Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Unsportsmanlike Conduct

Unsportsmanlike Conduct

(taken directly from the Miami University Intramurals website)

Maybe it's because I'm old school and I had a different set of heroes. I grew up watching Walter Payton, Tim Brown and Michael Jordan in a day before the "And 1 Mix Tape Tour" when it seemed that being a decent human being was also an important role in being a pro athlete. Now this humanitarian integrity has been replaced with exotic end zone celebrations, fantasy stats and players who would sooner walk over a fallen opponent than help them up. It's become more about showmanship than sportsmanship. And just like Ronald Reagan predicted, it trickles down to all levels of competition. It goes from the pro game to the college game to recreational sports and all the way down to little league. And it's aggravating to see the game change the way it has since I was taught what was important. So maybe that's why I have so very little tolerance when I walk out on the field to see students intentionally threatening, bad mouthing and plowing into their fellow students. The presence of a ball in the setting of a field of grass does not give anyone the right to treat their fellow man with any more disrespect than they would in a classroom, on a bus or at a job. If you're going to intentionally disrespect another player, fan or official with threats to their well-being or intentional bodily harm, you will no longer be participating in Miami Intramurals. This will serve as every team's last warning. You signed up to play a game. I don't care what your excuses are. No officiating is ever that bad and no game is ever that important. No one here is going pro. You are all playing for a t-shirt. And if you want one that badly, I'll give you one.

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Knifeless in Southwest Ohio

Knifeless in Southwest Ohio

It’s been exactly 7 days since the surgery and I must first continue to thank all of you for your continued support. I have gotten probably close to 50 or so e-mails in the last week and I’m still getting people to bring in food and come over to cut chicken and get pizzas out of ovens. I’m learning everyday of new things that I can’t do nearly as well with one arm stuck to my stomach. See, I know that my football playing, breakdancing and puppeteering days are on hold until sometime in 2008, but there are lots of activities I didn’t realize would be so difficult until I tried them recently. And so I have come up with a top ten list of these activities I have realized are very very biased toward two-handed people.

10. Driving. I drive a stick shift. I actually thought this would be a lot harder, but I forgot how incredibly awesome I am. The trick is to shift on the straightaways and try not to do anything stupid. I learned early on when trying to text message and steer and shift all at the same time. When I realized that was too many things to do at once with one arm, I quickly surmised which was the most important and was able to get from A to B unscathed. So it turns out driving isn’t all that difficult, but if you see my car, you may just want to run inland anyway. And I mean inland. The sidewalk may not be safe enough depending on if I’m trying to download ringtones or not. Run towards a building. That should be good enough. I hope.

9. Typing. I guess I kinda knew that this wouldn’t be easy, but I’m cheating. I can peak my right hand out and hit a decent radius of keys around the j and k keys. And I think I’m allowed to do that. I’ll find out Wednesday if I was supposed to have been doing this.

8. Shorts. Ever try buttoning shorts with one hand? It’s real damn difficult. Much like unhooking a rear clip bra with one hand, from what I remember. Only try doing it with your non-dominant hand. The zipper isn’t even really that easy to zip up. Elastic shorts are the way to go.

7. Arm pit sweat. It gets pretty rank under there. I have decided to combat this issue with the use of spray deodorant. However, I won’t lie and say that there are times that I don’t just spray febreeze all over myself and hope that helps. Showering is tough because I have to change band-aids and I have to wash my hair with one hand, etc. so I apologize ahead of time for my possible stench.

6. Footwear. I can’t tie my shoes anymore and so I’m confined to use either my flip flops or my stupid, ugly, not-as-comfy-as-they-say-they-are crocs. Obviously, flip flops are not the most professional shoes to wear but I can’t tie my friggin shoes! I’m just waiting for the first person to tell me to put on a pair of sneakers and I’m going to shove my croc so far up their ass, they’ll be crapping little alligators.

5. Wiping my butt. Sorry to get graphic, but this is not easily done with my left hand. I will refrain from any further discussion on this topic.

4. Tripping. And no, not the kind associated with crystal meth. I mean falling. And I haven’t actually done this yet and I’m really not looking forward to the first time I do. Especially if I’m carrying something. I know I’ll be carrying a lemonade and stumble on my stupid oversized crocs and I’ll have to make a decision whether or not to throw my lemonade and try to catch myself with my only functional arm, getting myself all sticky and risking walking around armless for the next month or keep my lemonade and try to roll over my right shoulder and never be able to use it again or maybe even die. So I’m not looking forward to that.

3. Eating a taco. I was trying to figure out what food to eat that would be easiest. Honestly, I thought taco bell would be one of the easiest things to eat. Well, it turns out you use two hands a lot more often than you think. Or I least I do. And it’s just impossible to keep the beef in the chalupa. Of course, once I accepted that I was just going to pick the escaped meat and shredded lettuce off the wrapper and shove it in my mouth, I was fine. But it wasn’t easy.

2. Shaving. I’d almost sooner let an ex-girlfriend with a grudge around my face with a razor than to try to trust my left hand again. I don’t even think I had the razor pointed the right way at one point. I’ve taken the approach of just not shaving much of at all for the next three weeks. The same goes for brushing my teeth.

1. Sleeping. This absolutely sucks. I am actually not experiencing that much pain at all but I can’t get comfortable and so I can’t sleep. I get a lot more irritable because of this. I’ve been taking my pain pills hoping that they’d act as sleeping pills. I realize this is stupid, but I do it anyway. Those people that know me well enough know that I didn’t wake up at 8 in the morning to send this e-mail. This is the one thing I didn’t see coming that seems to make it much worse than my Achilles surgery recovery. And the other 31 years that I didn’t have surgery.

There you go. A little insight into some of the less known difficulties associated with rotator cuff surgery. I refrained from including one slightly more lude thing that is also difficult with one's dominant arm in a sling. The hint is that it is sommonly said that if one tries this with their non-dominant hand that it feels like someone else. While that is true, it is someone very uncoordinated. Now I’m gonna go try to rest for a couple hours before work.

Sunday, August 19, 2007

Above the Knife

Above the Knife

So thanks to everyine for the 40 or so e-mails, the 20ish phone calls and test messages, the couple house vists (Di, Wak and Kelly) and the care packages (Loraine, Tracy and Lindsey) I have receibed in the past few days. You’ve all made it so mush easier, especially Seth’s mom for driving me to, from, and stauing with me in the medical center during my surgery. I can still only type with my left hand so please excuze my brevity. I promise you that I have gotten all your mesages and I’ll get back to you in time when I can type with both hands.

So I used to make fun of people who got shoulder or hand surgery and then had to be transported in a wheelchair to their car. What’s wrong with their legs? Why can’t they just walk to the car? Then I tried to stand up from my hospital bed. I reached for the closest wall I could find to regain some balance. The closest wall was a nurse named Corrine. Judging from her reaction and the “party girl” tattoo on her lower back, I’d say she was pretty used to guys climbing all over her. Needless to say, I have new respect for that wheelchair to the door trip.

So the pain started to get really intense around 7pm Tuesday, when the bulk of the anesthetic wore off. Thankfully, it wore off sometime around 4am that night. This is especially good since I believe I was taking pain pills like they were skittles. So as of now, it feels like I was just hit by a truck, not a train full of trucks. Anyway, I’ll be back at work tomorrow and I’ll catch you all up soon thereafter. I just wanted to send out a quick thank you and update and smiley face. :)

Saturday, August 18, 2007

Under the Knife

Under the Knife

I feel strange apologizing for appropriating my own mailing list, but I thought I’d let you all in on something in the off chance I haven’t complained about my life to everyone on the face of the earth yet.

About a month ago, I hurt myself participating in an activity typically reserved for people 10-15 years younger than me. As a result, I tore my rotator cuff, something I did about 10 or 15 years ago participating in activity typically reserved for people my own age. I didn’t get surgery then because I didn’t see a doctor for 3 months. Turns out that was stupid. So this time, I’m getting surgery. Tomorrow. In about 6 and a half hours. The doc says I’ll be in a lot of pain for the first couple days, but I’ll have an arsenal of weaponry in the form of little white pills to combat the throbbing. After that, I’ll be in a sling and swathe for 6 weeks (including sleep) and then I’ll be in physical therapy for 3 or 4 months. No big deal. I’ll be ready to try out for the Eagles by training camp in 2008.

So here’s kind of what I need from you. I’ll be at home watching the last season of the Sopranos on dvr and the first two seasons of Moonlighting on dvd from Tuesday through Thursday. Chances are I’ll be a little bored and finding new things I won’t be able to do without use of my right arm. Like maybe getting a pizza out of the oven, washing my hair or playing chess with myself. If any of you locals want to stop by, please do. I’ll put on some old school Bruce Willis and Cybil Shepherd for you. And I won’t make you wash my hair either. But there is an application should any of you want to…

Anyway, I gotta go get some sleep before they put me to sleep for a few hours tomorrow. What I’m saying is drop by, text me, call me, e-mail me or at least think of me tomorrow, whether in loving sympathy or joyous humiliation, I’d appreciate it. Thanks and I’ll see you all on the other side of the knife.

Saturday, February 17, 2007

Wanted: A Bow With a Scope

Wanted: A Bow With a Scope
So this past Wednesday was Valentines Day. Or as I call it, National Singles Awareness Day. Now I’ve taken some fair and some unfair shots at the holiday in the past and I think I’ve about exhausted most of the standard topics of “It’s such a Hallmark holiday’” “It sucks for people in relationships even more,” and “Exactly where is the line between admiration and stalking?” And so I am here to talk about something else. Something off the beaten path. I’m actually going to try to make a case IN FAVOR of Valentines Day, even though the line between admiration and stalking is always a good fallback.
So last year at this time, I was in a… well, some sort of a relationship. I didn’t know exactly what it was then and I still don’t now, but that’s a story for another day in a much more private setting (like a therapist’s office). So this year proved to be a much worse Valentine’s Day since I didn’t have even what I could quantify as an awkward relationship. I had none. Nothing. Squat. Bubka (sp?). But what I have this year that I have in common with last year is hope. Almighty, brilliant and suicide-postponing hope. And this hope manifested itself in the form of a cute redhead in my class who has absolutely no idea how old I am and will NOT until we get to know each other to the point that she’s pot committed. In the relationship that we’re already in inside my very unhealthy mind, this will occur in about 2 weeks. And I vowed to myself that I wasn’t going to hurt this girl ever. Which can be seen in the restraint I showed last week when the other girl in my class (I need to take more classes) eye-raped me in the bar and instead of taking her home, I simply stood there awkwardly and repeated the mantra in head “She’s scaring me… She’s scaring me… She might kill me…” until I convinced myself not to do anything. If you know me well enough, you realize that this pattern of behavior can also be attributed not only to my desire to be a nice guy, but also my ineptitude as a real man. But we’re moving on.
So anyway, this redhead and I have been exchanging extremely obvious looks since day one of class. And I just could not muster up the sac to do or say anything. Every time I tried, I was cursed with another mantra. “She’s only 19... She’s just a child… You’re too old for her... You’ll pull a muscle...” But I finally forced myself into the awkward tension much like those cartoon elephants force themselves into glasses of water at the carnival and I asked her to dinner. It was a smooth line too. “So I have a proposition for you. How about you come and watch me play volleyball and I’ll take you to dinner? OR how about I just take you to dinner?” It was even field-tested on my only other redheaded children’s librarian so I figured it had to work. However, the line wasn’t quite delivered like that. I don’t have transcripts of the tape, but I think it came out much more like “So I have a proposition for you [long awkward pause]… Hey, did you fucking see Lost last night?” OK, it wasn’t that bad, but it didn’t go quite like the way I rehearsed it. Either way, I was doing back flips over the fact that I asked her out. And yes, I wrote that correctly. I was doing back flips merely because I asked her out. That was an accomplishment enough for me. The fact that she said yes just added a reverse handspring into my routine. And I did pull that muscle. Damn mantra.
So I now have a date with a 19-year-old gorgeous redhead from my class who will inevitably read this someday (Hi Sara). And she is the most beautiful, kind, intriguing, intelligent and absolutely beautiful woman there ever could be who could really give me a back massage about now. Unfortunately for this piece, all this happened on the day directly after Valentines Day. Mother Nature thwarted my plans for the actual Valentines Day. Damn her, that thwarter of plans. Thankfully Father Time is on my side. Until I have to tell her how old I am in two weeks. Then I’m going to pretend I don’t even know the man.
Quote of the Day 2/16/07
Two weeks ago…
Ben: “Hey Dustin, in the off chance that you have somebody to buy flowers for this holiday, can you buy them from me? My fraternity is doing this fund-raising [blah, blah, blah].”
Me: “Well, I’m not seeing anybody now. Haven’t in about 9 months. But it is 2 weeks away and smaller miracles have been known to occur. But right now, the forecast doesn’t look too good.”
Ben: “Yeah, I know. That’s why I said ‘in the off-chance.’”
Hey Ben. I’ll take two flowers now. One for Sara and one to shove up your ass. And in the “off-chance” it doesn’t hurt enough, let’s leave the thorns on it.
“You’re not too old for her… You’re not too old for her…”
Dutty.
Still Standing Right Here…

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Application To Be Dustin's Valentine

Application To Be Dustin's Valentine
Disclaimer: First of all, realize you are applying to be Dustin Fisher's valentine. Not his steady girlfriend, one night stand, jogging buddy or euchre partner. Secondly, as has been the recent pattern in his dating life, you may only apply if you have a steady boyfriend or are otherwise unattainable (lives 8 hours away, doesn't like men, exists only in his head, etc.). There is an exception noted on line #5. All others, please fill out the form as honestly as you feel he'd want you to.

1. Name _____________________________________

2. Gender (circle one) M / F
(Note: if you did not circle the "F", you're application will be forwarded to Russell Johnson of Columbia, MD)

3. Local address ________________________________________
(please include directions and leave the door open)

4. Phone number _________________________________________
(keep in mind, he knows that rejection hotline number in all area codes)

5. How often do you see a therapist (PTs do not count) on an average week?
A. 4 or more
B. 2 or 3
C. Once
D. None, but I should
(If none of the above apply to you AND you are currently single, your application will be forwarded to Bill Wilcox)

6. How do you know Dustin?
A. I work with him.
B. Through a friend
C. Through facebook
D. I don't know Dustin but a friend forwarded this to me and I'm desperate enough to try anything.

7. What is your ideal Valentines Day date?
A. A train ride up to New York to see Rent, skating in Central Park, dinner at the Four Seasons and a full body massage by the fire in a 5 star hotel.
B. Dinner at the Olive Garden, a couple drinks at a local martini bar, and out to a drive-in movie for a viewing of Hope Floats while snuggling with each other.
C. McDonalds for a few burgers and back to my place to watch reruns of King of the Hill with a box of wine.
D. Smack Ramen and Natty Light while checking out internet porn together.

8. What are you looking to get out of this Valentine's Date Application?
A. To spend an evening with a guy who I don't mind too much.
B. I want to get married soon because my eggs are rotting.
C. Honestly anything, I haven't been allowed out in 5 years.
D. I figure if I go out with Dustin, I have a better chance of hooking up with Bill.

9. What did you do last Valentines Day?
A. Had a romantic evening with my boyfriend/fiancee/husband.
B. Went out with the girls to protest the Hallmark holiday.
C. Hooked up with some guy I don't know because I'm very insecure.
D. Fell asleep on the couch watching Duck Tales.

10. Lastly, the thought of kissing Dustin makes you...
A. Tingle inside
B. Throw up
C. Need to pee
D. Pity others who have
Thank you for your interest in this position. All applications are due to Dustin Fisher by 11pm tonight. Work mandates that he stays until 11:30pm, so your date will begin around midnight. So if you turn into a gremlin if you eat past midnight, I'm sorry you wasted your time. Late or incomplete applications will be accepted as late as pretty much whenever you get it to him. All verbal contracts are binding, regardless of the actual words spoken. Dustin Fisher, Miami University, and hookaplayaup.com are not responsible for any bodily injury that may result of being Dusitn's Valentine. Normal restrictions apply. See store for details.

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

And Then There Were Three

And Then There Were Three

So there are a lot of people getting engaged right now. I don’t think I’m going to get any vacations this year, just a ride around a massive wedding carousel. Among the 6 that I already have on my plate are my sister and my best friend Joe from high school. Now, I’m pickled as punch about my sis and J-Me, but I need to talk about Joe’s impending doom for a sec, because it may affect more than just he and Becky.

See, the Four Horsemen (Kev, Mike, Joe and I) all kinda predicted the order in which we’d all get married after high school. And there was a very clear sequence in which this was supposed to happen. Kevin, Mike, me and then Joe. Kevin got married and that’s all I’ll say. The rest of us are still in the wading pool trying to figure out how to get to the deep end. Apparently Joe found a map. Or was given a map. Or got horse collared and drug to the deep end. I’m still not sure how it all went down. Anyway, this sacred event isn’t happening until next September thankfully. This means that Mike has to hurry up and get his ass through the intersection so I can squeeze my bumper over the crosswalk before the damn light changes. At least he’s got the head start of a girlfriend. I don’t know that I’ve been on what could be considered a date since maybe March. I don’t think people date in this town (please refer to my Brick Street rant if you want further clarification, that’s not what I’m here to talk about right now). So I’ve got some work to do. Look out world! I have a five dollar bet I made 27 years ago to force to come true…

Quote of the Day 2/13/06

“Do you want me to invite you to my wedding or do you just want to crash it?”
- The Future Mr. Becky Titlow

I kinda want to crash it to be honest. But I still want to have food and a place to sit. So I just won’t send my invitation back in. See Ferg, you’re not the only one.

Crashing and burning,

Big Fish.

Still Standing Right Here...

Excuse Me, My Boobs Are Down Here

Excuse Me, My Boobs Are Down Here

 

            So it has always pissed me off when girls get upset that guys look at their boobs. And for many reasons. First of all, of course it pisses me off when the classy ladies with the low-cut, bra-looking tops on ask you to stop staring at their boobs. I thought that was what you were going for. If I walked around with assless chaps on, you’d better believe I expect you to look at my ass. But here’s the thing. They do want guys to look at their boobs. Only, they want to be selective about who gets that privilege. Like they should be able to go up to guys and put a little hat on them and everybody with a hat on would be able to look at their boobs. Sorry, ladies. It doesn’t work that way. If you want one of us to look, we all get to look. That’s why there aren’t just good-looking guys at bars. We’re all out there among each other trying to do the same damn thing you’re doing. But you’re out there trying to compete with the other jackals for the gazelle, I understand, I really do. Just realize that we gazelles are also eyeing up the jackals trying to pick which one we want to devour us (and it’s about now, I realize I should have found a better analogy) and all of us gazelles are trying to figure out which jackal’s got the biggest… teeth (metaphor successfully saved). Anyway, point is that if you’re wearing clothes that show off your boobs, be prepared to have not only the cute guys that you want to stare at them stare at them, but all of us. You don’t get to pick. Do that for me and I promise I won’t ever wear assless chaps.

            Now I told you that story so I could tell you this one. There’s a brand new reason that I get pissed when girls get offended when we look at their boobs. And it lies in the phrase “Hello jerk off, my eyes are up here.” See, it’s pretty standard procedure to compliment a girl on how pretty her eyes are. But if you try to tell her what a nice rack she has, you’ve crossed some boundary. But really the eyes are just another body part, no more or less superficial than boobs. Why all of a sudden are we allowed to be selectively superficial? Is it because they say that the eyes are a window to the soul? Because if that’s the case, they also say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. And if we’re using that adage as a benchmark, I need to start doing some crunches. I also don’t know that looking at a man’s stomach is any less intrusive than complimenting a girl on her boobs. So I guess in conclusion, my point is that I don’t think that the eyes are any less superficial than a girl’s boobs. And so if I see a girl with nice boobs, I will probably compliment her on them. Though I’ve always personally been more of an “ass man.” So I’m going to start complimenting women on their asses. Like “girl, you have an ass that just won’t quit.” This is another phrase from which I have no idea where it came (that sentence took me 15 minutes to write and I still don’t like it). An ass that won’t quit? Won’t quit what? Was it ever employed? Does it have a resume I could check out? And if so, you can spare me the list of references.

 

            I was out at Balcony Friday night and ran into this girl, who I will not disclose the identity of in the off chance she ever reads this (he doesn’t remember her name). Anyway, she was obviously drunk and way too excited to see me. I’m not all that elusive, trust me. So she was on her way out and when I saw her, this look of surprise took over her entire soul and she came up to me, stood in front of me and stared at me. It got way awkward pretty damn quick. She then said we should be best friends. I’ve talked to this girl twice before this encounter. By now, I was just trying to figure out how to get out of this situation.What was the right answer? So I agreed. And told her I needed a ride to the airport. She then stared at me again. The music stopped. Poeple stopped playing pool and stared right at us. A tall man sneezed. How long was this going to last. “What are you doing?” “I’m trying to see if you’re lying to me.” Crickets stopped chirping. Wind stopped blowing. Should I leave? Should I kiss her? Should I fake a cramp? Her friend came up and grabbed her “Come on, _______!” Oh thank God. I turned around to talk to the girl I had been playing pool with before this encounter. She had indeed left. In fact, she managed to have already gotten a tattoo that says “Dustins are ass holes” on her neck in whatever time had elapsed. I hope she doesn’t meet anymore Dustins. So anyway, I went back to Seth to regroup…

 

 

Quote of the Day 2/12/07

 

Seth:     “What the hell was that?”

Me:      “I have no fucking idea. She asked me to be her best friend and then stared at me to see if I was lying.”

Seth:     “I thought she was going to kiss you.”

Me:      “Me too. Shit, I probably could have taken her home.”

Seth:     “You probably wouldn’t have even needed to go that far.”

 

But I didn’t! Because I’m a gentleman. And her friend was much hotter.

 

 

                                    Meet the new me,

                                    D Rec.

 

 

Still Standing Right Here…

 

Sunday, February 11, 2007

The Dichotomy of Dustin

The Dichotomy of Dustin

Hey gang. Well, I bet you’re all wondering what the reason is for this most recent month-long retreat. Well, it’s because I enrolled myself in a creative writing class. Sounds counter-intuitive, don’t it? Well, I started out writing much the same way that I used to. You know the type: bitter, holier-than-thou and complainatory. Well, I’ve been handcuffing myself in recent QOTD history because I’ve been afraid of being judged for the shit I write. And in this case, “being judged” can easily be translated into “won’t get laid.” Well I’ve decided to let go of these inhibitions. It’s time that you all realize that this shit I write isn’t necessarily me. It’s this voice I’ve created. It largely resembles a character that I used to be mixed with one that I thought I was with a dash of one I’d like to become someday with a little chemical assistance. It’s part arrogant frat boy, part snobby intellectual, part pathetic and withdrawn introvert and part amphibious death cricket. It’s like the platypus of journalism. And since I started this class, it’s underwent a lot of changes. We actually sat down in class and dissected the entire “I hate fuckin Brick Street…” diatribe for 20 minutes. I learned some interesting things about my writing. That’s where I finally realized that I had these two voices in my pieces competing. Like the whole piece was written from the perspective of a guy who thought that Brick Street was for such losers, completely beneath him. But he wouldn’t mind taking home one of the chicks himself (no comment).

And there we have come up with the Dichotomy of Dustin. The jock of the dorks, the dork of the jocks. He loves to play full contact football, he loves to get drunk and shoot pool, and he loves to play Settlers of Catan until sunrise. He loathes the guys that go to bars to pick up women and he wants to be the guys that pick up women at bars. He is trying desperately to grow up and trying desperately not to grow up at the same time. He is a walking contradiction, but at least he’s walking (this material may be outdated by the time you read it).

So anyway, I’ve decided to let it all go. I’m exploring this character of mine. And I don’t know where it’s going to go from here. If he gets to be too much for you, well then all apologies. Maybe you should go back to your Northern Exposure marathon on Lifetime. But I will give the greater majority what I believe they’d rather have, which is what a democracy would do. I believe it’s also what a communist or totalitarian party would do, but I think I’m getting in over my head a little now. I don’t know how a three-man junta would do. Anyway, back to work. And just in time for my favorite holiday. J

So here I was asking the Wach-Man about why he thinks I haven’t been writing for the last month or so…

Quote of the Day 2/10/07

“Because you’ve been happy?”

-Wach-Man

Sadly, he is one of many many people who recognize that I’m much funnier when I’m unhappy. And so I will choose unhappiness for my adoring masses, those rotten fuckers.

Back on track,

Darkman Dustin.

Still Standing Right Here…

Sunday, January 28, 2007

Tired and Sick

Tired and Sick

So I’m sick. Not really that sick, but enough to piss me off. And I’m so ridiculously inept at getting myself better, it’s ridiculous (I need a thesaurus). Like my throat has been scratchy for days and my solution was to eat more ice cream. I thought about gargling salt water for a sec, but there were ritz crackers by my bed which I figured would serve the same purpose. And when trying to figure out how I got sick, everybody asks if I have strange sleeping patterns. These people don’t know me. Or they do and are basically saying “duh.”

So I tracked it back to the night I drove to Cleveland and back and didn’t get to sleep until 8am and then had to get up the next… day(?) at 5am. Anyway, after waking up at about 4pm that day, I couldn’t fall back asleep until about 4:45am. I woke up 15 minutes later, confused as cranberries (that’s not a real saying – don’t use it and expect results) and unable to identify where that damn noise was coming from. Is it the alarm clock?... No, not the alarm clock… I glanced at my guitar... No, probably not the guitar… THE PHONE!!! Got it! It’s the phone… No, nope… it’s not the phone… Oh crap! It IS the alarm clock! Why the hell is it going off now? It’s still dark. I must have screwed something up somewhere. Oh no, wait a sec… No, I was right. Shit on a duck (also not a saying)…

So that is the origin of me being sick. It’s the residual effect of my favor. This favor is getting bigger with every day that passes by that I can’t choke down a yuengling.

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

The Maturation of the QOTD (content)

The Maturation of the QOTD (content)

I just finished writing at length the history of the quote of the day’s form. Now onto its content. The first couple years, it was glorified potty humor. Actually, it wasn’t even glorified. It was straight-up potty humor. I appropriated comments such as “you can’t fit that whole thing in your mouth” and “wow, you have a tiny head” from conversations and let them do they’re work out of context. It was easy. It was working. And it sucked. Oh, it was funny to the 10 people who were there when it happened or just to those people that knew whoever said it, but it was crap. And it has completely ruined close to any sexual innuendo that can possibly be made now. I can’t judge anymore. Somebody will make what might be a decent joke based on sexual innuendo and I can’t even tell if it’s funny anymore because I’ve become such a snob about it. I feel numb to the genre after living in it for so long. And so there came a point, I forget exactly where, that I decided this stuff was not funny anymore at all to anyone and I refused to be a party to aiding its success. But this did not make the people happy. Now if we were out at dinner and such a phrase was uttered, everyone would turn to me and say “Uh-oh! You’re gonna be on Dustin’s quote of the day.” This was an accomplishment for some people. They were proud to be mentioned on my quote of the day. Chris Meawad tried for years. He’d say something clever and look at me and his ears would perk up and he’d give a funky grin. It was quite comical. But anyway, it was time to put the potty humor to bed.

I started to accrue a pretty extensive audience after a little while. I had lots of people on this list. College friends, fellow employees, ex-girlfriends, current girlfriends, my family, other people’s parents, other people’s girlfriends, friends I made on the internet… the list was pretty impressive. So now I started to need to worry about the content. Do I want to talk about how wasted I got to my mom? Or the chicks I try to score with to my ex-girlfriends? Or current girlfriends? (joke) I was having a problem. And so I made a rouge list called the “x-rated quote of the day.” I only sent out one of those. Really, what I needed were several different security clearances for the messages I would send out. OK for ex-girlfriends, NOT OK for current bosses and certain student employees. OK for sister, NOT OK for mom. I struggle with that still to this day. I kind of started to have an approach of “just pretend this isn’t necessarily me, but a guy a lot like me who works at some college Rec Center somewhere else in the country.” That sounds great, but doesn’t really work out in practice. I wrote a story about kissing a girl on the Subway last year on New Years Eve (my birthday) and a girl got so offended that she asked to be taken off my “frequent bullshit list” and called me an asshole. Sometimes people just weed themselves out of my life depending on how well they can take a joke. And I’m not talking about the kind of joke where I hide cocaine in her jacket when she goes to the airport or anything. I really think that I lost a chance I had with one girl because of a joke I made in my column. Sure, it put me in a bad light, but that was the intent. I poke fun at myself. I make myself look like an ass. I am exaggeratingly critical and/or angry and/or pathetic. It’s a lot funnier, trust me. I do my best work when I’m unhappy, so even when I’m not, I need to pretend to be to stay on my game and keep my voice alive. Unfortunately, a lot of the content is self-depreciating. I wish more people would have a better understanding of the concept of voice before they judge me. Do you really think Steven Colbert thinks all democrats are terrorists? I doubted. But it’s damn funny. Do you think some democrat senator is going to write him and tell him that he’s out of line? Gosh, I hope so. Because it would prove politicians have no sense of humor. Anyway, I’ve gotten myself in trouble and I feel like I need to be a lot more careful now, so I am glad for this medium now. I will still give my adoring public what they want to read, but I can write it in here first and edit for content in the off chance I still have a chance with anybody on this list.

And really, it’s all about trying to score with women anyway. But hey, it looks to be the best chance I got.

Sunday, January 21, 2007

The History of the QOTD (form)

The History of the QOTD (form)

I want to take a little time here to address my writing style, as I think that it’s important I not only identify it, but actually dig in deeper to find out for myself what the hell I’m doing. I first started the “quote of the day” back in college and it was originally just meant to be a piece of nothing that would last from March until maybe the end of the semester. I sent out a message about something funny that my friend had said to 23 of the friends I had e-mail addresses for. It wasn’t really anything that impressive at all. It didn’t take me too long to begin to plug intramural games and tell short stories about stupid things my friends and I did. And that’s where it started. I don’t remember exactly how the transition came, probably on one particular subject that annoyed me (such as the art department at UMBC, my unimpressive dating habits or my plethora of injuries), but I started to rant about stuff that pissed me off. And it got popular. Too popular. People began to write back and reply to the whole group and e-mail was relatively new at the time, so some people got pissed off that they had this spam (though I don’t think it was called that yet) in their inbox from people they didn’t necessarily want to hear from. And so then I had to make rules. Like “Kady, don’t e-mail everybody just to say stuff like ‘that’s funny.’ It’s starting to piss people off.” And there were e-screaming matches back and forth on there about whether or not this was technically spam and who had the right to appropriate my e-mail list to voice their opinions and when it was proper and so on. I’ve lost friends over dumb things on this list. Like when ACDC Mike wrote back after I gave the new Star Wars a bad review. He apparently disagreed and shared that with all my friends. I went two days without checking my e-mail and finally checked it when a buddy of mine told me that I needed to see what was going on. Holy crap! There wasn’t just an argument that had ensued about the movie, but also a line of responses (once again) about “You don’t have the right to send this to everybody. We don’t want to hear your shit!” “These e-mail addresses are public and as such, I have as much of a right…” It got ugly. Basically, I almost had to make an example out of ACDC Mike and he didn’t appreciate it all that much. I don’t know how mean I was (I’ve become a lot more laid back about stuff since then), but it became awkward for me to see him again. And he’d still occasionally write back about how much of an ass I was to all those e-mail addresses he still had a list of. It was then that my computer nerd friends told me about this feature called the “blind carbon copy.” Well, the BCC: was my new best friend. Which was good timing, since ACDC Mike no longer was. Ebb and flow, ebb and flow. Anyway, I started to (as I already alluded to) make it more than just rants about stuff. Now I started to throw in movie reviews on every Friday and ratings of random things (breakfast cereal, ways to get money illegally and songs about women’s backsides) every Tuesday. Now it was turning into a legit “daily e-mail humor article” as I described it to people who I needed to describe it to. And like I said, it predates the blog. Well, once I entered the working world, it was a little difficult to find the time to write for 30-45 minutes a day. And I won’t pretend that I didn’t have 30 minutes a day to do it, but I began to get other priorities also. It became a weekly thing, but really just a “when I got around to it” thing. I’d take off 3-8 months at a time regularly and then jump back in where I left off. The first e-mail after I got back was always a funny one because I would get 5-35 messages back saying that certain friends didn’t exist anymore. That was always disturbing. Anyway, the entire time I would write all these, I’d include a quote at the bottom, which had started to become less and less what my writings were about. I would rant about a date I had but then I’d quote something that Tony said in a football game that we had. I was starting to be confined by the quote. I would have much more rant material than I had quotes to write. And I know that a lot of the people on my list don’t necessarily “have the time” to read the whole of whatever it is that I write. So they’ll scan down to the quote and just read that and really miss the good part. This is unfortunately where I still am now. I’m trying to find a way to divorce myself from the quote, though it’s tough because of the history I have behind it now. I have a website now that my friend got me for my birthday less than a month ago where I’m going to start publishing all these past and present QOTDs. I’m not making it public knowledge until I have something decent put together to show people. Anyway, this is the next step in the evolution of the “quote of the day.” And I’m somewhat confined to the title, which is misleading. I need to figure a way out of this. But mostly, I just need to keep writing.

Monday, January 15, 2007

Sporty Spites

Sporty Spites

The only thing David Beckham can do well is kick a ball. Really. That’s it. Sure he looks good and he’s probably not an idiot or an ass hole, but the only reason I know his name is because he can kick a ball. Now sure, I know he’s married to Posh Spice, but does anybody out there think he still would be if he never learned how to kick a ball? If not, he probably couldn’t even have bagged Scary Spice. Or Ginger. And yes, I know Ginger isn’t even a Spice Girl anymore. It cracked me up when she left the band because she was the only one who was actually a spice. When’s the last time any of you put posh on your cobb salad? So yeah, David Beckham is making about 1 million bucks a week for the next 5 years because he can kick a ball pretty good. And that pisses me off. It doesn’t piss me off that he makes more money than I do, most people do and will continue to do so, but it pisses me off that sports contracts have gotten that ridiculously out of hand. I know that the LA Galaxy actually only has to pay him like $51 million of his $250 million, but I don’t care. Again, I’d like to reiterate that I’m not jealous, I don’t regret my life path (well, not for that reason), but it’s literally unfathomable to me. How much money is that? What in the hell is he going to spend it on? He’s apparently not even as good as most people thinks he is. I hate him. He’s probably an ass hole after all.

            OK, so here’s what I’m going to do about this. I’m going to raise my children to be the best ball kickers in the world. That’s all I’m going to teach them how to do. Or better yet, I’ll teach them how to throw an 80-mph knuckle ball. Fuck math. Fuck history. Fuck facts. If he can throw a decent curve ball both right and left handed, he won’t need to know facts. I guess I have to also consider the slim possibility that I may have a girl. If I have a girl, I’ll just teach her how to flirt and she’ll at least never have to buy a drink at a bar.

That last line may have been written with ulterior motives. I’ve decided I’m never buying a drink for any women ever again. Because they strictly use their femininity and our gullibility and desperation (at least mine) to their advantage and at my expense just to earn themselves a drink they really didn’t earn and definitely don’t deserve. Even if we wind up “dancing” (the use of this term to describe what happens at Brick Street and Stadium is an entirely different subject I’ll expound upon at a later date) for a few songs. The “dancing” can and should be considered a mutually beneficial exchange. No need for any extra favors or money to exchange hands. I wouldn’t pay you to “dance,” so why should I buy you a drink? In fact, a friend was walking into Stadium and I was already in there with a few friends. She said I needed to buy her a drink when I got inside. I asked why. She said because she had boobs. So did over half the fucking people in the bar. And I sure as shit ain’t buying drinks for all of them. You and all of them can kiss my ass. Go get David Fucking Beckham to buy you a drink. And I’ll bet he would. Ass hole.

 

 

Quote of the Day 2/11/07

 

“Barbaros Condition Downgraded To Glue”

                        -Mikey Conover (stolen from fark.com)

 

Now he was a REAL athlete.

 

 

                                    Kicking Beckham in the ball,

                                    Extendo.

 

 

Still Standing Right Here…

 

Tuesday, January 9, 2007

The 9th Day of Quotemas 2006

Fashion Nonsense

I know Christmas or whichever equivalent holiday that you celebrate, whether it’s a made up one or not, is a distant memory by now and you’ve either gone back to work or school or if you’re lucky, neither. But I still have a few holiday-related stories to share, and for those of you that don’t know, I like to live in the past. I was born two weeks late and I really never caught up. Oh, and I apparently am taking the night off of sleep. I’m getting back into this incredibly annoying, however productive habit of sleeping every other night. This is evidently the one where I don’t sleep.

My Aunt Karen got wind of the fact that I was looking for clothes this year that would make me look cool. It looks like at least somebody on this list reads the text body. It’s cool. I know most of you don’t. I love having conversations like the one I had with Leah about how I went a whole year without drinking soda.

“You’re on the quote of the day list, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t read the damn thing at all, do you?”
“Well, it’s not…” – Don’t bother, I know how that sentence ends.

Boy, this message lost its focus a while back. If this is the first one you’ve read in a while, I swear they get better. So Aunt Karen made it a mission of some sort to find clothes that would make me look cool. This would prove to be a learning experience for her. She at least had the benefit of low expectations as far as her fashion sense. I have no real excuse. She could and did walk up to random young people who I assume she thought looked hip enough (which is a subplot I may get into later) and asked them what people about 4-7 years younger than me wore these days. She was hit with a barrage of rules and guidelines that I really wish she had written down. Ripped and worn clothes are in. Let them see the shirts you’re wearing underneath your shirt. Nothing with seams. Wear long underwear on under your other clothes. She basically described Bill’s wardrobe. If I’m gonna hang out with him and wear the same exact clothes, I’m gonna need to hit the gym everyday for the next 4 months. Speaking of which, she asked this guy to try some of this stuff on since he looked approximately like my size. After seeing his abs, she asked him to try on some more stuff and used him as a kind of personal model for as long as she could. I’m going to try to use that strategy next year when shopping for lingerie. And bath soaps. So Aunt Karen started to attract crowds of people all trying their hardest to find clothes for this wannabe hip guy they never met. I don’t even know if these people worked at the store. It was great to hear about the Christmas spirit that manifested itself in the desperate attempts of a college graduate to fit in with the cool crowd. And God forbid I try to take this stuff back and these people actually meet me. “Oh, this guy? How about a Phil Collins shirt and a pastel colored blazer?” Well, my aunt stepped away from her posse for a moment to check with my sister about something…

The 9th Day of Quotemas 2006


“I’m here in… Aerospace.”

-Aunt Karen.


I think she meant Aeropostle, but I’m sure it seemed the same at the time.

Finally cool,

Seamless in Cincinatti.


Still Standing Right Here…

Thursday, January 4, 2007

The 8th Day of Quotemas

Crocs of Crap

About a year ago, I was at our national conference for intramurals (a 4-day binge of networking, alcohol and exercise equipment) when I saw these stupid ass shoes. This guy in a relatively important position with khakis and a polo shirt on was wearing these rubber things on his feet that had holes all through them. Like Swiss shoes. You may now know what I’m describing are called “Crocs.” As my colleague Debi said back then, “They better be comfortable because they look ridiculous.” And she couldn’t have been more correct. I was amazed that these shoes were trying to be taken seriously by this man. We were not on the beach or trying to cross a creek or anything. Later on, I started to see them popping up every once in a while here at Miami. And Char gave me shit for wearing socks with sandals. I tried a pair of them on. As it turns out, they’re not all that comfortable. That’s just what people say to justify looking that ridiculous. Needless to say, I’m not a big fan of Crocs. Subconsciously, I think I actually lose respect for people that wear them. I know is a little over the top, but I am as God created me.

So I went down to Joe’s place on Christmas night after briefly playing pink-hat Santa Claus to a few friends in the PA area. Only, instead of being led around reindeer, I was driving around in a deer-killing machine. Just a little Christmas paradox for you. Anyway, I got down to Joe’s place and his brother was unwrapping this neat joystick that plugs into the TV and plays all the classic arcade games like Ms Pac-man and Pitfall. And it was wireless. This is an awesome idea for a gift. And I made that known apparently a little too well. Joe said he probably should have gotten me that thing. Instead he got me something that I probably wouldn’t like. When he said that, I just figured he was giving me the Corona lava lamp back. I was wrong. It was much worse. He got me a pair of very comfortable, holey rubber shoes. Apparently they come in neon orange too. Good for me. Have I heard of these? Oh, yeah Joe. I’ve heard of these. Do I like them? Sorry, I can’t even pretend I like them…

The 8th Day of Quotemas 2006

“Well, you don’t have to like them, you just have to accept them as a gift.”

- Good Joe


And that’s the theme of this year’s Christmas. I’m happy to see you’ve embraced it and managed to sum it up in one very apropos phrase.

Comfy in Crocs,

D Rec.


Still Standing Right Here…