Friends, it is with great pleasure that I present to you the gloriousness that is... THE HEMINGWAY POLYDACTYL!!!!
27 February 2007
Thumbs Up!
Spending some more quality time on the SPCA's website Sunday afternoon, I discovered something of incredible goodness: a cat breed called Hemingway Polydactyl. (AKA: The extra toes cat.) That's right, there is a breed of cat that has thumbs. And it's not just some sort of genetic mishap when the cat's mom is his dad and his dad is his grandpa!
Friends, it is with great pleasure that I present to you the gloriousness that is... THE HEMINGWAY POLYDACTYL!!!!
Friends, it is with great pleasure that I present to you the gloriousness that is... THE HEMINGWAY POLYDACTYL!!!!
For Real, For Real
So I just wasted 15 minutes of my life finding out what my real age is. And the verdict is......
Chronological Age: 29.5 years old
Real Age: 24 years old
Woohoo. I'm ahead of the curve, and still have a technical excuse for being immature. Score.
Chronological Age: 29.5 years old
Real Age: 24 years old
Woohoo. I'm ahead of the curve, and still have a technical excuse for being immature. Score.
24 February 2007
SPCA
One of the things I spend my free time on is looking longingly at the web site of the SPCA. I say longingly because I know that I won't allow myself to get a dog until I have a yard for that dog to run around in. With the current price range of homes with yards in this county, I know that's probably not going to happen for a good while. But I digress.
One of the things I find to be quite telling about the area we live in is that there are currently 14 dogs listed on the Delco SPCA website that are up for adoption. 9 out of those 14 dogs are either pit bulls or pit bull mixes. Draw your own conclusions on that one.
The thing that really ticks me off, though, is when they have dogs like this one up for adoption:
This old boy is named Killian, and he is 10 years old. He is at the SPCA because his family was moving and they couldn't take him along. So this faithful friend who's been with them since 1997 was dropped off at the SPCA.
Now, I'm not being completely cynical here. I acknowledge that there was perhaps a tear or two shed over the matter. But to me, that's not enough. How could you drop a dog off at the SPCA and just move away? You have to know that he's probably not going to be adopted. People are barely willing to adopt young animals from the SPCA, let alone a dog that probably only has 5 or 6 years left to live at the most. At least for people like me, I would become way too emotionally attached to the dog for him to be with me for such a short time. We only had Porkchop for like 3 or 4 years and I still have dreams that she's still alive. Seriously.
It makes me think back to the stories of people in Louisiana who were rescued from the roofs of their homes after Hurricane Katrina. They were told that they had to leave their pets behind, so they left them stranded there - probably to die from either starvation or heat stroke. I told my dad, and he agreed, that I wouldn't have left my dog. I would have told them that either they take us both or they leave us both. I'm sure that a few people probably said that and that the rescuers really didn't have an option, but I'm serious. I wouldn't have left my friend to die. That probably sounds irrational to a non-dog person, but it's really the truth.
Anyway, that's probably enough rambling about dogs for one day. If you're the sort of person who could give a good home to a nice looking, older dog, go to the SPCA and adopt Killian. I'm sure he'd appreciate it.
One of the things I find to be quite telling about the area we live in is that there are currently 14 dogs listed on the Delco SPCA website that are up for adoption. 9 out of those 14 dogs are either pit bulls or pit bull mixes. Draw your own conclusions on that one.
The thing that really ticks me off, though, is when they have dogs like this one up for adoption:
This old boy is named Killian, and he is 10 years old. He is at the SPCA because his family was moving and they couldn't take him along. So this faithful friend who's been with them since 1997 was dropped off at the SPCA.
Now, I'm not being completely cynical here. I acknowledge that there was perhaps a tear or two shed over the matter. But to me, that's not enough. How could you drop a dog off at the SPCA and just move away? You have to know that he's probably not going to be adopted. People are barely willing to adopt young animals from the SPCA, let alone a dog that probably only has 5 or 6 years left to live at the most. At least for people like me, I would become way too emotionally attached to the dog for him to be with me for such a short time. We only had Porkchop for like 3 or 4 years and I still have dreams that she's still alive. Seriously.
It makes me think back to the stories of people in Louisiana who were rescued from the roofs of their homes after Hurricane Katrina. They were told that they had to leave their pets behind, so they left them stranded there - probably to die from either starvation or heat stroke. I told my dad, and he agreed, that I wouldn't have left my dog. I would have told them that either they take us both or they leave us both. I'm sure that a few people probably said that and that the rescuers really didn't have an option, but I'm serious. I wouldn't have left my friend to die. That probably sounds irrational to a non-dog person, but it's really the truth.
Anyway, that's probably enough rambling about dogs for one day. If you're the sort of person who could give a good home to a nice looking, older dog, go to the SPCA and adopt Killian. I'm sure he'd appreciate it.
23 February 2007
Disappointing
When I was a lad, I got this plane that was attached to it's "remote control" by a 10 foot length of wire. Holding the switch down caused the propeller to spin, then the idea was to swing the plane around by the wire to simulate flight. It was cheap and it was disappointing. Remote controlled aircraft of any worth were probably at least a few hundred bucks.
Fast forward several years - I saw the add for this radio controlled helicopter on TV this morning. It was this little miniature thing that could be flown around the house and it looked pretty darn cool. For a few moments, I must admit, I thought about getting one to play with. Reading reviews, however, it turns out that the battery takes 20 minutes to charge and only lasts for 5 to 7 minutes of flight time. That's just not sufficient for a $39.99, to tell you the truth.
I guess I'll have to wait for technology to progress a little further.
Fast forward several years - I saw the add for this radio controlled helicopter on TV this morning. It was this little miniature thing that could be flown around the house and it looked pretty darn cool. For a few moments, I must admit, I thought about getting one to play with. Reading reviews, however, it turns out that the battery takes 20 minutes to charge and only lasts for 5 to 7 minutes of flight time. That's just not sufficient for a $39.99, to tell you the truth.
I guess I'll have to wait for technology to progress a little further.
Yummo
Currently being consumed by Tim to such an extent that once he runs out, he'll probably never want to see another box of them again:
Thanks to Acme Markets for having said cereal on sale - 2 boxes for $4. These sales will be the death of me.
Thanks to Acme Markets for having said cereal on sale - 2 boxes for $4. These sales will be the death of me.
20 February 2007
A Break
We just spent a few days away in scenic Lancaster. Not Lancaster County, though - Lancaster city (which was a lot more ghetto looking than I would've guessed, actually). But all the same, the hotel we stayed at was probably the coolest hotel I've ever been to. Here's a few pictures of the room:
As we entered, there was a nice little seating area.
There was a nice jacuzzi in the corner of the room.
Walk in shower, complete with subway tiles, granite countertops and slate floor.
Flat screen television and desk.
And, best of all, a pillow top king sized bed, right in the middle of it all. It was like a fluffy cloud of relaxing goodness.
Oh, and we also ate at this great mediterranian restaurant on Monday night. If you're ever in the neighborhood, I recommend checking that one out as well.
As we entered, there was a nice little seating area.
There was a nice jacuzzi in the corner of the room.
Walk in shower, complete with subway tiles, granite countertops and slate floor.
Flat screen television and desk.
And, best of all, a pillow top king sized bed, right in the middle of it all. It was like a fluffy cloud of relaxing goodness.
Oh, and we also ate at this great mediterranian restaurant on Monday night. If you're ever in the neighborhood, I recommend checking that one out as well.
06 February 2007
some practical advice
Over the course of my four years at Eastern, I had the pleasure of living with six wonderful ladies. One of those lovely ladies is Lisa, who I lived with our junior year and the summer between our junior and senior year. I invite you to read her story below:
"Matt and I had the pleasure of talking with some friends over dinner the other night. The conversation flowed as many conversations tend to - bouncing and branching from subject to subject. At one point the conversation turned towards the fateful idea of commuting from downtown Baltimore back to the suburbia of Owings Mills. This would not be such a fateful subject if the commute was not involving traveling on the subway at a late hour of the night.
This turn of the conversation led to my revelation of a story I have not spoken of for some time. The mere thought of my having verbalized it brings a chill to the back of my neck. A story so shadowed, so dark, that I beg for little children to be removed from the room prior your reading this.
So it is with great pride and joy that I introduce my story to the world of MySpace. A story about a girl. A good girl. A good girl who wearily made her way home after a rigorous day of schooling in downtown Baltimore. A story about a man. A bad man. We really don't know anything more about him...just that he's bad. A story about how a good girl created a weapon for a successful victory over the bad man. So, without delay, and in the interest of women's safety everywhere, I present to you...The Story of "The Ultimate Weapon."
It was a Monday evening. Dark. I was exhausted after a 12-hour day of classes. I stumbled in a tired stupor onto the train at Lexington Market, preparing myself for the 25-minute ride back to Owings Mills, where my car awaited me and I could complete my journey towards home. If only I had been more aware of my surroundings.
There are not many people using the train on a Monday evening at 10pm. But there was one on my train. A bad one. A bad one who had positioned himself even closer to me, despite the fact that nearly all seating in our car was up for the taking.
I cannot describe in words the manner in which he was positioning himself and looking at me, nor the manner in which I felt, but allow me to delve into some word association, using the first few words that come to mind when recalling this scene: vomit, panic, gross, revolting, stomach-churning, castration, George Bush in a pink tu-tu. (I'm not sure where that last one came from)
I assessed my situation. Only a few other people in the car...on the other end of the car. Unfortunately, they began to trickle out at other stops. Bad Man did not. It became apparent to me that he was staying with me unto the bitter end...the last stop of Owings Mills. I had no mace, no pepper spray. I do not recall having had a cell phone at this time. I had keys, but I never feel they are of any value in these kinds of situations.
Beginning to feel helpless, panicked and scared, I realized that I needed to somehow reverse my situation. I needed to make Bad Man so repulsed by my very sight so that he would not only want to distance himself, but never look my direction again. I had very little time as the last stop approached.
It was at this crucial moment that creation of The Ultimate Weapon began. I needed something so universally revolting...so disgusting that it transcended cultures and generations as a vile practice.
It was at this point that I began picking my nose. Not just ANY kind of picking, mind you, but as someone who was involved in a joyous celebration of their nose and its' contents. I picked. I dug. I looked at it. I inspected it. And yes, my friends, I ate it. And not only did I eat it, but I ate it with a smile on my face, as if it were the best tasting substance on the earth.
Let us just say that our friend was indeed disgusted by my actions. He became visibly uncomfortable, removing himself from close proximity to me. He stood by the door and was the first one out. He did not look my way again. Who could blame him?
So, my fellow females, when you are stuck in a compromising and potentially dangerous situation with a shady character, wip out The Ultimate Weapon! It's guaranteed to succeed! Your safety is worth it!
Oh, just when you thought TUW could not get any more fail-proof: our above-mentioned friends, upon hearing my story of survival, quickly suggested that "flicking" might be the next, necessary step to make The Ultimate Weapon even more effective. I must admit I have not had the opportunity to test this.
Let's hope I never do."
----
She cracks me up.
"Matt and I had the pleasure of talking with some friends over dinner the other night. The conversation flowed as many conversations tend to - bouncing and branching from subject to subject. At one point the conversation turned towards the fateful idea of commuting from downtown Baltimore back to the suburbia of Owings Mills. This would not be such a fateful subject if the commute was not involving traveling on the subway at a late hour of the night.
This turn of the conversation led to my revelation of a story I have not spoken of for some time. The mere thought of my having verbalized it brings a chill to the back of my neck. A story so shadowed, so dark, that I beg for little children to be removed from the room prior your reading this.
So it is with great pride and joy that I introduce my story to the world of MySpace. A story about a girl. A good girl. A good girl who wearily made her way home after a rigorous day of schooling in downtown Baltimore. A story about a man. A bad man. We really don't know anything more about him...just that he's bad. A story about how a good girl created a weapon for a successful victory over the bad man. So, without delay, and in the interest of women's safety everywhere, I present to you...The Story of "The Ultimate Weapon."
It was a Monday evening. Dark. I was exhausted after a 12-hour day of classes. I stumbled in a tired stupor onto the train at Lexington Market, preparing myself for the 25-minute ride back to Owings Mills, where my car awaited me and I could complete my journey towards home. If only I had been more aware of my surroundings.
There are not many people using the train on a Monday evening at 10pm. But there was one on my train. A bad one. A bad one who had positioned himself even closer to me, despite the fact that nearly all seating in our car was up for the taking.
I cannot describe in words the manner in which he was positioning himself and looking at me, nor the manner in which I felt, but allow me to delve into some word association, using the first few words that come to mind when recalling this scene: vomit, panic, gross, revolting, stomach-churning, castration, George Bush in a pink tu-tu. (I'm not sure where that last one came from)
I assessed my situation. Only a few other people in the car...on the other end of the car. Unfortunately, they began to trickle out at other stops. Bad Man did not. It became apparent to me that he was staying with me unto the bitter end...the last stop of Owings Mills. I had no mace, no pepper spray. I do not recall having had a cell phone at this time. I had keys, but I never feel they are of any value in these kinds of situations.
Beginning to feel helpless, panicked and scared, I realized that I needed to somehow reverse my situation. I needed to make Bad Man so repulsed by my very sight so that he would not only want to distance himself, but never look my direction again. I had very little time as the last stop approached.
It was at this crucial moment that creation of The Ultimate Weapon began. I needed something so universally revolting...so disgusting that it transcended cultures and generations as a vile practice.
It was at this point that I began picking my nose. Not just ANY kind of picking, mind you, but as someone who was involved in a joyous celebration of their nose and its' contents. I picked. I dug. I looked at it. I inspected it. And yes, my friends, I ate it. And not only did I eat it, but I ate it with a smile on my face, as if it were the best tasting substance on the earth.
Let us just say that our friend was indeed disgusted by my actions. He became visibly uncomfortable, removing himself from close proximity to me. He stood by the door and was the first one out. He did not look my way again. Who could blame him?
So, my fellow females, when you are stuck in a compromising and potentially dangerous situation with a shady character, wip out The Ultimate Weapon! It's guaranteed to succeed! Your safety is worth it!
Oh, just when you thought TUW could not get any more fail-proof: our above-mentioned friends, upon hearing my story of survival, quickly suggested that "flicking" might be the next, necessary step to make The Ultimate Weapon even more effective. I must admit I have not had the opportunity to test this.
Let's hope I never do."
----
She cracks me up.
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