Wednesday, January 31, 2007

Urination Nation

In my constant quest to make this world a better place and to keep people from annoying the living shit out of me, I think it’s time for a run down on proper men’s room etiquette. Yeah, we’ve been down this road before and it isn’t complicated, yet there is always a constant stream (pun intended) of idiotic, rude and disgusting guys sharing my pee space.

Let’s keep the obvious ones about eye contact and touching out of this. I’m sure the main offenders have already had the crap kicked out of them. If they haven’t learned by now, I can’t help them.

Four Simple Rules:

Select. We have three urinals in our men’s room here at work. More than once I’ve walked in to find one particular douchebag by himself using the middle one. THE MIDDLE ONE!! What the fuck!?? This means I have no choice but to use a stall. When the urinals are empty and there are more than two, pick the one furthest from the door. Always leave a buffer zone, so if someone comes in after you they won’t have stand right next to you. No normal guy wants that. Please note the ‘normal’ part of that statement.

Aim. I work in what is supposed to be a professional office space where men dress in suits, deal with people in a courteous, respectful manner, yet they can’t seem to keep their own piss off the floor or toilet seat. How fucking old are you? My six year old has better aim. He also knows that if, by some accident you manage to spill then just wipe it up. In summary: 6 year old more considerate and sanitary than men five and six times his age.

Flush. This is particularly important when someone is taking a dump. If you are hung over and taking a massive, nasty shit that smells like you ate a barge full of rotting steamers, then just flush it away. You don’t have to wait until you are completely done, just get rid of it as quickly as you can. Nobody likes the smell of your shit, even if you somehow take some perverse pleasure in it. Exception to this rule: If you happen to be at some skuzzy, little dive bar and the toilet is obviously clogged. In which case, leave said bar and go someplace nice, you cheap bastard.

Wash. Let me say that again. WASH!!! SCRUB!!! RINSE! REPEAT! Oddly enough that same dildo that takes the middle urinal has been witnessed walking out the door without washing his hands on more than one occasion. I’ve even seen highly important men – men who spend all day schmoozing and shaking hands with dozens of people every day - exit the stall next to me after taking a shit, stroll right past the sink and out the door. It takes maybe two minutes to wash. Just do it. Use soap too. Don’t do the fake wash either, where you just scrub your hands under cold water. That’s just lazy and you’re not fooling anyone. What’s troubling is after witnessing an alarming number of people doing this, I now am afraid to touch the men’s room door handle. I do my thing, wash, then stand staring at the door handle wondering how I’m going to get out without actually touching anything. I’m one step removed from being a real life “Monk”. Thanks, scumbags. I’m becoming obsessive compulsive due to your unsanitary, disgusting habits.

Today’s distraction: How well do you know proper urinal etiquette? Care and be aware, my fellow men! And wash your fucking hands!!

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Skynet, At Your Service

I noticed in the news a few weeks back that Google is on the verge of letting you host your own web page on their site. Free. Right, free! This will make…let’s see..Gmail (with 2Gigs of space), Gtalk (IM), Google Earth (time waster extraordinaire), Google Blogger (as you are reading), Picasa (free picture hosting), and a Calendar that will actually text your phone with reminders. Let’s not forget they just bought YouTube for 8 kazillion dollars. All for free!!

How do they do it? How can they possibly be making money? I have the answer my friends. Google isn’t actually run by people. It’s a conglomeration of computers from all over the world and they are becoming conscious. Google is going to wipe out all of humanity, ala Terminator. Those guys you see as the faces of Google? Not real. You ever meet one? Thought not.

I’m not normally a conspiracy loon, but there’s something I’m not getting. How can Google repeatedly offer all of these services for free and make any kind of money? Sure there are online advertisers, but is that it? Is there some sort of revenue stream they’re gaining that I can’t figure? Probably. Economics ain’t my strong suit as my checking account proves on a monthly basis. Are they run by some billionaire who wants to provide the public a service? Yeah right.

Google is trying to take over the world. There is no other explanation. Suck everyone in with free shit, then brainwash them into slavery. I’m on to you Google, I’m on to you.

Of course, if getting unlimited email, IM, access to state of the art satellite maps and my own web site in exchange to one day being hooked into Google while they suck my brains dry...well...let's just say Google's getting the short end of that deal. Suckers. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my Google Calendar just emailed my phone that it’s time for coffee. OK, Google, I’m coming, calm down.

Today's distraction: Check out the real life Skynet satellites that will end life as we know it. Based in New Jersey the company offers 'fixed satellite solutions'. As opposed to those broken ones that just float around in space doing nothing. Stupid broken satellites. If you click on the SkyNet Fleet link, you can see the complete line of world ending products.

Monday, January 29, 2007

Scatter Brained

Some weekend thoughts:

Caught an awesome NFL Films behind the scenes documentary on the 2004 Patriots yesterday and was struck by a few things.

- Willie McGinest was the spiritual leader of that defense. Even Brushi listened to everything he had to say.

- From Buschi, "Willie says that if we win this game they'll call us a dynasty. A dynasty!!" The team itself seemed humbled and awed by what they were accomplishing. Makes me like them more.

- Brady and Deion Branch seemed to actually like each other. No wonder Brady was pissed when they traded him this past season. I thought of the Troy Brown botched route on that 3rd and 4 play in the Indy game. I love Troy Brown, but think Branch and Brady would have had that same miscommunication? Me neither. Eventually the Pats are going to have to start paying some of their key players to stick around. It's hurt them the last two years.

Buddy I've known since first grade just turned 40 yesterday. It was great to call him 'old man' and actually mean it, but at the same time it was depressing. Not because we're aging, but that I've hung around this goofball for 34 years. Seriously, is this the best I can do? He's a chain smoking, former basketball player who has the most addictive personality I've ever witnessed. Love him like a brother.

My six year old is obsessed with Star Wars. He already knows more about the myth and relationships behind the movies than I ever have. Maybe this says more about my fatherly skills than his personality, but his favorite character is Darth Maul. That satanic looking, dual light saber guy who winds up killing one of the Jedi's. He's my boy!!

Back in our college days one of our friends would sleep with any girl who gave him any kind of attention. That included some serious pigs. Including one girl who was by far the ugliest, nastiest creature I have ever seen. Before or since. She is the standard of ugliness by which all others are judged. What brings this up? I ran into her over the weekend and she is even nastier than I remember. Which is saying something. And, yes, I bring this up to shame and embarrass him every chance I get. What are friends for?

Advertisements are getting more and more inane every day. Example: Flomax. 'Here's to guys who want to spend more time having fun and less time in the bathroom.' Um, isn't that every guy? Everywhere?? I suppose 2% of the male population has some sort of masturbatory addiction I'm not aware of, but I'm guessing the rest of the male population would rather be tailgating, playing/watching their favorite sport, or getting shitfaced in a pub.

There is nothing better than morning sex. You know that semi-conscious 'don't kiss me, I have morning breath' kind? Gets the day off to a great start. I hope I get to have some one day.

And finally, winter can fucking kiss my ass!! I hate it with the white hot passion of a thousand suns. What's sad is this has been the mildest winter I can remember, but I still fucking hate it. Fuck you, winter!!! Yeah, you!! In fact, here. This is for you:

Today's distraction: One of my all time favorite time killers. One of my favorite people actually played this for over a month straight. That means one game for over a month. Never turned the game or her computer off. She even topped the million mark. Not sure why, but I find this one of the more impressive feats I've taken part in. Screw inventing penicillin, beat a million on this game.

Saturday, January 27, 2007

Asshole Day

Apparently someone declared yesterday asshole day and neglected to tell me about it. I ran into three different people who gave me attitudes. Maybe it was the skin peeling cold weather or maybe I just got lucky. First the loading dock guy, then some delivery truck driver who couldn't actually drive, and finally King Douchebag of New Hampshire.

I decided to be a good citizen and donate some old stuff to the needy. The place I usually go to was open so I filled up my truck and headed to the 'Live Free or Die' state. I parked in the tiny, tiny lot (maybe 10 spaces total) and proceeded to unload most of my stuff. The woman that worked there helped me with some of the lighter items. As I headed out to pick up the last few pieces, a guy is standing outside a brand new BMW.

"Is this your car?" he asks and points to my truck. I thought maybe I should take the time to explain the difference between a car and a truck, but figured I wanted to get out of there and it was fucking cold!! Plus the tone of his voice told me he wasn't into automotive lessons.


"Can you read?". This stops me in my tracks and I give him the 'Are we going to have a problem' look. He's about my size, but woefully out of shape. Maybe tough once, but has since turned soft. If you're wondering I could be describing me. Only I was never tough. This look I give has gotten me out of tougher spots than this. Not sure what it is, but people tend to back off when I use it. Of course, anyone that knows me doesn't take it seriously. It only works on people that don't know me well.

"Can I read?" I still don't move, waiting for him to explain.

"That's my spot. It's reserved." His voice still has that edge. I turn and look at the wall I've parked at and see nothing. Nothing on the ground either. I walk up and on the wall about the size of two bricks is a plaque that says "Reserved for" then some stupid company name. It's not something you see unless you're really looking for it.

I'm usually an easygoing fellow and get along with nearly everyone, but this scumbag is now number 3 for the day, I'm tired from moving shit for the last hour, it's about 45 below zero before the wind kicks up, and I really want a beer.

"Didn't see that," I say, "Was just unloading some things for donation."

The douche starts with a semi apology/rationalization for his behavior. "Didn't mean to come off rude, but I go through this at least two times a day." Now I'm supposed to feel sorry for him.

"Not with me you don't." And before he can respond, I ask "That the new one?" looking at the Beamer.

"Yeah," a bit uncertainly.

I nod. "Huh, new BMW. Reserved spot. Maybe you should splurge for a bigger sign or move to an office with more parking." He stares at me for a good 10 seconds and gets in his car to wait for me to move my truck.

I know, it wasn't much, but nothing like shitting on someone trying to do a good deed while driving in a $60,000 car and bitching about people taking your reserved space. Then expecting understanding and sympathy from the same guy you just pissed on. Fucking asshole!!

Thanks for listening.

Today's distraction: Take the following test to see if you are an asshole. It's a self evaluating test, so be honest.

Friday, January 26, 2007

The Hills Are Alive With The Sound Of....

If there is one word that exemplifies the difference between men and women more than any other, it is this: Fart.

Allow me to elaborate. I have yet to meet one guy out there that doesn't find a well timed fart the funniest fucking thing in the world. Well, one guy, but I'm pretty sure he's gay and just doesn't know it. Very few women will laugh, however. They'll find it disgusting or just walk out of the room or offer up the lame "How old are you?" Sometimes all three!

Example: Our statistics class in college was in the middle of it's final exam. It was pin-drop quiet and the teacher had just left the room for a quick break (which, considering the teacher, probably meant taking a toke behind the bushes). Couldn't even hear any traffic noise. Suddenly, my buddy let's one rip. To this day it was the loudest, longest fart I've ever heard and it must have been by accident, because it slowly morphed into a high pitched squeal in his fruitless attempt to pinch it off. That was it. Not only was every guy in the class unable to talk for the rest of the class, but my test wound up with tear stains on it. I 'm laughing about it now! And it's been 16 years!!!

I do recall some of the girls laughing, but they seemed to be more laughing at the boys unable to control themselves. Laughing at us, not with us, if you will.

Guys take pride in their gas. It's a badge of honor to let one rip at will or use one as an exclamation point. I often use one to make my feelings known about a particular subject or person. "I have one thing to say about that". PHHHEEEERRRRRTTTTT!!! Never gets old. If you use an exaggerated leg lift, it adds to the effect.

How many woman can claim trying to light their own farts on fire? My buddy burnt the pubic hair off his ball sack one night because he didn't believe it could be done. How many women have held one until they were climbing a set of stairs so they could let loose in their friend's face walking behind them? I'll round it off and say none.

If I was more intelligent I would say this is a leading indicator of some higher sociological or genetic difference between the sexes, but I think it's just because guys will never grow up.

That and farts really are funny!

Today's distraction: Choose between all sort of different farts and burps. You need sound so you may not be able to listen to them at work. Just hover the cursor over the Demo icon. You can even scroll down the entire list and make your own musical medley. This could be the best possible use of the Internet I've discovered, so far

Thursday, January 25, 2007

Cash Flow Problem

Last night I was waiting to buy milk while the gentleman in front of me repeatedly swiped his debit card in a vain attempt to pay for his box of Cheerios. After finally realizing he was swiping it upside down and he had to hit the ATM button on the panel, I paid in cash, went home and started getting ready to watch all the 'American Idol' rejects embarrass themselves. During this program I was delighted by an ad for the Visa Check card. You know the one that has that complete idiot that pays with cash while everyone else uses the Visa Check card and he winds up mucking up the entire system and gets dirty looks from the cashier and all the other customers. “Cash!! Why we never!! Barbarian!!” I’ve seen it about 1032 times by now and I get more annoyed by it every time.

Do these dolts at Visa actually think handing cash – you know…actual money – over is more complicated and time consuming than having every idiot and their brother trying to swipe their cards through, remember and enter in their PINS correctly, then make the life altering decision of whether they want cash back or not? Of course not. But if they didn’t make you believe that, how would they then milk you out of your cash by charging you 50 cents per transaction or upping your interest rate to 22% after your first month of service is complete. Their CEO needs his new ski lodge by the end of the year, you know. And you can’t use the Visa Check card for a purchase that big. Can you?

Today’s distraction: Try to identify the corporate logos. It’s fun if a bit infuriating. The spelling has to be exactly right. That red O on the bottom was driving me crazy. I knew I had seen it before but couldn’t pin it down. Turns out that exact logo and the company name are on the top of my office phone. About 15 inches from my nose. I only spent 20 minutes on it and, believe me, it could have been worse.

Wednesday, January 24, 2007


You ever get what you think is a compliment, then later on, you consider what was said and realize that maybe it wasn’t so nice after all? Let’s take the following comment made to me by a lovely woman here at work:

“You would be a hit on all the dating websites!”

At first I thought, “Wow, that was nice of her.”

Then I remembered who visits these websites and am now wondering if she thinks I’m a potential serial killer, sexual predator or some sad, desperate, lonely man craving 5 minutes of attention. Wait. I actually am that. But I’m not a serial killer. At least not of people. I have killed more spiders than I care to admit, but my wife’s scared of them, so it’s up to me.

So, this little, innocent (?) comment got me thinking about all those supposed ‘compliments’ I’ve received over the years. Fortunately, I can count them on one hand. Were they really compliments? Were they sarcastic, little digs and I didn’t catch the tone or the mockery? Did that person just tell me what I wanted to hear so I would untie them and leave them unharmed? I consider myself an expert in sarcasm. Hell, I’ve nearly turned it into an art form. But, maybe sincerity is the new sarcasm. A person can make what sounds like a legitimate comment about your looks, behavior or stalking abilities but be thinking the exact opposite and never let on. They're basically lying to your face. Can you believe it?

This throws my entire world into chaos. If I can’t trust what someone says than how can I trust anyone? How can I continue being my own eternally optimistic self? How can I maintain my belief that people are benign and beautiful?

See? Right now I’m being sarcastic. But if I didn’t tell you that how would you ever know?

I will leave that up to you. I have faith in the intelligence of my readers. All one of them.

And I’m completely sincere about that. Completely!

Today’s distraction: Bone up on how the brain interprets and comprehends sarcasm. If you think I just wanted to use ‘bone up’ then you’re catching on. Congratulations. Sincerely.

Monday, January 22, 2007

Call Me Arbitrary

Some leftover thoughts rattling around in my head. If I don't get them out, I can't make room for new ones. Please refer to beer consumption for further explanation.

Congrats to the Colts. Can’t figure if I’m more upset the Pats blew the game or that we now have to hear about the Peyton Bowl for the next two weeks. I just hope they don’t interview Eli. There are only so many slack jawed, arm waving quarterbacks with inferiority complexes I can take. Please, reporters, if you must talk to Eli ask about his decision not to play for San Diego during media week just so I can see his reaction. Pretty please?

Sign spotted alongside the GW Parkway, Virginia that made me laugh and laugh: "George Bush Center for Intelligence".

What the hell happened to the Saints? I mean, besides the 18 fumbles. I think it was that many. Lost count after a while.

Recommended new CD: Brand New – The Devil and God Are Raging Inside of Me. Get it so you can say “Just picked up the brand new Brand New”. Well, that and it’s good music.

Recommended old CD: The New Pornographers – Twin Cinema.

Grossman still sucks. Indy wins by 14. On a completely unrelated note, I picked both games wrong last weekend.

Red haired woman at the Delta boarding desk, screaming at the clerk that she was given the wrong ticket. “How could you people pull something like this?” Making a scene. Ticketing woman looks at her, looks at her boarding pass, says “This is your boarding pass from last week. You need your boarding pass for today.” Red pokes around in her purse and sheepishly pulls out the correct boarding pass. Then looks around at all the gawking eyes and slinks away, mumbling to herself. Sometimes justice is swift. Or was that karma?

Only a few more weeks until spring training. Yeeee fucking hawwww!!!!

Did you know there will be a completely glass walkway built 4,000 feet over the Colorado River? Check out the link below and try not to think about why they are having a hard time getting this insured.

Two questions for this link: What happens when you start sweating in it? Will I look cool wearing it around the office? Actually that second one answers itself. I always look cool.

Had to take a trip to Hartford today and it reminded me of two incidents I witnessed on the drive down. First was when I saw a turkey way up at the top of a tree. The turkey decided to fly across the highway and must have forgotten how heavy it was or how hard it was to fly. It plummeted about 50 feet before leveling off and made it 3/4 of the way across the front of my truck before feathers blocked out the sun. No worries! I caught a glimpse of it, still in flight, making it's way across the other side of the highway. Just missed getting creamed by a FedEx truck. I must have just clipped it.

Second one involved seeing a deer bolt across that same highway. It actually made it too without killing itself or any drivers.

My point? Don't drive to Hartford unless you absolutely have no choice or you're on your way to New York. There's nothing here anyway.

Finally, as if I haven’t diverted your attention enough, today’s distraction: Check out bizarre buildings from around the world. Love the WonderWorks building. But then I’m disturbed.

Dream Girl

Every now and then, one person gives me a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, our species is inherently good and kind and just:

Suicide Watch

Some lowlights from the traveling BeachBum show. Hit DC, Virginia, and Baltimore in a work/suck fest of a weekend. Was hoping to have the Pats end it on a high note, but even they let me down.

My weekend from hell actually started on Thursday when flying to DC I managed to get some shampoo confiscated, my carry on tested for explosives and, to top it all off, left my MP3 player on the plane. Didn't realize until 3 hours later it was gone. Wife was blowing it off as trivial until I reminded her the new Bose headphones she gave me for Christmas were attached to said player. At which point she responded, "FUCK, call the airline, call the airport. Find them!!" Thanks for the suggestion, honey.

Saturday I managed to finagle an invitation to the French Embassy for some work related party. Open bar, so how could you go wrong, right? Well, let's start with my razor falling in the shower and slicing my ankle open. My shower was an instant replica of the Bates Motel, complete with blood swirling down the drain. 30 minutes later the bleeding was slow enough to patch it up and get ready. It's the French Embassy, so I'm still optimistic despite my shoes rubbing against the wound like they were designed for it. My optimism quickly vanished when we arrive and there is virtually no security, we have to walk an underground tunnel that is dripping what looks like anti-freeze and the area for the party looks like a college student union. Not impressed. We came in door D from the parking area and someone quipped "maybe A, B, and C are the nice rooms".

Highlight of the night: We have salmon and a piece of steak that looks like a lousy hamburger for dinner. Strange dude next to me announces he doesn't like fish and attempts to trade someone his fish for their Nobody bites and 10 minutes later he looks over to the wife of one of his co-workers and says "You going to finish your steak?" while leaning over, his fork poised. She instantly gets this hunted, prison look on her face and puts her arm around her plate to protect it. "Yes! I.....AM!!" and stares him down until he wilts. Did I mention he didn't know this woman at all and this was a black tie event. Love the cultured life.

Sunday was my day to go home. Worked for a few hours and finished early, so hey, get to the airport and get myself on an earlier flight. Now I'll be home in time for the game. Unfortunately, that bitch Mother Nature decides to snow on Baltimore and we sit on the tarmac for 2 hours waiting to get de-iced. My original flight was scheduled to leave at 6:50. My new, earlier flight was for 4:45. What time did we take off, you ask? Try 7:30. By the time we landed it was halftime. At least I'll get to see most of the second half, right? Um, no. See, our plane was late so there is no gate for us. We wind up waiting another 30 minutes for a gate to open. By the time I get home there is 5 minutes left and I get to watch the Colts celebrate.

And people wonder why I have a drinking problem.

Today's distraction: Since I'm cranky from my fantastic weekend, I'm going to put a dent in your productivity the likes of which you've never experienced. Old friend of mine and I used to play this for hours on end and I still go back to it from time to time. It's like comfort food for procrastinators.

Friday, January 19, 2007

The Shlongest Yard

Since I'll be on the road over the weekend and won't have access to the internet (I know, it's barbaric!) I wanted to please my one loyal reader (if there is one) and post a distraction for the weekend. Currently touring the strip mall capital of DC, Virginia and Baltimore. Too bad the Pats weren't playing the Ravens, I could have attempted to get into the game and loudly questions Ray Lewis' sexual preferences.

Anyway, back in 1993 two researchers did some extensive investigation into the relationship between height, foot size and penis length. That’s right. They got to measure other guy’s shlongs. Lucky them. I bring this up not to question the validity of the research nor the lucidity of the idea in the first place. Although now that I think of it, perhaps research into the field of voice pitch changes during female orgasms is in order. Or maybe the difference between fake and real boobs: Can you really feel a difference? I would have to take a large sample size to get accurate readings, but I will more then happily sacrifice my time in the name of science.

Where was I?

Oh right, penises. Or is it penii? Whatever. Basically, they found a “weak correlation” between foot size, height and the size of a man’s….well…manhood. I can’t tell you how much this crushes the confidence of six foot one yours truly and his size 12 Nikes. To think I’ve been living in false bravado all these years. Well, no more, my friends. My shoulders are slumped and I will no longer be looking people in the eye. Shaken to the core, I am. Shaken to the core.

Guess it’s time to open one of those two hundred penile enlargement spam emails I get daily. Sad days indeed.

Today’s distraction: Check out some other insane scientific research projects undertaken. Of particular interest is the Rectal Foreign Bodies topic. Some people are just fucked, man. I really want to know what the light bulb person was thinking. How could 6 not be enough? Did any break? Did he give any consideration to those long fluorescent ones? So many questions…

Prison Break

You ever wonder what life would be like in prison? We’ve all heard the horror stories about shanks and shivs and anal sex and dropping soap (not necessarily in that order) and eating cockroaches, but how much is true, ya think? I’ve seen “Oz” and “Shawshank Redemption”, but is that accurate? I, for one, don’t want to find out. I know how abrasive I can be and would probably be found hanging from the bars with my own innards if I had to spend a weekend there. So, I’ve taken to preparing some contingency plans in case I’m framed for a murder I didn’t commit. What? It could happen.

Step 1: Befriend someone with same height and build.

Step 2: Swap identities after frame up and kill look alike in a staged accident. Remember to bring plenty of gasoline and matches.

Step 3: Flee to Caribbean with some hot blonde. This can be modified to brunette or redhead. I’m not picky.

Step 4: Live like Whitey Bulger the rest of my days. Figure I’m average looking enough to blend in.

I will probably add a Step 5 about not putting this down in writing, but let’s just see how this plays out. To all of my friends built like me, I’m totally kidding about this.

Today’s distraction: The art of the shiv. My favorite is the typewriter carriage return. Inventive, original and it looks like that thing could do some major damage.

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Taking a Trump

I have a theory. It is this: Everyone in this world is fucked in the head. It gets a bit more detailed, but that’s the gist of it. Everyone has been short circuited by their parents (or lack thereof) in some way, shape or form. I’m sad to say I may be the most stable person on earth. And my existence involves drinking as much beer as possible, convincing my wife she can’t do better than me, my boys I’m the coolest dad ever, and shirking any and all responsibility. Needless to say I’m failing miserably at all of them.

But none seem more twisted than those in the public eye. Exhibit A: Donald Trump. Exhibit B: Rosie O’Donnell. For whatever reason, the rich-beyond-belief Trump has taken exception to the comments….oh, you know what…who fucking cares? They’re both petty and bitter and should have much better things to be doing than getting involved in this bullshit. Trump has more money than his grandkid’s grandkids will ever use. Rosie is a talentless hag who thinks acting simultaneously shrill, condescending and hypocritical makes her interesting. Let’s throw into the mix Barbara Walters, the journalistic hack who raised to new levels the concept of ‘creampuff interview’ and you have three people with more fame and fortune than even they could have imagined not being able to play nice. Or even play normal.

I’m sure they all have some pathological need to keep their names in the news. That once they become famous their one fear or insecurity is no longer being relevant. After all, there’s no such thing as bad publicity. Just ask OJ. That the new season of The Apprentice was starting, I’m sure had nothing to do with getting Trump all riled up. You can’t help but wonder if his outrage was calculated.

Think of it this way: if you took away the money, the tabloid coverage, the fame and saw these three on the street acting this way, what would you do? Right, cross to the other side. Let’s all avoid the ranting fat woman dressed like a man and the loud guy with bad hair. Quick kids, run!

Let’s all cross to the other side and concentrate on more important things. Like who’s round it is or if this is the best season of ‘24’ or just a tie with all the other seasons.

Today’s distraction: Climb Trump’s Corporate ladder. If it’s anything like real life it will have a nepotism elevator that only goes up.

Machiavelli Blues

The Machiavelli personality test has a range of 0-100
Your Machiavelli score is: 66
You are a high Mach, you endorse Machiavelli's opinions.

That’s right. I’m a “High Mach”. Which is defined as the following: “High Machs constitute a distinct type: charming, confident and glib, but also arrogant, calculating and cynical, prone to manipulate and exploit” Jealous? Disgusted? Don’t care either way. I took this test (link below) and was surprised at the findings. Was even more surprised when I realized I have no idea who Machiavelli is or what he stands for. I was always aware of the name, but figured if I was subscribing to his beliefs, I better check him out. Some research revealed the following:

- Italian political philosopher from the 1500s.
- Published “The Prince” in 1532, which was a guide to getting and keeping power.
- Maintained that rulers must lie, cheat, and steal in order to hold onto their thrones, but play the benevolent leader to the masses.
- Believed humanity involved two types of people: Greedy and self serving or stupid and easily tricked.

Yup, sounds right to me. One thing I’m not, though, is greedy. Probably because I’ve never had much money, I’ve learned to do without. Adaptability, I believe it’s called. So, according to these results, I am cynical when it comes to human nature, will lie and exploit when I need to and think most other people are stupid. Anyone who knows me would say this is dead on. If I wasn’t so arrogant, this might trouble me.

Today’s distraction: Find what, if any, kind of Mach you are.

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

NFL Rumble

Basking in the glow of the Pats win over the Chargers. Although, basking might be a bit strong. That game was brutal. The hardest fought win I have ever seen in all my years of watching the NFL. And I go way back to Plunkett. Yeah, Jim Plunkett. Pre-Raiders Jim Plunkett, when the Pats were the laughing stock of the league. I know, that covers a lot of years.

Much to the dismay of my wife and kids, I watched all 4 games this past weekend and for the first time ever there is no clear cut favorite to win it all. Bears? Not with Grossman. Saints? They’re the Saints, so that’s a tough sell. Indy? Peyton’s stats in the 2 games so far: 1 TD, 5 INT. Not really putting his reputation behind him. Hearing the phrase “That coverage really confused Peyton Manning” is my favorite annual tradition. And I’m still not convinced their defense has turned it around. They just lucked into two inept offenses.

That leaves the Pats. They’ve been here before. Brady had a bad game and always rebounds from those. They’re playing the Colts again and I know it’s in Indy, but it’s still the Colts. Careful what you wish for, Peyton. Still, after the Chargers you wonder how much they have left in the tank. I was exhausted just watching. And it bothers me that Indy now has Vinatieri. He’s never missed in Indy. Did you know that? If not, tune in. The announcers will recite that about 543 times during the course of the game. Also, the Pats don’t seem to be the pissed off, chip on their shoulders bunch they used to be. It took a brain dead head butt from a Charger to get their blood flowing. Hopefully, just seeing the Colts will get them in the proper mood.

So, I’m going with the one proven team left. Saints beat Bears. Pats beat Colts. Manning finally breaks down and sobs like a baby in press conference. Then makes 42 new commercials in the off-season. Pats over Saints in Super Bowl followed by Coach Bill hanging it up. Just a hunch.

As for the games themselves, I’ve learned that either Daryl Johnson is good friends with Steve McNair or McNair is the new Favre. Nothing bad can be said about him. McNair was the worst QB in the four games over the weekend and the only commentator to say so was Boomer Esiason (sp?). At one point McNair made a throw that was 5 yards short and BEHIND his receiver leading to an easy interception. Johnson says “You have to fight for that ball”. Sorry, Daryl, but you only fight for throws you have a chance to catch. It was a horrible pass and even worse announcing.

In case nobody noticed, Grossman sucks. Blame his receivers if it makes you feel better (yeah, I’m talking to you, Bears’ fans), but if you are running full speed in one direction and a ball is thrown behind you, you are not catching it. I don’t care how good you are. I saw him make that throw at least 4 times on Saturday.

Tomlinson is a stud and Marty is an idiot. He should not be coaching that team next year. Wasting a time out on an obvious fumble challenge killed them at the end. Rivers impressed me, too. Not a nerve in that kid. Still can’t believe the Pats won. Another player I like: Thomas-Jones, the RB for Chicago. Saved his team when he broke up that sure interception. Right in the guy’s hands and he leaps up and over him to knock it away. Undervalued, great play!

Side note to Tomlinson: You are a great, gracious player and should be for many years to come. Drop the “Pats are classless” routine. To you it’s ok for Merriman to even invent a stupid dance, name it, then use it every time he makes a tackle on the field, but the Patriots mocking that same ridiculous dance to celebrate a hard fought victory is a problem? My guess is Merriman was talking some major trash during the game and the Pats singled him out for a reason. Remember T.O. in the Super Bowl? Pats started doing his Wing Flapping Dance in the second half after he started jawing at them, too. I’m not excusing the Pats, I wasn't proud of them, but you can’t separate the two. Just drop it and enjoy your off-season. I like you and hope to keep doing so.

Today’s distraction: One of my favorite writers breaks down the games from the weekend. Among other things.


Fine, fine! Christ almighty!! Two friends, LeF and LaF (henceforth referred to in this space as DA), have encouraged me to start my own blog. Lef was kind enough to loan me his space a few times. Use the link below to check his relevant, humorous ramblings. Gotta love the Uncle. Even if we've never met and wouldn't know him if I drove over him. He's obviously LeF's muse.

I'm a born and bred Bostonian, complete with embedded DNA strands of cynicism, skepticism and a lot of other ism's. Don't come here looking for answers to life's questions or anything even vaguely intelligent. I'll just use this as a space to vent about my pet peeves (and I have many) and distract you from actually doing anything useful with your time. It's something I excel at. Just ask DA.

Then once this becomes the worldwide phenomenon I expect, I can take credit for thousands of people getting passed over for promotions, marriages crumbling, and businesses failing due to my highly entertaining entries.

Today's diversion is French's blog. Enjoy!!

Oh, as for the screen name: BeachBum is not only something I strive to be when I grow up, but happens to be my posting name back on's old Abuzz site. Figured it fits my attitude and aspirations perfectly, so I'm sticking with it.