Well, it's that time of the year again. Time to post to my blog. At least according to Laura, who is forcing me to do this or she will withhold a large amount of money conditionally pledged to a jog-a-thon I was in (see video here). Personally, I think it is too soon for another post, but it's out of my hands. Ironically, the last time I posted was when the Cleveland Cavaliers lost their home opener back in October. An inauspicious beginning, that. However, they turned their foundering ship around, improved their performance, made some big trades and got into the playoffs against all expectations. And then, finally, they reverted back to their normal state and lost to the Celtics in the second round of the playoffs, after dragging us through an excruciating seven game series.
Oh, well, things are better here in Cleveland than they were for many years, at least sportswise, so I will be content for now with my teams achieving upper-level mediocrity. The next Cleveland team to put us through the wringer on the way to losing the big game will be the Indians. I've learned, though, to endure the disappointment. After all, I am an Ohio State fan, and they have lost three championship games in two years. That is good practice for fans of Cleveland's pro teams. Wow, this blogging thing is fun. I think I'll do another one.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Saturday, November 3, 2007
Biennial Update
Greetings, o hard-to-alienate readers. It is I again. I apologize for the infrequency of my updates, but I have been very close to busy since my last entry. The prospect of possibly being occupied with important, pressing or essential matters kept me from writing anything for the last few weeks. Not that I was actually busy, mind you, but there were some times that I thought I might be, so I kept myself in readiness by resting my fingers.
So then, what has happened since October 16th's Trick or Treat posting? A few things. Just a few things. One event of note was the rise and fall of the Cleveland Indians in the postseason. The mighty Tribe made mincemeat of the Yankees, em
ploying everything in their arsenal: timely hitting, unhittable pitching, wily management, clutch defense, gnats. We threw everything we had at the Gotham Millionaires and vanquished them in five or six games ( I forget which it was; details are not my specialty). All of Northeast Ohio was abuzz after that. Fans were ecstatic, eagerly anticipating the series with the Boston Red Sox, a team with the same win/loss record as the Indians. People were buying Indians' merchandise by the Hummerload, painting their faces and bedecking their homes and offices with banners and Chief Wahoo's smiling face. In fact, fans here were looking beyond the Boston series to the World Series against the Amazing Rockies. Not that we expected the Red Sox to roll over and die, but we were on a hot streak. Then ou
r streak became red hot when we went up three games to one against the Sox. We were as good as World Series bound. Nothing could stop us now. We only needed to win one more game and we would finally be in a position to win it all. The Cleveland Indians were going to go to the World Series and beat the Rockies and reign supreme over all!
Then something else happened. I forget.
Let's see, onto other recent events. How about Halloween. Americans love Halloween. In fact, recent studies have found that four out of five adult Americans get at least forty percent of their yearly caloric intake from Halloween candy. I made that up. Anyway, Halloween was great this year. Here in Ohio the weather was splendid. The little trick-or-treaters were in hog heaven, navigating through a veritable ocean of candy. Kids around here can eat so much candy after Halloween that they often can become large enough to be seen from outer space. (I actually met a woman once who was so big around that she had her own moon.) I myself got into the Halloween Spirit this year by not only polishing off two bags of Halloween candy, but also by carving a Jack-of-the- Lantern. It took me about four evenings and the near-amputation of one finger, but it was fun (I'm talking about my eating the candy).
Unfortunately I was unable to participate in the holiday festivities as I instead went to a Cleveland Cavaliers "basketball game" that night. The Cavs, Eastern Conference Champs, were unspeakably awful that night. I have actually seen a team of headless lemurs play better ball than they did that night. And it was their much-anticipated opening night, too; the big night they hoisted their championship banner into the rafters and celebrated the feats of the previous season. Blech! And to make matters worse, the Cavaliers were wearing orange uniforms in honor of Halloween. They should have been dressed in turkey suits. Not that I regret going that night. Where else could I get a cup of domestic beer for $6.75? Plus, I felt quite invigorated from the exercise of walking up and down the stairway to my seat in the
stratosphere. But I do have one question: was there some kind of glitch in the design software that resulted in the seats at the Quicken Loans Arena being too small for anybody wider than 11 inches? It wasn't too bad for me. I was able to enjoy the game without moving laterally or eventually being able to feel my arms, but I am not a large person. I am neither tall nor am I gifted with girth. How, I ask, does anybody who shops at a full-figured or big and tall store fit into one of those three-quarter size arena seats? I don't believe that the seats were meant to be used as anything but scenery, like the upper floors at Main Street in Disneyland, which are made small to create the illusion that the buildings are larger than they actually are. Are the seats any larger as you get closer to the lower levels and the TV cameras? Can an adult male sit comfortably in the third row? I don't know, I've never been closer to the action than row 13 upper, upper tier, where one has to use a ski lift to get to one's seat.
But anyway, I'm ready for more Cleveland sports misery, as tomorrow I'm going to the Browns' game.
So then, what has happened since October 16th's Trick or Treat posting? A few things. Just a few things. One event of note was the rise and fall of the Cleveland Indians in the postseason. The mighty Tribe made mincemeat of the Yankees, em
ploying everything in their arsenal: timely hitting, unhittable pitching, wily management, clutch defense, gnats. We threw everything we had at the Gotham Millionaires and vanquished them in five or six games ( I forget which it was; details are not my specialty). All of Northeast Ohio was abuzz after that. Fans were ecstatic, eagerly anticipating the series with the Boston Red Sox, a team with the same win/loss record as the Indians. People were buying Indians' merchandise by the Hummerload, painting their faces and bedecking their homes and offices with banners and Chief Wahoo's smiling face. In fact, fans here were looking beyond the Boston series to the World Series against the Amazing Rockies. Not that we expected the Red Sox to roll over and die, but we were on a hot streak. Then ou
r streak became red hot when we went up three games to one against the Sox. We were as good as World Series bound. Nothing could stop us now. We only needed to win one more game and we would finally be in a position to win it all. The Cleveland Indians were going to go to the World Series and beat the Rockies and reign supreme over all!Then something else happened. I forget.
Let's see, onto other recent events. How about Halloween. Americans love Halloween. In fact, recent studies have found that four out of five adult Americans get at least forty percent of their yearly caloric intake from Halloween candy. I made that up. Anyway, Halloween was great this year. Here in Ohio the weather was splendid. The little trick-or-treaters were in hog heaven, navigating through a veritable ocean of candy. Kids around here can eat so much candy after Halloween that they often can become large enough to be seen from outer space. (I actually met a woman once who was so big around that she had her own moon.) I myself got into the Halloween Spirit this year by not only polishing off two bags of Halloween candy, but also by carving a Jack-of-the- Lantern. It took me about four evenings and the near-amputation of one finger, but it was fun (I'm talking about my eating the candy).
Unfortunately I was unable to participate in the holiday festivities as I instead went to a Cleveland Cavaliers "basketball game" that night. The Cavs, Eastern Conference Champs, were unspeakably awful that night. I have actually seen a team of headless lemurs play better ball than they did that night. And it was their much-anticipated opening night, too; the big night they hoisted their championship banner into the rafters and celebrated the feats of the previous season. Blech! And to make matters worse, the Cavaliers were wearing orange uniforms in honor of Halloween. They should have been dressed in turkey suits. Not that I regret going that night. Where else could I get a cup of domestic beer for $6.75? Plus, I felt quite invigorated from the exercise of walking up and down the stairway to my seat in the
stratosphere. But I do have one question: was there some kind of glitch in the design software that resulted in the seats at the Quicken Loans Arena being too small for anybody wider than 11 inches? It wasn't too bad for me. I was able to enjoy the game without moving laterally or eventually being able to feel my arms, but I am not a large person. I am neither tall nor am I gifted with girth. How, I ask, does anybody who shops at a full-figured or big and tall store fit into one of those three-quarter size arena seats? I don't believe that the seats were meant to be used as anything but scenery, like the upper floors at Main Street in Disneyland, which are made small to create the illusion that the buildings are larger than they actually are. Are the seats any larger as you get closer to the lower levels and the TV cameras? Can an adult male sit comfortably in the third row? I don't know, I've never been closer to the action than row 13 upper, upper tier, where one has to use a ski lift to get to one's seat.But anyway, I'm ready for more Cleveland sports misery, as tomorrow I'm going to the Browns' game.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Trick or Treat
The trick-or-treaters this year are going to love the Kit Kats I have for them. This I know because I have sampled from the large bag. I think they will especially love the Halloween Kit Kats with the orange coating. Some may prefer the white chocolate Kit Kats. It's hard to know what the kiddies will go for. I think that further sampling on my part may settle the question once and for all. I hope the bag holds out long enough for me to form a proper opinion on the matter. I never did decide which of the two types of Nerds was best, the strawberry or the grape. I ran out before I could reach a conclusion. Too bad, because I bet the little ones would have loved them.
Ode to the Shirtless
Hail to thee, o shirtless man
My neighbor to the north.
You deign not to don cloth above your waist;
Your skin is shirt enough for you.
Hail to thee, o half-clad neighbor.
It is not yours to listen repeatedly to Meatloaf encumbered by fabric.
Yours is not the torso upon which to hang shirt.
To mow the lawn with bare back is bliss.
Hail to thee, o sun-tanned man-about-the-house.
Leisure time is time not to waste on shirtfulness,
But is for wind and sun to caress your tattoos,
Rundgren tape blaring from your boom-box.
Hail to thee, o leather-skinned fellow.
Friends gather, shirtless friends, to laugh, to drink,
To work, to play, to make merry, to smoke Winstons.
Would that all men knew the joy of doffing the shirt.
Hail to thee, o shirtless salt of the earth.
You alone know the sad inadequacy of the polo and the button-down.
Neither sweatshirt nor golf shirt, turtleneck nor mock turtleneck, tank top
nor tee, bowling shirt nor fleece shall clothe you.
You care not for tabbed collars or french cuffs, for short sleeves
or breast pockets, for shirt tails or "I'm with stupid."
Touch you not cotton, wool, polyester, rayon, silk, poplin, linen.
Go not where ignorant shopkeepers require proper raiment.
But stand tall, proud and shirtless as the mighty oak.
My neighbor to the north.
You deign not to don cloth above your waist;
Your skin is shirt enough for you.
Hail to thee, o half-clad neighbor.
It is not yours to listen repeatedly to Meatloaf encumbered by fabric.
Yours is not the torso upon which to hang shirt.
To mow the lawn with bare back is bliss.
Hail to thee, o sun-tanned man-about-the-house.
Leisure time is time not to waste on shirtfulness,
But is for wind and sun to caress your tattoos,
Rundgren tape blaring from your boom-box.
Hail to thee, o leather-skinned fellow.
Friends gather, shirtless friends, to laugh, to drink,
To work, to play, to make merry, to smoke Winstons.
Would that all men knew the joy of doffing the shirt.
Hail to thee, o shirtless salt of the earth.
You alone know the sad inadequacy of the polo and the button-down.
Neither sweatshirt nor golf shirt, turtleneck nor mock turtleneck, tank top
nor tee, bowling shirt nor fleece shall clothe you.
You care not for tabbed collars or french cuffs, for short sleeves
or breast pockets, for shirt tails or "I'm with stupid."
Touch you not cotton, wool, polyester, rayon, silk, poplin, linen.
Go not where ignorant shopkeepers require proper raiment.
But stand tall, proud and shirtless as the mighty oak.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Where Has the Time Gone?
It seems like only yesterday that I posted the Transformers item. It turns out that that was over two months ago. I'm not sure what kept me away from this beloved blog for so long, but I think it is probably a result of my LAD, or Labor Aversion Disorder. I have been afflicted with LAD my entire life, but I didn't know it until my psychiatrist diagnosed it. Now I finally understand why I find work such a difficulty and avoid it so assiduously. My lawyer is currently looking into the possibility of suing the company I work for under the Americans with Disabilities Act. How dare they expect me to put in a full day's work in my condition.
But all that is my concern. I won't bore you with any further details. I will, however, bore you with other things, as my LAD is not bothering me so acutely today. In no particular order then, here are some thoughts that I have saved up in the last few months.
Paranormal Lights
Here in Lakewood there is a mystery so mysterious as to mysteriously out-mystery other more well-known mysteries. I am speaking of the Cove/Lake Lights, a phenomenon heretofore unexplained and even unexplored. Nobody has ever put forth a plausible explanation for this enigma, this puzzle, this oddity, anomaly, riddle, unfathomableness and other such thesaurus-based words. The mystery, for those outside of my head, is this: that there is an intersection in Lakewood, Ohio that has what seems to be a magical stoplight. This stoplight appears in all respects to be normal but for the fact that nobody has ever successfully driven past it without having to stop for the red light. No matter from what direction a car approaches this intersection, it will have to stop for a red light. Am I saying that it is constantly red and that nobody passes through this intersection? No. For, when one is stopped, he plainly can see the traffic on the cross street proceeding through a green light. And eventually, the red light will itself change into a green and the stopped car will be able to go. But the mystery is that nobody ever comes to the intersection and is able to drive through without having to stop. No matter how much or how little traffic there is on either Cove or Lake Avenues; no matter how fast or slow you approach the light; no matter what you are driving; no matter your station in life; no matter how virtuous or malignant your character; no matter how urgent or inconsequential your trip, you will be stopped by the Cove/Lake Light. I plan on forwarding this to the Hometown Tales podcast.
Flies Are Us
Last week a plague of flies was unleashed on my house. Houseflies were converging in droves in my kitchen and basement windows, which wasn't unendurable. But when the little sons of guns started landing on my TV screen, action needed to be taken. I would kill/vacuum up/shoo outside a half dozen of the little pests and no sooner breathe a sigh of relief than another group would suddenly appear to take their place. I am not sure what set off this entomological abberation. My initial reaction was to check my property for Hebrew slaves to release in case I was being punished for not letting the Chosen People go. But I couldn't find anybody. That was a relief, because I didn't relish the idea of weathering this plague and then having to face the plague of boils. I hate boils. My next hypothesis was that the flies were living in my house because something died somewhere, and they spontaneously generated in the corpse. I think, though, that if something died in my house, I would be aware of it. I know for sure that nobody got wacked in my basement since I've been here. And I don't recall seeing any dead dogs, mountain goats or carrier pigeons on the premises. I'm sure I would have noticed such. However, if the dead body were hidden from sight, I probably would not be able to find it because my sense of smell is not quite as acute as it once was. So there may have been a horrific stench of death somewhere in my house without my knowing about it. Well, anyway, the flies seem to have gotten tired of my house and are mostly gone. It's a good thing, too, because I was getting tired of brushing them off my sandwiches and stuff.
Medical Marvel
I was thinking the other day that I have no business being alive today. It's not that I've committed any capital crimes or engaged in any dangerous sports. No, I ought not be breathing because I really don't eat anything much that qualifies as food. My dietary habits are less than desirable. In fact, some might say that they are less than execrable. Now, I don't always eat poorly. I often eat very well and do so with impeccable table manners, too. But too often I am careless about what and even when I eat, and really ought to make some changes for the better. Here is an example of what some might call 'improper habits in eating:'
Tuesday breakfast -- cinnamon bun and coffee (the frosting, by the way, dripped all over my lap); lunch -- two chicken wings; dinner -- two packages of Raman noodles (artificial beef flavor).
Wednesday breakfast -- two cups of coffee and six cherry tomatoes; lunch -- two one-dollar Burger King Spicy Chick'n Crisp sandwiches (by the way, the sandwiches didn't look like the picture on the website); dinner -- we'll see, but I'm thinking along the lines of the ice cream food group.
As you can see by this data, I have rather unconventional eating habits, but I am willing to change next year.
There, Are you satisfied Laura and Monica?
But all that is my concern. I won't bore you with any further details. I will, however, bore you with other things, as my LAD is not bothering me so acutely today. In no particular order then, here are some thoughts that I have saved up in the last few months.
Paranormal Lights
Here in Lakewood there is a mystery so mysterious as to mysteriously out-mystery other more well-known mysteries. I am speaking of the Cove/Lake Lights, a phenomenon heretofore unexplained and even unexplored. Nobody has ever put forth a plausible explanation for this enigma, this puzzle, this oddity, anomaly, riddle, unfathomableness and other such thesaurus-based words. The mystery, for those outside of my head, is this: that there is an intersection in Lakewood, Ohio that has what seems to be a magical stoplight. This stoplight appears in all respects to be normal but for the fact that nobody has ever successfully driven past it without having to stop for the red light. No matter from what direction a car approaches this intersection, it will have to stop for a red light. Am I saying that it is constantly red and that nobody passes through this intersection? No. For, when one is stopped, he plainly can see the traffic on the cross street proceeding through a green light. And eventually, the red light will itself change into a green and the stopped car will be able to go. But the mystery is that nobody ever comes to the intersection and is able to drive through without having to stop. No matter how much or how little traffic there is on either Cove or Lake Avenues; no matter how fast or slow you approach the light; no matter what you are driving; no matter your station in life; no matter how virtuous or malignant your character; no matter how urgent or inconsequential your trip, you will be stopped by the Cove/Lake Light. I plan on forwarding this to the Hometown Tales podcast.
Flies Are Us
Last week a plague of flies was unleashed on my house. Houseflies were converging in droves in my kitchen and basement windows, which wasn't unendurable. But when the little sons of guns started landing on my TV screen, action needed to be taken. I would kill/vacuum up/shoo outside a half dozen of the little pests and no sooner breathe a sigh of relief than another group would suddenly appear to take their place. I am not sure what set off this entomological abberation. My initial reaction was to check my property for Hebrew slaves to release in case I was being punished for not letting the Chosen People go. But I couldn't find anybody. That was a relief, because I didn't relish the idea of weathering this plague and then having to face the plague of boils. I hate boils. My next hypothesis was that the flies were living in my house because something died somewhere, and they spontaneously generated in the corpse. I think, though, that if something died in my house, I would be aware of it. I know for sure that nobody got wacked in my basement since I've been here. And I don't recall seeing any dead dogs, mountain goats or carrier pigeons on the premises. I'm sure I would have noticed such. However, if the dead body were hidden from sight, I probably would not be able to find it because my sense of smell is not quite as acute as it once was. So there may have been a horrific stench of death somewhere in my house without my knowing about it. Well, anyway, the flies seem to have gotten tired of my house and are mostly gone. It's a good thing, too, because I was getting tired of brushing them off my sandwiches and stuff.
Medical Marvel
I was thinking the other day that I have no business being alive today. It's not that I've committed any capital crimes or engaged in any dangerous sports. No, I ought not be breathing because I really don't eat anything much that qualifies as food. My dietary habits are less than desirable. In fact, some might say that they are less than execrable. Now, I don't always eat poorly. I often eat very well and do so with impeccable table manners, too. But too often I am careless about what and even when I eat, and really ought to make some changes for the better. Here is an example of what some might call 'improper habits in eating:'
Tuesday breakfast -- cinnamon bun and coffee (the frosting, by the way, dripped all over my lap); lunch -- two chicken wings; dinner -- two packages of Raman noodles (artificial beef flavor).
Wednesday breakfast -- two cups of coffee and six cherry tomatoes; lunch -- two one-dollar Burger King Spicy Chick'n Crisp sandwiches (by the way, the sandwiches didn't look like the picture on the website); dinner -- we'll see, but I'm thinking along the lines of the ice cream food group.
As you can see by this data, I have rather unconventional eating habits, but I am willing to change next year.
There, Are you satisfied Laura and Monica?
Monday, June 25, 2007
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
The Long Awaited Post
It's been a long time since I posted anything here, and I'm sorry to my readers for making you both wait. But the fact is that I've been twice as busy as usual. Last week I had to do two loads of laundry and run the dishwasher (plus unload it). Also, I went out to eat a few days ago, and took a trip to the grocery store twice since last you heard from me. So, clearly, some things of lesser importance have to be put on the back burner when life starts throwing fastballs one after the other.
Now to the meat of this post. It just so happens that I have recently become interested in astrology. Each day millions of people across the world check their horoscopes before they start the day, little realizing just how much time and effort the astrologer must put into each day's entry. A great deal of preparation and research goes into the creation of a reliable horoscope. I know this myself, because recently I have learned astrology. I have done the work. I have generously deigned to share with you the fruit of my efforts in the form of the horoscope, which I intend to make a regular feature of the Fishbrick blog. Here then is my inaugural trip to the stars:
Antiquarius: Don't be afraid to humiliate somebody today. Steer clear of deadly poison. Travel is what you need, so why not get on a bus and go to Duluth. Somebody you love is going to spill a strawberry milkshake on your overpriced shoes.
Leon: Don't let your spindly arms make you feel inferior. Buy a weapon. Today is the day to ask for that raise, and for the boss to say no. There is a change in the offing. Hide.
Crapicorn: You are a lot smarter than you look. But then, you'd have to be. It's time to put down that pencil and pick up the pen. Ask that special someone to marry you. Try to keep your spouse from finding out. Too much work makes Jack a dull boy. Stay away from Jack.
Virgil: Don't let anyone tell you what to do, run screaming from the room with your hands over your ears. If your job is getting you down, today is the day to frown. Money is coming your way, perhaps in the form of an out-of-control armored car.
Sanitarius: Love is a many splendored thing. Except for you, in which case, love is a unisplendored thing. Take a chance today, gamble your life savings on Happy Horsemeat in the third race. Avoid travel today. In fact, do not leave the chair you are sitting in now.
Lebron: Today is your lucky day, if by lucky you mean apt to be accidentally poked in the eye by a stevedore. Keep focused on the task at hand until you get distracted. Treat yourself to a strawberry milkshake.
Canker: You tend to try too hard. Just give up already. Turn off the computer and go curl up into the fetal position in a darkened room. Check back here in a few weeks.
Arnies: Now is the time to take up a hobby that doesn't involve intelligence. Refrain from exposure to sharp objects. Don't attempt to hold a conversation with somebody smarter than yourself.
Taurtar: You can be your own worst enemy, but only if you try hard. You will come into a a lot of money very soon. Oops, sorry, I got my signals mixed. It isn't money, but monkeys. Stock up on monkey chow.
Pixies: Stay away from woodpeckers unless you are wearing a hat. It's time to assert yourself and make known that 'big idea' you've been keeping to yourself. We can all use the laugh. Also, move your house two feet to the left.
Scorpius: You are very creative, but you utterly lack talent or ability of any kind. If you must do something 'artistic' try humming while you clean the toilet. Expect a visit today from somebody dressed as a turtle.
Gemima: Nothing can stop you today, not because of your own strength, but because the world is indifferent to you. Something great is going to happen today at work. Be sure to applaud the lucky recipient.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Mutant Vegetation
I came home from a three day trip this weekend and couldn't find my house. I drove up and down the street looking, but could not spot it. Finally I got smart and decided to look for my neighbors' houses, which would at least narrow down the search area to a more manageable size. Well, I found the two houses that normally stand on either side of my home. But in between the two houses there was nothing but a field of extremely tall grass. So I put two and two together and walked into and through the grass until I smacked my nose into what felt distinctly like my house. Sure enough, it was my house. It turns out that the problem was that my lawn grew so fast this weekend that my poor little house became obscured. How interesting that seemingly normal vegetation can grow so quickly. I was only gone for three days. I realize that it rained while I was away, but as far as I know, it rained water, not Miracle-Gro. I think that if Jack of giant-killing fame wants to find a place to launch another beanstalk, he couldn't do any better than to plant his beans in my front yard. The stalks would probably hit the moon. I'm going to have a hell of a time mowing this mess. The only way I can think to make any headway is to turn the mower on and lower it down from my attic window, being careful not to nick any treetops. The problem is that once I finish cutting the lawn, it will be ready for mowing again. It's sort of like the painters on the Golden Gate Bridge. They just paint and paint and by the time they finish, they start again.
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