« March 2005 | Main | May 2005 »
What I failed to mention the other day was my miraculous efforts to save Dennis. After watching him struggle I administered CPR and gave him some medicinal beer. I then talked him through any issues he is having and by the next morning he was swimming around like a Red Sox fan walking home from Virgies after game 7 of the ALCS last year. He was swimming in and out of the submerged palm tree in the tank and has been healthy and active ever since.
Dennis the fourth lives on.
Dennis the 3rd is going out fast. Patti and the kids are away and I noticed today that he was hanging out near the surface of the fish tank, upside down, gasping for air. I tapped the tank and that kicked him back to life. Later that day he was more upside down, if you can believe that, and he had a look of death in his eyes. I swear if he could talk through his fish mouth he would say that death was at his door with a black robe and sickle. Crap, I am going to have to get another stupid goldfish tomorrow at the Pet Rodeo. Both Emily and Ethan are into the fish now, even though Emily is showing less of an interest and Ethan looks like he wants to eat them. I need to run an investigation and find out what the cause of death was. Dennis held his own against Sally so it must have been something else, not sure what, maybe murder. I am going to find out, and if Sally was behind this, her ass is down the main-floor half-bath toilet. Believe it.
Not sure why this stupid lineage of fish has to die when I am home alone. I sometime wonder if I replaced the live fish with two plastic toy fish from the bath would anyone notice. Patti included. At least we wouldn’t have to buy goldfish flake food.
Stayed tuned for an update. Dennis is alive right now but fading fast. He lasted the longest so my heart is with him, the little scale-covered tike.
So last night we went to dinner with a few clients and two of us from my company. Everyone who went to dinner knows each other really well and we are pretty much friends as well as colleagues. It was a really nice Italian place that was outside along a lake, an overall nice setting. The head of the table, the more senior member of my company, was given the wine list. All of a sudden, this guy started speaking in an Italian accent, and even starting using common Italian words. It went something like this…
Waiter (in real Italian accent): Would you like to choose a wine?
Colleague (in fake Italian accent): Si, I would, grazie.
Waiter (in real Italian accent): Here you are sir.
Colleague (in fake Italian accent, but worse): Grazie, buon uomo.
Later
Waiter (in real Italian accent): Have you made a choice?
Colleague (in fake Italian accent, but louder this time): Si grazie, I would like this one (points to a wine).
Me: Scott (name altered to protect the guilty), you’re Irish!!
Colleague (reverting back to his NY accent): Eff you, they like it.
Me: They are making fun of you at the captain station.
Later
Waiter (still in his real Italian accent): Would you like to order some appetizers
Colleague (fake accent getting worse, sounds like bad acting from a elementary school rendition of The Godfather): Si, we woulda lika some mooozzzerrelllaaaaa, and calamatttiiiiii per favore il friendo
Me: Scott, cut it out!
Colleague (NY accent getting heavier): Eff off, I am speaking their language.
Me: If we went out for sushi, would you take off your shoes put on a robe and speak with a Japanese accent? Maybe bow your head.
Another Colleague: Can we go for Mexican tomorrow so I can hear Speedy Gonzalez?
Another Colleague: We HAVE to go for Indian.
Another Colleague: If we get Chinese you must PROMISE to speak with an accent.
Later
Waiter (real accent still going on, brings the receipt): Thank you sir and have a good night.
Colleague (won’t give it up): Gratzie, ciao. Ita wasa buono.
Me: Let’s go Mario Brother.
One thing that really bugs me are people who stand really close to me while waiting in line. Or worse, stand next to me. Example. While I was at the airport today, I was waiting in line to go through the security gauntlet, normally a completely inefficient process, but a necessary one. I just got into line when a man came up behind me and go so close that if he had a straw sticking out of his mouth he would have poked me in the back of the head. The line was after the security people check your ID but before the scanners and this yahoo was getting so close to me that I almost felt sexually harassed. I’ve seen love scenes with less contact. I looked back at him briefly to send him a “I hate you, back away” message through my menacing stare but I guess he didn’t get the message. Now, I would normally tell the guy to go ahead of me so I didn’t have to stand in line feeling uncomfortable, like this time Patti and I were waiting for some ride at Disney and this family of non-English speaking idiots were up our assess so much that we just let them go ahead to bug the next person in line. But I though to myself “Eff this moron, I am going to make him wait”.
The thing that was crazy was that as soon as we emerged from the narrow roped off corral, he cut in front of about 12 people to put his keys, wallet and watch on the conveyer belt and went through the metal detector. I wish that device had a button to press that would send a huge jolt of electricity through a person, just for a case like this.
Anyway, later I was standing in line at the gate to change my seat when another yahoo walked up behind me and instead of getting close behind me, he got close next to me. I never really understand this approach. I am in line, clearly in line, for about 5 minutes. There is only one line. He walks up and does he think that by standing next to me, he is somehow going to lull me into thinking he was in front of me. I just spent the last 5 minutes looking at the bald head of some fat guy in front of me, so I clearly know where I am in the order of things. So then the guy bumped into me. I am NOT JOKING. He was so close and huffing and puffing and looking around like he runs the freakin world, in his Run For The Night cheap give-away t-shirt and faded jeans and scuffed walking shoes, that he freakin bumped me. I gave him another deliberate disapproving glare that doesn’t seem to penetrate moron minds and purposely moved away from him, sending the message that while I staked the territory first and he entered it, I was willing to move a couple of feet to get away from his ugly ass.
So, the moral of this story is that unless you are a stunning tall blond with nice perfume, don’t stand so close to me. And even if you are a stunning blond, no matter how much you ride my tail, you are not getting in front of me. End of story.
Red Sox Nation had another shining moment last night at Fenway. Gary Sheffield went for a ball in the right field corner and a front row drunken idiot took a swipe at Sheffield’s face. Sheffield gave the guy a quick push and threw the ball back and immediately went at the guy but didn’t throw another punch. A park security guard jumped in between them and it was diffused.
First, let’s take a step back when two Red Sox managers got thrown out of the game. First it was one of Terry’s coaches, Ron Jackson, and then Terry himself. Getting throw out is fine, and arguing with the umpire is fine, but that nonsense from Jackson, with physically being restrained and carrying on like a steroid induced rage, is uncalled for. I like a good fight as much as the next guy, but only when I am expecting it. When I watch a baseball game or go to a game, I don’t want to see that crap. One day soon I am going to start taking my kids to games and the last thing I want them to watch is highly skilled and highly paid adults acting like 3 year olds. I don’t want my kids to see someone doing crack or selling drugs. I know they will understand those things one day, but as little kids there are some things that they don’t need to know about. And when I take them to watch the excitement of a major league baseball game, I don’t want them to see people who are viewed as authority figures having to be restrained and yelling EFF THIS and EFF THAT. I want them to see great baseball.
And then we had Chris House, a fan from Boston, take a swipe at Gary Sheffield. Once again the fans at Fenway, and its not all fans, sometimes it’s actual employees, cross the line and physically attack a Yankee player. I saw the incident live last night and about 30 times this morning on every single channel. While it wasn’t an Ultimate Fighting Challenge tryout, it was clearly a shot at the player. The guy was drunk (of course), stupid (he is a Red Sox fan) and tried to get a cheap shot in (again, a Red Sox fan). He didn’t try to knock out Sheffield but what he did was wrong. Gary, in turn, shouldn’t have went at the guy right away either. It was not as the CNN idiot-anchor said a “round house punch”, but it was uncalled for too. But it was a knee-jerk reaction and I probably would have done the same. This morning I saw CNN, Headline News, Fox News, NESN and the Today Show, as well as every local TV news program, describe the incident. As you can image it went from the guy did nothing wrong and Sheffield should be arrested (local programming) to Sheffield should be commended for showing restraint, which is crazy because taking a shot at the guy is not my definition of restraint.
This was an ugly incident but two things contributed. The first is the layout of Fenway. The fans are on top of the players and that is part of the charm. I love going to Fenway because, even with the terrible and uncomfortable seats, it’s a great place to see a game. The other thing is that typical Red Sox fans have no idea how to act when they are outside the confines of the group home most of them live in. When you take a third grade education level, throw in a typical day of drinking beer for breakfast, add the mob mentality of getting of the green line and walking toward Fenway, and combine that with the classless way of handling success, and lets be honest, Red Sox fans are not used to being considered winners, throw all these things together and you’ll get what happened last night. Thanks God it didn’t turn into a Ron Artist (another SJU guy, thank you) thing or what happened last year with the MLB player tossing a chair into the stands, but it was still embarrassing.
Doug Flutie. That's another thing. I like Doug Flutie as much as the next guy, but the guy is a stud around Boston, has a ton of money, is good looking, is a great athlete, and I have to watch him with his unbelievable seats catch fly ball after fly ball. Ugh. I think they should take every foul ball that get hit and instead of handing them to those rich kids who get to sit in the 250 dollar seats, have someone walk up to the cheap seats (ha, cheap, at fenway, I meant to say the less-ridiculously priced seats) and give them to the kids whose parents are Herald delivery people or Post Office employees or HVAC union members. Kids whose parents take them to one or two games a year because it’s a huge amount of money and they can barely afford the 25 dollar obstructed view seats. Give those kids the foull balls instead of the little spoiled brat of a Fleet executive who has a better seat than I’ll ever see.
Thank you, rant over.
On my drive in to work each morning, there is a section when I come out of the Central Artery tunnel onto Storrow Drive that looks like a hubcap graveyard. When I first get onto Storrow, which I am on for a couple hundred yards, it bends along a high wall and over the winter it creates potholes about as deep as my bathtub. Because of the turn, cars can?t see the craters until they hit them. So right along this path there are probably 50 or more hubcaps, some cracked in half, some perfectly fine, almost all oddly propped against the wall like someone lined them up for a flea market. I notice that every now and then there are fewer caps than the day before so someone definitely picks them up. If the road wasn?t so dangerous and I was more hard up for money, I would stop and pick them up myself.
Just thought I?d share.
The other day I was reading Paul?s blog and I forgot in what context it was mentioned, but he commented on the term ?monkey slave?. My first thought was that it would be a great school nickname, like the Moore Park High School Monkey Slaves. If I started my own high school, like Dobrindt Meadow High School, I would call our mascot, or whatever you call the nickname thing, the Monkey Slaves, not the bulldogs, wildcats or screaming eagles. Then I got to thinking about my own high school, Hicksville High School in Hicksville, NY, population 50,000. I was pretty active in high school with sports (football, lacrosse), student government (believe it or not, I was junior and senior class president) and social activities, so I used our mascot theme often. We were the Comets. The Hicksville High School Comets. Which, in hindsight, kind of stinks. The junior high is the Meteors. While in high school, I never really gave much though to it, but with the Monkey Slave thing I started to realize how odd of a name it is. I am kind of curious as to
1. How many high schools in the country use ?Comets?, and what is the most popular name?
2. Why did Hicksville use the ?Comets?. Why not the tigers, panthers, titans, farmers, islanders, etc. Why a chunk of frozen gasses, ice, and rocky debris that orbits the sun.
My first thought was that Haley?s comet was around when the school was formed, or some other comet. Or that Comet was popular when the school was formed. I?m not sure.
Who knows? Maybe I will never know. It?s not like there is some magical education tool that allows me to enter a word, term or phrase and I can access over 2 billion locations that might provide an explanation. Nothing like that around Boston that I know of. Too bad, it will continue to bug me.
Chris Shelton from the current series of the Apprentice, the high-school-jock steroids-and-vodka nutcase lunatic, who almost hopped across the conference room table and attached George and Carolyn TWICE for giving him crap, was arrested.
Click here
or cut and paste the following link.
http://www.thesmokinggun.com/archive/0410051shelton1.html
The only thing that I am surprised about is that he was not arrested for attacking someone on the show.
What a nut. I am kind of wondering if he wins the contest though.
Click here for pictures of our trip to Minnesota in March for Patti's cousin Kara's wedding to Anand. Great trip.
Or cut and paste the URL below.
http://www.moveyourasana.com/David/pictures/GuptaWedding/index.htm
Conversation with someone at work today.
Colleague: Do you watch 'The Amazing Race'?
Me: No, that show is trash. Besides, I was too busy watching 'American Idol'.
Colleague: 'Lost' is Star Trek meets Gilligan's Island. But in a bad way.
Me: Very good. Very witty. I didn't ask you.
This was in today's New York Newsday.
"Mom robbed in daylight Central Park nightmare. A cold-hearted crook shoved a gun into the face of a cute 3-month-old baby in sun-soaked Central Park yesterday as he ambushed the child's mother and mugged her, cops said."
That guy is going to hell.
As instructed on my jury duty notice, I reported for duty this morning at the court house in Dedham, Massachusetts. I have been to jury duty twice before, once in NY and once in Massachusetts. I was never called for an actual trial and in fact have not done more than sit around waiting. My assumption for this morning was more of the same.
When I got to the jury room, which was on old court room, it was about 8:45 and the room was already pretty full. The court officer was on the far end of the room, near the front, and the entrance door was on the near side of the room, near the front. They had a TV going with some cheesy video on what it means to be a juror directly in front of the box the judge would normally sit in, so the line to check in ran directly in front of the TV. Those of us in line were smart enough to not block the TV, thus letting the zombies watch TV, or any one of us standing there in line. It kind of felt like the cattle line at a beef auction. The design of the check-in setup, and room in general, was poor, but hey, I was there to perform my civic duty, not redesign their check in procedure.
When it was my time to check in, I was told something fascinating ? that I would be in the ?Grand? jury pool, not just the regular jury pool. The first thing that ran through my mind was that I was privileged, special, part of the elite, or ?grand?, class. That the Massachusetts legal system wanted me, David Dobrindt, to play such an important part in the system. I wasn?t sure why I made the cut, but it must have been because of my intellect, intelligence, wisdom, charm and probably stunning good looks. Why else would they select me, out of thousands of others, to be part of this special group? I would soon learn that being on the grand jury might not be a good thing.
The court officer checking...
The court officer checking people in, a very pleasant woman, said I had about half an hour before I was needed so I could get coffee or something. I decided to go back to my car to listen to the radio and read or something. As I was walking behind the court house, I passed a sheriff?s prison transport van with some officers filling out paperwork. The doors to the back of the van were open but I could not see past the metal bars. As I was walking by, about 20 feet away, I heard
?Hey, if you break me out I?ll give you a million dollars?.
Another voice. ?I?ll give you two.?
At which point both of them laughed. I laughed too,on my way to freedom.
I came back to the room at 9:30 and this is when things turned painfully slow. I had to wait in another courtroom for more than an hour. Other than the uncomfortable benches, I didn?t mind because I got to read the paper, in silence, with a room full of complete strangers evenly spread out among rows of benches.
After about an hour they ushered those of us in the room, plus those in other rooms, back into the original room which was now vacant of the lowly jury pool people. I guess they want to keep the elite away from the masses. As soon as we sat down, they told us we were going to be moved across the street to the main courthouse. About 130 of us filed out of that room, crowded together, down the stares, out of the building, and across the street where the court officer held up traffic. Watching us cross the street must have been a site. Slowly shuffling our feet, awkwardly talking to one another, looking around confused. The only thing that distinguished us from a kindergarten class out for a walk was that we weren?t holding hands.
So we got into this other courtroom and were instructed by the assistant court clerk, a nice enough guy. He told us why we were there and what it means to be on a grand jury. He said
?Typically the petite jury serves on average for one day if they are picked for a trial. As a member of the grand jury, you will be required to show up every Wednesday and Thursday for a minimum of three months.?
It?s at this point I started paying attention. I wasn?t sure if I heard him right. Three months? Twice a week? And he didn?t say anything about ?if? we are picked, just that we, as grand jurors, are required to show up. Uh oh, I?m in trouble. While I would love to be in the position to hear testimony from a DA on a case, in secret (to avoid making public individuals who are accused of something but not indicted) and decide if there was enough evidence to bring it to trial, my job would have a hard time with it. I envisioned showing up two days a week for the next three months while I slowly lose my job.
When we checked in, we received a card with our name and a number. When it was time to pick for the grand jury, the clerk would call out a name and card number, and we would take our seat. He told us that if we had an issue, to request a discussion with the judge. Otherwise, just take our seat. I most definitely would be talking to the judge.
Quick note. Almost every court house I have been in, admittedly few, are very impressive buildings. They are made of marble and dark wood with intricate designs. They have tall ceilings with ornate decorations and huge rooms and hallways. It?s really impressive considering they are public buildings, which are usually known for their lack of style. I tried to think about why they would have been designed in such a way and could only presume that it was to impress those who are forced to go through the court system, and let?s be honest, people who are going through the courts for any reason at all are usually not doing it because they want to. I guess the government spent so much money to intimidate those who are not part of the court system. Not sure.
So about 130 of us sat there as the clerk called out one person at a time. At this point things went from painfully slow to excruciatingly slow. The guy called out ?Juror Sheila Blackwell, number 1 dash 1?, who quickly asked to talk to the judge. While the judge, someone else who I guess was an assistant DA, and the clerk had a hushed conversation, the rest of us sat there. I tried reading a paper but one of the polite yet firm court officers asked me to put it away. No ruffling of papers. The first 8 people called all had an issue and asked to talk to the judge. It was painful.
It was at this point I realized that after they got their 23 jurors, I would be free to go. Since my number, and I am not joking, was 60-06, I thought I had a great chance of getting off. Jurors didn?t have to be interviewed or screened by a lawyer, so if you wanted to be on and your number was called, you were in. That simple. The problem was that it seemed like every person wanted a discussion with the judge, who let them off the hook. Those lucky bastards. But after the first 8, things started to move a little quicker, about the pace of church when your 9.
I think overall 1 out of every 3 or so went to the juror seat without an issue. It was strange but it kind of went in streaks, like the quality of my jokes. There was one stretch where 10 people asked to talk to the judge followed by 4 straight non-issue jurors. Since I had nothing to do but watch and day dream, I practiced the plea I was going to use when I had my shot at the judge and tried to guess why certain people were asking to be let out of service.
Me: ?Judge, my company needs me so bad that they might fold if I miss more than two days in one month. If I have to be on this jury, I would be forced to act disruptive and indict every single person I see?
Young lady with giant behind: ?Judge, sitting in these small chairs is going to hurt my huge ass?
Tired looking older guy with untucked shirt: ?Judge, this will interfere with my noontime drinking?
Tough looking black guy: ?Judge, I hate the white man?
Well dressed middle aged Asian woman: ?Judge, unless you can pay me 500 bucks an hour, my private real estate law practice is more lucrative?
Really old Italian looking woman: ?Judge, I can?t promise I can stay awake all day?
Hippy looking young woman with ugly orange poncho: ?I believe is legal marijuana?
I was so bored I even started imaging what the judge was saying.
Judge: ?So you own your own deli and business would suffer without you? Tell me, is Winnie the Pooh male or female??
Judge: ?You want off because you need to stay home to take care of your elderly mother? Tell me, how exactly does one get knighted??
Judge: ?If I let you out service to fly to India to attend your nephew?s wedding that I?ll have to let that guy sitting in the third row off for being ugly?
Anyway, thank the good Lord above that they finally hit their 23 mark, thanked us for sitting there all morning, and let us go. I am not sure why they didn?t just ask people who had no issue to raise their hand and choose 23 out of that group, sparing all of us the morning. Since they were going in numerical order, taking everyone who was willing to serve and there seemed to be no demo or social graphic makeup requirements, I think they could have picked a jury much easier. I am sure there are people who would love to sit on a jury and get paid 50 bucks a day plus expense.
It was an interesting morning and I am now done for the next few years.
Saturday night we were watching the next Little House episode, 2 in a series of 5, when about halfway through the one hour show the sound started acting up. We weren?t watching it live, we recorded it on our DVR and were watching it about an hour after it aired. It sounded like someone was standing there hitting the mute button in perfectly timed 2 second intervals. It was so crazily annoying, like nothing I have ever experienced. Try watching something with the sound cutting out every few seconds, perfectly timed, for 30 minutes. Kind of like xxx xxx xxxx about something that xxx xxx xxx, with a lot of xxx xxx xxx needed to complete xxx xxx, but not xxx xxx xxx to read exactly xxx xxx xxx.
Patti and I sat there and kept yelling out ?This is SO [expletive deleted] annoying. GOD, this HAS to STOP.?
Despite the torture, the episode was good. It could use some more uplifting scenes, but still pretty good.
Just thought I?d share.
It started last night. The Yankee-Red Sox ebb and flow of this year started with a Red Sox disaster and a Yankee win. Overall, the game is .006 percent of the season. It?s like CSPAN2 at 3AM, not entirely meaningless but pretty close. It?s one of hopefully 100 or so wins for the Yankees and one of hopefully 80 or so losses for the Red Sox. While the Red Sox looked pretty awful, I doubt Damon, Edgar or Manny will go oh-fer the rest of the season. The one thing that did look mid-season was Damon?s fielding. He looks like a 12 year old girl. Jeesh, he looks awful. But Wells will get into stride even though he has no idea what it?s going to be like in Boston if he doesn?t become the stud they need him to be.
The Yanks did look good but it?s one game, in 40 degree early April, with Randy Johnson, a really funny name, on the mound. The players were hitting but was that because they were in stride or because Wells was off. As a Yankee fan, I like to believe it is an indication of how they are going to approach the year. But who knows, it?s only one game.
The one thing that is true to Red Sox Nation is WEEI, the local radio station. On a side note, I am back to listening to WEEI every time the radio is on for the first time since October. During the ?off season?, I listen to Imus in the morning and Jay Severin in the afternoon. Mainly because Hockey, Basketball ? and to a certain extend Football ? talk bores me. But I can listen to people go back and forth about baseball all day long.
So getting back to my story, I was listening to EEI off and on Sunday morning and afternoon. Just about everyone, callers and hosts, were bashing the Yankees. Like true Red Sox supporters, they were less focused on the Sox and more focused on the Yankees. So they were talking about how the Sox lineup was better and how the Yankees pitching staff was really just a shell of what people thought it was. ?Blah blah blah they SUCK.?
Well, this morning things are different. Red Sox Nation is pretty ticked. For some reason in third grade, the last year most of them attended structured school, they didn?t teach the theory that one performance is not necessarily indicative of ALL performances. After all, the Sox lost last year?s season opener to Baltimore and went on to win the World Series. But hey, what do I know, I?m just a Yankee fan.
So while I know last night didn?t mean much, it felt good to see the Yanks win.
Frank Purdue died today. I remember going to a speech while in college given by the head of the ad agency that ran his popular commercials. The guy said that Frank Purdue was actually a really tall man and they made the props on the commercials larger to give Frank a much smaller appearance. Not sure if it?s true, I couldn?t find anything about his height after a quick google search. Getting his height on the web would be a great web scavenger hunt item. That, and the total blades of grass on the 15th tee at Augusta.