Just now, I really wanted a snack. So I thought, you know what would really be terrific? A Milky Way. That sounds really good, actually. I’ll go have a Milky Way.
So I walked over to the vending machine, put in a dollar, scanned the machine, and located the Milky Ways.
But then I noticed that, in front of all the Milky Ways was a lone, miserable Snickers bar. This Snickers bar, somehow, had wandered away from its duly appointed Snickers line and gone over next door. There, sitting at the front of the line and thus blocking the progress of the Milky Ways, sat that smug Snickers bar, mocking me.
I looked inside my wallet. I no longer had any $1 bills. I didn’t have enough money to buy the offending Snickers bar, fling it out the window to a horrible fate twelve stories below, and then buy by what this point had become an impossible goal – the Milky Way bar. I couldn’t throw money at this problem so it would go away. My drug lord’s strategy lay in shambles at my feet.
I pondered. Maybe I can wait, I thought. Maybe someone will come in and want to buy a Snickers bar. As soon as that Snickers bar is gone, I can finally have my Milky Way.
But then I was assailed by doubt. What if no one comes? What if someone does come and they want something horrible, like a vanilla granola bar? What if they come in and actually want a Snickers, but they pick it from the actual Snickers line, leaving the offending Snickers still blocking the Milky Ways with utter impunity?
These were too many questions. I quickly grew flustered. The lack of a candy bar made me confused and frightened. I started to sweat. Where was I to go? What was I to do?
Panicked, I did the only thing I could think of. I let instinct take over, pushed two buttons and random, closed my eyes, and prepared for death.
Clunk.
I opened my eyes and reached inside the compartment. I grabbed the snack and pulled it out.
The vanilla granola bar. The goddamned vanilla granola bar. Of course.
And that, your honor, is why I threw a vending machine out a twelfth-floor window.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Seasons of Beer
How on Earth is it possible that Sam Adams Oktoberfest is already out of season? How do you justify trotting out the Sam Adams Winter Lager a full two months before winter?
On the plus side, at this rate we'll have Sam Summer back on tap circa mid-January.
On the plus side, at this rate we'll have Sam Summer back on tap circa mid-January.
Monday, October 26, 2009
The Customary Dilemma
Perhaps the most pressing question of any young person's year is the following:
Just what the hell should I be for Halloween?
It's certainly a difficult question to answer. Oftentimes, contemplation runs down the clock and there you are, an hour before the party, wrapping a roll of toilet paper around yourself so you can be a mummy. On other occasions, you spend hundreds of dollars and dozens of hours turning old televisions into an Optimus Prime costume that will be used for maybe three hours, give you a stiff neck, chafe, and then be discarded forever.
The trick, of course, is to find the happy medium. For a slightly lazy twenty-five year old with little-to-no artistic vision, this can be a daunting task indeed.
At the very least, we all know that a costume cannot be repeated. It would be like telling the same joke twice. Therefore, the following costumes are off-limits:
Nacho Libre: Perhaps my finest costume since 01's Austin Powers. It is always best to pick a costume which is close to your heart. Here we have many things: Mexican. Portly. Prone to wrestling. Likes to show off. Hell, I even went to a Marshall's and bought myself a pair of women's underwear, size 14, of a glowing silver with red stars on it. The perfect outerwear. A serape as a cape, a torn wife-beater, and I was set. People were taking pictures of me in the subway. It is amazing what stretchy pants and a mustache will do.
An INS agent: My train of thought: I need a costume for Halloween. Halloween is supposed to be scary. What scares me the most? And presto, a federal was born. Khaki pants, short-sleeve khaki shirt, aviators, a black hat, a dog tag, a badge, and an instinct to shoot anyone beyond "off-white." Done.
Party Boy: No, not the one from Jackass. This, I must admit, was one of those there's-an-hour-before-the-party costumes. Basically, I took every piece of drinking paraphernalia I have acquired over the years -- beads, lei's, a boa, plastic wristbands, more beads, a mask, and viking horns -- and threw those all over nothing but ripped shorts and an unbuttoned baseball jersey that said Beer Marathon on the back. Not a terrific costume, but at least I was something. Also, the number of beads I have is frightening. Yeesh.
Before these, memory fails me. Therefore, if I cannot remember them, they are fair game again. The problem is, I'm having trouble coming up with anything.
I thought perhaps I could go as the Bear Jew. I would only need some Nazi scalps, a bat, and a wife-beater. Unfortunately, it seems very few people actually saw Inglourious Basterds. Also, it's not a terrific costume.
Caitlin suggested I go as Teddy Kennedy. Basically, I put on a suit, don a white wig, speak in a Kennedy accent, and drink lots of scotch and hit on every woman in the bar. The problem is, people are just going to think, "Oh, that's Carlos in a white wig."
Going as one of the Wild Things would be awesome. Unfortunately, it seems like a really, really difficult costume. Remember who you're dealing with here. Max himself might be a possibility, but I have no clue where to get a wolf costume and everyone's going to do it. Next.
The old guy from Up? Perhaps. Wolverine? Maybe, it seems easy enough. Dr. Manhattan? I would, but I don't need another indecent exposure charge.
And then it hit me.
People have actually dressed up as me in the past. Seriously. They have worn a sombrero, a serape, and a name tag that said, "Carlos." I have been a costume before. It's perfect. Why can't I dress up as myself? Why can't I be so meta it hurts the brain?
This Halloween, I'm dressing up as a Mexican.
Just what the hell should I be for Halloween?
It's certainly a difficult question to answer. Oftentimes, contemplation runs down the clock and there you are, an hour before the party, wrapping a roll of toilet paper around yourself so you can be a mummy. On other occasions, you spend hundreds of dollars and dozens of hours turning old televisions into an Optimus Prime costume that will be used for maybe three hours, give you a stiff neck, chafe, and then be discarded forever.
The trick, of course, is to find the happy medium. For a slightly lazy twenty-five year old with little-to-no artistic vision, this can be a daunting task indeed.
At the very least, we all know that a costume cannot be repeated. It would be like telling the same joke twice. Therefore, the following costumes are off-limits:
Nacho Libre: Perhaps my finest costume since 01's Austin Powers. It is always best to pick a costume which is close to your heart. Here we have many things: Mexican. Portly. Prone to wrestling. Likes to show off. Hell, I even went to a Marshall's and bought myself a pair of women's underwear, size 14, of a glowing silver with red stars on it. The perfect outerwear. A serape as a cape, a torn wife-beater, and I was set. People were taking pictures of me in the subway. It is amazing what stretchy pants and a mustache will do.
An INS agent: My train of thought: I need a costume for Halloween. Halloween is supposed to be scary. What scares me the most? And presto, a federal was born. Khaki pants, short-sleeve khaki shirt, aviators, a black hat, a dog tag, a badge, and an instinct to shoot anyone beyond "off-white." Done.
Party Boy: No, not the one from Jackass. This, I must admit, was one of those there's-an-hour-before-the-party costumes. Basically, I took every piece of drinking paraphernalia I have acquired over the years -- beads, lei's, a boa, plastic wristbands, more beads, a mask, and viking horns -- and threw those all over nothing but ripped shorts and an unbuttoned baseball jersey that said Beer Marathon on the back. Not a terrific costume, but at least I was something. Also, the number of beads I have is frightening. Yeesh.
Before these, memory fails me. Therefore, if I cannot remember them, they are fair game again. The problem is, I'm having trouble coming up with anything.
I thought perhaps I could go as the Bear Jew. I would only need some Nazi scalps, a bat, and a wife-beater. Unfortunately, it seems very few people actually saw Inglourious Basterds. Also, it's not a terrific costume.
Caitlin suggested I go as Teddy Kennedy. Basically, I put on a suit, don a white wig, speak in a Kennedy accent, and drink lots of scotch and hit on every woman in the bar. The problem is, people are just going to think, "Oh, that's Carlos in a white wig."
Going as one of the Wild Things would be awesome. Unfortunately, it seems like a really, really difficult costume. Remember who you're dealing with here. Max himself might be a possibility, but I have no clue where to get a wolf costume and everyone's going to do it. Next.
The old guy from Up? Perhaps. Wolverine? Maybe, it seems easy enough. Dr. Manhattan? I would, but I don't need another indecent exposure charge.
And then it hit me.
People have actually dressed up as me in the past. Seriously. They have worn a sombrero, a serape, and a name tag that said, "Carlos." I have been a costume before. It's perfect. Why can't I dress up as myself? Why can't I be so meta it hurts the brain?
This Halloween, I'm dressing up as a Mexican.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Let My Printing Go
Some undergrad made this video about BU's new printing policy. As law students, we get 1,000 pages allocated to our account, so I don't share many of his complaints, although 100 pages per student is an absurdly low number.
That said, whatever genius decided to add that superfluous second step wherein after you print something you have to go to a website and "Release" them should be taken out somewhere and shot. "Release" them? Release them from where? Are they in some cyber jail and we have to bust in and lead them to freedom? I wanted to print my deposition outline and instead have to participate in an episode of Prison Break.
That said, whatever genius decided to add that superfluous second step wherein after you print something you have to go to a website and "Release" them should be taken out somewhere and shot. "Release" them? Release them from where? Are they in some cyber jail and we have to bust in and lead them to freedom? I wanted to print my deposition outline and instead have to participate in an episode of Prison Break.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Run On the Weddings
Caitlin: I'm attending at least 6 weddings next year
un.believ.able.
prob going to half of them
this mad rush
i dont get it
it must be pressure from people's parents
look at it this way
when we do fantasy drafts for baseball
nobody even thinks of picking a catcher until the 4th or 5th round
but then in the 3rd round, someone picks a catcher
usually because they're insane
but then everyone goes, oh shit, we're going to run out of catchers!
and everybody starts picking catchers
immediately, recklessly, and stupidly
and then we're all stuck with these catchers that we picked too early
and our draft strategy is ruined
and the season becomes a nightmare
and sometime in late july or early august
you can't take it anymore
so you dump your catcher on the waiver wire
and your season is ruined
and your season is ruined
just because of that irrational run on the catchers
just wait til someone has the first baby
then we'll talk
Monday, October 19, 2009
You Can Be My Wingwoman Anytime
In today's Boston Globe, presumably to celebrate the Dow crossing the 10,000 point threshold, the business section carried an article with the headline:
Tag-team dating can improve success, MIT says
I have yet to find the business angle to an article on wingmen. The reason this article seems to be in the financial section is that a professor at the Management School at MIT came up with the following conclusion:
Cue the wingman! To a soaring score, he comes back from the bar! And he has two beers in his hand! And he hands one to you, and with a cry of, "Here you go, bro," he banishes the undesirable! As the two of you clink beers in victory, the undesirable, moving its slow thighs, slouches back to its cave, to be forlorn.
By the way, the "support you in other ways" comment foreshadows a scientific study, perhaps co-sponsored by Harvard, in which scientists use science to prove -- finally! -- that "friends with benefits" arrangements never work, even though they make the most sense out of anything ever.
This presumes, of course, that you are using a woman as your wingman -- a strategy which, if used properly, can yield terrific results.
MIT researchers, now compare our behavior to animals, so that men of science may nod approvingly!
Incidentally, comparing a time honored courting practice to a mating ritual common to wild turkeys really says something about how men approach women. I suspect that something is really not good.
Take us home, Boston Globe financial section!
Once the presence of a woman who -- in the target's eyes -- finds the male attractive has validated the target's own notions of whether the male is attractive or not, the target's natural competitive instinct will kick in. The target will then proceed to actively (and, God willing, literally) fight the female wingman for the male. The male, would of course prefer to remind everyone that Sharing is Caring. Unfortunately, this is not Cinemax.
The female wingman, at an appropriate time, would gracefully bow out. And if she doesn't? Well, hey there. You just opened a whole new can of worms. An awesome can of worms! High five!
Tag-team dating can improve success, MIT says
I have yet to find the business angle to an article on wingmen. The reason this article seems to be in the financial section is that a professor at the Management School at MIT came up with the following conclusion:
"Friends will try to help you find partners to your liking, weed out undesirables, and support you in other ways."Isn't this the only reason people have friends? We've all been there, right? You are sitting at the bar, half watching the game. Behind you, an undesirable lurks ever closer and closer. Then, the undesirable makes her move! Oh no! Who will save our intrepid hero?
Cue the wingman! To a soaring score, he comes back from the bar! And he has two beers in his hand! And he hands one to you, and with a cry of, "Here you go, bro," he banishes the undesirable! As the two of you clink beers in victory, the undesirable, moving its slow thighs, slouches back to its cave, to be forlorn.
By the way, the "support you in other ways" comment foreshadows a scientific study, perhaps co-sponsored by Harvard, in which scientists use science to prove -- finally! -- that "friends with benefits" arrangements never work, even though they make the most sense out of anything ever.
This presumes, of course, that you are using a woman as your wingman -- a strategy which, if used properly, can yield terrific results.
MIT researchers, now compare our behavior to animals, so that men of science may nod approvingly!
The researchers also turned to the animal world. Male wild turkeys cooperate to court a female, they note. And so too do mammals, "including lions and higher primates."Higher primates most definitely does not include college students. In just one night in college, friends and I had a halogen tube fight, took turns chucking a hatchet at several trees, and threw several pieces of old wooden furniture into the gorge, all while wearing full suits.
Higher primates, presumably, also includes college students.
Incidentally, comparing a time honored courting practice to a mating ritual common to wild turkeys really says something about how men approach women. I suspect that something is really not good.
Take us home, Boston Globe financial section!
"Platonic friends sometimes pretend to be romantic partners to help each other in dating," the press release said. '"If you're a woman, saying someone is your boyfriend creates a barrier," says Ackerman. "If you're a guy, saying someone is your girlfriend makes you more desirable to women."'This does two things. One, it proves that women are crazy. And two, it goes to prove my prior point, about female wingmen being better than male wingmen.
Once the presence of a woman who -- in the target's eyes -- finds the male attractive has validated the target's own notions of whether the male is attractive or not, the target's natural competitive instinct will kick in. The target will then proceed to actively (and, God willing, literally) fight the female wingman for the male. The male, would of course prefer to remind everyone that Sharing is Caring. Unfortunately, this is not Cinemax.
The female wingman, at an appropriate time, would gracefully bow out. And if she doesn't? Well, hey there. You just opened a whole new can of worms. An awesome can of worms! High five!
All Hallows' Week
This week, I was invited to a Halloween party. Terrific, right? Anything that gives me an excuse to take off my shirt with impunity is fine by me.
But then, as I contemplated any number of shirtless costume possibilities, I noticed the date of the party.
Saturday, October 24th.
Given that Halloween actually falls on a weekend this year -- a Saturday, no less -- there seems to be little reason to hold a party on any other day of the year.
Here, we have a party occurring a whole week before the scheduled event. I believe that this falls wholly outside the scope of Halloween.
In fact, there seem to me to be two perfectly good time periods to host a costume party. From about November 7th until about October 15, you're fine. These days are far enough removed from Halloween that you can costume up and have people think you are going to a run-of-the-mill costume party. And then, from October 29th until about the 3rd of November, you are close enough to Halloween that people will know you are going to a Halloween party.
But any of those other days? People will think you screwed up and are looking at the wrong week on your Google Calendar. That or you are testing out your costume in beta form. Or you're just getting a jump on your trick or-treating. All prior possibilities, of course, don't do wonders for the perception of your sanity.
Maybe I'm thinking too much about this. The people throwing this party do throw terrific parties. And, again, I get to take my shirt off.
That said, I am very hesitant to dress up myself in full costume and then hop on a T for 40 minutes to go to a party. How many people do you actually expect will have Halloween Parties a full week before it is appropriate to do so? I am reluctant to be one of the perhaps three dozen people who put on a cape and outerwear in the entire city on this particular night.
In my mind, there is little difference between this and hosting a Halloween Party on Saturday, November 7th. If I'm wearing a costume seven days after Halloween, it better be because I wandered off and have been lost for a week. A distinct possibility, of course, but nothing I would do intentionally.
So I think I'm going to pass on this one. That or I'll justdress up suit up as Barney Stinson.
But then, as I contemplated any number of shirtless costume possibilities, I noticed the date of the party.
Saturday, October 24th.
Given that Halloween actually falls on a weekend this year -- a Saturday, no less -- there seems to be little reason to hold a party on any other day of the year.
Here, we have a party occurring a whole week before the scheduled event. I believe that this falls wholly outside the scope of Halloween.
In fact, there seem to me to be two perfectly good time periods to host a costume party. From about November 7th until about October 15, you're fine. These days are far enough removed from Halloween that you can costume up and have people think you are going to a run-of-the-mill costume party. And then, from October 29th until about the 3rd of November, you are close enough to Halloween that people will know you are going to a Halloween party.
But any of those other days? People will think you screwed up and are looking at the wrong week on your Google Calendar. That or you are testing out your costume in beta form. Or you're just getting a jump on your trick or-treating. All prior possibilities, of course, don't do wonders for the perception of your sanity.
Maybe I'm thinking too much about this. The people throwing this party do throw terrific parties. And, again, I get to take my shirt off.
That said, I am very hesitant to dress up myself in full costume and then hop on a T for 40 minutes to go to a party. How many people do you actually expect will have Halloween Parties a full week before it is appropriate to do so? I am reluctant to be one of the perhaps three dozen people who put on a cape and outerwear in the entire city on this particular night.
In my mind, there is little difference between this and hosting a Halloween Party on Saturday, November 7th. If I'm wearing a costume seven days after Halloween, it better be because I wandered off and have been lost for a week. A distinct possibility, of course, but nothing I would do intentionally.
So I think I'm going to pass on this one. That or I'll just
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Premature Ithacation
Given the afternoon snowfall, it seems that New England has decided to skip the inconvenience of Autumn and proceed directly to Winter.
This is not the earliest I've ever seen snow, unfortunately. I did live in Ithaca, the land that God forgot, for a few years. Indeed, it snowed on Oct. 2nd during my freshman year at Cornell. When my roommates asked me why I wasn't more excited -- this was the first time I'd ever seen snow -- I just pointed at the calendar and wept with fear.
Still, I feel much like a father who just realized that his eight-year old daughter has started developing breasts. You know times of tribulation and horror are inevitable. But not yet, God. Please not yet.
I was going to pretend that it wasn't snowing and live in happy denial. Then I thought that, perhaps if I don't move, the snow won't get me. Because snow behaves just like a T-Rex in a movie.
And then I realized, screw it. I'm hibernating. See y'all in April.
This is not the earliest I've ever seen snow, unfortunately. I did live in Ithaca, the land that God forgot, for a few years. Indeed, it snowed on Oct. 2nd during my freshman year at Cornell. When my roommates asked me why I wasn't more excited -- this was the first time I'd ever seen snow -- I just pointed at the calendar and wept with fear.
Still, I feel much like a father who just realized that his eight-year old daughter has started developing breasts. You know times of tribulation and horror are inevitable. But not yet, God. Please not yet.
I was going to pretend that it wasn't snowing and live in happy denial. Then I thought that, perhaps if I don't move, the snow won't get me. Because snow behaves just like a T-Rex in a movie.
And then I realized, screw it. I'm hibernating. See y'all in April.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
The Return of John Crazypants
He's ba-aaaack:
On Sun, Oct 1, 2009 at 6:01 AM , john psycho wrote:
Subject: DO YOU WANT TO RIP ME OFF MY MONEY?
Hello
Hope you do not want to put yourself into trouble, because you
dont know the kind of person you are dealing with,i will not allow you
to rip me off my money,the shipping company was supposed to be at your
location yesterday for the pick up but you never got back to me with
the western union information of the remaining funds with you.
Because i told you to make sure when you get the check to take out
your funds for the Springsteen Tickets am purchasing from you plus
$50 extra and forward the remaining balance to my shipper that will
come to your location for pick up of the ITEMS purchasing from you via
western union money transfer.
Note....
1.you can never go away with my money which i suffered for.
2.you do not even know the kind of person you are dealing with.
3.i have all our conversation saved.
i will be looking to read from you in the next 24hours.
Thanks.
On Sun, Oct 1, 2009 at 4:11 PM , you wrote:
Hello, sir!
It's great to hear from you again. As I mentioned in my previous email, you seem to have become confused and sent the check to an address in Ohio. As a result of this error, I have yet to receive a check from you. I am sure this is no problem for you -- you simply need to contact the shipper in Michigan, have them contact the person in Ohio, and have the pick-up service contact the shipping company so the funds can be forwarded via Western Union to your door in wherever you are and then we can effectuate the A-B money transfer.
I also need to know what a Western Union is, where I can find one, and if they do business on Sundays.
Thanks and get this done with one mind.
Cheerfully,
Charlie
On Sun
Subject: DO YOU WANT TO RIP ME OFF MY MONEY?
Hello
Hope you do not want to put yourself into trouble, because you
dont know the kind of person you are dealing with,i will not allow you
to rip me off my money,the shipping company was supposed to be at your
location yesterday for the pick up but you never got back to me with
the western union information of the remaining funds with you.
Because i told you to make sure when you get the check to take out
your funds for the Springsteen Tickets am purchasing from you plus
$50 extra and forward the remaining balance to my shipper that will
come to your location for pick up of the ITEMS purchasing from you via
western union money transfer.
Note....
1.you can never go away with my money which i suffered for.
2.you do not even know the kind of person you are dealing with.
3.i have all our conversation saved.
i will be looking to read from you in the next 24hours.
Thanks.
On Sun
Hello, sir!
It's great to hear from you again. As I mentioned in my previous email, you seem to have become confused and sent the check to an address in Ohio. As a result of this error, I have yet to receive a check from you. I am sure this is no problem for you -- you simply need to contact the shipper in Michigan, have them contact the person in Ohio, and have the pick-up service contact the shipping company so the funds can be forwarded via Western Union to your door in wherever you are and then we can effectuate the A-B money transfer.
I also need to know what a Western Union is, where I can find one, and if they do business on Sundays.
Thanks and get this done with one mind.
Cheerfully,
Charlie
Friday, October 9, 2009
Books With Happy Endings
So I was at a bookstore the other day, and a book caught my eye. It was Dave Egger's Wild Things -- a novelization of the movie adaptation of a seven-sentence children's book.
But what caught my eye more was its location in the bookstore:
.jpg)
Yes, nestled safetly in the "Erotica" section, between the Letters to Penthouse compendiums and the 'College Co-ed' collection.
I have not yet read the book, but the prospect of gratuitous wild thing sex scenes is intriguing. At the very least, it will redefine the concept of a 'Wild Rumpus.'
But what caught my eye more was its location in the bookstore:
.jpg)
Yes, nestled safetly in the "Erotica" section, between the Letters to Penthouse compendiums and the 'College Co-ed' collection.
I have not yet read the book, but the prospect of gratuitous wild thing sex scenes is intriguing. At the very least, it will redefine the concept of a 'Wild Rumpus.'
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
If I Ever Disappear, Here's Why
This is why you don't sell things on Craigslist. I have changed names and email addresses to protect the mentally insane. Please treat all of this as sic'd:
On Thu,
Hello,
My friend Adam forwarded your email seeking 10/3 Springsteen tickets to me. Since I'm the one holding the tickets, I figured it was just easier to deal with you directly.
Unfortunately, we can't take the ad down until the check clear, but if you agree to buy them, I won't try to sell them to anyone else. So what I guess happens is you mail the bank certified check to me, and when that check clears, I'll overnight the tickets to your address on the same day. Does that work for you?
My name is [Charlie] and my address is 742 Evergreen Terrace,
Thanks and let me know if you have any questions.
On Thu,
I just want to inform you that i got your information and the check
will be send to you via mail and deliver to you tommorow and i will
update you with the tracking #, also i will implore you to kindly
follow the due process in the transaction and i have include the
shipping funds to your money. and i want you to deduct your own money
and send the rest to the shipper via money transfer so that they can
come for the pick up..
Again, I will require your trust and honest towards the check
because i will not want you to dissapoint me when the check gets to
you..I believe we should have the best transaction.
Thanks and Get back to me ASAP
On Thu,
Sounds good. I'll let you know when I get the check and deposit it.
On
I will implore you to wait for the check to arrive and pls make sure
you remove the items from the website to avoid any disturbance, and
pls consider it sold to me. and make sure you update me as well to
know the condition..
On
Like I said, the tickets are yours. But we won't take down the ad until the check clears, and I still haven't received it in the mail yet. As soon as it clears, I will overnight the tickets to you. Does that work? Thanks.
On
Hello,
I will like to implore you to wait for the check on tuesday and i
will update you with the tracking # and the shipper information that
will have the rest fund via western union when the check clears in
your bank. so that they can come for the pick up at your place.
thanks for your trust and have a nice weekend ahead.
On
Just to clarify, have you sent the check yet? And if you haven't, the check should be in the full amount ($600) and sent to the address I have already given you. When the check clears, I will overnight the tickets to you. I will not accept later payment via
On
thanks for you response and understand over the transaction.. so i will want you to wait for the in the mail by courier service and have the check cashand deduct your own money and send the rest to the mover..thanks
On
sorry for the delay of the check, i have a problem with the fedex
courier service in my area because they do not sent mail intime, so i
have decided to contact the ups for it so i will get back to you with
the tracking # before this weekend..
sorry for the inconvenience and wait for the check.
On
I absolutely need to have the check by tomorrow morning at the latest. If I do, then I can cash the check tomorrow and it should clear by Friday. Then I'd overnight the tickets to you and you'd have them Saturday morning.
Like I said, I will not send you the tickets until the check clears. If I don't have the check by tomorrow morning, it would be too late.
Please let me know how you want to proceed. Thank you.
[Ed. Note: The concert took place on Saturday, October 3rd.]
On
Hi ,
Am so sorry for your late payment ,it was not my fault,am also trying
here to make everything possible,but there was a cross on the way, My
grandfather died,and i am the eldest person among others,so therefore am
responsible for all the burial arrangement,but i promise you that will
receive your payment before coming wednesday by God,s grace.
Im still interested in buying your item.Sorry once again for the delay.
I have added extra fund along with the payment im going to send to
you for delaying things
Thanks.
I will be waiting for your swift response Asap today so as to
be rest assured that the item is still mine.
Best Regards.
On
Hello,
The check have will deliver to you today and here is the tracking Number from ups courier service. You can visit the website www.ups.com for the status of the check with the following tracking # 1Z61273XGHTR45359.....
I will want you to instant cash the check at your bank today so that you can deduct your own money and send the rest fund to the shipper via WESTERN UNION MONEY TRANSFER, so that they can come for the pick up at your door step.
SHIPPING INSTRUCTION...
1...You are to deduct your own money for the item i want to purchase.
2....You are to deduct $50 for your runnings around.
3...Also deduct the
4....Then send the remaining money to the mover information below..
Here is the shipper information to send the remaining funds after you have deduct your own money via WESTERN UNION MONEY TRANSFER
Receiver's Name:..... [Redacted]
Address:................[Redacted]
city........... lack city,
State:.......... michigam
Zipcode:.........49651
I will be waiting for the western union details as required in the western union receipt regards to the pick up today.
1....Senders name and address
2..Total amount sent
3..MTCN 10 DIGIT #
Mapquest to your location..
Thanks and hope to read from you asap.
On
Sir,
I'm sorry, but the concert was last Saturday (Saturday, October 3rd). Those tickets no longer exist. I will destroy your check upon receipt. I'm sorry this did not work out.
On
well, help me to cash the check and deduct $200 for yourself and
transfer the rest to the information because i have informed the
shipper and he has promised me to get another items.....
thanks and get this done with one mind
On
Sir, I'm sorry. I agreed to sell you tickets in exchange for a check. We are beyond the point where the tickets will be useful, so I will destroy the check when I receive it. I will do nothing else. As far as I'm concerned, this means the end of our dealings.
On
PLS HELP ME OUT I HAVE A SERIOUS PROBLEM
well, help me to cash the check and deduct $200 for yourself and
transfer the rest to the information because i have informed the
shipper and he has promised me to get another items.....
thanks and get this done with one mind
On
Sir, you have involved a third party in what should have been a two-person transaction and are asking me to find a Western Union and set up some sort of deal with someone in Michigan. I'm sorry, but, like I've said, the interaction between us is over.
On
WELL I DO WANT YOU TO UNDERSTAND MY MAIL, I DONT HAVE ANY MONEY THAN THIS AND I WANT YOU TO REALLY ASSIST ME IN GETTING THE MONEY OVER TO ME, BECAUSE I HAVE SPENT A LOT TO GET THE CHECK TO YOU NA DI DONT WANT TO LOOSE ALL..
I REALLY BEG YOUR PARDON
On
Sir, this is what the tracking number shows:
Your package has been delivered.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Douche-Plus Society
Every month, I get an invite to something called the Ivy-Plus Pub Night at the Harvard Club.
I've never been to one of these events -- mostly due to their reputation. From what I hear, their attendance is 90 percent Harvard grads, all of whom enjoy their home-court advantage and only talk to any of the other attendees because they have confused them with busboys. Because I went to Cornell, only own two pairs of argyle socks, and prefer blazers to patterned sweaters, I doubt I'd fit in.
Apparently, I've been mistaken about the nature of these Ivy-Plus events. Thank God for the New York Times and its investigative reporters, who have ventured at great peril into these dens of sin in order to suss out the truth about these gatherings.
The article begins by breathlessly reporting that the ivy leagues -- long a bastion of elite exclusivity and incestuous circle-jerking, have now relaxed the gates of their ivory towers and deign to mingle with alumni from over two dozen other schools. These include, but are not limited to, Berkeley, MIT, Stanford, and other universities that frequently place higher than most (if not all) of the other ivies in the college rankings.
Let's break down some other choice passages in the article, FJM style.
If people like Mr. Pike are who attend these events, this might go a long way toward explaining why 75 percent of the attendees are single.
I've never been to one of these events -- mostly due to their reputation. From what I hear, their attendance is 90 percent Harvard grads, all of whom enjoy their home-court advantage and only talk to any of the other attendees because they have confused them with busboys. Because I went to Cornell, only own two pairs of argyle socks, and prefer blazers to patterned sweaters, I doubt I'd fit in.
Apparently, I've been mistaken about the nature of these Ivy-Plus events. Thank God for the New York Times and its investigative reporters, who have ventured at great peril into these dens of sin in order to suss out the truth about these gatherings.
The article begins by breathlessly reporting that the ivy leagues -- long a bastion of elite exclusivity and incestuous circle-jerking, have now relaxed the gates of their ivory towers and deign to mingle with alumni from over two dozen other schools. These include, but are not limited to, Berkeley, MIT, Stanford, and other universities that frequently place higher than most (if not all) of the other ivies in the college rankings.
Let's break down some other choice passages in the article, FJM style.
At least one woman’s outfit, a demure jacket over a low-cut dress, seemed to scream, “I’m smart and sexy!”I wish there was a context for this declarative sentence. It is at the end of a paragraph describing what the inside of the bar looks like, and seems to serve no other function than to describe one woman in particular and what her clothes say about her. In any case, the description needs more adjectives. How low-cut is the dress? How much cleavage do we see? Does it go past sexy and become skanky? And the jacket? How demure is it? Are we to assume that this is the part that screams "I'm smart!"? In that case, how exactly does a demure jacket say that? Is it embroidered with a Mensa seal? Does it have patches on the elbows? Does putting it on require a complicated procedure that only a smart person can figure out? These are important questions, people.
While some may see Ivy Plus as a business-networking opportunity, the tip-off to its real appeal is that about 75 percent of attendees are single. Its premise is that like attracts like, that in the big heartless city there is a place where a potential mate will understand your allusions to Andrew Marvell, or at least Sex Week at Yale.Oh, so it's a meat market! And all the meat is Angus Certified Class A Prime Rib? Right? No Meatloaf here, right, Carter and J. Peter? (Douche Five!) And, in this big heartless city, I often find that when a girl doesn't know who Andrew Marvell is, that means she is unfit to have my babies.
Ms. Anderson said that the “plus” institutions — including Stanford, Duke, MIT and West Point — are those with a “natural affiliation” with the Ivies, in addition to top business, law and medical schools. “If you wanted to describe these schools, these are all highly selective, academically rigorous institutions,” she said, although social reputations also come into play. “The Duke people are so much fun. There’s just some schools you want to make sure you include.”I know! It's not a party until Duke gets there. Remember, this is the college that should have won the 'Douchiest College in America' rankings over at GQ, except the editors couldn't fathom the idea of having Duke be number one at anything, and so they made them number two.
Ben Pike, a 2006 Georgetown graduate, was settled into a copper-colored sofa in the back of Gates lounge. He said he hoped to meet New York women who were more than merely gorgeous. “I’ve been in the city three years and dated girls who are legitimate models, and that gets old,” said Mr. Pike, who works in private equity. “I have high standards. I’ve met people who are really smart but don’t have it together socially, and people who are fun but may not offer more mentally.” The total package, he explained, is tough to find.Indeed, Mr. Pike. Indeed. I've also dated "legitimate models" and yes, that got old, as soon as they turned 23. (Chuckles). Why, I once ran into Bar Rafaeli at the Four Seasons bar. Her eyes were begging me to take her home, but when she confused Derrida with Lacan, I realized that I could not be caught dead with her at the Princeton Club!
If people like Mr. Pike are who attend these events, this might go a long way toward explaining why 75 percent of the attendees are single.
Monday, October 5, 2009
The Unbearable Sadness of Being (a Braves Fan)
And so we close the book on another baseball season.
The Braves were eliminated last week. The final nail in the coffin (not mathematically, but essentially) came in a game on Tuesday, where Matt Diaz -- who would have been the tying run with the winning run behind him on second -- was picked off third to end the game. He hesitated and was thrown out. Never, ever, ever hesitate.
It was an absolutely brutal way to end the season. Picked off third for the last out. And what makes it worse is that this was Matt Diaz, an otherwise great player. Gritty and clutch for the old school scouts and with good numbers to back it up for those who prefer science to magic. Seriously, he's fun to watch play and one of my favorite players on the team. And then he goes and gets himself picked off third to end the season. Ugh.
You want to look past that. If not for Diaz, we'd have never been in a position to clinch. What he brought to the table every day far outweighed his (admittedly ghastly) mistake. You want to forgive and forget.
But now every time I see him, it brings back memories of that horrible, awful play. I can't get it out of my head, and neither can other Braves fans.
We may be at the point of no return. Yes, a terrific player, but to go out and do that. It might be a dealbreaker.
I mean, imagine you have a girlfriend and she's awesome and pretty and fun and good to talk to and she puts up with you. You can't ask for anything more, right?
But then she goes and runs over your dog. She runs over your damn dog. And yes, it was an accident and she feels terrible about it and you want like hell to forgive her. But every time you look at her, you have that flashback to when she backs up out of the driveway and something goes bump.
Sigh.
It's going to be a long winter.
What makes it worse is we had a great season, and a pretty good team. True, there were times when we couldn't hit our way out of a wet paper bag, but our lineup was starting to come together at the right time. Our bullpen was terrific.
And that rotation. It was spectacular. Javier Vazquez found himself after years of toiling in mediocrity and struck out 244 and walked only 40 in something like 220 innings and was phenomenal almost every single time out. With a little run support, he could have won 22 games. Jair Jurrjens, who is a full 2 years younger than me, continues to channel a poor man's Maddux -- which is still a pretty great pitcher by any other starter. Tommy Hanson was beyond terrific and could place anywhere from 1st to 4th in the crowded rookie of the year voting. Another pitcher victimized by the lack of run support, Hanson had a good shot to win at least 16 of his 22 starts. Even so he won 12 of them in 4 months. He's the future. And anytime Derek Lowe is your 4th or 5th best starter, you know you have some horses to tear this chariot through October.
What could have been is perhaps the most cruel of sentiments. But for a stroke of luck, a bad bounce, a stutter step, or literally half a second of indecision, your team could be in it, but it's not.
Now all I have to do -- all I have to root for -- is that the Yankees and Phillies don't meet each other in the World Series. And for some solid games.
There's infinite potential for next year. The rotation is outstanding, we have banished the black holes from our lineup, the Jason "Best Prospect in Baseball" Heyward era is a fan's dream, and all we need is a power bat. Next year will be a good year.
Oh, but what do I do this year?
The Braves were eliminated last week. The final nail in the coffin (not mathematically, but essentially) came in a game on Tuesday, where Matt Diaz -- who would have been the tying run with the winning run behind him on second -- was picked off third to end the game. He hesitated and was thrown out. Never, ever, ever hesitate.
It was an absolutely brutal way to end the season. Picked off third for the last out. And what makes it worse is that this was Matt Diaz, an otherwise great player. Gritty and clutch for the old school scouts and with good numbers to back it up for those who prefer science to magic. Seriously, he's fun to watch play and one of my favorite players on the team. And then he goes and gets himself picked off third to end the season. Ugh.
You want to look past that. If not for Diaz, we'd have never been in a position to clinch. What he brought to the table every day far outweighed his (admittedly ghastly) mistake. You want to forgive and forget.
But now every time I see him, it brings back memories of that horrible, awful play. I can't get it out of my head, and neither can other Braves fans.
We may be at the point of no return. Yes, a terrific player, but to go out and do that. It might be a dealbreaker.
I mean, imagine you have a girlfriend and she's awesome and pretty and fun and good to talk to and she puts up with you. You can't ask for anything more, right?
But then she goes and runs over your dog. She runs over your damn dog. And yes, it was an accident and she feels terrible about it and you want like hell to forgive her. But every time you look at her, you have that flashback to when she backs up out of the driveway and something goes bump.
Sigh.
It's going to be a long winter.
What makes it worse is we had a great season, and a pretty good team. True, there were times when we couldn't hit our way out of a wet paper bag, but our lineup was starting to come together at the right time. Our bullpen was terrific.
And that rotation. It was spectacular. Javier Vazquez found himself after years of toiling in mediocrity and struck out 244 and walked only 40 in something like 220 innings and was phenomenal almost every single time out. With a little run support, he could have won 22 games. Jair Jurrjens, who is a full 2 years younger than me, continues to channel a poor man's Maddux -- which is still a pretty great pitcher by any other starter. Tommy Hanson was beyond terrific and could place anywhere from 1st to 4th in the crowded rookie of the year voting. Another pitcher victimized by the lack of run support, Hanson had a good shot to win at least 16 of his 22 starts. Even so he won 12 of them in 4 months. He's the future. And anytime Derek Lowe is your 4th or 5th best starter, you know you have some horses to tear this chariot through October.
What could have been is perhaps the most cruel of sentiments. But for a stroke of luck, a bad bounce, a stutter step, or literally half a second of indecision, your team could be in it, but it's not.
Now all I have to do -- all I have to root for -- is that the Yankees and Phillies don't meet each other in the World Series. And for some solid games.
There's infinite potential for next year. The rotation is outstanding, we have banished the black holes from our lineup, the Jason "Best Prospect in Baseball" Heyward era is a fan's dream, and all we need is a power bat. Next year will be a good year.
Oh, but what do I do this year?
I'd Rather be Scalped
I haven't mentioned a fairly important and mildly regrettable (to put it mildly) circumstance surrounding the weekend.
Originally, the Bruce show was supposed to be the last concert ever at Giants Stadium, given its impending implosion (and that of its football teams). We, in fact, bought our tickets with this in mind. We figured, the last show ever at the place that is the Yankee Stadium to Bruce's Mickey Mantle had to be pretty special.
Apparently, tens of thousands of other Bruce fans thought the same thing. Due to demand, Bruce scheduled two additional shows, to be played next weekend. And so our tickets to "the last show ever" became tickets to "the next-to-the-next-to-last show ever."
Why does this matter? In part because of the clunky name, the value of our tickets declined precipitously.
This was a problem because the three of us (Marc and his fellow Jew, Cooper) had bought six tickets. We figured, Hey, it's the last show ever. We'll sell the extra tickets for double the face value and go see the show for free! It's foolproof!
Alas, this was us you were talking about. Since this wasn't the last show, and because of their clunky name, these third-from-last show tickets proved an especially difficult sell. Overtures on StubHub drew nary a reply.
Postings on Craigslist drew only one lunatic -- a man with only the barest grasp of syntax and vocabulary offered to buy our tickets and emailed every day to beg us to hold the tickets for him. The problem is, one of those emails came the day after the concert. Perhaps he is confused. Perhaps he plans to go back in time. God knows.
So, come Saturday evening, we were still holding onto these extra tickets, having each invested $120 on them. We assumed that people who schlepped out to the Meadowlands without a ticket would gladly meet any price to go in. Wrong.
Our first potential buyer seemed happy and willing to buy two tickets at $120. The problem was, he thought we meant $120 total. After we explained to him that they were $120 each, he laughed and walked away.
Uh oh.
At this point, Marc nearly had a nervous breakdown. He screamed. He yelled. He threw a tantrum. He actually fell to his knees at one point, literally screaming at the sky. Also at us. Marc insisted that no one would pay us half of what that guy offered and that now we were out $120 each and, if I'm transcribing his rant correctly, yearrrghhhh.
Unfortunately, and rather amazingly, Marc was right. Like a gambler who just saw $100 in chips disappear in ten minutes, Cooper rationalized the loss by saying it was worth it just to see Marc's meltdown.
Well, not quite. Marc's meltdown was entertaining, to be sure. I wish we had it on camera. But it wasn't worth it.
We finally got rid of the tickets, at the bargain basement price of $30 each. That's right: Our $120 investment resulted in a loss of $90. So we did better than Lehman Bros., but not by much.
That and we had to resort to the indignity of roaming the parking lot like common scalpers, brazenly yelling "TICKETS!!" like lunatics every two seconds whilst attempting to avoid detection by concert and state police.
So I guess two Jews and a Mexican can't come together to make a sound business decision. The worst part was realizing that after the three of us collectively spent over $650 on the event, we could have gone without any tickets and found $20 or $30 general admission tickets.
Good stuff to know, if I ever stop crying.
Update: This was too good to leave buried in the comments:
Marc: This just about covers everything except when I was openly trying to sell the tickets to benefit "the two mentally handicapped gentlemen standing next to me"
Originally, the Bruce show was supposed to be the last concert ever at Giants Stadium, given its impending implosion (and that of its football teams). We, in fact, bought our tickets with this in mind. We figured, the last show ever at the place that is the Yankee Stadium to Bruce's Mickey Mantle had to be pretty special.
Apparently, tens of thousands of other Bruce fans thought the same thing. Due to demand, Bruce scheduled two additional shows, to be played next weekend. And so our tickets to "the last show ever" became tickets to "the next-to-the-next-to-last show ever."
Why does this matter? In part because of the clunky name, the value of our tickets declined precipitously.
This was a problem because the three of us (Marc and his fellow Jew, Cooper) had bought six tickets. We figured, Hey, it's the last show ever. We'll sell the extra tickets for double the face value and go see the show for free! It's foolproof!
Alas, this was us you were talking about. Since this wasn't the last show, and because of their clunky name, these third-from-last show tickets proved an especially difficult sell. Overtures on StubHub drew nary a reply.
Postings on Craigslist drew only one lunatic -- a man with only the barest grasp of syntax and vocabulary offered to buy our tickets and emailed every day to beg us to hold the tickets for him. The problem is, one of those emails came the day after the concert. Perhaps he is confused. Perhaps he plans to go back in time. God knows.
So, come Saturday evening, we were still holding onto these extra tickets, having each invested $120 on them. We assumed that people who schlepped out to the Meadowlands without a ticket would gladly meet any price to go in. Wrong.
Our first potential buyer seemed happy and willing to buy two tickets at $120. The problem was, he thought we meant $120 total. After we explained to him that they were $120 each, he laughed and walked away.
Uh oh.
At this point, Marc nearly had a nervous breakdown. He screamed. He yelled. He threw a tantrum. He actually fell to his knees at one point, literally screaming at the sky. Also at us. Marc insisted that no one would pay us half of what that guy offered and that now we were out $120 each and, if I'm transcribing his rant correctly, yearrrghhhh.
Unfortunately, and rather amazingly, Marc was right. Like a gambler who just saw $100 in chips disappear in ten minutes, Cooper rationalized the loss by saying it was worth it just to see Marc's meltdown.
Well, not quite. Marc's meltdown was entertaining, to be sure. I wish we had it on camera. But it wasn't worth it.
We finally got rid of the tickets, at the bargain basement price of $30 each. That's right: Our $120 investment resulted in a loss of $90. So we did better than Lehman Bros., but not by much.
That and we had to resort to the indignity of roaming the parking lot like common scalpers, brazenly yelling "TICKETS!!" like lunatics every two seconds whilst attempting to avoid detection by concert and state police.
So I guess two Jews and a Mexican can't come together to make a sound business decision. The worst part was realizing that after the three of us collectively spent over $650 on the event, we could have gone without any tickets and found $20 or $30 general admission tickets.
Good stuff to know, if I ever stop crying.
Update: This was too good to leave buried in the comments:
Marc: This just about covers everything except when I was openly trying to sell the tickets to benefit "the two mentally handicapped gentlemen standing next to me"
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Across the River on the Jersey Side
Yes, another one. I've lost count of how many Springsteen concerts I've been to at this point, particularly in the last few months. Hopefully this won't be the last one before the E Street Band takes a reported two-year break -- a show in Madison Square Garden in November has caught my eye.
The show on Saturday night, as expected, was terrific. New Jersey shows reputedly have an added buzz and energy. This is, after all, the Boss's hometown, and he has sold out something like 38 straight shows there, including 10 in one marathon two-week stretch.
I'd been in the state of New Jersey a couple of times before -- once sober, once very decidedly not and sort of by accident. ("Why are we in the Lincoln Tunnel?" is something I remember asking in a sort of panic whilst in the cab).
New Jersey is nice like an old frat house is nice. That is to say, not really, but it has a certain charm and character that at least merit interested observation. Most of what I saw in Jersey consisted of Marc pointing out the various industrial sites and their attendant swamps. There is, incredibly, a great variety of swamps -- a biosphere botanists would undoubtedly find fascinating if they overcame their bodies' natural instincts and actually ventured into the oddly luminous waters.
And hey, you know what? It actually was nice, and I very much look forward to future site visits to Atlantic City and the Jersey Shore. Perhaps in eight months, when I lose hope and need to do a little favor for someone like the Chicken Man.
To return to the concert. We did this one right, which meant tailgating and lots of it. Beer, burgers, hot dogs, and even birthday cake obtained from the very nice couple parked next to us. It was their daughter's birthday and they had more cake than they could eat -- a problem I'm always happy to solve.
The show itself was terrific. Bruce is on a let's-play-entire-albums on the stage kick, and we got the Born in the USA show. This, of course, includes the title track -- my entrance song in my on-again, off-again career in illegal basement boxing. I wish I was kidding.
"I'm on Fire" and "Long Walk Home" were stand-outs. The 15-minute "Kitty's Back" was especially awesome, showcasing each member of the band in a solo -- an arrangement of which Roy Bittan took advantage on the piano to go absolutely insane.
But the highlight of the night was undoubtedly "Jersey Girl" -- This is a Tom Waits original, but by now Bruce has made it his. By far the most popular request of the night, it was a sight to behold:
I'd also be remiss if I didn't say hello to a new friend of ours. We had general admission tickets, and wound up standing next to a little fella, somewhat into the middle of his age, with enormous glasses and a thick cashmere sweater, standing all of five feet nothing and looking as excited as someone in a financial accounting class. He appeared to have come alone. Occasionally he seemed to remember he was at a rock concert and bobbed his head not-quite-to-the-rhythm ever so slightly. For the most part, however, he chose to stand stock still with his arms either folded across his chest or deep in his pockets.
So here's to you, Rick Moranis! Perhaps we will meet again someday at another concert and again you will fail to notice Marc and Cooper singing into each one of your ears and dancing perilously close to your person. Hell, you might even smile. After some Parcheesi and some brie at room temperature, if you start dancing, maybe other people will join in. Until next time.
The show on Saturday night, as expected, was terrific. New Jersey shows reputedly have an added buzz and energy. This is, after all, the Boss's hometown, and he has sold out something like 38 straight shows there, including 10 in one marathon two-week stretch.
I'd been in the state of New Jersey a couple of times before -- once sober, once very decidedly not and sort of by accident. ("Why are we in the Lincoln Tunnel?" is something I remember asking in a sort of panic whilst in the cab).
New Jersey is nice like an old frat house is nice. That is to say, not really, but it has a certain charm and character that at least merit interested observation. Most of what I saw in Jersey consisted of Marc pointing out the various industrial sites and their attendant swamps. There is, incredibly, a great variety of swamps -- a biosphere botanists would undoubtedly find fascinating if they overcame their bodies' natural instincts and actually ventured into the oddly luminous waters.
And hey, you know what? It actually was nice, and I very much look forward to future site visits to Atlantic City and the Jersey Shore. Perhaps in eight months, when I lose hope and need to do a little favor for someone like the Chicken Man.
To return to the concert. We did this one right, which meant tailgating and lots of it. Beer, burgers, hot dogs, and even birthday cake obtained from the very nice couple parked next to us. It was their daughter's birthday and they had more cake than they could eat -- a problem I'm always happy to solve.
The show itself was terrific. Bruce is on a let's-play-entire-albums on the stage kick, and we got the Born in the USA show. This, of course, includes the title track -- my entrance song in my on-again, off-again career in illegal basement boxing. I wish I was kidding.
"I'm on Fire" and "Long Walk Home" were stand-outs. The 15-minute "Kitty's Back" was especially awesome, showcasing each member of the band in a solo -- an arrangement of which Roy Bittan took advantage on the piano to go absolutely insane.
But the highlight of the night was undoubtedly "Jersey Girl" -- This is a Tom Waits original, but by now Bruce has made it his. By far the most popular request of the night, it was a sight to behold:
I'd also be remiss if I didn't say hello to a new friend of ours. We had general admission tickets, and wound up standing next to a little fella, somewhat into the middle of his age, with enormous glasses and a thick cashmere sweater, standing all of five feet nothing and looking as excited as someone in a financial accounting class. He appeared to have come alone. Occasionally he seemed to remember he was at a rock concert and bobbed his head not-quite-to-the-rhythm ever so slightly. For the most part, however, he chose to stand stock still with his arms either folded across his chest or deep in his pockets.So here's to you, Rick Moranis! Perhaps we will meet again someday at another concert and again you will fail to notice Marc and Cooper singing into each one of your ears and dancing perilously close to your person. Hell, you might even smile. After some Parcheesi and some brie at room temperature, if you start dancing, maybe other people will join in. Until next time.
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