The Statue of Liberty
The Tip of Manhattan
The Manhattan Bridge
OK, that's enough of that. Stay tuned for more random commentaries and an update on past topics.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Like A Real Blog
We took a ferry from Jersey into NYC last night, and for once I'm going to use this page like a real blog. You know, when people actually chronicle what they are doing like it's an online journal. I'm even going to add some pictures.
The Statue of Liberty
The Tip of Manhattan
The Manhattan Bridge
OK, that's enough of that. Stay tuned for more random commentaries and an update on past topics.
The Statue of Liberty
The Tip of Manhattan
The Manhattan Bridge
OK, that's enough of that. Stay tuned for more random commentaries and an update on past topics.
Friday, April 8, 2005
Don't Cut My Hair
I have bad hair. It has been bad my whole life, and there isn't much I can do about it. My hair grows unevenly and sticks up wherever it wants unless I force it down with extra super hold products and a stern talking-to.
It logically follows that my hair is also hard to cut. It needs to be helped out by the barber or my bad hair is made worse. I have to have someone who knows what they are doing. But I am also cheap. All of these factors do not mix well together.
My mother used to cut my hair when I was younger and that was just fine with me. But my first try as a grown-up was Philip Pelusi in downtown Pittsburgh. I worked nearby and it was very convenient to go there on my lunch break. Unfortunately it was very expensive (see "I am cheap") and my company soon moved out of downtown.
My next try was the ever popular SuperCuts. The first time I visited I actually got a good haircut for half the price of the first place. That luck would not last, however, since their company policy is to not have appointments. You just get whatever stylist happens to be available. My second cut looked like I caught the business end of a weed-whacker with the top of my head. But subsequent visits brought somewhat better results, and the price was right for me.
Then someone burned the place to the ground. And that began the legacy of how my bad hair has had a bad effect on any place that has agreed to cut it.
Since the smoke and water damage had shut down the SuperCuts until it (and some of the adjoining businesses) could be completely gutted and rebuilt, I had to search for someplace new.
A few people referred me to Mimi's, a small independent salon with only a few employees. The location was pretty hard to get in and out of, but I got an ok haircut for a reasonable price. Can you guess what happened next? Upon hearing that she was being let go, one of the stylists went crazy. She broke things, spilled expensive products all over the salon and stabbed leather haircut chairs with metal haircut scissors. In the next few weeks Mimi's went out of business and the building went up for sale. It is still empty.
I had to move on yet again. This time I thought I try somewhere convenient. Lucca's was located in a new shopping area close to our house and was only a minute walk away from the new supermarket that we frequented. My first haircut was amazing. But that stylist went on maternity leave and I had to search for another.
Well, I've been through 3 since then and I could probably have done a better job myself with a Flowbee. But the first stylist is finally back from having the baby. It may be months before she has an opening for an appointment, but I have decided that I will wait however long it takes to have her cut my hair.
That is until I walked past the salon yesterday. It is gone. Only an empty building and an "Available" sign mark where my hair used to be cut.
I can't say that I'm surprised. My hair and I knew it was just a matter of time.
It logically follows that my hair is also hard to cut. It needs to be helped out by the barber or my bad hair is made worse. I have to have someone who knows what they are doing. But I am also cheap. All of these factors do not mix well together.
My mother used to cut my hair when I was younger and that was just fine with me. But my first try as a grown-up was Philip Pelusi in downtown Pittsburgh. I worked nearby and it was very convenient to go there on my lunch break. Unfortunately it was very expensive (see "I am cheap") and my company soon moved out of downtown.
My next try was the ever popular SuperCuts. The first time I visited I actually got a good haircut for half the price of the first place. That luck would not last, however, since their company policy is to not have appointments. You just get whatever stylist happens to be available. My second cut looked like I caught the business end of a weed-whacker with the top of my head. But subsequent visits brought somewhat better results, and the price was right for me.
Then someone burned the place to the ground. And that began the legacy of how my bad hair has had a bad effect on any place that has agreed to cut it.
Since the smoke and water damage had shut down the SuperCuts until it (and some of the adjoining businesses) could be completely gutted and rebuilt, I had to search for someplace new.
A few people referred me to Mimi's, a small independent salon with only a few employees. The location was pretty hard to get in and out of, but I got an ok haircut for a reasonable price. Can you guess what happened next? Upon hearing that she was being let go, one of the stylists went crazy. She broke things, spilled expensive products all over the salon and stabbed leather haircut chairs with metal haircut scissors. In the next few weeks Mimi's went out of business and the building went up for sale. It is still empty.
I had to move on yet again. This time I thought I try somewhere convenient. Lucca's was located in a new shopping area close to our house and was only a minute walk away from the new supermarket that we frequented. My first haircut was amazing. But that stylist went on maternity leave and I had to search for another.
Well, I've been through 3 since then and I could probably have done a better job myself with a Flowbee. But the first stylist is finally back from having the baby. It may be months before she has an opening for an appointment, but I have decided that I will wait however long it takes to have her cut my hair.
That is until I walked past the salon yesterday. It is gone. Only an empty building and an "Available" sign mark where my hair used to be cut.
I can't say that I'm surprised. My hair and I knew it was just a matter of time.
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Rabbit Stew
Since we just celebrated Easter, I think it is appropriate to tell a bunny tale. One that is unfolding as you read this. It is the story of Toby.
Toby is a rabbit. A little one with big floppy ears and light brown fur. He's very cute.
Unfortunately, Toby's future is in jeopardy.
Toby will be butchered and eaten on June 30, 2005, if his owner does not receive $50,000.
I'm not kidding. The guy already has over $20k towards saving Toby. The money can come from donations or merchandise purchases via his online store.
As you can imagine, everyone has an opinion on this one. Toby's owner has already dealt with many of the issues you are thinking about right now. A rabbits' rights group (seriously) has persuaded PayPal to shut down his account. Many people have threatened bodily harm. To the human. Others have called him a genius. You should know that the site and what it describes are legal. People around the world eat rabbits every day.
Whatever you think, you should check out the website. www.savetoby.com. There you can get the whole story of the rabbit along with a photo gallery.
Make sure you browse the Recipes page, too. You know, just in case the $50k goal is not met. What if he doesn't make enough money because he can't get donations through PayPal? Can we blame the rabbits' rights group for the Hassenpfeffer?
Toby is a rabbit. A little one with big floppy ears and light brown fur. He's very cute.
Unfortunately, Toby's future is in jeopardy.
Toby will be butchered and eaten on June 30, 2005, if his owner does not receive $50,000.
I'm not kidding. The guy already has over $20k towards saving Toby. The money can come from donations or merchandise purchases via his online store.
As you can imagine, everyone has an opinion on this one. Toby's owner has already dealt with many of the issues you are thinking about right now. A rabbits' rights group (seriously) has persuaded PayPal to shut down his account. Many people have threatened bodily harm. To the human. Others have called him a genius. You should know that the site and what it describes are legal. People around the world eat rabbits every day.
Whatever you think, you should check out the website. www.savetoby.com. There you can get the whole story of the rabbit along with a photo gallery.
Make sure you browse the Recipes page, too. You know, just in case the $50k goal is not met. What if he doesn't make enough money because he can't get donations through PayPal? Can we blame the rabbits' rights group for the Hassenpfeffer?
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
Non Habeas Corpus
I am supposed to be in court today. Well, at the courthouse anyway. On jury duty. So why am I watching The Price is Right and typing this blog instead?
I've been looking forward to serving the Court of Common Pleas of Allegheny County by Order of the Honorable Joseph M. James, President Judge, for some time now. I got my summons a month ago and have been planning how to get out of being chosen for a jury since then. It isn't the whole experience that I was looking to avoid - I had been called to jury duty before and I knew the deal. Being in the jury pool is one thing. I just didn't want to get picked to actually serve during a case. Would you want to decide the fate of people like the Lemkes?
I was going to enjoy the early ride into town, reliving my days of being a regular on the T. I was ready to turn off my cell phone for hours at a time and have lunch with my friend, Jason, who works nearby. The DaVinci Code has been staring at me from its perch beside the computer for quite some time now, and I was figuring on getting at least halfway through it. At the end of the day (or at 4:30 pm, whichever came first) I would proudly gather my $9.00 stipend. After paying for lunch and the trolley ride home, I'd arrive back at my car being down a couple bucks for the day, but who wouldn't pay that small sum to take place in the privilege of jury service?
Not that I would ever actually have to serve on a jury. My plan was always to enjoy the experience but not get picked to do anything. I didn't want to be involved in dispensing any justice, and I didn't want to have to spend more than one day doing the whole courthouse thing. No, I was going to do everything in my power to not be chosen to serve. I had even grown a beard to crank up the crazy factor. And I was practicing yelling "Guilty! Guilty!" and pointing at the accused if I was ever called up for voir dire (personal questioning). But all of this planning was in vain.
I called the jury hotline last night and was given the devastating news. Only jurors with last names starting with L - for Larry through Z - for Zach were needed. My last name is E - for Expendable.
Oh well. No T ride. No lunch with Jason. No Latin terms being thrown around by lawyer and judge types. And book reading has been held off indefinitely. I really was looking forward to getting out of serving on a jury. But the Court of Common Pleas of Allegheny County beat me to it.
I've been looking forward to serving the Court of Common Pleas of Allegheny County by Order of the Honorable Joseph M. James, President Judge, for some time now. I got my summons a month ago and have been planning how to get out of being chosen for a jury since then. It isn't the whole experience that I was looking to avoid - I had been called to jury duty before and I knew the deal. Being in the jury pool is one thing. I just didn't want to get picked to actually serve during a case. Would you want to decide the fate of people like the Lemkes?
I was going to enjoy the early ride into town, reliving my days of being a regular on the T. I was ready to turn off my cell phone for hours at a time and have lunch with my friend, Jason, who works nearby. The DaVinci Code has been staring at me from its perch beside the computer for quite some time now, and I was figuring on getting at least halfway through it. At the end of the day (or at 4:30 pm, whichever came first) I would proudly gather my $9.00 stipend. After paying for lunch and the trolley ride home, I'd arrive back at my car being down a couple bucks for the day, but who wouldn't pay that small sum to take place in the privilege of jury service?
Not that I would ever actually have to serve on a jury. My plan was always to enjoy the experience but not get picked to do anything. I didn't want to be involved in dispensing any justice, and I didn't want to have to spend more than one day doing the whole courthouse thing. No, I was going to do everything in my power to not be chosen to serve. I had even grown a beard to crank up the crazy factor. And I was practicing yelling "Guilty! Guilty!" and pointing at the accused if I was ever called up for voir dire (personal questioning). But all of this planning was in vain.
I called the jury hotline last night and was given the devastating news. Only jurors with last names starting with L - for Larry through Z - for Zach were needed. My last name is E - for Expendable.
Oh well. No T ride. No lunch with Jason. No Latin terms being thrown around by lawyer and judge types. And book reading has been held off indefinitely. I really was looking forward to getting out of serving on a jury. But the Court of Common Pleas of Allegheny County beat me to it.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
Bleeding Black & Gold
Nothing tests the father/son bond quite like a lawsuit.
The story goes something like this. Herb Lemke owns two personal seat licenses (PSLs) for seats inside Heinz Field. These licenses allow the owner to purchase Steelers season tickets for those particular seats. Herb's son, Dan, reportedly paid almost $2,000 to acquire the two PSLs from his dear old dad. You know, keep them in the family. Herb accepted the cash but did not give the licenses to his son. Instead, he is attempting to sell them to someone else for more money.
So Dan is taking his dad to court. He wants a judge to order his father to hand over the licenses, and he also wants reimbursed the money required to file the suit. That ought to make for some lively Easter conversation.
"Happy Easter. Sorry, Dan, but you don’t have the seat licenses to sit at the adult table.”
“That’s nice, dad. Maybe for about $2,000 I could secure two seats – one for me and one for my lawyer."
"Please pass the ham."
I'm not sure I would believe this story if it happened anywhere else. But this is Pittsburgh, where the fans bleed black & gold. Especially Steelers fans, whose collective sanity is questioned by the nation on a weekly basis during the cold months. Maybe some of the fans really are nutty, but I don't think it is because of the sports teams. I think it is genetic. I would imagine that the genes that make a father not honor a couple thousand dollar agreement with his kid are the same ones that make a son bring a lawsuit against his dad.
To be fair, the PSLs aren't for any shabby nosebleed seats. They are in section 142 of Heinz Field.
Remember, also, that the waiting list for Steelers tickets is somewhere around 10 years long. And that's for seats in a building across the river. Bring your own binoculars.
Still, you would think that these two could have had a conversation to work out some sort of agreement before lawyers were allowed to get involved. I guess that for the Lemkes, black & gold blood is not thicker than water.
"Did everyone on that side of the table get their subpoenas? C’mon, keep passing. The food is getting cold.”
The story goes something like this. Herb Lemke owns two personal seat licenses (PSLs) for seats inside Heinz Field. These licenses allow the owner to purchase Steelers season tickets for those particular seats. Herb's son, Dan, reportedly paid almost $2,000 to acquire the two PSLs from his dear old dad. You know, keep them in the family. Herb accepted the cash but did not give the licenses to his son. Instead, he is attempting to sell them to someone else for more money.
So Dan is taking his dad to court. He wants a judge to order his father to hand over the licenses, and he also wants reimbursed the money required to file the suit. That ought to make for some lively Easter conversation.
"Happy Easter. Sorry, Dan, but you don’t have the seat licenses to sit at the adult table.”
“That’s nice, dad. Maybe for about $2,000 I could secure two seats – one for me and one for my lawyer."
"Please pass the ham."
I'm not sure I would believe this story if it happened anywhere else. But this is Pittsburgh, where the fans bleed black & gold. Especially Steelers fans, whose collective sanity is questioned by the nation on a weekly basis during the cold months. Maybe some of the fans really are nutty, but I don't think it is because of the sports teams. I think it is genetic. I would imagine that the genes that make a father not honor a couple thousand dollar agreement with his kid are the same ones that make a son bring a lawsuit against his dad.
To be fair, the PSLs aren't for any shabby nosebleed seats. They are in section 142 of Heinz Field.
Remember, also, that the waiting list for Steelers tickets is somewhere around 10 years long. And that's for seats in a building across the river. Bring your own binoculars.
Still, you would think that these two could have had a conversation to work out some sort of agreement before lawyers were allowed to get involved. I guess that for the Lemkes, black & gold blood is not thicker than water.
"Did everyone on that side of the table get their subpoenas? C’mon, keep passing. The food is getting cold.”
Thursday, March 3, 2005
No Checks In The Mail
I've decided to cut back on my funding of the United States Postal Service. Some might point to my personal experience with my mail carrier (unpredictable delivery times, random pick up of outgoing mail, walking through the yard when I took the time to shovel snow from the walkway) as the cause. But that is only some of the reason.
I have been able to check my bank balances online since we remortgaged a couple years ago. One day while looking at my account I saw an "Online Bill Pay" button. I clicked on it and haven't looked back. As of January 1st, 2005, all of my monthly bills are paid online (notice that I have waited 2 months to post on this topic). They aren't paid automatically - I still have to key in the amounts and due dates - so it isn't like the bank is just debiting my account in a free money frenzy. But it is very easy and convenient.
I no longer have to go through each bill and write a check and send it out a week in advance. And I don't have to lick an envelope. I hate that taste. And let's all remember what happened to George Costanza's fiancee, Susan.
I'm also saving money. My cash stays in my account longer since the debits are exactly on the due date. So my interest is building up. You would be amazed how much you can make with that
.00012 percent accruing for an extra couple of days. OK, not much. But stamps cost 37 cents. Each. With an average of 10 bills per month, that is at least a $44.40 decline in my annual contribution to the USPS.
Add to that the fact that I am refusing to send out any more cards via snail mail. Hallmark has gotten big enough. E-cards are the way to go, and they are free to send. And they're animated. Much cooler.
Now, don't worry about the Post Office. I'm sure they will be kept busy delivering credit card applications, grocery store ads and the PennySaver. They just won't get to be in the middle of my bill payment process anymore.
So go ahead and start paying your bills online, too. The only thing you'll have to worry about is what to do with your extra time and money. Maybe the cash you save can go towards your high-speed internet bill.
I have been able to check my bank balances online since we remortgaged a couple years ago. One day while looking at my account I saw an "Online Bill Pay" button. I clicked on it and haven't looked back. As of January 1st, 2005, all of my monthly bills are paid online (notice that I have waited 2 months to post on this topic). They aren't paid automatically - I still have to key in the amounts and due dates - so it isn't like the bank is just debiting my account in a free money frenzy. But it is very easy and convenient.
I no longer have to go through each bill and write a check and send it out a week in advance. And I don't have to lick an envelope. I hate that taste. And let's all remember what happened to George Costanza's fiancee, Susan.
I'm also saving money. My cash stays in my account longer since the debits are exactly on the due date. So my interest is building up. You would be amazed how much you can make with that
.00012 percent accruing for an extra couple of days. OK, not much. But stamps cost 37 cents. Each. With an average of 10 bills per month, that is at least a $44.40 decline in my annual contribution to the USPS.
Add to that the fact that I am refusing to send out any more cards via snail mail. Hallmark has gotten big enough. E-cards are the way to go, and they are free to send. And they're animated. Much cooler.
Now, don't worry about the Post Office. I'm sure they will be kept busy delivering credit card applications, grocery store ads and the PennySaver. They just won't get to be in the middle of my bill payment process anymore.
So go ahead and start paying your bills online, too. The only thing you'll have to worry about is what to do with your extra time and money. Maybe the cash you save can go towards your high-speed internet bill.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
The Sound Of Silence
When I got to my car the other day to head home from work, I realized that my MP3 player was not attached to my bag in its usual spot. I searched around for it with no luck. Thinking that it couldn't have gotten far (being that it is an inanimate object and only takes one AA battery), I assumed that I left it at work somewhere and that I would just pick it up the following day. Little did I know that the drive home would be a journey back through time.
I pulled out onto Liberty Avenue and reached down to turn on the radio. They play music on there, too, right? Well, sometimes. I flipped through the 7 presets and found that 6 of the stations were broadcasting commercials or people talking. The other one was playing a song that I have never heard by some guys that sounded very angry about something. I wasn't angry. I was going HOME from work, remember.
I kept flipping, hoping that the commercials would cease and a song would come on. Or that some DJ would run out of breath and put on some music. You see, I like to sing along in the car. And drum on the steering wheel. And play a little air guitar when the mood hits me. But I cannot justify getting that excited about the American Equity Mortgage :30 second spot. The future may belong to me, but that is just not sing-along material.
Then it finally happened. Styx. Right there in my speakers. I heard the piano intro to "Come Sail Away" and got excited. This is a good one for the car. Nice ramp up. Guitar solo. I was ready. And then the singing started. "I'mmmm sailiiiiiiing awaaaayyyyy...."
Into the Liberty Tunnel.
You may be able to get cell phone reception in there, but no radio waves come through after about the first 50 feet. As Dennis DeYoung's voice gave way to some pretty loud static (I had turned up the volume in anticipation of the song), I decided that the radio thing wasn't meant to be.
Some quick thinking and some slow traffic gave me another idea. I had a tape in the center console from long, long ago. You know, an audio cassette tape. From the analog music era. I fished it out and popped it into the slot in the dash. It was a Smashing Pumpkins dub that my friend Jason had recorded for me during my college days. Thank goodness it was still around.
I remembered most of the lyrics, but when I wanted to get to the next song I ran into a problem. We're talking 2 technologies ago - going backwards from mp3 to CD to tape. There is no NEXT button on a tape player. Just fast forward and reverse. So I held in FF for a bit. Then I pressed PLAY. Still the same song. FF again. PLAY. Not enough. FF. PLAY. Closer. FF. PLAY. Oops. Too far. This was getting stupid.
I decided that maybe I should listen to the whole songs from now on when using this archaic technology. Which may be for awhile. When I returned to work yesterday the MP3 player was still missing. I don't know if I can handle too much more of this.
I tried listening to the sound of silence on the way home last night. Not Simon & Garfunkel. Actual silence. It didn't work, though. I think I would rather listen to that same cassette that is in my car over and over again. Which is good, because I can't find any others anywhere.
I need to get a new MP3 player. But if it takes as long for me to pick one out as it did to settle on my new TV, I may get to know those Smashing Pumpkins songs really well. How many times can you play a cassette until it wears out and breaks? I'll let you know.
I pulled out onto Liberty Avenue and reached down to turn on the radio. They play music on there, too, right? Well, sometimes. I flipped through the 7 presets and found that 6 of the stations were broadcasting commercials or people talking. The other one was playing a song that I have never heard by some guys that sounded very angry about something. I wasn't angry. I was going HOME from work, remember.
I kept flipping, hoping that the commercials would cease and a song would come on. Or that some DJ would run out of breath and put on some music. You see, I like to sing along in the car. And drum on the steering wheel. And play a little air guitar when the mood hits me. But I cannot justify getting that excited about the American Equity Mortgage :30 second spot. The future may belong to me, but that is just not sing-along material.
Then it finally happened. Styx. Right there in my speakers. I heard the piano intro to "Come Sail Away" and got excited. This is a good one for the car. Nice ramp up. Guitar solo. I was ready. And then the singing started. "I'mmmm sailiiiiiiing awaaaayyyyy...."
Into the Liberty Tunnel.
You may be able to get cell phone reception in there, but no radio waves come through after about the first 50 feet. As Dennis DeYoung's voice gave way to some pretty loud static (I had turned up the volume in anticipation of the song), I decided that the radio thing wasn't meant to be.
Some quick thinking and some slow traffic gave me another idea. I had a tape in the center console from long, long ago. You know, an audio cassette tape. From the analog music era. I fished it out and popped it into the slot in the dash. It was a Smashing Pumpkins dub that my friend Jason had recorded for me during my college days. Thank goodness it was still around.
I remembered most of the lyrics, but when I wanted to get to the next song I ran into a problem. We're talking 2 technologies ago - going backwards from mp3 to CD to tape. There is no NEXT button on a tape player. Just fast forward and reverse. So I held in FF for a bit. Then I pressed PLAY. Still the same song. FF again. PLAY. Not enough. FF. PLAY. Closer. FF. PLAY. Oops. Too far. This was getting stupid.
I decided that maybe I should listen to the whole songs from now on when using this archaic technology. Which may be for awhile. When I returned to work yesterday the MP3 player was still missing. I don't know if I can handle too much more of this.
I tried listening to the sound of silence on the way home last night. Not Simon & Garfunkel. Actual silence. It didn't work, though. I think I would rather listen to that same cassette that is in my car over and over again. Which is good, because I can't find any others anywhere.
I need to get a new MP3 player. But if it takes as long for me to pick one out as it did to settle on my new TV, I may get to know those Smashing Pumpkins songs really well. How many times can you play a cassette until it wears out and breaks? I'll let you know.
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Iced Over
The NHL season has officially been cancelled. I just got through watching the commissioner of the league at a press conference. It went something like this - blah, blah, salary cap, blah, blah, linkage, blah, blah, tragedy. This is the first time a North American sport will lose an entire season because of a labor dispute. It's kind of sad.
Not that anyone is paying attention. Those who were interested saw this coming for a few months now. The fans have already been finding other things to do, and they are figuring out that instead of taking a family of 4 to a Penguins game they can purchase a Cadillac Escalade.
The labor dispute that caused the loss of the season boils down to how much millionaire owners are willing to pay millionaire players. Basically. But I'm not worried about those two groups. I'm concerned for the things on the periphery of the sport.
Will NHL analysts like Barry Melrose and Darren Pang be able to pay their mortgages when they have nothing to talk about? Will the 2004-2005 spot on the Stanley Cup be kept blank? Does Mike Lange have a bunch of bad local commercials lined up for him to voice over? And how is the crazy IC Light vendor from Mellon Arena taking this news? There are only so many tractor pulls and stars-on-ice shows that come to town.
But most importantly, will the mullet fall out of popularity? I'm not sure this hairstyle can withstand the absence of an entire season of its heroes in the spotlight. Will we start to see fans with Lemieux jerseys on their backs and cornrows on their heads?
Boy, I hope not.
Not that anyone is paying attention. Those who were interested saw this coming for a few months now. The fans have already been finding other things to do, and they are figuring out that instead of taking a family of 4 to a Penguins game they can purchase a Cadillac Escalade.
The labor dispute that caused the loss of the season boils down to how much millionaire owners are willing to pay millionaire players. Basically. But I'm not worried about those two groups. I'm concerned for the things on the periphery of the sport.
Will NHL analysts like Barry Melrose and Darren Pang be able to pay their mortgages when they have nothing to talk about? Will the 2004-2005 spot on the Stanley Cup be kept blank? Does Mike Lange have a bunch of bad local commercials lined up for him to voice over? And how is the crazy IC Light vendor from Mellon Arena taking this news? There are only so many tractor pulls and stars-on-ice shows that come to town.
But most importantly, will the mullet fall out of popularity? I'm not sure this hairstyle can withstand the absence of an entire season of its heroes in the spotlight. Will we start to see fans with Lemieux jerseys on their backs and cornrows on their heads?
Boy, I hope not.
Thursday, February 10, 2005
An Unwelcome Visitor
There are some reactions you can't plan. You just don't know what you will do when presented with a situation that you haven't seen before. For example, what would you do if a mouse ran across your family room while you were watching tv?
My wife jumped up and stood on the couch. I thought that only happened in the movies or in a comic book. But that was her reaction. Right up on the cushions. And she didn't put her feet on the floor until the next morning.
I chased our rodent invader downstairs into the basement, where we proceeded to play a game of flashlight hide-and-seek until he darted behind the pile of boxes and disappeared. We have never had any animals inside the house before. Water, yes. Gallons. But animals? They usually stay outside and dig up the lawn. I searched for signs that our new visitor had moved in permanently, but I found nothing. No wood shavings, no droppings, no little yellow shoes or little white gloves. I was convinced that the mouse had just wandered in, and none of his animated friends had followed. Even so, my wife could think of nothing worse than having this thing in our home. We're not running a rodent motel.
The next morning, my wife went shopping. She came back with an arsenal of anti-mouse weapons the likes of which had never been seen. We could have eradicated the entire population of mice on the eastern seaboard with the collection of snap traps, sticky pads and poisons that she purchased.
I didn't think we needed to use all of armaments at the same time, so I selected a few of them and got out the Jif. My favorite was an update to the classic wooden snap mouse trap. It was plastic, and it kind of looked like an oversized bag clip. You know, the thing that keeps your Cheetos fresh. We (I) baited the traps and set them in places where we had seen the little guy running.
I woke up the next morning and it was done. No more fuzzy visitor. Well, he was still there, but his interest in peanut butter had gotten him inescapably stuck in the bag clip. My wife didn't want to know any details. Just that the mouse had checked out.
She is still in the process of cleaning everything we own with anti-bacterial Lysol. "It is gross to think about a live rodent walking around in our house," she said. While she couldn't help jumping onto the couch when she first saw it, my wife has since been able to decide on her reaction to the whole situation.
We're moving. We have to. There was a mouse in our house.
My wife jumped up and stood on the couch. I thought that only happened in the movies or in a comic book. But that was her reaction. Right up on the cushions. And she didn't put her feet on the floor until the next morning.
I chased our rodent invader downstairs into the basement, where we proceeded to play a game of flashlight hide-and-seek until he darted behind the pile of boxes and disappeared. We have never had any animals inside the house before. Water, yes. Gallons. But animals? They usually stay outside and dig up the lawn. I searched for signs that our new visitor had moved in permanently, but I found nothing. No wood shavings, no droppings, no little yellow shoes or little white gloves. I was convinced that the mouse had just wandered in, and none of his animated friends had followed. Even so, my wife could think of nothing worse than having this thing in our home. We're not running a rodent motel.
The next morning, my wife went shopping. She came back with an arsenal of anti-mouse weapons the likes of which had never been seen. We could have eradicated the entire population of mice on the eastern seaboard with the collection of snap traps, sticky pads and poisons that she purchased.
I didn't think we needed to use all of armaments at the same time, so I selected a few of them and got out the Jif. My favorite was an update to the classic wooden snap mouse trap. It was plastic, and it kind of looked like an oversized bag clip. You know, the thing that keeps your Cheetos fresh. We (I) baited the traps and set them in places where we had seen the little guy running.
I woke up the next morning and it was done. No more fuzzy visitor. Well, he was still there, but his interest in peanut butter had gotten him inescapably stuck in the bag clip. My wife didn't want to know any details. Just that the mouse had checked out.
She is still in the process of cleaning everything we own with anti-bacterial Lysol. "It is gross to think about a live rodent walking around in our house," she said. While she couldn't help jumping onto the couch when she first saw it, my wife has since been able to decide on her reaction to the whole situation.
We're moving. We have to. There was a mouse in our house.
Tuesday, February 1, 2005
Penguins Are Driving Me Crazy
Not Mr. Lemieux's penguins. The actual flightless bird ones. I'll explain.
For some reason a company named Arhaus decided to send me a catalog featuring their overpriced furniture. I should have just thrown away this junk mail, along with the 3 credit card applications that shared my mailbox space with it. But I made the mistake of leafing through the pages instead. While looking at pieces of furniture that I will never own, I noticed a lot of penguins hanging around the stuff. Here is an example.
Penguins are interesting creatures, don't get me wrong. I can see how they could be used to advertise tuxedos or submarines or even a hockey team. But furniture? This is a frigid, wet, flightless bird. How cold do you have to set the thermostat at your house for penguins to drop by?
I needed to find out what was going on. In the front flap I found the rules of a contest - count how many penguins are in the catalog and you could win a leather chair. I counted 31. The entry form even gives you a hint and makes it multiple choice. 31 is not a choice.
I recounted. 31. I circled the penguins in red and numbered them so that I could keep track. 31 again.
I can't stand it. I need to know how many penguins are actually in the pages of this catalog. If you would like to look for yourself, download the .pdf from the Arhaus site here.
If you keep coming up with 31, too, then there is nothing I can do for you. If not, you can send in your entry online and maybe win the leather chair. We may never buy their furniture but that is OK - there is no purchase necessary to enter.
For some reason a company named Arhaus decided to send me a catalog featuring their overpriced furniture. I should have just thrown away this junk mail, along with the 3 credit card applications that shared my mailbox space with it. But I made the mistake of leafing through the pages instead. While looking at pieces of furniture that I will never own, I noticed a lot of penguins hanging around the stuff. Here is an example.
Penguins are interesting creatures, don't get me wrong. I can see how they could be used to advertise tuxedos or submarines or even a hockey team. But furniture? This is a frigid, wet, flightless bird. How cold do you have to set the thermostat at your house for penguins to drop by?
I needed to find out what was going on. In the front flap I found the rules of a contest - count how many penguins are in the catalog and you could win a leather chair. I counted 31. The entry form even gives you a hint and makes it multiple choice. 31 is not a choice.
I recounted. 31. I circled the penguins in red and numbered them so that I could keep track. 31 again.
I can't stand it. I need to know how many penguins are actually in the pages of this catalog. If you would like to look for yourself, download the .pdf from the Arhaus site here.
If you keep coming up with 31, too, then there is nothing I can do for you. If not, you can send in your entry online and maybe win the leather chair. We may never buy their furniture but that is OK - there is no purchase necessary to enter.