Dear Bloginistas,
It's Sunday evening and after spending 15 minutes or so in Boretrose this weekend, its back to usual and I'm here cooling it at MLI.
Nothing too spectacular happening. I had to drive the truck up today as Her Hotness didn't want to invest the 5 hours up and back to drive me. Its 5 hours with her driving but only 4 hours (or less) with me driving the 210 miles roundtrip (do the math for the average miles per hour). Luckily, there is nothing too solid to hit except cornfields in the summer and in the winter, its just mud, dirt and the occasional pig (note subtle Iowa reference).
Hey speaking of racing, the Oz GP is next week, so I will have a new (abeit a really cool one) distraction (not counting Her Hotness) to fixate on.
Somehow, saner heads prevailed and the F1 reqs this year while being all sweeping, still manage to keep the racing "real" and may actually shake up the order some. And the costs have been drastically cut. The days of $200 mil/yr team budgets are past and a mere $100mil per year dosh may still do the trick. Nice to see the circus will still be able to just scrimp by.
Special note to self: (woop, woop !!!!Travel Advisory!!!!)
Never, ever sit in seat 2B again on any NWA commuter flight.
For some reason NWA has designated seat 2A as the Shamu seat and they only allow people (sic) with a BMI of 40 or more to sit there. So the poor schmoe (ie me) who gets to sit next to the flying Hippopotamus gets: (in order):
1) Smushed
2) Sweated on
3) A body hair massage
4) (And if it’s feeding time) Mistaken for a baloney sandwich and gnawed on.
NWA thinks of the smallest details and being the ever perfect host, even has Seat 2A already prepped with a 6 foot long jumbo seatbelt lest Andre the Giant feel self conscious and have to ask embarrassingly for a seatbelt extension.
Least we forget that its always all about me, why do I also always seem to have sit next to (at least when they are not fat that is, and why can't I ever just sit next to a small Asian woman with good bathing habits, who can't speak English or better yet can't speak at all? - err sorry I digress) people with some kind of major body tick or Saint Vitus Dance (? - just google it).
Since I suffer from a mild OCD (Old Coot and Dopey - with a special nod to Doc and Sneezy) having to watch someone spaz or worse for the whole flight just drives me nuts (ier).
Thank God I'm perfect.....
While I'm at it, how come the dippoop (I cleaned this up so Her Hotness wouldn't faint) who uses his laptop in the seat next to me thinks its aok that every time he hits the "shift" key he can just jab his elbow into my ribs?
Deep breath. There. I think I'm done. I do feel better.
Wow, I actually made it through this whole Piece de Resistance without once mentioning the horse faced sleeveless wonders' jerkass husband. (For a change)
I must be seeing the light.
Here's hoping.
YHS
Monday, March 23, 2009
Saturday, March 21, 2009
The Intergalactic Mr. Met
Dear Bloginistas,
Hey it's been awhile since my last communiqué hasn't it? Well things are still just peachy here on planet Wes. I've decided to now claim that I'm my own planet after being so inspired by some hippie fruitcake mystic who just died per the New York Times.
Hey what the heck if this loon can claim such, who am I not to think that I'm any less sane?
So now I'm intergalactic - sweet!
Um, now to more earthly matters. Oh yeah I had a birthday since we last smoozed. I'm not actually getting any older, I'm just falling apart at a faster rate.
Since I'm taking such great care of myself, at this pace I should last for about another 5 minutes or so.
What else is happening? Um, I've been in Detroit a couple of times. And believe it or not the Detroit area actually is as depressing as Chamber of Commerce would have you believe. Nuf said.
My new mission impossible has me back in Metro NYC and somehow Long Island makes EWR and it's environs seem almost quaint by comparison. "Hey Guido (or fill in your preferred kamakasee inspired wild ass driver country's male name here), do you really think that zooming up and sitting on my bumper is going to make me somehow hurdle the line of traffic ahead of me? Hey, "key fa ah wah" (wild hand gestures) to you too buddy! (you punk). ....There, I feel much better now.
What else? Hans and Bell. (the dynamic canine duo) are still cooling it and enjoying the pending spring. Witness the numerous winter mummified animal carcii left on our front porch. Let's eat.
We finally and unfortunately had to have cut down (this would have been sure death if I tried this) the 45 year old pine tree out front. Real sad but the last 2 years' ice storms have left it almost totally limbless on it's south (?) side.
Her Hotness (pant) as always, is still storin food awaitin the global (now intergalactic) meltdown. Since Barky has his foot to the floor and is ridin our economic bumper (so to speak), it ought to be no time at all before I can buy a loaf of bread with a wheelbarrow full of Deutschmarks. Since I'm a known idiot, even I, Your Humble Servant (YHS), is scared at BO's Machiavellian (uh, what?) approach to all of this.
Not that I'm doubting that Hopey McChangie's approach has not worked elsewhere (ie France) just that I'm not sure I have enough bullets to ride it all out "night of the living dead" style, as the roaming hordes attack the Casa du Her Hotness. Just a thought.
Hey, speaking of guns, since da Bomba is such an advocate of the 2nd amendment (with muy grande red line edits of course), I'm now a certified gun nut.
Using the old adage, I better go get em, while the gettin is good, I now own a shotgun, 2 rifles, a 22 cal revolver, a 38 special revolver and a 44 magnum revolver. Plus a pile of ammo. All of this within the last year. And primarily because DB (da Bomba) is continuing to delivering us all in a hand basket.
As a side note, the 44 mag is really really cool. It has all the things a 15 year old could ever want. It makes a huge sonic kaboom noise when fired and it pretty much explodes/destroys anything it hits. (Geez, I'm even smiling as I write this). Of course, because of the HUGE kick that this hand cannon has, it takes both hands (or more) to even just hold onto it (more smiles) and actually hitting anything your aiming at is all relative (an in-law maybe?). But what the heck, you even get 6 chances before you have to reload.
Of course, I'm thinking I'll have to have all of these armaments buried somewhere out back sometime soon, as presumably Barry's Americorp will be here any day now to collect them. The future seems so bright I have to wear shades.
On a happier note, JFK (the aeroport du joir) is a whole lot nicer then EWR and LGA put together. Cept it appears to be the United Nations preferred port of escape also. Seems I appear to be the only one in line without some kind of really cool head adornment (my orange Mets cap not withstanding). To make do, I wonder if I can get an orange towel around here somewhere and just slap a sticker of Mr. Met on it? Just an another thought.
More random thoughts: Does anyone else get real bad gas from flying or is it just me? Somehow this isn't covered in the Stewardperson take off/landing debrief nor the flight card conveniently located in my seat back.
Anywho, I think that's it for now. And with an equal nod to Rudolph the Red Nosed Gas Cramp and happy interplanetary flying, see ya.
YHS
Hey it's been awhile since my last communiqué hasn't it? Well things are still just peachy here on planet Wes. I've decided to now claim that I'm my own planet after being so inspired by some hippie fruitcake mystic who just died per the New York Times.
Hey what the heck if this loon can claim such, who am I not to think that I'm any less sane?
So now I'm intergalactic - sweet!
Um, now to more earthly matters. Oh yeah I had a birthday since we last smoozed. I'm not actually getting any older, I'm just falling apart at a faster rate.
Since I'm taking such great care of myself, at this pace I should last for about another 5 minutes or so.
What else is happening? Um, I've been in Detroit a couple of times. And believe it or not the Detroit area actually is as depressing as Chamber of Commerce would have you believe. Nuf said.
My new mission impossible has me back in Metro NYC and somehow Long Island makes EWR and it's environs seem almost quaint by comparison. "Hey Guido (or fill in your preferred kamakasee inspired wild ass driver country's male name here), do you really think that zooming up and sitting on my bumper is going to make me somehow hurdle the line of traffic ahead of me? Hey, "key fa ah wah" (wild hand gestures) to you too buddy! (you punk). ....There, I feel much better now.
What else? Hans and Bell. (the dynamic canine duo) are still cooling it and enjoying the pending spring. Witness the numerous winter mummified animal carcii left on our front porch. Let's eat.
We finally and unfortunately had to have cut down (this would have been sure death if I tried this) the 45 year old pine tree out front. Real sad but the last 2 years' ice storms have left it almost totally limbless on it's south (?) side.
Her Hotness (pant) as always, is still storin food awaitin the global (now intergalactic) meltdown. Since Barky has his foot to the floor and is ridin our economic bumper (so to speak), it ought to be no time at all before I can buy a loaf of bread with a wheelbarrow full of Deutschmarks. Since I'm a known idiot, even I, Your Humble Servant (YHS), is scared at BO's Machiavellian (uh, what?) approach to all of this.
Not that I'm doubting that Hopey McChangie's approach has not worked elsewhere (ie France) just that I'm not sure I have enough bullets to ride it all out "night of the living dead" style, as the roaming hordes attack the Casa du Her Hotness. Just a thought.
Hey, speaking of guns, since da Bomba is such an advocate of the 2nd amendment (with muy grande red line edits of course), I'm now a certified gun nut.
Using the old adage, I better go get em, while the gettin is good, I now own a shotgun, 2 rifles, a 22 cal revolver, a 38 special revolver and a 44 magnum revolver. Plus a pile of ammo. All of this within the last year. And primarily because DB (da Bomba) is continuing to delivering us all in a hand basket.
As a side note, the 44 mag is really really cool. It has all the things a 15 year old could ever want. It makes a huge sonic kaboom noise when fired and it pretty much explodes/destroys anything it hits. (Geez, I'm even smiling as I write this). Of course, because of the HUGE kick that this hand cannon has, it takes both hands (or more) to even just hold onto it (more smiles) and actually hitting anything your aiming at is all relative (an in-law maybe?). But what the heck, you even get 6 chances before you have to reload.
Of course, I'm thinking I'll have to have all of these armaments buried somewhere out back sometime soon, as presumably Barry's Americorp will be here any day now to collect them. The future seems so bright I have to wear shades.
On a happier note, JFK (the aeroport du joir) is a whole lot nicer then EWR and LGA put together. Cept it appears to be the United Nations preferred port of escape also. Seems I appear to be the only one in line without some kind of really cool head adornment (my orange Mets cap not withstanding). To make do, I wonder if I can get an orange towel around here somewhere and just slap a sticker of Mr. Met on it? Just an another thought.
More random thoughts: Does anyone else get real bad gas from flying or is it just me? Somehow this isn't covered in the Stewardperson take off/landing debrief nor the flight card conveniently located in my seat back.
Anywho, I think that's it for now. And with an equal nod to Rudolph the Red Nosed Gas Cramp and happy interplanetary flying, see ya.
YHS
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