Mestee Blogger

Lotto Fever

2010-02-12T23:42:00.004-05:00

I was looking for material for jokes when I discovered a story about an unclaimed Indiana state lottery ticket worth $2.5 M. The date to claim the ticket ultimately expired and people shared their tales of looking for the winner. I found this quote to be fantastic:

"I looked around. I looked in every trash can for it," Mike Tinder, a 33-year-old life coach from Indianapolis, said Friday.

I wonder if good old Mike Tinder was advising his clients to search for the ticket as well. I know that's a quality that I look for in a life coach...someone who not only knows when the time has come to go dumpster-diving for a lotto ticket, but also knows when it's a good idea to give your full name and occupation to the media.

A Few Thoughts on Television

2009-06-28T11:33:00.002-04:00

I couldn't help myself, so I took a peek at the latest version of MTV's Real World, which is in Cancun. At a certain point in time, MTV seemed to select "the roommates" by taking people who had interesting looks, ambitious career goals, and uncontrolled rage. Now it seems like you have to be a supermodel with weird name (uncontrolled rage optional). This particular cast includes includes Ayiiiya, Bronne, Emilee, and Jonna, almost none of which are pronounced as you might imagine.

The mysterious "I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here" seemed to be on every night while I was getting ready to go to the gym two weeks ago. This show confused me on a number of levels. First, there were barely any celebrities on the show, which featured a budding friendship between former NBA player John Sally and Rod Blagojevich's wife. Seriously. There is also the curious presence of Lou Diamond Phillips, who seemingly came out of nowhere to do this show. The strangest part to me is that everyone seems to take the game VERY seriously and better yet, seem to be genuinely impressed with themselves for "making it so far" through the game. Keep in mind, the game consists largely of the contestants hanging out in the jungle, while people call into the show and arbitrarily voting to which celebrity to keep and which to eliminate, with the ultimate prize being a donation made to the charity of the winner's choice. Despite this, you hear the psuedo-celebs throwing around phrases like "amazing performace", "so proud of how tough I've been", "incredible determination", "honored to be in the final four", etc. When the prize is going to somebody's charity no matter what, I can't imagine it would be devastating to lose (No! Don't cure cancer! Let's cure AIDS! This is a nightmare!).

I think my favorite new show is Silent Library, which is a game show set in a library, where the contestants have to perform stunts/take punishment without making too much noise. The decibels are measured on the bottom corner of the screen. It is clearly the high school sophomore in me that finds these ridiculous stunts amusing, but I'm afraid that sophomore will never go away.

Semi-Annual Blog Entry #1

2009-03-26T22:36:00.005-04:00

Hello again. Long ago, I had attempted to make "California - Part III" my next post, but some things happened. I took the third and final level of a sketch writing class this summer, performed in my first show in September, then became a writer for a sketch troupe at ImprovBoston in the winter. All of this has occupied a lot of my time -- and creative energy -- since July. I also grew a beard, though that hasn't taken up quite as much of my time. In addition to these developments, I may be ghost-writing a true crime novel at some point in the near future. Yes, you read that correctly. More on that later.

So it's getting to be close to a year since Hufton's wedding in California and right now it doesn't seem like I should be writing about that, because I hate Hufton. Okay, not really. Truth be told, I thought I had a chunk of "California - Part III" saved on my computer, but I thought wrong. If anybody on the San Luis Obispo leg of the trip would like to sub in for their account of part three, including the longest U-Turn ever made, I'd be glad to post it on here.

Back to present day (technically last month)....Brendan was in town during the NCAA Finals, which seemed like a good excuse to meet up. He said that we should meet at Hooters on Route 1, since it was "a good place to watch a game". This sounded similar to Hufton's theory that he likes to eat at Hooters because they've got "great hot wings". As it turns out, the Hooters on Route 1 really is a great place to watch a game. They've got a ton of nice TVs and a good sound system. After some wings, I was still a little hungry. Just as I was thinking this, the waitress came over and said "Who wants dessert?" in her most seductive voice, straight out of Hooters Dessert Sales Training 101. That sealed it.

"Key Lime Pie, please," I said. This came as a bit of a surprise to Brendan and me, which is weird, because I'm the one who ordered it. As far as I can remember, I've never had key lime pie before. I remarked to Brendan that I was pretty sure I had managed to seek out every type of food that I liked, but I guess I was wrong, because that pie was delicious.

Brendan one-upped me, though. He said that not only had he never eaten Dim Sum, but a) he really wanted to and c) wasn't even entirely sure what it was. I speculated that it might not even be a food at all, but maybe a type of meal, like "brunch". Brendan loves Asian food so much that he didn't even know what dim sum was before he was sold on it. This explanation was followed by a story of his first venture into cooking pho, for which he estimated a prep time of 3 to 4 hours. And I thought Ralph Surprise was a time commitment.

First round of golf this year: tomorrow morning. Gotta get to bed. Until next time...

2009-01-17T01:15:00.000-05:00

California - Part II

2008-07-19T23:57:00.004-04:00

I saw the forecast for Paso Robles roughly 48 hours before the wedding and instantly launched into tirade aimed at anyone who would listen. It was supposed to be 108 degrees on Friday and 107 on Saturday, and I was going be wearing not only a tie, but a jacket. A jacket. I wasn’t sure I could be out in 108 degree heat in a bathing suit, much less formal wear. What shocked me more, though, was the reaction I got from my fellow would-be wedding guests.

“It’s going to be 108 degrees!” I announced to Irf, Julia, and Steve the day before we left.

I waited to hear shrieks of horror, but instead was greeted with this…

“I guess that’s better than 68 degrees,” Julia said, while Steve and Irf shrugged their shoulders with indifference.

Once I wrapped my head around how anybody who was familiar with the concept of “room temperature” could possibly make that claim, I basically didn’t stop voicing my outrage until we left the next morning. This was thrilling for everyone involved, I’m sure.

Irf and I took the bus to the local Enterprise on Friday morning. Due to the temperatures we would be facing later in the day, my primary concern was that the air conditioning worked on the Dodge Avenger I was renting. We picked up the rest of the crew, packed up the cars, and then…stopped.

Irf, Julia, and Steve’s car was at the gas pump, when Irf waved us over. Brendan went to see what was going on and came back to report that rental car #2 was “not taking gas”.

The occupants of car #1, Jack, Brendan, and myself, found this to be puzzling. Because the car was apparently “broken”, it appeared that crew number 2 was going to have to exchange their lemon for a road-worthy vehicle that could get them down the coast. As it turns out, the gas tank was full. In Irfan’s defense, the woman at Enterprise had told him that there was only 1/8^th of a tank left. In actuality, it was 7/8 full. This was the first of many bonehead moves on the trip.

We cruised through the valley with sprawling fields on either side of us for miles. At one point, somebody in crew number one mentioned ominously that “you can see how fires would just spread all over the place”. This was approximately one week before the State of California caught on fire.

We made good time to Paso Robles, so we stopped for a little Mexican food before checking in at the hotel. This was our first experience with the extreme heat, which I found to be unpleasant, but bearable. Immediately after finishing lunch, we thought it would be a good idea to get lost a few times – just for good measure, since we hadn’t gotten lost at all on the way down.

Once we finally got to the hotel, we were delighted to see our spacious rooms, complete with gift bags on the pillows which featured an assortment of chocolates and Frito-Lay products. This was fitting, since eighty percent of the Huftons have worked at Frito-Lay in some capacity. Jeremy loves Funyuns more than anyone I know. In fact, I’m not actually sure that I know anyone else who even likes Funyuns.

Just as we were getting ready to leave for the rehearsal, I thought to myself, “My outfit would look a lot better with some sandals instead of shoes”. Yes, there is a lot of “outfit” discussion when I’m talking to myself. Just then, Hufton knocked on the door and delivered my groomsman gift – a pair of sandals. This was not only great for my outfit, but it cleared up the reason why Hufton had sent out an email a few months earlier which asked my shoe size. When I responded with a “12ish”, I never heard back, which made me feel violated somehow. Now it all made sense.

At the rehearsal dinner, we got to eat some delicious food and meet with people like Alaska Josh, Josh Funtuazzi, and Josh Beckett. Okay, not really Josh Beckett, but three Joshes seemed more noteworthy. We played bocce ball till the sun went down and then headed to the Crooked Kilt, a local watering hole. There, we were treated to Jager bombs – Red Bull and Jagermeister, for you rookies -- by Josh Funtuazzi. Some were perplexed at how much it tasted like Robitussen, but I had felt the wrath of the Jagerbomb before. Somehow, nobody got too drunk and we all made it back to the hotel relatively early. We thought that it would be a good idea to get the guys together and drink beers in the hotel, but most of the group barely made it past their first beer before falling asleep. Maybe it was the jet lag, maybe it was because we were out of training, but either way, we called it a night by 1:00 AM.

The next day – the Big Day – we went to breakfast at a greasy spoon-type restaurant, where Brendan got a coffee cup with lipstick on it. Yikes. We thought that maybe our middle-aged waitress was trying to send him a message, but it turns out the mug was just dirty. We went back to the hotel for some swimming and napping, then got ready to suit up and face the heat.

When we arrived at the vineyard, the folks there were very understanding regarding our overheating issue, being in suits and all. They let us stay in an air-conditioned storage house just a few hundred yards from the wedding site. We even got to go into the walk-in refrigerator, which was literally sixty to seventy degrees cooler than the outside temperature.

A crowd was gathered on the hillside where the ceremony was about to be held. The groomsmen stood in a row as the bridesmaids walked into view and over to their positions, one at a time. I think we were the first group of groomsmen to ever heckle the bridesmaids during the ceremony.

“Oh God, you’re gonna fall. Don’t fall,” I heard in a loud whisper from one of my fellow groomsmen.

“Everyone is looking at you. Don’t do anything weird, they’re all looking at you,” they said to the next bridesmaid.

This was shocking, but not too shocking. After all, this was coming from guys who dressed in drag while attending a Prom Party just to upset the hostess. Expect the unexpected, you know?

More unexpected: Jeremy’s voice started to crack a little as he was reading his vows. I feared that this would set off a chain reaction, causing the right side of the altar to be filled with a bunch of blubbering groomsmen. I’m not sure what I expected my inner monologue to be like during the ceremony, but I certainly didn’t expect it to be anything like “Brian, don’t cry. Don’t you cry! Hold it together…hold it together. Okay, you’re okay.” Everyone did manage to hold it together and Jeremy and Maren eventually exited to the sounds of the Michigan fight song.

After some more fantastic food, the dance music started pumping and the wine started flowing. Irf, Jack, and Brendan took over the dance floor early on, with some of us stragglers joining in later. Jeremy did a version of the Electric Slide that would more accurately be called The Hesitant Slide of the Unwilling, but it was his wedding, so he had to.

During “Bust a Move” Jack and Julia both pulled out some serious dance moves, each getting an individual shout-out from the DJ.

“This guy has been waiting to use that move all night,” the DJ shouted after Jack pulled a little alternating-hand-on-the-ground move that left me legitimately impressed.

Julia took the floor by storm, causing the more casual dancers to step aside to let her do her thing.

“She’s pretty fly for a white girl!” the DJ announced. Julia was apparently so caught up in her dance moves that she didn’t even hear the DJ talking about her. When we told her about his comments later that night, she thought that it “sounded a little racist.” Julia has never heard of The Offspring.

After the reception, we made an encore appearance at The Crooked Kilt and eventually split up in different directions with some going one of three hotels for some post-post-reception drinks. And just when you thought you were done, you'll have to wait to read Part III, which features: ridiculous detours! Gas station hijinks! More messing with sleeping people!

California - Part I

2008-07-09T02:45:00.006-04:00

Right now, I’m sitting across from Irf at a wobbly table inside Starbucks in Davis Square. Two weeks ago, I was sitting across from Irf at a Starbucks 3,000 miles away from here. San Francisco: home to the baseball Giants, the Golden Gate Bridge, and lenient marijuana laws. I think that’s the actual city motto.

I landed at the airport right around 7:00 PM, west coast time, which meant that Game 6 of the NBA Finals was already an hour underway. I ran to grab my luggage from the carousel and then told the SuperShuttle driver that I needed to go to the corner of Fulton and Lyon Street, where Irf was waiting. I didn’t tell him about the Irf part. The guy didn’t seem to trust my relay of information from the paper I was holding, so he asked to see it.

“What hotel?” he asked.
“It’s actually just a house,” I informed him.
“House of Love?” he questioned, as he examined the paper.
“Yes, that’s it.”

I almost felt obligated to tell him that this was not a place of ill repute, but actually a hippy commune near The Haight. I denied my instincts and let him think that I was a guy who just happened to be into early-evening romps with hookers. I know that’s what he was thinking. He loaded up my luggage and I sat in the very back seat as he waited outside the van for more passengers. In the meantime, Irf called me and let me know that he was watching the game at a bar called The Dog in the Fog.

“Is there room for my luggage?” I asked him.
“Yeah, I guess,” he informed me.

When the driver realized that I would be his only passenger, he hopped back into the driver’s seat.

“Change of plans,” I said.
“Where we going?”
“The Dog in the Fog”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a bar.”
“You bring you luggage to a baah???”
“Yes, sir. Celtics…you know?”

As it turns out, he did know, and we listened to the game on the radio as we drove to the bar. I felt dumber bringing my luggage into a bar than I initially thought I would. In fact, the moment I unloaded my luggage from the back of the shuttle in the middle of a decidedly non-residential section of town, I started getting some quizzical looks. The bar wasn’t very crowded when I arrived, but after a few shouts of “Scuse me, pardon me”, I had found my way to the back of the bar, where my fellow Boston fan was waiting.

In my head, I guess I had imagined that California = Lakers Fans. In reality, though, San Francisco = Golden State Warriors Fans, who hate the Lakers as much as we do. Irf and I had watched close to twenty Celtics playoff games at my condo in the previous weeks, attended Game 7 of the Cleveland series at the Garden, and oddly, there we were in California -- far closer to enemy territory -- to watch the guys in Green clinch the final series back in Boston…all while sitting amongst an anti-Laker crowd. It was sort of surreal.

After the game, I settled in at the House of Love, full-time residence of one Diana Bennett, sister of Julia #2. This was a loose enough connection that I tried to avoid explaining it to anybody. The H.O.L featured some aspects that reminded me of my fraternity, like each room having its own theme/décor going on and the upstairs bathroom with a tapestry for a window, exposing its inhabitant to the outside world with every stiff breeze. Other things were not so reminiscent of my old house, like the big bathroom with the seriously kick-ass shower and the back yard communal area surrounded by plants and flowers. Ultimately, the H.O.L turned out to be a great place and a key to what could have been a much more expensive vacation.

Steve arrived late Tuesday night/Wednesday morning, so he was able to join Irf and I when we went to the Giants game. We scored some seats at the top of the upper deck in the left field section of AT&T Park, which proved to be very sunny. This was where I managed to obtain the unfortunate sunburn that I would later sport in most of the wedding photos. While I was busy baking, Irf was taking a nap – a fact that Steve and I could not ignore. We did our duty as dudes and commenced the “messing with the guy who fell asleep” phase. Look for this phase again in Part II. While Irfan was getting some shut-eye behind his sunglasses, Steve and I took off for the last row, which was A) out of the sun, B) out of Irf’s direct sight, and C) a vantage point where we could see the sleeping giant as he awoke, alone, in what would clearly be a confused state. Ten minutes later, after Steve and I giggled like school girls twenty rows behind him, Irf woke up and tried to play it cool. It appeared for a few minutes that he might just pretend nothing was wrong, but we couldn’t take it anymore. During a lull in crowd noise, I let loose a big “Let’s go, Ir-fan!” and a minute later, he had tracked us down.

We were planning on going out near the water later that night, so I brought a sweatshirt with me to the game. I had put it in the seat next to me – a fact that I remembered at almost the exact moment I finished winding down the twenty ramps that lead out of the park. Irf and Steve waited for me on the street while I went up to grab my sweatshirt. Unfortunately, the game had just ended, so I was going “upstream” against the crowd on the way back to the upper deck. To my surprise, there was a huge team of people already hosing down the seats, just minutes after the final pitch. When I went up to see if my sweatshirt had survived the dousing, I realized that it was gone. I told the guys that I had left it there, so they directed me to the head trash-collector guy (his official title, I’m sure). The head trash collector told me that he thought he saw the sweatshirt, so he took me over to a giant portable trash bin and – voila! – there was my sweatshirt, sprinkled with beer and cheesy fries. As I pondered just how gross that was, another trash collector was going full-speed ahead for the bin that held my sweatshirt. He positioned himself to dump a huge trash barrel right on top of my defenseless hoodie. Luckily, head trash collector guy was able to call off the (hot) dogs before my beloved sweatshirt was violated any further. Good news: I got my sweatshirt. Bad news: I had to carry around a dirty sweatshirt all night.

We ended up going to a restaurant called Weird Fish, which featured catfish buffalo wings and the Suspicious Fish Dish, where they don’t actually let you know anything about the dish, other than the fact that you’re getting a full meal. None of us were brave enough to get it. Brian G. met up with us in time for dessert. He used to work at the lab with Steve and was also a frequent teammate of ours when we played some pick-up basketball in Medford. Even though he couldn’t make it for the meal, he still had plenty of time to tell us about how he was recently taken by medivac from a bike accident and briefly discussed his experience with melons. So I…uh, never mind.

Jack and Brendan showed up on Thursday night, just after the rest of us were treated to some fantastic treats from the resident pastry chef. They accidentally went to the very end of the subway line that they were supposed to take, which delayed their arrival by about…four hours or so. Yeah. Anyway, once they finally arrived, Jack and Brendan had to shack up in the same bed, and before Brendan could even get under the covers, Jack had already created something he dubbed the Double Dutch Oven. I would have laughed much harder had I not been delirious from lack of sleep.

The next morning, Irf and I walked over to the local Enterprise, where we had our cars reserved. We loaded up and headed down the highway towards the wedding locale in Paso Robles. Stay tuned for Part II.

The Pot Calling the Kettle...Uh, what was I saying?

2008-07-02T23:18:00.007-04:00

I swear, I'll get to the wedding week recap soon, but until then, there's this:

I've been watching Weeds, now that the third season is out on DVD. Coincidentally, while going to rent Disc Two of Weeds at the local Blockbuster, I spotted Super High Me, a documentary that I heard was pretty funny.

As I approached the check-out area, I realized that I must look like the world's biggest stoner right now, minus the patchouli-scented dreadlocks. At that moment, I fully understood that I could be the only person who will watch Super High Me while not under the influence. I almost felt like I should explain this to the gray-haired gentleman cashier, but then realized that video clerks over age forty are probably not so quick to judge. Yeah, that's right -- don't judge me, cashier.

While I was in San Francisco, I had a chance to head down to the famous Haight-Ashbury area with Steve and Irf. I was wondering if the area could have avoided becoming gentrified and/or overly touristy, a frequent fate of counter-culture destinations. We ate at a pub named "Magnolia's", which featured microbrews and home-made soda. As the Grateful Dead music filled the air, I couldn't help but wonder if Jerry Garcia would be pleased or upset by such an overt homage to his band smack dab in the middle of Haight Street. Things can't really be counter-culture once they're fully organized, you know? Anyway, my belief in the continuance of Haight-Ashbury tradition was fulfilled when Steve and I were offered drugs on a street corner in broad daylight following lunch. That has never happened to me before, and what better or more appropriate place could there be than on the corner of Haight-Ashbury? Maybe there's still hope for CBGB's. Oh, right, that's actually closed now. But still, maybe there is a chance for semi counter-culture to live on somewhere in this great nation. Seriously, I'm not a stoner.

Hodgepodge

2008-06-26T21:30:00.003-04:00

Hello, you. I just got back from the Hufton/Bennett wedding a few days ago, but I'll get to that in a day or two. Until then, I have some untimely and off-topic comments to share.

1. During the NBA playoffs, I began nominating players to join my "One-Dirty-Jacket-Away-from-looking-like-a-homeless-guy-despite-being-seven-foot-tall-millionaires" team. Catchy, I know.

In no particular order, my starting five is: Pau Gasol, Rasheed Wallace and...come to think of it, I only have two, but they're really solid picks for the "Dirty Jacket..." team.

2. Irf and I went to Game 7 of the Celtics/Cavs series and as we approached the turnstiles, the excitement in the air was palpable. I turned to Irf and said "I bet I could get a strong 'Let's Go Celtics' chant going here". Less than five seconds later, from the bottom of the escalator came a booming cry of "Let's Go Celtics" and the entire crowd joined instantly. I'm just sayin'.

3. I watched America's Got Talent and decided that crappy videos on the internet and delusional American Idol contestants have ruined our concept of what is talented. I watched four dudes do a semi-original dance to "Bye Bye Bye", met with thunderous applause. Then, two other guys did some breakdancing that, impressive as it was, I've seen on several different street corners in several different cities. The judges called it spectacular and completely original. Then, a guy played piano and did a serviceable job singing "Walking in Memphis", which prompted a mid-song standing ovation (??!!!??!) and caused Sharon Osborne to wonder aloud "Why hasn't anyone signed you?". Why? Because 20 guys like this play in every city in every night. I know, I shouldn't be such a hater, but aren't there more talented people that could be on TV?

Let's Do the Time Warp Again...

2008-06-08T22:41:00.005-04:00

The first year I really followed sports, I was a little bit spoiled. That was 22 years ago, in 1986.

The Red Sox were in the World Series, the Patriots made it to the Super Bowl, and the Celtics appeared in the NBA Finals. Of course, the Red Sox lost in painful fashion, the Patriots were destroyed in the Super Bowl, but the Celtics won their 16th NBA Championship. It seems that the success of all these teams really jump-started my entrance into sports fandom. What the success also managed to do was instill some false assumptions in my easily confused young brain. You mean all the Boston teams don't always make it to the championship game/series in all their respective sports?

A few decades later, I now understand full well that my teams don't always appear in the championship -- in fact, they can go many years without even making the playoffs. I'm stumbling upon a new and dangerous theory, though. Once every 22 years, it seems, all three of my favorite teams make it to the playoffs. I know what you're thinking, the Red Sox won the 2007 World Series and the 2008 World Series hasn't happened yet...well, you're right, but stop raining on my parade. It's still three consecutive championship appearances.

Had I known that the Celtics' World Championship in 1986 would be their last for the next, say, 21 years, I think I would have really lived it up a little more. You know, maybe convinced my parents to lay out some tarps in the living room, put on the swimming goggles and bust out the champagne, Big Papi style. At that point in my life, though, I was still unclear on the whole Santa Claus situation and sometimes frightened of the Kevin McHale poster in my room (an optical illusion caused his eyes to appear as if they were following you, no matter where you walked in the room), so my decisions within the household were not well-respected. C'mon, you'd be scared of a life-sized Kevin McHale with crazy eyes, too. Then again, I was also scared of my cousin Sean's Star Wars carrying case in the shape of Darth Vader's head. This is getting too embarrassing.

As I'm typing this, the Celtics are surprisingly close to blowing what was once a HUGE lead. Okay, they just won. Incidentally, a few minutes back, there was a commercial featuring that split-screen thing that the NBA loves to do now. This one featured Magic and Bird. I wish I could say that it was awesome, but it actually gave me the creeps. It was too weird seeing a person made up of half Chubby Magic and half Bird, who you would think could only improve in the looks department when coupled with anyone else's face. As it turns out, that's not the case.

Similar to my thoughts in 1986, if the Celtics hang on to win two more games, I'd like someone to let me know if we aren't going to win another one for a few more decades. The Red Sox were more of a reverse situation where, after watching them lose to the Mets in 1986, I naturally assumed that they were cursed and destined to never, ever win another World Series. Now that I think about it, a "heads up" might have been nice at the start of the 2007-2008 Patriots season as well. You know, like, "don't get too excited even though your team is going to win every game in the regular season". I suppose that wishing for a visit from the Ghost of Championship Future may be against the whole idea of rooting for your teams through thick and thin. I can tell you one thing though: look out for the Celts, Pats, and Sox in 2030.

Kimbo battles with Mandarin Orange as My Favorite "Slice"

2008-06-01T02:01:00.006-04:00

I have quietly become a fan of Mixed Martial Arts, or MMA, as it's known. It's about a thousand times better than boxing, which has fallen victim to the ultra-boring format of punch, punch, hug, break it up...and repeat round after round. The days of superstars like Mohammed Ali and Mike Tyson are long gone, and the excitement has disappeared with them.

"I want to eat his children. Praise be to Allah." -Mike Tyson, regarding future Celebrity Apprentice, Lennox Lewis.

The stand-up fighting in MMA is often thrilling, with more solid shots thrown in a minute than boxing fans would see in five rounds. Then there is the "ground and pound" strategy, which is really the closest thing there is to a physical chess match. I know, I know...I have a man crush on MMA.

I can't help but wonder how I would fare if I got tossed into the octagon. I don't really have much to base it on, as I have been in only one fight as an adult. This "fight" consisted of me throwing exactly one punch and scoring exactly one knock-out...so my stats are looking pretty good. However, if I were in an MMA fight, I don't imagine it would start with a guy breaking down my door while I was asleep in bed at my fraternity, as my first fight did...though I must say, that would add an interesting new twist to the sport.

One major factor on the "Con" side of my personal MMA fighting checklist would have to be the cauliflower ear. Scars can be seen as badges of honor, but cauliflower ear is, well, ughhh. Another item in the "Con" column was mentally listed as I witnessed a fighter launch a mid-fight snot rocket onto the canvas. When I saw that, my first thought was "they fight barefoot -- what if he stepped in that guy's snot rocket barefoot? Ewww." This was my first major clue that I was not made to participate in the sport, as I imagine the "ewww" reaction to anything is reserved strictly for non-fighters.

I recorded the first nationally-televised MMA fight on the ol' DVR tonight. I had been looking forward to watching the main event, featuring Kimbo Slice, who is one scary mofo -- from his giant beard down to his weird and somehow frightening sculpted chest hair. When I got home to watch it, I considered fast-forwarding through all of the undercard fights to get to the main event, but decided to just watch the whole thing instead.

The show was scheduled to air for two hours, but after the first two fights ended in first-round knock-outs, I was sort of wondering if they would have enough filler material to get to the end of the show. Next, they had two women fight, which began as one of the better fights of the night. The crowd favorite was Gina Carano, who is actually the American Gladiator known as Crush. As a professional fighter and game show gladiator, she's got a pretty interesting resume. She's also doing pretty well in the looks department. It would be a shame to see those ears go the way of the cauliflower. Incidentally, Gina gave her opponent one of the worst black eyes I've ever seen, which ultimately caused the doctors on hand to end the fight.

As the penultimate fight was going into the third round, I noticed that there were only five minutes left in my DVR recording, which ended as they were deciding whether to call the fight a "no contest" for an unintentional eye gouge. As it turns out, they did...but I never got to see my beloved Kimbo terrorize James "The Colossus" Thompson. Apparently, Kimbo won in the third round. The DVR is a wonderful piece of technology, but there has got to be some way to record shows that go over their time slot unexpectedly. I'm just sayin'.

Anyway, I'll post the Get to Know a Mestee Reader segment with Jacko as soon as I can get him to commit. If it's this tough to get an interview with a guy who had you as the best man in his wedding, imagine how difficult it's going to be for me to get Stamos on here.

Hair's a Mildly Embarrassing Scenario

2008-05-21T00:42:00.005-04:00

I went to get a haircut tonight at Hair's Karen, the world's greatest hair salon. Karen herself was at the reception desk, taking my updated phone and address info, when she made a realization.

"Hey," she said, "I read your blog about us."

Despite the fact that Mesteeblogger is read by tens of people, this was still surprising to me.

"If I remember correctly, it wasn't very nice," she continued.

Oh boy. I quickly tried to remember what I had written -- something about not being able to get an appointment...I think I blamed it on myself...that was it, right? Yeah. Okay, not so bad.

I summed up what I could remember from the entry and Karen graciously accepted my explanation. I was still nervous that in an effort to be funny, I may have written something borderline offensive.

I returned home, fired up the laptop, and took a quick look for the entry. Ah, yes. A mock break-up letter addressed to Hair's Karen, explaining that I was leaving for the newly-discovered Mario's Salon in Davis Square. That's unfortunate. Karen, if you or any of your fantastic stylists are reading this, let the record show that I have yet to return to Mario's since that day. I'm declaring right now that I am dedicated to Hair's Karen as long as I live within a ten mile radius. Unless, of course, I decide to start cutting my own hair again -- but let's hope my budget never forces me into that again.

I'll leave you with a little time-waster. I believe I've linked to it before, but it's totally worth it.

Also, if you're in the mood for music, why not watch the a video from The Two Man Gentlemen Band? Seriously, why not? Fine, be that way.

Yo Soy de Espana. Aaaargh!

2008-04-28T21:53:00.007-04:00

So, if you're like me, you're watching the Celtics play the Hawks right now, wondering when the refs are going to stop calling stupid fouls and counting down the minutes before they get to go back to Boston and finish the series so we can get on with our lives. If you're not like me, you're probably watching Grey's Anatomy and/or planning a big camping trip. (Update! Celtics lost, series tied 2-2. This is infuriating.)

Jack and Irf came over to the condo to watch the Celtics on Saturday night. Through the first few games of the series, I became interested in an oafish player on the opposing team named Zaza Pachulia. In just the first few moments of seeing him, I became determined to stick him with the nickname "Spanish Frankenstein", as I felt that this best summarized his look. I really tried to get it going for a little while, noting his new nickname when he got a rebound or got a foul called on him. Irf was quick to point out that I couldn't stick a such a marginal player with a crazy nickname. He also found it ridiculous that Spanish Frankenstein might not even be Spanish (upon later review, we found he was from Georgia -- the Soviet kind, not the Savannah kind).

I argued that such a forgettable player needed a good nickname. At one point in the second half, Jack wanted to reference Zaza Pachulia, but couldn't recall his name, forcing him to say "Spanish Frankenstein" instead. Irf immediately warned him not to add fuel to my nickname fire, but it was too late.

Tonight, I explained to Irf that Spanish Frankenstein was called so because A) He looks vaguely Spanish and B) I imagine that, if he were to speak, it could only sound like this: "Aaaargh". I tried to really drive this point home tonight by saying "Aaaargh" every time Spanish Frankenstein appeared on screen. This is the unfortunate price that Irf has to pay for not having a TV and therefore becoming my captive audience for, minimally, the duration of the Celtics game.

This Spanish Frankenstein campaign has become similar to Jack's "Silky" campaign of 1998, where he attempted to start referring to Josh Wilke as "Silky Wilke", then gradually phase out "Wilke", so he could just call him "Silky". Jack jumped the gun, using "Silky Wilke" only two or three times before jumping straight to "Silky" and causing Josh Wilke to throw a fit. This, of course, is in stark contrast to Jack's triumphant "Boner" campaign of 2000, where he moved with shocking success from "Brendan" to "Brando" to the highly suspect "Brandoner" and then to "Boner". In recanting all of Jack's nickname attempts, it is easy to see why he was the first to jump on the "Spanish Frankenstein" bandwagon. All aboard!

I'm hoping to have a new edition of Get to Know a Mestee Reader by next week, so stay tuned.

This is...

2008-03-11T23:24:00.002-04:00

...the funniest thing I've seen this week: Japanese Binocular Soccer. Evidently, all players are required to wear striped, skin-tight unitards in addition to, obviously, binoculars.

Re: Movies

2008-02-10T20:59:00.000-05:00

Dear America,

Smarten up, please. If a nation's IQ was judged upon the popularity of terrible movies, the United States would have lost to anybody this week. Let's talk about the following movies that landed in the TOP 10 at the box office this week...

Fool's Gold (#1)- Oh...my...God. I realize that the selection of movies is always thinner towards the beginning of the year, but you don't NEED to go to the movies. The fact that more than ten people went to see this is disappointing to me, the fact that it was #1 is horrifying. Why did you pay your hard-earned money to see this? Was it a chance to see Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson doing comedy? Though they are both comedic geniuses in their own right, I don't think this was it. Was it the unique story of two people searching for treasure? Doubtful. Perhaps it was your way of submitting to the horrible previews that have been pounding everyone over the head for the last three weeks. Head trauma first appears in the trailer at the :33 mark. I'll explain later.

Breaking News: I'm watching the Grammy Awards and George Lopez just said "What a great country this is...the only country where a white woman and a black man can run for President of the United States." Yes, George Lopez, rarely does a white woman or a black man from France, Turkey, or Australia ever run for President of the United States. I hit rewind on the DVR just to make sure he really said that. He did. Back to our regularly scheduled program.

Welcome Home Roscoe Jenkins (#2) - Did the previews not scare you away? While this technically passes the "Head Trauma Test" (a comedy featuring head trauma within the first thirty seconds of the trailer is never watchable), the back end of the trailer is loaded with head trauma, Yogi the Bear jokes, and a skunk spraying Martin Lawrence in the mouth.

Hannah Montana & Miley Cyrus: Best of Both Worlds Concert (#3) - Okay, I can't say much about this one, as I have openly revealed the enjoyment of listening to Miley Cyrus on this very blog. I have to give the 'tweens a pass on this one.

Meet the Spartans (#9) - It's hard to believe this movie exists. It is in the same spirit of Date Movie, Epic Movie, and Scary Movie. Basically, this movie cuts and pastes a series of skits together, consisting of pop culture references. These skits, when assembled, create a "movie" - or at least a thing that is the length of a typical movie. Observational jokes include, but are not limited to: J-Lo has a big butt, Donald Trump has weird hair, Britney Spears is crazy. Though I've never heard these insights before, I bet they're hilarious on screen. This movie was #1 a few weeks ago. Shame on you, America. This makes Fool's Gold seem like a solid, original idea.

In closing, America, I would like to beg you to keep up the positive actions you have taken, such as keeping Paris Hilton's "The Hottie and the Nottie" under $30,000 at the box office this past weekend. If movies like this are ignored, Hollywood might be forced into making films that are actually entertaining. Thanks for listening, America.

Your Friend,
Brian

The Agony of Defeat

2008-02-03T23:33:00.000-05:00

The following may not be appropriate for those who are faint of heart or still experiencing emotional suffering from the unfavorable results of the Super Bowl.

Going into the game, it may have seemed like the Giants had a lot to overcome in order to leave Arizona with a victory. I thought the opposite, though. In fact, I've thought this throughout the playoffs. The Patriots were saddled with the burden of victory. They had to win. In order to cement their place in NFL history, in order to pad the case for their "dynasty" status, in order to give one final screw you to the people who bring up an event from the first quarter of the first game of the season as soon as the Patriots beat their team, they had to win.

The Giants, on the other hand, had nothing to lose. Most people expected them to be defeated. The odds appeared to be so stacked against them that even offering a challenge to the undefeated Patriots would have been a small victory in and of itself. I got nervous before the game when I heard that Giants coach Tom Coughlin, notorious for his rules and regulations, had told his team to "just go out there and have fun". If I was a Giants fan, I would have been thrilled to hear this. That was exactly the attitude they needed to take. Play like you've got nothing to lose. That's a team you don't want to face.

The Patriots were only up 7-3 in the fourth quarter, but I felt no sense of panic. I may have been alone here, but the game seemed like it was within New England's grasp. I had to wonder if the Giants and their fans thought that the game was still up for grabs at this point. Now? I would say yes. During the game? No. I suppose that kind of attitude is created by watching a team win and win and win again and again for eighteen straight weeks. Just like when the Red Sox of old would play the Yankees, no matter how big a lead the Red Sox owned or how small a lead the Yankees possessed, you just knew that the Yankees would get some lucky break and walk away victorious. Until 2004, of course, when the curse was reversed.

I, along with many other Pats fans, I suspect, had come to rely on that lucky break. The constant clutch performances of Tom Brady, the defense that would sometimes bend, but never break, the offense that could overcome even the greatest of deficits in the shortest amounts of time (You did see the the Ravens game, yes?) -- that was all taken for granted after a certain point. It seemed like the Patriots had faced the most adverse conditions possible, yet never failed to produce a victory.

This false sense of security was what caused me to remain relatively calm right up until the ball sailed through the air and I saw that Plaxico Burress was wide open in the end zone. It was only at that moment did I realize that the Patriots would lose. This is much worse than if the Giants had jumped out to a 21-0 lead and the Patriots never had a chance. The idea that the Giants could legitimately win never entered my mind until there were 35 seconds left in the game. There was no transition from "The Giants could win" to "The Giants will win", which made that emotional punch in the stomach land a lot harder. In retrospect, of course, this was foolish. The Giants were in the red zone and had been moving the ball well all the way down the field, but this Patriots defense wasn't about to give up any easy touchdowns -- or so I thought. The G-men converted some improbable third downs and Eli Manning made a play that will most likely become the highlight of his personal highlight reel: not the TD pass, but the pass to David Tyree which a) should have never made it out of Manning's hand because the Patriots had him all but sacked and b) would not have been caught nine out of ten times, as Tyree pinned the ball against the top of his helmet as he hit the ground -- not exactly part of the repertoire for most receivers.

After the game, I thought immediately of the 2003 MLB Playoffs, when Aaron Boone hit that home run in the bottom of the 11th inning to give the Yankees the win and end what seemed to the season that the Red Sox would, once and for all, end one of the most painful droughts in sports history. What was different with that game -- in my head, not on the field -- is that I was rooting for the Red Sox to win, but really, I was waiting to see how they would lose. What felt the same between the 2008 Super Bowl and the 2003 ALCS was the frustration of months and months of victories, building hope, and ultimately leading to...nothing.

As I write this, only a few hours have passed since the final whistle, so only time will tell how this game is viewed from an historical perspective. In the best case scenario, the 2008 Patriots will be seen as having the most victories of any NFL team ever within a single season. In the worst case scenario -- brace yourselves -- the 2008 Patriots will replace the 2004 Yankees as the worst choke artists in the history of sports. Sorry for that.

Perfection is boring, though. Sure, this sounds predictable from a supporter of a team who just fell short of perfection, but think about it: once a team achieves perfection, is there anything left? Another perfect season? What if the Patriots beat the Giants and went on to have ten more perfect seasons? Would it be fun to get together on Sunday and wait for the inevitable win? Hard to imagine. The best part about sports is facing a worthy adversary. What happens when there are none left? When the Patriots faced the Rams in the Super Bowl of 2002, New England was the Little Engine That Could, facing off against The Greatest Show on Turf from St. Louis. The Rams were the best and the Patriots had something to prove. Every Patriots playoff game seemed to have every player and fan pumped full of adrenaline. This season, victory seemed to be achieved with a certain amount of nonchalance. At this point in 2008, the Patriots have already been the best, three times since 2000. I guess next year, they'll have something to prove again. Another Manning just got added to New England's hit list. Though it's painful now, next season might just get a little bit nasty...and to me, that sounds fun to watch.

By the Power of Fred Thompson's Nipples

2008-01-15T23:56:00.000-05:00

I have another song to add to the guilty pleasure song list. This might vault straight to number one. I'm talking about "See You Again" by Miley Cyrus. Oh my God, that's even more embarrassing to write than it is to say out loud. I had this conversation with my sister last weekend.

(Listening to the aforementioned song on the radio in the car)

Sarah: I can't believe you like this song.
Me : I know, it feels creepy.
Sarah: Yeah, she's like fourteen.
Me : This song is so catchy, though.
Sarah: She's on that show...what's it--
Me : Hannah Montana.
Sarah: Oh, that's weird that you know that.

Now, I've never watched Hannah Montana, I just know things about pop culture. In fact, is this really embarrassing? Isn't everybody in America trying to get tickets to this concert? It's not like some obscure show or something. Okay, now I'm sounding defensive...I'm going to stop here.

I was at work yesterday when I was dealing with the family headed by a man that happens to be a U.S. Senator. Once I told the woman calling in to our office (apparently the daughter of Senator X) that she did not have access to the information she wanted, she told me about twelve times that her father -- the account owner -- was a senator.

"Fine," she said,"I guess I'll just have my father, SENATOR X, call in to talk to you. I'm sure he won't be happy about it."

Does this ever impress anybody? For me, it just made me laugh. I felt less sympathetic after the attempted power play. I told the people next to me about the little showdown and they laughed about it, too. Maybe there are some parts of the country where people mess their pants at the thought of being scorned by a senator. I guess my office is not one of those places.

Speaking of senators, Jack casually mentioned the other night that he had recently delivered food to Fred Thompson in his hotel room, where Fred answered the door shirtless. I'm not sure if I'm more surprised at how casually Jack delivered the story or how a presidential candidate could not be bothered to put a shirt on when answering the door of his hotel room. Jack said he thought more of Mr. Thompson after this encounter, while Irf and I thought that it was genuinely odd behavior.

Incidentally, Fred Thompson received 1% of the vote in the New Hampshire Primary, while write-in candidates received 2% of the vote. I have decided that this will be the Mendoza Line of politics. If you ever receive less votes than people who have not mounted an official campaign, you need to stop your politicking.

No, No, Nostradamus

2008-01-02T23:31:00.000-05:00

Just in case you're not in New England, I'll fill you in: it's cold outside. How cold? Cold enough that , upon opening my front door, I had almost no choice but to unleash a random string of profanity.

Today, I'll be discussing some terrible predictions throughout history. Okay, I'm actually going to narrow the scope to...

Terrible Predictions Made by People I Know

3."What the Patriots need to do is trade Tom Brady and put Bledsoe back in." -Irfan Rizvi, 2001

I think we all know what happened here. Irf would like to forget this ever happened, but I won't let him.

2."The XFL won't fail. It can't fail. There's just too much money behind it." -Ryan Baker, 2000

My old fraternity brother was so convinced that he almost made me forget the fact that people don't want to pay to watch 5th string NFL guys with stage names like "He Hate Me". Surprisingly, there is a website devoted to commemorating the demise of the XFL.

1. "The Red Sox need to string a bunch of wins together so they can make the playoffs, but they don't have the team to do that." -Jack Oolders, 2004

This quote not only preceded the first Red Sox World Series title in many moons, but came just days before the Red Sox went on lengthy winning streak to set them up for a playoff berth and, ultimately, a championship.

What made me select this topic, you ask? I came up with the idea shortly after I came up with another idea that might someday deserve to be firmly planted on this very list.

Here is my prediction (if you have a blog some day, and you choose to write about the same topic, you can simply cut and paste the paragraph below)...

American Gladiators is going to be a runaway hit. I was initially excited to see this series come back and when I mentioned it at work, every single guy in my department quickly chimed in with their favorite event...

"I like the joust!"
"No, the eliminator is the best!"
"I'm sorry, but the human cannonball cannot be beat."

This unbridled enthusiasm, coupled with the current writer's strike, leads me to believe NBC has a hit on their hands here. Of course, there is the possibility that things I liked when I watched when I was 12 are no longer entertaining to me. That seems hard to believe, though, especially for a guy who still likes to eat Cinnamon Toast Crunch. So that's it, I'm sticking with it...American Gladiators will be the biggest post-writer's strike hit.

If anybody still reads this, feel free to chime in with any of your predictions for 2008 and beyond. C'mon, you know you want to.

Love to Eat Turkey, Love to Eat Tur-er-her-key

2007-11-22T16:39:00.000-05:00

It just wouldn't feel like Thanksgiving if it weren't for Turkey, Family, Football and Mesteeblogger. There's something about having his picture taken with a turkey that makes Dubya go a little nutty. For that, I am thankful.

Without further adieu, here are the TOP TEN Quotes Overheard at the Adams Thanksgiving Dinner 2007...

10. "I just asked Uncle Robbie to pass the stuffing for the third time. I'm saying it out loud, right?
9. "Andre the Giant was seven foot six -- he used to wrestle three guys at a time"
8. "If there's no tape for the DVR, then where are the shows?"
7. "What's the difference between a midget and a dwarf?"
6. "My doctor told me not to eat cranberries"
5. "On my report card, I got all A's and B's. Plus two C's."
4. "Sarah has always been fascinated by midgets...and extremely tall people"
3. "I think Dad is trying to explain Google to Grampa"
2. "...so he made him turn around, then kicked him right in the fanny"
1. "Back in the old days, they would have midget wrestling. Those little guys were crazy"

Happy Thanksgiving from Mesteeblogger.

Hair Today...

2007-11-04T01:12:00.000-04:00

I went to the Cheesecake Factory for lunch today with my Dad and my sister. I must say, if you find yourself near one, the cream of chicken soup and/or BBQ ranch chicken salad are difficult to beat...but that's beside the point.

I've been on a mission all week -- a mission that has failed over and over. I need a haircut, and I was determined to get one all week, but no such luck. "But Brian," you ask,"what is so difficult about getting a haircut?". A fair question. For a few years, I was cutting my own hair. I had long hair at the time, so it didn't require too much maintenance, just a trim here and there. When I proudly announced to my family that I had been cutting my own hair for several years -- a real "this is how awesome I am" moment -- my Mom said something along the lines of "Yeah, we could tell."

Anyway, once I went back to a shorter style, I decided that I'd have to commit to a particular establishment in the area that I could count on to keep my hair from giving that I cut this myself in the bathroom mirror look. I settled upon Hair's Karen, a fixture in the nearby West Medford Square, which was key for the year that I went without a car.

I continued going there even after moving over to Malden this summer, but lately I could not manage to get an appointment. I figure that normal people probably just call a week ahead of time, set an appointment, and that's that. I can't be bothered to set an appointment for much more than an hour in the future, which worked out until a few weeks ago, when Hair's Karen was steadily booked.

It seems that the hair in the back of my head grows faster than the top, which was starting to become problematic. Last Sunday, I knew that an unintentional Mullet was beginning to take shape on my head. I called Hair's Karen on the way back from work on Monday, but they said that they were booked for the rest of the night. The next day, I forgot about the Mullet situation altogether, sending me into panic mode on Wednesday.

It was time to shift allegiances and find a new place that would cut my hair. Upon searching online, I found that Hair's Karen was not isolated in their love for puns. It turns out they were part of a movement including Hair We Are, Hair and There, Hair It Goes Electrolysis, and Always Hair for You -- all of which are salons within a 5 mile radius of my condo. After being turned away just one more time from Hair's Karen, I headed to Davis Square, where I tried the decidedly punless Mario's Salon. As it turns out, you don't have to love puns to cut hair, because this is a premium haircut I'm sporting today. Farewell Karen and Company. I promise, it's not you...it's me.

If your looking to waste time, this game seems to do the trick. My record is 22 seconds.

Yeah Reebok

2007-10-30T00:49:00.000-04:00

Red Letter Day

2007-07-05T23:51:00.000-04:00

Today, I bought a condominium. It's almost as surprising to me as it is to you.

I took the day off from work and drove to Winchester for the closing. I kept on thinking that something would go wrong. On my way out the door, I saw a giant envelope from Bank of America. I examined the contents and decided that these documents had a 50/50 chance of being pertinent. I fell back on the knowledge that I had emailed the bank, the lawyer, and the realtor several times, asking if there was anything else I needed to do before closing. They said "no", so I had to trust them at this point. Long story short, I signed a million pieces of paper and now I own a condominium.

After the closing, Irf and I took rare advantage of attending the Diva lunch buffet. All the delicious Indian food you can eat for $10. We were two of four diners in the entire restaurant. Twice, maybe three times, waiters came over to our table and asked us what kind of bread we would like.

"Naan, please."
"Plain?"
"Yes, please."

That's how the conversation went each time. Never was any bread delivered to our table. We came to the conclusion that the waiters were just curious what type of bread we would like, but not intent on bringing said bread to the table.

After that, I met my parents at Jordan's Furniture, which is basically half amusement park, half furniture store. If you're not careful while looking at couches, you could end up accidentally watching an IMAX movie or flying from a trapeze. Seriously, they have trapezes. My parents agreed to buy me a bed, which was very nice of them. I ponied up for the headboard and then we went to look at expensive furniture that I might eventually buy against all sensible financial impulses.

After dinner, I met up with Irf again and hit the Diesel Cafe for some reading and writing. As we looked around for seats, we complained about how we could never get a booth...recalling one time -- ONE TIME -- that we had ever managed to sit in the coveted Diesel Cafe booths. Irf went up front to get some juice and I told him I'd be up front in a minute. On my way up, I saw it like a brilliant blinding light from heaven: an open corner booth. Our books/bags/etc were all still at the table in back, but there was no time to get them. I dove into the booth like I was playing a one-man game of musical chairs, then sat there like an idiot. Irf became confused that I had not come up to the front of the restaurant, but was instantly excited when he saw that I had landed us some premium Diesel Cafe real estate. We reveled in our rare find until closing time.

A condo, a bed, a buffet, and a booth at Diesel Cafe. Truly a red letter day.

Driving Miss Mestee

2007-06-19T23:47:00.000-04:00

Two interesting developments dealing with cars:

If the Catholic Church is trying to make a mockery of itself and shed any credibility, their PR people are doing one heck of a job. If you haven't read about it yet, the church issued its list of 10 Commandments for Drivers. Seriously? Seriously. The Commandments include helpful tips to motorists, suggesting that they "obey traffic regulations, drive with a moral sense, and pray when behind the wheel".This came seemingly out of nowhere and strikes me as a pathetic cry for attention. It truly seems more like an unfunny late night talk show bit than an insightful list of rules by which to live, er, drive. I must admit, though, I am looking forward to this new, modern, edgy Catholic Church. I can't wait for 2129 when they issue the Commandments of the Internet (Thou Shalt Avoideth Cyber Smut and Resist the Temptation of Opening Spam Emails). I bet we won't even make it to the year 3000 before woman are allowed to become priests.

In a strange turn of events, a huge company with tons of money seems legitimately interested in funding research for high-mileage hybrid cars. Google's philanthropic arm will be offering up HUGE amounts of money in order to develop a more effective hybrid car. Yes, sales of hybrid cars are on the rise, but the hybrid cars now available are less of a long term solution and more of a minor concession by the oil lobby. "Oh, you guys want to go green? Yeah, this car gets another eight miles to the gallon." Google's initial goal is to develop a hybrid that gets over 100 MPG. Unfortunately, one of the few groups of people with more money than Google is Exxon. You can bet that they're not going to take this lying down.

I Love Me Some Singin' Nerds

2007-06-13T00:13:00.000-04:00

I fell in love with these New Zealanders after seeing their HBO special last year. Now they have a show on HBO which is sure to overexpose them and end their careers before they even started. The first clip is a preview from the new series, where they show their roots by using phrases like "my mate's place" and rhyming "cab" with "kabab". The second clip is an automatic candidate for Hufton's favorite song, as is any song including robot sound effects or themes of robot takeover/world domination. I present to you: Flight of the Conchords.

Bring on the robots...

French Benefits

2007-06-12T00:30:00.000-04:00

I was driving by a rest stop the other day and I saw a parked car with George Michael doing drugs in the driver's seat. Okay, not really. I was driving by the rest stop and recalled a time many years ago when my sister became upset after my Dad told her that we would be stopping at a rest area. Upon further questioning, it became clear that Sarah thought that a rest area was an "area" where people would be "arrested". Arrest area.

This reminded me of some words that had worked their way into my vocab as a youngster. You know the brick thing on top of your house that emits smoke when you have a fire? Jimney. I think my parents laughed at me a hundred times before I caught on. Also, you may be familiar with those little twisty salty snacks, sometime found in a jumbo variety at ballparks. Until age 6, I had no doubt that these were called preNtzels. I'm sure there are more -- probably even more embarassing than these -- but I can't think of any right now.

Irf will occasionally share the misunderstandings of his nephews with me. My favorite of these would be the dreaded nemesis of Luke Skywalker throughout the Star Wars trilogy: Dark Vader. This is a good illustration of that gap where you hear new phrases but don't really get a chance to see them in print. As Irf pointed out, "It sort of makes sense that he would be Dark Vader...as far as he's concerned, what's a Darth?"

I don't know exactly what my point is here, other than the fact that it is funny to laugh at small children who say things incorrectly. Everyone has these little phrases from their childhood, I'm sure. The key is that you ditch them before you reach an age where it's just unacceptable to not know what you're talking about. My aunt was in a meeting with a woman who used a phrase that made my aunt wonder if she had heard the woman correctly. The woman got the benefit of the doubt until she used the phrase again. "Any updates?" "Nope...same-o same-o."

Music Musings

2007-05-30T00:41:00.000-04:00

I'm a sucker for a well-crafted pop song, regardless of the artist or content. Sometimes this is more embarrassing than others. Now, for the snickering pleasure of any music snobs, I present to you:

Top 5 Songs I'm Most Embarrassed to Enjoy

5 FIVE 5
Nickelback
"Rockstar"

My Defense : Sure it has the same four chords as all of their other hits, but the catchiness factor is too high resist. You'd sing along if you knew the words. Nickelback is like musical crack. NickelCrack. Somebody probably thought of that already.

Choice Lyric: I'm gonna dress my ass in the latest fashion/Get a front door key to the Playboy Mansion.

4 FOUR 4
The Cardigans
"Lovefool"

My Defense: You might not know this song by name, but you've heard it. Just wait for it's disco beat to suck you in before the high-pitched chorus knocks you out. Much like ABBA, these Swedes are irresistable.

Choice Lyric: Love me love me/Say that you love me/Fool me fool me/Go on and fool me.

3 THREE 3
NSYNC
"It's Gonna Be Me"

My Defense: I was driving down to Connecticut all by myself seven years ago -- on my way to a party attended by Steve and some other Bates kids. I borrowed my sister's car because mine wasn't too roadworthy at the time. Faced with two hours to kill, a bunch of fuzzy radio stations, a cd player, and one lonely CD, I had a choice to make. That choice was Justin Timerlake and company. Perhaps I was a visionary, knowing that JT would hook up with Timbaland and become uber-cool by '06. More likely, I was a grown man singing songs meant for preteen girls.

Choice Lyric: There comes a day/When I'll be the one/You'll see/It's gonna, gonna, gonna, gonna/It's gonna be me.

2 TWO 2
Avril Lavigne
"Girlfriend"

My Defense: I watched Ms. Lavigne perform this on Saturday Night Live a few weeks ago. I heard the catchy beat, the shout-along chorus, and knew what was happening. "Oh, no," I thought, "I really like this song." I dare you to listen to this whole song without so much as tapping a toe. You're not up to the challenge, I promise you.

Choice Lyric: She's like 'so whatever'/You could do so much better/I think we should get together now/And that's what everyone's talkin' bout.

1 ONE 1
Mariah Carey
"All I Want for Christmas is You"

My Defense: Mariah Carey is certifiably insane, her music is mostly terrible, and I want to punch myself in the face everytime I remember that I love this song. I know that's not really a defense, but more of a confession. This song makes me want to dance, celebrate the birth Jesus, then dance some more. When it plays over the loudspeaker at the mall in December, I have to plug my ears to stop from involuntarily shimmying down the escalators.

Choice Lyric: I won't make a list and send it/To the North Pole for Saint Nick/I won't even stay awake to/Hear those magic reindeers click.

I've embarrassed myself enough. Feel free to list songs in the Comments section that you're embarrassed to enjoy. That is, if anybody still reads this blog.

Candle in the Wind

2007-05-25T23:11:00.000-04:00

Like any red-blooded American man, I like a room that smells of tropical fruit. This is why, several weeks ago, I went down to Kohl's and got myself a big 'ol candle in a jar. The scent? Pineapple Sorbet, of course.

I have a sliding door that leads into my bedroom, but because of some poor engineering, there is enough room for the door to knock back and forth when there are any windows open. If I want to sleep with the door closed and the window opened, I need to wedge something against the door so it won't make noise (this is an issue I imagine real grown-ups don't have to deal with). Now, what better place to put my new Pineapple Sorbet candle in a jar, but balanced precariously on top of the stool that I use to keep the door wedged shut?

Around midnight yesterday, the candle was burning in my room when I went downstairs to move some clothes from the washer to the dryer. Arms full of clothes (who needs laundry baskets?) I nudged the door open, rocking the stool and sending the candle on a path towards me. My instincts told me the the accident about to occur would involve hot wax, broken glass, and me holding an armful of flaming laundry. The candle gods were on my side that night, though. Instead of setting my clothes ablaze or breaking my toe, the jar landed evenly upside down on the floor, extinguishing the flame without so much as chipping the glass jar. Things like this make me not happy that I have averted disaster, but instead, curious as to how embarassing or comically tragic my next mishap will have to be in order to make up for this one.

Goodbye Ann Arbor, Hello Ann Adams

2007-04-14T22:02:00.000-04:00

...To Be Continued

Oh, so where was I? I'm not going to recap the whole Michigan or Georgia trip, but before I get to Georgia, I must recant one last thing about my trip to Michigan: The Ann Arbor Film Festival.

Hufton had mentioned briefly that he had tickets to the Ann Arbor Film Festival, so the three of us decided to go to the theatre and skip out on an encore visit to Pinball Pete's for Tekken 5, air hockey, and grand prix racing. The theatre was very old, but still well maintained, which made for a great atmosphere to view a film. I knew that these films would not be top notch, but I'm a semi-artsy guy, so I was game.

The first movie started and the screen was mostly black with no sound. You could start to see the film and it sort of gave the effect like the projecter was broken, as you could catch a very faint image here and there.

"Huh, this is an interesting intro," I thought.

Then, after three minutes of this, I grew suspicious. Thirty seconds later, the film stopped and the credits rolled. This was followed by applause by most of the audience. I believe I actually laughed out loud. I knew what I was in for.

The second short film started out with an inverted view of the horizon over a wheat field, where the sky was at the bottom of the frame.

"Oh, maybe this will be better," I thought again. "It has images of things."

Well, it ended a few minutes later, having shown only those images I just mentioned.

An hour later, the films had begun to feature people, but they still weren't talking. I was happy that I had some twizzlers to ease the pain. Finally, Irf and Hufton couldn't take it any more, and I'm pretty sure I had thrown in a "just so you know, I'll leave when you guys want to" by then, just to test the waters. I was thrilled to see that they were ready to leave without watching the second hour. My artsy side was tested. My artsy side was defeated.

Fast forward five days: I'm airborn with the fam, headed toward Savannah for Cousin Sean's wedding. My Dad had mentioned that the plane we were scheduled to take was a little smaller than usual. I passed this info onto my sister, which seemed to make her slightly uncomfortable. She has taken over my title of being the "bad flyer" in the family.

"I always kiss the plane before I go on it," she told me.

"What do you mean?"

"I kiss my hand then I touch the outside of the plane before I board."

"You're crazy."

"I told Jenny Mueller about it and now she does it, too."

I didn't think Sarah was going to get a chance to kiss the plane, because as it became evident that we would be walking out on the tarmac to board our flight, Sarah stopped dead in her tracks and stuck her hands out desperately, like a cat about to be thrown into a bath tub.

"I'm not going."

I believed her. I've heard that tone of voice from her before. That tone speaks the truth. In a split second, I thought of the phone calls we would have to make, explaining that Sarah would either not be attending the wedding or was just getting on the highway, due to arrive in Savannah within 25 hours or so.

As it turned out, she was bluffing. Five seconds later, we were walking up the steps to the plane. We got on the plane and I had flashbacks to that Geico commercial, spoofing a reality TV show called Tiny House, which is hilarious (I would watch it if they made it). I am not a tall man, but I felt the urge to duck my head as I walked down the aisle. I noticed that Sarah and I were seated in Row 13 and began to wonder if this plane even had 13 rows. As it turns out, the plane had exactly 13 rows. Actually, make that 13 and 1/2. The only seat behind row 12 on the other side of the plane was a toilet.

Sarah and I became the unofficial ushers to the tiny bathroom, letting people know if it was occupied or informing them that there were no paper towels left, which we knew only after seeing the pilot himself exit the facilities with sopping wet hands. Eww.

We arrived in Savannah and hit the ground running. I dropped my bags in the hotel room and then jumped in the car with my Uncle Pete, who drove me to pick up my tux while everyone else went to grab lunch. We headed back to the hotel, but soon it was time to meet at the church for the rehearsal, so I caught a cab driven by a 45 year old woman who drove like she was fresh out of driver's ed. She dropped me off at the side entrance, which was confusing, because from that vantage point the church looked more like an apartment building. I walked into a room with some couches and noticed a few robes hanging on the coat rack. I began to think that maybe I wasn't supposed to be in here. When I walked through the door on the other side of the room, I was next to the altar, looking out at the church. Oops. I saw my Uncle Pete and my cousin's grandparents sitting in the back, so I approached them. Sean's grandmother said she initially figured I was the pastor when she saw me walk out from the back entrance, dressed in a suit. Not the pastor, just a goober.

We had a great time at the rehearsal dinner and then at the wedding, which was filled with lots of good food, friendly people, and just enough Jack Daniels to turn me into a Chatty Kathy and a dancing machine all at once.

On Sunday, we packed the fam into a rental car and headed for Hilton Head, SC. We have family friends there, so Sarah and I stayed for a day while my parents hung out until Wednesday. Sarah and I took the Delta Express back to Boston, flying in style again, finally reunited with our new friend: Row 13.

During the flight, Sarah broke a nail while trying to fix the air nozzle and it flew directly into my eye.

"Oh good," she said after laughing hysterically,"I have to take these off for basketball anyway. One down, nine to go."

We landed in Boston wearing shorts, which, it became clear, were an inappropriate clothing choice. Shortly after, I realized that my bag had somehow been lost on a direct flight. It brought back memories of landing in Detroit just a week before.

A Brief Interjection

2007-04-08T01:52:00.000-04:00

Okay, this isn't the "continued" part of the previous "to be continued", but I found this strange thing that is like MesteeBlogger, except it's not. I'm confused. See for yourself.

I am a Storm Trooper. You are a Huge Nerd.

2007-04-03T23:07:00.000-04:00

I've been a travelling man for the past few weekends. This past weekend, I went to Georgia for my cousin's wedding and the weekend before that, I visited Hufton at the Phid House in Michigan.

Irf and I were greeted by Hufton, who escorted us from Detroit to Ann Arbor in a borrowed vehicle that could only be described as luxurious. I kid, I kid. It had four fully functioning tires and a backseat just big enough to fit one sour-faced Irfan.

Irf was not put in a better mood when he realized that our bags would not be delivered until later that night after being lost in Chicago. If only he knew on Thursday that he would not get his bag back until we returned to the airport on Monday. Because of this, Irf got stuck wearing almost all of Hufton's risque t-shirt collection throughout the weekend.

The three of us had a good time tossing around the baseball, watching the NCAA tourney, eating massive quantities of wings, quoting Arnold Schwarzenegger, etc. On Friday night, Irfan found himself particularly full of energy and vowed early on that he would "close down the dance floor" at the party we were at in the Phid House. I thought he was full of it, but his intensity rarely waned through the course of the night. In fact, it became a goal of the DJ to play Irfan off the dance floor, playing the most undanceable music one could imagine. At 3:00 AM, Irf was alone on the dance floor, but he perservered. Dropkick Murphy's bagpipe music? Irf jigged like nobody had ever jigged before. Super slow songs? Irf went solo interpretive. I could see that he was struggling to keep dancing as Matt, the DJ, busted out a little Willie Nelson, "You Were Always on My Mind". I offered myself up as a dance party, but quickly got embarassed and tired of holding his sweaty hands.
I took a seat, but he continued, leaving Hufton's fellow law students to marvel as to how he and Irfan could possibly be friends.

To Be Continued...

Readin' That Television

2007-02-23T22:12:00.000-05:00

I've taken to watching TV at the gym when I'm doing cardio stuff, but I can't change the channel on the TV, so I'm pretty much a captive audience for whatever is on at the time. Without any effort, it seems like I catch almost every episode of both Nanny 911 and Supernanny. The parents featured on these shows make even a semi-irresposible guy like myself feel like I might be a fantastic parent. This might not be the best message to send...letting people think that, as long as you have an IQ higher than 43, you'll be a nominee for parent of the year.

The other night, I actually ended up watching American Idol, which I generally try to avoid (though it seems to be on for two hours almost every night of the week). I should mention that everything I watch at the gym is closed-captioned, which sort of takes the point out of watching a singing competition. The show is not scripted, though, which seems to make things pretty hard on the person who got stuck typing the words that appear at the bottom of the screen. My favorite typo last night was when they referred to a song which I assume was by Brian McKnight, but was credited to Brian "Mechanic" Night in the running transcript.

Poor Judgement

2007-02-11T23:50:00.001-05:00

At one point in time, I would have ranked the movie below -- "Ice Pirates" -- as one of my favorites. Now, twenty-something years later, it seems like a very solid nominee for Worst Movie Ever Made. Oh, young impressionable Brian. In other embarassing news, I watched the entire 130 minutes of "In Her Shoes" this weekend. By myself. I swear it was an accident.

Me(stee)ow

2007-02-04T01:30:00.000-05:00

I guess I think this is funny because I don't like cats. The best moment is when the cat freezes right as it realizes something is going wrong. As a side note, I'd also like to mention that I'm apparently the only person in the country that thinks the Bears (and by that I mean Colts) will win the Super Bowl.

Get to Know a Mestee Reader: Jeremy Hufton...and Stamos!

2007-01-27T16:43:00.000-05:00

MesteeBlogger: True or False: You are the smartest of all Huftons.

Hufton: True--smartest of all the Huftons, worldwide. You know, there are actually quite a few Huftons in the world, though I have no idea how many precisely.

MesteeBlogger: Is it German?

Hufton: I believe it is German.

MesteeBlogger: You believe? I thought you were the smartest?

Hufton: Smartest of all the Huftons. None of us know for sure.

MesteeBlogger: Tricky. Moving along...

Hufton: Incidentally, this discussion about names reminds me of a facebook group I once stumbled across called "No one but Adrian Zachariasewycz." It had 141 members--all with the same name. Namely, Adrian Zachariasewycz.

MesteeBlogger: Interesting, but who's running the interview here?

Hufton: Brian Adams. I wonder how many Brian Adams there are in the world.

MesteeBlogger: I don't. If I offered you an unlimited sum of money, but for every million dollars I gave you, you would lose an inch of height and 5 points of IQ, how much money would you take?

Hufton: Wow, good question. I'd take 500K.

MesteeBlogger: That's it?

Hufton: Yeah. Maybe 750K.

MesteeBlogger: Not a greedy man.

Hufton: I like being the smartest of all the Huftons. And there is some serious competition for that title out there: C. Dave, Linda B, etc.

MesteeBlogger: I think I'd be 4 foot 5 and dumb as a stump.

Hufton: That's a lot of money. How much money would that be, exactly?

MesteeBlogger: About 17 million. But enough about me...

Hufton: OK.

MesteeBlogger: You're a big reader. What was the last book you read?

Hufton: "The Virtues of War: A Novel of Alexander the Great," by Steven Pressfield, and before that, "The Loving Touch : A Guide to Being a Better Lover ," by Dr. Andrew Stanway.

MesteeBlogger: If you weren't allowed to read anything for a year, what would you learn in your spare time?

Hufton: You have a knack for asking questions that beg for non-serious responses. But as per your request, I will remain mostly serious. I'd learn...hmm...I'd learn a foreign language--assuming I could do so under this hypothetical w/o being allowed to read anything. If I couldn't do that, I might try learning to dance like Mike Jackson.

MesteeBlogger: Well, we all know you're a force to be reckoned with on the dance floor.

Hufton: Apparently, there is some dude in Ann Arbor who dances all by himself to Michael Jackson's greatest hits in an alley on the weekends. He's been featured in the campus newspaper.

MesteeBlogger: Always diverting attention away from yourself. Now, describe yourself in three words.

Hufton: Omnivorous, white, felino.

MesteeBlogger: Now describe your buttocks in three words.

Hufton: Carnivorous, white, redolent.

MesteeBlogger: Not radiant?

Hufton: No. Redolent. Sorry. Let's just agree that I'd describe my buttocks as white, radiant, and redolent.

MesteeBlogger: I would have described them that way on my own.

Hufton: You would have described by butt as redolent?!

MesteeBlogger: Moving along...

MesteeBlogger: (notices IM message “Hufton entering text”) Why are you typing?

Hufton: No reason. Go ahead, move along.

MesteeBlogger: Question, answer, question, answer. I hate to tell you, but Irfan was a much easier interview subject.

Hufton: Question?

MesteeBlogger: I'm thinking!

Hufton: I'm quite curious to see how much of this ends up in the blog.

MesteeBlogger: Were the BK Challenge** ever to have taken place, were you the clear cut favorite?

Hufton: If it were to take place now, and if the contestants were to include you, Irf, Fernald, Steve, and myself, I think I could most accurately be called a serious contender--but not a clear cut favorite. Irf dismisses his ability to put away food these days, but I suspect he could go through the BK menu quite a few times with the right motivation; e.g., if the losers had to refer to the winner as “The Champion” for the rest of his days.

MesteeBlogger: That would be good motivation.

Hufton: Still, I think I'd have good chance of winning.

MesteeBlogger: What's the next country you plan to visit?

Hufton: I don't have certain plans to visit any other countries at the moment. Most likely, though, the next country I visit will probably be Mexico. Would you like to ask John a few questions now?

MesteeBlogger: I suppose I'm supposed to ask, who is John?

Hufton: John Stamos, of course. He just walked in.

MesteeBlogger: Oh, dear. Now I'm nervous.

Hufton: I could get his autograph for you. He's just a celebrity--no need to be nervous. I didn't tell him about all your posters.

MesteeBlogger: Okay, put him on.

Stamos: Hey Mestee – it’s Stamos.

MesteeBlogger: John, describe your buttocks in 3 words.

Stamos: Famous, toned, hairless, and well tanned.

MesteeBlogger: Career highlight: Babysitting the Olsen twins, playing bongos for the Beach Boys on Kokomo, or starring in Jake in Progress?

Stamos: So hard to choose. Most proud of being on an emmy winning tv show Jake in Progress. Do you know I've dated or been married to supermodel/actress Rebecca Romijn, Lori Loughlin, Chelsea Noble, Demi Moore, Denise Richards, and current American Idol judge and former pop star Paula Abdul?

MesteeBlogger: Of course. Who has better hair, you or the guy who played Ponch on C.H.I.P.S?

Stamos: Ha! That washed up B-level actor Estrada's hair doesn't even compare to mine. I hear he got root implants.

MesteeBlogger: I think everyone knows it's true.

Stamos: Ok, Mestee, gotta run. Thanks for the interview. Here's Hufton.

Hufton: Hi Bri.

MesteeBlogger: Well, I'm going to spend the next nine hours editing this. Any final comments?

Hufton: Thank you for the interview. I know it was long overdue. I'm glad you caught me while John was here, as I know your readers wanted to get to know both of us.

MesteeBlogger: Truer words were never spoken.

**The BK Challenge, as created by the original tenants of 23 Boston Ave, consists of eating the most possible items from the Burger King Value Menu. Items include Bacon Cheeseburger, Two Crispy Beef Tacos, Oven-Baked Potato, Garden Salad, Four Piece Chicken Tender, French Fries, Soft Drink, Onion Rings, and Old Fashioned Ice Cream Shake. If more than one individual ate every item on the menu, a list of three playoff items would be chosen by a panel consisting of the losing contestants.

Deep Inside the Forest is a Door into Another Land

2007-01-09T20:34:00.000-05:00

It's been a long time since I first accepted the fact that Bryan Adams would consistantly be mentioned as soon as people initially learned my name. But now this: two days in a row, two different Bally's Fitness locations, two different Bally's front desk employees...

DAY 1
Twentysomthing Guy: Brian Adams?
Me: Yeah, yeah, I know.
Twentysomething Guy: Any relation to Sam Adams? Probably not, huh?
Me: I don't know.

DAY 2
Older Guy: Brian Adams?
Me: Yeah, yeah, I know.
Older Guy: Any relation to Grizzly Adams? Haha! You're probably too young to know that.
Me: I've heard of him.
Older Guy: It was a TV show.
Me: Okay.
Older Guy: I liked that TV show.
Me: Alright.

+++
Last night, on my way home from work, a car pulled up alongside me on my left and stayed there for a few seconds. Then I heard the car belt out two loud honks of the horn, at which point I looked over to see that the driver was my sister, who was laughing hysterically at my surprised reaction.
+++

Alright, CNN used to be my go-to new source, but they're seriously losing credibilty with me...

How is this listed as a top story today? Is this news? Am I missing something interesting about this?

Another "Top Story"? Man Buys 3 Snowballs on eBay for $200...and also 'Style Free' Britney, Paris Win Title...referring, of course, to the Worst Dressed List.

CNN, seriously, no need to compete with Perez Hilton and US Weekly. I'm going to find a news source that features actual news if you don't get your act together soon.

One Request

2006-12-22T17:49:00.000-05:00

Dear Santa,

For Christmas this year, I would like a new ID badge for work. The one I used to have was snapped in half. I may or may not have been using it to scrape the ice off my windshield at the time. I'm sure you understand.

Yours Truly,
Brian

Drum Roll

2006-12-21T02:09:00.000-05:00

And now, what you've all been waiting for: Lizard Jesus.

Merry Christmas

2006-12-19T21:56:00.000-05:00

"The people thought they were just being rewarded
For treating others as they like to be treated
For obeying stop signs and curing diseases
For mailing letters with the address of the sender
Now we can swim any day in november."

Postal Service was close when they wrote that one. We didn't go swimming in November, but we did go golfing on December 16th in New England -- a feat rarely accomplished.

Me (Stee)

Irfan, dont forget: When the ball is about to hit the
cart path, yell "Cart Path!"

Irfan and Jack getting frisky before the round.

I had the pleasure (displeasure?) of seeing a fellow at the gym yesterday who was actually wearing these pants without a hint of irony. Somehow, I can't image that Canada has their own version available.

Dutchman Gone Wild

2006-12-19T00:29:00.000-05:00

Some risque content over at Jacko on Cracko. I've got some pictures of a little December golf in New England, but my camera is in the car and I am not, so it will have to wait until later.

Potluck

2006-12-05T21:34:00.000-05:00

Kudos to Lon "Don" Derry for writing a very funny comment on the 12.3.06 entry, which seemed to be longer than the actual entry itself.

I've been trying to sell this PXR-4 digital recorder that I've had for a while, but no luck so far. I figured that if I wasn't going to sell it, then I should probably learn how to use it. I'd like a hard copy of the instructions, which are available online. The only printer readily available to me is the one at work, but today I found out that the instructions were 100 pages long, which is hardly a subtle exploitation of company time/money/equipment. Like Andy Dufresne in Shawshank Redemption, I might have to be patient and complete this task over time. I think I can print 10 pages or so every day without causing much of a backup, putting me at a mere 10 business days until the instructions are mine, all mine.

As I have been known to do on occasion, I called into the local conservative talk radio show tonight to make the ride home from work pass by a little more quickly. For whatever reason, I couldn't seem to form a coherent thought once I got on the air, which only made me panic more and forget my point almost entirely. Being an experienced radio guy, the host seemed to recognize my inability to get any point across and gave me the pity hang-up -- not announcing that he was letting me go, but just continuing to talk until the commercial break. Shameful.

Below we have Andy Bean, friend of MesteeBlogger, doing his best job miming the playing of a banjo while riding a unicycle. Doing him one up, however is Christian Adam (right), who holds the world record for riding a bicycle (less impressive) backwards (more impressive) while playing violin. Christian Adam did this for 60 kilometers and said that he was he was surprised by the good acoustics of the motorway tunnels. If I was him, I would be more surprised that I could ride a bicycle backwards for 60 kilometers while playing the violin.

BCS = L-A-M-E

2006-12-03T20:57:00.000-05:00

Things that make me mad mostly share one common link: a failure in logic. I'm not even that much of a college football fan, but I have always been baffled by their lack of a true championship. Every other sport has one, so why can't Division I NCAA Football have one as well? Instead of beating all opponents in a playoff format, the two teams are selected by a combination of sportswriters and coaches in a popularity contest that includes "style points".

This isn't Project Runway, but it sure seems like it. This year, the committee has selected Florida and Ohio State as the two teams to compete in the championship, even though it is clear to relatively casual observers that Michigan and Ohio State are the two best teams in the country. Then again, I don't know that for sure. I mean, a lot of these teams haven't played each other directly. What would be a good way to have all of the best teams play each other and have the team that ultimately won all of the games turn out to be the champion? They could call it something fun, like "The Playoffs". Oh that's right, every single competitive sport on earth has that at the end of the season except college football.

One of the analysts on the radio said that Michigan is not in the championship game because "You have to win your conference to be part of the championship". Besides the fact that this is not a rule, would it be fair to say that if the top 8 teams in the country were in the same division, then the #1 team should play the #9 team for the championship, because the #9 team is then the best team to win their conference? Hardly. I understand that, ultimately, it is done to generate the most amount of money for the athletic programs for the teams involved and the most advertising opportunities for the companies that sponsor the buhzillion bowl games that now exist. I just wish the fans and the teams themselves weren't so accepting of the fate of their season coming down to a Survivor-style vote. Okay, I'm done.

Lessons in Pest Removal

2006-11-27T21:21:00.000-05:00

Thanksgiving was good. I was a little upset that I had to interrupt my long weekend of relaxation in NH with a trip back to Needham for a few hours of work, but it turned out okay.

On Thanksgiving, I was talking about how I almost certainly have squirrels in the attic space surrounding my room. Grampa Cliff mentioned that he too had once been faced with squirrel issues. He mentioned that one time he woke up in his room, only to discover a bat hanging from the ceiling. The procedure for bat removal was simple, he assured me:

1. Get a brown paper bag
2. Climb up on the bed
3. Put the paper bag around the bat, and remove from ceiling

I'm pretty sure that my solution to a bat hanging from my ceiling at night would be something more along these lines:

1. Scream like a woman
2. Run out of the room
3. Sleep on the couch

Grampa Cliff was in the Marines, but it has come to my attention over the years that I have inherited none of the courage, confidence, and bravado possessed by a military man. I'm almost certain that Grampa has never screamed like a woman before -- a fact I cannot claim to be true of myself, particularly following an incident witnessed by Sarah Adams on the FreeFall (see below) at Six Flags. Anybody who has seen me play paintball will attest to the fact that I would, in fact, make a terrible soldier. I still remember travelling down from UNH with Jack to play paintball with Irf and some of his brother's friends in Boston. It was an indoor facility and both teams started at opposing ends for a game of capture the flag. They sounded the horn to start the game and everybody ran out from behind our base kamikaze style, as the crack of the paintballs hitting our base echoed through the room. Not opting to be hit immediately, I stood still behind our base. When I turned to see how many of our teammates were still with me, it was just Irf, who looked equally unexcited to be shot at.

In the meantime, Jack was on the frontlines collecting "surrenders", which involved getting so close to a person with your gun pointed at them that you relieve them of getting hit point blank and just yell "surrender!". I found that from the distance I was at, nobody could even hear me yell "surrender". Throughout our games, I ventured out from behind the base once in a while, but was rarely effective for our team's sake. Late in the game, the opposing team made a run for our base. It was then that I realized I had nowhere to run. I made a few futile attempts to pick off my opponent as he ran toward us, but he rounded the corner and stood just feet away from me with no cover between us. I panicked and lifted my foot in the air from my kneeling position on the 3 foot tall platform. I guess my instincts were to get hit in foot rather than the face, but my instincts were wrong. As I lifted my leg and turned away, I just heard the "THWAP! THWAP! THWAP!" sound made by three paintballs as they pelted my undercarriage. I'd rather be shot in the face.

Happy Thanksgiving

2006-11-23T23:58:00.000-05:00

Motown Philly Back Again

2006-11-18T21:20:00.000-05:00

Hello there.

I realize that I've been gone for a while and I've gotten just enough complaints to get MesteeBlogger back in action. Maybe that sounds like a reluctant return to the blog, but it is tough to be quite as enthusiastic about it as the days where I could write MesteeBlogger at work while getting paid. Regardless of my reasons, I will be attempting to get entries up here a little more regularly in the near future.

I haven't worked since November 9th, which has been a nice break. I flew out to Philly on Monday to hang out with Steve and Brendan. Much like Jack has previously attempted to bring back more frequent use of the phrases "Super" and "Fair Enough", I stumbled upon a few phrases during my trip to Philly that I believe might deserve a second look from the American Public. It was Steve who used both of these phrases -- in a joking manner -- during my trip. However I would like to see the following phrases brought back into fashion on a serious level:

"Let me slip into something more comfortable"

I believe this phrase was last heard preceding love scenes in 1980's films, but why not utilize it in everyday life? Why use "I'm going to put on some sweatpants" when "Let me slip into something more comfortable" achieves the same goal and sounds so much smoother. If you're like me, you could stand to be a little cooler a lot more often. Don't put on your jammies, slip into something more comfortable. Case closed.

"Get something nice for yourself"

This one is typically used by high rollers speaking to cocktail waitresses upon giving them money, but why let the high rollers have all the fun? Next time you're at the Olive Garden, personally deliver your 20% in cash and let the waiter or waitress know that this money should be used to "Get something nice for yourself". For that matter, the phrase could even be directed toward the old guy behind the counter at the sandwich shop when you're slipping a dollar and change into the tip jar on the counter. It will remind the fine service workers of America that they deserve to be pampered, even if it cannot be done with your contribution alone.

This is one of the most strange and horrifying things I've read in a while.

And this is possibly the end of the English language.

2006-11-06T01:39:00.000-05:00

Double Dutch Bus

2006-10-15T02:06:00.000-04:00

No real Mestee Blogger (I'm still holding out for a Hufton interview), but the Mad Dutchman is at it again...see the latest Jacko on Cracko entry here.

Headline: Stamos, Hufton Still Holding Out

2006-08-31T20:22:00.000-04:00

Hello. I still haven't been able to get a hold of either John Stamos or Jeremy Hufton, making it impossible to give them their prize of next published Get to Know a Mestee Reader profile. For those of you who have been waiting patiently, I apologize.

This story made me laugh out loud today. Although, as I explained to my boss, I think that this story would be more surprising if the woman had been successful in teaching her dog to drive. I mean, the way the story goes now, they tell you that the lady put her dog behind the wheel of a car and your next thought is: I bet they immediately got in an accident, which turns out to be true. If a guy stuck a fork in an electrical socket and died, I don't think it would make the news because it's just the logical course of events. I want surprises in my news, people.

Check out this slogan generator. A fun game? Entering your name as the "word".

The Hottest New Technology

2006-08-19T01:07:00.000-04:00

I found out that I am the owner of one of those exploding Dell computers you may have heard about. In fact, I'm typing on it right now. Why? Because Danger is my middle name. Either that or "Raymond". I always forget.

I didn't realize the people at Jobsite were such fans...

Itchy and Scratchy

2006-08-17T00:48:00.000-04:00

Mestee,
If you post another witty commentary analyzing the zany world you live in, I promise to give you a high five, just like this.

Gaylord Perry

Why do I feel like I'm being patronized by comments like this? Probably because I am.

I was in Store 24 on Sunday night, picking up some Gatorade. When I brought the bottles to the register, the girl at the counter asked "Will that be all, or would you like anything else?"

"I'll take two of those Red Sox scratch tickets," I said. This was confusing to me because I don't think I've ever bought scratch tickets for myself, and also, my mouth hadn't let my brain in on the idea to buy them. I soon realized that they were $5 a piece and immediately got mad at myself for randomly buying $10 worth of scratch tickets. I scratched the first ticket and...nothing -- as expected. On the second ticket, I matched one of the numbers. I figured at least I'd get 5 bucks back, but when I scratched the ticket further, it revealed that I had won $50. Sweet. I matched another number and, again, won $50. The $100 win was a nice way to kick off the week. I highly recommend winning $100 on scratch tickets whenever you can.

Don't Make Me...

2006-07-27T22:11:00.000-04:00

I believe that people should find their place in the natural rythms of life instead of making people find their place for them. Confused? Of course you are, that statement barely makes sense. Allow me an example:

When I am trying to cross the street, I am perfectly willing to take on the burden of waiting 10 seconds to find my chance to cross without making anyone disrupt the flow of traffic. To make sure people don't stop for me, I sometimes implement the "look-away" maneuver. If I'm in motion, I will walk parallel to the steet I'd like to cross, glancing over my shoulder to find an opening in traffic. I know, I've got issues.

Another situation is opening doors. Last week, a guy that was about 30 yards ahead of me stopped to hold the door open for me at the entrance of my office. To avoid the lengthy awkwardness of him just holding the door and looking backwards at me, I had to break into my hurry-walk. People of the world, please don't make me break into my hurry walk. Just keep walking, I can handle the door -- I'm almost sure I'll have no problem opening it. As if he had been informed that I was conducting a social experiment, another man leaving the very same door on that very same day -- and walking only 5 yards in front of me -- did not stop to hold the door for me. It struck me that it made him seem like a little bit of a jerk, but I'm sticking to my guns that this is my preferred scenario.

While looking for a beverage at the corner store on Boston Ave today, I almost dry-heaved when I caught a glimpse of a bottle reading Milky Way Slammer. Yes, this is apparently a liquified Milky Way. Upon further investigation, I realized that the flavors in this line of beverages also included Starburst, 3 Musketeers, and perhaps most disgustingly, Moon Pie. It never stuck me that there were enough people with "drink some candy" on their wish list to merit such a line of beverages. All I could think of was the Bleu Cheese Cooler that was advertised on Saturday Night Live. Except these drinks are actually intended for consumption.

Let's Hear it for the Boys

2006-07-18T23:27:00.000-04:00

I realize that it's somewhat tasteless to discuss things that go on in the men's room, but who am I trying to impress? Here are two quick stories, both based in the office restroom within the past 48 hours.

As about half of you know, there are several ways to go about your business at the urinal. In a men's room located in Anytown, USA, you are bound to stumble across characters like The Whistler, Hands on Hips, and even Grunt n' Groan. Yesterday, as I entered the bathroom, I saw a urinal guy as rare as a Buffalo Nickel. I call him "Double Hands Behind", for mysteriously, he insists on folding both hands behind his head as if he's relaxing on the couch watching a movie. Thinking this might be a pose he would only dare strike in private, I scuffed my shoes slightly to make my presence known, but Double Hands Behind didn't budge. Nay, he proudly wizzed away, hands nowhere near the front lines of battle. If I had a camera handy, I would have been tempted to photograph this rare bird, as I may never see him again in this lifetime.

Today, I was washing my hands at the sink with a man to my left, who was between me and the paper towel dispenser. He was looking in the mirror, adjusting his shirt, but had left just a few feet between him and the counter where I would have to pass by. I sidestepped between him and the mirror. Just then, a booming fart was unleashed in one of the stalls.

"Excuse me," I said, as the guy raised his eyebrows. Immediately, I realized that this could have been mistaken for an admission to creating the aforementioned flatulence rather than the intended purpose of excusing myself for passing between him and the mirror. Unfortunately, this was one of those things that you can't really fix once it's happened and any attempt to clarify the situation would almost undoubtedly make things worse.

Remember not to Remember Your Keys...

2006-07-04T23:48:00.001-04:00

My sister and I both had to work on Monday. We were both in Londonderry for her birthday celebration on Sunday night and would be returning to Londonderry Monday night and staying over for the Fourth of July. I should also mention that we literally work across the street from each other in Needham, so it only made sense that we would carpool together from my parents' house on Monday morning. Right?

Sarah was concerned that we wouldn't get out of work at the same time, leaving the other person waiting around for a while. I told her that I didn't mind waiting if she had to work a little late, so she agreed to drive in together.

Part of this plan involved leaving my car with my Dad, who had agreed to take the car to the shop to get my air conditioning fixed while I was working. Just before we pulled onto the highway, Sarah's cell started ringing.

"I'm pretty sure we didn't forget anything," I told Sarah, before she reached towards the back seat to grab her phone. Just as we pulled onto the on ramp, I realized that I had accidentally remembered to bring something: my car keys. Sarah and I immediately realized that it was 7 miles to the next exit, where we would have to turn around, making both of us very late for work. My parents had another plan. They told us that my Mom was on her way, following us to exit 3. All we had to do was pull off the highway, leave the keys in a phone booth at the Exxon station at exit 3, then continue on our way to Needham. My Mom would be 10 minutes behind and grab the keys when she got there. There was one problem: the Exxon station at exit 3 appeared to no longer exist.

My Dad, knowing that Sarah and I are occasionally clueless behind the wheel, questioned me several times regarding the fact that the Exxon was no longer there. He decided to come up with Plan B:

"Okay, just drive under 93 and you'll see a..."

"Uh, Dad, Sarah just got back on the highway."

"Oh! What the hell?! This is a nightmare!"

At this point, I realized a few things were wrong.

1)My Dad generally doesn't yell.
2)His most common use of the word "hell" is when quoting my grandfather.
3)With his optimistic disposition, he rarely describes any scenario as a "nightmare".

In that one statement, he had broken all of these rules, which meant that not only was I sitting shotgun next to my sister who was mad at me for making her late to work, but I was talking on the phone with my Dad who had temporarily lost his cool with regards to our inability to follow instructions.

We ended up pulling off of exit 2, where I buried my car keys in some grass under a bench in front of the Holiday Inn for my Mom to pick up. Oh, like your family has never done this. Okay, they probably haven't. Thanks to Sarah's stunt driving, we both made it to work on time, my car got fixed, and my Dad was happy again...until I hit him off the top of the head with a water bottle the next day. I suppose a "Head's up!" would have been in order before tossing it to him grenade-style.

Relax

2006-06-26T00:25:00.000-04:00

I just got back from many days of vacation in Maine. It was very nice, thank you. I've only been back in Medford for a few hours, but I have to go to bed now. The Mestee Blogger is not dead or even dying, it's just resting -- so keep checking in.

At the Car Wash, Yeah!

2006-06-13T22:30:00.000-04:00

For those of you who have never visited the do-it-yourself at your local car wash, I highly recommend it. By the looks of it, my car is a enthusiastic host of both pollen and bird poop. In fact, she sports various new designs painted in both aforementioned mediums almost everyday I go out to greet her. I could probably justify washing my car every other day, but money doesn't grow on trees. Actually, even if it did, I still wouldn't go to the car wash every other day.

During my last trip to the car wash, I decided to forego the full-service drive-through wash and clean the car at the do-it-yourself bay. It was about 10 pm, so there was nobody around, which was fine with me -- who needs people around when you don't know what you're doing? Most people might like to have some people around to ask for help, actually, but I prefer to struggle in solitude and figure out things as I go.

I parked my car in the center of the wash station, which had a few hoses and brushes hanging on the surrounding walls. Once you put your $3 in the machine, you have 3 minutes to wash your car. In retrospect, I should have given myself a little mental preparation and figured out what was going on before I put in my money and started the timer. C'est la vie. I pressed the trigger on the main hose attached to the machine. Nothing. I ran over to the hose on the other side of the car and pulled down on the trigger. Again, nothing. At that point I was mad -- was I getting ripped off? I ran back to the machine as the timer continued to click down.

The instructions suggested some sort of soap option, then the Pre-Rinse, followed by the Rinse, then the SuperWash into the Triple Conditioner followed by the No Streak Gloss and the Spotless Finish. How was I supposed to fit this into 3 minutes? I just started pressing buttons, hoping something would work. I pressed the Triple Conditioner and ran over to the hose on the other side of the car. A slow stream of pink goo came out of the cleaner gun thing and I decided that, while encouraging, I would be skipping the Triple Conditioner. I was down to 1:30 on the clock -- hardly enough time to wash a car. I selected the Rinse option, pulled the trigger on the hose and WHHHOOOOSHHHH a stream of high-pressured water came gushing out. I quickly worked my way around the car, trying to beat the clock, but I was too late. Refusing to be entirely defeated and get nothing for $3, I decided to get a proper do-it-yourself carwash for $6. Plus, it is very fun to shoot high-pressured water at your car. I'm sure it's fun to shoot high-pressured water at other things, too, but my car was all I had to work with. I drove away happy that I had conquered the do-it-yourself carwash in only two tries. The next day, some new patterns of bird poop and pollen awaited me atop my car, as if to say "Please go back to the do-it-yourself carwash soon."

The Missing Link

2006-05-29T23:20:00.000-04:00

You know how sometimes your favorite TV series will do a "clip show" to summarize what has happened and let you know that the show is still there without actually giving you any new, original material? Well, this entry is sort of MesteeBlogger's version of a clip show, except I won't be summarizing anything, just giving you a little list of links that you might find entertaining. For those of you at work, I'll try to note which of these features audio...

For the geography nerds amongst you...or for those of you who want to see how unfamiliar you are with the United States. (audio)

Some golf tips. (audio. Outrageously profane audio)

Before you get a tattoo, just think, these people thought it was a good idea at the time, too.

As my co-worker said to me while pointing out this headline "How did this even happen?".

In this woman's defense, who wouldn't react this way?

New Guster video (and audio).

For fellow Lost fans, don't click here unless you're willing to spend hours becoming more addicted.

Finally, a song for all of my office-working comrades.

Bad to the Bone

2006-05-18T01:15:00.000-04:00

The Mestee Readers have spoken...and they're not happy:

Brian,
Your last entry was a bit dissapointing. We, your faithful readers, visit your site to hear from and about you: your profound observations, your karmic happenings, your symmetrical medical history, etc...

Yeti

Not to get too "meta" here, but I'll agree, the Mestee is at its worst when it serves as nothing more than a low-grade news-reporting site. Some, like Yeti, might argue that it is at its best when I tell embarassing tales of personal social misfortune. As a wise man once said: True that, man. True that.

Yesterday, I told my team leader that sometimes I thought we were the Bad News Bears of the client service teams. She looked at me blankly and I knew this wouldn't end well. "What's that?" she asked.

"It's a movie," another team member chimed in. "It's like this baseball team that is really terrible and all of the team members are sort of incompetent and nobody wants to be associated with them."

She turned back to me wondering what I was insinuating.

"Oh, and there coach is a drunken idiot," he added.

"Well, you're not really included in the analogy," I explained, trying to backtrack.

I was really going for the comparison of a rag-tag group of people getting things done, but in an unconventional and sometimes seemingly irresponsible way. I wish I could have thought of that at the time. Instead, I just sat there and pretended that nothing happened.

Was I wrong in assuming that the Bad News Bears is a widely known pop culture reference? I mean, they even had a remake a couple years ago...it can't be that obscure. For now, we'll chalk it up as another unintentional insult.

Blame it on the Rain

2006-05-15T20:48:00.000-04:00

I remember learning in first grade that March goes in like a lion and out like a lamb, while April showers bring May flowers. I think think this year the kids are learning that April showers bring additional May showers, possibly followed by flash flooding and water damage. Not as catchy, I know, but sometimes the truth hurts.

During my lunch break today, I left the office and thought "That's weird, why isn't it raining?". I figure Mother Nature is either trying to encourage me to buy new and more effective windshield wiper blades or convince Liz Cate that maybe moving to Seattle isn't such a great idea. People are swimming in the streets of Massachusetts, but they say that it won't be until early Tuesday morning that the major rivers will overflow.

How Are You?

2006-05-11T19:54:00.000-04:00

Most people carry a host of small greetings in their language arsenal which can be used with almost no preparation. What's up? How's it going? How are you? How are you doing? Not being the most articulate and/or smoothest person around, I occasionally have difficulty firing these out without mixing something up. "But Brian," you say "things like this are second nature for most adults." True, but I think I've presented a pretty consistent showcase on this very website which would indicate that I do not have the ability to act like most adults.

I was at Jack's apartment in NH a few weeks ago when I decided to make a trip to the convenience store connected to his building. I walked outside and fell in stride just a few feet behind a guy who had just parked his car and was also walking to the store. He walked ahead of me for a few seconds before he quickly whipped his neck around and said "How's it going, man?". Caught off guard, I searched for words. They were the wrong ones: "Hey, how you going?". You're embarassed for me, aren't you?

My sister is always entertained with the "What's up?" "Pretty good" "How are you?" "Nothing much" exchange. Sadly, I've been on the wrong end of that one, too.

Yesterday, my boss was talking to some people near my desk. When he was leaving to go back to his desk, he gave me a little "How are you, Brian?". Pretty straight forward, right? I mean, I don't have any learning disabilities or anything. Of all the questions someone could ask me, this reply should be pretty automatic, right? Wrong. "Good, how's it doing?" Luckily, I don't think he was really paying attention to my response, as he just continued walking. Either that, or he was walking directly to my personnel file to make sure the official records stated that I was a Class A Jackass. I'm only 27, so I'm sure my social and language skills are bound to develop sometime soon. Until then, I'll keep writing and telling you all about how they haven't.

Next Stop...

2006-05-09T21:00:00.000-04:00

Mestee,
Evidently, Yeti's job terrorizing mountain-dwelling Asians doesn't keep him busy enough. He has posted 3 bulletins in this thread alone notifying us of his OCD-inspired glee regarding the symmetry of the poll. Of course, had our self-trained podiatrist host posted a new entry sometime in the past two weeks, perhaps we might have been spared this repetition.

-Tobe L. Rhone

Mr. Rhone,
I agree, I've been a bad blogger. Yes, some ridiculous comments may have been prevented by a new entry here and there. While Yeti has been busy trying to keep the Blog Poll symmetrical, I've been doing the same with my medical records. My last four visits to the doctor's office have been for the following:

1) Infected Toe (Left)
2) Spider bite (Right Shin)
3) Spider Bite (Left Shin)
4) Infected Toe (Right)

If Yeti had his way with my medical records, he probably would have reversed the left shin spider bite with the right shin spider bite, but I think I'm doing a pretty good job of keeping things balanced as it stands.

-Brian

I haven't done too much since I last checked in here...went to see Cake and Matt Pond PA with Liz at MIT, took a few trips to the B-Side Lounge, saw the Two Man Gentlemen Band at a very crowded bar in Somerville, played some golf, hung out with Irf...those are the only noteworthy things of the last few weeks. Alright, it's getting late and I have some Ralph Surprise to prepare. I'll be back.

This Little Piggy Got Gangrene

2006-04-25T23:27:00.000-04:00

Beware -- this entry is not for the faint of heart. If you are not in the mood to read about my gross ingrown toenail and the things I've done to it, I suggest you stop reading here. For those of you who are still reading, I can't believe I got even one person to read about this. Here we go. A few years back, I developed an ingrown toenail that got worse and worse as I could not get a doctor to treat me without insurance. I was warned at that time that this would happen to my other toe also...it was only a matter of time. Well, now is the time. A few years later, I'm a little more savvy, a little more prepared for the symptoms and knowing what can stop it once it gets started. I noticed it was getting worse yesterday, so I decided that a little personal emegency surgery was in order. Have you ever tried to trim your toenail from the side? Not a pleasant experience. In fact, it had me screaming like a little girl when the doctor had to do it a few years ago. My tolerance for pain is significantly higher when it's self-inflicted, so I wasn't too worried about my little procedure. I dug the clippers as far under the side of the nail as I could and -- snap! -- off came the corner of the nail. Unfortunately, there was a good amount of blood that followed (Can you believe you're still reading this? I can't.) and then I remembered that my day to day life required me to walk on occasion, which was a little less pleasant with a little less toenail. For the true massochists amongst you, I have a picture of the toe, post personal emergency surgery. Here you go.

Lady Fanny of Omaha

2006-04-24T21:18:00.000-04:00

As you may have noticed, the holiday poll ended (in timely fashion) and the new poll is up. Unfortunately, John Stamos is leading so far, which means that I'll have to start working on ways to figure out his AIM screen name.

As an adult male, there are several things you can do to guarantee that you look like a jackass at almost any given time. Today, I witnessed two of them first hand:

I was filling up my car at the gas station when I noticed the guy at the next pump, approximately in his mid 30's, sporting a fanny pack. A fanny pack. I had actually forgotten about these things for a while until today's sighting. I actually made one of them in my home economics class in junior high. Sewing was not my strong suit, but I managed to finish it with a satisfactory level of quality, only to be tossed in the closet next to the crappy blue ash tray I made in art class and the giant crooked clock I put together for Industrial Arts class. If nothing else, junior high allowed me to see just how many things I had no talent for. I digress. The guy was wearing the fanny pack in the front which, while contrary to the name, became the popular way to wear said item. If you have any dignity, you will avoid "bringin' back the pack" as the fanny pack revolutionaries have been known to chant.

Item number two. Two words: Blue Tooth. Yes, blue tooth has developed a cool and useful technology which allows users to connect to their cell phone wirelessly. However, Blue Tooth has also developed and ear piece to go along with this technology which many guys have taken to wearing, um, at all times. Okay, if you're in the car, I can see how it would be nice (and safer) to not hold the cell phone up to your ear. However, this does not mean that the device must be worn at all times. Today, I saw a guy wearing one at the urinal. If it didn't violating his personal space mid-urination, I would have slapped him. I'm not always quick to embrace technology, but I have a very hard time picturing myself ever wearing one of those things. I still can't get myself to take my cell phone off silent mode in public. Anyway, bottom line: headset = jackass. I've probably just offended a bunch of you, but I don't have time for revision.

Stamos, I'm comin' to getcha.

Three Strikes

2006-04-18T21:35:00.000-04:00

You know, when I worked downtown, it was easier to come up with material for the blog. This is mostly because I took public transportation, which automatically leads to many more "run-ins" than driving my car to work, as I do now. Yesterday, I was about to pull into a parking space in the already crowded parking lot, when I noticed that something was blocking my path to the spot: a giant turkey. I kept driving and found another spot, but when I looked back I couldn't see the turkey. Had I imagined it? Okay, I definitely just saw a giant wild turkey, right? I had to go back to investigate, at which point I discovered that there was, in fact, a giant turkey roaming the parking lot. Clearly this was a sign that I had to return to the blog.

I had the day off on Friday, so I got together with Jacko and went golfing at "The Rock", a budget golf course near his apartment. Later on we decided to get pizza. Jack drove, so I was in charge of holding the pizza. As I ducked into the car, trying to keep the pizzas flat, I took an awkward lunge into the car, at which point the half dollar-sized hole that was already present at the corner of my back pocket became a hole akin to the size of a personal pan pizza. Later on, we met up with Brendan and Sheri at a bar in "downtown" Newmarket. It was brightly lit and there were only about five other people in the bar, so it seemed more like drinking beers in someone's living room, but we still had fun.

On Saturday night, we had a family gathering at my Aunt's house. After dinner, we played a game called Shout About TV, where I got to show my immediate family just how big of a pop culture nerd I really am. It's sort of embarrassing. I wish my brain was able to absorb useful knowledge as well as it seems to absorb useless facts.

I got to sleep in on Sunday and in the afternoon the fam headed to the Mammoth Greens driving range for a little Easter event that I unofficially named "Whacking Golf Balls for Jesus". I think Jesus would have been an excellent golfer, if for no reason other than rendering the water hazards obsolete.

Mind the Gap

2006-04-17T22:27:00.000-04:00

Brian,
The gap between entries is getting a bit ridiculous, don't you think?

-Yeti

Agreed. However, I worked from 9 AM to 9 PM today, so I think I'm going to shut my brain off for a few hours before I go back to work. Don't worry, the Mestee will return.

Wedding the Bed

2006-04-06T19:22:00.000-04:00

I've been back from Florida for just a few days and my racoon-eye sunglass tan is already starting to fade. I'm glad to say that I got the aforementioned tan while participating in my very first golf tournament -- of which I was the winner. Okay, so I had three other guys on my team...but we came in first out of 5 foursomes. First out of five foursomes. What a fantastic tongue twister. I digress. In the format we were playing, I ended up scoring a good amount of points for our team -- potentially due to my overestimated handicap. I'm sure this is all very exciting for you.

The weekend was packed with wedding-related events, all of which featured an open bar, which seemed to please most of the guests. On Saturday, I faced a dangerous combination: Open bar followed by Karaoke. Luckily, I stuck to eating sushi and avoided the stage, despite my Dad's attempts to get me to accompany him and my uncle on "Devil with a Blue Dress"-- a Ray Adams karaoke favorite.

On Sunday, we went to the actual wedding. I was most entertained by this announcer guy they had who seemed to pop up everywhere, loudly providing announcements to the crowd with the booming voice of a ringside boxing announcer with regards to where to go and how to behave "Rose petals are to be thrown upon the bride and groom's arrival! Underhand!" or "Wave to the limousine! Look excited for the videographer!". A written description cannot do this guy justice. I want to hire him for something, I just don't know what. I wonder if he'll still be alive by the time I get married. He's got to be at least 40 already. After the wedding, we went to a place called Jelly Rolls, which is basically like Jake Ivory's in Boston. At the end of the night, the people in the wedding party who hadn't bailed yet -- including my sister, uncle, cousin, and a few friends of the bride -- were invited on stage to do the hokey pokey for a capacity crowd. I'm not sure of the last time I did the hokey pokey, but I'm sure I put it to shame with the stellar rendition I unleashed on the crowd this past Sunday. At closing time bunch of people went back to hang out at my aunt and uncle's suite. By the time Sarah and I went to get a cab back to our hotel, we found ourselves waiting next to people who were getting up to catch their early flights home. We got in the cab and driver greeted us. "Good Morning!"

I know this is a pretty short entry considering my length of absence, but I've got a bunch of random errands to run and chores to do. I'll talk to you later.

Nobody Beats the Wiz!

2006-03-30T21:38:00.000-05:00

Mestee No Postee

2006-03-29T21:22:00.000-05:00

Yeah, so it's been a few days...and it will be a few more. I'm going to Florida on Friday for my cousin's wedding, so I most likely won't be posting too much in the near future. Adios amigos.

Get the Led Out

2006-03-27T20:23:00.000-05:00

There was unexpected chaos at the grocery store this evening. Maybe that's misleading. There were no particularly chaotic events going on, just a ton of people. I pulled up next to a car in the parking lot with a woman in her 60's sitting in the driver's seat. Her window was down, and when I got out of my car, I could hear opening strains of Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir" pumping loudly from her stereo. This seemed like so unlikely a situation that I stood there like an idiot for a few seconds, making sure that I wasn't going crazy. Um, there's no real punch line here, just an old woman listening to Zeppelin at a surprisingly high volume.

Well, as I had hesitantly predicted, Hufton's "Dumpus from My Rumpus" NCAA bracket has won our Five American Dollars tournament pool. Steve's "Enter the Stove" was the first to lose his champion, but still managed to edge out Irf, who came in last. Waah Waaaaah.

Have you seen the Millenium Park in Chicago? It looks pretty cool, featuring several of these giant reflective orb-type things. Another good reason for me to visit Chicago at some point...

I'm wondering if they were inspired by the ship in Flight of the Navigator...

LSU Drops Dukies

2006-03-23T21:49:00.000-05:00

LSU 62, Duke 54. Big Baby it is. It kind of ruins my bracket, since I had Duke going to the finals, but I was actually rooting for LSU during the game. Brendan "Black Rage" Fernald is in second place behind me now, though he is pretty much effed unless Connecticut wins it all, since he has lost two of his Final 4 already. For those of you not familiar with the Yahoo! NCAA format, it involves coming up with a name for your bracket. Brendan decided on "Black Rage", mocking the video game alter-ego of our former shared roommate, Mike. Brendan was not pleased when he realized that this name carried into all Yahoo brackets, one of which he is entered with several fellow law students who are, in fact, black. If they weren't full of rage before, they will be when they see Fernald's bracket name. I still think Hufton's "Dumpus from My Rumpus" bracket is the dark horse to win it all.

Where's Randy Newman?

2006-03-23T18:41:00.000-05:00

There was a new woman at work today. She is very short. So short, in fact, that I was wondering for much of the day whether she was a midget or just a short person. As I stood next to her, I estimated that I was over a foot taller than the new lady, putting her at about 4 foot 8. It brought to mind the time that Jack worked for IBM one summer after high school. He worked with a girl that was well over 6 feet tall, whom he referred to as "The Giantess". It brought a smile to my face just imagining "The Giantess" working side by side with the new lady at my office and all of the visual hilarity that would surely occur.

Right now, I'm going to watch Big Baby Davis take on Sheldon Williams. I'm usually a Duke fan, but I've found myself sort of rooting against them as of late. I saw Big Baby sort of poking fun at Duke at a press conference, saying that "you know a Dukie when you see one...and I'm just not a Dukie kind of guy". I knew what he meant, but then they cut to J.J. Reddick, completely straight-faced, saying "I don't know what he's talking about. We don't call each other Dukies and I've never heard anyone else call us that". I think he was sort of missing the point. I feel like the LSU team are the Red Sox Idiots to Duke's no-nonsense Yankees. True, I did not mention Bronson "Dirty Water" Arroyo being traded the other night. I was sort of indifferent to him as a player. I will note, however, that his trade counterpart, Wily "One L" Mo Pena hit a home run in his first Red Sox appearance last night. I've got to get going so Ralph Surprise will be ready to eat by gametime. I'm out.

In case you were wondering, both pictures are real. The tall woman in the dress is 7 foot 4 and the Asian woman above is 7 foot 9. See? Hilarious!

Johnny, Adam, and George

2006-03-21T19:39:00.001-05:00

Today, on drive home from work, two things on the radio actually made me respond with a grunt/yell of disgust. I typically am not interested in the off-season dealings of even my most favorite sports teams. I don't get excited over rumors about off-season acquisitions until the deals actually happen. Debate over salary caps and who is making how much for what just tends to bore me. Just show me who we've got on the first day of the season and I'll deal with it then. When I go to a concert, I am not worried abou how much the band is making or debating over whether they should have been paid less or held out for more...and the same goes with professional athletes.

I understand that professional sports are a business and try not to get too disappointed when teams let go of players I like. I was a little bummed, however, when I heard a few days ago that the Patriots were getting rid of David Givens and Willie McGinest. Today, I really broke character when I shouted "Oh no!" all by myself in the car upon hearing that 1) Adam Vinatieri would no longer be playing for New England and 2) He will now be kicking for the Indianapolis Colts. Ouch. I think that might be worse than Johnny Damon playing for the Yankees. Actually, that's a tough one. I think Vinatieri will be more difficult to replace than Damon, though.

Later, I was listening to a news report on the radio, which featured Dubya speaking at a press conference. Faced with record-low approval ratings, he seems to be insisting that what he's doing is not only right, but what he had intended to do all along. On the radio, they played the clip of him saying "The terrorists still want to harm us. They have chosen Iraq as the battleground, so that's where we will fight them." This was where my second unintentional yell occured.

Is Bush trying to say that the terrorists were all just hanging out in Iraq when we showed up to seek out the Weapons of Mass Destruction? (Remember those? The "reason we went to war"?) As if, upon the hypothetical arrival of 100,000 US troops in Syria or Iran or Saudi Arabia, groups of al-qaeda fighters and Bin Laden supporters would still have gathered themselves in Iraq, ignoring the presence of U.S. soldiers elsewhere. Exluding groups of Saddam loyalists, the U.S. opposition is in Iraq because we are. First we were in Iraq to get the WMD's that posed a direct threat to the US, then we were there to give freedom to the people of Iraq, now we're there because the terrorists are there. You can't just revise your motives as they become convenient to you, but our president seems to do just that. I've kept MesteeBlogger relatively apolitical, but I can only take so much before I feel the need to rant every so often. Thanks for bearing with me.

Cabinet Sauvignon

2006-03-16T00:58:00.000-05:00

We have what is referred to as a "clean desk" policy at work. It basically means that at the end of the day, anything on your desk containing personal client information needs to be stored in a locked file cabinet or shredded. Unfortunately, I never had a file cabinet at my desk. Last week, there was an email sent out saying that a few people were leaving this office and their file cabinets were up for grabs. I got myself a dolly and carted one of the cabinets across the office and parked it under my desk. I didn't put anything in it. The next day, I go to open my cabinet, but it's locked and my key is missing. There's a note:

Brian-

You left your cabinet unlocked. Come see me to get your key.

-Ken

Hmmm. It's a shame I left my EMPTY file cabinet unlocked. Who knows what could have been taken. Oh, actually, I'd say nothing. I got my key back and this time I remembered to keep it seperate from the cabinet. Unfortunately, I forgot to lock it. The next day, my entire file cabinet was missing. Apparently it was carted off to be stored in a secure room. I wish that they had noted that nothing was inside. With my cabinet still taken hostage, I had no place to put my benefits info that I had collected at the "new hires" meeting that day. I left my forms on my desk and the next day, as I should have guessed, they were gone. I decided it was time to go on a hunt through the office for my file cabinet. I found it, but there was no sign of a key. I decided it was pointless to cart it out to my desk again, figuring it would just be dragged back here for being unlocked. I finally got my benefits info back from one of the late-night customer service guys. "You gotta keep this stuff locked up," he told me. It was then that my head exploded from irony overload.

To Build in Swahili

2006-03-12T18:31:00.000-05:00

Only two posts last week. Sorry. You get what you pay for, which in your case is absolutely nothing.

Yesterday, I headed over to Charlestown to visit Irf, who was at his brother's place. Irf, Imran, and I watched the ACC semi-finals and then took a few beers down to the game room, which is sort of a community rec center on the first floor of Imran's condo complex. Our collective performance on the billiard table was poor, but kept us entertained nonetheless. Once we had played enough pool, we thought we'd call it a night...until we found Jenga amongst the boardgames on hand. For those of you who are not "in the know", the objective is to remove a block from the tower and place it on top of the tower without knocking over the stack of blocks. Hasbro, the company that makes it, touts it as "suspenseful, tension filled and captivating fun", and I think even Osama would agree. It probably would have been weird to see three guys sitting around a table, intensely staring at a tower of wooden blocks, but that's what was happening on Saturday night. I won the first game by being the last one to remove a block before Irf toppled the tower, but the second game turned out to be much more intense. Irf jumped away from the table and did at least three victory dances during the course of the game. It was Imran who proved victorious, though. You know, I think that the most boring thing I've ever written on Mestee Blogger was our poker night recaps, and this just reminded me of that.

After leaving the condo, I went to a party at my sister's apartment. Playing Jenga at 9:30 PM, sipping vodka lemonade with an umbrella straw while wearing a flower lei at 10:30 PM. It was a harsh transition. I experienced "world's colliding" to a certain extent, as my roommates are friends with the boyfriend of my sisters roommate. Follow? That's okay. In short, guests at this party included past and former roommates and also my second cousin from Vermont, thrown in for good measure. We had a good time and I left shortly after the cops showed up.

Other comments are welcome, as always, but I'd be interested to hear feedback as to what you think of as the worst/most boring topic I've ever written about. Don't be shy, I'm bulletproof.

Big Mouth, Little Mouth

2006-03-07T20:52:00.000-05:00

I had an appointment with the dentist yesterday, which was good timing since yesterday was also when my benefits went into effect. An attractive young dental assistant greeted me at the front desk...

AYDA: Brian?
Me: Yes.
AYDA: I'll be cleaning your teeth today and I'll be with you in just a minute.

Hmm. The natural urge to look attractive to people of the same age and opposite sex sort of becomes impossible once you realize they'll be scraping the plaque off of your teeth within moments of meeting you. I sat down in the chair and she informed me that I was due to get x-rays taken. I watched her struggle to put the little x-ray things in my mouth as I opened as wide as I could. I think she was confused to watch me put what seemed to be a lot of effort into barely opening my mouth.

AYDA: Wow, you have a really little mouth.
Me: I know, I know...small mouth. I'm sorry.
AYDA: Do you have a really hard time flossing?
Me: Uh, not too bad.
AYDA: How can your hands fit?
Me: Um, I don't know.
AYDA: That must be really tough.
Me: Well, it's always been like this.

Oh Hippopotamus, how you mock me.

Mice Pace

2006-03-05T10:37:00.000-05:00

I think my Mom was kind of upset at my self-diagnosis of Social Anxiety Disorder last week. To make it up to her, I'll have to dedicate a future entry to the topic of her choice, which may be entitled "I Am Very Handsome and I Don't See Why a Nice Girl Wouldn't Go Out With Me". We talked on the phone on Saturday and she mentioned how I should be personable at work and not just be the creepy loner that nobody knows. I thought it may have been by chance that she mentioned it, and I was going to tell her about my entry that day, then I realized that it was too great a coincidence.

“You must have read the blog today, Mom.”

“Yes...”

“Oh, you hated it, didn’t you?! Haha…”

At that point we had a debate in which I was forced to take the side of me being afflicted with Social Anxiety Disorder until finally I mentioned that I was sort of kidding and my Mom sort of believed me. Let's move on to the real topic of the day...

Much like most unsigned musicians and 8^th grade students in America, I have a My Space account. I am an infrequent user and only check in on my page every so often, just to see if…well, I’m not even sure what I think could have happened, but I check anyway. Yesterday, not one or two but three things happened. Listed in order of my lowest to highest level of disbelief:

1. I don’t have many friends on MySpace, so I was a little excited when I saw a highlighted message reading “New Friend Requests!”. My friends now include my cousin Katie, my cousin Katie’s friend, and…The Whittemore Center Arena! That’s right; UNH has a new MySpace profile for their sports facility (pictured above). I guess it’s less cheesy than if they tried to personify it and send all of the alumni a friend request from Willy Whittemore Center or something like that. Regardless, I couldn’t resist counting the Whittemore Center Arena amongst my friends.

2. I was surprised enough that I got a friend request, but my profile management page also indicated that I had two messages waiting for me. One of them was from someone named Melissa. “Is this Brian Adams? If it is, this is Dyson...... If this is Brian, e-mail me back. I hope you are doing well.” Missy Dyson back in full effect…go figure. She’s married and she lives in Florida.

3. I had issued a somewhat jocular challenge on my homepage for someone to show me their profile photo in which they are asleep, as I am. After months and months, one person out of the millions and millions of MySpace users finally responded to the challenge. His name? Adam. His location? Somerville, MA. The first friend listed on his page? Collin Nordman.

A S.A.D Situation

2006-03-03T00:08:00.000-05:00

I heard an ad on the radio the other day and almost had to pull the car over. "Do you have social anxiety disorder? You may have social anxiety disorder if"...and then they went on to list many things that accurately described me. I was curious, so I went on to investigate. What are some symptoms?

Fear of a situation in which you have to meet new people or you may be scrutinized by others. What if it's only five days a week?

Some people with social anxiety disorder are afraid of public speaking. Ooh...I totally am -- and I feel really different when I'm speaking in public. It's tough to describe.

You may feel anxious about giving a speech. Did anybody see me before giving Jack's wedding toast? Um, yeah.

The anxiety-provoking social situation causes physical symptoms like blushing, sweating, shaking, trembling, tense muscles, shaky voice, dry mouth or a pounding heart. I'd say that's a pretty accurate summary of any public speaking I've ever done.

The verdict is in: I have Social Anxiety Disorder. Stop looking at me.

Enough of that, let's answer something from the virtual mailbox...

Mestee,
I am quite tired of reading profiles of people with whom I am quite well acquinted. I would quite like it if you would introduce someone quite new to your readers. A Colin Nordman perhaps?

Regrettfully,
Andy Bean & Wife

P.S. Shoot the gap.

Bean & Wife,

I've just explained that I am a potential sufferer of Social Anxiety Disorder, and now you want me to make new friends?!? Have some courtesy. Besides, did you ever know that Irfan would rather be a professional mascot than a professional goalkeeper, or that Brendan's favorite MarioKart weapon -- other than bananas -- is backwards green shells? Surely this information is new to you and your bride alike. I think my objective to bring you compelling news about people you already know has been properly achieved.

Truly Yours,
Brian

Have a good weekend. I'm out.

Get to Know a Mestee Reader, Part 2: Irfan Rizvi

2006-03-01T01:02:00.000-05:00

In this week's installment of GTKAMR, I had a chat with one of the most active Mestee Blogger commentators to see what he is all about.

MB: If you were 7 feet tall, with your current basketball skills, could you make an NBA roster?
Irfan: That's a good question. I would have to say that I would not be able to make an NBA roster becaue the NBA has a clause that they don't allow Indians to play in the league.
MB: Oooh. A cop out. And if they dismissed the no Indian clause?
Irfan: Well, I guess I would like to think I could make it, but I would be more out of the Walter McCarty mold than the LeBron James mold. Meaning, I'd be a bit of a 7' stiff.
MB: You have a well known penchant for mascots and a love for soccer. If you could be a professional soccer goalkeeper for the team of your choice OR be a mascot of your choice -- same salary -- which would it be?
Irfan: Damn, that's a really good question.
MB: I know.
Irfan: I guess I would choose being a mascot due in large part to the fact that you can act like a goofball and get paid. Besides, one would think that a mascot would have a far more interesting 'uniform.' Also, there is no pressure in being a mascot. Being a goalkeeper is inextricably linked with pressure.
MB: True. Who has a bigger head, you or Brendan?
Irfan: I think Brendan might have a slightly bigger noggin than me....al¬though that clearly does not translate into extra brain matter. Zing!
MB: Set and spike. You seem to enjoy public nudity. Do you think you could ever live in a nudist colony?
Irfan: Although this does not directly answer your question, I do enjoy public nudity because it makes people feel uncomfortable. I enjoy making people feel that way from time to time. I think the only way I would join a nudist colony is if all the other colonists were 18-27 year old females who have had at least two same-sex experiences. Oh, the colony would also have to have a professional team so that I could be their mascot. Although one has to wonder what a nudist colony's mascot would be? Hmmmm...
MB: You DO know my Mom reads this, correct?
Irfan: I think it’s a prerequisite that I be truthful. Edit if you must. Besides, you're the one who asked about my nudity.
MB: Hey, I'm just saying. Back to business. Hufton calls you "The Man of 1000 Voices". Have you been approached for any voice-over work?
Irfan: I have never been approached to perform any specific voices for monetary compensation. However, my friends and family often delight in my repertoire and so I usually indulge them.
MB: True or False -- All of your dreams would be realized if you were approached to voice a character on SpongeBob Squarepants.
Irfan: False. Some of my dreams would be realized...namely getting paid (handsomely, one would assume) to participate in one of my favorite cartoons. But, not all of my dreams would be realized, as I do have other aspirations...
MB: I actually think all of MY dreams would be realized if that happened.
Irfan: That's great. However, would your dreams be realized if they gave you a non-major part?
MB: Hey, who's interviewing who here? Know your role.
Irfan: For example, one of the many patrons at the Crusty Crab?
MB: Dream partially realized. Next question...What lengths would you go to for World Cup tickets?
Irfan: Well that's a tough question to answer if I have nothing to gauge it against. I'm not afraid of public nud¬ity...so ask me to stand in Trafalgar Square with my birthday suit on with the promise of seeing Brazil play Argentina and I would gladly accept.
MB: Fascinating.
Irfan: Ask me to make out with (older brother) Imran...and I would have to think about it
MB: Understandable. Have you gotten your sweaty hands under control?
Irfan: I'm going to defer to Julia on this one as she might be able to provide a more objective response...take it away Deuce.
Julia #2: No he hasn't, Irfan's extremities are still perspiring, especially when he fantasizes about joining nudist colonies. By the way, has he ever mentioned anything about that to you? There was that one incident in Croatia...
MB: Yeah, I got the postcard.
Julia #2: But seriously, they perspire often and without warning…even when it's cold out! A freak of nature, certainly.
MB: Youch. Okay Irf, you're stranded alone on an island for life. You've got one book, one album, and one picture of someone unrelated (don't know them) to you that you can bring. Name them.
Irfan: The book: "The Boy Scouts' Survival Guide".
MB: Genius.
Irfan: The album: Zeppelin IV. Picture: Sigmund Freud...that way I could have him as my personal therapist during my isolation.
MB: Well done. If you were paid $1 Million, what is the maximum number of seasons you could go without watching a Red Sox game until the money was no longer worth it?
Irfan: I would get $1 million a season?
MB: No. One lump sum.
Irfan: I'm not going to say I wouldn't do it. Of course I would take $1 million to not watch the Red Sox. I'm sure I could occupy myself for the money I've made not watching them. I would have to say ten years. At that point, natural curiosity would resurface and I'd be bored of the lifestyle I enjoyed the previous decade.
MB: So if you were paid $1 million to stop watching them forever, you couldn't/wouldn't do it?
Irfan: Well is it an either/or situation? I either take the million dollars and never watch them again, or do I just have to step away until the money is used?
MB: Let's say it's either/or.
Irfan: Man, I would be hard-pressed to never watch the Red Sox again...but I guess I would sell-out and take the money.
MB: Don't worry, I would too. Finally, what's your favorite weapon to use in MarioKart?
Irfan: Upside-down question marks...no doubt. I get sick satisfaction knowing that the person who just stumbled upon it thought they were going to get something great, and instead they bit it instead.
MB: Ooh. Good one.
Irfan: Unlike other items (e.g. banana peels) the player actively seeks out the upside-down question mark, only to curse in its aftermath.
MB: You're thinking about Brendan right now, aren't you?
Irfan: Who else would I be thinking about? I've never known an individual who is the focal point of so much collective angst when it comes to MarioKart as much as Brendan is. I know you feel me.
MB: Word. Thanks for the interview.

If anybody is interested in contacting Irfan, he’ll be naked on an island with World Cup tickets, The Boy Scout Survival Guide, and no idea how the Red Sox are doing.

You Put a Spell on Me

2006-02-26T10:18:00.000-05:00

"In a pathetic fashio, 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."

You guys let me leave "fashio" up there for days? Did you think I was throwing a new word at you? Don't worry, I fixed it. I need better proof readers.

They Rally 'Round the Mestee...with a Pocket Full of Mail

2006-02-23T20:11:00.000-05:00

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.

Get to Know a Mestee Reader, Part 1: Brendan Fernald

2006-02-22T08:10:00.000-05:00

Recently, MesteeBlogger sat down with Brendan Fernald for the first installment of a new feature called "Get to Know a Mestee Reader".

MB: True or False: You are the best waterskier of all time.
BF: False, Allan (Fernald, his father) with the comb-over takes the cake.
MB: I see. You may not be the best waterskier of all time, but are you the most fashionable?
BF: No, again, my Dad has matched not only his bathing suit to his ski jacket but also the whole ensemble to the color scheme of the boat. That's impressive.
MB: It's in the genes, isn't it?
BF: It is, I came out of the womb knowing how to tie a full windsor knot and I couldn't even feed myself
MB: How many pairs of shoes do you own?
BF: Oooh, should I go count?
MB: If you want.
(Leaves to count his shoes)
BF: Twenty-three.
MB: And Jackets?
BF: Couldn't ask that at the same time?
MB: I suppose I could have.
(Gets up again to count jackets)
BF: Twenty.
MB: Why?
BF: I like killing small and large animals such as cows for the leather or moles for my moleskin jacket.
MB: Fair enough.
BF: And I like to coordinate the entire outfit, if you need a real answer.
MB: No need. You have agreed to boast about your inside the park homerun (this November in Law School Softball League) on only three occasions in the future. Have you used any of your chances yet? This is not a trick question, and does not count towards the three.
BF: Absolutely not, those three need to last me thru my mid-life crisis. I've had other stories to use in lieu of that, such as the cell phone story.
MB: So true. Moving along, what is your favorite nickname for yourself -- Pookitz, Poolcats, or Boner, and why?
BF: Poolcats, because nobody can figure out why.
MB: What's your favorite weapon to use in MarioKart other than bananas?
BF: Backwards green shell.
MB: Ah, a fine choice.
BF: It's all about the strategery.
MB: Which brings us to another topic: You're a Republican. Explain yourself.
BF: I'm a registered Republican and I do not vote along party lines. I do so in order to filter my vote for primaries. I'm fiscally conservative, yet I consider myself socially liberal so I face quite a conundrum. I guess I just prefer to be a well hung elephant than an ass.
MB: Better screen name: Fernaldo1 or Ebola5?
BF: Ebola5 easily because it's so absurd. I mean, who has that progressive of a disease and still has the wherewithall to get to aol to sign up for a sweet screenname?
MB: Nice use of "wherewithall". Lastly, what gives your signature hamburgers their delicious flavor?
BF: Worcestershire and garlic.
MB: A stroke of genius. There you have it, folks. Brendan likes Elephants, dead cows, Ebola, and appreciates a well-coordinated waterskiing outfit as much as a well-placed green turtle shell. Join us next time when we Get to Know a Mestee Reader.

I'm Looking at the Man in the Mirror

2006-02-21T00:57:00.000-05:00

I have to go to bed, so I'll be brief.

As someone once said, "Your friends are a reflection of you". Well, I'm not quoting anyone in particular, but surely someone has said that before. For example: I love to argue. It's not that I enjoy the actual act of arguing, but when I know that something is right, I cannot rest until all parties present are accepting of that fact. My style of arguing drove my sister crazy for -- well, it probably still drives her crazy -- and once made Jack, a typically passive person, violently slap the dashboard of his car as we debated a long forgotten topic during a road trip. Just to ensure driving myself crazy, I've managed to find a handful of other people that like nothing else than to prove their point by any means. Recently, Brendan and I were trying to convince Irfan to join the fantasy baseball league in the spring. It took only three emails back and forth until we reached this:

Brendan-
Your analogy has drawback. Say the individual in question does
like chocolate chip cookies, but does not like brownies...or more
clearly, enjoys watching the Red Sox, but does not enjoy fantasy
baseball precisely because of its flavor (e.g. antitheitcal to the
team sport concept, etc). At that point, it would be conterproductive
to force feed that individual brownies or fantasy baseball.

-Irfan

I have gotten what I deserve.

Identity Crisis

2006-02-16T19:54:00.000-05:00

I will offer you some letters in edited form, as they are a bit lengthy (and suspiciously similar in style).

Brian,
If you continue to post drivel about how you think your karmic circle is complete because you got into an inconsequential fender-bender, or that you really enjoy wearing jeans to work on Friday, I will be forced to withdraw my subscription from your site...Furthermore, if you do not continue to honor our request to remain anonymously in character, we will inundate your little cyberspace soapbox with vile soliloquies of Mestee defamation.

Mrs. Guy

Mrs. Guy,
I'm afraid your threat holds little power because, as you have witnessed, I am able to block the IP addresses of evil doers. In addition to blocking your IP address, I will mail you one piece of the guy at a time until you stop, sort of like the baby toe of the German woman in Big Lebowski, but with pumpkin-man parts instead (not to be confused with Pumpkin man-parts). As for your complaints of boring posts, I make no claims that my life is exciting in any way. In fact, you may remember one of the tag-lines for the site "Banality at its Finest".

-Brian

Brian,
When applied properly, I find the saying "It is what it is," to be a wonderfully poignant statement. For example, in my job I work with students who come to the United States for various cultures. These students come from cultures in which haggling is not only accepted, it's expected. Consequently, some students have a difficult time integrating into American life precisely because they are used to constantly negotiating about all aspects of their life. My rationale often in dealing with them (Spiro would appreciate this if he's still part of the Mesteeblogger readership) is to employ the very phrase which appears to anger you. I try to tell them that this is what they signed up for, and it's all laid out beforehand. Essentially, it is what it is.

Irfan

Irfan,

I must say, you've put forth a nice argument which I think is completely valid. Perhaps I shouldn't have bad-mouthed the saying entirely, as it seems appropriate in the instance that you've put forth. However, I stand by the fact that it is not an appropriate answer to the questions of either "Don't you think it's dangerous to drive with your baby on your lap?" or "How did it come about that Vice President Cheney shot that man in the face with a shotgun?".

-Brian

Dios mio, man. I know I haven't written much, but I've been at the computer for way too long. Enjoy your Friday.

My Foreign Valentine

2006-02-14T20:02:00.000-05:00

"It is what it is." -Britney Spears, in a statement to the press last week, regarding the incident of being spotted driving with her baby on her lap.

"It is what it is." White House Press Secretary, Scott McLellan, commenting on Dick Cheney's little hunting mishap, during which he shot his friend in the face.

I probably wouldn't have even noticed Scott McLellan saying that had I not heard the quote from Britney Spears last week, specifically noting to myself what a ridiculous non-answer that is. If I were a reporter and someone told me "It is what it is", I would probably ask them why they were even bothering to waste their breath saying something that means nothing. For a complete transcript of the press conference held at the White House today, click here. I'm surprised Scott McLellan didn't just resign at the end of it.

For those who hadn't heard, on Saturday night, I became the one millionth person to leave their cell phone in a cab on the way home from a bar. I actually didn't even realize it until Monday morning, when I wanted to call my parents to work out some logistics for dinner that night. I wasn't too worried about it. I mean, it sucks, but it's not as bad as losing a wallet. On last night, I got these emails from Brendan:

"Hey, Abdul has your phone."

Followed by:

"Seriously, the cab driver from 2 nights ago has your phone.....his number is 781-244-**** and his name is Abdul".

And Finally:

"No joke, Brian's cab driver from the other night just called me and wants to give Brian his cell phone back... now why can't I run into a nice cabbie like Abdul?"

I called Abdul from the phone in the kitchen at work today.

Me: Hi, Abdul?
Abdul: Yes!
Me: Hi, this is Brian. I think you have my cell phone?
Abdul: Okay! Where are you?
Me: Well, I'm at work. Where do you want me to meet you?
Abdul: Where you want to meet?
Me: How about Davis Square, where you picked me up?
Abdul: You are in Davis Square? How come I cannot see you?
Me: No, I'm not in...
Abdul: Are you in Cambridge?
Me: No, I'm in none of those places, but...
Abdul: Call me tonight. 5:30.

Our misunderstandings in that conversation, coupled with what I recall of Abdul's poor knowledge of the area, lead me to believe that a rendezvous might be complicated.

I showed up at Davis around 5:45 and gave Abdul a call from the payphone at the bus stop. He told me that he was at the CambridgeSide Galleria and he would be in Davis within 15 minutes. This seemed like a very ambitious time estimate, but whatever, as long as he got me my phone. I waited and waited and waited. I definitely shouldn't have had those 3 big glasses of water before I left work. Oh boy. I have a bladder the size of a raisin, so this was not making the waiting any more pleasant. It had been about a half hour, so I ran over to the pay phones and called again. He said he had hit traffic, but he was in Porter Square. Good news.

I figured that he would be there within a few minutes and now I knew what direction he would be coming from. Forty-five minutes later, I was beginning to think that either Abdul was not in Porter Square when he called or he was not going to show up. I was just happy to have avoided wetting myself by this point. Just as I was contemplating taking off, I hear frantic honking from across the square. It was Abdul. He's yelling and waving out of his window, stopped at a green light with a lady in the back seat of his cab. I ran up to his window in the middle of traffic as he handed me the phone and I slipped him some cash for his trouble. I think the lady in the back seat of the cab was pretty sure she had just witnessed some kind of drug deal. Anyway, I got my phone back, which is all I care about.

I Heart Denim

2006-02-09T23:26:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow is casual Friday, but I cannot partake. I have an interview with my current boss, to work for her in a different position when she starts her job in a new department, where she would, again, be my boss. Therefore, I will suit up. Why suit up, you ask, when your boss sees you every day anyway wearing more casual clothes in a more casual setting? Why dress to impress when she just saw you chowing down chicken tenders at your desk during lunch today? Well, these are good questions. I'm less concerned about the actual answer than I am about the fact that I can't wear jeans to work tomorrow.

I love casual Friday. I know it seems ridiculous to get excited about being allowed to wear jeans, but there's something nice about it. It's like if you were taken prisoner, being kicked and punched by your captors every day -- you would learn to love the day they designated for just slapping you around a little. Maybe Slappy Saturday. Anyway, the point is that not only do I not get a break from the regular punching and kicking, but now one guy is sporting brass knuckles and the other one just put a bar of soap in a pillowcase and he's wielding it menacingly. I hope you're comfortable with my analogy comparing wearing a suit to a severe beating, because I am.

Anyway, perhaps I've mentioned that I don't have a chance at this job. No? I found out that someone with very specific qualifications is applying to the job as well. Also, she is a very good personal friend of the hiring manager. Ouch. I mean, I would never hold it against her if she got the job. It's like the gimme of the century. Can you imagine being faced with hiring someone and the most qualified candidate is your friend? How long would it take you to decide? Exactly. Now I have to wear a suit in the off chance that she gets hired for another job that she's applying to within the company and she picks that one. I'll let you know how it turns out.

Check out this story about The Fernald Center, a home for profoundly retarded people. This is not named for Brendan Fernald, who is not profoundly retarded, but instead, just regular retarded. The only link that would make Brendan more mad would be this one -- the only man who stands between him and Fernald.com. Sometimes I visit the site and just laugh at its outrageous lack of purpose.

If you haven't seen it yet, the Two Man Gentleman Band has posted their latest installment of Dear Internet. Read it here.

Peanut Gallery

2006-02-09T02:15:00.000-05:00

I can't sleep, so I'll blog. Here's a comment from Tony, the friendly Canadian blogger:

Mestee,
I don't usually laugh when I read stuff on the Internet, but your second sign that you're not a grown-up made me chuckle with delight.

Congratulations.
Tony

I've chosen to feature this comment not because it is slightly complimentary (Not to say that it was free. That works on a few levels -- I'll let you pick one.), but because it doesn't follow what has come to be a stale formula for comments on MesteeBlogger. They typically follow this template:

(Misspelling of My Name),
(Something that is neither here nor there, as they say).

Signed,
(Fake Name)

One only has to look as far as the comment above Tony's for our first example:

Bdwarkl,

Do you want to be a Toys-R-Us kid?
Gerry the Giraffe

Or this:

Frian,
Word has it you purchased a hampster. Word has it that you bought a wheel for both you and the hampster. Word also has it that you set-up your wheel right next to the hampster's cage so that you could exercise with it.
Is this true? I need to know immediately!

Curiously,
Weebil

I have long given up the idea of real people (rather than weebils and Giraffes) exchanging interesting or humorous ideas via the comments section. After all, we all know what happened to the message board. Well, at least Hufton does.

I Won't Grow Up

2006-02-07T01:15:00.000-05:00

So, after witnessing two car accidents in a short period of time, I had a strange premonition that I would have to be involved in one to complete this series of events -- things happen in threes, but you knew that. It happened in the very same Porter Square Star Market parking lot where I witnessed accident number two. I was carefully navigating the mob scene preceding Super Bowl XL, cruising along at about two miles per hour in attempt to avoid the large number of pedestrians and vehicles moving in different directions, when...BOOM! What did I hit? A shopping cart? A small child? Oh, somebody hit me! Well, that's much better! I got out of the car, surveyed the rear of the Red Dragon, where she was struck, and agreed with the other driver that there was no significant damage. The three things had been completed.

I've been concerned -- or maybe confused -- that my actions and the actions of my friends do not seem to be progressing at the same rate as my age. I'm just wondering when I'll be a grown-up. Here are three signs that I'm not...

1. Simply stated: I love Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

2. My phone conversation with Jack ended this way tonight:

Me: Yeah, that sounds good.
Jack: Well, The Goonies is on TV, so...
Me: Okay, I'll let you go.
Jack: Great, talk to you later.

3. I just got a wedding gift thank-you note from Rudman that included...

a) The F-Bomb
b) A reference to fictitious character Jonathan Bryce Casual
c) A complimentary closing of not "Sincerely" or "Yours Truly", but "Balls".

Clearly, I've proven my case. Also, I got an email from Brendan today that read only "Check out the picture of Fernald with the west philly thug and an undercover cop in an extortion sting on friday night.....story to follow." I enjoy the reference to himself in the third person. The story will likely unfold eventually on BigWinner810.blogspot.com, a blog written by one of his law school friends. Here's a picture of the sting going down. (Left to Right: Undercover cop, The Perp, Brendan)

Addendum

2006-02-02T01:13:00.000-05:00

LOST was a repeat and Jimmy Kimmel stole the exact Dubya/Hillary excerpt appearing below for his show, which is broadcasting live all week from Detroit in a lead-up to the Super Bowl. If only I had my own network program. I'll show you, Jimmy Kimmel.

Brian from Medford, What's on Your Mind?

2006-02-01T22:37:00.000-05:00

What's up? Yeah, not much here either. I'm waiting in anticipation of one of the first non-Patriots SuperBowls in few years. It is significantly less exciting when they're not involved. I have no idea where I'm going to watch it, but I can't imagine anybody around here is overly psyched to watch it either.

Today, I made another appearance on 96.9 FM talk radio. I find that it's a great way to pass the time on the ride home. They asked to talk to democrats to find out why anyone would ever want to call themselves such. Since a majority of the listeners are republicans, being a conservative station, I got through to the host almost right away. I kind of forget exactly what I said, but I made him laugh a few times. He was making fun of the democrats for standing up and cheering when Bush mentioned the defeat of his Social Security plan last year. I told him that it was a terrible plan and that just becuase it was the only one anyone came up with doesn't mean they should pass it. I thought of a lot more things that I could have said after our call ended. By the way, did anybody see this moment during the State of the Union the other night:

Dubya: The first of the baby boomers turn 60 this year, including two of my father's favorite people -- me and President Clinton. Heh heh heh!

(Cut to Hillary Clinton, pouting in bemusement)

I actually laughed out loud at that. Sometimes I feel like watching these politicians is not unlike watching a fight for Student Body President in a high school where the geeks, jocks, and preppies are evenly divided. Although that would imply that there are three points of view, but obviously there are only two that anyone could possibly have.

Alright, I need to watch LOST. I'm out.

Return of The Guy

2006-01-31T23:46:00.000-05:00

Well, well, well. The first use of the comments section in a little while. I must be slowly drawing back some of my long-lost readers, or at least Irfan. Despite the absurd statements therein, I feel the need to address said comments, if nothing else but as a reward for participating. Here goes.

Brian,
A week before Halloween 2001, my husband told me that he got a gig. All he had to do is sit in a chair with that sh*t-eating grin and a beer in his hand. It is now 4.5 years later and he has yet to show up. I'm contacting you becuase I found your address on the contract. Please tell me if you know anything of my husbands whereabouts. Our five pumpkin children have spent the last four Halloweens without their father. I don't intend for there to be a fifth.

Nervously,
Mrs. Guy

Mrs. Guy,
Fear not, for your husband served us well, sitting at the entrance of 23 Boston Ave for special occasions. In his absolute prime, he served as the punchline to some hilarious practical jokes, appearing in Brendan's bed and in the front seat of his car, much to Brendan's dismay. We typically
dismantle him after he is done, putting his seperate pieces in the bathroom closet, where he is now.We once tried to build a female mate for him, but you'll be happy to hear that we failed miserably. I do not have a picture of him for you, but I've included a picture of his stem-faced cousin, Tom, instead.

Yours,
Brian

I just wrote a full paragraph addressed to the fictional pumpkin-headed wife of The Guy. I may need to take a moment to reevaluate the priorities in my life, for surely something must have ranked higher in importance just then.

In attempting to pay off my computer before the interest-free period ends (today!) and simultaneously paying the rent and fronting the money for our most expensive utility bills to date, I've inadvertantly entered into a little game called "Keep the checking account balance above zero". It's not a very popular game, and those that play it are typically unwilling participants like myself. I deposited 4 checks today and wrote two BIG ones. Unfortunately, I noticed just before depositing my checks that one of my roommates had written an amount less than the numbered dollar figure, meaning that the bank would only credit me the written amount if I deposited it, so I had to take it back home with me. Score one for the bad guys.

It was an Accident

2006-01-31T00:54:00.000-05:00

Tonight, for the second time in two weeks, I witnessed a car accident.

The first one was at the intersection of Route 16 and Boston Ave. Those of you familiar with the area will remember the Gibbs gas station on the corner. I was first in line at the red light, with the gas station immediately to my right. There was a food delivery car in the middle of the intersection, trying to turn left toward me. I guess he got a little too close to the other opposite lane, because suddenly there was a honk, screeching tires, and boom! The delivery car had the front corner of his car clipped by a car going about 40 mph, his headlight shattering all over the intersection. The weird thing was that I could see the reaction of the twenty-something driver and it was almost non-existant. No swearing, fist shaking, pounding of the steering wheel -- nothing. Maybe he was just glad to have an excuse to be late to his next delivery.

Tonight, I had just finished putting groceries in my car and was getting myself situated in the front seat. For whatever reason, I didn't drive away immediately, but took a minute to listen to the end of a talk radio segment. I was looking at the entrance of the parking lot, where a black SUV had it's blinker on, waiting for traffic to clear in the other lane so it could turn into the parking lot. Coming out of the parking lot was a U-Haul van. The driver of the van either had bad eyesight or just forgot to look the other way before exiting the lot, because they gunned it and drove right into the driver's side door of the SUV. It was so strange to witness, because I saw it coming the whole way, thinking "They're not really going to hit th -- Oh. I stand corrected."

Speaking of accidents, couldn't Lindsay Lohan have fallen down the stairs at someone else's mansion? It's like the guy just won't go away.

BA Rocks the Goggles

2006-01-30T00:27:00.000-05:00

I was trying to organize my room a little bit (it looks like it's going to be a year-long project), when I stumbled upon some tanning goggles. I'm not sure if anything looks less cool than tanning goggles. They can enhance an already non-cool look that you've got going on, but there is no situation you could have gotten yourself in where tanning goggles would help you look even a little better.

Exhibit A

You see? Even if I took off the over-sized headphones, I would look no better. Tanning goggles bring you to the lowest of the low. In fact, I will issue a challenge, in which none of you will be willing to participate: Send me a picture of you looking cool while wearing tanning goggles. If nothing else, your lack of participation will only reinforce my theory.

I went to see "Bubble", the new Steven Soderbergh film, with Liz Cate in Cambridge on Saturday. We were going to meet at the theatre ten minutes before the movie, but I was running a few minutes late. I figured that this was okay, because Liz is rarely on time. My phone rang as I pulling into the parking garage entrance. It was Liz.

"Hi, I'm on time. Where are you?"

Damn. I told her I'd be just a minute, but then realized that the line of cars in front of me wasn't moving. When I looked to the front of the line, I saw that there was a line of people running perpendicular to the line of cars. They were all waiting in line to pay for parking. Surely they could create a space for the cars to squeeze through. The car at the front of the line seemed ultra-hesitant to alert the people to the presence of their car. Surely, just a quick and polite honk of the horn would get there attention, no? I watched for about ten seconds as the car just sat there and three dudes stood inches in front of the bumper, having a conversation. Okay, somebody needed to be alerted to the situation. Though I was three cars back, I decided to give a little honk. Unfortunately, the horn on the Red Dragon is sort of all or nothing. When she breathes, she breathes fire. I recommend not ever trying the "honk around". In this particular situation, not only did it fail to get the attention of the three guys blocking the car up front, but it caused the driver of the car in front of me to toss his hands up in the "where would you like me to go?" hand position that I would have used if I was him. If someone could develop a device that allows for car-specific honking, they would be instant millionaires.

The movie was...interesting. Enjoyable, but I couldn't recommend it to a friend. Liz Cate seconded my emotion. It was about three people who worked in a doll factory. One thing I can tell you is that dismembered dolls are creepy. After the show, we got some cheese fries at the super crowded B-Side Lounge down the street. Our waitress had a neck tattoo, but somehow she still managed to look hot. I'd like to see her try it with tanning goggles.

Excuses, Excuses

2006-01-25T23:35:00.000-05:00

Mestee,

My mother, MesteeOnenightstand, told me that someday I might find you. I never believed her until almost a year ago when I found your blog. I know I'll never meet you, for you are a famous blogger. But I'm happy just to read about you online. When I'm sad, I like to pretend that you're writing only to me. I know this can't be true, but I like to pretend, because it makes living in this Munich ghetto much easier. Recently, though, it's been harder to make believe, because you don't write as much. Please, Mestee, keep writing.
MesteeLovechild

For a proposterous comment, it has a surprising amount of sincerity to it. Sort of creepy, really. Don't ever speak to me again, MesteeLovechild.

There are a few reasons that I've been blogging less lately. One is that I cannot access the site at work, and when I'm not getting paid to blog, it's less appealing. I'm in it for the money. Also, I've been busy working and not doing too much else -- but it's the too much else that usually generates my material, so I've been lacking in that department. Since I've stopped writing as often, I feel like people have stopped checking in quite as often, which has made me feel less compelled to continue providing a steady stream of material. It's all very Catch 22.

Now, I have to go to bed so I'm not doing head-nods during training tomorrow, which brings me to the final excuse for not writing as often: I haven't found a regular time during my schedule for blogging. Okay, I'm out. Enjoy your Thursday.

Curse of the Billy Goat

2006-01-22T22:17:00.000-05:00

Before you get mad at me for not posting regularly as of late, just think: this guy could be your blogging friend. See? I'm not so bad.

During a phone call with my Mom last week, she gave me the run down on a conversation she had with my Dad the week before:

MesteeDad: I just saw a billy goat on Cortland Street.
MesteeMom: What?
MesteeDad: There was a billy goat standing right in the middle of the street.
MesteeMom: How do you know what a billy goat looks like?
MesteeDad: I think I know what a billy goat looks like.
MesteeMom: Then what did he look like?
MesteeDad: You know, he had horns and a little beard.
MesteeMom: Yeah. I don't think it was a billy goat.

Though my Dad was unable to convince my Mom that he had, in fact, encountered a billy goat on his trip to the store, he found bittersweet retribution in this story that ran on the front page of the Union Leader the next week and wasted no time calling my Mom at work to tell her about it.

I got a curious message sent to MesteeBlogger@gmail.com recently. I will not submit to the urgent need to edit it, though I will add a friendly greeting in parentheses. Check it out:

(Dear Mestee),
I read over your blog, and i found it inquisitive, you may find My Blog interesting. My blog is just about my day to day life, as a park ranger. So please Click Here To Read My Blog.

-Ben Willis

I'll give Ben the benefit of the doubt that he's not just going to every single blog on the internet and giving them a vague compliment on their blog. He finds MesteeBlogger to be inquisitive, eh? I wonder if MesteeBlogger asked him a lot of questions on his maiden voyage to the site. I'm beginning to think that Ben Willis has read a word of either A) MesteeBlogger or B) The definition of "inquisitive". In case you chose not to click the link for his blog, here is a sample of the content:

I must note that I do not have any law enforcement powers (not yet at least!), so anytime someone is 'breaking the law' I need to radio for the 'park police' as I call them. That being said, I recognized the vehicle as belonging to a group of teenagers that are always hanging out in the park.

Two times have I caught them drinking in the park (thats a double problem for the park, triple for me since really can't do much to minors). Anyhow, I pulled up next to them and they were all enjoying some coca-cola....refreshing? A bit too refreshing if you ask me. I stepped out of my truck and walked up them and asked what they were doing here so late. Replies 'Nothing', 'Just hanging out'.

I could smell the alcohol on one of the boy's breath.

I'm not even sure what to say about that.

The Longest Weekend

2006-01-16T13:16:00.000-05:00

I almost feel guilty saying that I'm now enjoying the last day of a four-day weekend. Almost. I haven't had too many "fun" plans, though, so I've at least tried to be productive.

On Saturday night, I drove up to Jack's place in Newmarket to watch the game. I had been there the week before with Hufton, Maren, and Brendan, but Jacko was a little sick and had to be at work at 6 AM the next morning, so I figured it was the least I could do to make the trip. Plus, I no longer have the "hey, there are five of us in Medford and just you in New Hampshire" excuse to make him drive down here. We had a nice man-date, as I fed him tortilla chips and hummus, he cooked me some sausage and pepper quesadillas, then we both cursed at the television while the Patriots lost their first playoff game since last century. After that, I went home and watched Saturday Night Live recorded from that night with Scarlett Johannson and Death Cab for Cutie. It wasn't that funny, but Scarlett Johansson remains very, very hot.

Tomorrow is my first day of normal work since July. I define normal work as being "work that begins before 12:00 PM and often lasts longer than 6 hours at a time. I have mixed feelings about this, but I think it should be good to get back to a regular schedule where I will be able to actually see other people during the week rather than go to work just as everybody else is getting out. The move from jeans to business casual could be rough. Jonathan Bryce Casual, while I thank you for creating a business dress code between business and casual, I only wish it could have involved jeans instead of slacks. Wherever you are J.B. Casual, I know you'll be sipping wine from a plastic cup.

Pig Blaster is a fun game, but make sure you have the volume turned down or headphones plugged in before you click here. If you find flatulence, belching, or pigs wearing aviator goggles to be offensive, then I suggest you skip this one.

Trials and Tribulations, Part Three

2006-01-13T08:30:00.000-05:00

Just kidding. Today, I'm going to talk about beards -- a topic that has seen a fair amount of discussion in the recent past. I must write about beards, because how else would I respond to Brendan sending me pictures of his law school "Finals Beard".

Brendan has had no-no-notorious difficulty culitivating facial hair above the jaw line. It would appear that he has sculpted this into a boy band beard, but if I were a betting man -- and I am -- I would say that this is simply the natural growth of Brendan's Finals Beard.

On this picture (right), you can see that Brendan's beard is slightly more formidable than you may have imagined after seeing the picture above. If you look closely at his face, you can see that he is trying not to be outwardly giddy while documenting his beard. C'mon Fernald, you know you want to smile.

Ah, Jack and Steve. Now these are serious beards. Note the the fullness and the point at which the sides connect with the goatee -- almost at the mustache! Well done, men. You've shown us what a real beard is supposed to look like. Tell Brendan to go play with his Malibu Barbie and stop insulting beards by trying to grow one.

Here we have Hufton. If you can get past the bright red jumpsuit and the man who seems to be adjusting Jeremy's special man-places, you may notice that he is sporting a beard in this photo. While it is not as full as Jack or Steve's, I give him kudos for a solid mustache, which grows impossibly wide as the mischievous smile appears on his face.

Who is this handsome devil? Oh, I'm sorry, it's me. Like Brendan, the growth below the jaw line is significant, but essentially meaningless. As a wise man once said "Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, while hair only counts if it's above the jaw." There is a reasonable connection point between the sides and the goatee, but it is still weak enough to make me feel shame. Some day I'll be a real man, you'll see.

Trials and Tribulations, Part Two

2006-01-12T12:23:00.000-05:00

By the time I got upstairs to the jury room, it was about 8:50. Though I was supposed to be there at 8:30, they didn't seem worried about it. Indeed, they do not trust Joe Citizen to be able to show up at a certain place at a certain time, but they trust him to show up within thirty minutes of said time. I checked in with the bailiff and he had me go sit in the room next door with the other jurors. I sat and read Entertainment Weekly for a few minutes -- did you know Steve Martin was originally approached for Jim Carrey's role in Dumb and Dumber? -- until the bailiff came in the room. Okay, here we go! Time for action!

"Ladies and gentlemen, sit tight for a few minutes and then we'll show you an instructional tape about your responsibilities as juror," he told us.

Okay, not quite time for action, but I did still have the Entertainment Weekly. Can you believe that both Kurt Cobain and Dan Quayle count Ferris Bueller's Day Off amongst their favorite movies? I digress.

"Okay, folks. Please pay attention to this video, it should be helpful to you."

I had to change seats, since I was sitting directly next to the TV stand on wheels (think movie day in high school). I took a seat at the table in the middle of the room and watched as Chief Justice Margaret Marshall appeared on screen...or should I say Mahgawet Mahshew. Her speech impetiment kept me entertained throughout the presentation.

"It is your civic wesponsibiwity to sewve on a juwy when cawwed..."

After Mahgwet's speech, some other people went on to list the possible occupations of people who can get called for jury duty, which basically includes just about every single occupation. "Jurors can be doctors, firemen, secretaries, teachers, sales clerks, nurses, garbage collectors, carpenters, business executives, bus drivers, electricians..."

"What about clowns? Can they be clowns?" I was tempted to ask.

After the video was over, one of the judges came in and spoke with us, letting us know that he took no offense to the fact that none of us were excited to be there. After he spoke for a minute, he told us that we could have a 45 minute break. Oh good, I was so tired of reading a magazine for an hour. Now I can do something a little less stressful. It actually worked out okay, because I had to go feed my parking meter, which was about a 10 minute walk from the court house.

After everyone returned to the jury room, the bailiff led us in a single file line down to a tiny court room. There were about twenty five of us filing into the back rows of the room. Each person involved in the case turned and introduced themselves to us. We were then asked if we knew any of the participants. I think anyone could have gotten away with saying that one of them looked familiar, thus excusing themselves from the possibility of serving on the jury, but nobody tried it. I had another card up my sleeve. On the informational sheet they had us fill out before we arrived that day, we were asked if any of our immediate family were involved in law enforcement. Though I believe "immediate family" refers to your father, mother, and siblings, I mentioned that my uncle is a retired state trooper.

They called out 8 names to fill the seats for the six jurors and two alternates on the side of the room. After this, the prosecutors and defense team huddled up in front of the judge to decide who was to be removed. "Juror number 6, please return to your seat at the back of the room. Bill Jones, please replace juror number 6." It was like The Price is Right, but when they called your name, the only possible prize was a no-expense-paid trip to Lowell for an indefinite amount of time. I was one of the few people who never got called.

After the jury was selected, we returned to the jury room. With eight less people, we could stretch out a little bit. We read magazines and watched Ellen on TV, trying to pass the time until the next "not guilty" plea. After an hour or so, we learned that all 14 cases had seen guilty pleas, so we wouldn't be needed for the rest of the day. They informed us that we would be exempt from jury duty in Massachusetts for 3 years. Sweet.

If I haven't written too much for you already, here's something from The Onion.

Trials and Tribulations, Part One

2006-01-10T14:53:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I was scheduled to appear as juror number 50 at Lowell District Court. As Irfan might say, "Big day for Brian". It was unusual for me to be getting up at 7:00 AM, but the threat of a fine "of no more than $2000" can get you out of bed with surprising efficiency. I was a little nervous about finding the place, as I am directionally challenged (I prefer "masterfully disoriented"). I checked out the little map included on my informational sheet, and it seemed easy enough to get to the court house, assuming I could get to Lowell. My initial plan was foiled by some one-way streets that took me slightly off course and, more frighteningly, off of the small map that was included. It was getting late and I thought that I would get more lost driving around, so I parked and decided to find it by foot. It was 8:29 AM and I was scheduled to show up at 8:30, so it looked like that wasn't happening. I stopped a few people on the street for directions and they managed to point me in the right direction. I was getting nervous that I was late, but thought "What's the worst that could happen? They can't fire me!" Then I realized that they probably could call me back for another session. After thinking about it for a minute, I realized that the people in charge of gathering jurors probably don't trust your average Joe to be on time. By stating 8:30, they're probably aiming to get you there by 9:00.

I approached the court house and quickly noticed that there was a line of at least 100 people waiting to get into the front door. I was wondering if any of these people were waiting for jury duty, too. I was trying to avoid this--

Me: Excuse me, sir. Are you a law-abiding citizen looking to fulfill your civic duty, or are you a common street criminal?
Man: Common street criminal.
Me: I see. Excuse me ma'am...

-- so I just stood there for a few minutes, wondering if the line would ever move. At this point in time, a young security guard came out through the front doors and shouted "Is anyone here for jury duty? Are there any jurors in line?" I waved my hand to get his attention, quickly realizing that I was the only juror in line. The guard escorted me to the front of the line like a VIP, alerting the woman running the metal detector "This is a juror, we need to get him in here ASAP." Yeah, that's right! I'm a juror! Let me through! This was getting easier by the minute. I ran my bag through the metal detector and went up the stairs to meet my fellow partners in civic responsibility. To be continued...

Chillin' with the Weasel

2006-01-06T12:08:00.000-05:00

Okay, I know. It's been a while. I've been on an unannounced holiday hiatus. Surprisingly, not too much has happened since I last wrote here, considering how long it has been.

Christmas: Fun as usual. I got a nice shirt, a sweater, some socks (now with odor control!) and a bunch of gift certificates and a an iPod FM transmitter and a Soduku book, which is great, because I've been wondering for a while what this Soduku thing is. I've seen it on billboards and buses and even at the book store -- Soduku for Dummies. I wasn't curious enough to pick it up, but I thought it was safe to assume that it was closely related to either martial arts or sushi. It's not.

New Year's Eve: Steve was in town, so I decided to be his man-date to Balicki's party down the street. It was a relatively relaxed affair, though we did manage to get in some drinking games. I'm not sure what the name of it is, but it involved rolling dice in an attempt to get 7, 11, or doubles while a person drank a shotglass full of beer. If successful before they finish, you drink again until they are unsuccessful. The dice started getting rolled off the table more often, so we decided to create a punishment for the act -- down a heaping spoonfull of dillweed. We thought that this would curb the errant dice rolling, but Tully proved us wrong immediately. So did the next guy. And then that guy again. Sheesh. Those people must love dillweed. We rang in the New Year and then somehow found ourselves standing in a big circle. Somebody suggested that we all take turns saying our resolutions, which made us chuckle a bit, until we realized they were serious. Some people said they wanted to be more financially responsible and some said they wanted to go to the gym more often. When it was my turn, I insisted that my goal was to grow a full mustache, then Steve said that he would try not to...well, maybe we shouldn't say what Steve said. It was funny, though.

I've been enjoying 2006 so far. Yesterday, I got an informal offer to start working at Upromise as a full-time employee after my contract ends. I'm not sure what I'm going to do, since I don't really know the details of the offer, but it sounds like it could be okay.

On Monday morning at 8:30 AM, I'll be reporting to the court house in Lowell for jury duty. Now you understand the giant Pauly Shore movie promo picture. Maybe I'll rent it for inspiration. Anyway, this is actually the second time I've been selected for jury duty. I got selected for jury duty in New Hampshire right after I moved to Massachusetts, which afforded me a pretty stellar excuse not to perform my civic duty. They say it on the letter they send you: "It's not just your responsibility, it's the law", or something sort of threatening like that. When I got the first letter last month (part of what I referred to as potentially my worst day ever, until Jack reminded me "What about that time you got fired from your job and then got a speeding ticket on your drive home?" There's not a clear winner.), I opened it, unleashed a furious storm of profanity, then took note of the date and time. What I didn't notice was that you're apparently supposed to send them the notice that you received your little "invite". I didn't do that, so that sent me another letter last week which told me how I didn't respond, but they also noted that my lack of response did not relieve me of my duties. However, my lack of response may have potentially put me on the wait list, which would be fantastic. I'll let you know how it turns out.

Strangers in the Night

2005-12-22T12:21:00.000-05:00

The other day, I was at the supermarket magazine rack, perusing the personal finance periodicals in the off chance that some day I have some personal finances. A woman came around the corner, pushing a cart with her young son at her side. "Stanger danger, Mommy! Stranger danger!" the little boy alerted his mother, pointing directly at me. I figured that maybe she would reprimand him for yelling, or maybe tell him that it's not polite to point at people. Instead, she simply backed him up. "Yes, stranger danger," she said. I gave her a look that attempted to say "Uh, I hear you and I'm a real person, so you probably shouldn't talk about me like I'm not here." Clearly, my expression did not convey the sentiment correctly, as they disappeared around the other side of the rack momentarily, but focused on my presence again when they returned. The mother picked up a magazine on the rack about 6 feet to my left, while the boy fixed his stare on me again. He began walking slowly and deliberately toward me as if stalking prey, keeping his eyes on me at all times in case I made any false moves. "Mommy," he announced in a loud and slightly nervous voice "I'm walking near the stranger! I'm walking near the stranger, but I'm okay!"

"Okay, honey!" she shouted back. For a split second -- just a split second, not even a full one -- I thought it would be funny to pick the kid up and run to the next aisle, possibly shouting "Danger! Danger!". I didn't, though. That kid is going to grow up to be afraid of his own shadow.

Take the Stranger Danger quiz here. This is sure to make your kid afraid of firemen and people who are about to get married. On a positive note, they will be deathly afraid of the creepy old guy with the pistol.

Some of you have expressed concern over the presently dysfunctional comment section. For now, if you have any comments, questions, or insightful prose for me, you can send it to mesteeblogger@gmail.com. If I'm not back before Sunday, have a happy Chrismahanukwanzica. I'm out like a fat girl in dodgeball.

Mouse Killer

2005-12-21T11:27:00.000-05:00

This is a picture that Brendan sent me. The subject is one of his friends from law school. Apparently, he only got an hour of sleep before one of his finals, but Brendan and company kept him going afterwards with Red Bulls. After they got home from the bars, as Brendan said, "I've never seen someone crash so hard in my life". So what do you do when your friend is in such a deep sleep that they're completely oblivious to anything? Make them look ridiculous, of course. At first, I thought those were breakfast sausages sticking out of his nose and ears, but they're dried prunes (with other dried fruit covering his eyes).

I've got a few new devices to help with the mouse problem. They're Black and Decker Ultrasonic pest repellers. Supposedly, once you plug them in, they just emit a crazy ultrasonic noise that's supposed to drive the mice crazy and mess with their nervous systems. They seemed to be working great, as I hadn't seen a mouse since I plugged them in on Monday, but as I was getting out of the shower on Tuesday, I walked out of the bathroom in time to see one scurry across the living room, running TOWARDS the Ultrasonic Pest Repeller. Oh God...they like it. Damnation. While I was at the supermarket, I stopped by the pest control section to see if they had any goodies that I could add to my arsenal. I spotted one product that piqued my interest. It was a poison bait pack, produced by a company called Safe + Kill. I think pretty much any way you work that equation, Safe + Kill= Not Safe at All, particularly if you are the mice eating the poisonous bait packs.

Captain, They've Taken Over

2005-12-16T14:40:00.000-05:00

The mouse problem has taken a distinct turn for the worse. Last night, I had the first multiple mouse sighting. I put a piece of bread in a plastic bag on the living room floor and sat silently reading a magazine in the kitchen. There was immediate interest, though the mice were clearly skeptical of this, often scattering away as they approached the opening of the bag. I finally got a few of them to climb in, but was unable to sneak up on them in time to snatch the bag.

This morning, Mike and I both had a few mouse sightings. Mike looked online and came back with some bad news. "If they're coming out during the day, we have a serious problem on our hands. They're nocturnal, so if they're coming out during the day, that means that there are so many of them that they've run out of food and need to search for it after hours."

Over the past few hours, things have gotten worse. To give you an idea, I've spotted 5 mice while writing this entry over the last 5 minutes -- some of them crawling on the couches. Sweet Jesus. We've contacted the exterminator, but hopefully he can make it over here before the mice completely take over the house. This whole thing just gives me the willies. I'm actually excited to go to work.

Who's the Leader of the Club that's Made for You and Me?

2005-12-15T11:04:00.000-05:00

There's a mouse is our house. In fact, there may be many mice in our hice. For the time being, I'll assume that there's only one. I've now had several run-ins with the little fella, as he typically comes out to play in the late night hours.

Three days ago at 5:00 AM, I woke up to the call of nature, and when I opened my eyes I swear I heard a noise coming from my closet. It sounded like the crinkling of a plastic bag. I got out of bed and turned on the light, only to have the faint noise stop. I figured that I could easily be imagining this sound, but I checked it out anyway. I lifted up the plastic Shaw's bag that seemed to be making he noise. It contained a book, a CD booklet, and a sealed container of Ramen Noodles. A cursory inspection revealed nothing suspicious in the bag. I set it down on the floor and continued checking out the closet...but now the bag was making noise again. I figured the items inside were just falling into place after I laid them on the ground. I picked

WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE
up the bag again and began to remove the book. At that point, a mouse jumped out of the bag, hit the ground running, and scurried under the couch in my room. The surprise and disgust I felt at that moment, combined with the early hour of morning, caused me to unleash a silent girly screech of terror. I was the only one in the room, but I was still embarrassed. Possibly because I knew that I would have to tell all of you about it. I took one of the mouse traps that we had set in the kitchen and put it in my room, right in front of the tiny hole next to the radiatior, where I had seen the mouse run for shelter after I stalked him and got him out from behind the couch. The trap hasn't been sprung yet, and there have been no signs of the mouse in my room since then. Minimally, it seems to be working as a deterrent.

Last night, as I sat typing at my laptop in the kitchen with my headphones on, my peripheral vision picked up something moving on the floor next to me. I looked down, and there was the mouse. If not the same little guy that I had hunted for in my room, then certainly a close relative. Upon seeing the mouse, I completely spazzed and kicked both of my legs up in the air from my seated position. One of my shoes actually made contact with the mouse, booting him towards the living room, where he scurried behind the couch. I didn't even make an effort to track him down once he disappeared. He had won that battle, but he will not win the war.