No Labor Day* Weekend

Although it signifies the end of summer, I'm looking forward to the holiday weekend. I have a wedding to attend, and since I went to middle school, high school, and college with the groom, many old friends will be coming to town for the festivities.

And, just because it's Friday, I decided to share two of my guilty pleasures with you:

1. Corn nuts. Crunchy goodness!

2. Duets. I harbor a strong, secret love for duets. Here's one of my favorites:

Leather and Lace, Stevie Nicks and Don Henley

*When I was a kid, the name Labor Day irked me. I mean, the whole point of Labor Day is that nobody works, right? So, it should be called No Labor Day. Or Labor-free Day.

Bad Day

I started off the day in a great mood- because I had taken the day off from work, I slept in and went for a run along the beach. Here's what transpired next:

1. Got my passport photos taken, and my personal tradition of downright awful headshots continues. You may think I'm exaggerating, but I really do take terrible headshots. I've had the following conversation about 100 times:

Bouncer/Person Examining My ID: "Wow, you must have lost a lot of
weight since this photo was taken. Congratulations!"

Me: "No, I just look fat in pictures."

This one might be the worst yet. I look like a fat, crazed, IRA member.

2. Attempted to replace the burned out taillight in my car. Naturally, I couldn't remember which one was burned out, and something that can be easily discerned by two people (one presses on brake pedal, other stands behind car and watches), but is much more difficult as a one-person job. After unsuccessfully using a heavy book and a giant bag of peat moss in an attempt to hold the pedal down, I eventually resorted to accosting two women out on a power walk at lunch. They looked frightened when I ran down the driveway and called out "Would you please do me a small favor?" but complied nonetheless. I was determined to replace them myself, so I looked up the part number and the instructions in the manual. Then, off to the auto parts store, where I bought the replacement bulbs. I was quite proud of myself when I finished the job, even though a rusted screw snapped in the process. However, when I tested out the light, the blinker wasn't working properly.

3. Got my car inspected. Showed the mechanic the light, and he chided me for not having a professional take care of it, then charged me $25. Next, they wouldn't pass my car because of a loose front wheel or some nonsense, so I had to pay another hundred bucks to get that fixed. It took a few hours, during which I wandered around downtown Framingham and eventually ended up getting a pedicure and watching Family Feud with two Vietnamese ladies to pass the time.

4. Yankees swept the Sox. I need to come clean. This was all my fault. Earlier this week, a friend had forwarded me an Onion article about the Yankees, and I responded with this line "The series is meaningless unless the Yankees sweep."
He immediately wrote back- "You idiot! What have you done?" The baseball gods have smited me. THE SOX GOT SWEPT AND IT'S ALL MY FAULT BECAUSE I TOTALLY JINXED THEM. And I'm sorry.

Double Whammy

Sometimes, when the weather is nice, I walk home from work. Between my work, which is located in a mildly dodgy area, and my home, located in a fairly pleasant area, is brief stretch of medium-to-high dodginess. As evidence, there are two things I often come across in the sketchy section of the walk:

1. passed out bums
2. used condoms (yeah, GROSS.)

Yesterday was a special sort of day, because for the first time ever, I found a passed out dude and used condom on the same walk home. (no, they weren't near each other.)

While we're on the topic , I have an etiquette question. What is the proper way to react to finding an intoxicated man passed out on the sidewalk? Here are some options:

A. Try to wake him up. Seems like the kindest thing to do...a gentle, "excuse me mister, you probably shouldn't sleep here, somebody might steal the rest of your bottle of Cossack vodka." However, I'm always afraid that the guy will turn out to be some crackhead who will go nutso and try to attack me. Especially because the areas where I often find passed out dudes tend to be fairly deserted.

B. Do nothing. Hey, he'll probably wake up in a couple of hours and be fine. But what if he has alcohol poisoning and dies? What if he's not actually an intoxicated bum, but some man that had a heart attack or something? (I usually look to make sure they are still breathing, and then examine the surroundings for alcohol bottles.)

C. Call an ambulance. But what if the guy is just some poor drunk who ends up getting arrested because I called it in? Or ends up saddled with some huge emergency room bill when he would have been perfectly fine if he had just been left alone?

D. Steal the rest of their booze and make a run for it! (Just kidding)

I never know what to do. Usually I stop to make sure that they're breathing. Once, I did call 911 because it was an old man, face down on the sidewalk. Earlier this summer, I actually found a passed out guy on the front steps of my apartment, and I tried to wake him up. I was unsuccessful, but someone must have already called because a police car and ambulance arrived moments later. Yesterday's find was a guy sitting Indian style, totally passed out, with his glasses, a cell phone, and an empty liquor bottle all on the sidewalk in front of him. I just let him be.

Wine Tasting at Morton's

Earlier this week, I went to a wine tasting at Morton's. It was a lot of fun and a great deal- 5 wines (2 whites and 3 reds, all fairly nice bottles) paired with five different appetizers, for $30. The host was a wine buyer who had some decent information on the wines and the process of wine making, but he did try to use a little scientific jargon that made my table, which contained three scientists, cringe. For example, he said that some wines can have a citrusy taste because the grape variety has the same ester gene as a citrus fruit. (FYI, esters don't come from genes, only proteins do. Gah!) Our table almost lost composure again when the host said "teabag" and "moist," so although we are science snobs, we're also extremely juvenile. I did learn that shiraz and syrah come from the same grape, and that I have trouble coming up with adjectives to describe aromas and flavors. "I don't know, it tastes... light...not heavy. And it smells sort of....like....wine. Okay, pour me some more now." I signed up for the Morton's email list, because I would definitely go back for future tasting nights. Here are some photos of us studying and tasting the wines.

In the news

Owen Wilson hospitalized after an alleged suicide attempt. Poor guy. Get well soon, Butterscotch Stallion!

In happier news, Mark Cuban will appear on the upcoming season of Dancing With The Stars. Should give him some interesting blog fodder, at least.

Last, but not least, the US Open is underway, and DCOE favorite Roger Federer has advanced.

Weekend Report

Friday- Saw Superbad, and it was...wait for it...Superfunny. Plotwise, it's nothing more than another formulaic last-day-of-high-school-boys-want-to-get-laid teen comedy. However, I loved it for Michael Cera, who was perfectly hilarious and awkward as one of the protagonists, Evan. And yes, I might be harboring an inappropriate crush on George Michael Bluth, but he was comedy gold in this movie. My absolute favorite scene was his a capella performance of "These Eyes" by the Guess Who. Jonah Hill plays Evan's best friend Seth, a loudmouth, chubby, crude sidekick, who would have grated on me more if not for A. his spot-on chemistry with Cera and B. the dick drawings. I tend to find "mature" comedies like Knocked Up and The Break-Up to be more depressing than funny, so Superbad was a breath of fresh air. On Friday, I was in the mood to watch an uncomplicated, silly movie that would make me laugh out loud, and it was exactly what I was hoping for.

Saturday- Downtown Boston turned into a sweltering pool of heat and humidity, so three friends and I drove up to Singing Beach in Manchester-By-The-Sea. It was a perfect day, the kind of day Lou Reed was singing about in that song from the Trainspotting soundtrack. The sun was warm and pleasant, the breeze was blowing, and the ocean was finally warm enough to swim in without feeling like you were being stabbed by hundreds of tiny icicles. Aaaaahhh.
After the beach, I went out for a while to celebrate my friend Phil's birthday (happy birthday, Phil!).

Sunday- Slept in, cleaned the apartment, went shopping. I got a pair of bright red strappy heels wear to a wedding next weekend- they're very not me, but I love them. I'll post a photo at some point. I went to Filene's Basement with the intention of expanding my wardrobe with something other than jeans and t-shirts, yet I ended up purchasing two pairs of jeans. As soon as I got home, I dug out the Nerd Jeans from my dresser and threw them in the Goodwill pile. I own several pairs of jeans, but I only actually wear two or three of them. The others, categorized as Nerd Jeans, just don't fit right, or are old enough to be noticeably out of style, or maybe they are borderline too short. I have a complex about my pants being too short. If they are anything less than a 34" inseam, I'll spend the whole day thinking "are these pants too short?," even repeatedly asking people, and then not believing them when they tell me that they aren't. That's what happens when you spend your entire childhood dressed in your older sister's hand me downs that don't fit quite right. Until recently, I refused to wear three-quarter length sleeves, because when I was a kid, I had long, skinny arms that always poked out of my long-sleeved shirts, and my mom tried to reassure me by telling me that they were three-quarter sleeved and were supposed to look like that. I knew it wasn't true. Anyways, back to Nerd Jeans... I don't know why I keep them around...I tell myself that I can wear them when I'm doing nothing on the weekend, but even when I'm doing nothing, I still don't want to wear a pair of frumpy Nerd Jeans. So, now, they have been eliminated, and I feel good about that.

Dublin City Ramblers

Last night, I was planning to spend a quiet, relaxing evening alone, until I received a phone call from my friend Justin, who just moved into my neighborhood with his sister. They were going to see a traditional Irish band play at a local bar, so I decided to join them. Turns out the band was The Dublin City Ramblers, who play traditional ballads, sort of like an Irish version of The Kingston Trio. Almost everyone in the crowd was from Ireland, including a table of adorable senior citizens, who were still going strong when I left around midnight.

Here are photos of the band, us, and Kristy and me with a jolly old man with a pig-tailed beard:

(Note to self: white tank top underneath thin black t-shirt does NOT photograph well. Second note to self: For heaven's sake, you're not 21 anymore. Shots? On a weeknight? Bad idea.)

What Goes On Inside My Head

This afternoon, I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror.

"Hey, what's that stuff in my eyebrows? It looks like crumbs. How did I get crumbs in my eyebrows? Oh yeah, it must have been at lunch, when I balanced a potato chip on my nose to see if I could jerk my head, flip it into the air, and then catch it in my mouth. You know, like a dog does when you balance a treat on its snout."

Moments like these make me realize why I don't have a boyfriend.

Two years and change

I realized today that I forgot my own blog anniversary- the inaugural post was on August 3, 2005.

So, thanks, ye readers, for tagging along all this time. I feel like my posting quality has decreased over the last few months, most likely due to the an increase in the time and effort I've been putting into work. However, as long as there are entertaining websites to peruse, unusual news stories to ponder, interspecies friendships over which to rejoice, and inane hijinks from my own life to share, DCOE will keep on chuggin'.

A Trivial Victory

Last night, I went to trivia night at the Junction with Kevin, Maria, and Sue. Since the Red Sox were playing, we were inspired to name our team Oil Can Boyd. We did terribly during the first couple of rounds. For four fairly well-educated individuals, we sure don't know much about French impressionists ("not Monet" was my answer) or Charles Dickens novels.

Here's another one we got wrong:

1. What was the name of the character played by Charlotte Rae play on two different sit-coms?

We did much better in later rounds, mostly due to Kevin's extensive knowledge of unusual facts.

Here are some we got right:

2. What Academy Award winning director played Winthrop Paroo in the 1962 musical The Music Man?

3. What is the name of the guitarist born Saul Hudson on July 23, 1962?

4. George Washington Baines, former President of Baylor University from 1861-1863, was the maternal great-grandfather of what U.S. President?

We still lagged in the middle of the pack, but the DJ served up meatballs for the last two questions. The second to last one was on Nicaragua (What political party defeated the Somozas in 1979 and ruled for 11 years? He even played a song from this album as a hint.), so I hit that one out of the park. We were still twenty points behind for the bonus question, on which you can bet 2 to 20 points, but if you're wrong, you lose half of what you bet. The last question:

5. What country is the geographical center of the Americas? It also has the shortest Pacific coastline, of less than 100 miles.

We bet the maximum and got it right, surging to first place in a dramatic come-from-behind victory. We won a $50 gift certificate and a spot at Champions Night in October. Here we are with our prize:

Bonus question: Is it real, or is it photoshop?

Oh, go ahead and guess your answers (no cheating!) and I'll post the correct answers on Thursday afternoon.

Fun Links

Is it real, or is it photoshop?

Here's a collection of unintentionally funny baseball cards from the 80's, with commentary.

Operation Knick-Knack Attack

Last night, I was home earlier than usual with nothing to do. Since my roommate Ern has been in Argentina for the month, I’ve had to break out of my normal Monday and Tuesday night routine of hanging out at the apartment and drinking too much wine. Such activities are fun with a friend, but frowned upon when alone. And since I already live on the outskirts of my means, I probably shouldn’t be going out and spending money. I decided to do something productive- clean my room! Not just a make the bed and pick up the dirty laundry clean, this was an all-out, pull everything off the shelves, break out the cleaning products clean. As I was clearing off my bureau top, it occurred to me that I have a shitload of knick-knacks. Trinkets. You know, ceramic figurines, tiny decorative boxes, and whatnot. I don’t even like them. I don’t know how I’ve managed to accumulate so many useless items, and I have no idea why I originally brought them to this apartment when I moved in. Or why I’ve kept them for the years that I’ve spent here. Yet, part of me is reluctant to get rid of them. These knick-knacks have two origins. Half of them I collected when I was a small girl, enthralled with items such as a creamer in the form of a small cat. Tacky, pointless junk, but still, I’ve had them for soooo long, it is hard to part with them. The other half are gifts, primarily from the two demographics whom I have identified as The World’s Top Lovers of Knick-Knacks:

1. Nicaraguans
2. My mother

It just seems so rude and ungrateful to get rid of a gift, no matter how much it clashes with your own personal style. However, enough is enough. How long am I going to keep lugging around a box of trinkets that I don’t even like, only to pull them out and display them on unoccupied flat surfaces? Nevermore, that’s your answer! During the cleaning process, I had already packed up a bag of old clothes to bring to Goodwill, and I rounded up all of the offending knick-knacks and threw them in as well. Goodbye, ye little dish with a dove perched upon it! Fare thee well, miniature wooden giraffe! And you, ceramic cat hugging a ceramic mouse wearing a sweater, may you happily gather dust upon someone else’s shelf.

Weekend Report

Friday- Pinkles Party! My soccer team was assigned the very intimidating hue of bright pink for the season, so we had a pink theme for our end of season party. I made a pink punch, which turned out to be almost poisonously powerful. Somehow, we managed to go the whole night (and the entire season) without ever taking a team photo, but here are some shots from the night that give an idea of the level of pinkness. It was a great party, although I wasn't feeling quite so pink on Saturday morning.

Saturday- Spent the day at Rutland State Park with my sister Kerry, niece Nora, Aunt Chris, cousin Carolyn, and friend Carolina. We did some kayaking and a little bit of swimming, but my camera batteries died before I could snap any photos of us in the kayaks. I was exhausted when I got home, so spent the night on the couch watching The Color Purple. I read the Alice Walker novel several years ago and really liked it, but had never seen the movie, which came out in 1985. Steven Spielberg seems like an unusual director for a movie about black Americans in the rural south, but the movie stays true to the novel and features exceptional performances by an all-star cast, many of whom were relatively unknown at the time. The story follows the central character, Celie, for the first few decades of the 20th century. The young girl suffers a lifetime of tragedy, going from an incestuous father to an abusive husband. Her one comfort is her beloved sister Nettie, who is painfully separated from her, likely for good. Celie's situation begins to change when she forms a surprising friendship with her husband's lover, the beautiful and lively singer Shug Avery. I never thought much of Whoopi Goldberg as an actress, but she PERFECT in this role- subtle and 100% believable as the Celie Alice Walker envisioned in her novel. It was fun to see all of the other famous faces as well- Oprah as Celie's outspoken daughter-in-law, who goes through a tragedy of her own, Danny Glover as Celie's menacing husband, and a young and slim Laurence Fishburne, listed as "Larry" in the credits. Another big player in the entertainment industry, Quincy Jones, composed the music for the film, and some of the best scenes are ones in which Shug performs his original songs.

Sunday- Slept in, went running, and worked in the lab. Not much blogging material there.

A Better Photo of Kevin's Triumphant Return to Framingham

Framingham night out

Intrepid travelers Kevin and Karen, who have spent the last ten months exploring the globe, arrived at their last stop before returning home to London: exotic Framingham, MA. Some of the old gang got together for dinner at the Aegean Restaurant in Framingham, located in what used to be a Chichi's (it's definitely an improvement). That's not the only thing that's changed over the years....people now have spouses, almost spouses, and a baby. Cut to me making the reservation...

Me: 8 adults and 1 baby, please. (Note that I miscounted adults, because I'm an idiot, but it did lead to much speculation about whom I was bringing to dinner.)

Them: So, you want a highchair, then?

Me: Um, yeah, I guess that's what babies sit in.

However, not everything has changed. Jon still walks around with a backpack, and I still like making fun of Kevin. Here's a bonus shot, and if I were a craftier individual, I would have photoshopped him in front of Shoppers' World or somewhere equally Framingham.

What (not) To Wear

One of the drawbacks of wearing essentially the same thing to work every day (jeans, t-shirt, sneakers) is that any variation attracts a lot of attention. Today, I am wearing a flowy, patterned top. Here are the comments thus far:

Sharon, administrative assistant: "I love your blouse!"

Vibhu, fellow graduate student: "Whoa! You're dressed up today!"

Ajit, scientist from India: "Nice shirt, Eileen. It looks like something that famous singer would wear. (Me: "Which famous singer?") You know, the one with the big sideburns. From Tennessee. He died a long time ago.... (Me, perplexed: "Elvis?").... Yes! That is the guy!"

Elvis. Not exactly the look I was going for.

Hopper at the MFA

Tonight, I went to see the special Edward Hopper exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts. Best known for his New York City paintings, like the iconic Nighthawks, Hopper excelled at capturing lonely moments of individuals in the big city, peering through windows into the private lives of others. Hopper also extensively painted the Massachusetts coastline, focusing on the old homes of Gloucester and the Truro landscape. (Here's the Globe story on the controversy brewing in Truro because somebody wants to build a tacky mansion on land adjacent near Hopper's former residence. Seems like a classic case of Old Money vs. New Money, and it's hard for me to sympathize with either faction of the filthy rich. They're much more interesting when they're getting murdered.)

Despite my general lack of appreciation for all things classy and cultural, it was a tremendous pleasure to see such a large collections of works by one of America's greatest painters. The only gripe I have is that the exhibit was uncomfortably crowded, but that's my own fault. The show opened in May, but I, along with what seems like the majority of my fellow Bostonians, waited for the very last week to go.

Things that make me laugh

I walk by this sign on my way to work. The combination of alarmist wording and the cartoon of a man getting squashed never fails to make me chuckle.

Be careful! What looks like a harmless fence is actually a cold blooded killer!

Another reason to like Steve Nash

He spends his summer playing soccer in a recreational league in NYC. Although I think it's awesome, I'm surprised that his NBA contract doesn't prevent him from playing other contact sports.

Weekend Report

Friday- It was the last day in the lab for one of our rotation students, so we had a happy hour with food and beers after work. If you think that hanging around at work after hours drinking cheap beer with a bunch of scientists sounds like a lame way to spend a Friday night, well, then, I guess you think I'm pretty lame. I took a sobering long walk back to my apartment, then set up shop on the couch to read Harry Potter. At some point, I fell asleep, and woke up in the middle of the night, covered in sweat on my leather couch.

Saturday- My college friend Kori was in town with her fiance, whom I had never met before, so Lisa and I had dinner with them at the Palm. After a delicious dinner, we headed across the street for drinks at The Oak Bar, because apparently one fancy hotel bar wasn't enough for the night. After a very intense drunken discussion of illegal immigrants, Presidential candidates, and economic policy, I went home, started reading Harry Potter on the couch, and woke up in a ball of sweat at 4:30AM. Again.

Sunday- Finished reading Harry Potter (liked it, won't discuss as to avoid spoilers), then I met Kim, Mike, and Maya for breakfast at Flour. We walked around the South End outdoor market for a bit, and I've been at work since then, actually making some progress.

Don't worry, I won't be getting one of these

Science tattoos.

Busy, busy

Thought about writing a belated weekend report, but seems pointless now. So, here's a brief synopsis of what I've been up to of late:

lots of soccer- After playing 4 games in 5 days, I must confess that a tiny part of me was relieved when my team got knocked out of the playoffs. I'm getting too old to keep up a playing schedule like that.

haircut- Maria and I went to Shag, a punky, trendy salon in South Boston (no relation to the AWESOME movie), where all of the stylists are covered in tattoos and they serve wine while you get your hair done. Said wine likely contributed me to spending an extra $20 on hair product. Maria is a natural blonde; she always wears tinfoil is to block aliens from interfering with her brainwaves. I liked the atmosphere but wasn't crazy about my stylist, and the prices are a little high for a grad school budget. I did sorely need a haircut, though... the Frizz Poof has been tamed.

My sister Eri was in town for the weekend, so we had some family time as well as fun friend time. Lobster and dark and stormies were involved. We also spent several hours trying on bridesmaid dresses for a wedding that we're both in next summer, the highlight of which occurred when Eri had her measurements taken and we discovered that she has a disproportionately large booty. Lil sis got some junk in the trunk! The lowlight of which was the realization that the bride will be choosing a style that looks terrible on me: strapless. No matter how tall and slender (that's the nice way of saying "lanky") you are, when your armpit fat is more ample than your cleavage, it's not a flattering look. (She doesn't read this blog and I pretended to love it, so shhhhhhhh.)

I randomly went to Lucky's two nights in a row.

Also random- caught the last 30 minutes of a Beastie Boys concert (friends ended up with extra tickets but I didn't find out until the show had already started), and loved what I saw. I'll definitely have to catch a full show next time they come to Boston.

Yesterday, I was the guest speaker for a class my sister Kerry is teaching at Framingham State College. The topic? Interspecies friendships! Just kidding....Nicaragua and the Peace Corps.

Then, I started reading Harry Potter and haven't done anything at all since.

List # 35...People Who Cannot Be Trusted

1. People who introduce themselves with their first and last names, in a non-business setting.

2. People who dislike tomatoes.

They're up to no good, I'm telling you.

Reviews: One book, two CDs

I just finished Michael Chabon's latest novel, The Yiddish Policeman's Union. Chabon's newest story takes place in the fictional land of Sitka, an Alaskan state created as a temporary homeland for Jewish people after Israel lost the war of 1948. Meyer Landsman is the protagonist, a embattled homicide detective who is currently residing towards the bottom of a downward spiral caused by a failed marriage, alcoholism, and the upcoming "reversion," which will place the District of Sitka back under American control and likely leave Landsman unemployed. When a fellow resident of Landsman's fleabag hotel winds up dead, Meyer and his loyal cousin and partner, the half-Jewish, half-Tlingit Berko Shemets, are on the case, which leads them on a path of rabbi mafiosos, potential messiahs, and corrupt politicians of all ethnicities.

Although the plot bears little similarity to the other Chabon novels I've read, the crisp, entertaining writing style and masterful creation of characters remain the same. A bad haircut isn't just a haircut, it's an ungodly blend of a pompadour and a high-and-tight. The account of a sleepless night during which Landsman shares a bed with his two young nephews made me laugh out loud: "Around dawn, something terrible happens in the baby's diaper."

Although I'm not a fan of conspiracy theories (likes: interspecies friendships, the NBA. Dislikes: epic biographies of eccentric businessmen, conspiracy theories), and the latest novel isn't the breaktaking masterpiece of his Pulitzer Prize winner, it's still a great read.

Now, onto music.
I'm thoroughly enjoying my two recent purchases.

1. The new Wilco album, Sky Blue Sky. Wilco is one of those bands who have been on my radar for a long time, but that I've never really been that into. Until now. I heard the song Walken on the radio and had to buy the new album, and I love it! Very mellow, full of melodic guitar and simple lyrics, with a strong an impossible to not notice similarity to the Grateful Dead. Has Jeff Tweedy always sounded exactly like Jerry Garcia and I somehow never noticed? Apparently. Anyways, here's my favorite track for your downloading pleasure.

Walken

2. I have raved about them before, but I ordered the Heartless Bastards album All This Time, and I need to give this fantastic band (with a fantastic name) another plug. Don't be fooled by the girlish drawing on the cover, this is no Lillith fair act. Frontwoman Erika Wennerstrom is pure rock and roll, with a powerful guitar and a voice to match, and musical charisma that will remind you of Chrissie Hynde and Debbie Harry. The Heartless Bastards play the type of music that makes you think of heartbreak, dive bars, and Bud bottles, but in a good way.

Searching For the Ghost

My tribute to Uta Pippig

So, a really embarrassing thing happened to me last weekend, and the shame has faded enough for me to post about it. Last Saturday, I played in an all-day soccer tournament, and late in the afternoon, we got caught in an intense thunderstorm. Sheets of rain, no shelter to be found. When I drove home after the game, I was absolutely soaked- the equivalent as if I had jumped in a swimming pool with all of my clothes on. Therefore, the upholstery seats of my stylish minivan because similarily soggy. Cut to a couple of hours later. After a showering, I threw on a tank top and a pair of light grey shorts and decided to run a bunch of errands. I hopped in the car, went to the drugstore, the bank, and finally stopped at Target to do some shopping. I went in the dressing room to try on a t-shirt, and caught a glimpse of my backside in the mirror. You see, the driver's seat in the car was still wet when I sat down on it, and to make matters worse, it has been very dusty before it go wet, so this was no ordinary stain. I had been walking around for hours with a gigantic, dark brown wet spot on my ass. It appeared as if I had suffered the worst kind of accident, the kind that might stem from eating an entire tub of olestra. Oh yes, it looked exactly as if I had crapped my pants.

Gah! I was mortified, and my first instinct was to drop everything and sprint immediately out of the store. I then decided that particular option would draw even more attention to myself. Instead, I opted to purchase the t-shirt and tucked it in to back of my shorts to cover up my brown badge of courage, and slinked my way up to the register.

The end.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

NBA update

In case you ever wondered how Gilbert Arenas feels about sharks (and really, who hasn't?), he spelled it out on his blog:

I know this is random, but I just want to clear this up for people out there. There are these things called shark attacks, but there is no such thing as a shark attack. I have never seen a real shark attack. I know you’re making a weird face as you’re reading this. OK people, a shark attack is not what we see on TV and what people portray it as.
We’re humans. We live on land.
Sharks live in water.
So if you’re swimming in the water and a shark bites you, that’s called trespassing. That is called trespassing. That is not a shark attack.
A shark attack is if you’re chilling at home, sitting on your couch, and a shark comes in and bites you; now that’s a shark attack. Now, if you’re chilling in the water, that is called invasion of space. So I have never heard of a shark attack.
When I see on the news where it’s like, “There have been 10 shark attacks,” I’m like, “Hey, for real?! They’re just running around? Sharks are walking now, huh! We live on the land, we don’t live underwater.”

Brilliant stuff! Oh, and Agent Zero is also happy with the KG trade. Speaking of Boston's new star, I was at the Red Sox game last night, and he threw the first pitch. Okay, so, technically I was still at the bar watching it on television at that point, but I did make it inside Fenway shortly thereafter.