My buddy Doug sent me this earlier today and it made me giggleth, so I'm sharing it with all o' y'alls:

Sacrilege rules.

Tonight: Game 3!
Tomorrow: I talk about why I hate fantasy football!

UPDATE: The above is not sacrilege. I know sacrilege, sir, and that is not him.

This is him:

Props to Embly for sending that over.

posted at 10:02 AM | 2 comments

Okay, James Lileks better fear my wrath. Him AND his oustanding writing skeelz. I was all ready to write a nice long post about the flu, and the flu vaccine, and why the American news media is absolutely crapping its collective pants, and why this is completely retarded. Then I go through my daily reading and BOOM, good ol' Jimmy (he hates nicknames almost as much as I hate him for scooping my column idea) has a nice Backfence about it.

So he better be glad he lives in Minnesota instead of, say, next door to me, or else his house would be SO egg'd on Mischief Night. Except that I plan to be in Hoboken on Mischief Night, causing great deals of mischief. So he better be glad he doesn't live in Hoboken, by cracky!

Anyway, I got nothing, so I'll just share a few high-larious links with all of y'all, starting with the AOLer translator. In short, it translates anything you might ever want to say to someone into the language a 12-year-old AOL chatter would use. Examples:

• Greetings, I am Matt! I enjoy long walks on the beach, late night Cinemax, and Resolve Carpet Cleaner Martinis!
  GRETNGS IM MAT11!!1! OMG WTF I ENJOY LONG WOKS ON TEH BACH LAET NIGHT CIENMAX AND RASOLV3 CARP3T CLEAENR MARTINIS1!1!1!! OMG WTF LOL
• Dear Sir: Please be advised that your account has been turned over to a collection agency, "Plank's Bail Bonds, Collections, and Altamont-style Biker Security Incorporated."
  DAAR SIR PLZ B ADVIESD TAHT UR ACOUNT HAS BEN TURNAD OVER 2 A COL3CTION AEGNCY PLANKS BALE BONDS COLECTIONS AND ALTMONT-STYLE BIEKR SECURITY INCORPORAETD!!111 OMG LOL
• Hey Jill, John is hot.
  H3Y JIL O IS HOT!11!11! OMG

My buddy Matt, who told me about it, believes that the AOL Translator is the greatest website of all times, and I tend to agree with him.

In other news, they're doing more work on the support beams in my office building again (Long version: here. Short version: the building I'm in is 150+ years old, and many of the support beams are merely 12" oak pilings, many of which are rotting, which they are replacing one by one with massive I-beams surrounded by drywall.), right next to my desk, so per the norm they're installing a large drywall enclosure to keep dust in and to keep us from having to be blinded by arc welders. I'd like to share with you the following two conversations between two of the workers. Conversation 1:

Caucasian worker: "Didn't you get my message?"
Hispanic worker: [mumbles something incoherent in a heavy spanish accent]
Caucasian worker: "You know I can't understand a G*ddamn thing you say."

Conversation 2:

Caucasian worker: [some kind of fake pidgin spanish, followed by] "No espanyol."
Hispanic worker: "Si espanyol."
Caucasian worker: [pause] "Shut the hell up."

It's also worth noting that one of the hispanic workers almost got decapitated about 5 seconds ago by a hanging lamp when the rolling platform on which he is standing was unexpectedly rolled down the hallway by his buddy.

Safety: always our first priority. Oh wait, no, that's not right . . . not safety . . . what's the word? Oh right, stupidity, that's it, thanks.

posted at 2:50 PM | 0 comments

AND THE TROGDOR COMES IN THE NIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!

posted at 5:49 PM | 0 comments

First of all, we should get one thing straight. The Red Sox did not "make" history.

History already existed. In fact, for the Sawx, there's over a century of history, large portions of it filled with it disappointment, and angst, and depression, and quite possibly scurvy. History has been with the Sox this whole season, whispering in their collective ears like a ghost,

86 years . . .

it's not gonna happen . . .

The Curse . . .

Who's Your Daddy . . .

ghosts don't have to wear pants, it's totally rad . . .

Pedro, Lionel Ritchie ca. 1984 wants his hair back . . ."

Then, at some point the ghost, or whatever, noticed that Jesus was playing for the squad, and stopped whispering so loud. Until the Sox found themselves down 3 games to naught to the Yanks.

BABE RUTH IS YOUR DADDY! Well, I dunno if the Sox had a team meeting on Sunday or what, but they dug Babe Ruth out of the ground and took turns whaling on his ass with a pair of baseball spikes. Right now his rear end looks like a blue and black golfball.

Last night's game 7 was supposed to be the nail in the coffin for the Sox. Come back from 0-3 and win everything? It can't happen. It's not possible. Oh wait . . . I forgot, the Sox have Jesus. My bad. I guess he'll just hit a grand slam, then. Okay. That's cool.

Then, of course, Derek Lowe finally gave up a run, and you could feel the weird gravitational effects of the entirety of New England slumping into their chairs, thinking, "Uh oh, here we go." (Seriously serious, it was like some kind of freak earthquake. It knocked over a candlestick in our dining room. Or maybe it was a cat. I dunno. I'm not a damn earthquake-ologist.) But then Lowe gets out of the inning, and Jesus comes up and knocks another pitch into the stands to score a couple runs and make it 8-1.

I'd have to say that the Derek Lowe (©Bill Simmons) face has been permanently retired and replaced by the A-Rod face. I really enjoyed every shot of A-Job that they showed in the last 3 innings; absolute confusion would be one way to describe it; complete consternation might be another. His thought process was clearly, "Wait . . . I gave up the opportunity to be the greatest shortstop of all time for THIS? Oh wait, I forgot I'm also getting a buttload of money. Nevermind." Classic.

Clearly I'm not much of a sportswriter, so rather than continuing to ramble incoherently, I'll just leave you with this: I want to make sweet, sweet love to Curt Schilling.

Sweet love.

NOTE: This rules.

posted at 9:33 AM | 0 comments

This gentleman is Frank Paul, aka BikerFox. I think we can all agree that he is hell of foxy, not to mention super-soxy. In lieu of a column today, I want everybody to go to his website and read all of it, including the story of his miraculous weight loss, his invention of the front flip off a mountain bike, and the many, many wonderful pictures of this gorgeous specimen of a man.

A few highlights:

• The "Oops, You Surprised Me While I Was Getting Onto My Bike (But Doesn't My Ass Look Scrumptious?)!" shot.
• The "I Feel Pretty" shot.
• And last, but CERTAINLY not least, a shot that I like to call "MARY MOTHER OF GOD PLEASE MAKE IT STOP."

Also: GO RED SOX. I would plan on being prepared to read something tomorrow about tonight's game. It may be the most important thing you read this month, other than the recommended dosage on your Xanax prescription.

posted at 11:06 AM | 1 comments

Okay, I think it's time to admit it. To come clean. Despite being born and raised within 25 miles of Philadelphia, I have come down with a serious case of Red Sox Fevah.

Don't worry; I'm still a Phillies fan. It's just that, darn it, until the Phillies are willing to shell out the cash for a legitimate starting pitcher (the Millwood for Estrada trade is starting to look pretty disastrous at this point), I've got to have SOMEBODY to root for when the post-season rolls around. It's not gonna be the Yankees, since supporting them is like supporting Al-Quäde, and it's not going to be another National League team (I figure you can be permitted to cheer for one team in each league; whichever team is closest to your house, and whichever team in the opposite league has the most depressing history).

So the Sawx it is. Anyway, you can't beat the Red Sawx for having the coolest cast of characters:

• Pedro Martinez, who stole Eriq La Salle's "Soul Glow" Jheri-curl from "Coming to America."
• David "Papi" Ortiz: has anybody checked to see if he and Mo Vaughan have ever been in a room together? I'm just asking.
• Curt Schilling, whom I would like to sex up.
• Jesus. How can you fail to win a series with Jesus leading off for you? Even if he is 2 for 24?
• Terry Francona, who is an excellent driver. Excellent, excellent driver.

Compare this of course to the Yankees:

• Derek Jeter, who is a tool.
• A-Rod. The door on his closet is definitely glass. And you can see a lot of leather pants hanging in there with him, along with one pair of bright red stilettos.
• Joe Torre, who needs to come manage the Phils.
• Jorge Posada, who lacks a chin.

So anyway, hopefully you all watched last night's games, because they were OFF THE CHAIN. Gotta love 6 hour marathon games, particularly when your team ends up winning, and just in time to switch to the other game and see Jeff Kent hit a MONSTER home run to left field. Great times.

Hopefully Schilling will get a double dose of whatever they're shooting into his ankle and he'll come out and throw 7 scoreless innings while Ortiz and Manny go yard a couple times a piece and score Jesus and Cabrera, each of which goes 3 for 3 with a walk, 4 runs, and 2 RBI.

You gotta believe.

posted at 10:02 AM | 0 comments

To quote a favorite movie, what in the Wide World of Sports is a-goin' on outside? It's colder than a Fairbanks February (yay for hyperbole!) outside this morning. There was frost on the cars. FROST. The crazy lady on the radio said something about it being 34 degrees outside. In October? How am I supposed to work under these conditions? I'm glad I had already turned the heat on, or else I'd still be huddled under my blankets, trying to figure out a way to shower without getting out of bed.

Other than the frigid cold, we had a nice weekend, despite the fact that we got nothing done. This was going to be the weekend we cleaned out the basement, put up Halloween decorations, maybe did some vacuuming. The only thing we did was hang a couple light-up halloween pumpkins in the front window.

Friday night we decided to try the relatively-new Japanese place in the shopping center by our house: Sake. It's very similar to your standard "Hibachi," except that the food is better, and there's no bar. On the other hand, they give you free sake, or hot rice wine. It's very similar in taste and potency to grain alcohol. We declined a second carafe because, after sharing the first one, Sarah kept trying to shave off her own eyebrows with the chopsticks, and I developed 1) a taste for human flesh and 2) the ability to speak fluent Japanese, which lasted a few hours.

As usual, Sarah had plenty of leftovers, and I had inhaled every morsel of food that came within 18 inches of my gaping maw, so we spent Friday night sitting in front of the TV watching things we had DVR'd.

Saturday morning I had to get up and decommission a remote server for work, so I did that, and played a few games of baseball on the PS2 (I overcame being down 2 games to 1 in the NLDS against the Giants, winning two games behind the hot pitching of Rick Shanley (1-1, ERA 1.45) and the rad batting of Matt Hearn (2 HR, .555BA)). I even got the spirit in me to go for a quick run, and decided to go for speed, managing to run a mile in 9:30, which is the fastest I've run since high school. I may have had a mild heart attack in the 7th minute, but it didn't deter me, because I'm not very bright.

Around noon we headed over to Brandywine High for Homecoming, what with us being alumni thereof and whatnot. We watched the band march, and they looked extremely rad. The tubas could have been louder, but then, I guess I'm just used to the Tubalonic Triumvirate that was Waffy, Hobbit, and Doob, circa 1995, when we were so loud that competition judges would leave the field sobbing, blood streaming from their ears, and we would laugh at them and their children.

Our girl Amanda Tomasetti was crowned Homecoming Queen, to which I reply: w00t.

Sarah's mom had walked over to the game from her house, so we drove her home and stopped in to see the in-laws, and then headed to the Booth's Corner Farmer's Market, where yet again we wished we had camera phones. Some enterprising woman was actually wandering around the place with the video camera, I assume to record the hair and clothing styles. I swear, it's like the population of Boothwyn simply is unaware that there were advances in style after 1982.

We stopped for dinner at our favorite little restaurant, and then we bought some meat and some Halloween decorations that we expect to put up in time for next year.

Then we headed to Target, where we bought various birthday-type presents for people, and I found two totally rad shirts: a nifty multi-color vertically-striped dress shirt, and a 100% cotton white French-cuff dress shirt, for which I had been looking for a while, and which was for sale for the bargain price of $19.99. I just have to have Sarah's mom take it in a bit, because I had to buy an XL in order to get it around my massive neck, and thusly the body of the shirt has roughly twice the amount of fabric that it really needs.

I also bought a winter hat.

Saturday night we sat around, not cleaning the basement. At one point we went out and purchased 6 junior bacon cheeseburgers from Wendy's. I ate all of them, minus the buns. I love food so much.

On Sunday, we got up and made our way to church, after which we headed over to the Corner Bistro for a goodbye lunch for Jill, who is moving to San Francisco at the end of the month to be with her hot mans, John, and work for Visa. I love the Bistro: I managed to be carb-friendly with my omelet sampler and bacon, but then they insisted I have dessert, so I ate a piece of peanut butter pie and went into a sugar coma for roughly 3 hours. Really, the only word to describe it is ::drools::.

We spent our evening not cleaning up the basement, interspersed with video gaming, a jog, Sarah studying (by which I mean she's preparing for a test, not that I was examining her for moles or something), and the roasting of a thick sirloin steak that was ::drools::.

Next weekend: definitely cleaning out the basement.

posted at 12:34 PM | 0 comments

Today's post is gonna jump around a bit, since I have no remaining ability for coherence. You'll see why shortly.

• The reason there was no post yesterday, and why Wednesday's post was thrown on at roughly 6:30pm despite being ready at noon, was that at 12:01pm we had a major outage here at work that kept me at the data center until about 2am. It was bad; one of those where I literally would try something to restore data, and then spend 30 minutes praying for God to help me. Additionally, the rest of the onsite team was in Philadelphia working a disaster recovery test, so I had nobody local who could come relieve me. Tough night.

  As an added bonus, I was on duty Thursday, so I worked from home and prayed that nothing happen that would require me to go to the data center. I'm still a little thrown off by the whole thing.

• I haven't posted a followup to the whole "How is Matt doing with his manbag?" question, so here it is. It rules. I can carry so much more stuff. For example, here is what is currently in the bag (the dreaded List Within A List!):
  • A lengthy Slim Jim. (No comments from the peanut gallery, please.)
  • A bag of Planter's peanuts.
  • One of Sarah's hair clips, which she threw in there at some point while we were in Boston.
  • My wallet.
  • My cellphone.
  • A pair of cheap sunglasses.
  • A box of anti-diarrheal pills. (I have issues with my colon.)
  • A disposable camera, bought in the Store 24 across from Fenway Park.
  • A receipt for gasoline purchased in Boston.
  • Multiple pamplhets from the Three Little Bakers dinner theater.
  • A copy of the "Boston Irish Emigrant," some kind of mick newspaper.
  • A book by Rupert Everett (yes, the actor) entitled Hello Darling, Are You Working?, which I purchased in a small used book store in Boston called "Diskovery." It is rad.
  And that's about it. So now I always have my reading material, I always have my pills for when I eat lunch at La Tolteca, and I even have a hair clip in case I tire of my hair being all up ins my grill, which it frequently is, since it needs cut.

  UPDATE: I have eaten both the Slim Jim and the peanuts.

• I forgot to put this into the Boston posts from earlier this week, so I'll alert you to the fact that our good friend Emily came up with this gem while drinking with us at Jillian's last Friday afternoon: "Matt, I'm just kidding, but I'm seriously serious." Good times.
• I ran two miles yesterday. It was really interesting; watching Doug run 13.1 miles last weekend inspired me to get in better shape, so I stretched and went out on Tuesday and did about a mile, broken up into chunks, interspersed with walking. I was out for about 20 minutes, and ran for 12 of them.

  Yesterday, I went out and figured I'd do about the same thing, so I stretched and took off at about 4:30. At the 3 minute mark, I felt fine, so I kept going. At the six minute mark, I felt very bad, but figured I'd see if I could go for an 8 minute run, so I kept going. At 8:30, I got to a location in the neighborhood at which I said to myself, "I swear it used to take me longer to get here." (I guess dropping 40 pounds makes you faster...who knew?)

  At 12 minutes (which is usually about how long it takes my slow ass to run a mile), I said, hey, let's go a little longer. At 16 minutes, I thought, hey, let's go to 18, get the mile and a half. At 18 minutes, I thought, well, crap. Maybe I can go for a full 24!

  At 22 minutes I prayed to God to help me breathe long enough that I could at least make it back inside my house so I didn't have to collapse and die on the street.

  At 24 minutes, I stopped running, and realized my calves really, really, really hurt. I also was chafing a bit in the groinial region. I got back in the house, drank a glass of water, and stretched. From the way my calves felt, I figured I wouldn't even be able to walk today, but surprisingly they're just a little tight.

  Much more noticeable is the pain from the massive rash I got from the chafing of the groin. It's nasty; all these little red and blue and black dots on my inner thigh, like individual bruises caused by the head of a pin or something. I thought about taking a picture of it, but realized there was no way to do it without including a significant amount of pubic hair in the photo, so I decided better not.

posted at 12:04 PM | 0 comments

Uh oh . . . Emily sent me a survey! Guess what that means! It's time for all of y'all to edumacate yourselves about the B.A.M.F. that is MATT HEARN. Let's begin.

• What time do you get up?

  It varies. If I get to bed at midnight, I'm usually up around 8. If I manage to finish up all the silly crap I do in the evenings and get to bed by 10, I'm usually up by around 8. Today, for example, I stayed up until 11:30 watching the Red Sox pitchers crap all over the mound, so I was up at about 7:55.

• If you could eat lunch with one person, who would it be?

  Probably God, if He counts as a person, and since I make up the rules, I say He does. I figure somewhere between the salad and the entree, I'd just reach across the table, grab Him by the shoulders, shake Him for a few seconds, and scream "CAN WE GET SOME RESPONSE OUT OF YOU? Please? A burning bush, something, ANYTHING. Just let us know you aren't dead. Thanks."

• Gold or silver?

  Silver. My skin and hair coloring don't work well with gold, and I think you have to be either really Italian or really trashy to pull off wearing a lot of gold.

• What was the last film you saw at the cinema?

  Jackass, sometime back in 1999 or 2000. I haven't been to a movie theater since, and honestly haven't really missed it. There's nothing that's been released in the last 5 years that I would be willing to pay $9 to see, although there have been countless times I'll see a trailer and say, "Ooh, gotta go see that!" And then I just don't.

• What is/are your favorite TV show(s)?

  Based on what I bother to snag with my DVR, I'm a fan of the Simpsons, Joey, Scrubs, Will and Grace, Futurama, and Days of Our Lives. Though technically we record the last one for Sarah. I am a huge Family Guy fan, but the DVR doesn't bother to get those because we have every episode on DVD.

• What do you usually have for breakfast?

  If I have time, 4-6 eggs and 4-6 pieces of bacon. If I don't have time, I try and scarf down a yogurt and some carb-free chocolate milk. If I'm hungover, I stop at McDonalds and get 8 or 9 bacon-egg-and-cheese-biscuits that I eat throughout the morning.

• Who would you hate to be stuck in a room with?

  Someone who feels very strongly that John Kerry is the right man to lead the United States, and has a book of statistics proving so.

• What is your middle name?

  Danger.

• Beach, City or Country?

  This is a toughie. Each has its merits; I love going to the beach, but the high prices and crowds tend to drive me a little insane. Also, there's not a lot of work for UNIX Engineers at the beach, since the sand plays hell with the cooling fans. I like the city a good bit, for the culture and public transportation and easy access to Thai food, but again the high prices and crowds of people turn me off. Ideally, I'd live on a big ranch with a lot of acreage, preferably in the middle of Central Park, but with a big fence and lots of shotguns to keep joggers out.

• Favorite ice cream?

  Anything with about 8 tablespoons of Hershey's Syrup on top of it. And no nuts, I hate nuts. Except peanuts, those are delish.

• What's your favorite quote?

  I'm gonna go with this one that Jared said to me on instant messenger this morning:

  "Nothing is worse than being sick with an annoying phlegmy cough and letting out a big cough that launches a green ball of s*** out of your mouth and onto your leg/desk/keyboard."

  Gross.

• Which would you prefer to buy: shoes, purses, makeup or bath products?

  Shoes. Definitely. Mainly because you didn't list "Stereo components," I don't wear makeup, I don't take baths, and the one man-purse I own is all I need, man.

  Also, I really dig shoes, and I need a couple more pairs of brown ones. Better hoof it to Rugged Wearhouse!

• Price not considered, what kind of car would you drive?

  1970 Chevrolet Chevelle SS with the 454 big block. Probably something in a racy orange or red. With doilies on the seats.

• Favorite sandwich?

  Whichever one is on my plate when I sit down at the table. I'm partial to anything with a lot of roast beef or turkey or egg salad, and as long as it's got some American cheese and a crapload of mayonnaise, I'll eat it.

  Mmmm . . . crapload of mayonnaise.

• What characteristic(s) in people do you despise?

  Sitting in the left lane while not passing anyone. I think it should be punishable by death.

• Favorite flower?

  The little lace ones on the front of brassieres. They smell great, even if the joy is momentary 'cause the brassiere's owner usually ruins the moment with a blast of pepper spray and a swift foot to the jumblies.

• If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go?

  I think I'd like to spend a week at a resort in the Caymans. With Jude Law.

• Favorite brand of clothing?

  Old Navy. They size everything large so my 38" waist can wear 36" pants. I love it.

  Also they make excellent manbags.

• Where would you retire to?

  I wouldn't want to be far from my family, but probably Texas. It's nice there, lots of space and cattle. I love cows.

• Favorite day of the week?

  Today! Just kidding. Friday, probably, depending on whether or not I go on-call that weekend.

• What did you do for your last birthday?

  I don't remember, which is hardly surprising. I think we probably had a party at the house, and I probably took off my pants.

• Where were you born?

  Upper Darby, PA. I think there's a shrine to me there now. Or at least one of those blue and yellow "This famous Pennsylvanian was born here and later went on to fame and fortune as a professional Clodagh Rogers impersonator" signs.

• What's your favorite color?

  I like blue. Do you?

• Favorite sport to watch?

  Probably football, although auto racing and baseball are equally enjoyable. I'm also partial to women's billiards. Jeannette Lee will be my 6th wife.

• Who do you least expect to send this back to you?

  Uh . . . this question is only appropriate in an email. This is not an email. I am thusly ignoring this question. It never happened. Do you hear me? IT NEVER. HAPPENED.

• Person you expect to send it back first?

  See, what we have here, is a failure to communicate.

• What fabric detergent do you use?

  I think we go with Tide, most of the time. HW handles the laundry duties at the house. I'm in charge of making sure the DVR records Days of Our Lives and ER, changing cat litter, and downloading porn.

• Coke or Pepsi?

  For many years, I drank Coke. Even now, I prefer regular Coke to regular Pepsi. However, Diet Coke is similar in flavor to automatic transmission fluid, so most of the time nowadays I drink caffeine-free diet Pepsi.

• Are you a morning person or a night owl?

  I have an easier time staying up late than I do getting up early, so I guess night owl is the proper response. In reality I'd be happiest if I had time to sleep 10 to 12 hours per day.

• Favorite restaurant

  Whichever restaurant I happen to find myself in when the food is served. At this point in my life, I will eat just about anything, but I'm partial to good prime rib. Harry's Savoy is a top pick for the best beef, although Sullivan's does a pretty good Porterhouse. I haven't been to Walter's in a while, but I remember that as being tasty also.

• What is your shoe size?

  It depends largely on the maker, because different shoe companies have different views on width. If I can find something sufficiently wide (EE or greater), I wear about an 11-1/2, or a 12. If I have to buy a fairly narrow width I've been known to wear a 14.

  I probably wear a ladies 14 or 15, which is challenging to find, and expensive.

• Do you have any pets?

  Four psychotic, chain-smoking cats: Pete, Poly, JD, and Veronicat, aka The Cheat.

Don't you feel hell of educated now?

posted at 6:24 PM | 0 comments

NOTE: It has been made apparent to me that this post is difficult to follow because there are TWO Dougs involved. One is Doug Cook, who ran the half-marathon. The other is Doug Nagengast, who I know from high school. Hopefully that makes things easier to follow.

Kickin' it Old School in Beantown, Day Three: or, George W. Bush is Personally Responsible for the National Plague Known as Erectile Dysfunction

Waking up Saturday morning was unpleasant. My mouth tasted like a hooker's armpit, someone had installed an owl head rotation device inside the base of my skull, and there was a milky brown haze throughout Emily's apartment, the result of hours of somniflatulence on the part of Sarah and me. There was only one thing that could save us:

Krispy Kreme donuts.

Luckily, as you'll recall from yesterday, I had the foresight to pick up a dozen (10 glazed and 2 chocolate cake, to be specific) the evening before. So Sarah, Emily, Emily's sister Sarah (yes, things got very confusing later on), and I scarfed down the remaining donuts and plotted out our day.

(BTW: To all of you who gave me suggestions on cool things to do and see in Boston, I feel I should apologize, because we saw and did none of them. George's Island remains unvisited; I certainly didn't venture near the library or the church. We did visit a lot of restaurants and bars, though, as you'll see.)

After hosing ourselves off as best we could and making ourselves as redolent as possible, we tracked down our friend Bob, with whom we were acquainted in college, and who is now studying screenwriting at Boston University, and met him and our homegirl Lynn (at whose home we stayed Thursday night, remember? Keep up) for lunch at a bar somewhere downtown. This bar featured a $5 "burger and a Bud" special, but I decided to start with a Bloody Mary, since I had internal wounds that required the application of that holy red unguent.

After lunch we played pool and drank beer until we got hungry again and, instead of going to see the sights of Boston that I promised everyone I would investigate, went to the Green Briar, where we met high school friends Doug N. and Kristy (as well as Emily's sister Sarah). D&K are wonderful people, but I was unprepared for their level of political interest, and found myself in the middle of a lengthy "If you, Matt Hearn, don't vote for John Kerry, this country will founder by 2007 and thank God we'll already have moved to Canada by then" diatribe. I think we talked politics for at least 17 straight hours.

Luckily, I had beer to comfort me.

Day Four: or, I was RUNNING!

After getting to sleep around midnight on Saturday, Sarah and I awoke at 7am Sunday morning. On purpose. Why? Because our good buddy Doug C. was running in the Boston Athletic Association Half-Marathon. At 8am. I'm not sure who's more insane, him for running it, or us for going to watch it.

We got there a little late, around 8:15, and found ourselves at about mile #2, watching the main pack of several thousand people go by. Then we realized that, without coffee, it was likely that we would not survive to see the runners come back at around 9am. So we wandered around a bit until we found a Dunkin' Donuts (Sarah almost wept with joy when we spotted it), got some refreshments, and came back to settle down and watch at around 8:30.

Around 8:40, the first of several extremely fast racing wheelchairs came by, its owner slapping his thumbs against the wheels to thrust himself forward. I'm told the fastest wheelchair racer finished in something like 53 minutes. Just shy of 9am, the first of the runners came by, 5 or 6 Kenyan guys in a pack. The race winner finished in just under 63 minutes, which divides out to less than 5 minutes per mile.

Doug C. came by at just after 9am, to the applause of many, and finished 38th out of 3158 finishers, with a finishing time of 1:18:02, or about 5:58 per mile. (Full results to be found heah, boss.) My one experience with competitive running was a 5K I did about 18 months ago, in which I ran 3.1 miles in 35 minutes and 36 seconds, or about 11 1/2 minutes per mile. Apparently I'm slow . . . who knew?

Doug C. didn't really have time to chat, what with still having another 2 miles to go, so we just headed back to the car before the main group came by, and went back to Emily's, where we rested for a while. Watching people run is almost as tiring as actually running, I tell you.

At noon, we headed to Tonic for a most excellent brunch with Bob, Kristy, and Doug N., during which I saw a baby of approximately 12 months with her ears pierced. Apparently I commented on this rather loudly and possibly drew the ire of the child's owners. I will reserve judgment, except to note that my children will not be having anything pierced until they are 47 years of age and I am dead or senile.

After lunch, we meandered back to Emily's apartment where we watched "Wet Hot Summer," easily the most disturbing film I've seen since Furburger, but with (unfortunately) much less nudity and a lot more shots of Janeane Garofalo doing heroin. We watched a little football, and then around 6pm we decided to get on the road, since we had a 5.5 hour drive ahead of us. We stopped off to see Lynn one more time, and then got on the road. We took a slightly different route home, detouring further west around New York to avoid having to drive through the Bronx again, and made it home by around 12:45am, exhausted but happy.

The next morning I had to go to work, and I have been largely miserable ever since.

posted at 1:37 PM | 0 comments

WhoooooooooEEEEEEE did we have fun in Boston this weekend! And we thank all of our friends and enemies that knew we weren't going to be home for three days and didn't come over to steal our stuff. That was kind of you.

Day One: or, Why New York Drivers Are Retarded Cognitively Deficient

Last Thursday, we snuck out of work at around noon and met Sarah's mom at the Three Little Bakers' Dinner Theatre, where we watched our friend Nora play "Lola" in Damn Yankees, which was Highly Rad and Entertaining. (I also ate the first of many high-carb products that were sucked down all weekend like wingnuts into a shopvac.) I left the theater confused over who's giving whom "the pain," what that has to do with the Mambo, and why anybody would feel the need to say "Erp" about any of this.

Next, we headed home to pack up Sarah's car with the basic necessities:

• Clothing
• Camera
• Manbag
• Our fat butts

and we got on the road. It was a pretty difficult drive; the traffic wasn't TOO horrific (since we didn't leave until close to 6pm), but unfortunately there was a lot of construction.

I also discovered that people in the section of I-95 that runs through the Bronx have very interesting ideas about when it is proper to come to a complete stop in the left lane of a 55mph freeway. I almost got us sandwiched between a Lincoln and some kind of large van because the van was following me rather closely, and the driver of the Lincoln noticed that cars roughly 2 miles in front of him were tapping their brakes, so he decided to simply stop and get his bearings. Bad times all around, although luckily I avoided subjecting us to ghastly and visceral deaths. So I guess there's a silver lining.

We arrived in Framingham at around midnight, entered our friend Lynn's righteous abode, had a beer each, and then were asleep before our heads hit the pillows (which leaves a nastier bruise than one might imagine when one's head is 6'3" from the ground and the pillow is only the thickness of an airbed from the floor).

Day Two: or, How are your nipples doing?

We awoke the next morning, bathed, got our bearings, and immediately went to the mall.

Hey, I needed a Red Sox visor.

Unfortunately, NOBODY had one. Even "Bob's," which had a wing o' Red Sox paraphernalia the size of a Pep Boys, had no visors. Roughly 300 kinds of hats in all colors, of course, but hats tend to sit on the top of my head like beanies, because my skull is large and misshapen. We tried 3 or 4 different shops, and had no luck.

So we said to hell with that joint and headed into Beantown. We hit a little traffic at a toll, because apparently EZ-Pass is a relatively new thing up there. I swear, for every car that had EZ-Pass, there were roughly 400 that did not, all clogging up the coin lanes. They were so far backed up that even those of us that wanted to simply speed through the express lanes couldn't GET to them.

This is a far cry from home, where the number of people who actually have to pay change at tolls is fairly low, roughly the same as the number of people that can't figure out how to use the self-checkout lanes at grocery stores. (And it should be known that I hate all of you, because you caused Kmart to actually GET RID of their self-checkout lines because they discovered that roughly 50% of their customers had the mental capacity of a plate of deep-fried sheep testicles, and it was costing them more to keep employees standing around to help morons with the touch-sensitive screens than it was to simply have staffed checkout lines. Not that I'm bitter.)

We got into Brighton with relative ease, even found a free parking spot on the street Emily suggested we use, and found a most excellent Thai restaurant where we got lunch specials and drank a bottle of Beringer white zinfandel. It was pretty good, albeit very sweet; it was kind of like high class Thunderbird, if you can imagine. The food was excellent as well; I had sesame beef and scarfed it down. (See also: wingnuts vs. shopvac.)

Then we hopped on the T to ride down to Fenway Park. I'm all about the T. It was easy to use, reasonably fast (it took about 25 minutes to get downtown, and it probably would've taken us that long to drive there, plus another 20 minutes to find a spot, plus we would have been paying something like $847 to park downtown, plus one of us would have had to remain sober so we could get back home, so spending $1.25 apiece on the T was an absolute bargain), and the friendly driver was able to explain to us out-of-town yokels how to stick our money in the machine.

The only real downside to it is that every time someone mentioned "the T" I thought of the transvestite in "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil" who also had something s/he referred to as "My T." (If you're not getting my drift, let's just say that his/her "T" was usually tucked in a very uncomfortable place.) There was a lot of involuntary shuddering at train stops this weekend.

Once we got down towards Fenway, we quickly found a Store 24 so I could buy a disposable camera, since I forgot to get the digital out of the car, and also because I knew I couldn't come to Boston and not visit a Store 24. We also found some street vendors who sold me a sexy blue visor with a big red B on the front, and found some vintage looking hat for Hearnwife. I got some wild pictures of the outside of Fenway park that I hope to get developed this week and get posted. (I did later get some shots with the digital camera, mostly of the Boston Half Marathon, which I will cover tomorrow.)

Emily told us we should just head over to a bar nearby and watch the game from there, and she would meet us there after she got out of work. So we went into Jillian's, where we drank the first of several dozen beers, and met a very nice fellow named Leo who

• informed us that he was turning 40 the following weekend,
• had a penchant for needling people,
• seemed to have a fun level of extreme violence simmering somewhere below the surface,
• became pathologically interested in the fact that a woman at a nearby table was wearing braces, and eventually went over to talk to her and got shot down like a WWII Messerschmitt, and,
• when Emily finally arrived, asked her without preamble: "So how are your nipples?" and then collapsed in a fit of raucous laughter.

We found him highly entertaining, and we all bought drinks for each other for several hours, until Leo finally left around the 7th inning. Luckily, we only had to go without entertainment for an inning or so, until two random fellows showed up who were EXTREMELY amused to meet people from Delaware. They had a lengthy argument about whether or not there were towns in Massachusetts named "Delaware" and, inexplicably, "Florida." One of them was named Ryan, that's about all I remember of them.

Sarah and I also took the opportunity to call Brian from the bar and make him put his son on the phone so that we could wish him a happy birthday. He told Sarah he loved her, so she got a little teary for a while. (As I recall, he had no interest in talking to me. Hardly surprising. I'm scary.)

The game itself was WILD. After Mike Timlin let the A's tie it up, the mood in the bar changed DRASTICALLY, but it wasn't like what would have happened in a Philadelphia bar. It was odd. In Philly, the fans would have simply started ordering drinks and just pretended the game wasn't happening at all. In Boston, the fans were still riveted to the TV, albeit with the feeling of universal gloom that Red Sox fans know well. Truly bizarre.

After Ortiz hit the walk-off winner, everybody went nuts. Luckily, there wasn't a riot in the streets or anything; everybody was just really happy. Drunk, but not violent drunk. It ruled.

We headed over to Legal Seafood, where we were informed there would be a 40 minute wait, so I went ahead and bought a dozen Krispy Kremes and looked over the new games at an Electronics Boutique. We actually got seated in under 15 minutes. I then polished off a lobster and a plate of clams and mussels, along with a portion of a bottle of wine.

I think we ate most of the Krispy Kremes on the T back to Emily's apartment. Tomorrow: the startling conclusion! (Days three and four. There's not actually anything startling, really, unless you consider 3-12 hours of liberal politics startling.)

posted at 2:26 PM | 0 comments

Daniel Stoddard has alerted me to this: Jack Chick's New Movie! And I can't really imagine anything that would excite me more. Let's take a look!

Have you ever read a Chick tract?

I sure have, and I wanted to talk to Jack about this. The phrase "Chick Tract" makes me think of the gastrointestinal properties of pigeons. Jack, any chance you could go with a different name? "Chick Pamphet?" "The Gospel According to Chick?" Just about anything would be an improvement here. (If you HAVEN'T actually read a Chick Tract, here's a good one with which to start.)

If so, you know that God has enabled Jack Chick to present the gospel in a way people can't resist. In this brand new film, The Light of The World, Jack Chick uses that God-given ability to deliver the gospel in an even more compelling and dramatic format.

More compelling and dramatic than a Chick Tract? I'm not sure I could keep from pooping my pants!

Ways you can use this film:

• Show it at Bible studies or cell groups, looking up the Scriptures as you go.

Cell groups? Huh? Is Christianity now a terrorist organization? I must have missed a memo.

• Invite friends and neighbors to watch it in your home.

"Hey Steve, wanna go to the Eagles game with me on Sunday? My dad had to back out due to contracting tuberculosis."

"No way, dude! I'm spending Sunday afternoon at the Hearns watching the Jack Chick video again! Say, have you accepted Jesus Christ as your Personal Saviour^TM?"

• Give a copy as a gift to friends or relatives who need Jesus.

"Okay sweetie, I know how much you wanted that pearl necklace we saw at Walmart, but you're going to LOVE this instead!"

In a day when many Christians are producing watered-down, politically-correct films,

Yeah, "The Passion of the Christ" was rather dull and uneventful.

The Light of the World provides exactly what you would expect from Jack Chick-a straightforward, biblically accurate, no-punches-pulled presentation of the gospel with a compelling salvation appeal.

Compelling. Salvation. Appeal. Man, that might be just a marketing gimmick, but I am frickin' SOLD.

Know any unsaved people who watch TV?

Man, who doesn't? I sit in front of the tube, watching Beavis and Butthead, and I'm definitely wondering: there's got to be someone out there like me! How can I reach him and make him accept Jesus Christ as his Personal Saviour^TM?

Many who have seen advanced screenings of this film have been moved to tears.

Yes, just like "Ishtar!"

You can almost feel the crackling flames of hell as you watch!

That's all I needed to hear. When I'm watching a religious video (which happens ALL THE TIME at Hearndom II), I definitely want to feel like I'm creme brulée.

In short, people, Hearn needs a copy of this video, and he needs it NOW. I wonder if Chick would let me use my DVD burner to just make a bunch of copies of the video to share with everyone I know! I mean, I just want to make sure everybody I know accepts Jesus Christ as his or her Personal Savior^TM! That's got to trump international copyright law, right?

posted at 9:36 AM | 0 comments

So I'm driving in to the office today, flipping through the radio stations, and as I flipped past WYSP I hear Howard Stern yell "Goddamn Clear Channel!" I didn't bother to stop and hear what he was whining about, but it got me to thinking how much I really hate Howard Stern.

I mean, completely aside from the blasphemy (which bothers me more and more as I age, to the point now where when I catch myself saying "GODDAMN IT!," which happens roughly every 14 minutes, I usually then apologize to some unseen being), Stern is simply unfunny, boring, and completely uninteresting. I'm fully in favor of freedom of speech, but Howard is simply reflecting some of the worst things that humanity has to offer. I guess I'm just not sure how he sleeps at night knowing that he's justifying the horrible behavior of the lowest grade of America.

On the OTHER hand, people around the world seem to be taken in by him as well, to the point that the citizens of other countries apparently think that most, if not all, Americans are like him. Which amuses me to no end, because there's nothing I like better than being underestimated. I'm not being sarcastic; I can't imagine anything I enjoy more than the look on a person's face when he thinks you're dumb or untalented and you prove him wrong.

But to get back on track: does Howard Stern have any really redeeming value? I can't see it. He only has two subjects that he seems to bring up constantly: women, and how to get them naked, and why Clear Channel and the FCC are causing him great personal anxiety. Not exactly NPR-quality material, there.

Also, it troubles me that he's as old as he is, and he continues to get women to show up on his show and take off their clothes. I'm not jealous; it just skeeves me to hear someone in his 40s or 50s saying things like, "Oooh...yeah, go ahead and take that off. Wow, you do have magnificent breasts. Robin, aren't her breasts great? Mmmm..." It's like watching your father snort cocaine off a stripper.

Plus, I don't see the point in discussing breasts that I can't see. If they'd just stop blurring out the fun parts of his late night TV show, I might be more interested.

OOH! OOH! Further UPDATE on the whole Manbag Situation: So I went to Old Navy yesterday to get a nice black stylish fall jacket (which I found, incidentally, and bought me one for $58) and some pants (I got a nice pair of light brown bootcut corduroys) and I happened to find (along with some shirts) a really cool canvas messenger bag on sale for $9.99! It's a little big, but I think anything smaller would clearly be a "manpurse" instead of a "manbag," and would probably get me a "manbeating" on the streets of Boston this weekend.

I have to find some things to put in it, though. At the moment all it has in it is my cellphone, sunglasses, and lunch. What do chicks put in purses? I don't really need to put makeup in there (though it does make me look pretty, I get funny looks from my coworkers), and I have no current need to carry tampons. Perhaps I could throw a book in there, and randomly pull it out to show people how intellectual I am. I'll have to get some dorky reading glasses, though, and if I added dorky reading glasses to my current outfit people will think I'm a particularly tall lesbian. Can't have that.

posted at 9:10 AM | 0 comments

So I hear that Microsoft has released a new Service Pack for Windows XP. I imagine I should probably get around to installing it on the new computer that's purring away in my Unnamed-Room-That-Used-To-Have-The-TV-In-It, but I hesitate to do so, for the simple reason that ever since the last time I ran Windows Update on my work-issued laptop, it takes roughly 17 minutes to open Internet Explorer for the first time. And that interferes with my ability to read Achewood, which is really the only thing I do at work other than fail to update this website regularly.

Has anybody out there installed the latest Service Pack? I'd love to have your feelings on it. After installation, have you noticed any of the following symptoms:

• Slow processing speeds?
• Inability to read amusing cartoons featuring stuffed animals?
• Shortness of breath?
• Inability to download "BangBus" videos?
• A not so fresh feeling in, you know, "The Area?"
• Eyeball lacerations?

Please leave comments below regarding the above.

In other news, HW and I are going to Boston for a long weekend! I'm looking for suggestions of cool things to do while we're there. My parents said something about going to the Boston Public Library, but at the mention of the word "architecture" my eyes kinda glazed over and my forehead landed in warm quesadillas.

Beantown native Rod suggested I check out George's Island and try to get it on in one of the prison cells - I mean, look for ghosts. The only things I really have planned is that at some point, we will be finding a bar to watch the Red Sox play the Oakland As whilst surrounded with the Fenway Faithful, and on Sunday morning we're gonna get up at the buttcrack of dawn to go watch my buddy Doug run in the Boston Athletic Association Half-Marathon to benefit some kind of hiv.

Leave suggestions in the comments, along with the XP Service Pack stuff, and I'll try and sort all that stuff out. I expect to be able to post something amusing tomorrow, and MAYBE something over the weekend, but with any luck I'll have PLENTY of truly disturbing pictures taken on the trip that I'll post early next week.

posted at 12:17 PM | 0 comments

I have received a note. It does not, unfortunately, read, "Bubba has big titties." (That's an inside joke that 3 of my readers will get. Maybe.) Instead, it actually reads:

Now, one would think that "catching typos on the front of official mailings" would be rather important to the Republican Party of Delaware, but apparently not. I considered contacting them to discuss the possibility of hiring me (at significant cost, obviously) to proofread everything they send out, but

1. the last thing I need is my liberal hippie friends finding out I'm working for the Republican Party,
2. Republicans, despite being the party of the wealthy, are notorious tight with a dime, and
3. I was afraid the phone conversation would go something like this:
   Them: Republican Party of Delaware, how can I help you help us help Bush?

   Me: Greetings! I wanted to make you aware that there is a significant typo on the front of the mailing I have received from you.

   Them: Oops. Um...our, uh, bad. I don't suppose there's any chance you might send us some money anyway?

   Me: Har! No, I wanted to propose to you that you hire me to proofread all of your future mailings. For the low, low price of $100,000, you will get the leading [amateur] linguistic expert in New Castle, Delaware!

   Them: Uh...Kerry has horrific hair.

   Me: Yes, it's rather pouffy, isn't it? But that's neither here nor there. Can we meet and work out an agreement in which you will give me a lot of money?

   Them: Uh...Kerry has prostate cancer!

   So you can see we wouldn't really get anywhere.

So in the end, I simply decided to post the image online and make fun of it, to the entertainment of all. You are entertained, right? Oh. Dammit.

posted at 9:40 AM | 0 comments

Okay, I had another kooky dream. This one was a DREAM WITHIN A DREAM, if you can imagine. It was like one of those where you keep waking up, and keep waking up, but you're never really awake. Truly bizarre.

Anyway, in this one, the dream within a dream was that I was auditioning for yet another production of Brigadoon. Why, I can't say. You'd think I'd've had enough of it, but my subconscious is a wily bastard. Anyway, the audition dream ended as I "woke up," and said to my wife, "Hey, I need to find out when the Brigadoon auditions are so I can go do that!" (I should mention at this point that I "woke up" in Sarah's car, in a Goodwill parking lot.) Then I realize, Oops, it's Thursday! And auditions were on Wednesday! Oh well, I'll call the director and see if arrangements can be made.

At which point Sarah and I ran into the music director, whose name escapes me, and asked her about it. She revealed that it was in fact FRIDAY, not Thursday, auditions were 2 days ago, the cast was already set, and rehearsals were starting that very evening. Damn.

So I decided it might be fun to call the director, who I spontaneously realized was a guy I had known from college who at one point was kicked out of school for something involving him punching a police officer. (I hesitate to repeat his name, in case there's, you know, an active investigation into the matter.) I didn't have his number, but Sarah called him on her cell phone, listened for a moment, and then hung up. I asked,

"Did you reach him? What happened?"

"I'm not sure. Someone answered the phone on the other end . . . it sounded like they were being beat up," she replied.

Then a short black guy who was remarkably similar to "Ezal" from "Friday" (played by the inimitable Anthony Johnson) appeared and asked us where we got the large number of church-style folding tables we were standing near.

"Um . . . well, they aren't ours."

"Do you know," asked Ezal, "if anybody's comin' to get 'em?"

"No idea, dude. I'd say they're all yours."

Then I awoke.

Analysis, please. I think it indicates that I'm very, very sick.

posted at 12:16 PM | 0 comments