Tuesday, May 29, 2007

I Love a Parade 4 - Memorial Day

I may never get tired of going to parades. In addition, I may never get tired of making fun of places I live or have lived.

This week, I had the distinct honor of attending the Whitestown Memorial Day Parade 2007. I, a proud graduate of Whitesboro High School, was thrilled to watch this yearly display, though I did kick myself for not going to the annual St. Paul's Bazaar that took place the prior weekend. Oh, memories...

Anyhow, the parade was enjoying some lovely weather, and I saw the usual sights. A lot of shriners, a few veterans... and then came the Clowns.

Ok, I don't really like the clowns, but I'll give them credit: that is one sweet ride. Sadly, I think there was only one occupant of the car. I could be mistaken, as they didn't really stop and run around in front of me.

Also, I knew we would meet again someday, since our first encounter a week prior to St. Pat's:

Neon Clown. You bastard.

Now I don't want to give the impression that the entire parade was just clowns and silliness. It also had this:

The Mohawk Valley Pug Club.

The Mohawk Valley Pug Club.

That wasn't a typo. I really wanted to say it twice. This group of proud pug owners and pug enthusiasts not only meets to discuss the trials and tribulations of pug ownership and enthusiasm, they organize and march in parades. I can only assume that the pugs themselves do not get to vote in the proceedings.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you The Mohawk Valley Pug Club.

And finally I'll close with a little more information about Whitestown, and Whitesboro (to this day, I'm not 100% sure on the distinction between the two). Whenever I describe the town seal to people, they do not believe me. I'm here to set the record straight.

This sign is in front of the town hall on Main Street in Whitestown.

Just in case some of you aren't paying attention, or have poor eyesight, let me zoom in on that for you:

No, you're not seeing things, and I am not a master of photoshop. The seal of the Village of WHITEsboro is a WHITE SETTLER (village founder Hugh White) STRANGLING AN INDIAN.

This is real, everyone.

The Whitesboro Department of Revisionist History explains it thusly: "The wrestling match was an important event in the history of the settling of the Village of Whitesboro and helped foster good relations between White and the Indians."

Now before you go jumping to conclusions, the seal used to be worse. In 1977 the seal was redesigned so that Hugh White's hands are on the Indian's shoulders and no longer on his throat.

I think we can all agree that this new version eliminates any sort of racist imagery involved (sarcasm).


PS: The Whitesboro mascot is the Warriors, another fantastic Native American stereotype.

PPS: I met a perfectly lovely dog yesterday, her name is Maya and she barked at me for a while, but soon enough calmed down and was only extremely wary of me. She looks like this:

Good Girl, Maya.

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

June First, We'll See.

So I'm pretty sure I was cursed by a gypsy. Sunday, to be precise. I'll tell you the story.

On Sunday, I decided to do laundry, as I had precious few clean clothes to wear. However, as you may or may not be aware, the weather was fantastic. I didn't really feel like being locked in the dark, scary laundry room for the entire amount of time the process would take. I figured I should take a walk and get some food, you know, enjoy the outside.

What a naive fool I was.

So there I was, whistling and trucking down a street on Staten Island, about to walk under a bridge that supports the SIR. I see an old woman walking towards me. Oh, that's nice, other people like walking in the outside like I do. What a colorful head scarf she has. I wonder if she's fantasizing about Tina Fey, too?

Anyway, our paths crossed directly under the railroad tracks, and just as I was about to pass her, she mutters something in a language I did not recognize.

Now there are a lot of languages I have never heard and I would not recognize. But I think it's safe to assume that this woman was indeed an old crone of a gypsy woman and that she levelled some sort of curse upon me.

I will take this time to add that this sorceress was wearing a hands-free device for some sort of cell phone. Many of you might suggest that this woman was carrying on a conversation with someone else, and that my presence was merely a coincidence. You will be the first I come after when I transform into a werewolf.

Clearly the hands-free device was a ruse. First of all, she hadn't said anything up to this point, and my ungodly powerful eyesight was watching her for a good 40 seconds or so. Secondly, if I'm a gypsy woman who goes around cursing people, of course I'm going to wear a cell phone accessory to throw them off the path. I wouldn't want a long line of whiny, encursed individuals cluttering up my wagon, messing up my tarot cards, crystal balls and various sundry potion ingredients. Vampire wings are ridiculously hard to come by, and must be preserved carefully.

I've accepted the inevitable, and come to terms with the fact that my sunshiny walk turned into a sadistic waltz with Lucifer himself.

The trick is, since I don't speak the language, I'm not exactly sure what sort of curse was levelled. It could be something minor, like for the rest of my life, blue pens will leak when put in my pockets. Or it could be lycanthropy.

The next full moon is June 1st, so we'll know then whether or not I am subject to metamorphosis. If I am, I really hope it's more like Underworld, and less like An American Werewolf in London. Either way, I'll be sure to blog about it if possible.

Also I bring up the werewolf aspect as it's one of the easiest to disprove. Full moon, no transformation, I guess that's not it. But the list of curses is endless. She may have cursed me with impotence, and God knows when I'd be able to test that one.

Also, I don't want this post to reflect in any way a prejudice against the Romani people. They have a long and proud history, and have been the targets of far too much discrimination and oppression over the years.

Besides, I don't need any more of them cursing me.

Later folks,


Monday, May 21, 2007

Double Bauer Pauer Hauer

Oh thank you. Thank the sweet Jesus Mayor of Christland, this day is over.

There was lots of shooting of anonymous chinamen, so that was good. Ricky Schroder went blind, partly from a bomb, mostly from years of masturbating his ego. That was also good.

Chloe is pregnant? Whaaat? Bizarre cameo from Milo's L.L. Bean-Model brother? Confusing at best.

All in all, I'd say that this finale went down as a fitting cap to a mediocre season. It was long, there were a lot of words drowned out by my apathy. I got confused by the conflicting subtexts concerning feeling sympathy regarding the unbelievable pressures of the Oval Office and feeling outrage regarding the evil of making decisions based on acceptable losses.

Then I remembered that I'm not supposed to be thinking while I watch this show, and I got mad that they were making me.

I'm pretty sure the character of Jack's 16 year old nephew was originally written to be his 6 year old niece, but some producer needed a way to get out of some gambling debts, so the role was changed with absolutely no script alteration.

Man, I really wanted that kid to catch a bullet. I think it would be a great way to further vilify the head Chinese bad guy, and then Jack could go nuts with his Glockenslice, instead of taking him into custody in some sort of "turnabout is fair play" BS.

Seriously, like a little bit of waterboarding and a few nude human pyramids is going to be as bad as an 18 month stay in a Chinese Prison Camp. Hell, that's not even as bad as a Boy Scout Summer Camp (j/k boyscouts, you're all right, but I had to go for the punchline).

Bill Buchanan should have taken him out, or something. I love Bill, but as far as I can remember, he's coming up pretty short in the body count category.

Late realization alert: Jack's sister-in-law is played by the same actress as Nathan's no-longer-crippled wife on Heroes. My Spidey sense was buzzing when she rolled on a few episodes ago, but I couldn't place her face... just the odd feeling that she should be surrounded by sucking.

And Jack, did you really just describe yourself as being at a crossroads? I hate what you've become. Walking out and watching the sunrise with those wistful eyes. I just was waiting for the Incredible Hulk sad walking away music to play, just like two seasons ago, when you went wandering away down the train tracks.

Jack, accept who you are, turn to the dark side, and use your newfound unholy powers to sacrifice Chloe's baby in a midnight blood ritual to resurrect Curtis.

Wow, I blacked out a little bit there, but that is a season I would watch.

The Day is saved, and I can finally stop this segment of my blog... until next season... maybe

Later folks,


Saturday, May 19, 2007

All Right, I'm back.

Greetings, Blogosphere, I am back from vacation and I brought you cookies.

Unfortunately, my cookie scanner technology is still just a fevered dream, so I'll eat them myself and tell you that they're really good.

Vacation was fun. A week in the Outer Banks with the fam. I'll probably go into more detail, but here are some important parts:

1) Got a new Kite

2) Got a new idea for an internet start-up

C) Took a decent video of my Mother demonstrating the proper way to take Tequila shots

4) Saw Richard Gere

V) Resolved to destroy Delaware

6) Maintained my hatred of the Ocean throughout

Also, I'm completely caught up on my Heroes watching, and more or less caught up on 24. Man, I love Heroes. I totally should have blogged about that instead of 24. Live and learn, I suppose.

Now that I'm back I have a few things to accomplish:

1) Find a new job

2) Find a new apartment

3) Buy new sneakers

It's going to be an interesting next few weeks I feel. Catch you folks later, I need a nap.

Friday, May 11, 2007

High 8 Us.

Everyone out there in the Blogalaxy, I apologize in advance for the next week of no updates. I'll try to make it up to you later.

Peace out,


Monday, May 7, 2007

This Week on 24

Completely honest right up front. Didn't watch it tonight. Here's why.

My housemate decided to watch a special on the history channel about ancient ruins beneath the ground of current structures. Since the DVR can only record one show at a time (I think?), I was forced to choose between recording 24 or recording Heroes.

What kind of decision is that?

"Hey, you can either have this nice crisp ten dollar bill, or I can kick you in the junk."

My choice was clear.

OH. By the way. Said housemate felt the overwhelming desire to watch this show and mess up my schedule of which he's completely aware, while all the while he has his own TV with Cable in his room! Now that's just inconsiderate.

But as it was, I was already a week behind in Heroes. So tonight at 10 I watched last week's episode, the one set five years in the future. Fan-effing-tastic.

God I love that show. It's like being hand-fed grapes by a bevy of scantily clad women. 24 is more like being curbed by Edward Norton.

So long story short, I'm two hours behind in my television watching. And likely to fall even more behind due to my upcoming venture to the Outer Banks next week.

Be jealous. And don't expect many updates until I return on or around the 20th. Maybe one or two the rest of this week, but things may get a little crazy.

Also, I fell in love with this week-old commercial:


One of my friends made a reference to me being that guy last week. Before 20 minutes ago I had no idea what he meant. Or how right he was.

Bring back Curtis,


Wednesday, May 2, 2007


I've decided that this season of 24 has hurt more than the show's reputation. It's hurting my blog, too. To clarify, it's been mucking up my posting schedule, and when I update this bad boy.

I mean, it's my own fault for promising an update every Monday after the show. What was I thinking? Monday is when the best stories from the weekend can be shared.

Like how on Friday my once-and-future-housemate came to visit, and flew into JFK. However, since I live in the deepest pit of Hell, and since his plane was delayed, there was a lengthy bit of travel involved, a la The Odyssey, The Incredible Journey, or Adventures in Babysitting. Things were going pretty well, until it came time to head to the Island.

We were on the N train. For those of you not "in the know," the N train late nights goes to South Ferry. It is the second closest subway stop to the infamous Staten Island Ferry.

"Now almost four years without a fatal accident!"

Anyway. I was keeping my eye on the time as we passed the Prince, Canal, City Hall and Rector stops. Still with me? Because I was getting nervous.

"OAFH," said I, "We're gonna have to book it."

Again, to fill in those unfamiliar with the South Ferry R/W stop, the distance involved from the train we were on to the doors of the Ferry can be expressed visually. For example:


Or, more realistically:

The point being, there's a lot of stairs to cover in limited time.

And time was limited.

OAFH and I readied ourselves near the doors of the train. It slowed to a stop... the doors opened and we were off!

Running up stairs, dodging homeless people and making judicious use of the escalator, we were flying. Up, up we shot towards the surface world. At last we burst into the world of the Eloi, starlight and cell phone reception.

Legs still pumping, we dashed across the street (yeah, you have to cross a street without a light, what kind of planning is that?) and towards the ferry terminal, with its subtle and nuanced sign.

A leading theory of this design, that it serves to refresh Staten Islanders' ridiculously short memory spans, was recently exploded citing the largely unfounded presumption of literacy.

Seconds ticking off the clock, we ran and ran and ran a little bit more. Up even more stairs/escalators... Will we make it????


I reached the top of the stairs just in time to see the doors slide shut and the security guards start laughing at the two of us. Seriously. Laughing. I think even the bomb-sniffing dogs got in on the joke.

All in all, it was a pretty good sprint on our part. It was a lot like the jogging up the stairs scene from Rocky, especially if Mr. Balboa had immediately doubled over swearing, crying and vomiting.

Did I mention that this was at 2:30 AM in the morning (as a coworker of mine would say)?

Yeah. That means another boat didn't show up for an HOUR. Insult to injury, I say. However, to make the most of the situation, I took the Once-and-future-housemate on an impromptu late night tour of very downtown Manhattan. Ok, fine, I showed him the Wall Street Bull's Shiny Balls

And just think, because of 24 I nearly didn't tell you that story.

Man, that would've sucked.