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Got back from Atlantic City last night. I successfully lost about $250 of my mother's money, which wasn't so bad really. She's a master of the roullete table (usually), so it wasn't a big loss for her at all. After I got there on Friday night, I immediately went to the boardwalk to grab a chicken cheesesteak (which, by the way, was the worst chicken cheesesteak I ever had). It was only a matter of seconds before a young (maybe 19 year old) girl came up to me and asked very sadly and slowly, "Hi...Could I have a few seconds of your day?" At other shore points in New Jersey, I am always accosted by kids trying to give me their religious propaganda, so, thinking that this girl was just another one of those, I replied nicely, "I'm kind of in a hurry right now." "Please, I'll walk with you," she said, but I really WAS in a rush. Besides, who wants to hear anything about God in Atlantic City? "I'm really sorry," I said and she pouted away ... at which point I realized, finally, that she hadn't been trying to sell me her religious views, but instead something else. I felt bad then, and a little embarrassed. I snuck back to the casinos a few minutes later, hoping she wouldn't see me.  Well that explains it. I might add ... bastards. 12:47 AM Where the hell are my comments? Alright, who took them? Bastards. The painting is almost done upstairs, so I'll be sure to post some pics shortly. With any luck, I'll be able to finish everything this weekend, move my stuff up there, and get started on the lounge area, which has to potential to be a much larger project. Amie goes back to school today, which means many things ... not the least of which is increased time for playing baseball and video games. She'll yell at me for saying that ... but then again ... she'll yell at me when I buy this ... and then she'll yell at me for telling you that she'll yell at me. It's alright though ... I'm gonna miss all that yelling. Here's something you don't see everyday. For the record ... I have been 'officially' hired at Montgomery Newspapers now, which basically doesn't mean too much expect that I'll be getting benefits now and perhaps some business cards. Also, I learned yesterday that I actually have two people whom I can boss around as much as I want. Score. As for pizza, my favorite food for the past 10 years or so (previously, it was mashes potatoes with gravy), I'm done. I can't even think about it. It's strange, really. A few weeks ago I ate half a pizza (which is not unheard of for me...I have eaten many a half pizza in my lifetime)...I went to bed that night feeling pretty full, but satisfied with my dinner. But then I had a particularly intsense dream that night about eating a lot more pizza, and when I woke up I couldn't stand to think of that food anymore. I have had a piece here and there since that dream...but mainly from store-bought kinds, not delivered...and for some reason, that's okay. But still to this day, when I think of pizza, I cringe. This is a major fucking problem, in my opinion. 2:00 AM Good to see you again. Sorry for the inconvenience. Comcast decided to change some settings on me without my knowing. Anyway...as you can see by the posts below, I was actually trying to get the damn thing to work over the past few days. Plenty of stuff to say, but for now, I leave you will a post I tried to publish the other day when my site first stopped working ... I've never much had the desire to act, and I haven't had much experience doing it either. But one reason why I've always thought I might not be so bad at it is because I'm pretty good at lying. Being "dramatic," on the other hand, is something I will always strive not to do, but when I'm lying, I can pour that shit on hardcore. Since I was always a 'good,' quiet kid in school, the teachers never believed that I could do anything bad. Mrs. Herbine was particularly furious (for a first grade teacher) when Julia Jones alleged that I had called her a 'fuzz ball.' "Do you really think Michael would lie?" she said to Julia, while I held a particularly somber expression on my face. Whenever I knew I was clearly caught in doing something undesirable, I would admit my mistake to the teacher immediately. "Who's making all that noise?" Miss Fidele asked my fifth grade class one day, and I hadn't realized that the pretend earthquake I was causing with my desk had been so loud. So, I raised my hand in innocent defeat, and Miss Fidele could only smile and giggle at my integrity. Being the 'good boy' has afforded me the ability to get away with some fairly remarkable things in life...i.e. going to school on acid one day in 11th grade, or growing pot in my dormroom closet junior year while being an R.A. (and later selling that pot to my residents.) During my last year in college, I seriously considered admitting the "truth" to my best friends that my father was actually the owner of some of New York City's most exclusive dance clubs, and that I had lied for four years so that I wouldn't seem 'too cool,' or out of place at a mostly hippie-activist school. I decided, in the end, that this lie would be too large of a project, and at the time I just didn't have the energy. The only problem is....I really don't like to lie, especially about stuff that might work-up other people. I just feel too bad. My only hope is that these new pills I'm taking won't just act like steroids on the part of my brain that fucks with all this shit. The last thing I want is a lump in my skull and milk in my boobs to boot. But you know what they say ... "Laugh to lie, if it pleases someone else ... lie to laugh if it pleases yourself." WORK!fds test test...yoyoyoyoyo...dis shit werkin? is this working? According to the handy dandy datestamps on each post, I apparently haven't posted in a few days. Sorry about that. It doesn't seem that long ago. Anyway, for Philadelphians and others, click the pick below for some good old fashioned journalism.  UPDATE: pic isnt working for now...just click the box, biznatches. 1) Due to circumstances beyond my control, the colors of the bedroom upstairs will be slightly different than the ones pictured below. I had to choose a different brand of paint, and therefore I had to find similar colors that don't match-up perfectly with the original ones I had chosen. So don't blame me if the room looks crappy when it's done. 2) After sending out 108 resumes over the past six months, I finally have a job, and technically it's for the same company at which I interned last summer, so it's not really a 'new' employer. Woo. Woo...hoo. Technically, also, I'm not working full-time, so technically, I don't have benefits, and technically I might not ever get hired full-time. Technically, the money is awful. But I suppose I can't complain. The position, Associate Editor of Montgomery Life (which technically doesn't have any reporters), is almost exactly what I was looking for in the first place. I start Monday. I am an uninspired hoofless goat. Do goats even have hooves? Well if they do, I don't have any. Anyway...I'm hoping to change the layout of this humble little site in the near future. If I knew a damn thing about HTML (or wanted to take the time to learn), this just might be the most awesome site in the entire Wizorld Wide Web! In the meantime, I have nothing to say. So here's what I'm thinking for colors upstairs. Sorry for the small pics. I'm trying to be more conscious of you dial-up suckers still out there.  • 
 •  This is the bedroom area (before and VIRTUAL AFTER..OOOOOoooo). The "lounge area" will most likely take months. But stay tuned. From around 1993 to 1997, almost every non-winter spare moment in my life was dedicated to the game of stickball. For you Canadians and otherwise mentally-impaired people, stickball is basically the same as baseball, except the ball is not hard (we used a tennis ball) and it is bounced once when it is pitched. Games are mostly played on streets or paved areas that are relatively small in size. This means that not many people are needed to play, many of our best games having only 2 players per team. In times when we only had three, we set a designated pitcher, and it became a 1-on-1 game. In my town, there were several 'known' stickball fields. Ours was "The Church," a rectangular parking lot of the Presbyterian church a few blocks from my house. Our outfield crossed a street and went into the parking lot of an office building that we called "The Billy," for short. It was a somewhat unfavored field in my neighborhood, because if the ball landed on the opposite parking lot without being caught, it was a homerun. The homerun territory at most other fields was probably at least 50 feet further than ours. Our foulball territory also needed to be extended far beyond our first and third base sides, because there there were too many obstacles that would have made the ball a lot trickier to catch. Every day was the same routine for me. Wake up, shower, and get some teams together. We would often play all day, sometimes in the rain, and we wouldn't stop until the ball couldn't be seen against the night sky. For breaks we would ride our bikes to the nearby Wawa and fill up with some fountain soda. In the summers of '94 and '95, all the fountain soda sizes at Wawa were only 69 cents. Each of us would then buy the largest--44 oz.--cup and take it back to a nearby park before starting up another game. The church owners would yell and threaten to call the cops, but the cops never came. There were a few church employees that sent us running though. One guy even stole our bats. (We stole them back, eventually, but that's another story.) Other times, we could even climb onto a portion of the church roof to avoid the "spoliers," as we called them. I can honestly say that those days of stickball were some of the best in my life. This summer, by some strange force of 'history' repeating itself, I have reunited with a few of my old stickball pals, and we have been playing baseball at the high school field. It's a bit stange, because I haven't really seen a few of these guys since I went to college, but now that we're playing again, it's almost like we had just taken a BIG break...an extended trip to Wawa...for about 5 - 6 years. In a few minutes I hope to round up some players to head over to the high school field once again. If anyone in the area wants to play, let me know. I'm always looking for a game. |
Late night snacks. Bite-sized ramblings. Old-fashioned eats, served fresh daily. Open 24-7.  Other blogs Fireballs and Tsunami JeffreyDavis.net Mismatched Parentheses NimbleSixpence One Tortured Soul Palpably Inadequate Picnic, Lightning Pony Legs, Temporarily Supernouveau Wander Lust In my DVD player Archives June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 November 2006 December 2006 January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 June 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 Other stuff Homestarrunner One Slime DeepDiscountDVD Olde English Sketch Comedy Live Music Archive Copy Army Copywriting Service Love & Radio This One Time Email me mmjunior / at / hotmail   
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