Wednesday, December 31, 2008
This is my second straight meal at IHOP in Phoenix. Last night I had a salad though, so THERE! Spinach salad! It had fried chicken pieces in it, but so what! The point is I had a frickin' salad at an IHOP. Now I'm back to the food of highway pants endangerment.
Friday, December 19, 2008
In November of 1996, less than two weeks after I had driven in a maroon Chevy Lumina minivan out to Los Angeles from New York to start a new life (which would last exactly one year), I had a spiritual experience. I’m originally from Boston (obviously), so I was, and still am, a die-hard Boston sports fan. And the New England Patriots, having what would turn out to be a Super Bowl season, were playing the Chargers in San Diego on Sunday night. I had no money and no idea how to get to San Diego. The two people I knew in LA wouldn’t go with me, and I had to be at my temp job in Glendale early the next morning, but I knew I had to be at that game.
Okay, maybe “spiritual experience” is a bit too strong an expression to use in describing what happened to me that night at a football game at Qualcomm Stadium, but it was still pretty amazing. I was able to scalp a ticket for my last 40 dollars (which I had to get out of the stadium’s ATM while the scalper held my i.d. – long story). As I sat in the nosebleeds on the forty-yard line, wearing my Boston Red Sox jersey under a jacket so as not to be heckled by the hometown fans who surrounded me, I tried to contain my exuberance as the Pats took a 28-7 lead toward the end of the first half. I was completely alone in this 60,000-seat stadium, three hours away from my interim housing in a strange new city, 3,000 miles away from home.
And I saw him. He wore a sloppy coat of body paint in the form of a Patriots jersey on his shirtless torso. His face was entirely red, white and blue. And he was walking up the stairs, cheerfully pointing to every Charger fan, exulting in the away team’s early dominance, even as he was pelted with paper cups, ice cubes and plastic beer bottles. To complete his victory lap, he made his way back down to his similarly attired posse several rows below.
During halftime, I felt compelled to leave the relative safety of my anonymous seat amongst the enemy and join these marked men. As I introduced myself to a guy dressed like Elvis (the team’s logo looks remarkably like "The King"), he looked at me with amazement and said, “Ryan McDonough?! Tom Leveroni!”
Tom and I played football together in high school. “Oh my Gawd! Levah?” I said, involuntarily slipping back into a long-lost Boston accent. “Who’s the guy with the painted-on Ben Coates jersey?”
“That’s John Grady, dude.”
Grady and I went back all the way to fourth grade. I hadn’t seen either of these guys since I graduated from Roxbury Latin. And here we were, all the way across the country seven years later, rooting for our favorite football team and celebrating a 49-7 victory long into the night.
You know what? That was a spiritual experience. Because all that is just too much to be coincidence. Because a football stadium is too big, and this country is too vast for me to randomly bump into two high school buddies in section 336 in San Diego on a Sunday night. And because as far I was from my comfort zone, I was right at home.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Yeah, that's me standing over him on the roof at Neptune's.
Check him out here in "Lunch Break with Somerville". And by the way, I did the theme song. It's effin' amazing.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
I miss doing this goofy shit.
Friday, November 14, 2008
This picture was taken in the men's room (if you couldn't tell from the urinals) at Homestead Miami Speedway. It's not just that there's a TV in the bathroom, or that it is for some reason unplugged that I am amazed. But that the plug has been left to dangle dangerously close to a toilet! Why not throw a toaster in there while I pee? And I can attest that the plug stayed like this for at least two days. And for the record, I used this urinal every time I relieved myself.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Monday, November 10, 2008
Thursday, November 6, 2008
I don't care if the music is cheesy. Jill and I just about cry every time we see this for some unknown reason. It's just so damn emotional! Seriously, one of the coolest things we've done together.
And yes, I'm a sappy turd.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
The best part of this situation is that my little karaoke video can still be accessed here. Isn't that weird? So it is still hosted by YouTube even though it has been removed. Odd.
I feel compelled to promote it again just because they say I can't. Hee hee. I'm a fucking outlaw!!!
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Tuesday, October 21, 2008
I did not have time to purchase a book before getting in line to confront my old nemesis, so I waited completely bookless, much to the chagrin of the many Barnes & Noble book-signing-line expediters. When they asked me for my copy so they could shave 1.3 seconds off my wait time by "prepping it" for signing, I said, "I don't have it, but it's okay. John and I are old friends, and I have something special."
When I finally reached him, I told him I would buy his book if he would sign a piece of paper admitting that he stole my career. He agreed, but insisted that he write his confession on my bald head instead of on impersonal paper. I acquiesced, offering him my scalp as he went to work. I then purchased "More Information Than You Require" and went home satisfied that our long conflict was finally resolved.
When I got home, I looked in the mirror and realized I had been taken in again by this bespectacled inveigler.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
This is how Jill and I cope with my being away every Thursday through Sunday. We sit at our respective desks - she in Brooklyn and I in my hotel room - and chat while distorting our heads and using voices we imagine would befit our altered visages. Better than cyber sex!
Monday, October 13, 2008
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
This is already one of my favorite post-game interviews. At about the 1 minute mark Jonathan Papelbon soaks the socially and fashionably awkward Craig Sager (look at that blazer!) with champagne. Pap reminds me of a crazed Tom Cruise at the end of "Taps", spraying bullets from an M60 out the window, exclaiming to a disillusioned Timothy Hutton, "It's fucking beautiful, man! Beautiful!"
So do I! The Sox win AGAIN! Pretended to give it away, and then WHAM! shut the door on the Haloes last night, 3-2. Even Jill was fired up. She was screaming louder than I was at the TV during some crucial plays. "That Guy" may have turned into "That Couple". What have I done?!
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Thanks to J.D. Drew (above), the Red Sox have now defeated the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim District of New Calexico and Emirates Commonwealth Protectorate 11 (eleven, as in "these go to eleven") straight times in the postseason. Wow. On Sunday at Fenway let's make it 12.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
In case you couldn't tell, that's me with the receding hairline on your left (stage right, house left). I was in Ft. Myers, FL, playing Rooster in the Broadway Palm Dinner Theater production of "Annie", and this is the apartment where we were housed for the 6-week run. This is how we would spend our off evenings, sitting in front of a rolling camera and discussing nonsense while altering our senses.
The lovely lady is Keith (yes, Keith) and the gentleman is Scott, I believe. It's been a while, and I haven't talked to either of them since this little incident. Yes, it was worth it.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
This is an example of my job as emcee of "The House of Dew" at Dew Tour in Cleveland last summer. If you look closely, you will notice that I am balancing a small sample cup of Mountain Dew on my head (not a urine sample) while riding a classic Schwinn Sting Ray Pea Picker bicycle with a microphone in my hand. And no, I did NOT go to Clown College.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
For the first time since 1993, the Yankees will be reduced to watching the postseason. I won't miss them one bit. Until next year...
*No, that is not my kid. I wish!
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Great timing, Windows! This is about as effective as a social outcast going back to his 10th high school reunion and delivering what he thinks is an amazing comeback to the ever-popular class clown who wittily humiliated him for four years to the guffaws of all his classmates.
And by the way, Hodgman could totally take that guy impersonating him.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Thursday, September 18, 2008
While at Astroland, we hopped into one of those wacky, silly, crazy photo booths that make your picture look like a charcoal drawing for a mere five clams. What a bargain!* Anyhoo, here's what we look like when we get a chance to spend some quality time together.
*An allusion to early Eddie Murphy - "Chopsticks, 29 cent! What a bargain!"
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Monday, September 15, 2008
Perfectly engineered to perfection!!!*
The instructions are SO SIMPLE!!! And they are printed right there on the cup itself in case you forget!!!
Just try it today and you'll see immediate results!!!
*Redundancy sells!!! And so do three exclamation points!!!
Saturday, September 13, 2008
I'm in the lovely land of NASCAR - at New Hampshire Motor Speedway - promoting in classic infomercial style the greatest drinking cup ever invented: "The Cup" from ESPN.
Click on the picture to see an amazing demonstration!
The illustrated instructions on the cup are "1. fill it, 2. turn it up, 3. keep both eyes on the track." The semi-official slogans are "Every Lap Matters" and "Keep Track at the Track", but I'm hired to do more than just spit out simple sound bites. So here are some of the things that have popped out of my brain over the last couple of days as I've raved for hours on the mic about this truly visionary vessel:
- Not only does "The Cup" hold liquid which you can drink, but it also allows you (through incredible breakthroughs in science that I cannot possibly explain) to keep your eyes on the action wherever you are.
- "The Cup" holds 24 ounces of your beverage of choice, while the two indented sights easily guide your eyes forward toward the action you crave. An ordinary cup obstructs your view as you tilt back to imbibe. That's just a fancy-pants word for "drink". [And then I would, of course, demonstrate.]
- Now before you get all crazy and yell at me that there's no way this cup can still hold 24 ounces with those two indents in it, let me assure you that the volume that was deducted from one side of "The Cup" to make 100% drinking vision possible was simply added to the opposite side. It's science.
- I don't mean to upset you with the facts, but if you drink out of an ordinary, out-of-date, utterly obsolete, ROUND cup of yesterday, you miss 10%, 12%, 15%, as much as 20% of the race because you're drinking and taking your eyes off the track. I can't get you back your lost laps - and I'm not suggesting any kind of class-action law suit - but I can promise you 100% of the race even if you spend 100% of the race drinking your face off as long as you do it out of "The Cup" from ESPN. It's the cup of tomorrow and it's changing your life today!
- Why should you have to choose between quenching your thirst with your refreshing beverage which you paid about $40 for and watching the crucial last lap of the race? That's Sophie's Choice, and you don't have to make it [no one got that reference, of course], because you can DO BOTH!
Thursday, September 11, 2008
I did this when I was about five or six years old, but I didn't get the "beans" above the "frank". I simply zipped over my foreskin, and yes, I was terrified.
It was night time. I awoke with a need to pee. Instead of pj's I was wearing a pair of corduroys minus underwear. I must have thought* I'd be a pornstar someday (it WAS the '70's). After peeing, I zipped up in my dangerously groggy state and suddenly felt the wrath of many little metal teeth.
In a panic, I entreated my mommy to help me, but she ended up bringing the zipper past the foreskin and into the little eye, creating the lasting association that mommy plus penis equals excruciating pain. Thus began one of many trips to the emergency room.
I sat in the waiting room for what seemed to be several hours with a jacket over my crotch. Even at that young age I knew it was embarrassing to have any part of your junk on display, especially if it had suffered a self-inflicted injury. Adults were asking me with friendly concern what was wrong with me, and I bravely told them I was fine. Just doing research. Then they'd say, "Really? Then where's your notepad?" To which I replied, "Ah, very astute of you. I actually have a photographic memory. But to answer your question, it's probably up your ass."
Finally, the doctor saw me, and after much prodding and discomfort - including shooting novocaine into the area (just call me numb nuts) and cutting my pants off of me to leave nothing but a little circle of corduroy - he was able to remove the zipper. I remember quite vividly the sight of a single drop of blood coming out of a place from which blood should never flow.
And maybe now you'll understand when I say the scene from "There's Something About Mary" shown above is pretty fuckin' far from funny.**
*Notice I did not write "must of thought". Because I am not an idiot.
**Yes, that is an homage to Marcellus from "Pulp Fiction", post-rape.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Feel free to stop reading here if you are already queasy. I know I am.
First off, when I wake up in the morning, I might as well be completely hammered because I have no judgment and no coordination whatsoever, but I still insist on tackling challenging but non-urgent projects right away before I forget.
It was no different when I stood in front of this mirror and relieved myself and noticed I had not tended to the sex garden in a while, as it was quite overgrown. Maybe I was a bit inspired because Jill and I had copulated wonderfully (yes, I am a romantic) the night before, and I thought I should be a little more considerate.
"No time like the present," I thought, as I grabbed the scissors. And like a drunk driver about to get behind the wheel, I thought, "I'm totally in control," even though one of my eyes was still not entirely open.
The genital gods were with me it seemed. I was almost done creating a pubic bonsai that Mr. Miyagi would be proud of when I felt a sudden jolt of pain that seemed to scream into my soul, "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING PUTTING SHARP OBJECTS ANYWHERE NEAR YOUR BALLS?!!!!!!!" After I realized I was still alive and that I just snipped a little bit of skin, I looked down to see the damage.
"When the hell did I get genital warts?" I said aloud as I noticed a little white bump on the right side of my scrotum. There wasn't any blood to be seen, so I didn't realize the bump in question was the bit of skin that had been about 90% separated from its sackly home. And as I investigated, it started to bleed.
I'm back. I was just a bit nauseous there, but I didn't hurl.
To conclude this tale of dumbassness, I can assure you that I am okay. It really was just a little cut but of course in a very vulnerable spot. I put one of those little shaving nick band-aids on it and plan on leaving it there till it dissolves somehow, as I cannot fathom ripping it off.
The bitter irony now is that my ride looks great, but it ain't goin' nowhere for a while.
*I realize "More Information Than You Require" is the title of the latest book by John Hodgman, but that doesn't mean I can't use that expression for my own purposes. That is all.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Hey, Apple! I'm trying to give you money I don't have! And do you really think I'm going to CALL someone to place my order? Puh-lease! That is SO 20th Century.
And for all his defects, I doubt PC* would ever miss an opportunity to take our money.
*I am referring to the character portrayed by John Hodgman in the Apple commercials. In no way am I saying that John Hodgman would never miss an opportunity to take money from us. Hodgman only takes careers.**
**I am referring to the fact that John Hodgman has had huge commercial success since his TAL piece in which he said, "I still want to be 'Cuervo Man', but I don't think I'd ever want to be 'Sonic Man'." I guess what he meant was that if he couldn't be a professional satyr and instead had to be the star of a commercial, it would have to be a very good commercial with a long, long shelf life and pay a hell of a lot of money. Unlike Sonic Man.***
***I am referring to my obvious jealousy and love of asterisks.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Tom Brady is most likely done for the year, and so, perhaps, is "that guy". At least as far as the Patriots are concerned. In an effort to see the glass as half full, I can acknowledge that I have no expectations of success this NFL season and thus no possibility of being vastly disappointed. So I got THAT goin' for me...which is nice.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
*If you're not a baseball aficionado, the Rays are now ahead of the Sox in the standings by 3 games as of this post. Therefore, I need the Rays to lose, even if it is to the Yankees who are not much of a threat to the Sox just now.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
I LOVE this guy!
Yes, Dustin Pedroia (pictured between six-foot tall Jed Lowrie, number 12, and six-foot, four-inch David Ortiz) is listed at 5'8". And with the way he's crushing lately, you could list him at 6'5" and I'd have to accept it. That's why I love this picture which shows his true height which is about 5'6", if that. I know his legs are slightly bent, but a six-footer TOWERS over him by what looks like about 10-12 inches here. It's great to see the little guy is still able to mix it up with the ever-growing giants of sport.
Spud Webb, 5'6"---------- Wes Welker, 5'9"-------------- Darren Sproles, 5'6"
Spud Webb was the king of little men (not "little people", they don't officially have a king). Wes Welker is listed at 5'9". Looks more like 5'7". And Darren Sproles is seriously a flea on the football field.
Why such interest in the little man, you ask? I'm listed at 5'8".
I'm number 43, and I'm FIRED UP!!! Roxbury Latin goes undefeated and wins the ISL in '88 for the second straight year. I shoulda gone pro.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
"Love" willing the ball fair in Game 6 of the 1975 World Series
It works for "that guy". ("That guy" = Masshole Boston fan = me.)