Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Lisa: Watch, this guy will probably bunt. There’s a guy on first and a guy on third, but no one on second.
Lisa: It’s called a squeeze play.
Mike: But the guy on third doesn’t need to run, right?
Lisa: No, but let’s say the batter bunts, the catcher’s either going to throw the ball to first to get him out, or maybe to second to get that runner. Either way, that leaves just enough time for the guy on third base to sneak in to home.
Mike: See, this is why we need you in the relationship. In case we have a boy.
Mike: (After the catcher drops the ball, he picks it up and smacks the batter in the shin with it.) Now, that wasn’t nice.
Lisa: No, he’s supposed to do that.
Mike: What? Why?
Lisa: If the catcher drops what would be the third strike, the batter can make a run for it.
Mike: (blank stare)
Lisa: Kind of like stealing first.
Mike: (pause) Now you’re just making shit up.
Lisa: No seriously!
Mike: Are we playing Calvinball now? Does the pitcher have to sing the Very Sorry Song? Is the score Q to 12?
I checked her sources on the squeegee play and the dropped third pitch. She’s right. Dammit. Calvinball is still hilarious.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Our consortium failed to add more than a few to the list, but man, we sure got a lot vetoed. Here’s where we stand:
Names we like but are too popular: Olivia, Sophie, Sophia, Jacob, Hannah, Addison, Nathan.
Names we might consider but sound bad when put in front of “Garvey”: Sally, Betty, Tony, Harvey, and pretty much anything that ends in “-ey”. (The only person who pulls this of is Aunt Mary who is perfect in every way.)
Names that we like but are just too Irish: Donovan, Liam, Ronin, Murphy. (“Hi, I’m Mike, and this is Maeve and this is Murphy. Can we get you a potato?”)
Names vetoed because of famous people: Steve, Marcus.
Names Lisa likes but I think they sound too soap-opera-, trust-fund-babyish: Cole, Colin, Deklin, Quinton, Zane, Griffin.
Names I like but Lisa vetoed for no good reason at all: Clark, Lois, Lex, Kent, Bruce, Robin, Alfred, Grover, Inigo Montoya.
Names we can’t use because of some bad association: Any of my ex-girlfriends’ names, Delilah.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
They raced in tandem, outclassing other, less attractive blond children. They, hopefully, ran into zero elephants, but I doubt they would tell me if they did. Aunt Esther captured proof of their sunny day in the fields and forests of Delaware Park.
And she had the audacity to send said proof to Maeve’s father in a pix message. He was royally jealous.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Sunday, July 15, 2007
To prove as much, I record said yarn here:
Today was to start with an errand and end with big robots. Lisa and I recently got a new mattress set, and needed to get the old set out to mom and dad’s guest room in East Aurora. The original plan was to drive my tiny Tracker out to EA, switch to the family pick up, drive back in to Buffalo, load the mattresses up, drive back out to EA, drop off the mattresses, switch back to the tiny Tracker, drive back in to EA and meet up with friends to see Transformers in the early afternoon.
Four trips of 27 miles each. If we include loading and unloading time, well... that particular breed of canine, I’m told by the experts, will not hunt.
This is what that old man will say: “And on that day, my young’ns, I knew time was short and my options were limited. But Autobots, my young’ns, AUTOBOTS proved to be the motivator of greatness that day... my tiny Tracker might not have lasers, but turns out it had balls the size of energon cubes.”
Yeah that’s right. Fuck the pick up. I used the tiny Tracker:
Now don’t let the above picture fool you. That pic actually makes it look like the mattress fits up there. But no, for a few reasons, this was a bad, bad, terrible, awful idea.
Reason number 1: I used crappy rope. Hey, if I’m going to save time and use the tiny Tracker, I’m sure as hell not going to waste time going out to buy good rope. See, young’ns, in Mike Garvey math, lots of crap rope = a sufficient amount of decent rope:
Reason number 2: something’s wrong with my steering. Ha, yes. You read that right. I strapped two big bulky things to the top of my tinfoil car with what amounts to 75 feet of dental floss and drove 27 highway miles in a car with SHITTY STEERING. In my defense, I didn’t know just how bad it was until I had it on the road and by then I was committed to getting to the Transformers movie on time. Also in my defense, “AUTOBOTS”!
Reason number 3: I tie knots for shit:
I mean come the fuck on. Why do I need 40 loops of rope going this way,
but only ONE strand of rope THE WAY THAT COUNTS??!
If I’d gotten into an accident and died, forensics would have figured I planned on going under 10mph on the straightaways, but taking each curve at 80.
Ah, but young’ns, I made it with time to spare. Despite the car, the rope, the steering, the knots, and my internal Lisa, which was screaming and waving its arms and telling me I should be committed, I got to East Aurora unscathed. At that point, of course, the grizzled old man will realize it's a shitty story, so he'll lie and say his Tracker was an Autobot with lasers.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Before long, we took this non-game to an extreme it didn’t need to be anywhere near. We started adding homemade obstacles. Inviting spectators. Painting the tennis balls with highlighters. We even gave it a name. Ready for this? DESKBALL.
It lasted about two weeks, before we realized our time was better spent making fun of people who did this type of thing.
So today I’m making fun of people who do this type of thing. Surfers.
Have you caught this show, John From Cincinnati? Admittedly, it’s pretty good, especially if you belong to that growing religion that bows down in reverence to Deadwood. (Same creators, many of the same actors.) I watched it because someone told me it had a Carnivale taste to it, and I will admit I’ve gotten sucked in and yes, it’s now a weekly dvr for me. Mikey likes.
Except for the surfing. The surfing… I just don’t understand how it could hold your attention for any longer than about two weeks.
Why? I mean, just, how… What the fuck!? Who first decided to carry a frickin’ piece of plywood into the frickin’ ocean and then float back in on it while smoking weed and doing that “gnarly, dude!” sign? Was it an accident? “Hey, wasn’t my plywood right here just a second ago? Oh shit, it’s out on that wave! I’d go get it, but I have no clue how I’d get back. Well, I’ll figure something out.”
And today it’s a billion dollar industry! Okay, I have no idea how much cash there is in the Surfiverse, but it looks to be quite a bit on John From Cincinnati. Competitive surfing is to a day at the beach what Garth Brooks is to country music. They both make a crapload money off of something that would otherwise put you to sleep.
Well, it’s not as bad as parkour, which was invented when some UB student forgot his skateboard.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Momma and Maeve, dancing to Commander Zoom...
The Godfather and Godmother were there in spirit...
Shan, Cait, and GG...
Had you looked in the direction of Chestnut Ridge over the weekend, you might have seen the smoke.
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Saturday, July 07, 2007
I was never very quick as a kid, so I got tagged “it” more often than I care to remember. Unless we were playing TV tag. Of course I would do well in a sport where you can replace “run real fast” with “think of the name of a TV show”. I’m good at fishing too.
Anyway, I done got tagged again, but this time I’m happy for it. Sarah, who is both funny and has excellent taste in dogs, picked me off to fill out an “8 random things about me” meme, so here goes.
*disclaimer: I have a feeling I’ve already posted some of these things, but I’m too lazy to go back and check. Meh. They only have to be random, not original and random.
1. The first autumn I was old enough to realize the change of the seasons, no one explained to me that seasons were cyclical. I figured something entirely new would happen every few months. Spring, then summer, now fall, then winter, then who knows? I was so stupid back then.
2. I’m terrified of elephants. It’s a walking, moving, soul-eating, head-crushing mack truck with a snake on its face. Hells NO.
3. I recently reconnected with a friend I haven’t seen since 2002. He told me he still talks to a girl I dated back then who is now married and has a one year old daughter named Olivia. I don’t know why, but this news made me so happy – like I finally realized that neither of us was so screwed up by the relationship that we couldn’t find happiness somewhere else. And I was also happy that he didn’t say she had a one year old name Olivia and a five year old named Jerkface Jr.
4. I want a tattoo, but I don’t know of what. Every time I think up something original, I see the guys on Miami Ink making fun of it for being unoriginal. One of these days, I’m just going to get Outgrabes to draw me a horse’s ass and use that.
5. I was on Romper Room when I was a kid. Some producer came around to my dad’s school and asked if anyone had kids. Miss Nancy was nice, by the way.
6. I only ever thought about shoplifting once. I was on a class trip in Mexico and we’d stopped at an outdoor market. I was out of money. One shop had these incredible little hand-carved figurines shaped like tigers, Mayan pyramids, monkeys, etc. Long story short, there was no one looking, so I reached out for a very lifelike tarantula, maybe 4 or 5 inches in diameter, and opened my fanny-pack as quickly/quietly as I could. The spider, having made the decision it was very much alive and that I should simultaneously not steal it and fuck off, stomped away as only a 4 or 5 inch wide spider can. At least it wasn’t an elephant.
7. I used to wear a fanny-pack.
8. I seriously considered proposing to Lisa in the monkey house at the Buffalo Zoo. Wouldn’t that have made a great story? Or at least a better random thing about me.
On to the next: Esther, KT, and Scott, I just duck duck goosed the three of you. I mean, I didn’t goose you. I mean I picked you. For the meme. Shut up.
Friday, July 06, 2007
I also had a cousin whose sneeze was little more than a sneer and a shrug. Her sneezes (and her hiccups, but that’s another useless post) were squeaks. I always wondered if they were at all effective – like the control center in her body (a la Woody Allen) noticed there happened to be the smallest hint of dust on the edge of her nostril, and really all that was needed was a slight exhale of breath to clear her airways.
I’m a big sneezer. I’m not like Goofy back in paragraph one, but I do command a presence. I was on my way into work this morning when I felt a particularly intense sneeze coming on, so I grabbed at a Wendy’s napkin leftover from a frosty run.
Time speeds up for me when I have to sneeze. Seriously. Einstein studied it in terms of relativity – time goes faster the closer a tissue is to me. In the present case, the napkins were in the dashboard tray (so only a few feet from my honker, causing time to travel the Audubon). I would have made it, except that, unbeknownst to me, aforementioned frosty left some frosty residue on aforementioned napkins, so grabbing for one resulted in a half dozen yellow napkins trailing the one destined for my schnoz.
So, to sum up, I’m a few tiny seconds away from breaking my windshield with an atomic sneeze, I’m doing that clown trick where one handkerchief is tied to a bunch of others, they’re consequently flying all over my tracker because the window is open, and there I am wondering how to spell Wilhelm because I know this will inevitably become a blog post.
Also, that How Bizarre song was on the radio and it’s still going through my mind. Damned Buffalo radio stations.