Holy
crap in a Bundt pan...
Due to the
recent well-publicized shortage of
amateur websites produced by assholes who consider themselves to be
clever, I
have been called into action. My name is Jeff Kay, and I’m an
Ugly American living
on the cusp of a mid-life crisis, near Scranton, PA. And I’m here to
serve, baby.
The
State of My Fat Ass A journal of
sorts, updated every once in a while.
--
I'm already soured on Dr. Z. I know he's supposed to be a quirky and
lovable real-guy commercial spokesman, like Dave at Wendy's, but he just
doesn't do it for me. Despite his novelty moustache, he has no pizzazz;
there's simply no oomph to his personality.
Obviously Chrysler is casting its lot with this soulless German (or
whatever), based on the number of commercials we see every day, and I
wonder how it all came about? Is he warm and funny in conference rooms,
then goes all stiff and creepy and SS officer in front of the camera? Is
that what happens? I just don't know, but I'm now soured on Dr. Z.
-- A few nights ago Toney told me I was on my own for dinner, so I
stopped at a bar/restaurant after work. The place has kick-ass fried
fish sandwiches, and I figured I could wash one down with two or three
pints of the golden elixir. But as I hoisted my heft onto the barstool,
I noticed that they also had Blue Moon on tap. I remembered that you
guys had suggested it to me, because of its reported hoppy finish, and
decided to give it a try.
The guy brought it to me in a pint glass with a big ol' slice of orange
hanging off the lip, and I'm not really a fan of the trendy
produce-based beverage accessory. But I tried to have an open mind about
it, and slurped a little up. And it was good. It did indeed have the
bitter aftertaste of hops that I so enjoy. Not as strong as a good
Pacific Northwest microbrew, mind you, but enough to be mighty tasty
with a fish samlich on a school night. In fact, I ordered a second pint
after the first one disappeared.
And this stuff is made by Coors? Incredible. Thanks for helping me
expand my horizons, and to put aside my deep, deep prejudices.
-- Speaking of the golden elixir.... Surf Reporter Greg sends along this
photo. I'm not sure what's supposed to be in those bottles, but
it sure ain't Yuengling Lager. It looks more like what happens
afterwards, than before. Ya know?
-- We're canceling camping trips left and right up here. We were
supposed to go to Hershey for several days in early August, and pulled
the plug on it. We were also scheduled to do a weekender at a state
park, but backed out (so to speak) on that as well. The horrible blast
furnace trip we took last month is haunting us still, and may very well
turn out to be a stake through the heart of all our camping dreams.
None of us have any passion whatsoever
to get back into that rolling box o' beds. In fact, we're all pretty
much hostile to the idea. We should probably force ourselves to do one
more trip before summer ends, because if we don't.... there very likely
won't be anymore camping for us, ever.
We're standing at the crossroads, my friends, holding a Coleman lantern
and a damp beer coozie. And our fate is uncertain.
-- Brad sent me this last night,
and it gave me chuckle.
-- Jason alerted me to this
one, and I just can't stop watching it. Good, good stuff.
-- A few days ago I received the freakin' holy grail, via UPS. It's a
DVD box set of the entire original TV broadcast of the 1975
World Series -- every pitch of all seven games. Needless
to say, it features the Cincinnati Reds, my beloved Big Red Machine
during the magical Bench, Rose, Morgan, and Perez days. Oh, and the
Boston Red Sox too....
Game Six is often referred to as the Greatest Game Ever Played, when
Carlton Fisk hit that iconic "please don't go foul"
body-English homer
in extra-innings. I can't wait!
But I'm not even breaking the shrinkwrap on it until bourbon season gets
here. It simply won't do to watch this thing in the summer, it's gotta
be crisp outside, with the leaves falling. Hopefully, if I play my cards
right, I'll be starting an annual and cherished fall tradition this
year, here at the Compound.
It's gonna be great!
-- Finally, here's something pointless and fun to do.... Plug the day
and month you were born into Wikipedia,
and check out all the famous folks you share a birthday with. I was born
on November 30,
and so were Mark Twain, Winston Churchill, Dick Clark, Billy Idol, and a
whole bunch of other hot-shots.
What about you? Can you trump friggin' Mark Twain? I seriously doubt it,
but give it a shot.
And I'll see ya on Monday. Have yourselves a great little weekend,
y'hear?
--
I'm already soured on Dr. Z. I know he's supposed to be a quirky and
lovable real-guy commercial spokesman, like Dave at Wendy's, but he just
doesn't do it for me. Despite his novelty moustache, he has no pizzazz;
there's simply no oomph to his personality. 
