Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Thicago ith bye kind obf town.

Holy fuck it's cold here. I landed at Midway last night before the snow came, but by the time I got off the L I was being pelted with flakes. Speaking of landing in Chicago: it was one of the first times I've ever lived one of my favorite songs, Stratford-On-Guy by Liz Phair. It goes something like "I was flying into Chicago at night, watching the lake turn the air into cool green smoke" and It all rang true as we "came out of the country and into the grid, the plan of the city was all that you saw." It was kind of coo. If you don't know the song, check it out.

I ate at the ESPN Zone last night (I know, that's not very exciting of me with all the great food around here, but I wanted something close and where I could watch sports... if you can call the Bulls sports these days.) Today, I've been out on work, but, I have seen some sights too. I got some great photos of the Sears Tower, The River and Millennium Park. I'll be adding pics when I get back home.

Tonight, when all my work is done, I'm going to have some famous Chicago style deep dish pizza at Giordano's on Jackson, just down the street from Sears Tower. I'm a pretty big pizza snob, what with being from Jersey and having worked in a pizza parlor from the time I was 13, and I normally only like Jersey/New York style pie. However, I live by the motto: when in Rome...

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Monday, January 28, 2008

Who was your first?

During the weekend my sister in law mentioned a discussion she had with coworkers about who their first pop culture crush was. This lead me to think about who first caught my attention and made me feel like we climbed the rope in gym class. I hit puberty somewhere around mid 1988 which provides a frame for the women of the day who may have been of note to lil Greazy. Of all the beautiful women on TV, in Music or staring in the Movies it was Kelly LeBrock that first captured my eye.

My older siblings rented "Weird Science" just about every weekend. I would often try to blend into the room as they watched it. At 10 or 11 I just thought it was funny when Chet turned into the big ugly monster, or when someone cursed. I learned to repeat all the lines that my brother and sister thought were funny:

"I didn't think it was a whale's dick honey"
"Anything bigger than a handful, and you're risking a sprained tongue."
"He's an asshole, anyone with a haircut like that, you know is an asshole"
"That looks pretty good. Now make yourself one. Dickweed!"
"Gary, Wyatt. Breakfast"
"How 'bout you bend over, and I'll shove it straight up your ass."
"Give 'em the knee-shooters"
"Crazy? Insane?"
"Don't threaten me Al! You're out of shape, I'll kick your ass."
"I was nuts for the woman. And what did it to me was these big, big titties she had"
"You told me you were washing your hair"
"How about, a nice greazy pork sandwich... served in a dirty ashtray?"

As you may guess, that last one was always my favorite. In those early years, I was just happy to be able to man the rewind button as we constantly re-watched the scene when Wyatt says "Gary was just taking a shit" and Gary winds up and slaps him. But, around the time I hit 12 or 13 I started to look longingly at Lisa as she emerged from that blown up door frame in those tiny panties and that little shirt. I didn't know it right away, but I was indeed lusting after Lisa, a lust that was only compounded by the "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful" Pantene ads she did after that.

Kelly LeBrock was just a knockout, there is no other way to say it. Add the fact that she had the sexy accent to go along with her amazing beauty and you can see why a lot of 13 year old boys were smitten with her, just like I was. She was my first.


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Friday, January 25, 2008

Happy Australia Day Bitches!

I know what you're thinking: "But Greazy, today is the 25th and the First Fleet arrived in Sydney Cove on the 26th." You're right, but as it always the case, today is actually tomorrow in Australia, so it's time to celebrate. I've come to love the Lucky land, and if all things were equal Inky and I would live there for at least a few year. Don't get me wrong, I love America, but my love for my nation is largely due to the fact that I was born here. The comparison I often use is family. You love your family members because you are born amongst them, but not all of them are people you would be friends with if you weren't related. I can tell you that if I wasn't born as an American, I might be one of the people who had a problem with it. America is the New York Yankees or the New England Patriots, and I tend to root (funny to my Aussie friends) for the underdog.

In a lot of ways Australia is the underdog, the Green Bay Packers if you will. There is so much that is great about them, but they don't have quite the following of their cousins in the UK, Canada or America. Over the last few years I have spent a lot of time reading about their history, and immersing myself in their pop culture, only to find that I seem much more en sync with the ethos of an Aussie than I am with my own people. In the end I may be American by birth, but I think I'd like to be Aussie by choice. I may not know every little thing about Aussie culture, but I endeavor to know more. To that end, Inky and I are making our second trip down under in 107 days, and I can't wait.

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Thursday, January 24, 2008

Was The Piss Pants Fieldhouse Booked?

I was raised on the newspaper, but like many other people in the 21st century, I rarely buy one anymore. I enjoy the diversity of being able to read the Washington Post, the Baltimore Sun, The Sydney Morning Herald and the York Daily Record each day. (let's all sing it: one of these things is not like the other things...) One of the benefits to reading the paper on line, other than not getting your fingers inky, is being able to quickly scan all the headlines and decide what you want to read. Sometimes headline writers don't think of how their work will be perceived by immature people like me, and so they let stuff like this slip by:

How am I supposed read that and not make fun of it? There are so many different ways you can go with that, where should I start? The first thing I thought was that the story was all about Fergie masturbating. One has to imagine that her vag is quite cavernous, so it would be fair to call it "Beaver Stadium" since it has probably also entertained well over 100,000 rabid young men.

Once I read the story, however, I found that the simplest explanation was, in fact, the truth. Fergie will be playing a concert at the home of the Penn State Nitney Lions in State College PA. This seems like the perfect combination of headliner and venue, which could only be surpassed by something like Amy Winehouse at Crack Den Stadium or Britney Spears at Pink Taco Field. In the end, I'm sure Fergie was just upset that Arcadia University changed it's name, or she could have had another show to play.


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Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Kitten Terrorist?

Sure they're cute and cuddly, but who knows what evil thoughts lurk in a kitten's tiny brain? I don't know what your first thoughts are upon reading this story, but mine aren't "awe that's so cute." Nor do I think: "well it's a good think that poor lil guy wasn't hurt." I think: where was TSA on this? How did they let this tiny, hairy possible terrorist on the plane without being detected? A 10 month old kitten gets into her owners suitcase and survives the baggage check, the conveyor belt to the plane, and most amazingly of all the baggage handlers to emerge alive on the other side.

Who knows what Gracie Mae bin Muhammad the cat had in mind when she snuck into Seth Levy's suitcase. Was she planning to climb out and scratch at the fuel tanks? Was she thinking about gnawing on the wiring? Was she going to find a sunny spot, stretch out and take a nap? We'll never know. How do I know Gracie Mae is a terrorist? Well, she doesn't like water and if you've ever seen a photo of any of those al qaeda mother fuckers you know they don't either. Those guys would probably run and hide behind the couch if you sprayed them with a squirt bottle too. Let's just say there aren't a lot of showers in the Torra Bora region. So in my mind that is a crystal clear link between all kittens and islamofascists. (see the witch trial in "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" for more of this type of logic.) It's about as credible as using yellowcake and WMDs to invade Iraq.

Luckily for us, Gracie Mae didn't bring down the Dallas bound flight, but what about the next kitten stowaway? I say we install an elaborate feather and bell on a string system next to the bomb sniffing machine and the xray, that way the kittens will be lured out of hiding before they can do something terrible. Anything less and the terrorists win. Be on the look out for:

Sunday, January 20, 2008

Movie Review: Juno

Inky and I hit the road yesterday to take the opportunity to get out of our one horse town. So we went to the Baltimore Burbs, which is kind of like a 3 3/4 horse area. After lunch at Baja Fresh and some record shopping at Sound Garden we decided to head to the local shrine to vast consumerism: Arundel Mills Mall. We shopped, browsed, bought some shoes and people watched to kill time before our movie started. The people of greater Baltimore are very interesting to watch, just annoying as fuck to listen to from time to time, but more on that later.

You've all heard about Juno by now, and chances are, you've already decided if you're going to see it. If you haven't, let me tell you that you should. It's a great little movie, that reminds you that movies can be fun, interesting and engaging without spending more than the GNP of a third world nation to make them. I can't say much more than the massive public outpouring of praise of star Ellen Page hasn't already said but, lets just say she's great in her role. It's hard to pull off cool and quirky 16 year old who takes getting knocked up in stride, but Ellen does it. She makes Juno a character you can't help but like, even if she has poor taste in men.

Paulie Bleeker may be cool in Juno's eyes but I just don't get Michael Cera. I thought he was reaching to play his character in Superbad, but as it turns out he may have all the range of Tom Cruise, who also always seems to play the same role. Still, Juno's feelings for Bleeker are enough for us to get on board with her choices and feel happy for her in the end, so I won't bag on Cera too much.

The supporting cast was great in this film, highlighted by Jason Bateman, J.K. Simmons and the wonderful Allison Janney. Juno's world is full of people who almost don't seem to notice how strange she is... almost. Simmons, in his turn as her father Mac, takes the news of her pregnancy at 16 rather in stride, and is also prepared for all her off the wall comments. Bateman as a potential adoptive father, seems to see the person he once was in the mirror of Juno, and uses that to make some choices. In all the cast weaves a believable tale of extraordinary event and puts it in the most ordinary context.

This is an A plus movie, and features some great little funny lines and a strong focus on the soundtrack which was built around Kimya Dawson. Sadly, I missed a few jokes, and some of the lyrics in the softer songs because the people of Baltimore CAN NOT SHUT THE FUCK UP IN A MOVIE! Seriously! And I hate to be like this, but are you going out of your way to be a stereotype? Anyway, I didn't let a little side commentary stop me from enjoying the flick, and I think you should check it out too. Just stay away from any zip code that starts with 212...

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Friday, January 18, 2008

Overexposed, Underexposed or Just Right?

I am not one of these people that thinks that overexposure to sexual images it a detriment to the libido of men at large. Some seem to think that the more a man sees half naked, model quality women, the less they will be interested in having sex with real live women. I find this argument preposterous if applied to the majority of men. Sure, there are a small handful of men who become so obsessed with porn that they can’t even hold a job, let alone a real woman’s hand, but there are also people who dress up as stuffed animals and then stuff one another. It’s dangerous to assume that because you run across one simple douche nozzle that doesn’t like your boobs because they aren’t big and fake like Jenna Jamison’s that all men are the same. A more complete exposure to the nuance of any experience, idea or event creates a more profound understanding of said experiences ideas or events.

Take eating for example: only in a society in which food is a given can high quality cuisine be enjoyed, or even regional delicacies for that matter. In a world where we know we are going to eat, we can worry about what it is we want to eat, and think about what it is like to try different things. See where I’m going here? In starving villages in Africa no one is sending their meal back because the rice is underdone. I feel the same way about sex, basically the more you know, have seen and thought about, so much the better. The problem, as always, is the persistent thought that you can force a square peg into a round hole.

Just because John Doe has a wang and Jane Doe has a vag doesn’t mean they can have good sex. Sex is like launching a nuclear warhead: you both have to be ready, willing and able to turn your key, or else you wont get the big “explosion” you are looking for. If you aren’t exactly blowing things up in your boudoir then perhaps someone is lacking some key turning expertise, knowledge or is suffering from a lack of how to turn the key just right. (this and many other similes available at Greazy Tony’s Simile and Metaphor Emporium, 409 E. Baltimore St. Baltimore MD 21202).

One look around your local adult bookstore will show that men and women like a lot of varied things when it comes to, well, coming. Sure there are the airbrushed, collagen and silicone laced glam productions, but there are many more basic or armature collections that feature regular looking people doing some regular or irregular stuff. What I’m trying to say can best be summarized thusly “There are many kinky rooms in my mistresses house.” As long as you trust the person you are with, I say tell ‘em what you’re thinking and see if they’re game to try it. Repression, either in your own mind or at the newsstand isn’t the answer. If you see something in a movie, mag or on TV and think "wow, I'd like to try that, but I don't want (insert significant other or random dude/chick at the bar's name here) to think I'm a freak" you are doing yourself a disservice, and may end up simply doing yourself.

Having said all that, I picked up a copy of American Curves Magazine (pictured above) last night at the gas station. This mag baffles me in some ways. It is like the softest soft-core you can find, with absolutely no nudity in it’s pages, but, it has no real content either. A mag, like say Maxim, sometimes features real stories, like profiling the atrocities of Saddam Hussein’s sons years before the mainstream media ran with the story. American Curves, however, has maybe 20 pages out of it’s 160 plus total devoted to the written word, and the rest are shots of really hot women in various states of undress. In many way's it would be the modern equivalent to tossing off to National Geographic or the lingerie section of the Sears Catalogue. The cover girl is Tera Patrick, who I happen to think is one of the sexiest looking women on the planet, but the rest of the layouts are a bunch of people I’ve never heard of before. I had never heard of this publication before, and frankly I think it’s pretty piss poor, but alas there it is. And based on what you believe it is either a detriment to men’s libidos, enhances them or perhaps is it just more flotsam and jetsam (no jokes about this word, please we are all adults here) in the everyday consciousness and does no good or harm.

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Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Updating the Top 5 List

Why are the pretty ones always so dumb? That's what I was thinking while I was watching LA Ink last night, which stars Kat Von D, who until today was #2 on my list of famous women I'm alowed to do. I can't get over how fucking annoying she has become on that show, and I can't grant her access to a list as coveted as this one, I mean, what rich and famous star wouldn't want a peice of Greazy Tony? So, I'm making my first changes to the list since July, which is long overdue if you ask me.

Anyhow, I am also dropping Jemina Pearl Abegg, the lead singer of the band be your own PET, from the list which creats two openings. Joining the list are two TV actresses, who both graced the screne on shows I love. The first, Jenna Fischer (pictured above on the left), will be back at it as Pam on The Office just as soon as the writers get a deal done.

The second, Moon Bloodgood (on the right), was on my favorite new show of the year, but her's wont be back when the strike is over because it was cancled. I'm sure she'll land on her feet. Bloodgood is an impossibly gorgous 28 year old of Irish, Dutch and South Korean ansestry. She has striking features and an amazing body befiting a former Laker girl. In addition to a cool name, she also brings an air of classy sexyness to the table. Jenna Fischer is sexy in an entirely different way, bordering on that girl next door type vibe. But, if all you konw about her is the good girls she's played on the Office and in a few of her recent movies, you're missing out. Rent her pre-office, fake documentery called Lollilove to get a feel for all she's capable of as an actress. She has what is quite possibly the most amazing smile in all of Hollywood, and is so nataurally beautifule that I think she belongs on my list.

So, here's the countdown:

#5 Moon Bloodgood
#4 Kari Byron:
#3 Jenna Fischer:
#2 Evangeline Lilly:
#1 Liz Phair:

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

All Natural Remedy


Sure, Inky and I will be leaving for Australia in 117 days, which isn't as long as it sounds in most respects. We hardly have enough time to make all of our plans, initiate our contacts down there, save money, and ultimately to decided just what we want to do with our time there. On the other side of the coin, that is 81 work days until we leave, and work has a tendency to make your life drag in a blur of monotony, angst and annoyance.

So, to combat all that, I like to get out into nature from time to time. This is one of those 'can't judge a book by it's cover' situations. I am a big fat guy with lots of tattoo's who loves sports and is basically an overgrown 14 year old. On the inside, however, I am a guy who loves nothing more than nature. Give me a lake, a trail, a beautiful rising or setting sun and I am struck with contemplative awe. I can sit and stare at the sun dancing off the ripples of a lake, like lake Redman in York County, for hours upon hours. I find it calming, and in someways I always have. When I thought life's problems were overwhelming me in high school I often used to drive to the Jersey Shore and sit and watch the ocean by myself. Once in College, when I was feeling beet down by life, I drove to Redman (actually Lake Williams, the other one) and sat there until the sun went down.

It's my elixir, my medicine, my pause button in the Playstation game of life, if you will. But, much like most supposed panaceas, I have found that the benefits wear off much faster with each dose these days, leading to a quick reappearance of my symptoms. I'm 4 months away from marveling at the natural beauty of the Tasmanian Wilderness, the diamond sparkle of Sydney Harbour, the green expanses of the Yarra Valley and the epic grander of Uluru, or Ayers Rock to you whitey. Will it be enough to snap me out of my funk? I don't know, but I sure hope so, both for my sake and for Inky's sake. In the meantime, will keep going up to the trails at Lake Redman to get our booster shot which will have to keep us operating for the time being.

Saturday, January 12, 2008

In Defense of American Gladiators


OK, sure, Hulk Hogan sucks ass and Laila Ali is not much better. But, with the writers on strike, there isn't a whole lot on TV these days. I'm not against reading, writing or leaving the house, so don't get me wrong, I'm no slave to the TV. I do find that Monday nights are especially good for vegging out at home, however, and so I've taken the chance to watch the first few episodes of the new American Gladiators. While it's no Wire or Six Feet Under, it's still a decent amount of mindless entertainment that has a bit of nostalgia for those of us who came of age in the late 80's and early 90's.

And to top it all off, they have the greatest referee in the world. In case you didn't recognize him, the fellow who barks "contestant ready? Gladiator ready?" is Al Kaplon (in the background in the picture above). Kaplon is a former American League Umpire who has quite a long resume of appearing in TV and Movies, most notably, the movie Dodgeball. As far as I'm concerned Kaplon is enough reason for me to give this show a shot, but then there is all the intangibles of AG 2.0. There is the unintentional hilarious nature of the back and forth between the contestants and the Gladiators. There are some hot female contestants in that really tight spandex. Plus, there's always the chance that you'll get to see someone get the ever loving shit rocked out of them on national TV, which still gets it done in my mind.

So give the new Gladiators a chance, and do your best to try and ignore Hogan and Ali. You'll be glad you did.

Friday, January 11, 2008

What's in a Year?

As I was on the road for work yesterday, I found myself listening to the all news radio station in Philadelphia. During a report the anchor said something to the effect of "Target's total sales were down 5.4 percent for the same period in twenty-oh-six." Aside from not feeling bad that Target only sold 20 bigillion dollars worth of crap rather than 22, I was surprised by how strange it sounded when she said Twenty-oh-six rather than Two-Thousand-Six.

I know I'm splitting hairs here, but isn't it strange? We spent two thousand years breaking the year into two numbers Fourteen-Ninety Two, Seventeen-Seventy Six, Nineteen-Sixty Nine. No one ever says "I was born in One thousand, Nine Hundred and Seventy Six" because if they did you would slap them and tell them go go back to playing D&D or reading the Hobbit.

And yet, we say Two Thousand-Eight, not Twenty-oh-eight. Maybe that will change in two years when it's Twenty-Ten, and we'll all get back to our consistent way of naming the year. In the end I think Stanley Kubrick and Arthur C. Clarke are to blame for this oddity in human speech. Clarke's novel "2001: A Space Odyssey" was always said aloud as Two Thousand and One... and so when the year came, that was kind of the default. I blame Kubrick for making a movie that you can only enjoy if you are on acid, but that's another topic for another day.

This it the strange shit that bounces around in my head all day long, and I don't know what I would do if I didn't have a blog to use as my outlet to spout this shit out. I do know that Inky would be ready to divorce me by now if only she had to bear the brunt of my inane babble. Have a great weekend, and make the most out of your Twenty-oh-eight!

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Tuesday, January 08, 2008

Greazy Law: The Ho Point

I don't know what it is like where you are right now, but here in my town it's 70 degrees for the second straight day. This happened last January as well, but the nice weather didn't stick around for very long. In fact, it was well back into winter temps when the students returned to campus, so I didn't get to see them shed their clothes like they were on fire.

Because, that's what happens when ever the temperature rises by 10 degrees from the same time two days before, or is 20 degrees above the normal high for that time of year. I call it the Ho point, which is much like the Dew Point. Here is the definition: The Ho Point is the temperature which a college student must perceive it to be, at constant barometric pressure, for them to go outside in next to nothing.

The Ho point for this week just so happened to be 67 degrees, and once reached, the streets were flooded with guys wearing tee shirts, shorts and girls in mini skirts and tiny tops. Not that I'm complaining mind you, because I'm not one to tell people that they can't dress like a streetwalker if they want to, but I think it's kind of funny. And from this point on, I declare a Greazy Law that says the weather must begin to announce the Ho Point in the evening newscast. That way we know to be prepared to see a 20 year old girl in stockings and shorts.

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Sunday, January 06, 2008

Greazy Tony's Famous Boneless Wings


XL spent the weekend at casa de Grezy y Inky to watch football, eat, and drink beer, lots and lots of beer. Through out the weekend we dined on my dad's famous sub sandwich, Issacs, Five Guys, and my world famous boneless Buffalo wings. Making my wings is quick, simple and a lot cheaper then calling out for over priced rubbery chicken legs with all that bone waste. Hears what you'll need:

Three Lbs Boneless, skinless chicken breast.
20 Oz vegetable oil
1 Cup flower
1 Bottle Anchor Bar Wings Sauce (the O.G. wing sauce from Buffalo)
1 Bottle Marie's Chunky Blue Cheese
1 Bunch Celery

Once you have all the items above here is how you make these awesome, boneless wings:
  • Heat the oil in a large pan. Cover with a splatter screen if you have one.
  • Start off by slicing the chicken into thumb sized pieces (better to approximate the size and shape of a wing) by cutting across the shorter part of the breast.
  • Once all the chicken is cut toss about a half dozen pieces in a large bowl with the flower until they are fully coated. Placed the flower covered chicken on a large plate and let rest for for a few moments while the oil gets hot.
  • Place the chicken into the oil with tongs or a mettle deep frying spider. Remove to a paper towle covered plate when golden brown.
  • Allow the chicken to sit on the paper towle until all the oil has been blotted off. Then toss in the wing sauce. Scoop the wings out, allowing the excess sauce to shake off.
  • Put the wings on a plate with cut celery, a ramekin of blue cheese and serve to your adoring public.

I hope you enjoy my wings, I know XL did:

Stud of the Week: XL

When one teammate is out of the line up it is imperative that other's on the team rise to the occasion, and that's just what XL did this weekend. With Inky out of town, and me no longer drinking, it fell to XL to bare the brunt of the drinking duties during the football games. Normally Inky would have 6 or 7 and XL would have 8 or 9, but this case wasn't going to drink itself, so XL stepped up.

Throughout the course of the first game he held a three beer a quarter pace nearly till the end. After downing 11 beers in the first game he backed that up with 5 in the second game to finish with an astounding total of 16! Not to mention the pound and a half of "Greazy Tony's Famous Wings" that we each ate between games.

It was a performance worthy of XL's already impressive stature in this town, and one which earned him Stud of the Week!

***Note: This post originally appeared on the now defunct blog "Inky and the Sports Guys" and has been imported to TGWOOfY for continuity purposes.***
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Friday, January 04, 2008

I Was Almost Victorious!

Imagine how excited I was the first time I saw one of those stupid Burger King commercials showing people freaking the fuck out over the loss of the Whopper. I have waged a one goomba war on BK for the last few years to try and make them discontinue the use of the term Whopper for their sandwich. As an Italian-American I object to the use of any term that my people find offensive no matter how plain and usual the word seems to the public at large. I call it the Imus rule: If we say it's offensive and we threaten to boycott your business then you better stop.

I know what you're going to say: "But greazy, isn't the pejorative term WOP not WHOP?" Yes, yes it is, but let me ask you this: if Taco Bell started selling a new menu item called a Sphik, how long do you think it would take La Raza to boycott them? Or if KFC introduced a new item called Koonz how long do you think it would be until Al Sharpton was there? I say spelling is irrelevant (and anyone who's ever read my blog closely can back me up on that) and it's pronunciation that is important. So it is the duty of every American to stop buying Whoppers malted candies and the BK Whopper from this day forward.

*Writers note: please observe that this was written tongue in cheek, and understand that I think the term Wop, Dego and guinea are hilarious.

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Thursday, January 03, 2008

I Promise I'll Pull Out...April Fools!

If I were a betting man, I'd say either Kyle or Becky Armstrong have a birthday around the beginning of April, or it's their anniversary. If not that, then maybe Kyle has a strange sense of humor when it comes to April Fools jokes. My mom was a labor and delivery nurse, and she used to say that if there was a big snowstorm in DC they knew that they would be busy in nine months. Likewise, there are a lot of kids born in the middle of November thanks to some good ole Valentines day lovin'. If you were popped out nine months after Valentin's, your mom or dad's birthday, or their anniversary, chances are pretty good your old man came home with a box of chocolates and a tiny bag from Victoria's Secret and, well, you know.

Are you done vomiting? Good.

Back to Kyle and Becky. I was looking at the Sydney Morning Herald as I do most mornings when I stumbled across a story from my back yard. It seems that Kyle and Becky welcomed a new member of their family on January 1st, the first baby born in Gettysburg in 2008. The interesting thing about it is that they did the same thing last January 1st. How much are those little girls going to hate sharing a birthday for the rest of their lives? They are going to have to explain that they aren't twins for decades, but I digress.

Luckily for 1 year old Kaden Skye and newborn Faith Lynn they just barely missed being true Irish Twins: being born in the same calender year, or with in 365 days of each other. That is a distinction usually reserved for those who live in a trailer park, Catholics and Britney Spears. Instead they just have to settle for a life time of shared cake at parties, and that awkward year where Kaden will be able to strip, but Faith won't. If their parents pace is any indication, they should try to not be to fussy on April 1st, that way maybe they'll have a brother to share a birthday with.

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Tuesday, January 01, 2008

Stop Dropping Shit!

As much as I don't seem to have the childlike joy of Christmas anymore, I really don't give two shits about New Years Eve anymore. I don't drink, and every New Year's party I've been to over the last decade has been either way too expensive, depressingly lame, or just a regular night watching New Year's rockin' eve. So, we chose to stay home and watch it in our own house this year and have some quality alone time. We watched, Dick and saw the balls drop, and then we turned the TV on and watched Ryan Seacrest and Dick Clark host the show... see what I did there?

Anyhow, we also saw the pathetic excuse for local news coverage of the evening of merriment. They went from town to town to see what shitty cover-band was playing, what corporate swag was being given to revelers and what was being dropped. This is America, and we can't have an event without crappy music, chachkeys and ripping off other peoples ideas.

They have been dropping the ball in New York for 100 years now, and Dick Clark has been doing it since my parents were in high school. So god knows every piss ant little town across the country has decided to get on the ball, so to speak. Here in York they drop a white rose, which is a local icon also stolen from somewhere else, since York England is the Whiterose city, so too are we. Lancaster drops a Red rose in the same display of double thievery. Harrisburg drops a Strawberry, Hershey drops a Kiss, Dillsburg drops a pickle and Lebanon PA drops a giant bologna.

I say each town should now be required to rip New York off, and come up with something to drop. Here are a few of my ideas:

Dover PA: They should have to drop a figure that morphs from an ape to a human.

Baltimore MD: Charm city should drop a 6 foot tall crack vile in the Inner Harbor.

Washington DC: A giant neon dollar slides from the top of the Capitol Dome over to K Street.

Miami FL: A retired school teacher, who moved from New Jersey, is dropped into a coffin.

Boston MA: The whole town "drops" on Tom Brady, and why not, they do it all year anyway.

Baghdad: Slim Pickens drops from 30,000 feet, hours after all our troops leave.

Wichita NE: I huge neon man drops his finger into his daughter...

Merry New Year e'rybody!

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