Not That There’s Anything Wrong With That

I’ll be writing a “my life as a Seinfeld episode” piece soon, but really, nothing sums it up better than this.  Pure.  Comedic.  Gold. 

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And the best clip….

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Seinfieldian Bloggables

For those of you who like a good hockey debate, definitely check out the smart, feature-length comments on my last post “An Essay on Quickness” (the “smart” part coming from commentors, not me).

You have to love a topic that brings about respectful discussion like that, especially when by the end of it all, my opinion has changed.  Anyways, on with today.

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I love Jerry Seinfeld. 

You know why?  Because all that “nothing” on his show actually matters.  Those stupid, mundane little details in life that we all get stuck with unites us.  It’s all part of the human experience; it’s those shared moments that we can all relate too.  So, partly inspired by Seinfeld, partly by nothing, here’s a bunch more of my wandering, meaningless thoughts:

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First, an imported Seinfeldian Blogable, from my Dad: 

Really, extension cords?  I curl you up, wrap you tight, and leave you packed with loving care, but everytime I come back to re-use you, you’ve clusterf***ed yourself into a knot again?  I hate you.

(By the way, I love that my Dad had some moment so frustrating in the garage he decide to write me about it.  I can’t wait to see if he punched a hole in the wall or not.  Safe money’s on “yes”.)

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At what exact point east does ordering ”mustard” imply ”deli”, “spicy”, or “dijon” awfulness?  The standard - Yellow French’s  brand - is what you get in the west when you ask for mustard.  But I think it could be as close as middle America where it becomes a complete crapshoot, like they don’t even know their own mustard-associated identity yet.  Trying to get yellow mustard in a New York deli is pointless.  You’re the two-headed foreigner holding up the line.

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Bud Light Lime -- pretty dec, right?

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I know I mentioned it in a tweet, but if you aren’t watching Rob Dyrdek’s Fantasy Factory, you’re doing it wrong.  Don’t give me some old song and dance about “oh, I used to watch Rob and Big, but…” -- stop.  Just start watching Fantasy Factory and all is forgiven.

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Isn’t watching Tim Wakefield just about the greatest thing ever?  The knuckleball is such an anomaly.  You have all these steroid juiced monsters trying huck heat an extra six miles per hour, then you have some 40+ year old essentially underhanding soft-toss to these guys (by comparison) and they’re missing the ball by an entire foot. 

It’s like making your buddy put his head on a bat and spin around ten times, shotgun a beer, then go into the batting cages with a Slinky® for a bat.  Only your buddy has an excuse for the results.

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I’m wondering if many pro sports trainers are ever taken seriously by players, aside from rehabilitation purposes.  I know a couple trainers  that are, but even when I was at NHL training camps, the second the trainer would turn away he’d get mocked like turtlenecks.  It must be really tough to tell a self-trained,  talented athelete when to work out.  The why and how are easy.

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There’s no. cold. water. in the state of Arizona during the summer months.  Not an exaggeration, that’s an observation.  The only cold water has been refrigerated.  The water in the resevoirs gets heated to like, a trillion degrees, then comes out ready to cook spaghetti in.  No cold water out of the taps.  Wrap your head around that.

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On the same theme -- Really, sporting events?  Three fifty for a bottle of water?  I mean, I’ve been gouged before.  I’ve been to movies.  I’ve even paid $1.75 for a Dasani in a gas station.  I know how much water costs.  I fill up a bottle everyday and put it in my Klean Kanteen.  Meet me in the middle on the gouge at least.  Raping me for two bucks is criminal, but at least by comparison, I could tolerate it.  Three fifty?  I’ll get a $7.25 beer, thanks.

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In the days before Twitter, someone who was recognized as “funny” might have a few good ideas a week, and every month, they’d find some forum to share it with the public.  Twitter is kinda letting us see who’s funny all day, all the time. 

Like, maybe Mark Twain had a boatload of brutal sayings, but because he lived before Twitter, he had time to filter them and only let the good ones rock.  Maybe… maybe Roseanne Barr was the funniest person of all time.  We just didn’t get to hear her thoughts 24/7 as I do Seth Meyers, my favourite Twitter person to follow.  That site is gonna help the right funny people prove themselves, I’m convinced (as well as let the unfunny ones show their true colours.  I’m looking at you, Shaq).

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Is there anything worse than accidentally watching DVR’ed commercials (…you know, aside from serious stuff like murder)?  You record a program, then start watching it.  In the process, you space out, forget it’s taped, and sit through five minutes of plot-separating commercials , only to remember with like, nine seconds of commercials left that it’s taped (then you start fast forwarding, go to far, and have to rewind.  Sometimes to the point of watching that same nine second of commercials anyways).  Kill myself.

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… that’s probably enough of those for today.  Send your own gripes to my email address on the right, or in the comment section.  Oh, and one more thing:  You know what really grinds my gears?

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Topic Tourette's

This “having a life” thing is making finding blog time more difficult, and I miss it.  I don’t however, miss being unable to eat or talk, so I guess you win some you lose some.  Here’s today’s brain overflow:

Veggie Tray:  The obvious solution to the snack-fattery that has been my face.  Where was that recommendation, people?  Exercise?  You’re no help.

My fellow ESPN viewers:  Who the hell is this beady-eyed egghead John Clayton, and why do we let him speak about football?  I’m fairly certain he was last picked in flag football, never picked for a prom date, and picked as most-likely-to-drop-any-object-thrown-to-him, just now by me.  Don’t you need some sports playing background to gain a little credibility?  Like, even wallyball?  I want Chris Berman to go high-school-bully on this guy, bonk him on the head and take his lunch money.

Two things I enjoyed yesterday:  Sauntering around downtown yesterday, Bri and I passed three outdoor skating rinks (Rockefeller Center, South Street Seaport, and Central Park, below).  I’ve come up with a great idea for American’s who are sick of getting beat by Canada at hockey: GIVE THOSE KIDS STICKS.  Man.  They’re out there going NASCAR on that sheet of ice anyways, chuck em some lumber and make use of those horse apples in Central Park.

Other neat sight:  It seems a hundred years ago when people paid tribute to God, they did it in the largest, scariest,  most awe-inspiring way possible (don’t skip on the grandeur).  I can’t fathom the time, effort and money that must have gone into some of the intense rockwork, sculptures and stained glass windows.  I fail to see the connection between gargoyles and God, but then, I blog about puppies and snuggies, so I’m gonna let a topic like that pass.  St. Pat’s Cathedral, taken by Bri:

Why isn’t the E-Trade baby getting old yet (not literally)?  He just keeps hitting home runs:

Great quote: “I’ll tell you what I like about Chinese people.  They’re hanging in there with the chopsticks, aren’t they? You know they’ve seen the fork.  They’re staying with the sticks.  I don’t know how they missed it.  Chinese farmer gets up, works in the field with a shovel all day… Shovel.  Spoon.  Come on.  You’re not plowing 40 acres with a couple of pool cues.”       – A classic Jerry Seinfeld gem

For those of you cheering for the Isles to lose so you can get the number one overall pick:  Stop it, you’re killing us.  You know how this stuff works.  You root for them to lose, they’ll win.  Every game for the rest of the year, they will win.  We’ll end up picking Hachminev Albastor from Lithuania in the 44th round if you keep this up.  Cheer for your team like a good fan, and things will take care of themselves.

Fact:  Bri found the first two gray hairs of my life.  Nothing turns chicks on like the overlapping years of gray hair and acne.  Double threat guy…

That’ll be all today!  My seven-part series on the life off a hockey player is underway, and will run on Max Hockey.com, a piece at a time over the next month or so.  I’m open to suggestions for my next blog on The Hockey News.com if you have something you’d like to read about.  I have a planner full of ideas, and just need to pick the right one.  So I’d love more ideas, or simply your input:

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