Posts from — June 2007

I must have one of these“Boulder Cruiser Bikeride” jerkoffs who have taken their little (formerly large) ride underground (sort-of) and excluded all people who show up on non-cruiser bikes or not in costume (and, let’s face it, costumes are, like, totally stupid, even on Halloween).

I realize I have not given sufficient back story on the Boulder Cruiser Ride, but I guess those assholes never gave me enough good times to do so. And now you have to have a cruiser and a costume to be allowed into their little drum circle, so I guess I’ll never get enough material to fill you in. Suffice to say, the Boulder Cruiser Ride has become another bad example of Boulder Elitism, and I now live to hurl insults at the entire rolling jerkoff assemblage. (They’re not all bad, as it turns out.)

Meanwhile, I am still accepting donations for an Ellsworth “The Ride” cruiser, so I can cruise in non-pretentious glee.

One thing I miss out here, having moved 1,797 miles from Yankee Stadium, is of course the chance to see the boys in pinstripes with the white interlocking “NYs” on their chests take the field. Last year was my first full major league season living in Colorado, but the Yankees didn’t make it out here for inter-league play. This year, while reviewing the Rockies schedule I noticed the Yankees were coming to town and I suggested to Brenda that we go; she was very non-committal. I should have figured out what that meant, but of course I didn’t. I found out on my birthday, when I opened my present, which was a pair of tickets to game one of the series, tonight. Not only that, but we would be sitting behind the visitors’ dugout. The Yankee dugout.

The road grey uniforms took some getting used to, as I’d never seen those live before. Another change was the Harley Davidson animated motorcycle race through the Rocky Mountains replacing the festive little “subway challenge” animated subway race they do on the scoreboard back home in Yankee Stadium. “The four train! The four’s a LOCK!” I would yell, every time; so I went for the green Harley tonight, but he lost. Just like the goddamned Yankees. Oh well.

But I supported the troops, with the standard Yankee war chant: “LET’s go, YANkees!” (clap, clap, clap-clap-clap!) I did this until my throat was raw. It was a great game, really, despite the loss, and the popularity of the Yankees actually brought the pain of attending a MLB game back to the fore; the 41,000+ fans that showed up for the game actually stayed ‘till the bitter end, so the mass exodus was a study in group dynamics and the effects of alcohol. It also took 30 minutes to get out of the parking garage, and this was due to retards paying with change — just goes to show you assholes are everywhere, not just in New York. By the way, we parked several blocks from the stadium because the main lot was full, and all the commercial garages within several blocks of the stadium were charging between $25 and $40 to park for the evening. The best part was the handwritten signs with “$40” written on them, hastily taped over the normal $15 charge on the event parking signs they were all displaying. Do pirate parking lot attendants travel with the Yankees? One wonders.

The experience was in many ways a taste of what I miss about New York, and what I don’t. But above all, it was a great birthday present and a great night at the ballpark. Thanks, Brenda!

Well, Sundays seem so empty now, with Tony Soprano gone and all. But I was pleasantly surprised when Brenda & I sat down to watch the premiere of Flight of the Conchords. Not really knowing anything about these two kiwis or how they were gonna make their “funny folk” act into a TV show, we went in blind. But fifteen seconds into the intro I was hooked. Exactly four minutes in though, the protagonists broke into song at Dave’s party and I was laughing so hard at the lyrics and the presentation that Brenda thought the neighbors were gonna call the cops.

And when you’re on the street,
depending on the street,
I’ll bet you are definitely in
the top three…
good lookin’ girls on the street!
(depending on the street)

The show revolves around these two guys from New Zealand who have a band and are trying to make it in the Big Apple, but it’s essentially a vehicle for their hysterical songs.

You’re so beautiful, you could be an air hostess in the sixties…

It’s very interesting to see how you take a very funny musical stage act and roll it into a TV series. So far, 30 minutes into the experiment, they are succeeding wonderfully.

You’re so beautiful you could probably be a PART… TIME… MODEL… (but you’ll probably have to keep your regular job)

It’s no Sopranos; but so far, the ‘Conchords are killing.

P.S.
Here; see for yourself:

There’s an old joke that goes like this:

Q: What do you call 5,000 dead lawyers at the bottom of the ocean? A: A good start.

And this schmuck is why that joke exists:

Read: Tearful Testimony in $54 Million Pants Lawsuit

The guy wants $54M for a pair of lost pants, and he’s so upset about it that he broke down in tears as he questioned himself on the stand about his ordeal. Yes, you read that correctly. You have to love the author of the news story; clearly he was having a ball with this one. Best line: “The business owners claim they have his pants, but he’s pressing ahead with his suit.” Ba-dum, PISH!

So, after eight absolutely fantastic fucking seasons, The Sopranos run has come to an end. The finale was a mixed bag, and the salt in the wound is that the lame-ish ending is followed by the premiere of a fucking surfer show.

The Sopranos has entertained me on so many levels it will take much more than a blog post at this hour to explain it. Suffice to say, the lingo brings back memories of my youth and my quote database is proof of that. The first time Brenda & I watched the show we were in a hotel room with HBO and after 15 seconds of the opening sequence, where Tony drives through the Lincoln Tunnel, past the Hoboken exit, and then onto the NJ Turnpike and past the oil tanks in Linden (Drive Safely!), we were hooked. The show went on to document the North Jersey Italian-American experience, and I’m not (just) talking about the mob shit, I’m talking about the manigoot (manicotti). The lingo, the mores, the food, the clothes: when I watched The Sopranos it was like a visit to Aunt Mary’s house; the only thing missing was the pinch on the cheek.

But you can’t run a crew these days without some strife, and Tony made his bed, sure as shit. So after last week’s mayhem we were on the edge of our seats for the finale tonight. I haven’t been this upset since the end of N.Y.P.D. Blue, but Brenda & I pulled up a chair and dutifully watched the end of what is probably the greatest TV Show Ever tonight, and had a good time with it.

The finale was a mixed bag. (Spoiler alert, whatever…) Phil Leotardo’s demise was great theatre, and that cocksucker got what he fucking deserved. But the fake foreshadowing with A.J. was very annoying. When his car caught on fire I thought for sure he was caught in the crosshairs, and was gonna be the victim of a car bomb. But, no. When he started driving the BMW and backed up to the camera sporting a NJ license plate with the letters “RDX”, I thought for sure he was going out in a blaze of glory. But, no. Vague talk of indictments on the way led us to a final scene at a diner with a shifty patron headed to the bathroom and we have to assume he didn’t come outta there with just his dick in his hand. As Meadow heads for the door of the diner, some black dudes enter, another reminder of the gas station scene where Phil’s head goes out like a grape, aaaaannnnnd, scene.

Scene! Not even fade to black, just black. Black, credits, that’s it, thanks for coming, motherfuckers.

Draw your own conclusions, I have mine. Bottom line, The Sopranos is over, one way or another, end of story.

Fuck.

P.S.
I realize David Milch is behind the new series “John from Cincinnati”, which is being groomed as the Sopranos replacement. Milch is the genius behind N.Y.P.D. Blue, my last TV tragedy. But I’m thinking that “Entourage” and “The Wire” have more of a chance of retaining my HBO subscription money than this new surfer bullshit (that I’m about to watch).

P.P.S.
Is Frank Vincent like not the most typecast tragic mob guy in all of mob cinema?! Like gosh! And I even saw “Ten Benny”, so I know what the fuck I’m talking about.

Holy crap…

Forecast for Boulder And Jefferson Counties Below 6000 Feet/West Broomfield County Updated: 9:37 PM MDT on June 06, 2007
High Wind Warning in effect until 12 PM MDT Thursday… Rest of Tonight
Partly cloudy. Very windy. Lows in the mid 40s. West winds 25 to 35 mph. Gusts up to 100 mph in locations right near the foothills.

Thursday
Partly sunny. Very windy. Cooler. Highs in the lower 60s. Northwest winds 25 to 40 mph with gusts to around 100 mph in the morning.

I love the “around 100 mph” estimate. You know, ninety, one hundred, whatever it takes… The sliding glass door is already bowing in response to the wind blasts around here, and I don’t see myself getting much sleep. Uh oh, better post this since the lights are browning out…

The latest evidence of Outlook’s suck-osity (right-click and select “view image” to see at full resolution):

Three years today; three years since my dad died. And at this point, I’ve got mixed emotions. Today was also the final day of the Giro d’Italia and the penultimate episode of “The Sopranos”. Interesting.

You know what, dad kinda sucked as a father. I mean, he was a good guy, sorta, but looking back he was genuinely lousy at the whole dad thing. I have no doubt he loved my sister and I, but that doesn’t quite ink the deal. I could go on and on and on, but that’s really not going to change anything or bring him back for another try. He didn’t know how to do it, and I’m fairly certain I don’t either. But then that’s why I chose to not do the whole parenting thing.

Sorry for the crappy post, but that’s what’s on my mind right now.