Ye Olde Watering Hole

Archived MySpace blog
Current mood: reminded
Category: reminded Blogging

There is a flagpole, here in the fair Elm City, in the middle of the Green, and on it is a memorial -- I believe -- to World War II... specifically -- if I'm not mistaken... to the D-Day invasion. It bears the name Verdun, among other French town names. I could be wrong. The point is not this anyway.

As a celebration of the millennium -- OK, the common numerical millennium, not the true one which began 1 January 2001 -- it was decided there would be a fountain erected around said flagpole. And so, by the early Summer of 2000, our lovely downtown flagpole was surrounded by some variety of active moat, which, I imagine, hinders the person in charge of raising and lowering said flag.

But raising and lowering aside, the real curiosity of the fountain was discovered that July.

It seems, that in the scenic downtown Elm City, that fountains are not just for admiring. Our Millennium Fountain had become a children's swimming hole. Cute, I guess, until you actually see the shoeless unwashed masses, diapered and dirty, splashing about, and loading their pockets with the pennies, nickels, and dimes thrown in by other locals, who -- one would have to guess -- mistook the Millennium Fountain for a wishing well.

No matter. Kids will be kids. And since there had been no procedure put in place to collect the coins, I guess they can have them.

Well, except for one thing...

In the hot summer days children splash merrily in the Millennium Fountain - Wishing Well - Downtown Public Pool, but after dark the fountain has different purpose.

For, in the light of the moon, our lovely fountain has now become the Downtown Homeless Bathhouse. Yes indeed. The homeless population of the fair Elm City, of which there are many, have declared this permanent water fixture as their very own public bath tub. Although the unwashed diapered children prefer the comfort of their own much, it seems the indigent prefer to get in a good scrubbing before they retire to their park benches on a warm summer night.

Enter bureaucracy.

ElmCity Ordinance 00-481: It is unlawful to bathe in the Millennium Fountain, per order of the City.

On six 4' x 3' sandwich-board signs ringing the perimeter of the fountain.

Beauty interrupted by legislation.

But hey, no swimming, right?

One would think, but one would be wrong.

And now, five and one-half years later, the sandwich boards, long since removed, have been replaced with these markers.

"PLEASE DO NOT ENTER THE FOUNTAIN"

Somehow I think that those who would bathe in the fountain would pay no mind to these warnings.

But they do look nice.

Oh yeah... I love this day

Archived MySpace blog
Current mood: apathetic
Category: Romance and Relationships

Valentine's Day... and we arraign the wife beaters from the weekend past.

But today they come in together, arm-in-arm.

Even the Judicial system isn't free from the hypocrisy of the damned holiday.

They beat each other. Kicking, shoving, slapping; 5 and 6 times before this one... that their records even show. More than likely, its 3 times a week.

On Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and even Monday, they hated each other... enough to swing, enough to throw dishes... in front of the children... and the foster children... and their children from other daddies... enough even to call the cops. To scream, and yell, and threaten.

And today they file in... bruises hidden behind bad make-up, misplaced scarves... band-aids cover skin broken by knuckles... arm-in-fucking-arm, because today their in love. Today its Valentine's Day, the day that past transgressions against love or forgiven in favour of discount shop cards, over-priced chocolates, or maybe -- just maybe -- a rose from the guy with a van on the Boulevard.

Today their hypocrisy knows no bounds.

Or am I wrong?

Is today truly about forgiving the year because somebody shelled out the big bucks on Russell Stovers?

I don't know.

Answer that one after I hit you on the head with a frying pan.

What's in a name?

Archived MySpace blog
Category: Blogging

I believe I need to start a new Government agency.

Now normally, I'm not in favour of bureaucracy. Heck, I work for the Government, and know how little can actually be done. But, in this case, I think its necessary

I propose the Bureau of Baby Naming.

I believe that there need to be officials in charge of reviewing baby names, at the hospital, before they are allowed to go on Birth Certificates. Allow me to explain.

Mr. & Mrs. Pope needed to be told that they should not be allowed to name their son John.

Mr. & Mrs. Lockman should have been informed that the amusement of naming their daughter Pandora gets old quick.

Mr. & Mrs. Jones should have been made aware that naming their son SirLawrence would not make him noble.

The same should have been said to Mr. & Mrs. James of their son King.

Mr. & Mrs. Outlaw should have just been told to change their last name before all 5 of their sons ended up in jail.

Mr. & Mrs. Barry... now these were an interesting pair. 3 daughters, LaAustralia, LaAsia, and LaKeebler. I just don't know what to say but "no".

More to come in the coming days.

An answer to the age old question

Archived MySpace blog
Current mood: contemplative
Category: Blogging

A friend of mine today asked this question in her blog...

Why is that we always want whatever it is that we cannnot have?


One answer:

We are predators, not prey

Its inherent, timeless, and dates back to the earliest origins of man. We hunt.

We do not take that which is easy to acquire, because we apply intrinsic value to that which is rare or difficult to obtain.

If something takes effort to acquire, it, by that fact alone, becomes better to us. And moreover, the act of acquiring it sometimes carries even more value that its actual possession.

This is why we have sport.
What is sport? Rabbits don't play basketball. Sport is the act of the hunt, or the chase, or everything competitive, without the result.

The puck does not need to be in the net. It serves us no purpose for the ball to be in the bleachers, and to run back to where we started. The track star has no need met by being 100 yds further forward, especially when there are 15 impediments in his way that he must jump over to get there.

But... the act of the chase, putting the puck in the goal, putting the ball over the fence, running as fast as one can around a diamond back to the same point, or getting 100 yds down the track... and trying to prove that you're the best or the fastest at it... satisfies a need that hearkens back to the mammoth... which just proved better than tundra weeds.


That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

All I wanted for Christmas

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.

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!!!

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.