I Could've...

I could've been filling my corner of the internets with delightful asides from my life. I could also art more than I do. Or music more than I do. But I've been too busy, or too sick, or too tired, or too wrapped up with kids to flickr, sketch, or strum. So here's some shit that's almost literally running out of my ears:

I could describe, in great detail, why tapirs are my favorite animal:

Freakin' adorable

I could've made a blog entry that would've made at least Bryan laugh that consisted of a "VH1's Behind The Music" for The Fat Boys. And I had some really funny shit to have Buff Love saying about Prince Markie and Kool Rock, too. But we all know I don't have the motivation to write something like that out.


What's it say about my generation that these guys were EVER cool?

I could take this opportunity to bitch about the fact that when I did a GIS search for something innocent like "titmouse" I was amazed that the work filter didn't nail me, as it does now for other innocent things...

I don't think I can say "Tufted Titmouse" out loud to another human being without smirking either.

I could take this opportunity to make some jokes about an action star/blues guitarist/purveyor of energy drinks and his huge fat ass.

That guy MUST have his own weather systems. And be sure to check out the track names on the music link. Somebody PLEASE make a pun involving one of his movie titles for me.

I don't think I need to tell you why hellbenders may only be my second favorite animal, but have my favorite animal's name.

I don't think I would want to swim in that river...

But instead, I'll just go back to rubbing my temples to ward off the inevitable headache for a little longer, and hope that the counter on my FACSVAntage hits 3 million pretty soon.

But here's another picture of The Fat Boys first


Fill up the Fridge...Do you remember "Disorderlies?"

Cat Stevens - Tuesday's Dead

What can I say? guess I'm a folkie at heart...

Wednesday Afteroons and Sinus Infections

I've got a nasty, nasty, sinus infection/headcold thing going on right now. And I can't even take a day off work to be a pain the wife's behind while I recover because I've got no one to cover for me. But, hey, my sinuses are bleeding, so I'll be taking no shit off of anyone today - unless they have bleeding sinuses as well. And I mean literally bleeding. It's gross. I think I might have plaster dust from the on-going room remodel to thank for it all. Anyhow.

Stunt Pilot Extroardinaire

We're all clear for lift off, lets make it a go.
I'm experiencing some difficulties. I'm caught in some turbulence, over.
Oh no! Crash, shoot, bang, random explosion, barrel roll, *fart*, weee-owr, crash, boop.

Yet again, I failed to capture the kid at play. It was great, too. He kept making ducklips, which you can kind of see, to do the sound effects, and some other things. If anyone wants to call and talk to the squirt, I'd imagine he would make the sound effects for your enjoyment.

Oh, and according to sitemeter, a metric butload of people looking for the famous rugby penis pitcure have been directed to my little corner of the internets. Interesting.

Lazy Monday

The Flautist

Please, kind sir, allow me just a few moments to properly tune my instrument, and decide which piece I shall play for you today.

There...There it is. I've got the feel of it now. Now we're grooving.

No! No! I said no flash photography, and absolutely no autographs. I'll be in my dressing room!

The real story: I did a piss-poor job of photographically capturing yet another moment in time that was hilarious to me and that I thought "Gee, folks I know would probably think this was a-frickin'-dorable as well." For some reason the straw was a flute, and whenever it was "played," a serious look came on to his face, and when he was really "feelin' the music" (like any good jazzbo should) he would even do a little hopping two step - kinda like you see pretentious horn players at jazz clubs do.

SoaP - An Essay

For the first time in perhaps five years, I watched a movie on its opening weekend. The movie deserving of such an honor? Snakes On A Plane. And deserving of this honor it truly was. After viewing this gilded wonder of the cinematic world, I have only one thing to say.

Go see Snakes On A Plane and it will change your life.

I had high expectations walking into the theatre, and I walked out with all of them fulfilled. In spades. There were snakes, and they were on a plane. There was a mammary gland that got attacked by a snake. There was a penis that was attacked by a snake. There was at least two eyeballs attacked by snakes. Ditto for the chihuaha, and some lady's tongue.

And it was all pulled off with such artistic largesse that it seemed like classic literature had been brought to life before my very eyes.

Go and see this movie.

The involvement that one gets with the characters in this movie is such that you are generally happy to see the personal transformations they all go through. Three G, I'm looking at you. When Sam Jackson says those much publicized words "I am getting real sick and tired of all these mother*bleeping* snakes on this mother*bleeping* plane!" a tear slid down my cheek, as shivers went down my spine. And by the end of the movie, as the last lines of dialogue are uttered (which I won't spoil for you!), I nearly expected the two male leads to engage in an open-mouthed kiss. But that would have been okay after what they had been through together.

Go see Snakes On A Plane, and all of your dreams will come true.

A Simpler Time

Who? Me? Oh, right, I was going to tell you about my weekend. Friday evening, just like every other day, I rode the train home from the office. A handsome devil such as myself can never go long without attracting the attentions of some winsome lasses. It wasn't until I made quite a show of bawling out the foreign red-cap you see behind me their that these three stopped eyeing my rugged visage. There's not much in this world that a few well placed profanities at someone whose different won't take care of.
Whilst watering the lawn, the mailman paid me a visit. That son of a bitch got bawled out as well. Delivering the mail at six o'the clock like that. He did bring me an invitation to a neighborhood cook-out, however, so I stopped short of turning the hose on him.

I did, however, turn the hose on that bucktoothed little scamp that lives next door. Shouting and carrying on like that over sugared confections. The gathering of neighborhood children did remind me that it was time to pick the children up from their extra-curricular activities at the academy.

I arrived just in time to see Crossing guard Feely McGrabberson attempting to "help" the children across the street. The smarmy old bastard didn't stop winking at the children the whole time I was shouting at him about his choice of "hand signals."
After a large dinner of steak, and several glasses of scotch, the misses and I retired to the bedroom for a round of what I call "The winner of the big game." I don't know who took this picture of us, but I'll shoot the fop if I catch him peering through my bedroom window again.

The children's grandmother, and her "special friend" Hattie drove in Friday afternoon to watch the children while we were away at the barbecue. Judging by the speed at which they entered the driveway, it's about time to adjust the old gammer's medications again.
When we left, the children were settled in to watching their stories on the television. I took a photograph - I was so proud to see junior enraptured by the killing of indigenous Americans, just like his old man. Filthy savages.

After a short drive of a few blocks in the trusty precision velocipede, we arrived at the much anticipated cook-out. That thirsty machine went through nearly a quarter of gallon of gas in the three or four hundred yards we traveled. It's a good thing our great country has more than enough fuel to last through the times of our grandchildren's grandchildren!

As we parked the car, some silly constable of the peace ran up and shouted at me for parking in the wrong zone, or somesuch. "I pay taxes, good sir, I shall park on the side of the public street anywhere I want." I told him. "Hmmm, smells like old Jim is barbecuing some pork chops!"

I had the house boy bring in my contribution to the evening's repast. Nothing like a tall, cool, high-quality macrobrew from the good old U S of A to go along with some delicious smoked meats! There's no beer from strange, foreign lands served in my neighborhood - who knows what goes into that horse urine!
"So I said, 'Bill, you sallow cad, of course it was MY hand.'" The barbecue was a complete success - a good time was had by all, as is to be expected after eating so much good red meat.
And, finally, a tip to my fellow gentleman. Not only are delicious American beers a welcome addition to any cook-out's menu, give a few to your spouse in the privacy of your own home. Many a game of "The winner of the big game" can be started in this fashion! I hope you chaps and lasses had a pleasant weekend as well!

This Is The Last Of Them, I Promise!

Finally, pictures from our narrow loss to Syracuse...

Damn that guys long arms! I think I won one of our line outs, and maybe put a hand on two of theirs - aka shitty winning of the ball from Brandon.

Here I am, seen at the bottom of a ruck. I wonder if this is where I got my hand stamped on...

More Rutland Pics

All pictures in this post and the next are graciously stolen from the ADE. Click the link to see more team/tournament pics.

Much better lineout pics. The guy gripping my creamy thighs is "Uncle" David Gregoire.


And one from a distance.

Is This Too Much?

Hopefully, he's following the ball...

Intensely eyeing the opposition, or doing the peepee dance?

Dishing the ball to a teammate...

Good Eye, Good Eye!

From the front page of the Adirondack Daily Enterprise:

Nice picture, but why is that guys wiener hangin' out? You don't need your penis to play rugby...

I'm A Man Who Discovered The Wheel And Built The Eiffel Tower Out Of Metal And Brawn. That's What Kind Of Man I Am.

You're damn straight about that!

This last weekend was the 33rd annual CanAm Rugby Tournament, right here at home (er, Saranac lake - close enough). Which mostly just means that I got the hell beaten out of me more than at any other point this season. I have:

• A sore neck
• A sun burn
• No feeling in the last two fingers of my right hand
• More bruises than I can count

It's much deeper in color (and I'm less hairy) in person.

That bruise is actually a result of our match a week ago against Rutland. Part of my knee swelled up just after the match, went away by the following morning, then the bruise started to appear. Doesn't hurt, much. Here's us vs. Rutland:

The gentleman seen reffing in that picture is Terry, one of our player/coaches/old boys. He called a great, flowing game. Hands in the ruck? Offside? No problem. As long as both teams were bending the rules equally, play was allowed to continue.

Here's some shots from CanAm:

I'm second one in the line out, tape around my ears. At this point, I had two good lifters, so when I jumped, I soared. And I was safe. Earlier in the game, the guy that was my second lifter EFF'ING DROPPED ME. Six feet in the air, make the catch, then flat on my back. I threw a punch at the dumb-ass as I was getting up.

This is from the Plattsburgh paper - the guys in green are the second team we played. The black guy was about 6'4", 270. I only had to hit him once (he was a freaking center - which means not only was he big, but he had wheels), and I managed to knock him out of bounds so he couldn't score a second try. Okay, I did have some help with that...

The boy got to play some touch rugby...I should have some more (and hopefully better) pictures of this tomorrow.

Finally, apparently my dad got the head from my brother's latest deer back from the taxidermist. Take a look at my parents living room.

I think they should put up some knotty pine trim and furniture, get a couple of throne like chairs and some beer steins, and make it look like an authentic Bavarian hunting lodge. They'd have to move the treadmill, too.

I'll be back tomorrow with some more pictures, and some more inane chatter.

And then something went terribly awry...

Dude?

Dude.

OK Go - Here It Goes Again

I'd never heard this band before. Heard of, but not heard. But tell me, is this not one of the best ideas for a music video ever? Simplicity wins the day once again.