Make Me Fries - Pearl Jam Lyrics

If you remember the band Pearl Jam (and they're still around today) you might recall that deciphering band leader Eddie Vedder's lyrics can be a bit of a challenge. However, thanks to THIS VIDEO, you can see the actual words for yourself. Enjoy...



Unsealed on a porch a letter sat.
Then you said, "I wanna leave it again."
Once I saw her on a beach of weathered sand.
And on the sand I wanna leave it again. Yeah.
On a weekend I wanna wish it all away, yeah.
And they called and I said that "I want what I said" and then I call out again.
And the reason oughta' leave her calm, I know.
I said "I know what I was the boxer or the bag."

Ah yeah, can you see them out on the porch? Yeah, but they don't wave.
I see them round the front way. Yeah.
And I know, and I know I don't want to stay.
Make me cry...

I see... Oh I don't know why there's something else.
I wanna drum it all away...
Oh, I said, "I don't, I don't know whether I was the boxer or the bag."

Ah yeah, can you see them out on the porch? Yeah, but they don't wave.
But I see them round the front way. Yeah.
And I know, and I know. I don't wanna stay at all.
I don't wanna stay. Yeah.
I don't wanna stay. [x2]
I don't... Don't wanna, oh... Yeah. Ooh... Ohh...

The Intense Old Dumb Guy at the Church Softball Game

Let me start out this post by pointing out that the "Intense Old Dumb Guy at the Church Softball Game" mentioned in the title of this entry is ME. I'm not sure what came over me, but lately I've been playing a tick above average and decided to take it to the next level. God was looking out for me and gave me a good dose of humility.

Our league is a recreation (or "rec") league and it's not ultra competitive. We don't even have umpires and go on the honor system. As such, there are no close calls at home. If the catcher has the ball in his or her hand or mitt and is somewhere near the plate, you are out if you've committed to going home.

So, while I had just landed on third I noticed the pitcher turning his back on me and I decided I was going to get a run. About three steps into my journey to home the pitcher noticed me and nonchalantly lobbed the ball to the only girl on the team who happened to be playing catcher. I was out as soon as she caught the ball, but for some reason I decided I needed to slide into home. I started my slide a little too early and instead of moving parallel to the ground at a slight angle, my entire body kicked upwards and over. I landed on my face with dirt in my mouth and both of my knees scraped up. Did I already mention that I was out before I even decided to slide? To make matters worse, I was still a foot away from the plate when my body stopped moving and my pants nearly slid down off of my rear end (fortunately for everyone involved, everything kept covered). Overall, it was a nice dose of humility and shame.

PROOF! Texting while driving is dangerous.

Finally, we have the proof that we need. A recent study conducted by the Virginia Tech Transportation Institute just confirmed that texting while driving is even more dangerous than previous studies had determined.

Here's the actual link to the story.

Is Virginia Tech a public school? I sure hope so. I hope that my tax dollars contributed to this study. And thank goodness they had the sense to do more than one study on this. Folks probably didn't believe the first study that confirmed it was actually dangerous to type messages on a phone while driving. Hopefully, we will continue with these studies so that everyone can come to a rational conclusion.

I hope you're picking up my sarcasm.

P.S. I wrote this entire blog post while driving, eating an ear of corn and crocheting a hat.

Sales Cliches - Part 3

Just seconds ago the sales guy who sits behind me (who is a really good guy, by the way) went on a good old-fashioned Sales Cliche rampage. I've heard, "You're good-to-go" a few times, something about a "silver bullet," "there's more than one way to skin a cat," and then he uttered my new favorite...

You're trying to put twenty pounds of [CENSORED] in a ten pound bag.

I'm just trying to figure out ways that I can incorporate this one at home, at athletic association board meetings and church. Wish me luck.

Fun Times at the Airport Parking Garage

While I've traveled quite a bit in the past, I haven't been to Indianapolis's new airport enough times to know the routines. Just the other day our entire family decided that we'd be on hand to greet my mother-in-law who was returning from a nearly two month visit to Germany. By the time I dropped off the wife and chillins and managed to drive all the way back to the parking garage and get out, they were all walking towards me. I had been out of the car for less than a minute and they were all ready to leave. That's two bucks down the tubes but I didn't mind since we all love my wife's parents quite a bit. I was right next to the pre-pay machine so I decided to pay for my ticket there and save some time getting out of the gate.

It's simple. You put your ticket in and then pay for your parking via cash or a credit card. They print out a receipt that shows when you came in, when you left and that you've paid your fare. So, as I was driving out, I pulled up to the Pre-Paid gate and realized that I needed my original parking ticket to get out. I never made the connection that I'd still need it and had left it at the the pre-pay machine inside the garage. No problem. I pulled up to a gate with a man inside a booth and showed him my receipt. Everything was on that little piece of paper. I figured it would only take me an extra minute for this guy to read the receipt and let me pass.

Obviously, that wasn't the case or I wouldn't be sitting here pecking away at the keyboard. First off, he told me that I needed to make sure I have my ticket the next time.

"Sorry about that," I said. I honestly didn't care because I had paid two dollars to park for two minutes. I wasn't mean about it.

He spent the next five minutes fumbling through papers, his cash register and some random files while writing things down on my receipt. I couldn't figure out what he was up to.

"I'm going to need to see your license," he said.

While I couldn't figure out why he would need it, I was prepared to hand it over. At this point I noticed that the gate was open...but I still handed it over. I figured another minute of my life wasted wasn't that big of a deal. He must have waited at least two minutes (still fumbling around doing who knows what) before taking the license and then I can only assume that he drew a perfect representation of it--including the way "Indiana" is written at the top and sketching my head shot. He walked out of the booth and gave me the license, but he was too close to the car for me to do anything.

"Do you need a blood sample?" I asked, knowing that I was being a smart@$$ but I couldn't resist at this point. I don't think he heard me or cared about what I said. He wandered to the back of the vehicle and told me he need to write down my license plate. While I didn't see him reach for any colored markers or pencils, I can only assume, once again, the he re-created my license plate on the back of the receipt. Maybe it's some kind of hobby. Finally he came back to the car and gurgled out some ineligible words. The Mrs. thought he said something about a vehicle inspection and I was looking for a good vein for him to draw blood.

By this time fifteen minutes had gone by and I was still sitting at the opened gate. He handed me some form that needed my signature and I quickly scribbled "Homer J. Simpson" at the bottom. Sometimes you just have to stick it to the man. That's how I roll.

Of Blimps & Wienermobiles

Indianapolis may not be the cultural mecca of western civilization, but we have our share of big time events that draw prestigious advertisers to the roads and skies of our fair cities. Specifically, I'm speaking of the Indianapolis 500 and the Brickyard 400 races which usually draw the presence of the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile and the Goodyear Blimp.

I've had the privilege of seeing both of these machines up close and in person. I was reminded of that yesterday when I read a front-page news item from the Indianapolis Star about the Wienermobile coming to town (maybe it was a slow news day). I recall seeing it at a local grocery store a few years ago with the kids. You haven't lived until you've seen a giant hot dog on wheels up close. Seriously, when you're not expecting to see a gasoline powered frankfurter, it's a little surprising and exciting all at the same time.


Which reminds me of a close encounter I had with the Goodyear Blimp. Indianapolis is circled by an Interstate highway called I-465. It literally goes around the entire outer edge of the city and connects to many other highways and interstates. I'm sure your local large metropolitan area has a similar thoroughfare. One late afternoon I was returning home from the office on 465 while working my way through some peculiar patches of fog--something we don't see too often in the later part of the day. It was thick enough in one area that I slowed down to 30-35 miles an hour just to make sure I could react if anything were to happen in front of me. Suddenly, the fog cleared out just enough for me to see an enormous spacecraft hovering above me. There was no doubt in my mind that it was going to abduct me in order to perform bizarre experiments on my body and/or corpse. Of course, this was the initial thought that ran through my head as the Goodyear Blimp emerged from the low-hanging clouds. To this day I'm thankful that neither my bladder nor bowels were full and that I managed to keep the car on the road.

It just goes to show you that never expect to see the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile or the Goodyear Blimp...and no one expects the Spanish Inquisition.

Interviewing Techniques

Ok, this is going to be a bit of a personal rant, but it's my blog so I can do whatever I want. Don't forget that I coined the phrase, "Meow Meow Butterpants" right here. America, you can thank me later.

So, here's that rant. I hate it when television and radio personalities interview people (e.g. at the conclusion of a sporting event) and proceed to ask questions without actually asking questions--and then they put the microphone in front of the guy/girl's face. I suppose it's just a pet peeve on my part because everyone gets what it is that's happening, but here's an example from Indycar.com that is inexcusable because it's in writing (click on it for a full view)...


It's one thing to not ask a question with a microphone and then put a microphone in front of someone's face, but I'm quite certain that the "Q" stands for "question" in this case.

Rant is over. I need to take some medication or find other things to get worked up over. Sorry. Now go take on your day.

I'm Ron Burgundy?

Price of Smokes Skyrockets out of Universe

If you're a smoker, be prepared for much higher prices. Josh Muszynski got quite a surprise when a pack of cigarettes cost him over 23 quadrillion dollars.

NH man charged 23 quadrillion dollars for smokes
Posted 7/16/2009 10:32 AM ET

MANCHESTER, N.H. (AP) — A New Hampshire man says he swiped his debit card at a gas station to buy a pack of cigarettes and was charged over 23 quadrillion dollars.

Josh Muszynski (Moo-SIN'-ski) checked his account online a few hours later and saw the 17-digit number -- a stunning $23,148,855,308,184,500 (twenty-three quadrillion, one hundred forty-eight trillion, eight hundred fifty-five billion, three hundred eight million, one hundred eighty-four thousand, five hundred dollars).

Muszynski says he spent two hours on the phone with Bank of America trying to sort out the string of numbers and the $15 overdraft fee.

The bank corrected the error the next day.

Bank of America tells WMUR-TV only the card issuer, Visa, could answer questions. Visa, in turn, referred questions to the bank.

___

Information from: WMUR-TV, http://wmur.com

Copyright 2009 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.

LINK

Does this have anything to do with the Federal Government getting involved with the tobacco industry? It seems like we could deal with the deficit (and then some) with the sale of a single pack of Marlboros.

I am waiting for you to take me go home!

I got a great Engrish piece of junk mail at work today and decided I'd share it with the rest of you. The author decided to take a creative angle and personified the camera and dvr he or she is trying to sell me. Apparently they are both slaves and will be assigned a "next Master." However, in a modern-day twist on the slave trade, they have resumes. I don't remember seeing any resumes in Alex Haley's Roots mini-series.

You'll need to click on the image below to read the text. It's worth it. Enjoy...

Croc-wearing Chair Thief...Caught!

When you work in an office you have to understand that there's some sharing involved--no big deal. However, the chair you sit in, the desk you sit at, the phone you use, etc. are yours for as long as you're working with the company, right? This isn't some kind of new rule that I made up, as far as I know.

While I hate to pick on the same guy here all the time (hint: he's one of the croc-wearing offenders), it's unavoidable. He's a rather rotund individual and yesterday his sheer mass managed to break his chair. It's not the first time this has happened. He'll be sitting in it while watching something on Hulu (don't get me started) and you hear this big cracking noise from his area. A few minutes later he's up and pushing the chair around the office in search of a new one to break. Since my friend and co-worker is sometimes out of town to do off-site trainings, he's the favorite victim of the person that we will refer to as Grimace.

The nice thing about working in my particular line is that we have over 70 surveillance cameras up and running all the time...

1. This is either the time when the original chair broke or the TV show he was watching on Hulu was finished or at a commercial break.

2. Time to let someone in HR know that he's broken his chair....no, screw that! Just go take Brian's chair. He's not in the office today and there's no one in his cube area.

3. That was easy. No one was here to see this!

4. Ta-da!!! A brand new chair to use break.

5. I arrive at the scene of the crime, but it's too late. Note that I'm wearing real shoes and so is the other guy.

Sorry for the Lack of Posting

I've been finishing up baseball season with my son's team that I coach along with the husband of Toni in the Midst. We had one heck of a year. When we got our team together at the beginning of the season, I saw what the other clubs had and figured we were about the second or third best team in the league.

We played our first game back in May and things were looking good--which was nice since the team I coached last year had a rough season. I remember being just a couple of innings into that first game where we were hitting the ball really well and winning. My son looked up at me and said, "Dad, this year we've got a TEAM." I have to admit that I was feeling the same way. Then we had to switch pitchers because I guess it's wrong to ruin a kid's arm just so you can win a few baseball games--go figure!. The bottom dropped out as I didn't seem to have anyone else that could throw strikes outside of practice. We gave up 9 or 10 runs in one inning. Ouch. I will not bore you all with the details, but suffice it to say we managed to eek out one win all year in the regular season.

We started the double elimination tournament with a loss which meant our backs were against the wall--win or go home. Finally, the team came together and we ended the seasons of two other clubs before finally getting knocked out and ending up in...third place.

Normally, I'd have something funny or witty to say, but that's all I've got. Maybe now I'll have more time for the important things in life like blogging, facebook and watching tv. Wish me luck.

Casual Work Attire ABUSERS!

I've been fortunate to have a job and to also have a job where I can dress casually--very casually. In fact, my current employer is probably the most casual workplace I've ever experienced.

Are T-shirts and jeans your thing? They are welcome in our office.
Feel like wearing shorts to work? No problem.
Sandals? You bet.

However, when you give some people an inch, they take a mile...and they take that mile one giant awkward step at a time wearing their unsightly crocs--to work. Eeeeew.


That's an actual image from my place of employment. I work in the security industry, so having cameras recording our every move has become normal and sometimes convenient in cases like this.

One of my daughters owns a pair of crocs (and she's probably reading this--I love you, Bird). But I'll publicly go on record to declare how much I dislike them. However, I support your right as a freedom loving man or woman to wear them--but not at work.

The Real Origins of Dr. Pepper's 23 Flavors

The wife and I are big fans of Dr. Pepper. However, our 15-year-old son would rather drink Gatorade or Red Bull (no, we don't keep them on hand for him) and has never cared much for soft drinks other than any type of Mountain Dew. By the way, it seems like they come out with a new flavor of Mt. Dew nearly every week and then immediately discontinue it.

Anyway, he hates Dr. Pepper so much that the other day he shared with me his own interpretation of the origins of the soft drink that currently brags of having 23 flavors...

It was, like, one day some people threw together 23 random flavors and there was one guy who tasted it and said, "Hey, this tastes...ok," so they made it a drink, but everyone else totally hated it.

And there you have it. If you're interested in more stories from my teenage boy, try these links from back when he was just 13:

• DaVinci's Little Secret?
• New Words for the Dictionary

Is it true what they say about Dr. Pepper? You either love it or hate it--there's no in between? Have any of you had the pleasure of drinking Dublin Dr. Pepper? If not, you should stop into the Dublin, Texas plant sometime when you're in the area or order a case online.

The Classic Tale of Thumbelina...sort of

Last night we watched a movie adaptation of Hans Christian Andersen's Thumbelina. It's a fairy tale about a tiny little girl who feels out of place in...Wait, did I mention that this was the Barbie Presents Thumbalina version of the tale.

I think we have all of the Barbie movies now since I have a ten year old girly girl in the house. Most of the movies are ok and even mildly entertaining. We take this kind of computer generated animation for granted today. Remember when Pixar's Toy Story came out and we were all mezmerized?

So, where was I? Oh, I was talking about the message off Barbie Presents Thumbelina. I may have missed some of the key scenes as I was plugging away at the computer while the DVD was playing in the living room, but I'm quite certain that one of the themes was that FACTORIES ARE BAD! I tried to explain to my daughter the irony of situation since we were watching the movie on a television that was made in a factory. I think it went right over her head, but she thought the dresses were pretty.

Engrish Fans--Enjoy!

If you're a fan of engrish.com (which is usually pretty safe, but watch out from time to time), then you'll love this. One of my co-workers ordered this razor online and the box is quite entertaining.

Click on the pictures below for more detail. If you have extra time on your hands, this is the razor for you!