On this day...

Today marks the 23rd anniversary of the final episode of M*A*S*H. An estimated 106 million people tuned in to watch at least part of the episode. That works out to 50.1 million people on average, which represented about 77% of the total viewing population.

On Friday February 10th, an average 3.3 million people watched the final episode(s) of Arrested Development. That's about 3% of the total viewing population.

On a related note:
"Deal or No Deal" is in it's second night of a week-long run.

So out of shape

Sometimes I hate winter. Lately I've been hating it because I am so out of shape and have no way to get back into shape. Now, I know I could go to a gym and work out, but I hate gyms. And I hate working out. What I want to do is get back to playing frisbee and tennis again. But neither one of those sports is an option. The frisbee league that I want to join doesn't start up until May or June and the tennis courts that I usually play on are closed until April. There are indoor courts in the city, but they cost approximately $2.73 million to play on. So my only choice is to sit around and wait until the ground thaws and the frisbees and tennis racquets come out of hibernation. Until then, I guess I'll just keep feeling like a sludgy mass.

I wonder if he ever tried to drink my pee?

In a very odd story that came out of the Columbus area, a man has been arrested for drinking the urine of young boys. You can read the full article here. Now, having lived in Westerville for a few years, I have to wonder if this guy was ever in a bathroom at the same time as me. Probably not, but it's creepy to think about. And gross. Don't forget about that, too.
Of course, as most of you know, I licked a dog's ass once so who am I to judge.

I could do better than these bitches, or, I have bigger breasts than most female ice skaters

I could totally nail that jump.
I wouldn't have fallen there.
I would have finished in time with the music.
I would be so much better than these ice twinkies.
If I knew how to skate.

Go ahead, steal my stuff

I finally got around to getting Renter's Insurance for my new apartment in Brooklyn. Mostly what prompted this was an attempted break-in at our building. As far as I know, nothing was taken from anyone's apartment, but it was still worrisome to see the two doors to our building looking as if someone took a crowbar to them. The first door is made of thick metal, but the person seems to have made it through. The second door is a regular wooden door, but I don't think the perp (great word, huh?) made it through that one. That sounds odd, I know, but the marks on the wooden door where they stuck the crowbar are above the doorknob and the lock itself wasn't broken or bent. I have the feeling that they got through the metal door and were trying the wooden one when they were seen, so they took off without continuing.
This all leads back to me getting insurance on the apartment or, more accurately, on our stuff in the apartment. Through my company I was able to get a decent rate and now have coverage for up to $20,000 worth of damage/stolen goods. At first this seemed like an adequate amount to me. $20,000 is a lot of money. Someone would have to steal a whole lot of our shit in order to get up to that amount. But now that I think about it more, it's really not that much at all. If there were ever a fire in the building and everything was destroyed, the cost to replace all of the stuff that we have would be much more than that. I think my CDs alone would top $20,000. This being said, I ask you all (if you don't mind sharing) what kind of insurance/coverage you have for your property. I know that some of you have your own houses and would have very different insurance, but if you can give me an idea of what you think a good amount of coverage would be, I'd appreciate it. My guess is that I should probably double (or even triple) the amount of coverage. But I don't really know for sure, so I'm putting it out there.

North America spreading out into nothingness

Earlier today, I was talking to a woman that I work with about ancient maps. We were joking about how odd some of them looked compared to actual pictures of the planet. I always found it interesting that, on many early maps, the detail of certain places was so precise while others were just way off. I am impressed by how accurate some of these mapmakers were with Europe and Africa in particular. Sometimes with only accounts from explorers, merchants, etc., these mapmakers would create nearly exact representations of islands, countries, and continents.

One of the more odd representations that I've seen is shown below. In it, Europe, Africa, and Asia seem to be pretty spot on. But North America is this odd blobby thing that kinda fades off the edge of the map. I figured that this was so because people didn't know much about North America at this point, but the map was made between 1749 and 1784. While much of the extent of North America was not known until Lewis and Clark (and others) returned in 1806, surely there was as much knowledge about North America as there was about Africa at the same time. I wonder why the map doesn't reflect this. Maybe I'm missing something obvious, but it seems to me that if they could (fairly) accurately reflect the size and shape of Africa, Asia, and South America, they could do it with North America as well.



[Click on the map for a larger image]

You've got to be kidding me! or The Holocaust existed, so what?

According to this article that I just this moment read (Ice Dancing is on on the Olympics and I have no interest in it...neither does LG for that matter but neither of us has changed the channel yet) a British historian named David Irving was sentenced to three years in prison in Austria for having denied that the Holocaust ever happened. I know nothing about this case beyond what is in this article, but it seems to me that a person in a free country cannot be arrested for only saying something. Something which he now believes is wrong. In court he admitted that he was wrong, that the Holocaust actually happened. This verdict/sentencing worries me. Please comment if you know anything more about this (I'm looking at you Dr. Actually).

Train tracks

Well, I've already failed to post everyday (missing Saturday and Sunday) but I was in Philadelphia on those two days, so that's my excuse. LG and I headed to Philly on Saturday morning via NJ Transit and Septa. We went to hang out with Gil and celebrate his birthday. A large crowd gathered to wish him well at Outback Steakhouse, by my count there were 17 of us there. It was a fun group, even if it was a little large. I think that Gil had a good time, which is really all that mattered. Happy Birthday G!

On Sunday, LG and I left Philly for a long ride home. The ride back always feels longer, with three total trains to ride on between PA and Brooklyn. When we got back Sunday evening we were pretty tired out, although LG was strong enough to go out to her yoga class. I, on the other hand, was a lazy ass and didn't do much.

Today was a little more constructive. We did laundry, vaccumed up a little bit, and cleaned the bathroom. It was nice to have another day off. And it will be even nicer to have a short work week. Tonight we are just hanging out and watching the Olympics, at least for a little while. We just watched Bode Miller ski in one of his events. He looked pretty crappy. I can't remember a more overinflated and overhyped athlete who has done so little. I've watch probably half of his events and he has either been disqualified or just plain faltered. What a disappointment. Plus the guy's an ass.

That's about it from this weekend. See you guys on Tuesday!

Oil me up

I went to the supermarket across the street from my apartment last night to pick up a few neccestities (mostly tissues and pretzels). I had 7 total items, so I got into the Express Lane line, thinking that it would be by far the fastest way out of the store. There were only three people ahead of me, each with no more than the customary 10 items that are allowed in such a lane. To make you fully understand the rest of this story, I will give you a little background on the supermarket itself. It is a fairly large market, especially for NYC, but is populated with the laziest, most uncaring employees I have ever seen collected. LG and I have shopped there many, many times and have rarely met with a cashier who was both competent and nice. All of the people working the cash registers are young women who seem to care more about store gossip and what each other did the night before than doing their jobs. Keeping this in mind, I shall continue with the story...

The first two people in line took about 10 minutes to get rung up. The cashier was talking to someone sitting on a bench behind the row of registers and scanning items at an incredibly slow pace. Finally, she moved on to the guy who was right in front of me. He had 5 items, among them a very large plastic container of vegetable oil. When the cashier rung up the oil it came to 12.99 or something like that.
"Wait a minute," he said "I thought that was on sale for 3.99."
"Nope."
"Are you sure, the guy in the aisle said it was."
"Not this one."
"So which one is it?"
"I don't know."
"Well, could you find out?"
She picks up the weekly flyer and flips through it.
"It's this one," she says, pointing to a picture of Key Food Corn Oil.
"Okay, let me grab it."
He takes off and returns with another large bottle, this time it's Wesson Corn Oil. She takes it from him and rings it up: $7.49.
"This ain't it either."
"What?"
"It's Wesson. You need the Key Food Corn Oil."
"Oh, Canola Oil."
"Yeah, Corn Oil."
He takes off again, but I know he will not bring back the right one. He returns a minute later with another large plastic bottle: Key Foods Canola Oil.
She takes it from him and rings it up: $4.99.
"That's the right one," she says.
"Oh, okay." He gives her a $20, gets his change, and is on his way with the wrong oil at the wrong price. All of that wasted time for nothing. Meanwhile, the rest of the checkout lanes seem to be pretty empty. And there I am, in the Express Lane, just waiting to buy my damn tissues and pretzels. She rings me up, I pay, and I take my bags.

As I walk outside, I think:
Who the hell uses Corn Oil?

A Comment on the Olympics

Up until last night, I had been watching the Olympics pretty consistently since the opening ceremonies. I enjoy seeing the unconventional sports that only pop up on television every 4 years. The speed skating and the bobsledding and others. That is what draws me to turn on NBC at 8 o'clock each evening. What doesn't make me turn it on, however, is the constant background stories and heartwarming tales of overcoming odds. I don't wanna see that shit. Everyone's got problems that they have to deal with, and most don't get a five minute segment on their blind stepsister or their asthmatic grandmother.

I have fully accepted that the events are not shown live and that they are interrupted every five minutes for commercials. That I can live with. What I cannot stand is the useless human interest crap that litters the three hours of coverage. I cannot stand it in the NFL, NBA, or any other sport, but in the Olympics it is so prevalent that one cannot ignore it without completely turning off the television. So that is what I did last night. I just couldn't take it any more. Call me heartless if you'd like, but I don't care at all that some athlete's wife/husband/father/mother died. I just don't care.

Take, for example, U.S. speed skater Chad Hedrick. The NBC background story on him focused on the death of his grandmother 12 years ago. TWELVE FUCKING YEARS AGO!!! Yeah, it's sad. Boo hoo. Get over it. It was over a decade ago, if you can't let that shit go by now you've got some problems. Frankly, I'm only interested if someone that an athlete knows died a few weeks before the event. Especially if they died during said athlete's competition. Let's say that Hedrick accidentally sliced open his coach's throat with his skate. Now that's a story I'll watch.

Of course, all of this anger stems from jealousy. If I was in the Olympics they could show all the heartwarming crap that they want. But that would be different. It would be about me. By the way, Bob Costas, my grandmother died when I was only 4 years old. And she looked kinda like Madeleine Albright. That would be a great story.

The camera pans across an empty lake, then you see me standing there looking out over the water, silhouetted and in profile of course. A voiceover begins: "I was so young when she died," a pregnant pause "that I never really knew her." Then we get the whole story about how, when I compete, I can feel her presence and I know that she is there watching over me. And it will end in the most touching way. My face on screen, tears welling up in my eyes as I say: "Every time I see Madeleine Albright I stop for a moment and think about my grandmother. I can't help it, the pain is too real." Fade to black.

The 40-year Old Boring

The other day Netflix sent me "The 40-Year Old Virgin." I had been looking forward to seeing this movie for a little while. When it was in the theaters I tried to convince LG to come with me to see it, but she refused. And wisely. I ended up missing it and had to wait until it was available on DVD. Even then I had to keep waiting as it sat on my Netflix queue with "Very Long Wait" and "Long Wait" next to its name.
"Boy," I thought, "this has to be a good movie, look at all the people who want to watch it."
My expectations were high, but misguided. When I finally sat down and watched the film (an extended 2-hour plus edition) I was completely underwhelmed. The film relied on the lowest, most base forms of sexual humor. And it wasn't even crude enough for me to respect it. Between the "you're gay" jokes and the "bouncing titties" jokes, the funny was missing.
I will admit that I did chuckle a few times and even laugh loudly on rare occassions, but that was it. There was only one scene that I found to be hilarious. Steve Carell's character is getting his chest waxed and his three friends are there with him to offer their support. The entire scene is just an endless tirade of foul language and incoherent babbling by Carell as the stereotypically Asian woman rips giant chunks of hair from his chest. After a little while, but before finishing the waxing, Carell gets off the table and says he's had enough. His chest is completely bare in three or four spots, while the rest is still hairy. Here's the best picture I could find:



Carell begins to walk out and one of his friends looks at his chest and says: "Dude, you look like a Man-O-Lantern." That was the funniest line of the whole movie.
Overall, I say that you should not watch this movie. It was a waste of 2 hours and of a spot in my Netflix list.

A Daily Post? Probably Not, But I'll Give It A Try

As the esteemed delagate from Thunderia has pointed out, I've been very lax with the blog pretty much since moving to NY. In an effort to make up for it, I've decided to try to write at least one entry per day. I will usually do this at work, during my lunch hour, so they will probably not be too exciting or entertaining. But at least there will be something. Who knows how long I can keep it up, but I'll give it a shot.

On a related note: I've noticed that many of my most recent postings discuss how little I post. Odd.

My Little Honey

I just returned from a brief trip into Penn Station to get some lunch. Normally (about 95% of the time) I go to one of the many soup places that can be found in the station, but today I felt like something a little more fattening and greasy...



So I ordered some chicken strips and a side of macaroni & cheese. The woman behind the counter asked me what kind of sauce I wanted for the chicken and I asked her if she had plain honey. I have a strong dislike for honey-mustard sauce (which probably makes me un-American in some corners) but like the sweetness of just honey. She threw a couple packets of honey into my bag and I was on my way.
When I returned to my desk and began taking everything out of the bag, I noticed that the honey was not what I had expected. Instead of a yellow packet of plain old honey, I was given a packet of "Honey Sauce".
What, you may be asking, is Honey Sauce?? Well, I have no idea. It looks like honey, it smells like honey, it tastes like honey; but it's not really honey. Instead it is a mixture of ingredients:
High Fructose Corn Syrup, Sugar, Honey, Corn Syrup, Natural Flavor, Caramel Color

My favorite part is that the third ingredient is actually honey!! Why did they have to create some chemical compound that includes honey when they could have just put real honey in a packet and let it go at that. It's not as if honey goes bad or is hard to store. Why not just use real honey?? To me, the real stuff is sweet enough without adding HFCS, Sugar, and more Corn Syrup. What are the people at KFC thinking?

I would write more about this thrilling topic, but I'm hungry and my food is getting cold and this "Honey Sauce" is just too delicious to pass up.