True or false.....

According to Boston.com, the wee isle of Nantucket is "a posh island resort".

Dear readers who frequent the lil' rock o' Nantucket: is this true?

Or would you say this is false?
(about the posh resortyness of it all, I mean)

And before you decide, please note that the following movies are set in a "posh island resort":

I Still Know What You Did Last Summer
Evil Under the Sun
The Marine 2

You see a pattern here? I surely do.

Uh oh the Gods are pissed!

There is a wicked storm just passing to the north of the office today.

This is at 2pm or so today.

Scary looking. Also with lightning - sheets and bolts.

Oh Bobby K, please don't. Just, don't.

Trust me, I think everyone should be doing "it" until they drop dead. People move on in life and that is a good thing.

However there is something about this:

That reminds me of that:

This is just not gonna end well. No, not at all.

I am not the only one who does this, right?

I noticed that when I hear gunshots, I count the minutes between shots fired and police sirens the same way I count the seconds between a lightning flash and a thunderclap to see how far away the storm is.





And yes, I can tell the difference between a firecracker and a gun shot. Firecrackers don't wake me up at 12:40am.

A new entry in the Canon of Truly Useless Crap

A two mile bridal train has got to be the most pointless thing created by man, after the square wheel, of course.

If you can convince me of the artistic merit or relative social value of a two mile long veil, I will mail you a two dollar bill.

Why?

Skunk or Weed?

There is a section on my street that every so often seriously stinks like skunk. 

Super pungent skunk.

But since it happens in the same general area, at about the same general time, more than once a week I am beginning to think it might not be a skunk. 

I think someone rolled one of these:

Doooonnnn't bogaaart that joinnnnnt m'friend....

Ooh, I need some Cheetos.

Thanks for nothing Clint!

I went to Loudon on Sunday for the Sprint Cup race. Yep, I love NASCAR.

In the fantasy league I belong to we get to pick drivers once per season so the trick is to use your drivers wisely. You have to figure who performs best on which track, consider how well they are doing during the season, look at stats...  Yah, something like that.

Personally I have my own secret formula for picking a driver that involves glitter and unicorns and a couple of secret calculations and it worked awesome last year (I placed FIRST yah!!). This year, not so much. NASCAR changed up the points system so that sort of makes it tough to make significant headway. Oh well.

This weekend I picked Clint Bowyer and he was doing AWESOME until about lap 296 of 300 when he RAN OUT OF GAS.

WTF

Dude races cars for a living and doesn't know enough to gas up? Dumbo.

My almost first place finish evaporated into a 26th place finish. *Le sigh*

Well, the two chicks play-fighting in the parking lot after the race made up for it when one girl hooked her thumb into the waistband of the other girl's thong and pulled it up.... up.... up and over her head. YOUPAAAH!!!

(For those who aren't familiar with thongs and anatomy, the best way to describe it is taking a wire cheese slicer to a hunk o cheddar.)


The best part is when all the lines got blurred. The boyfriends of the two battlin' babes tried to breaking them up by dumping ice water on them, but there was something smoldering there that ice water wasn't going to put out. To this casual observer it looked more like foreplay than horseplay. What with the giggle and the underpants grabbing...

Then they starting pulling the shirts off, and for some reason modesty kicked in and they jumped up and drove off.

So there was that. And it kind of made up for the sh*tty finish.

Hmmm. I am not sure THAT is the reaction they were looking for....

Check out the "reaction" to Myra Kraft's passing on Boston.com today:

In case you can't read it:

I mean, considering how the actress Megan Fox allegedly got fired for comparing director Michael Bay to Hitler, it's kinda rude to post a link to a Megan Fox SexClip in reaction to the passing of a tireless fundraiser who also happened to be of the Jewish faith. 

Just goes to show you that people really will say things online that they wouldn't likely say face to face. I mean, I am pretty certain that DenboerMasakoAH wouldn't go to the funeral to sell porn to the Kraft family. 

Although when it comes to the nerve of some people, I've been wrong before.

Spiral thinking....

Sometimes I read about something and from there my thoughts spiral out to absurd extremes.

Like when I read about the last space shuttle launch. I thought about how small the astronauts are in comparison to space. And what is space? What is our place in it? Where does it end? And if I can't imagine an end to the universe, how small does that make me? Or an ant for that matter. Is the universe imaginary? And really, what is the meaning of time?

See? It's sh*t like this that typically spirals out of control right at bedtime.

Well, today's gem comes from this article: What's in your navel?

First of all, who isn't curious about what lurks in there. And second of all I am definitely going to be A LOT more diligent about washing it out from now on.

But then my thoughts spiraled out from there and I wound up comparing belly buttons to va-jay-jays.

Oh yes I did.

Let me explain. First of all it occurred to me that most people (I think most do) use the words "belly button". We say it without thinking - belly button, bellybutton, and it kind of rolls off the tongue without notice.

However when you stop to think about it, it's a ridiculous description. A belly........ button? I would understand it more if everyone had an "outie" but this is not the case and in any case navels don't resemble buttons.

This is a button:

This is a navel:

And this is what I am talking about:

If you push the hole left behind by the umbilical cord like a button, it feels weird. Try it and see. Push it like an elevator button. Now smell your finger. That stink means bacteria.

Back to the belly button. Since most people say belly button instead of navel, I thought what other euphemisms for body parts are commonly used? Ears, hair, head, face, lips, eyes, chin, legs, arms, elbows, hands, fingers... we say without hesitation. But then we say belly button instead of navel, vajayjay for vagina, and peeper for penis.

So what I want to know is when the navel got lumped with vagina and penis?

Thoughts?

Boooom goes the sidewalk....

Walked past an unseen fire that sent noxious smoke billowing out through a sidewalk grate today. A big cloud of smoke would billow out from a grate in the sidewalk after something Down There made a big BOOM.

This is why I hate walking over those sidewalk grates. You just never know when the smoke monster will start farting.

Smoke dies down.

Then another BOOM and more smoke

Then another lull before the next BOOM

View Larger Map

Ok so not as thrilling as a triffid with an erection, but those BOOMS were pretty scary sounding.

And how was YOUR commute?

Remember that plant from the other day......

This one here.

I was subsequently informed that it was a mullein plant, aka a "toilet paper planet" on account of its Charmin-like leaves.

But I still think it's a triffid.

Someone took the time to try and break it.

But it, uh, managed to stay erect.

And also, I have another word for this plant, and it's not "toilet paper plant"....

Nevermind Whitey, I wanna know where the Vermeer is...

I am convinced that with the arrest of James "Whitey" Bulger, there are several shady art collectors collectively crapping themselves right now.

In case you don't recall, back in 1990 the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum was burgled and several valuable paintings were stolen, a Vermeer among them.

The New York Times had this quote from a neighbor:

"Janus Goodwin, 61, said she visited them in the apartment. “When I would be invited in, he would always be lying on the sofa, watching TV,” she said. “He was very proud of his little art pieces, which were cheap knockoffs of Monet and Van Gogh.”

 Hmph. Maybe they weren't knockoffs after all.... My guess is he's been selling them off on an as needed basis. 

Can't wait to see how this all shakes out.

Birds of a rusty metal feather flock to....

the nearest street corner and smoke together because they are bok-bok-badass!

This is the chicken that I threatened to buy for the Evil twin and the BiL back in March:

But the Evil Twin kiboshed that idea faster than immediately.

See the thing is in our family we tend to buy sh*t we think is cool, but for other people, because typically it's stuff we don't actually want in our own home.

Anyway, I get an email from a friend with this link to check out: http://thebloggess.com/2011/06/and-thats-why-you-should-learn-to-pick-your-battles/

I read it and nearly pissed my pants because it is hysterically funny. And then I thought, damn, that chicken gets AROUND!

I predict that Big Rusty Chicken becomes the next hipster cool shiz, like PBR, belt buckles, and trucker caps.

Open air drug market? Didn't see that one coming.....

I am incredulous that none of the first 9 comments made reference to the location.

Usually apoplectic South Enders erupt in a frenzy of NIMBY-ism at the mere thought of lumping WeMa/EaMel* in with the SE. 

I mean, an open air drug market does not carry the same sort of cachet as an open air arty-farty mart.

Although, as a peripheral resident of this particular area, I am appreciative of the efforts made by the BPD, the DA's Office, and the people who live in the Lenox buildings to put a damper on the drug trade. It might not solve the problem, but it is infinitely better than indifference.

*And by WeMa/EaMel I mean: West of Mass Ave/East of Melnea Cass, aka, Lower Roxbury, aka South End, aka F*ck You It's Roxbury, aka, My Realtor SWORE This Was the South End, aka, Get the F*ck Out Yuppie Scum, aka, Fine You Can Have This Crack Riddled Dump A**hole....

Day of the Triffids?

I came upon this plant on my way to work today:

That is some mighty plant growing out of a crack in the sidewalk. Anyone know what it is? Because I am thinking triffid.

Headline fail.

Actually it's attendant.

However, at the end of the day I can't say sh*t because I always spell "independent" as "independant", although it's not so egregious an error when you aren't the headline writer at Boston.com.

Friends don't let friends drink and cycle....

Saw this bike parked outside Hollywood Liquors last night.

A 40 and no helmet.

Yes, I checked for both.

**Correction**
I generically call anything larger than 12oz a "forty". So to be very specific this is a 24oz can of Steel Reserve. Union made, for those who care.

The $62,000 handbag. Seriously.

The $62,000 Hermes handbag, which is pre-owned but never carried, begs the $64,000 question: who on EARTH would spend that much on a pre-owned,but never carried, handbag?

See, I am not even kidding. $62k for a second handbag. I guess not every area of the economy is entirely recessed.

Osama's last words....

"Damn you auto correct"...

Thank you Apple, for supplying a way to not only track terrorists, but to then assist foiling sleeper cell activation!

Has this ever happened to you?

So a couple of years back, like 3 or maybe 5, I woke up one day and found I could no longer stand both guacamole and The Doors, oh, and also the Rolling Stones.

F*cking weird.

I still can't eat guacamole unless it is really, REALLY good and fresh. I absolutely cannot eat an avocado plain without dry heaving a little. And if I hear any song by The Doors, it's like nails on a chalkboard. Just thinking about it now gives me the shudders. SO weird, especially considering that I never felt terribly strongly about them either way.

But interestingly I woke up the other day and liked the Rolling Stones again. Well, not everything by them, just a few select songs. Mostly the songs where Mick Jagger is clearly on drugs. Which yeah, is probably all of them...

It's the crazy sounding songs that I need in the morning these days.

Take "Monkey Man" for example, which opens with soft guitar and tinkling piano and the following lyrics: "I'm a fleabit peanut monkey / All my friends are junkies / That's not really true / I'm a cold Italian pizza / I could use a lemon squeezer ..... " before ending with Jagger scream-singing the word "m-m-m-on-kayyyyyy" over and over.

WTF?! But awesome. No one uses words like "fleabit peanut monkey" any more. I bet you all those words are code words for drugs... hmmm...

The other song that is awesome for waking up kicking and punching is "Can't You Hear Me Knocking" - the opening riff makes me want to do Steven Tyler-style high kicks. I am genuinely concerned that one day I will in fact high kick in public when that song plays on my mp3 player.

From Let It Bleed:

And from Sticky Fingers:

Yeah, music totally massages my cerebral cortex.