On with the Show

Hello again.
We have a lot to talk about, so let's get right to it.
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True story..from the Associated Press:
OKLAHOMA CITY -- A man got a prison term longer than prosecutors and defense attorneys had agreed to because of Larry Bird.
The lawyers reached a plea agreement Tuesday for a 30-year term for a man accused of shooting with an intent to kill and robbery. But Eric James Torpy wanted his prison term to match Bird's jersey number 33.
"He said if he was going to go down, he was going to go down in Larry Bird's jersey," Oklahoma County District Judge Ray Elliott said Wednesday. "We accommodated his request and he was just as happy as he could be.
O.K. I don't know this guy...but I love him! That is freakin awesome. Listen, I've knelt at the altar in the church of Bird. He is THE greatest player in the history of basketball. He is one person who I really want to meet someday. I even went to a pre-season NBA game at the UD arena because he was coaching the Pacers. My wife and I were stuck in traffic and I was getting nervous. I was trapped. All the wife said was, "you could get out and...". Before she finished, I was running down Edwin Moses Blvd much like ol' Edwin himself, dodging cars, hurdling curbs. I got to my seat 50 rows up huffing and puffing but just in time to hear them announce his name...and then he appeared. I don't mind telling you that I got goosebumps and tears in my eyes. He's the greatest ever! (don't even bring up Jordan) It's the closest I've been to him.
You may not know, but I did send him an invitation to my wedding. No kidding. I had a "connection" or so I thought. I sent it along with a handwritten letter asking him to stop by and that I would be willing to cut whatever activity we were in the middle of short so he and I could possibly shoot hoops or go fishing. I'm dead serious about this. He must have been too busy. He never showed...as much as I know he wanted to. You know you are about to marry a good woman when she totally is "with me" and would stop our vows in order for me to rebound for Bird as he sinks 50 three pointers in a row.
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I have a real problem with Speedway stores. One in particular in my town. The people there are way too chatty and happy. Now, who would complain about that, you ask? Well, if you have ever been there you would. They are the cashiers who feel that ever little quip and comment should be loud enough for everyone to hear..and that it is extremely funny. Suzy says in full voice, "Well Raymond forgot to shut off pump #2 last night and I told Joe about it" To which Ned who is stocking smokes off to the side laughs way too and inappropriately loud and says "Joe came in late last night so he can't complain about Raymond..." And it just goes on and on. I just want a coffee folks, not your daily chronicles in the life of a gas station attendant.
Another thing that bothers me is they won't let you buy lottery tickets and/or alcohol with your credit/debit card. I'm pretty sure I don't need the convenient stores of Speedway to be my moral voice and decide how I should pay for goods I want to purchase at their store. If they sold crack cocaine and I wanted to pay for it with my credit card...then so be it! I just spent $70 to fill up my truck and I'm feeling lucky today. Give me a $2 scratch-off on top of the gas. "Oh, we can't do that" they say to you with a disappointed look...like you were trying to sell porn at a schoolyard.
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Dumbest thing said to me this week: Volume I
A truck driver walks into my place of work very early. I kindly say "hello". He quickly retorts "Hell is low!" Then jubilantly says, "If you would have said 'Hi', I would have said 'Not yet'!"
I kid you not, I stood there completely motionless for a solid 10 seconds just staring at him...not believing what I just heard. If there were crickets in the building, it would have been a perfect time for them to start chirping. Perhaps a lone tumbleweed should have come bouncing through. Or that one distant uncomfortable "cough" from the balcony.
It was the dumbest thing of the week. (possibly a recurring feature on this site)
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Worst announcers on television.
Brett Musburger is so terrible. If Joe Shmoe runs for three yards, Brett pisses himself as he pours accolades on top of kudos about how great a player, how great a human, how great a private pilot this guy is!
Can anyone understand how Michael Irvin and/or Sterling Sharpe are allowed to speak (or attempt to) on television? Television executive in board meeting says "I've got this guy who can hardly speak, doesn't enunciate, and has the intelligence of a housefly. Let's get his opinion on the Jets/Chargers game and have him broadcast it to 60 million households!"
Also, Bill Maas and Randy Cross. Do yourself a favor and just stick a sharp object into your eardrum, fish it past the semi-circular canal and shove it straight into your cochlea whenever they are doing a game you're watching. It's painful. Almost as painful as watching soccer and/or figure skating.
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Why does my damned truck have to "ding, ding, ding, ding" the entire time from the moment I open the door until I close it? It's maddening! Now, if it wants to ding because I left my lights on or something, then great. I'm all for that. But to tell me "Hey, Mr Driver Sir. Your door is open"...well, that just bothers me. Considering the fact that I have two children to round up and buckle into car seats and yet another in baby seat, the door is open for a relatively long time.
I liken it to chinese water torture (which, surprisingly I have not endured) where it just continues to grate on you until you SNAP! I'll find the damned fuse for that somfabitch if it's the last thing I do!
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After I leave work I pick up my middle daughter from pre-school (which is truly a wonderful treat. If you want to experience the sheer and utter joy of life, spend a few minutes with Sophia) then head home to get my oldest daughter off of the bus from kindergarten. Then we head to Piqua to pick up the baby and head back home. Once there, I try to clean up the kitchen and start some dinner. But I can honestly say this, if I didn't have a television in my kitchen, I would probably do nothing in that room. I used to watch Judge Joe Brown, but he's been moved. So now all I get is Jerry Springer. (insert grumble of dis-satisfaction here). I was a little upset, but I needed something on the tube. But I have been enlightened. The Springer show is absolutely hilarious. The beauty of it is this: They do not pretend at all that any of this is "real" and never once take themselves seriously. Which is refreshing, considering our world is made up of reality shows (which I despise) where people "act natural" as 50 stagehands, a director, producer, and others hover over them. How can that be natural.
The glory of Springer lies not within their endless supply of cheating, obese, white trash miscreants who, immediately after walking on stage, start throwing punches. Nay, the truly great part of the show is the studio crowd. They just start chanting stuff and it makes me laugh. When some scruffy derelict spews his nutty wisdom the crowd may typically chant "have another beer, have another beer". Or when any audience member with a halfway decent body gets up to ask a question, they chant "take off your top, take off your top". I'm sorry, but there is something simple and quite pleasing about this. So as I'm heaping another spoonful of formula into the baby's bottle, I have to curb my laughter. The ultimate is when the crowd rode this guy so hard that he didn't know what to do...except drop his pants and moon the audience. I'm giggling right now thinking about it. That's funny no matter where you're from or what you're doing at the moment. **my mom shakes her head in sadness knowing I watch this**
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While I'm bitching (doing a lot of that today...sorry). I have a real issue with my ATM machine greeting me with these two sentences: English? or Spanish? For crap's sake people. It's freakin Ohio! Better still, it's freakin' America! It's English. If your american money is good enough to keep in american banks, then you damned sure better speak the language there Pablo
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I spoke of the movie Garden State recently. Bought the soundtrack. I must say that the movie was pretty decent. But the soundtrack is outstanding. A great compilation of songs. Some good funk, some good groove...and if you throw in a little obscure Simon and Garfunkel...well, now you gots yer'self a good ol CD
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Saw a show on t.v. about the "technology" used during the D-Day invasion. It was awesome and impressive. It's as if guys were just thinking up crazy ideas, building them, and just rolling with them. What's most impressive about it was that there were so many different, varied approaches and that they were ultimately for a common goal...to be successful and try anything to gain any little foothold on that beach. What a fascinating time in history and what incredible ingenuity, desire, and guts from a generation of great Americans.
Wonder how they would feel knowing their ATM would be asking them "what language"...and I wonder if they would ask, "what the hell is an ATM?"
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I just had a birthday. It was great and my family treated me to a special day. But a certain uneasiness crept in as the day drew longer. My concerns? What in the name of Pete am I gonna get my wife for her birthday? I admit I suck at it, but what do you get a woman who has it all...Specifically a wonderful guy like me (kidding). Her mom sells jewelry, so the logic of me buying her her 15th bracelet of the week is lost. I could get her an iPod with all of my favorite songs on it. Or maybe a 20 ga. over/under shotgun with my name engraved on the stock. Perhaps she'd like a new tractor...or an attachment for my mower! How about a new 16 foot tandem axle trailer. I think I'll get her one of those. She'll love it!
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I recently removed the window air conditioner from our bedroom. To do so, I had to move a very heavy dresser out of the way. So I hoist this massive machine out of the window and head toward the basement, afraid that I would drop this sucker at any minute. While leaving the window, however, I unknowingly stepped on one of those Glue mousetraps. They are supposedly a more humane way to catch mice. Instead of bringing them to a quick death, it's nicer to have them step their four paws on this incredibly sticky surface where they will remain trapped as they squeal their last squeaks as he looks at his buddies and says "Tell the world my story, Louie!". But I digress. So, my svelte 490 lbs of giggling goo that makes up my rotund body along with 100 lbs of air conditioning unit are pressing this glue trap deeper into my sole and, quite possibly, my soul.
I successfully manage to deliver the a.c. unit to it's final resting place for the long winter's slumber when I try to dislodge this glue trap. I pulled to find a mucous-like substance that can stretch outwards of 20 feet away...without letting go. I felt like I stepped on some gelatinous sea creature from a bad B-Movie. I had to cut the stuff away to be able to get rid of the sticky goo holder.
But this left a huge amount of this mucilaginous material still heaped on the bottom of my shoe. I thought if I went outside to the concrete, I could scrape it off. So I am out there skidding my foot, walking backwards, spinning, sliding. At that point I realize that I must look like I'm working on my Michael Jackson moves (not the perverted pedophilic moves...wanna ride my llama, little boy?) to every car that passes by. Embarrased, I quickly skitter back inside where I stop to think. Another idea hits me as I head toward the door again. Although, this time I have a small "Welcome" mat attached to my foot. I care not, for I head for the gravel. My thinking is that I must defeat the gluey substance by overwhelming it with debris and send it into submission to which it will no longer have the will to stick to everything in my house. At the end of the day, my grand hypothesis only mildly worked while I am still left with a clodded up shoe that now has a bulbous, and now, dirty growth on the bottom.
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That's about it for now. If at any time in your day you think to yourself, "Gee, I'd like to wipe away a few minutes from my life that I'll never get back by doing something completely unfulfilling and unproductive". Then head back to this site (which, consequently, embodies the "unfulfilling and unproductive" aspect of amateur writing) and check out the archived stories by scrolling to the bottom or by clicking some of the heading on the right-hand side (although not all of my wonderfully penned gems are listed on the side bar)