crap in a Bundt pan...
Due to the
recent well-publicized shortage of
amateur websites produced by assholes who consider themselves to be
have been called into action. My name is Jeff Kay, and Iím an
Ugly American living
on the cusp of a mid-life crisis, near Scranton, PA. And Iím here to
State of My Fat Ass A journal of
sorts, updated every once in a while.
We received a catalog in the mail a few days ago from Sam's Club. I
figured it would be full of jewelry and kitchen gadgets and luggage, and
other items designed for holiday gift-giving. And those things were
certainly there, but also a few surprises.
Like a Cessna jet, for instance, on sale for $2,734,600. "True
340-knot (391 mph) speed, cabin class seating for six, single-pilot
simplicity and a good half-continent of range...." Just don't
forget to have your membership card with you while paying.
On page 21 they list several DVDs you can order from them, including Barnyard,
then on page 23 there's an offer for the "Ultimate Super Bowl
Weekend Package For Four," for $71,000.
There's also a $27,000 necklace, a travel package to see Tony Bennett
live in London listed at $44,000, and a $33,000 aluminum wine vault that
houses 1500 bottles and features a computerized inventory system.
Usually we just buy, like, Oreos there.
-- I watched the first game of the 1975 World Series on Sunday, and it was great
fun. I already knew the Reds would lose, yet still found myself getting
into it and hollering my displeasure at various points. Don Gullett
pitched a good game, but the bullpen let him down. Stupid Clay
The announcers were acting like Yaz was a walking, talking relic from a
forgotten era in left field. And exactly how old was he at the time?
That's right, 36. Jim Rice was hurt, but Fred Lynn was there looking
like the reincarnation of Joe DiMaggio (Joe had already morphed into Mr.
Coffee), headed for immortality. I think he works at Sears now.
And of course there were all my beloved Big Red Machine heroes: Bench,
Morgan, Rose, Perez, Concepcion.... Each batting against that freaky Luis
Tiant, twisting and turning and sometimes pitching almost underhanded.
I enjoyed it even more than I thought I would. I was twelve when the
games were played, and saw every pitch when it was broadcast live. On
Sunday I could feel that old childhood excitement being reawakened
again, from somewhere deep beneath the scar tissue.
For the rest of the games I'm going to
have Toney put the discs in the player for me, though. They print the
scores right on the boxes and the DVDs themselves. If I don't know the
outcome of each individual game, it'll be even better, I think. I might
even throw food.
During the middle innings Curt Gowdy read a promo for a new program
debuting on NBC in a few days, called "Saturday Night, Live From
New York." George Carlin would be the host of the first show, he
Paul Simon, with special guest Art Garfunkel, would be appearing during
the second week.
Heh, sounds pretty stupid.
-- Toney's birthday is in a few days, and a couple of weeks ago I asked
her what she wanted as a gift. She said she'd like to spend a day in
NYC, take the kids to the Museum of Natural History to see the dinosaur
bones, then have dinner at Sammy's in Greenwich Village (I almost said the
West Village, but don't feel I've yet earned the right to use such
Wow, it sounded like she'd already given this some thought! So don't
tell her, but she's getting her wish. I've got some money socked away,
and we're going to do all of those things on Saturday, later this week.
Should be fun... for everybody except Andy.
-- Here's the signature file one of Toney's friends uses at the bottom
of her emails:
*Devoted, beautiful wife of a hard working executive *Mother of three wonderful, bright, good looking kids *Daughter of a loving father who looks great all the time except on
weekends. *Senior domestic engineer of the Boxley residence
I changed the woman's first and last name (to that of a freaky chick
from Junior High), but nothing else. Have you ever encountered such a
thing?! I mean, seriously. Talk about being pleased with yourself....
And I don't want to be mean here, but I know this person and believe she
justmight be stretching the truth about a few things. If
you catch my drift.
I don't use sig files, not even at work. When people put their title
beneath their name, it makes me involuntarily shout, "Big fukkin
deal!" And why in God's name would I want to advertise my telephone
number? The fewer assholes who call me during the day, the better.
Do I sound bitter?
What about you? Do you use a signature file, maybe a quote from a book
or a movie or something? Tell us about it. And have you ever run across
a file that made you laugh, cry, or scream profanity? We need to know
about that as well.
-- This is really scattered and haphazard today. I wasn't going to tell
you this, but between the Cincinnati Reds stuff above, and the NYC
item, Toney and I took the youngest Secret to school, voted, then had
breakfast at Waffle House. We've been all over town already!
During our meal we
had to move from one booth (boof) to another, because the table was
eating into my gut. The waitress asked if there was a problem, and I
said, "Only with my fat ass." Then I ordered scrambled eggs,
sausage, hash browns with cheese, toast, and sweet tea.
I know that probably shatters the illusion of me sitting down at the
computer this morning, and pouring out my soul with tears cascading down
my cheeks. And I'm sorry about that.... But I think it helps explain
away some of the half-assery, and decided to confess.
Luckily for all
of us though, we've got something new and good from old friend Buck.
I'll try it again tomorrow, and make a special effort to focus. Promise.