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?!?
28 October 2005
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!"
05 October 2005
Its the only thing I can do
Archived MySpace blog
Current mood: bored
Well, Tom is "doing maintenance" on my page again. Can't access home or mail. Effectively I've been reduced to blog status only. That's OK I guess. When it comes down to it, blogging is why I signed up for MySpace in the first place.
So, what to blog about...
I'm hot and sweaty. You needed to know that, right? Yeah, but I am. This is a desk job... I thought. But today the shredding drew came to collect boxes (and boxes -- 200+ to be precise) of disposed files. With no warning, we had no way to separate out which ones stay and which go -- then again, there's no room in the vault for all the boxes, let alone a way to make organized piles. So anyway...
Running around in "The Vault", an unventilated 25'x25' room, full to the ceiling with stacks of bankers boxes -- 11"x14" cardboard boxes with lids that don't fit right -- with a red Sharpie, putting giant red X's on all the boxes that must go -- all 200 of them.
So yeah, and did I mention that I decided to dress nicely today? No khakis and a polo -- as you all know as my generic work uniform -- today. No, I decided to dress. Black pleated pants, nice microfiber tan shirt, elegant sweat-stains on the armpits. What the fuck!?!
So that's my deal at the moment. Hot, sweaty, disgusting, aggravated with the timing of the Universe, aggravated with MySpace Tom, blogging. And my coffee's cold; 1 hour and 10 minutes to lunch.
But I'm not working tomorrow. That makes today bearable. Anticipation cancels out aggravation? Maybe so. No, nothing can be terribly bad, for tomorrow, I will be in Manhattan, at Madison Square Garden, for the New York Rangers home opener.
No, you are correct, I am not a Rangers fan. Never have been, never will be. But their opponent just so happens to be... the Greatest Team in the History of Professional Sport*... Le Club de Hockey Canadien de Montréal... affectionately known as the Habs... the Montreal Canadiens. And trying to get tickets to their home opener, and get to Montreal for it, not so much happening.
So, sore throat, sweaty pits, stupid guys from the shredding company, non-functional MySpace, I shall endure. For tomorrow, I shall rejoice in the splendor that is the return of professional hockey.
* claim to the title of "Greatest Team in the History of Professional Sport" based on number of Professional Championships won: Montreal Canadiens (NHL), 27 Stanley Cups; New York Yankees (MLB), 26 World Series Titles; Boston Celtics (NBA), 16 World Championships.
Current mood: bored
Well, Tom is "doing maintenance" on my page again. Can't access home or mail. Effectively I've been reduced to blog status only. That's OK I guess. When it comes down to it, blogging is why I signed up for MySpace in the first place.
So, what to blog about...
I'm hot and sweaty. You needed to know that, right? Yeah, but I am. This is a desk job... I thought. But today the shredding drew came to collect boxes (and boxes -- 200+ to be precise) of disposed files. With no warning, we had no way to separate out which ones stay and which go -- then again, there's no room in the vault for all the boxes, let alone a way to make organized piles. So anyway...
Running around in "The Vault", an unventilated 25'x25' room, full to the ceiling with stacks of bankers boxes -- 11"x14" cardboard boxes with lids that don't fit right -- with a red Sharpie, putting giant red X's on all the boxes that must go -- all 200 of them.
So yeah, and did I mention that I decided to dress nicely today? No khakis and a polo -- as you all know as my generic work uniform -- today. No, I decided to dress. Black pleated pants, nice microfiber tan shirt, elegant sweat-stains on the armpits. What the fuck!?!
So that's my deal at the moment. Hot, sweaty, disgusting, aggravated with the timing of the Universe, aggravated with MySpace Tom, blogging. And my coffee's cold; 1 hour and 10 minutes to lunch.
But I'm not working tomorrow. That makes today bearable. Anticipation cancels out aggravation? Maybe so. No, nothing can be terribly bad, for tomorrow, I will be in Manhattan, at Madison Square Garden, for the New York Rangers home opener.
No, you are correct, I am not a Rangers fan. Never have been, never will be. But their opponent just so happens to be... the Greatest Team in the History of Professional Sport*... Le Club de Hockey Canadien de Montréal... affectionately known as the Habs... the Montreal Canadiens. And trying to get tickets to their home opener, and get to Montreal for it, not so much happening.
So, sore throat, sweaty pits, stupid guys from the shredding company, non-functional MySpace, I shall endure. For tomorrow, I shall rejoice in the splendor that is the return of professional hockey.
* claim to the title of "Greatest Team in the History of Professional Sport" based on number of Professional Championships won: Montreal Canadiens (NHL), 27 Stanley Cups; New York Yankees (MLB), 26 World Series Titles; Boston Celtics (NBA), 16 World Championships.
01 October 2005
Its a girl
Archived MySpace blog
Current mood: happy
Beilen Alexis Turner
Born 2:58 a.m., Saturday, October 1st
7 lbs., 11 oz., 21 " tall
My sister's third daughter. All are healthy and well.
I have been watching the other two, and I am now very tired.
Current mood: happy
Beilen Alexis Turner
Born 2:58 a.m., Saturday, October 1st
7 lbs., 11 oz., 21 " tall
My sister's third daughter. All are healthy and well.
I have been watching the other two, and I am now very tired.
11 August 2005
I am American (too)
Today, I posted a bulletin... a stupid online quiz... one where I was flagged as pretty anti-American. Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not.
I've always been pretty vocal about, and proud of, my Canadian heritage. Doesn't mean I'm anti-American. In fact, I think the most American thing I do is complain about the United States. Isn't that what we're all about. A country born of complaining about the government... and doing something about it. That is our gift and right as Americans.
I speak my mind... maybe its not always in favour of the administration, but I do. And moreover, I act. I vote. I even have been known to write a Congressman. When something isn't to my liking, I will act. I think that's the most American thing to do.
So, that being said, here's my take on being an American, as written by our friend Billy Joe:
Don't wanna be an American idiot.
Don't want a nation under the new media.
And can you hear the sound of hysteria?
The subliminal mindfuck America.
Welcome to a new kind of tension.
All across the alien nation.
Everything isn't meant to be okay.
Television dreams of tomorrow.
We're not the ones who're meant to follow.
Well that's enough to argue.
Well maybe I'm the faggot America.
I'm not a part of a redneck agenda.
Now everybody do the propaganda.
And sing along in the age of paranoia.
Welcome to a new kind of tension.
All across the alien nation.
Everything isn't meant to be okay.
Television dreams of tomorrow.
We're not the ones who're meant to follow.
Well that's enough to argue.
Don't wanna be an American idiot.
One nation controlled by the media.
Information nation of hysteria.
It's going out to idiot America.
Welcome to a new kind of tension.
All across the alien nation.
Everything isn't meant to be okay.
Television dreams of tomorrow.
We're not the ones who're meant to follow.
Currently listening :
American Idiot
By Green Day
Release date: 21 September, 2004
I've always been pretty vocal about, and proud of, my Canadian heritage. Doesn't mean I'm anti-American. In fact, I think the most American thing I do is complain about the United States. Isn't that what we're all about. A country born of complaining about the government... and doing something about it. That is our gift and right as Americans.
I speak my mind... maybe its not always in favour of the administration, but I do. And moreover, I act. I vote. I even have been known to write a Congressman. When something isn't to my liking, I will act. I think that's the most American thing to do.
So, that being said, here's my take on being an American, as written by our friend Billy Joe:
Don't wanna be an American idiot.
Don't want a nation under the new media.
And can you hear the sound of hysteria?
The subliminal mindfuck America.
Welcome to a new kind of tension.
All across the alien nation.
Everything isn't meant to be okay.
Television dreams of tomorrow.
We're not the ones who're meant to follow.
Well that's enough to argue.
Well maybe I'm the faggot America.
I'm not a part of a redneck agenda.
Now everybody do the propaganda.
And sing along in the age of paranoia.
Welcome to a new kind of tension.
All across the alien nation.
Everything isn't meant to be okay.
Television dreams of tomorrow.
We're not the ones who're meant to follow.
Well that's enough to argue.
Don't wanna be an American idiot.
One nation controlled by the media.
Information nation of hysteria.
It's going out to idiot America.
Welcome to a new kind of tension.
All across the alien nation.
Everything isn't meant to be okay.
Television dreams of tomorrow.
We're not the ones who're meant to follow.
Currently listening :
American Idiot
By Green Day
Release date: 21 September, 2004
18 July 2005
I got down and dirty at OzzFest...
Archived MySpace blog
Current mood: beat
... just not in the good way.
Soaked.
Hot all morning. Yeah, we got there about 10. Saw a lot of second stage bands. Good time. Got kinda hot, but then the rain came. Ducked in under a Pavilion. Second downpour... not so lucky. On the lawn, right before Zakk Wylde. Nothing one can do, but sit back, and embrace the rain...
Yup, soaked.
Covered in mud.
So the rain stops. Wet ground + festival show = competitive sod lobbing. Yay. I made it my point to enjoy the show, so there I stood, in a pocket a relative emptiness, bright white tank top, mud flying back and forth overhead. I stood fast, for another band and a half, just enjoying the show in the crossfire of the muddy idiots, but eventually....
Yeah, covered in mud.
The Trooper.
Learned a few things on the lawn. Learned that I really like Shadows Fall, and that I don't like Mudvayne nearly as much as I thought I did. Learned that a mob of retarded teenagers will follow the first drunken idiot with disdain for landscaping. Learned that even when you run sound at OzzFest for a living, every once in a while you just forget to turn on the PA main when the next band starts. And most important right now, I learned that just when things look bleak, you can just start wailing on that unforgettable riff...
The beginning of "The Trooper".
Down and dirty.
So the night is winding down. Shorts are drying off. Lawn is wet. Its dark. The ground is now littered with piss, puke, empty beer cups, and Lord knows what else. Let's have sex. No, not me. But these 2 randoms about 20 feet to my left. Free show. Not like I haven't already seen the 10 or so girls who thought airbrushing was a reasonable alternative to shirts. You know, when I hear "The Wizard" I get in the mood, too. OK, not really, but it was working for them. Well maybe not really.
"Girl, who's name I never got, could you go grab that piece of dirty plastic over there. We can wrap ourselves in it, and then maybe no one will notice what we're doing."
"But we've already been going at it for ten minutes."
"Yeah, but I don't think I can finish unless my bare ass is pressed against someone's dirty discarded plastic."
Yeah, not dirty in the porn movie way. No, it was something that can only happen at OzzFest. On the lawn, in a pile of garbage, with an audience of sweaty metal-heads...
Getting down and dirty.
Current mood: beat
... just not in the good way.
Soaked.
Hot all morning. Yeah, we got there about 10. Saw a lot of second stage bands. Good time. Got kinda hot, but then the rain came. Ducked in under a Pavilion. Second downpour... not so lucky. On the lawn, right before Zakk Wylde. Nothing one can do, but sit back, and embrace the rain...
Yup, soaked.
Covered in mud.
So the rain stops. Wet ground + festival show = competitive sod lobbing. Yay. I made it my point to enjoy the show, so there I stood, in a pocket a relative emptiness, bright white tank top, mud flying back and forth overhead. I stood fast, for another band and a half, just enjoying the show in the crossfire of the muddy idiots, but eventually....
Yeah, covered in mud.
The Trooper.
Learned a few things on the lawn. Learned that I really like Shadows Fall, and that I don't like Mudvayne nearly as much as I thought I did. Learned that a mob of retarded teenagers will follow the first drunken idiot with disdain for landscaping. Learned that even when you run sound at OzzFest for a living, every once in a while you just forget to turn on the PA main when the next band starts. And most important right now, I learned that just when things look bleak, you can just start wailing on that unforgettable riff...
The beginning of "The Trooper".
Down and dirty.
So the night is winding down. Shorts are drying off. Lawn is wet. Its dark. The ground is now littered with piss, puke, empty beer cups, and Lord knows what else. Let's have sex. No, not me. But these 2 randoms about 20 feet to my left. Free show. Not like I haven't already seen the 10 or so girls who thought airbrushing was a reasonable alternative to shirts. You know, when I hear "The Wizard" I get in the mood, too. OK, not really, but it was working for them. Well maybe not really.
"Girl, who's name I never got, could you go grab that piece of dirty plastic over there. We can wrap ourselves in it, and then maybe no one will notice what we're doing."
"But we've already been going at it for ten minutes."
"Yeah, but I don't think I can finish unless my bare ass is pressed against someone's dirty discarded plastic."
Yeah, not dirty in the porn movie way. No, it was something that can only happen at OzzFest. On the lawn, in a pile of garbage, with an audience of sweaty metal-heads...
Getting down and dirty.
14 July 2005
Does anyone have a high powered assault rifle?
Archived MySpace blog
Current mood: disgruntled
If so, can you bring it to me at work? Thanks.
Current mood: disgruntled
If so, can you bring it to me at work? Thanks.
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