Peevishness

Many are my pet peeves.

For one thing, Blogger is making everything italicized right now for some reason. This was not where this post was going, which should be obvious because how would I know until I started typing, Silly?

Instead, I thought I'd share a recent example of one of my [numerous] work-related annoyances. Specifically, both our esteemed anchors and producers take great pride in the fine art of the segue, which is all well and good until one realizes that, sometimes, attempting to connect two stories makes you (and, by extension, our entire newscast) look and sound ridiculous. Here's a copy-and-pasted gem from last night's 9pm:

NUCLEAR POWERED AIRPLANES MAY COME TOO LATE TO SAVE THE FROGS AND SALAMANDERS IN YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK.

I coul... Hey! No more italics.

Anywho, I could go on for several paragraphs regarding my newsroom's incompetencies (how does one work in a field of journalism when one regularly spells quote as "quoat"?*), but it's my day off and I'd rather not get my blood a boilin'. I'm already missing my lady terribly, thank you kindly.

So, without further ado, here are two exquisite shows with which you may want to familiarize yourself**:

*Seriously
**Not ending a sentence with a preposition = journalism!

Because Sometimes You Have To Treat Yourself

Oven-baked Bosc pear with cinnamon, nutmeg, and Maker's Mark, atop Vanilla Bean ice cream, drizzled with a reduced balsamic and flakes of dark Ghirardelli chocolate. Served with a glass of port.

Breakfast was imitation Cap'n Crunch served upon 10-day-old skim milk.

An Action-Packed Day Thus Far

I'm not proud of myself; I owe L-Dub an apology.

She was innocently watching Oprah whilst sitting next to me at the Teleprompter station, and unfortunately for her (and, in my opinion, for Oprah) the Olsen Twins were being interviewed. Then, they were interviewing one another. Subjects included their frantic schedules, how they felt about each other's dating life, and wanting to be taller.

Hair was discussed.

Then one of them revealed that she had a hollowed-out bagel for breakfast and before I even knew it was happening I snapped.

"If I have to listen to any more of this I swear to God I am going to shoot myself."

Sorry, Lauren, and thanks for the ride home last night. Send me a link to "Dance if You're Horny" so I can share your song with the world (consisting here of 4 people).

In unrelated news, here's an excerpt from tonight's 5pm newscast, copied and pasted directly from the script. I mean, c'mon, people.

NEW AT SIX: AMERICA'S PICKLE PACKERS EXPLAIN WHY THEIR INDUSTRY ISN'T OVER A BARREL.

Briana Gets Pwn3d!

Mike & Celeste Contemplate How to Spend Our Money

One of the last orders of business before Briana's departure (see previous entries) was for us to establish a college fund for any future Krumboltz. We did so slowly, but surely, by hosting a game of In-Between.

The game would have been much more out of hand, or, as the case may be, out of pocket, had the minimum bet been the customary 5 cents as opposed to the 2 cents we opted for. Nevertheless, here's an [unstaged] example of how much it can hurt to see an ace come up after an ill-advised "Pot it!"

Let's See... I'll Take the Love Seat for $225

As the polls show McCain gaining ground and a tonight's TV listings allude to my beloved Red Sox golfing, I think I'll turn my ire towards Wheel of Fortune.

Whatever happened to the showcases in which contestants were forced to spend their winnings on unfortunate patio sets and trips to Orlando? There was nothing better than watching the color drain out of a winner's face upon realizing he/she had to spend his/her remaining 800 bucks on a lime green barcalounger.

Speaking of Boredom...

Briana's driving Nebraska Interstate 80 today.

Before crossing the border into Nebraska, I would always had to pull over my car and make sure I wasn't carrying any firearms for fear that I would shoot myself in the face upon realizing I still had half the state left to cross.

Even Interstate 80's own website seems to detest that stretch of highway, implying that the best part of I-80 is getting the fuck off I-80. And I quote: "Interstate 80 in Nebraska is notable for its 25 safety rest areas, which are spaced about 35-50 miles apart and often offer tourist information."

So while I do have you in my thoughts today, sweet baby, I assure you that, in those thoughts, you are nowhere near North Platte.

I'll leave you with the crown jewel of I-80, The Great Platte River Road Archway Monument.


Somehow a photograph can't capture the sheer splendor of a prefabricated giftshop hovering over 4 lanes of blacktop.

Idling Mind

Downtime is a big part of this gig.

Fortunately, having a verdant and industrious brain, I spend that downtime constructively. Namely, I watch sports and, during commercial breaks, play online games.

Sometimes I chew gum.

Regardless, the gauntlet is thrown, people: I encourage you to check out Bookworm and/or Gems Swap 2 and walk (well, sit) an 8-hour shift in my shoes.

King Midas himself couldn't get more gold bricks than this:



And if you're a glutton for punishment, feast your eyes on GS2 level 19.

If you can hit level 20 and prove it with a screen shot, I'll mail you a check for $100.*

Better still, suggest a game that you think I'm missing out on... God knows I have time to give it a trial run.

*Made out to Brawny Smurf

Witty Reporte

A Steve Greenberg cartoon.

*frown*

Briana left this morning for 4 months of sunshine and boat drinks.

That's right, she's headed to Milwaukee.

So I'm sad.

Luckily, I'll soon have something constructive to do to help pass the time: this thing.

Drive safely, Milady... I'll be getting ripped abs and eating the best sushi on earth and pining for you in the meantime.

Final Fantasy Baseball Standings

You've been waiting 162 games for this post... come get some.

A Film by Brett Ratner
5th of 9

Pasqual's Headhunters*
2nd** of 12

Bay Area Hitters
2nd of 16

Big Time Keeper League
11th of 20


ADDED BONUS:

Least appropriate team names, 2008:
5 In The Pink
Urine For A Treat
Suspicious Bulge
Nice ( . ) . )
I Meant Caulk
Silent Flacidity
Ripe For Pipe
Slippery Shillelagh
Love Stains Eternal
Prof. Slipperyfinger

Dirty team names are a point of pride for any serious fantasy player, and can really take the sting out of a losing week, month, or, as is often the case for poor moi, year.

P.S. - If you can offer any suggestions for future namesakes, please deposit them in the COMMENTS section below, which I read biannually.

How's that for interactive?

*2nd consecutive league in which I've overtaken Audio Aaron on the final day of the season... last year's hockey championship being the coup de grâce, of course.

**Read it and weep, Georgie... thats $20 for my finishing in the top 3, and another $20 for beating your litigious Michigan ass.

Makisupa News, Dude

Uh oh.

Phish is reuniting next year?

Somewhere in yonder Rocky Mountains, a certain phan is beeming. Beeming I tells ya.

Keep her away from sugar for a while, Dougie Boy.

I would normally relate the tale of seeing Phish from the 2nd row at Alpine Valley at this point, but (A) certain squares who declined to go always get peeved, and (B) I'm fairly certain blog entries can be submitted in courts of law, and neither Kaukauna nor I would welcome any jailtime.

Truth be told, though, listen to that show and see why being a hippie can be worth all the dating of hirsute women and the building of elaborate gravity bongs.

So, my friends*, let us rejoice...

*Fuck you McCain

An Emasculatory Development For Yours Truly

Having already been soundly throttled by the fair Briana at both billiards and tennis (in consecutive days no less), I tactfully suggested a trip to my latest backyard find, the Par 3 wonderland that is the Montclair Golf Course.

Average hole length? I'm haven't the foggiest clue. However, it's farcically short. I'm fairly certain that you could spit a three over par.

Alas, since Briana hadn't held a golf club since 7th grade*, we opted for the adjacent driving range, which was essentially a double decker sports bar with artificial turf mats strewn sporadically about. The yardage markers (decrepit, hand-painted oil drums) were hilariously inaccurate and the target area was military-grade scorched earth.

Yet despite these handicaps, and one nuclear strength bloody mary, Briana put on a display of mental and athletic fortitude worthy of my praise and, ultimately, envy.

Her inner dialogue: "Steady head. Knees stay bendy. Easy now... keep the eyes and head down. Slowwww back swing... don't turn those hips yet. Accelerate through the ball. Oh fuck yes that was sweet. Strike a pose. Now strut. Shit yeah... where's that bloody mary?"

I've unwittingly stumbled upon yet another pastime at which my beloved Briana Jo will keep me perpetually humble.

Also, pissed.

*7th grade gym requirement. Memorable golf tip? When swinging, pretend you're in a pickle barrel.