Happy Samhain

TMF: You really should submit a drawing to honor the occassion. This is the best I could find.

AND....Happy Birthday to SOKrates. Hope you guys do something fun and appropriate to the occasion. (No Wicker Man burnings please.)

As for me, I'm working late and then meeting a bunch of Columbia people out for a few late drinks. Talk about night of the living dead: a bunch of wanna be bankers on the make. "Say...LET'S NETWORK". (Shudder) Scary stuff.

One Day Late

Happy birthday Phelan Finley!

stop being grumpy

there have been a few moments over the past weeks that have reminded me to keep my woes in perspective. wanted to share a few thoughts, because...well, we are the lucky ones.

it is only by chance that my conscious was born to this body, born from my parents, who happen to live in the US and A (like my Borat reference?), who happen to be relatively affluent, happy, and smart individuals. I was provided for and my path was paved... this is too untrue for too many others who had a different turn of chance at inception.

recently i was doing research in the stamford, CT area - meeting with "tweens" (not kids, not teens, but somewhere in between...get it?...'tweens). most of this experience was a complete joy - it's wonderful to see your consumer face to face and this demographic of the american society is an outstanding combination of naiveté and wicked-smahtness. my smile became heavy, however, when we began our "home visits." Specifically, the first kid we visited (in bridgeport, CT) lived in a 1 bedroom apartment (1 bdrm, 1 living room, 1 kitchen, presumably 1 bathroom - however, i can't confirm that) with 5 other people in his family. yes, you heard it right...6 people living and sleeping in a 1 bedroom apartment. Oh, and i should preface this by saying that when we pulled up to the humble abode, i didn't realize we had arrived and slyly asked our research manager: "why is wyn asking for directions from the local junkie?!" we parked and i soon found out - this was the dad.

upon entering i was bombarded with the smell of cigarette smoke. not stale, lingering, furniture stench, but the fresh airborn second hand variety (hope i'm not offending, but i'm pretty sure the current smokers out there reading this keep their smoking to the great outdoors). moments later i met dave...the 20 year old jobless brother with multiple face piercings, a smirk with no front teeth, and slits of eyes who's glint told me he was seeing me through some sort of drug hazed filter. then we met the 2 year old twins. and these poor creatures i can hardly describe...completely inarticulate, unfocused eyes, running around screaming until they would sit down and cry to be held for no reason or until they simply laid on the floor, face down, staring point blank at nothing. as i watched i thought to myself: "oh my god, i can't believe i'm in the same room with crack babies."

to make an already long story short, or at least shorter (i won't even go into the details of the car repo), here's what i'm getting at...
we are all blessed to have what we have. NOT to say that we don't deserve it all, because it's one thing to be given opportunity and another to make something of it. we are all successful in this game of life, and cheers to us for getting here - plenty of people are given the chance for a good life, only to squander it. but there are also amazingly good, smart kids out there being suffocated by their parents' mistakes. we are lucky to have been given a good start, and we can pat ourselves on the back for doing something about it. don't block out what could've been... see it, let it sink in, and thank your lucky stars.

and next time you're stressed about work or money or relationships or the lack of beer in the fridge or having missed LOST last night (damn it!!)...try to remember all that you have to be thankful for, all that is so right in your lives. if nothing else, we have each other. oh, and i got dave's number, so i have a new drug connection

if keeping things in perspective proves difficult, read this... http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guinea_worm
that's all folks, rock on, keep l-i-v-i-n', and be righteous to one another...

Hello, Hello, Hello....Is there Anybody in there?

Are blogs fun if you are just talking to yourself

Agent Kitty - Chapter 4: Brownie Squares lead to Depression

Oh wait is this a dream....I don't think I am in Kansas anymore. And are I not supposed to be chasing the New Oven Baked Brownie Squares from Domino's....that is how it happens in the commercial. Why the canoe and why must he be dressed as a Viking...I must wake up and shake this dream oh it is making me so hungy....The soft brownies dipped in the hot chocolate sauce.....why are they chasing me....they looks so delicious but at the same time so evil.....Please wake me please.....


"Enough, Enough,"....."Agent Kitty you are going to have to de-plane immediately!" cried the Stewardess.

"But where am I?" Cried Agent Kitty.

"You are in Paris" said the Stewardess "You were talking in your sleep...something about brownie squares and chocolate goodness. Must have been a most excelent dream. My name is French Kitty"

And then it hit Agent Kitty...he had gotten on a flight to Paris. He was on his way to see his Sensie, but first he had to see his friend Pierre who after letting Agent. Kitty down by falling asleep on the job, had begun to suffer from deep depression.

"Thank you for waking me" said Agent Kitty to the Stewardess......And then it hit him again... He had been found out....how did she know my name....I must find a disguise....and I must also find Pierre before it is too late.
He borrowed a disguise from a local costume shop and fit right in...... Agent Kitty then set off to find Pierre. He kept thinking about how Pierre must feel...owing his life to Agent Kitty and letting his best friend down in a time of need. Not somewhere Agent Kitty wanted to be in life. He soon found Pierre at the local watering hole, but instead of being down at the bank taking a sip like the rest of the ruthless scum, he was on top of the bridge.

Agent Kitty started to get concerned....Pierre started baabbling about how someone had taken his twin brother hostage. Agent Kitty had met Pierre's twin brother Henri on a mission in the Far East. The three of them were sent in to infitrate a notorius Cambodian Crime Family. The fact that Henri was now missing hit home....You see Agent Kitty also had a twin brother and now Agent Kitty wondered if his twin is suffering from his same affliction

Pierre started talking again...This time it was about a ransome note he receieved about Friskies and about how he had had enoughof this world and was ready to give up.....

All these conspiracy's, all happing now, and all involving Agent Kitty....what was he to do....

New Link Has been established

Hey guys,

I got the link back up for the pictures. Enjoy!

The Departed

If you haven't yet seen the #1 movie in America (this week at least) you should. It combines humor, tension and violence in a compelling fashion unlike any other movie I've seen recently. Having not seen 'Infernal Affairs', I was on the edge of my seat, and remained shocked at the twists and turns all the way to the end.

Let me note that I went into this a little skeptical regarding the selection of pretty boy leads Damon and DiCaprio, versus Scorsese's usual practice of leveraging more 'authentic' actors. Nuts to that. You forget that these two guys are actually superb at their craft, and Scorsese seems to have gotten the best out of them. The emotional volleys felt real and authentic.

There was some killer acting done by the rest of the cast from Jack Nicholson, in one of his best recent roles, to an absolutely hilarious performance by Mark Walberg. Alec Baldwin, bloated and sloppy is also outstanding.

The great thing about Scorsese is that he gets great guys for the gig. And I don't just mean big names like Martin Sheen who plays a major supporting role. Ray Winston? (From Sexy Beast) David O Hara? (Crazy Irish fuck from Braveheart).

Beyond the craft of the film is an exploration of morality as it relates to violence, honesty and loyalty. The audience itself sees its own shortcomings (on a smaller scale) in the ebb and flow of right and wrong posited by the characters and their individual circumstances. At the heart of this is the essential human drive for self preservation. Survival, at what cost? There are no good guys in this story, at least measured by a life lead without malicious injury to others. What makes us who we are and what side are we on? What if the circumstances were different? You see the facades of either character morph into that of the other. It is a thing of brilliance.

Even beyond all this contemplation, you will be entertained. Significantly. From the crisp commonwealth vernacular to the brilliant pacing in the final act. This is a movie worth going to see in the theatre. Hopefully you guys will give it a shot.

Gathering of Rogues

Hey Will, sorry to hear about your recent injury. At our age, be thankful that at least it was sports-related (and not incurred tying your shoes, brushing your teeth, insert miscellaneous non-contact activity here). Best wishes for a full and speedy recovery. Blue Lou loves Anacon Steel.

Hoist the colors, the crew sets sail.

After a mere three weeks of encouragment, the entire crew from Sanibel is on board. If someone gives me Marty's email address, I will invite him as well and sit down for hell to freeze over before he posts.

As for the rest of you, I expect contributions in the near future. Doesn't have to be much. Newsworthy events, whatever you're up to...some dumb shit the guy in the office next door said.

The intent is merely to stay in touch. And to avoid phone calls.

Been drinking long?

Yeah, Smashing Pumpkings, they're cool...

Update: It's Broken

After some significant suffering this week, walking around like a cripple, I conceded that a visit to the doctor might be smart, even though I knew he wouldn't be able to do much for me. Maren had frankly had enough of my grunting and groaning as I hobble around.

The ortho guy took some XRays and guess what? I am the proud owner of a hairline fracture. Sweet, eh? I also have some evidence of trauma in the soft tissues on either side of the affected ribs and significant irritation of the costal cartilage (the stuff that connects your sternum to your ribs). I am lucky not to have dislocated the costal cartilage as that would be even more painful than a break and could take up to 9 weeks to heal.

I am going in Tuesday for an MRI and for ultrasound and other PT that should hopefully speed the healing process.

Looks like I'm out of commission for at least 4-5 weeks. That is most of the season. I'll be able to play in the final tournament, the first week of November. So much for my comeback huh? Oh well. The old gray mare she ain't what she used to be.

Maybe I should take up something nice, like Golf.

Intermission

Stay Tuned

Agent Kitty, Chapter 3: Catch-22

Agent Kitty stared at the lab-coated messenger in disbelief. (S)He didn’t know what to think of this new development. But all of a sudden there was an urge to call his mum, sit down with a pint of Haagen Daz Chocolate Fudge Brownie and watch “Beaches.”

As quickly as this urge surfaced, it was gone and all Kitty wanted was so many slices of watermelon.

Agent Kitty’s turbulent thoughts were interrupted…
“…Kitty…Agent Kitty, are you listening?? I’m telling you, you need to take immediate measures. I have 2 words for you: Folic Acid.”

But A.K. was already walking away. There was only one thing to do – he had to visit his sensei. This would entail a long and potentially dangerous journey. But his sensei would have the answer to the one question on his mind:

How is a cat supposed to cope with a possible encounter with Toxoplasma gondii? As everyone knows, this parasite can be found in cat litter (and raw meat) and can be harmful to the fragile baby now growing inside of A.K. It’s easy enough for humans to avoid, but only his sensei would know how on earth a cat was supposed to avoid its own litter box?! This was a diabolical catch-22…and coupled with the notion that his baby already had intense inbreeding working against it, A.K. embarked on a new mission.

He quickly cat called Pierre and the journey began. But it wasn’t long before the first danger reared its hideous rectangular head…

Agent Kitty

He backed him up against the wall and said, "I have some terrible news for you." Agent Kitty, prepared to attack leveraging the extensive Krav Maga training he had done with Mossad in Israel, but then...he hesitated...what news could this stranger have? And why had he not ambushed properly? And why was he wearing a white lab coat?

His paws still balled into fists prepared to strike, Agent Kitty spat "Yeah? What's your fucking news you lab-coat-wearing-douchebag science-tech person? And who are you? And do you have a tuna fish sandwich?"

The man reached in his pocket.

"SLOWLY!" hissed Agent Kitty.

"It's tunafish, your favorite."

"How did you know?"

"You don't remember because we wiped your memory clean. It was the only way to protect you. If the mice knew what you knew, they would have captured you and tortured it out of you."

"Bullshit," Agent Kitty sniffed, "I wouldn't break under the pressure"

"Remember Mozambique? Oh no...of course you don't. Well, you gave up the coordinates of an entire battalion after having yout litter box withheld for only a day. You gave them the communication frequency for a piece of yarn. You're horrible at being interogated."

"Oh yeah...well I can kick ass pretty well, maybe I should show you," Agent Kitty now having finished his sandwich, grabbed the man by the lapels of his white lab coat.

"Wait!" the man exclaimed. "Don't you want to hear the news?"

Kitty released his grip. "OK...let's have it, clownshoes."

"You came into the lab before the last few jobs because your stomach hurt and you had put on a few pounds and your nipples hurt. You though it might be cancer."

"I have cancer?"

"No...you're pregnant."

"What? But I'm a Tomcat! I've been bedding ladies for decades!"

"I'm afraid you're a hermaphrodite."

"A what?"

"Yes, and during the long sail over to Ireland during the Belfast job...you apparently fucked yourself...and now you're pregnant."

Agent Kitty reeled, confused, vacilating between anger and overwhelming fear. He looked at the man in the lab coat.

"Does this mean I have to stop smoking and drinking?"

"I'm afraid it means you're being called back to the base."

"I'm in Paris. What about RU 486?"

"Kitty. Too late for that. You're going to be a mother."

The Story of Agent Kitty

Duh Duh, Duh Duh, Duh Duh, Duh Duh.....


Agent Kitty, a feline of utter most experience in espinage has just returned from his tour overseas where we was sent to take down a ruthless dictator Senor Frog. It seems Senor Frog had been operating in Cancun, Mexico, taking control of the local population and visiting tourist, with a secret mind bending solution he would slip into their drinks which he served them out of his local watering hole.... Agent Kitty single handedly brought down Senor Frog and his ruthless Mexican underworld gang and puttting an end to the mind control which had taken many victims.



But on returning home, it appear that Agent Kitty had not seen the end of Senor Frog and his ruthless band of bandiditos. Agent Kitty started to find some of his own trouble on his own turf. It seems that Senor Frog had opened a new venue back in Miami and also had established a new underworld here in the States. The KIA (Kitty's in Action) assigned Agent Kitty a new body guard Chester to look after Agent Kitty. Chester had been with the Agency about 17 years. He was only about 3 months from retirement. He drank a lot, ate alot, and was pretty much an all around puss. Agent Kitty felt that Chester was a lazy good for nothing piece of shit who slept all day, and offered Agent Kitty no protection.

Since Agent Kitty essentially had not protection from the KIA, he had to go and find some protection of his own. He hired Pierre, a weapons expert he met during a mission Agent Kitty had completed in France. Agent Kitty was sent to France to defuse a most volatile situation. A group of Mice, who ran their underground plots from the sewers in Paris had been stealing all the cheese. The local were most upset as what is wine withou the cheese...Agent Kitty was sent in to take the mice out...do I really have to say more? Pierre was especially talented in sharpshooting so Agent Kitty had him case his place from an apartment they rented across the street. Pierre monitored Agent Kitty's place night and day, day and night. He felt an obligation to Agent Kitty, because during that mission in France Agent Kitty had saved his life. A debt Pierre knew he could never re-pay....

But one night when Pierre could no longer keep his eyes open, a stranger snuck into Agent Kitty's apartment. When Agent Kitty got home, the intruder was there waiting for him. He backed him up against the wall and.......

New Idea

Ok so I had this idea...what if we started a story and then others had to contribute to it, add to it, take it in a new direction, or what not....Any takers? Well I will start one anyways and then we can see where it goes from here....

The Story of Agent Kitty......

Kids Programming these Days...

What has happened to Sesame Street. I guess they just had to try to keep up with the times....

Thought of the Day

The Story of Doggy Poo

One of the most interesting properties I have seen pitched at the NY licensing show over the past few years was....Doggy Poo. Now if any of you thought that your most bizarre idea would never fly, try this out for size.

This is the story of a poo, yes a poo. He is excreated out of a dog and after that is lost in the world because now that he has been pooped he does not know his purpose. The story is about this poop finding his purpose in life. He interactes with leaves, dirt, mud, birds, and general characters found in nature with the basic "Are you my mother" or in this case "Do you know what my purposes is" question. All of the othere characters relate their stories of how they started, the mud as dirt, the bird as an egg, the leave as a bud on a tree....

Sooner or later after many stories, and seasons, it is Spring. And as it does in Spring, it begins to rain and doggy poop begins to break down. His spill-off finds its way into a flower garden when he becomes the compost necessary to make the flowers blossome and bloom and finally Doggy Poo has found his purpose.

So for all of you with all you bizarre ideas out there. Never forget that if there is a place for Doggy Poo, I am sure there is a place for you!!

The Leak

Guys,

You may or may have not noticed that the album from Florida has been taken down...Don't worry I will repost it with another link. We had a bit of a leak but I got it under control.

Seems our friend Kim Miller, with whom I shared the pictures with carelessly forwarded the picture along to other Hamilton Alumns. When she finally told me what happened I was not happy, needless to say. Many of you, as myself, fear nothing more than being in the Hamilton Alumni Magazine nor even our whereabouts being know to the rest of mankind.... Well Anyways I was able to shut it down, but that required me to delet the album.

It is stored on my PC so I will be able to load it back up, send you guys the new link, and repost the link to the blog.

Just thought I would give you a heads up if any of you were thinking of re-living the glory days in the next day or so.

JK

Update: I am too old for this.

So, it's Monday. I am on a heavy dosage of Naproxen to cope with the after effects of Saturday's game. Our opponents were the Columbia medical school RFC. At 21, I would have laughed at the notion of playing a bunch of future doctors, sure that the Hamilton Exiles would quickly dispatch these science geeks into various emergency rooms around the city. Of course, as with so many other things I felt sure of when I was 21, I would be wrong and proven asinine before I could cry out “triage!”

This was the Columbia School of Business RFC’s first game of the season. 20% of the starting 15 had not played before, and something like 60% had never played together as a team. The doctors handed us our asses 21-5. You will be pleased to know that my own involvement, starting as scrumhalf, did very little to better our chances.

A word about our opponents. Medical school students are driven, type A maniacs. At Columbia, one of the best programs in the country, they are even more so. This noted, compounding matters, they are also younger (22, 23, 24 versus 28, 29, 30…or 33) and healthier than guys in business school (studying and going to the gym vs. drinking and more drinking). Also, they’ve played together for several years. This is not an excuse, but an explanation. They played a better game, with better stamina and brutal technique. Hence, a rough loss.

Sunday morning, I awoke to the stiffness, popping and cracking I expected, my elbows and knees black and blue. Such was rugby on a body in its 33rd year. What I wasn’t prepared for was an incredibly sharp pain on the left side of my chest that didn’t go away and was only exasperated when I tried to perform tasks such as: getting out of bed, lifting my arm or moving my torso in any way but the most limited capacity. An activity such as sneezing or coughing would elicit pain unlike anything I’ve experienced, if only for a few moments.

As I was able to breathe in and out without such significant sharpness, I ruled out cracked ribs. (Not that there is anything a doctor will do for you with broken ribs other than proscribe meds that make the world furry and soft and which inspire drooling of the highest order. )

I recall a single play where I (tried to) tackle the opposing prop who had built up a full head of steam running our way, uncontested. We collided with some significant force, my poor form enabling him to get under me and drive me back as we made contact, falling to the ground as a ruck formed over us both. Because I was too high, this character (who looked about 6’2” 245) was able to drop his shoulder, drilling into my chest with some significant impact, only to land on me as I attempted to wrap him up and bring him to the pitch.

This, I am sure is origin of my suffering. Some sort of deep tissue contusion or bruised bone. Hell, I’m no doctor. All I know is I’m moving around like a 90 year old. It's Monday now and even dosed up with the best NSAID I can find, I can barely handle carrying around my laptop.

All in, I had a good time, as masochistic as that sounds. I’m hardly good any more, not that I was great to begin with. But somehow, the stress of the competition is engrossing. If only I was a little younger. I think I will skip next week’s game and heal up. Got any good excuses for me? I mean outside of the fact that I’m an old, crippled, wuss.

Hope you’re all fairing better than I these days.