the prank favor by duping me, in a much more hurtful manner mind you, this past summer. I'll let him relay the story if he so pleases, but be aware of the following facts, as they are indisputable. The prank played at my expense was:
a) not funny
2) not his idea
d) only successful due to some brilliant acting from Cormier, featuring an uncalled for slap to my face that may or may not be the low point of my life. (Speaking of which Corms, expect retribution for said assault in the near future. My palm...your cheek. It's time they were introduced.)
'Nough said.
Clearly, I maintain a decided advantage (6'2" > 5'8") in the rivalry and this most recent clash will further cement my supremacy. And if my "cockiness" (although I prefer "justifiable confidence") turns you off, know this: you can do anything if you believe in yourself, which I do. Also, it's called sarcasm, watch The Daily Show once in a while.
Now I know this has run a bit longer than you may have expected, but that happens to me sometimes. I'm tad, shall I say, verbose. I'm loquacious... effusive... rambling... ruggedly handsome... garrulous... charming... long-winded...wordy. This much I admit. I have no choice to do as such after being told several times by counterparts with whom I have previously joined forces with to pen academic papers. That's right, I'm looking at you Maddalo...and you Glenn! I mean, I would expect such things from Mr. McSweeney, but Caitlin...ouch.
Anyways, hope you've enjoyed the yarns I've spun. And if I've written too much, it's only because I never wanna say goodbye. Bye.
Take, for instance, the epic one-on-one basketball matchup between myself and Mr. Nimerowski. He thought he had it locked up...but I had the house key. That's right, more rhyming. What can I say, it's a gift. While the Mikerowave (because he heats up so quick...get it) took a two games to none lead, yours truly (at this time dubbed "The Artful Dodger" by peers due to my uncanny ability to pick people's pockets) battled back. But down three games to two, my back was against the wall. I was forced to break out the big guns. Summoning the power of the jersey (#1 fan Pete...recognize), game 6 was mine, going away. The all-decisive game 7 loomed. Ahh, the most exciting event in sports. Winner take all, loser go home. Me. Mike. My driveway. Let's do this. It was a back and forth battle throughout. Not my best afternoon shooting the ball (meaning I only shot 65% from the field rather than my usual 80-90%), but I persevered. I was forced to rely upon my lockdown, shut 'em up, run home to momma hustle defense. True to my moniker, I stripped Nimmy of the ball in the waning moments as he tried to tie the game. My ball...game point...drive left...pull up. Ice. No reason to be ashamed Michael. My silky smooth J and dreamy low post moves create a nearly unstoppable inside-outside combination. Maddalo agrees, that's why he now refuses to play me. I'm a force.
I've also put a hurt on Life cereal prank style. Names will be omitted to protect the innocent, but mark my words, this happened. For reals. One evening during our high school years, I recruited a female accomplice to telephone my rival and good buddy. Said female claimed to be a younger vixen who was interested in Michael...romantically. Let's just say he was less than opposed to the idea. Truth be told, Michael and I were both quite taken with this track-and-field beauty, but I would never have been foolish enough to believe a call from her in the evening time without previous contact was a genuine one. They spoke via telephone for several minutes during which time Justin (host of the operation) and myself (mastermind) laughed uncontrollably in the background. Now I assumed Michael was aware of the deception and would not think on it after its conclusion. Whenst I arrived home, a full two hours later, and spoke to him over the online communication system known as "AIM," I learned otherwise. I'll spare the boy the embarrassment of the direct quote, but let it be known, he fell for it. Hard.
Now, "Ski" will claim that he has since returned the prank favor by duping me, in a much more hurtful manner mind you, this past summer. I'll let him relay the story if he so pleases, but be aware of the following facts, as they are indisputable. The prank played at my expense was:
a) not funny
2) not his idea
d) only successful due to some brilliant acting from Cormier, featuring an uncalled for slap to my face that may or may not be the low point of my life. (Speaking of which Corms, expect retribution for said assault in the near future. My palm...your cheek. It's time they were introduced.)
'Nough said.
Clearly, I maintain a decided advantage (6'2" > 5'8") in the rivalry and this most recent clash will further cement my supremacy. And if my "cockiness" (although I prefer "justifiable confidence") turns you off, know this: you can do anything if you believe in yourself, which I do. Also, it's called sarcasm, watch The Daily Show once in a while.
Now I know this has run a bit longer than you may have expected, but that happens to me sometimes. I'm tad, shall I say, verbose. I'm loquacious... effusive... rambling... ruggedly handsome... garrulous... charming... long-winded...wordy. This much I admit. I have no choice to do as such after being told several times by counterparts with whom I have previously joined forces with to pen academic papers. That's right, I'm looking at you Maddalo...and you Glenn! I mean, I would expect such things from Mr. McSweeney, but Caitlin...ouch.
Anyways, hope you've enjoyed the yarns I've spun. And if I've written too much, it's only because I never wanna say goodbye. Bye.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
helloooooooo la la la
Welcome to www.patthoughts.gov.www/patthoughts
It is here that you will have the extremely extreme privilege of learning the most superficial and shallow thoughts of yours truly. Ah yes, allow myself to introduce myself. I am Patrick Veale: aka Pity Pat, P Diddy, The Master of Disaster, The King of Sting, The Count of Monte Fisto. Holler atcha boy.
Pretty much anyone reading this right now has already met me and is aware of what I am all about: my hopes, my dreams, my skills. (This is subject to change. Soon I will become an internet phenom and this blog will be read by super-models, Celtics dancers and stars such as Michael Keaton alike.) For now though, I'll spare you my autobibliography. However, I must issue this caution: Do not underestimate me. I will not hesitate to unleash hate against my detractors onto the interweb. Take that as a sincere threat. Or don't. It's your call.
So, bypassing all the gory, yet charmingly fascinating details, let's cut to the chase. This blog is purely for my own entertainment. And therefore, I will entertain myself by writing about my own personal thoughts I have. This includes, but is not limited to: lists of my favorite things, anecdotes from my life occaisionally featuring the glorious misdeeds of Mr. Scott Cormier, and possibly, POSSIBLY photos of my ruggedly handsome mug. But only if you ladies are lucky. For now, you'll have to make do with the current featured shots. You're welcome.
I am open to topic requests and you can reach me you.wish@getalyf.com.
I'm not sure how often I'm going to write. I guess just whenever the mood strikes me. Please be kind enough to allow me some wiggle room before you go clammering for more glorious words to flow from my fingertips. Like I always say, patience is a virtue. Virtue is a grace. Grace is a guy who used to play first base. See what I did there? Called a rhyme, try it sometime. Oh, would you look at that. Seems I'm unaware of my own poetic ability.
Alright, I'm tired so I'm gonna make like a tree and get outta here. Until next time, watch yourselves.
It is here that you will have the extremely extreme privilege of learning the most superficial and shallow thoughts of yours truly. Ah yes, allow myself to introduce myself. I am Patrick Veale: aka Pity Pat, P Diddy, The Master of Disaster, The King of Sting, The Count of Monte Fisto. Holler atcha boy.
Pretty much anyone reading this right now has already met me and is aware of what I am all about: my hopes, my dreams, my skills. (This is subject to change. Soon I will become an internet phenom and this blog will be read by super-models, Celtics dancers and stars such as Michael Keaton alike.) For now though, I'll spare you my autobibliography. However, I must issue this caution: Do not underestimate me. I will not hesitate to unleash hate against my detractors onto the interweb. Take that as a sincere threat. Or don't. It's your call.
So, bypassing all the gory, yet charmingly fascinating details, let's cut to the chase. This blog is purely for my own entertainment. And therefore, I will entertain myself by writing about my own personal thoughts I have. This includes, but is not limited to: lists of my favorite things, anecdotes from my life occaisionally featuring the glorious misdeeds of Mr. Scott Cormier, and possibly, POSSIBLY photos of my ruggedly handsome mug. But only if you ladies are lucky. For now, you'll have to make do with the current featured shots. You're welcome.
I am open to topic requests and you can reach me you.wish@getalyf.com.
I'm not sure how often I'm going to write. I guess just whenever the mood strikes me. Please be kind enough to allow me some wiggle room before you go clammering for more glorious words to flow from my fingertips. Like I always say, patience is a virtue. Virtue is a grace. Grace is a guy who used to play first base. See what I did there? Called a rhyme, try it sometime. Oh, would you look at that. Seems I'm unaware of my own poetic ability.
Alright, I'm tired so I'm gonna make like a tree and get outta here. Until next time, watch yourselves.
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