This just in from the wierd, wacky, and frankly stupid.
Apparently two men where trapped in an industrial dryer and had to be rescued. This begs so many questions? 1) what is an industrial dryer? 2) what were said individuals doing in an industrial driver? 3)Really? I mean really?
OK, so I red a little. Turns out something was jammed. The first guy went to get it out and was overcome by heat. The second guy tried to rescue him and was also over come by the heat. Anybody else picturing a GINORMOUS walk in dryer? Just me? OK..... then
Incidentally, guy number three did the math and learning from guys one and two; called for help. Interestingly, or frighteningly depending on your choice of salad dressings, it took thirty firefighters 1/2 an hour to save the two guys. Again, we're either dealing with a REALLY REALLY BIG DRYER. Or after 29 minutes of extended contagious, laugh till your side hurts and you pee on yourself laughter; the firemen heroically removed the two future members of the local chapter of clausterphobics anonymous (meetings are every Tuesday at 6 and 10. Outdoors.
Peace
Friday, August 13, 2010
Sunday, August 1, 2010
And so it comes to this
Well I've been writing a slanted version of "A Pirate Looks at Forty" every year for the last ..... I don't know five or six years I think. Well Shiver Me Timbers, It has come and gone. I am Forty. Forty. I know its just a number. A really really big number. It is soooooooo much bigger than thirty-nine.
Usually I am reflective at these moments. However, as I sit here, I am frankly, well sore. You see, because I am forty, I absolutely had to play hockey tonight, cause thats what forty year olds do. One of these days as I sit around icing the things burn and heating the things that are numb it will occur to me, that I am not an athlete. I sure as shit, am not a hockey player. Let alone a goalie at that. Talk about, "hey lets check this guys drug screen again".
Sports has always been such a big deal to me. And yet I suck at them. With consistancy.
In fact todays epiphany for me, went something along the lines of, "Holy Shit, I'm like Don Quixote sans Wind mills." For those of you Shakespeare lovers, and you'll really appreciate the irony of this one, I was cast as Bottom the Weaver in Midsummer. I WAS TYPE CAST. I think I may have been the only freakin guy in recent history to be type cast as a Jack Ass. I thought was funny. Fuck. I'm a mule. Not only am I a moron, but I'm some combination of stubborn and proud. My life script reads like a freakin Mc Donalds commercial with a slant towards health food. Hey get fat.... But run with or perhaps from a Scary Clown. Side bar, if ever there was a scary clown its Ronald.
The birthday, however, was absoulutely magical. I got to spend it my wife, and three wonderfulsupercalafragilisticexbealadocious children. I got to laugh with my kids. I got to hold my little girl while she slept. I let my soon to be too big to ride on my shoulders son, ride on shoulders, till I couldn't feel my toes. And my oldest. My tikva. Who always makes me smile. Makes it all worthwhile.
In short I am blessed. Lucky and Blessed. Undeservedly so. If I could wish for a thing it would be for better things for my family. Still in this world we live in today, I'll hold my wish and choose to say thank you.
Usually I am reflective at these moments. However, as I sit here, I am frankly, well sore. You see, because I am forty, I absolutely had to play hockey tonight, cause thats what forty year olds do. One of these days as I sit around icing the things burn and heating the things that are numb it will occur to me, that I am not an athlete. I sure as shit, am not a hockey player. Let alone a goalie at that. Talk about, "hey lets check this guys drug screen again".
Sports has always been such a big deal to me. And yet I suck at them. With consistancy.
In fact todays epiphany for me, went something along the lines of, "Holy Shit, I'm like Don Quixote sans Wind mills." For those of you Shakespeare lovers, and you'll really appreciate the irony of this one, I was cast as Bottom the Weaver in Midsummer. I WAS TYPE CAST. I think I may have been the only freakin guy in recent history to be type cast as a Jack Ass. I thought was funny. Fuck. I'm a mule. Not only am I a moron, but I'm some combination of stubborn and proud. My life script reads like a freakin Mc Donalds commercial with a slant towards health food. Hey get fat.... But run with or perhaps from a Scary Clown. Side bar, if ever there was a scary clown its Ronald.
The birthday, however, was absoulutely magical. I got to spend it my wife, and three wonderfulsupercalafragilisticexbealadocious children. I got to laugh with my kids. I got to hold my little girl while she slept. I let my soon to be too big to ride on my shoulders son, ride on shoulders, till I couldn't feel my toes. And my oldest. My tikva. Who always makes me smile. Makes it all worthwhile.
In short I am blessed. Lucky and Blessed. Undeservedly so. If I could wish for a thing it would be for better things for my family. Still in this world we live in today, I'll hold my wish and choose to say thank you.
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