Thursday, February 23, 2006
They Rally 'Round the Mestee...with a Pocket Full of Mail
Time to answer one or two from the mailbag.
Brian,
In the latest addition to the Mestee Blogger, does "MB" stand for Mestee Blogger or Mestee Brian. I hope that it stands for the latter because personifying your blog (which is already about you) is weird.
Smurf
Irf,
The "MB" actually stands for Man Buttocks. Okay, no it doesn't. It stands for Mestee Blogger. It's a pretty common practice when transcribing interviews, actually. If nothing else, I was trying to make it as little about me as possible, avoiding the BA tag completely. Also, since this site is mostly "already about" me, can you think of somebody for whom Mestee Blogger would be a more appropriate label?
Brian
MB,
It's always good to read more about my non-brother. Keep up the good work Brian. I look forward to your next profile!
-Megan
Megan,
I'm not sure I totally understand the brother comment, but maybe Brendan does. Perhaps someday you will be profiled on Mestee Blogger. It's good to have goals in life.
Shoot the Gap!
Brian
Last weekend, I drove to Waltham to see my cousin Bobby play his last JV basketball game of the season. I planned to show up for the second half and meet my Dad and his Dad. You know, Grampa Cliff. Anyway, I called my Dad from the parking lot to confirm which side of the school the gym was on and just before he hung up, he mentioned that there was a $5 admission fee. As I approached the door to the gym, I realized that I did not have enough cash to get in. Luckily, I was able to get my Dad's attention as he sat in the front row of the bleachers. In a pathetic fashion, I waved two $1 bills in front of me and gave him my best "This is all the cash I have and yes, I know I'm an idiot" look. He immediately got the picture and had to get up to spot me the money. It was pretty embarrassing, yet somehow very familiar. Oh, I know...
I was about 9 years old when, through some connection, my Dad and I had scored Celtics tickets. When we got to the game and were given the tickets, there was a realization that the tickets were a few rows apart. My Dad gave me some money to buy food if the vendors came by before the game started. Eventually, I decided that I was in the mood for a "Sports Bar" -- a chocolate-covered ice cream treat which I have never seen outside of a Boston sports venue. I was at the end of the row, so I flagged down the Sports Bar guy and he handed the sports bar to the first person in the row, who in turn passed it to the person next to them and so forth down the whole row. The sports bar guy called out "Three Dollahs!". After surveying my cash situation, I realized that I had exactly two dollars. I'm not sure if I had spent the rest before or somehow misplaced it. I nervously shrugged as I looked at the guy and passed the sports bar all the way back down the row. These stories lend themselves to the theory that I will never, ever learn.
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Brian,
In the latest addition to the Mestee Blogger, does "MB" stand for Mestee Blogger or Mestee Brian. I hope that it stands for the latter because personifying your blog (which is already about you) is weird.
Smurf
Irf,
The "MB" actually stands for Man Buttocks. Okay, no it doesn't. It stands for Mestee Blogger. It's a pretty common practice when transcribing interviews, actually. If nothing else, I was trying to make it as little about me as possible, avoiding the BA tag completely. Also, since this site is mostly "already about" me, can you think of somebody for whom Mestee Blogger would be a more appropriate label?
Brian
MB,
It's always good to read more about my non-brother. Keep up the good work Brian. I look forward to your next profile!
-Megan
Megan,
I'm not sure I totally understand the brother comment, but maybe Brendan does. Perhaps someday you will be profiled on Mestee Blogger. It's good to have goals in life.
Shoot the Gap!
Brian
Last weekend, I drove to Waltham to see my cousin Bobby play his last JV basketball game of the season. I planned to show up for the second half and meet my Dad and his Dad. You know, Grampa Cliff. Anyway, I called my Dad from the parking lot to confirm which side of the school the gym was on and just before he hung up, he mentioned that there was a $5 admission fee. As I approached the door to the gym, I realized that I did not have enough cash to get in. Luckily, I was able to get my Dad's attention as he sat in the front row of the bleachers. In a pathetic fashion, I waved two $1 bills in front of me and gave him my best "This is all the cash I have and yes, I know I'm an idiot" look. He immediately got the picture and had to get up to spot me the money. It was pretty embarrassing, yet somehow very familiar. Oh, I know...
I was about 9 years old when, through some connection, my Dad and I had scored Celtics tickets. When we got to the game and were given the tickets, there was a realization that the tickets were a few rows apart. My Dad gave me some money to buy food if the vendors came by before the game started. Eventually, I decided that I was in the mood for a "Sports Bar" -- a chocolate-covered ice cream treat which I have never seen outside of a Boston sports venue. I was at the end of the row, so I flagged down the Sports Bar guy and he handed the sports bar to the first person in the row, who in turn passed it to the person next to them and so forth down the whole row. The sports bar guy called out "Three Dollahs!". After surveying my cash situation, I realized that I had exactly two dollars. I'm not sure if I had spent the rest before or somehow misplaced it. I nervously shrugged as I looked at the guy and passed the sports bar all the way back down the row. These stories lend themselves to the theory that I will never, ever learn.
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