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At my apartment complex, we have a lovely little area that is full of all sorts of treasures. Boxes of old VHS tapes. Three-fourths of a kitchen room set. Slightly used shoes with torn laces. Broken coffeemakers. Old computers. Thirty-two-inch 75-pound CRT “big” screen TVs. All available–all free of charge–and found in trash area. Most residents are kind enough to keep the truly great prizes outside of the trash bin. Some folks throw it away (maybe that’s a sign that it truly is trash). But you know what they say: “One man’s trash…”
About two months ago I found a grand prize. Someone had decided they no longer need two of the finest barstools you’d ever seen. The chairs had aluminum frames with padded swivel tops. Unlike most of the treasure I find in the trash, these chairs were in remarkable shape. The fabric was clean, unstained, and without rips. All four legs sat flat on the group without the slightest hint of a wobble. The seats turned without any grinding, squeaking, or resistance of any kind. Dare I say it (I dare, dare)–these chairs were as like new as something could possibly be. There was no doubt in my . . . . .
Hockey tradition dictates thou must’n shave thy beard until thy team is eliminated from the playoffs. I’m not much of a fan of hockey, but I certainly like the tradition (one of many hockey traditions I enjoy including hitting guys with sticks and dating women way too hot for you). Since I am a proponent of tradition, I adopted that philosophy towards a sport I actually care about: baseball.
I don’t talk about it much, but I’m a huge Yankee fan. It’s one of the traits I inherited from my father. I grew hearing stories about Mickey Mantle and how much my father wanted to change my first name to Bucky Dent. When I was five and started playing t-ball, I was thrilled to be on the Yankees (although, three of the four teams in the league were named Yankees). Interests come and go. People drift in and out of your life. Seasons change. People get older. Life goes on. The one thing that remains my consistent is my Yankee fan love (and an unhealthy Derek Jeter obsession).
That’s why every October I wear a playoff beard. Some years, the Yanks go deep and I go a month without shaving. . . . . .
In season seven of “24” there’s an actress who caught my eye. While no woman could ever tame Jack Bauer, there’s something about this gal I like looking at. Now I wouldn’t go as far as calling her hot because her attractiveness falls way short of your average supermodel. She just has a thing about her–kinda of like “old lady hot.” Every time I looked at her, I found myself thinking, For someone her age, she doesn’t look bad. Her face had a wrinkle or two–but she wore it well. After two or three episodes, I became obsessed: I wanted to know more about her. What was her name? How old was she? Did she ever do softcore porn? Once again, not because she was hot–just attractive in an older woman kind of way. I dare not disclose her name because I don’t wanna be considered a granny chaser. Besides, I assumed she was much too old to be considered attractive by most standards.
Given my predetermined assumption that this woman was “older,” imagine my horror to discover she’s is only a few months my senior. This “old lady” is my age! Technically my peer and probably an ideal mate . . . . .
Now that our car quest is over and The Wife has a suitable vehicle, I am in the process of trying to unload her car on some poor, unsuspecting sucker. Not that I’m trying to scam anyone–I’m very clear about the process and have no intention of hiding the blown head gasket (it’s not like you can hide a blown head gasket anyway–the car shakes like a earthquake when you drive it).
In the past, I’ve always used Autotrader to buy and sell cars. But about a dozen years ago something called the internet got invented (by Al Gore) and launched all sorts of wonderful free services–most notably, Craigslist. Craigslist has been in the news an awful lot lately. For those unfamiliar with the service, Craigslist offers more than overweight strippers and dirt cheap hookers–you can also buy and sell goods. So instead of plopping down 50 bucks on Autotrader, I opted to try posting a free ad on Craigslist.
They say in life you get what you pay for. Perhaps that’s the attitude of Craigslist shoppers: they figure since the ad is free, the product should also be available at a significant discount. I can’t believe the riffraff I’ve . . . . .
I don’t watch much television outside of shows created by Jerry Seinfeld, animated by Matt Groening, or voiced by Trey Parker–so I’m not exactly the world’s foremost expert on television. There are many shows I’ve never seen. I don’t know what Colbert is reporting, who O’Reilly is factoring, or why stars are dancing. I can’t tell the difference between Larry King and Lou Dobbs. I thought Wolf Blitzer was a cook.
Even with all I don’t know, I can’t imagine there’s a bigger blowhard of hot air than the obnoxious Nancy Grace. I’ve never sat down to watch her program because I prefer my news from a more reliable source (like theonion.com); however, The Wife is a big fan of her show and since it’s on 48 times a day, I’ve managed to pick up tidbits here and there.
Nancy Grace is exactly what’s wrong with television news personalities. Hell, her show is the ultimate example of the sensationalistic nature of the media. Every episode of her show acts like it’s uncovering the greatest mystery the universe has ever seen. On screen, there’s a rolling ticker that updates whatever story she’s discussing (from her own slanted view) with the label . . . . .
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