Oh Jack

If Jack grew up by a lake, as he said he did, he would understand how to get on that door without flipping it over.

Lesbian Snow Ball Fight

Jerry Springer's show today was entitled "Lesbian Snow Ball Fight." (It happened to be on when I turned the TV on). There was no snow and no lesbians on stage. Instead there was a bumbling little man complaining about how his 30 something wife has twenty or so stuffed animals on their bed and they have to arrange them every morning. The men was fed up. So Jerry brought the lady out and they had a very tame discussion and decided that she will set up her stuffed animals somewhere else in the house. That was it. What happened to Jerry?

It worked

I think pick up lines are hilarious and believe they should be used everytime someone is looking to talk to someone in a bar. One of my favorites is: person 1) "Hey, do you have a bandaid?" Person 2) "No sorry...why?" 1) "I scraped my knee when I fell for you." Isn't that great? I have used that one and it did work. The lady was some 30 something year old gym teacher on Nantucket, so she was a little outside of my target zone. But conversation was good and my friend Joanna got her wish of me using a pick up line that night.
Last night while out with a couple pals we inadvertainly used a pick up technique and were succesful. We were at a bar and standing behind a girl. One friend, Nick, asked Aaron and I how tall we thought she was. We guessed and of course assumed that Nick would then ask this girl who had no idea this was going on behind her how tall she was. Aaron won and we went on to talk to this girl for quite a while. Somehow integrity came up and she rated us on a scale of one to seventeen. In her mind I had the most integrity. That was funny.
We then met this girl who told us Chicago was land-locked. WRONG! On our way back we ran into a girl I met the other night who went to Conn but I had never known before. She was with some friends and some dude who was acting a little possesive as to say, "She's mine and there is no way you're going to take this from me." I think that explains it. But he had his arm around her and seemed pretty upset that we offered her chips and pretzels. That type of attitude just shows that the dude has big self confidence problems. If he knew that the girl was his (I don't know if she is but it didn't look like it was a bf/gf thing) he would have been cool with it and had some laughs with us rather than putting his arm around her and trying to usher her away. And I'm done.

House Rules

Not the show. Last night I went to a house party where beer pong was taking place. The two people whose place it was were idiots. People from the other apartment were cool, but these guys were morons. My friend Nick and I were on the list behind his girlfriend and her roommate. When it was the girls' turn we were informed of the "house rules" from the two idiots. First, probably the stupidest of the rules, the new team has to set up both sides. This wasted tons of time. After much hubbub about that rule the idiots did it themselves. And went on about other rules including "on fire." However they called it "NBA Jam" which is fine but when they hit two in a row they said "He's heating up!" nothing like in the game and when someone became "on fire" at least five guys standing around decided to yell very loudly and were astonished that somebody could make three cups in a row. What a feat. The other stupid rule was that if you miss the cups and table completely, you have to take one of your own cups. Supid. There are variations of that rule that I prefer that if someone catches the air ball, then a cup is taken away. Much better and takes more awareness. The last rule that was interesting, kind of stupid though and not thought through as far as I would have hoped was the "Segal Rule." This rule stated that if a ball is rimmed, you can swat it back to the other team while saying "Segal." If the ball hits anyone on the team they need to take a cup. Aparently there becomes problems when the ball is caught after the swat. Arguments occur. I would have called it the "dodgeball rule" and the swating team would be penalized for a caught swatted ball. Again, when this was succesfull the two idiots and their friends decided to go crazy like this kind of thing never happend. So naturally, I was not a fan of these two we were playing.
When Nick and I played we lost pretty badly because Nick was too drunk and I had a terrible game. But we were able to attain a rerack. When asked if we cared whether it was centered or not, I imediately responded, "Yes" with a stern look. We lost that game and left the imediate area.
We were upstairs having a decent time, and one of the idots shows up (stumbling a little, I think it was an act) and states that they were able to sign the table because they went 7-1. I'm a little perplexed because they also said that they retired the table due to being too drunk. How do you retire if you lose. But the other stupid thing is that they signed the table because they had one five in a row. Again, big deal. It's been done before. I and my firnd Charlie went 11-1 one night and never deemed it neccessary to sign anything. Sure we would have signed a few autographs if we were asked but nobody really cared when something happened that happens frequently enough. Whatever, they are idiots and I probably won't return there. That's enough.

What a night.

Let us begin with dodgeball. Tonight was the first night of the season. It was fun. I can't wait to play next week. The team did well, 5-2 for the night. The ref was decent, there is a lot of action going on so I could not expect him to make all the calls. Because the ref couldn't make all the calls, I expected (as I think you would too) people to have honor. This was not the case however. People would get hit by a ball, the ref wouldn't see it and they would stay in the game. That, to me, was terrible. I've been brought up to play fair, these people obviously were not. It pissed me off to get out by a ball thrown by a player who was out. And there is no way to argue with a call, it is just to hectic. Anger, that is all I can say. But, as I have said before, this is a social league. That is something I can have a problem with, solely because of my intensity and drive to win.
So that was that. Then I got off the T and as I walked towards my house I saw someone I knew from Conn. Meghan is her name. We said hi and talked for a bit. (This is just filler) She and her roomate invited me to a bar. I showered and went. There were quite a few Conn people there who were almost all sailors. Not a group I ever hung out with at the old Alma Mater. So I went there, talked to some people. Others who knew me ignored me while I ignored them. Met some kid who was also from the Chicagoland area. What a tool. I couldn't believe what a prick this kid was. But I don't really care and I probably won't see him ever again. Also, he had a red sox hat on even though he is a cubs fan. To say the least, I was not happy about that. Finally, I decided it was time to head home.
I got back to my apartment went in and locked the door; two locks, one of which I don't have the key for (that is important). I needed to do some stuff that is too complicated to say and not important. I walked out another door, with my keys, and shut it behind me. I don't have the key for that door either. So I go upstairs, pull out my keys, look at the door, and think to myself, "Fuck, I locked that lock." 12:30AM and I am locked out of my apartment. There is no way I am going to call the land lord at this time of night. Luckily, I know a little something about a lot of things. One of those things is getting into a locked door, as long as the lock is a certain kind.
Side story: While on vacation with the family (not the mob) We were not given the right keys for a condo. This was in high school. I pulled out my school I.D. and went for it. I had never carded a door before but I had seen it. It took us all of a minute to get it done. We were in! The rest of the vacation I used my I.D. to get in even though they gave us new keys.
And back to the story. I pulled out a card of mine, and went for it. I was unable to get in. Damn it! I was screwed. It looked like I was sleeping in the hall tonight. But I couldn't give up, there was hope. I searched around and found some makeshift tools that I could attempt to use. I tried using these to no avail. A little success but not nearly what I needed. Then it dawned on me. I could use these "tools" in a diferent way and I think I can get it. So I did and it worked. I'm in! Thats is all.

The New York Times Project

If you know me, you know that when something doesn't necessarily go my way or I think it is stupid and not worth doing I tend to do mischievous things to undermine the project and/or whomever decided to force whatever it is upon me. Here is one of my favorite examples:
Let me take you on a short trip through time. Ninth grade of High School. The class was World Geography. Mr. Dachille was the teacher (in fact, he still is).
A little background of our relationship prior to ninth grade: In fifth grade (I went to the school k-12, 13 years) I and my friend Andrew were sent to the upper school to pick up a box for charity. We went to the two main floors and for the life of us were unable to locate this box. So we thought, maybe it’s on the third floor. So we climbed the stairs and started to walk down the hall from the South. We made it about half way down the hallway when we hear from behind in a New York accent, “Ah, excuse me...” We turned around and there he was. (This man is like T2, for those Camels who are reading this. I think he must have been at his desk looking out the window by the door, saw us, and wanted to pick a fight.) We didn’t know who he was, we had no reason to. Lower schoolers had no business knowing upper school teachers. We had better things to worry about like video games and other stuff. So we looked at him, he was ten foot tall if he was a foot. He asked, “What are two doing up here?” and we answered, “Looking for the P.R.I.D.E. Box.” With a very stern voice he responded, “Well it wouldn’t be up here, it would be downstairs.” That’s all I remember, apart from then searching through the rest of the upper school. To say the least, it was not a pleasant experience of the upper school. And that is all I knew of this man, Mr. Dachille.
So here I was, ninth grade and low and behold the ninth grade homeroom teacher was non other than Mr. Dachille. As far as Andrew and I knew he was the very same mean old man who had hounded us four years prior. We had World Geo with this man. (p.s. The year was 1999.) The first day he gave us a packet, the entire trimester of classes, dated May 1997. 2 ½ years old. He had been teaching the exact same material for 2 ½ years. Anywho, the year went on and Mr. Dachille was not very nice. Although behind the tough skin we could start to tell he had a softer side. But that was not to be tested. He gave us a project called the New York Times Project. This was a reoccurring project that we had to do every few months. This man collected the New York Times. When he gave us this project he would take a stack of the Times and pass out three to everyone, all from one to five months old. The project was to summarize all of the international articles.
The most number of points you could get was a 20. I never got 20’s, ever. So, this was one of those moments. I hated this project. I would always procrastinate until the last night. I had to do something to see if this man, this very scary (who might be human) man was actually reading this entire damn project. So I did some of the project and injected some things that were not in the articles. Here they are:

- Habibe’s political structure this is so annoying I can’t believe I waited this long to do this darn thing has been slipping over the past few years.
- This is so bad so very very bad because they need to come to an agreement before long or else the fight will be going on for a very very long time.
- This is so horrible I can’t believe I waited till tonight to do this.
- I hate this. I think it’s just a waste f time and so is that project where we have to go to the cia website and look up every individual country when we have so many countries to right about.
- I cant stand this it’s soo annoying its so incredibly annoying to me because I cannot figure out what is going on in the world and I don’t think it matters what went on four months ago or even 5 months ago.

I got a 20 on this one. I couldn’t believe it. This awful man didn’t read this at all. I merely filled each page and was rewarded for the bull shit.
Mr. Dachille turned out to be the man, as we grew through high school Dachille became a friendly guy who was funny. As I said before, this man showed a little of this during ninth grade. Molly, a girl who rights everything down, asked Mr. Dachille where they land Air Force one if there is no airport and Jamie answered, “Oh, they just clear a field and land it there.” Mr. Dachille responded to this, “Don’t say that, she’ll write it down.” He also motioned writing something down with his hand.
I recently saw him at a reunion and told him that I was going to send the project to him and he agreed to read it to the class. I will be sending it tomorrow.
That is all.

How It's Made

While unemployed here in Boston. My twelve O'clock hour often consists of sitting in my chair watching How It's Made on Discovery HD (great channel). Today on How It's Made they had how to make chocolate bears and rabbits and eggs and other stuff. I assume they are for the Easter Season. Now I am watching a production plant make capsules of some drug. How fascinatin. What's next, I wonder. This is a pretty typical thought during my days. What's my next meal going to be? What activity will I do next? Wha video game will I play next? What company I will apply to next? What's my next move in facebook scrabble going to be? (btw, the next is pasta on How It's Made.)
Stouffers' Lasagna with Meat Sauce is very good. When I don't feel like cooking an extravagant meal I go to the local 7-Eleven, only steps from my front door, pick up one of those lasagnas and perhaps a drink (fresca, sprite, or Arnold Palmer). The music on How It's Made is almost the best part of the show. Enough about that, as my mind has wondered onto what is next this day.
I really like the song in the Bank of America commercial.
I meant to go skiing today up in New Hampshire but when the alarm went off at 7 AM I couldn't get myself to do it. Frankly, that means that it was only a thought and not a serious one at that. Now I think I should have gone. I wish that I had a house that I could stay at without paying so that I could say, "I think I'll go skiing tomorrow" during the afternoon. Subsequently I would drive up to the mountain I ski, Loon, spend the night and be ready to ski early the next morning. But I don't so I don't.
I am in a Dodgeball League tha starts tomorrow. It should be interesting. I, of course, love dodgeball. You may remember that I won Camelympics dodgeball with the Ridge last year. I made a girl cry (I hit her in the face). Sorry. My team is an interesting bunch. I'm not sure of our abilities. Of course I trust that we will win. But we have three girls (two are not very athletic) and an effeminate guy. Not to say they wont be good, we shall see. The problem that I have is that this is supposed to be some sort of social thing. When it comes to sports, I don't do social. I play to win. Occasionally I will hold grudges so when the social thing comes around you can forget friendly. Also if my team turns out to be in it solely to have fun (meaning the don't care and therefore don't try their hardest I will get frustrated and that sucks. And we have to play in socks, I don't know why. I think it's for safety but I would think being shoemore (instead of shoeless) would be safer. So we'll see how that goes. Shit, I have to call Puni.