So I saw the new pirate movie the other day

[ask me how it was]
"How was it?"
"It was good, but it was rated arrgh!"

It's weird, I'm never the one making plans and it was odd being in the position of party point man. Whatever, I was really geared up for going out and having a fabulous time at SoHo for Rich's Halloween bash. Tonight the Scooby gang consisted of an Indian, an old school hip hopper, a Death/Lord of the Rings-like character, Zorro, a Cowgirl, a ghetto sheet over the head ghost and a girl in a red dress. Granted things got off to a precarious start as we entered and as far as I could tell our group was one of the few in costume (which was fine, because a pirate vest/bandana is a far cry from a pair of green tights and a Santa beard), but a few quick shots
into the system and things were off and rolling.

The thing about Halloween is that it gives gals the opportunity to indulge their fantasies and guys pretty much the opportunity to ogle openly. There was definitely an abundance of talent on display. A few friends went as stewardesses, um sexy flight attendants. There was a plethora of cowgirls, French maids and fatigued army chicks. In my humble opinion the sauciest dime of the night went to the sexy Strawberry Shortcake. Hey call me a sucker, but you gotta sometimes indulge in a little after-school fantasy time.

I didn't stick around for the announcement of best costume, but my money was on the guy dressed as Turd Ferguson (aka Norm MacDonald playing Burt Reynolds from SNL's Celebrity Jeopardy.) There's comic genius and then there's the sight of a 6'4" mustachioed guy wearing a foam cowboy hat and an actual make-shift Jeopardy podium. Bravo sir, bravo.

Note to anyone: The cheesy pirate joke is the conversation equivalent of the double finger point. Don't have it be your signature move, but when it's working you're playing with house money.

Quite simply my game was on. It's like the stars aligned and I was able to talk to anyone without any sort of hesitation or repercussion. My ability to converse with people had reached a transcendent ability, not seen since my mayor-like first two-months of college.

Whatever I was on, I wish I could have bottled it as last night was more the exception than the rule. Often times I tend to cohabitat with like-minded indivuiduals or strike my holier-than-thou air of superiority that no one likes . And not that I'm a social savant or anything, but I know a few wallflowers who could really use a liberal dousing of the juice.

I think it was the combination of copious amounts of alcohol, the 45% chance that I actually worked with said person I was talking to and the fact that being able to stare at someone and say "I like your Slim Jim costume. Where'd you get it?" is a great opening line.

Fueled by my newfound devil-may-care attitude I made a point of making the rounds, chatting up two lovely Cowgirls over the course of the night in particular. One blond, one brunette. Promising because they were incredibly cute and much fun to be with. Funny because I just called the Cowgirl and my opening line went something like, "Hi it's Mike from the other night. I was the one dressed as a pirate."

Ah, those darned pirate jokes never get old.

Whore It Up, Ladies. It's Halloween.

From the comic genius over at blagg blogg:

Some people think Halloween was created by candy companies, cynically hoping to sell more product. I would disagree. I think it was created by closet whores, cynically hoping to go out dressed all slutty without moral or societial consequence. Deep down, every woman wants to show off her junk by busting out of skimpy little skirts and blouses with fishnet stockings and patent leather, but society has deemed this fashion to be inappropriate, reserved only for women of low repute who peddle their asses on streetcorners across the country.

So it's snowing now

Dear guy I work with

We used to pass each other in the hallway and neither of us would utter a word. We would barely acknowledge each other, save for the presence of another human being as to otherwise not physically run into one another. I was fine with our relationship. But you had to go and change it and now we are now both proud participants of the casual hi. Thanks, thanks a lot. I hate the casual hi.

For those of you who may be unfamiliar with the casual hi, good. Run the hell away from it as fast as you can. Don't stop to for questions just run. The casual hi is a distant cousin of the casual fuck (AK the quad girl from sophomore year). But without any of the benefits that go along with it. Like the fucking part. Or the blowjobs. The one thing they have in common is that after the initial bursts of excitement is over all that's left are awkward pauses and silent elevator rides. Dicey situation to say the least.

Which inevitably leads small talk: finality incarnate. Think of the guy that at the gym who dozen' t bother wiping the sweat off of the machine you are going to use. Or the guy behind you at the supermarket who asks you questions about your groceries. Now imagine that you see these guys every day, heck sometimes 4 times a day. And they want to know how you're doing.

And here's the rub, I don't care how you're doing in the least. Don't get me wrong I feign interest. I can cajole with the best of 'en, but quite frankly I'm sick of it. It's not that I want you to have a bad day. I hope you are doing well. I hope neither your dog, grandmother or car just died. But other than that I really don't care what you're doing this weekend. I especially don't care how your day's going when it's 4:29 and I'm counting down the time to go home. I just don't want to carry on this charred anymore.

So we sit on the opposite sides of a shared cubicle wall. I know that your son plays soccer for the Blue Jays, half-back if I remember correctly. I know that you drive a '01 Accord that has 90,000 miles on it and you are overdue for an oil-change. I know that you really, really, really like the buffalo chicken sandwiches that they serve in the cafeteria. But I don't care. And more importantly I wish I didn't know all that.

Dammit, I knew that I never should have introduced myself after class that night. It's such a delicate balance. Granted we work at the same company, but never on together on the same project. And now the great cosmic balance that once was is all out of whack.

Shazaam

It took me a while to realize it, but my girl L. is actually a super hero. Hear me out. Besides the whole leaping tall buildings, speeding bullets thing she controls minds and is capable of creating impulses through the simple turn of a phrase. Kind of like a Jean Grey or the Invisible Woman from the Fantastic Four, only with curlier hair and better at Scattegories. And I imagine her skintight purple jump suit to be just as fetching. She's currently stationed in Berlin where she battles the forces of hack writing one spot at a time.

We haven't talked in ages but after a lengthy conversation on the IM last night it dawned on me that it was getting pretty late here and thus wicked late over there. Like tomorrow morning late! She was talking to me from the FUTURE.

Wow, that international dateline gets me every time.

And for what its worth I'm so glad I'm not using LiveJournal or myspace because if I was, in the box where you type in what you are listening to right now I'd have to put down Boyz 2 Men.

Albeit a little soggy

All eyes and oars turned towards Boston as thousands of rowers and coxons made their way into the frigid (almost swimmable) banks of the River Charles for the 41st rendition of Head of the Charles regatta race. The plan was to get up early, grab a few hot toddies and catch the action down by the old BU haunts. Instead mother nature threw a monkey wrench into the plans as Wilma made the day quite unbearable. Elly and I were able to enjoy the foliage and the brisk fall day for a grand total of 27 minutes before we retreated to the comfy confines of the local Starbucks to polish off some ads for class.

Surrounded by warmth (buxom coeds), vanilla latte in hand, stack of ad annuals across from us, pen for me/marker for her and we're off. This is good and hopefully how things will be if everything goes according to plan. Let the Clios come rolling in...

After wrapping up our ideas it was off for a marathon window shopping/beer& burgers sojourn down Newbury/Boylston. Oh yeah the on and off rain that's been going on had officially switched to on and I made the brilliant choice of brining a flask of rum (for the toddy) instead of the umbrella. Staying warm though. Well I managed to pick up the finishing touches to my Halloween costume, lay the foundation for my Christmas list, check out 5 shoe stores, enjoy some tall beverages and get our daily exercise in.

In loving memory of William Wallace, Tony Montoya, Jo Jo Gunz, Marlboro Man, etc. .

So we meet again old friend. And this time I'm back better than ever. Dammit who am I kidding I sucked then and I will suck again. But the point of everything is that Quake 2 is fucking awesome. And playing it at work with a bunch of computer hack friends is even better.

Pandora's box has never been so tempting.

BACKGROUND:
I was first introduced to Quake back in my freshman year at school. What was initially an after class computer game turned into a life consuming, floor-wide bonding event. You weren't cool if you didn't rock the rocket launcher. For any unaware soul who happened to wander to Sleeper Hall's 8th floor, they would be in for a rude awakening. That blood-curdling scream? Oh that was just Drod getting railed by Marquis. That explosion? Ball blowing himself up trying to grab the extra health with the rocket jump. But the worst sound was the tink, tink of steel on concrete as that could only mean one thing: FIRE IN THE HOLE GRENADE!

God that was a fun game. I haven't really thought of it for a long time, but the all-night Quake-a-thons were one of best things of school. And missing class and canceling the girlfriend were just casualties of not being fragged.

Trying my hand at a CL random encounter.

So in the course of my young life I have come to many realizations. And chief among them is that I am not very geographically experienced. Traveled perhaps, but experienced no. And that’s why I’m writing this. I have never had sex with anyone outside of the Eastern Time Zone. Don’t get me wrong if your city rings in the New Year along with Dick Clark and Carson Daly, I have definitely dallied in the local flavor. From Montreal to the Carolinas and all of New England in between. Sadly the farthest west I have ventured has been New Jersey and that just doesn’t seem right. So for any girl looking to help a guy experience a little bit of what this great country has to offer let me know. California, Nebraska, Illinois, North Dakota I’m all yours. Ideally I’d like to set up a travel schedule that would maximize my time in each state, allowing me to see the most “sights” and minimize travel time. Thanks.

Blank slate

Some things that I came across while looking through a notebook.

• Many drafts of a heart-to-paper letter that I wrote to N a while back
• A list of things that I had consumed/digested over the span of 3 days
• Variety of questions I was to ask my boss during our weekly status meeting
• Half-scripted ideas of an ad for either 1) an off-road sport utility vehicle, 2) the Outdoor Life Network or 3) a weekend warrior retreat ala Outward Bound
• Doodles from a meeting consisting of my attempt at the Landing of Normandy, the doodles not the meeting
  
• A recipe for oatmeal raisin cookies

I'm getting an early start on my New Year's Resolution. As an exercise in not letting my mind stagnate I will be filling 10 notebook pages every week. Whatever thoughts are in my head I will put down to be turned into or stored for sheer brilliance at a later date.

Yo Tony!

Take your canolli stuffing, swimming with the fishes, Soprano watching, J-E-T-S JETS JETS JETS chanting, pizza shop owning, greasy haired, rhino horn-wearing EYEtailian ass and get the hell out of my way. The noodle is ours bitch!

And the same thing goes to all you other WOP degos out there.

Shaking, not stirring things up

Ushering in a new era of the 007 saga, British born Daniel Craig has been introduced as the new James Bond. Craig, the first blond to ever play Bond, replaces Pierce Brosnan and will appear as the suave spy in next year's Casino Royale.

While Craig may not be a household name he does hold an impressive resume of film and theatre roles (who am I kidding I have no idea who the bloke is, but you can do some research if you want). Other actors who were considered for the high-profile role included Hugh Grant (the 1st would be bumbling Bond), Colin Farrell (most likely Bond to get an STD and/or MoneyPenny knocked up), Ewen McGregor (we don't watch Bond to see male nudity), Hugh Jackman/Heath Ledger/Eric Bana (Wolverine/lame/the Incredible Hulk, respectively, Australian collectively) and my would-be choice Clive Owen. Rupert Everett could not be reached for comment regarding his role as the first fey Bond.

Did you ever know you're still my hero?

What a guy.

Get busy living, get busy trying

So my respite/sabbatical/brooding time is over. It's been four days since the Championship reign ended and it's time for me to get back on the wagon. Granted the Bombers missing out on the ALCS as well makes things a bit better, but what will really get me through the winter is the promise of youth. The Young Guns led by my boy Paps, Hansen, Pedroia with Hanley and Lester on the horizon. So enough licking my wounds and to move onto something more interesting namely the dimes whose panties I can't get out of my head.

Prospect #1 - So I thought that I had the work dating out of my system a while ago, but it was inevitable. But this time it's more complicated than just, "Hey I had a lot of fun last night, I hope it's not awkward now that we've made out." So she's a total sweetheart, but previously dated this other guy at work that I'm kinda/sorta friends with. In the sense that we eat lunch together sometime and when either one of has the car in the shop we give each other a ride. So we're not exactly buddies, but then does the "guy code" kick in? You know the one, Thou shalt not covet thy boy's girl. But then again, he's not exactly one of my boys and besides I've never really been a stickler for those rules.

Anywhoo I guess my "out" so to speak is that this guy is actually leaving work as of this Friday. So do I lay low until then? Or full steam ahead?

Prospect # 2 -
So I met this girl on the bus the other day, wait let me rephrase that Coed, I love Coeds! She's a junior at NU and yes I did meet her on the bus, T actually. She's cute, but again young. Not sure exactly how old I think most of our dates will be at either Chuckie Cheese or going for slurpees. We've been out once and maybe we'll try getting together soon.

So there you go back on the blogging wagon. And with that these few tidbits for your amusement:
Stay away from the malls unless you want to be mistaken for a member of the pink team.
Power up Segal style
The world needs more Walken

Groovy, oh yeah and I met Sports Guy. I rule!

An email I sent just sent to my best friend Frank:

You know it's weird working outside of downtown Boston. Kinda took some of the Red Sox Nation wanderlust away from me. I was watching the news this morning about how Sox apparel is the choice dujour whether you're on State Street or going to class. One of my favorite things last year was riding the commuter rail, going into South Station, walking past the Children's Museum and just counting all the B hats that were around. Walking past the Metro and Globe's being handed out with pics of Manny, Schilling and Pedro on the cover. I guess I'm missing the energy and excitement of it all. Granted they are playing in Chicago, but just knowing that if they were at Fenway I could leave work and within 20 minutes be down there. Or at least be in a bar surrounded by other people who are thinking the same thing.

I guess when I leave Mass, whenever that is, that is one of the things I miss most about it. I wouldn't trade last year for anything. Staying up till 1 am every night, watching the game with you and then my parents. That bleary-eyed train ride with knowing glances to everyone else sporting the B and a tired look. Arriving at a job I hated, spending my time reading Sports Guy, dirtdogs and the Globe. You know the feeling last year made up for a lot of things. Breaking up with my girl, living at home, having a crappy job, etc.

And that's why the fall wouldn't have been the same if they didn't make the playoffs. I want Ortiz to hit walkoff home runs past midnight. I want Tony Graffanino to become a household name. I want to get a Red Sox t-shirt with the words "Paps" on the back. I want all those freshman that started last year at BU, Northeastern, BC, etc. to get spoiled by having the Sox play well into October again.

I'm just rambling now, but I know you're feeling the same thing. So at 4 I'll know you're somewhere with a mlb.com account or in front of a TV. Dude I can't wait.

Not done yet

After last year, an autumn without the Sox just wouldn't have been right. But thankfully things worked out for the good guys. A little bit of luck, an MVP performance from Papi, the bats (Manny) finally coming together, some young arms injecting life into the bullpen and the Tribe just being a year too young. Your 2005 American League Wild Card winners: the Boston Red Sox.

It's nice but we know there's lot's of good baseball ahead of us.






Things kick off Tuesday at 4 PM EST, Clement vs. Contreras. The playoff breakdown as follows.

On borrowed time

It's sent and totally out of my control. All I can do is leave it up to the Postal Gods and wait. You see I sent a letter to this fantabulous girl declaring that she is the sun, the moon and the stars, albeit with much cuter boobs. And now I'm just waiting to hear back from her. Well waiting to hear back from her regarding the letter.
Which leads me to a few complaints about modern technology, namely my cell phone. So I know I'm expecting a call from her and the more I think about it the more nervous I get. I just want to know what's up. But the fact that my phone (all phones) have caller ID, I will have that extra split second of extreme trepidation before I pick up. I want to just say "hi" and have her say "hey". This doesn't even have to do with her, but anyone who calls. Sure, caller ID is great for avoiding calls from so and so or what's her face. But I hate dashing to my phone and wondering "ooo who loves me this time" only to see it's from XX. And my other bone to pick, whilst it's probably because I'm a sucker for nostalgia. When was the last time you got a girl's digits handed to you on a napkin/match book/penned on the back of your hand? Exactly. Standing there typing on your mobile just doesn't have that cache.

And knowing my luck she'll call when I'm either in a crowded restaurant, waiting in line to go to the bathroom or driving in breakneck rushhour traffic. So will I answer and be utterly confused/distracted/careening to my doom or just let her leave the message?

I'm just bitter because for whatever reason my (non-Zack Morris, post 2003) cell phone doesn't have call waiting. Balls.