Archived MySpace blog
Current mood: happy
Category: Blogging
I got exactly what I wanted this Christmas.
I spent this Christmas up at my sister's this year. Christmas eve with the family; wake up Christmas morning... 6 a.m., because the youngest (3 1/2 months) wanted to eat. But the oldest of my sister's 3, at 2 1/2, really started Christmas morning at 8:30. Normally I'm not a morning person, but with the kids there (and a cup of coffee in hand) I was OK with it this once.
So, I'm sipping coffee, and watching the kids eye the mountain of gifts from Santa... not to mention the equally large stack from Mommy, Poppy, Nana, and Uncle Ian... and on my lap is Chubba-Wubba.
OK, my sister did not name her second-born "Chubba-Wubba", but all those children have a multitude of nicknames. Kayden Ivy Turner is affectionately known as Chubba-Wubba, and that unto itself is a fantastic thing. Kayden was born September 18, 2004, about 5 months premature. A so-called micro-preemie at 1 lb. 10 oz., its absolutely fantastic that she could at this point suit the nickname Chubba-Wubba.
So I spent Christmas morning with Kayden on my lap, smiling as she always ALWAYS does, helping her unwrap her gifts, and my gifts, and watching her chew the envelope of my card, and marvel at the Christmas wonder that is new socks. It was just great to see that little one ripping Christmas wrap... and just that much better knowing that last year she was still in the hospital this time of year.
So that was my Christmas. That was all I wanted for Christmas. Granted, I got a good amount of really nice gifts, too. But when it comes down to it, Kayden on my lap this year was worth far more to me than any material gift could be.
Granted, there was one down note to this Christmas... a slight sadness. One person was definitely missing from my Christmas this year, one I've spent countless holidays with. But this year, one important person in my life was absent for this Christmukkah season. It was unfamiliar not to have her here. And she was missed.
29 December 2005
12 December 2005
1000 HP Dubbie
Bugatti Veyron 16.4 Philzor touched on this monster in a blog a while back, but I was recently reading up on it, and decided to extol the virtues of this, possibly the worlds most powerful car. And of course, if you know anything about me, more importantly than how ridiculous this beast is, is the fact that it is for all intents and purposes a Volkswagen.
Then-boss of Volkswagen Ferdinand Piëch bought Bugatti a few years ago and commissioned design a concept car. "This," he said, "is what the next Bugatti will look like." And then, without consulting anyone, he went on. "And it vill have an engine that develops 1000 horsepower and it vill be capable of 400kph." Thus, the latest car to bear the Bugatti nameplate was born.
Jeremy Clarkson, who had the awesome privilege to drive, né pilot, the new Bugatti, had this to say:
"Make no mistake, 200mph is at the limit of what man can do right now. Which is why the new Bugatti Veyron is worthy of some industrial strength genuflection. Because it can do 252mph. And that's just mad.” 252mph means that in straight and level flight this car is as near as makes no difference as fast as a Hawker Hurricane.
You might point out at this juncture that the McLaren F1 could top 240mph, but at that speed it was pretty much out of control. And anyway it really isn't in the same league as the Bugatti. In a drag race you could let the McLaren get to 120mph before setting off in the Veyron. And you'd still get to 200mph first. The Bugatti is way, way faster than anything else the roads have seen."
Here are the amazing stats of the new Veyron... and no, I can't figure out what the 16.4 refers to in its moniker.
Engine: 7993cc (yup, 8 Litre, or 488 Cubic Inch), 16 cylinder (VW W16 configuration)
Power: 1001bhp @ 6000rpm (because that extra 1 horsepower makes all the difference)
Torque: 922 lb ft @ 2200rpm
Transmission: 7-speed DSG, manual and auto
Acceleration: 0-100 km/hr: 2.5sec
Top speed: 407 km/hr (253mph)
Fuel Economy: 11.7mpg (Goes 200 mph and still gets better gas milage than a Hummer)
Bottom Line: €810,345 (about $1.5 Million)
I so need one. Yeah, I know, I could hit the Lottery and still not afford one. Now, if everyone on my friends page contributed $11,000 (enough to buy a Mini Cooper S... outright), I'd still come up a couple hundred short. So, to whoever out there has the disposable income to buy one of these, I say this:
I want a ride!!!
15 November 2005
Bobby O
Archived MySpace blog
Category: Food and Restaurants
I fear I may be eating a sandwich named after a Bruin.
Yeah, OK, I'm odd. I'm odd for thinking about it, and even odder for caring. But you're reading it now, so here's the deal.
TJ's Deli, formerly TJ's Breakaway, and/or Breakaway Deli, makes a sandwich called the "Bobby O". Pastrami, Corned Beef, Russian Dressing, and Cole Slaw. I get mine on Rye. It's kinda their take on the Reuben.
But anyway... way back when, when New Haven was still a hockey town, and the legacy of the Blades, the Nighthawks, and... dare I say... the Beast were still part of the fabric of this burgh, Breakaway Deli celebrated this fact. Hockey memorabilia everywhere. Now, post even the New Haven Knights, in the shadow of a dismantling New Haven Coliseum, TJ's pays its allegiance to the Red Sox, the Patriots, and Nascar. But some of the sandwich names remain... Bobby O, and of course, The Beast.
Bobby Orr played during the hay-day of hockey. His number 4 hangs from the rafters at the Banknorth Garden in Boston.
Why is this important? Its not. The Boston Bruins, and their history, mean nothing to me. That's my point. Why am I eating a sandwich named after a Boston Bruin?
OK, OCD much? Why do I care? I'm just odd that way. I'd probably order the Guy LaFleur even if it was made with head Cheese on Pumpernickel. I'm like that. I consume with a bias that makes no rational sense. I'm always excited to purchase Irish- and Canadian-made products, and somehow I'm upset to eat a really good sandwich that's likely named after an ex-Bruin.
I need some serious help I think.
Or, I need Tom to make a tasty sandwich named after Kenny Dryden.
Category: Food and Restaurants
I fear I may be eating a sandwich named after a Bruin.
Yeah, OK, I'm odd. I'm odd for thinking about it, and even odder for caring. But you're reading it now, so here's the deal.
TJ's Deli, formerly TJ's Breakaway, and/or Breakaway Deli, makes a sandwich called the "Bobby O". Pastrami, Corned Beef, Russian Dressing, and Cole Slaw. I get mine on Rye. It's kinda their take on the Reuben.
But anyway... way back when, when New Haven was still a hockey town, and the legacy of the Blades, the Nighthawks, and... dare I say... the Beast were still part of the fabric of this burgh, Breakaway Deli celebrated this fact. Hockey memorabilia everywhere. Now, post even the New Haven Knights, in the shadow of a dismantling New Haven Coliseum, TJ's pays its allegiance to the Red Sox, the Patriots, and Nascar. But some of the sandwich names remain... Bobby O, and of course, The Beast.
Bobby Orr played during the hay-day of hockey. His number 4 hangs from the rafters at the Banknorth Garden in Boston.
Why is this important? Its not. The Boston Bruins, and their history, mean nothing to me. That's my point. Why am I eating a sandwich named after a Boston Bruin?
OK, OCD much? Why do I care? I'm just odd that way. I'd probably order the Guy LaFleur even if it was made with head Cheese on Pumpernickel. I'm like that. I consume with a bias that makes no rational sense. I'm always excited to purchase Irish- and Canadian-made products, and somehow I'm upset to eat a really good sandwich that's likely named after an ex-Bruin.
I need some serious help I think.
Or, I need Tom to make a tasty sandwich named after Kenny Dryden.
08 November 2005
Your ad here
Archived MySpace blog
OK, so...
As some of you may have noticed, I like to change the feel of my MySpace... from time to time. I'm done with Australopithecus -- my tribute to the band Clutch, and now I have this sort of Guinness themed page, inspired by this wondrous picture of Master Shake.
But... I have no name.
In my time on MySpace, I've been Ian Scott, Ëener, €, I'm your Huckleberry, Just Ian, Stewie all Grown Up, Uncle Ian, Australopithecus, and now Your ad here. But I've decided... Your ad here is not a name... its an offer.
As we all know, MySpace is all about the advertising. I made a decision a little bit back regarding my Top 8. I decided that my friends don't need to be advertised, and thus my Top 8 are all local bands -- who I feel could use the advertising.
So, it is along those lines that I have decided that my very name will also serve as advertising.
Here's the deal... Leave me a comment on this blog. Tell me why you should receive free advertising by way of my home page. Could be your band, your cause, your small business, or even your blatant self-promotion. Then, I shall select the most compelling proposition, change my name, and attempt to format my profile to go with it.
So let's see the comments. Tell me why you deserve to be my next profile theme. Have fun.
OK, so...
As some of you may have noticed, I like to change the feel of my MySpace... from time to time. I'm done with Australopithecus -- my tribute to the band Clutch, and now I have this sort of Guinness themed page, inspired by this wondrous picture of Master Shake.
But... I have no name.
In my time on MySpace, I've been Ian Scott, Ëener, €, I'm your Huckleberry, Just Ian, Stewie all Grown Up, Uncle Ian, Australopithecus, and now Your ad here. But I've decided... Your ad here is not a name... its an offer.
As we all know, MySpace is all about the advertising. I made a decision a little bit back regarding my Top 8. I decided that my friends don't need to be advertised, and thus my Top 8 are all local bands -- who I feel could use the advertising.
So, it is along those lines that I have decided that my very name will also serve as advertising.
Here's the deal... Leave me a comment on this blog. Tell me why you should receive free advertising by way of my home page. Could be your band, your cause, your small business, or even your blatant self-promotion. Then, I shall select the most compelling proposition, change my name, and attempt to format my profile to go with it.
So let's see the comments. Tell me why you deserve to be my next profile theme. Have fun.
01 November 2005
When the boss is away...
Archived MySpace blog
Current mood: amused
Contrary to popular belief, the Government is not actually a soulless machine devised to torment the citizens to which it pays lip-service to serving.
Well, maybe it is, actually, but some of the people working for it have souls... even senses of humour.
Take for example last night. Monday, October 31st, 4:30 p.m., the office staff was oddly taken by the Halloween spirit.
Yup, we toilet papered our boss' office. Gotta love it. Gotta love that he thought it was great, and aside from what was on his chair, he's left the rest intact.
So see, we're not soulless at all.
Your tax dollars at work, my friends.
Current mood: amused
Contrary to popular belief, the Government is not actually a soulless machine devised to torment the citizens to which it pays lip-service to serving.
Well, maybe it is, actually, but some of the people working for it have souls... even senses of humour.
Take for example last night. Monday, October 31st, 4:30 p.m., the office staff was oddly taken by the Halloween spirit.
Yup, we toilet papered our boss' office. Gotta love it. Gotta love that he thought it was great, and aside from what was on his chair, he's left the rest intact.
So see, we're not soulless at all.
Your tax dollars at work, my friends.
28 October 2005
Disimpoundment
Archived MySpace blog
Current mood: relieved
Category: Automotive
I'm not even certain if "disimpoundment" is a word... but it is now.
Nonetheless, I have acquired my car.
Thursday night I walk out of work, head up the street, ready to hop in my car, call another day on the books. 'Hmm... I'm pretty sure this is where I parked.' Walk up a little farther.
Now, yes, the State pays for my parking, and yes, I'm a moron to park on the street instead of in the garage. But if I'm running late, its easier to park on the street, right by the coffee shop, and start my day from there.
'Fuck. They got me.' I have a few outstanding parking tickets. I'm running late a lot.
"Communications. Lt. _______ speaking."
"Hi, Denise. Its Ian from Court."
"Oh, hi, Ian. How are you?"
"Not too bad. Can you tell me where my car is?"
"It got towed? Tickets or taxes.?"
Yeah, so... within a half-hour I had all the details. Bottom line, $895. *gasp* Yeah, Denise even said, "have you ever paid a parking ticket in your life?" Well... yes, but usually I give them to my... we'll say "hookup". Apparently, my hook-up hasn't been hooking me up.
So, this morning, I talk to my hook-up. $300. $300 is better than $895, right? OK. $300 to New Haven Parking Authority (yeah, I'm not redacting their names; they're a bunch of feckin' pirates!) and $48 to the nice people at Columbus Towing (they were nice).
1:40 p.m., I have my car back. Needless to say, I'll be parking in the garage.
What the heck is gonna happen next?!?
Current mood: relieved
Category: Automotive
I'm not even certain if "disimpoundment" is a word... but it is now.
Nonetheless, I have acquired my car.
Thursday night I walk out of work, head up the street, ready to hop in my car, call another day on the books. 'Hmm... I'm pretty sure this is where I parked.' Walk up a little farther.
Now, yes, the State pays for my parking, and yes, I'm a moron to park on the street instead of in the garage. But if I'm running late, its easier to park on the street, right by the coffee shop, and start my day from there.
'Fuck. They got me.' I have a few outstanding parking tickets. I'm running late a lot.
"Communications. Lt. _______ speaking."
"Hi, Denise. Its Ian from Court."
"Oh, hi, Ian. How are you?"
"Not too bad. Can you tell me where my car is?"
"It got towed? Tickets or taxes.?"
Yeah, so... within a half-hour I had all the details. Bottom line, $895. *gasp* Yeah, Denise even said, "have you ever paid a parking ticket in your life?" Well... yes, but usually I give them to my... we'll say "hookup". Apparently, my hook-up hasn't been hooking me up.
So, this morning, I talk to my hook-up. $300. $300 is better than $895, right? OK. $300 to New Haven Parking Authority (yeah, I'm not redacting their names; they're a bunch of feckin' pirates!) and $48 to the nice people at Columbus Towing (they were nice).
1:40 p.m., I have my car back. Needless to say, I'll be parking in the garage.
What the heck is gonna happen next?!?
07 October 2005
Allez, Allez, Allez, Allez (or Go Habs Go)
Archived MySpace blog
Current mood: jubilant
Category: Sports
In Montreal, after home wins, the whole crown sings that as a song. "Allez, allez, allez, allez! Allez! Allez!" It just means "go", but anyway. Last night, it was sung at Madison Square garden... only by me, and the fellow Canadiens fan who happened to have the seat next to us... but it was sung.
But perhaps it is best to start a story at the beginning (unless, of course, you're Quinton Tarantino).
3:05, Stuck in traffic. Should have picked up Jennilynne 10 minutes ago, train leaves in 15.
3:22, On the train. Bar Car. Yay!
5:30, Madison Avenue. "I think I want to get jeans. can we stop on the way?" "OK" "Oh, you have the tickets, right?"
Fuck!!! Utter shock. "They never got put in the bag, did they?" OK, will-call window should help us.
6:15, Will-call window. After a hectic sprint of jeans shopping, and new top to boot, and changing in the dressing room, we've made it to the Garden. Neat place. "We need check your bag." "Sure, just my flag, couple jerseys, change of clothes, my friend's bra..." "Go ahead." yes, of course the bra is on top. Isn't that always the way. I mean, I guess. I don't usually travel with a bra in my bag, but if I did... Anyway, at the will-call window. Short explanation. Wait for them to re-print the tickets. "Go habs!" yelled to one of the 8 people who, like myself, dare wear their Montreal jerseys into the Garden.
6:45, Re-printed bogus (?) tickets at Tower A. Guy scans ticket at the gate. Jenni pushes through the turnstile. Turnstile locks. Guy re-scans ticket. Big mistake. Tickets are scanned nowadays so the barcode cannot be copied. First ticket received with said barcode, good. Second, bogus. Dim-bulb scanned the ticket twice, invalidating our freshly printed tickets. "Go to Line 2 for validation."
6:58, Tower D. The guy in line 2 initials the back of our tickets, and sends us back to the gate. The guy at the gate says, the only one who can let us past the turnstyle is the Lobby Mangager, and asks "Who signed these?" "The guy at Line 2... the guy you just sent us to." Find the Lobby Manager. "Who signed these?" "The guy at Line 2... the guy the guy at the gate just sent us to." Back to line 2. "Valid. I just told them that." Back to the gate, Lobby Manager in tow. Wait, wrong gate? How was I supposed to know. "No, I've never been to the Garden before." Gesture to opposing team's jersey on my chest. "Who's that, Chicago?" Oh Lord. You'd think, but no. "Oh, I don't know anything about hockey. You'd think working here, but no." OK, whatever. Welcome to the gate at Tower D. Where we should have been all along. Where our tickets would have probably scanned correctly if the Gatekeeper bothered to look at them before he double-scanned them. Up the escalator. "Go Habs." to the 4th fan, who happens to be in the section next to us.
See Jennilynne's Blog for the game itself. She was nice enough to copy someone's highlights, and I don't feel the need to rub it in.
10:25, Broadway. I hesitate to say they were sore losers, but the pushing and shoving to get out of MSG was a bit ridiculous. We just want to get out, smoke a cigarette, and head for the train (or a bar, depending on how we coincide with the train schedule). Shoving... like you wouldn't believe. Jennilynne, the good sport that she is, is now wearing my spare Montreal jersey over her Rangers one. Not part of the bet, but a fun gesture. I'm holding the back of her jersey like the mother of a small child during the Christmas shopping rush, so we don't get separated. "What's going on over there?" Pushing and shoving left to receive our 'on-the-way-out' freebies of miniature Stanley Cups. Cool. Much better than the blue "thank You" mini-banners we got on the way in. I quipped to one fellow Habs fan, thinking they were 6" tote-bags, "If the game gets bad, we can always puke in them." Out on the street, humid and sweaty, behind a subway entrance become a changing station so we can lose our sweaty jerseys, and I of course have to break out the hair wax and comb rather than having hat-head for the rest of the night. Continuing uptown, looking newly fabulous. "W". Its a bar, "trendier than we are". We continue. "What time is... where's my phone?!?" No chance. I probably lost it in the pushing and the shoving. The last time I knew i had it was between the first and second periods. In essence, I effectively traded it for that mini- Stanley Cup. Not the best trade in the world. But still an awesome trip.
Oh yeah, MTL 4, NYR 3, Final, Overtime.
"Allez, allez, allez, allez! Allez! Allez!"
Current mood: jubilant
Category: Sports
In Montreal, after home wins, the whole crown sings that as a song. "Allez, allez, allez, allez! Allez! Allez!" It just means "go", but anyway. Last night, it was sung at Madison Square garden... only by me, and the fellow Canadiens fan who happened to have the seat next to us... but it was sung.
But perhaps it is best to start a story at the beginning (unless, of course, you're Quinton Tarantino).
3:05, Stuck in traffic. Should have picked up Jennilynne 10 minutes ago, train leaves in 15.
3:22, On the train. Bar Car. Yay!
5:30, Madison Avenue. "I think I want to get jeans. can we stop on the way?" "OK" "Oh, you have the tickets, right?"
Fuck!!! Utter shock. "They never got put in the bag, did they?" OK, will-call window should help us.
6:15, Will-call window. After a hectic sprint of jeans shopping, and new top to boot, and changing in the dressing room, we've made it to the Garden. Neat place. "We need check your bag." "Sure, just my flag, couple jerseys, change of clothes, my friend's bra..." "Go ahead." yes, of course the bra is on top. Isn't that always the way. I mean, I guess. I don't usually travel with a bra in my bag, but if I did... Anyway, at the will-call window. Short explanation. Wait for them to re-print the tickets. "Go habs!" yelled to one of the 8 people who, like myself, dare wear their Montreal jerseys into the Garden.
6:45, Re-printed bogus (?) tickets at Tower A. Guy scans ticket at the gate. Jenni pushes through the turnstile. Turnstile locks. Guy re-scans ticket. Big mistake. Tickets are scanned nowadays so the barcode cannot be copied. First ticket received with said barcode, good. Second, bogus. Dim-bulb scanned the ticket twice, invalidating our freshly printed tickets. "Go to Line 2 for validation."
6:58, Tower D. The guy in line 2 initials the back of our tickets, and sends us back to the gate. The guy at the gate says, the only one who can let us past the turnstyle is the Lobby Mangager, and asks "Who signed these?" "The guy at Line 2... the guy you just sent us to." Find the Lobby Manager. "Who signed these?" "The guy at Line 2... the guy the guy at the gate just sent us to." Back to line 2. "Valid. I just told them that." Back to the gate, Lobby Manager in tow. Wait, wrong gate? How was I supposed to know. "No, I've never been to the Garden before." Gesture to opposing team's jersey on my chest. "Who's that, Chicago?" Oh Lord. You'd think, but no. "Oh, I don't know anything about hockey. You'd think working here, but no." OK, whatever. Welcome to the gate at Tower D. Where we should have been all along. Where our tickets would have probably scanned correctly if the Gatekeeper bothered to look at them before he double-scanned them. Up the escalator. "Go Habs." to the 4th fan, who happens to be in the section next to us.
See Jennilynne's Blog for the game itself. She was nice enough to copy someone's highlights, and I don't feel the need to rub it in.
10:25, Broadway. I hesitate to say they were sore losers, but the pushing and shoving to get out of MSG was a bit ridiculous. We just want to get out, smoke a cigarette, and head for the train (or a bar, depending on how we coincide with the train schedule). Shoving... like you wouldn't believe. Jennilynne, the good sport that she is, is now wearing my spare Montreal jersey over her Rangers one. Not part of the bet, but a fun gesture. I'm holding the back of her jersey like the mother of a small child during the Christmas shopping rush, so we don't get separated. "What's going on over there?" Pushing and shoving left to receive our 'on-the-way-out' freebies of miniature Stanley Cups. Cool. Much better than the blue "thank You" mini-banners we got on the way in. I quipped to one fellow Habs fan, thinking they were 6" tote-bags, "If the game gets bad, we can always puke in them." Out on the street, humid and sweaty, behind a subway entrance become a changing station so we can lose our sweaty jerseys, and I of course have to break out the hair wax and comb rather than having hat-head for the rest of the night. Continuing uptown, looking newly fabulous. "W". Its a bar, "trendier than we are". We continue. "What time is... where's my phone?!?" No chance. I probably lost it in the pushing and the shoving. The last time I knew i had it was between the first and second periods. In essence, I effectively traded it for that mini- Stanley Cup. Not the best trade in the world. But still an awesome trip.
Oh yeah, MTL 4, NYR 3, Final, Overtime.
"Allez, allez, allez, allez! Allez! Allez!"
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