November 30, 2001 - Damn Television
There's really only one thing you need to know about today.
After getting home from work, I played Playstation 2 for five and a half hours.
This Christmas could have disaster written all over it... good thing I have to cover a pow wow tomorrow. Yes, I said pow wow. As in Native American Pow Wow with the Boston Fire Department. You know about as much about it as I do at this point.
November 29, 2001 - TVs and Free Lunches
"Today... is the greatest... day I've ever known..."
-- Smashing Pumpkins, overstating today's value by just a little bit...
Great day, on all sides. Peer into the deliciousness, as I overuse the ellipsis...
Class in the morning went without incident. Handed in the rewrite on my column; after reading it, I figured out why I got the rewrite... let's put it that way. After that, skipped out on work and went to the FreeP. For today was a special day.
Throughout the semester, I've been working with College Publisher to make the Free Press site presentable and useful. Yesterday, the staff invited new editor Dave and I down for lunch and a meeting to discuss things. Who doesn't love getting called down to the corporate headquarters so the higher-ups can take you to The Kinsale for a turkey sandwich?
We were down there something like three hours, first for lunch, then a product demo and just general discussion of stuff we're rolling onto the site in January. Best part of it is they filmed us for a CD-ROM they're sending out about the company... my fame knows no bounds. And don't you worry, I'll be spouting and bragging if any of my footage makes the final cut. And it will... how could anyone ignore a face like mine?
Don't answer that, with specific 'shut ups' to Bill, Andi, Amit, Meg, Sunny, Hypho, Coen and anyone else who feels like cracking wise.
So anyway, the meeting went great; they love us. Because of new things Dave and I want to roll out for the paper in the Spring, my position is going to change from a daytime one to a nightly newsroom job - yes, after twelve months, I'm finally going to get to be at the FreeP til four in the morning. I suppose this could be a bad thing, if I hadn't been the one to suggest it in the first place. :)
While all the excitement was going on at Government Center, a large box arrived for me in the Mail Room. YEAH IT DID. Right around 5, grabbed the cart from work and managed to get to 56-pound crate back to the Mountfort estate. Didn't ding it off anything, thank you very much. Though it did fall off the cart once I finally got it into my room - go me.
It's a breathtaking sight. Only flaw is there's a small chunk taking out of the casing, but hey, it works and it was $350. I rule.
Had a little party to celebrate too. Justin brought the PS2, Ryan from Danielsen 2001 came over to watch Temptation Island, Meg was there, Jon Rea was there... Rea got me a little present too, but I have to keep some things for another day.
So now there's a PS2 in my room, hooked up to a gorgeous television, in my palatial apartment. Plus my microwave now has the sticker from the television on it, so I'm the owner of America's only microwave with a glowing remote control and a flat screen.
Everything's coming up Cooch! (You know that's gonna seem real interesting when it comes up in some pervert's Google search...)
Ten ellipsi. I'm never getting a job.
November 28, 2001 - People Are Still Having Sex...
Written so many hours after the fact, even less people care than usual.
When I awoke this morning, my TV had moved from Memphis to Columbus, Ohio - from one irrational pro sports locale to another. And where's it going next? HARTFORD. Is this my television or what?
I am so excited, it's completely irrational at this point. If this TV doesn't get here tomorrow, I'm going running on the Pike. Can you not see that I am serious?! Ten points if you can tell me who said that...
It's gotten to the point, while we're on the subject of televisions, that the only shows I watch with regularity are West Wing and Law & Order; yes, even The Simpsons is getting tough for me. Why am I telling you this? Because tonight's Law and Order was the greatest one EVER. Ripped from the headlines? How about a rapper named G-Train, a movie star named Ali Lawrence, and a mysterious shooting in a club? Wonder what that's drawing from... And who did the shooting? J Lo!... I mean...
Read a "news" story sent to me by Coen on U.S. being the world's sexual superpower, having more sex than any other nation. According to the Durex survey, the average American has sex 124 times a year, will have 14 partners over the course of their lifetime and will lose their virginity at 16. So I'd like to thank those of you making up for my zeros across the board... your country loves you.
Irrational Prayer: Bless Federal Express Online Tracking, Red Meat and the Urban Legends Reference Pages, because it's fun to watch a television you bought travel slowly from Memphis to Boston.
November 27, 2001 - Who Let Your Mom Out?
If I ever become a pop star, that's going to be the name of my first album. I just decided that now... improv comedy!
Lisa: "Well, for someone who didnt have any friends before going home, you sure had a bunch while you were there."
Cooch: "And for someone who had so many people to see when she went home, you sure looked like a loser when you went to that concert with your little brother."
-- What can I say. I have a gift for being a jerk.
Meg (on why she has six-inch tall shoes): "So I can hook up with tall guys like yourself randomly in clubs while standing."
Cooch: "Even with the shoes, you're only 5'7". You're still groping midgets."
Today in Professor Falla's class, he gave us his famous "Job Search" lecture. I appreciate his attempts to help us, I really do. But, whenever a professor gives one of these style talks, I get all sullen and begin to realize I've wasted so many opportunities at BU, I wonder if I'll ever get a job in the field.
I can already hear my mother calling frantic, so I better quantify above statement. Sure, I'll have worked four semesters at the FreeP when it's over, worked up in Nashua, done well in my classes (3.29, thanks very much). So many blown opportunities though: could've worked at the radio station, written sports at the DFP, gotten another internship, a million things. It never fails: no matter how much I know I've done, there's always all those things I never did. Sometimes I wish it would just all be over, when in reality, it's only just beginning.
THAT is poignant, that is beautiful. G-I-F-T.
I guess what I'm tryng to say is: hire me. NOW. The worst thing advisor Klarfeld could have told me was not to worry about the job hunt until March. I was so ready to start carpetbombing the nation's newsrooms and web closets; I have copy room privileges to abuse! But now I have to wait. Damn him and his logical thinking!
Speaking of what scholar I am, I skipped my Design class today. Why? Because I didn't want to go. Also because we couldn't have been doing anything than just working in the lab, and because I hate my Design class. In the seven COM classes I've taken in the past, my lowest grade is a B. This Design bullshit is going to screw that up royally, all because I can't differentiate between playful type and elegant type.
Hey, I hadn't missed a class for any reason in over a year before today. Plus, I'm sickeningly efficient. By skipping just one three-hour class, I managed to miss out on a whole week's worth of crap. If only they hadn't cancelled by copy editing class, I wouldn't be in this mess. Suppose this is what I get for taking advice from a Cathedral High School graduate. (No Dad, I'm not talking about you.)
I'm sure Cathedral is very nice, if you like nuns and winning football teams. But I'll take the pickup trucks and ghetto white boys of Agawam High every time.
And speaking of nuns, what better way to end another lovely update than with my newest recurring feature, the Irrational Prayer.
Irrational Prayer: Bless Pongling, Keystone Party Mix and the Google Toolbar, because on a day with nothing to do, it's the little things that matter.
November 26, 2001 - Lead, Follow or Shut Up
First, congratulations and thanks go off to Cliff Kemper of Foster City, California, who was the winning bidder in my eBay auction of two Madden Football games for the PC. $22.50 plus shipping carried the day; meaning I'll make something in the area of 13 cents after auction fees. Bless the Interweb!
Well, Meg and I made it back to Boston alright. I was right when I said I wouldn't wake at 5... setting the alarm for 4:30 was supposed to be a precaution, not actually wake anybody. Nevertheless, we still weren't out of the house until after 6, meaning traffic blew around the city. Made it to work the same time I usually do... 9:02 or something.
So Mother bought me a Christmas tree for the room, meaning everyone who thinks I'm gay will have another arrow to load up at my head. Anyway, I set this thing up this morning before I go to work, and it looks absolutely terrible. The lights are already on it, which is nice, but it's like half the branches are missing. I swear, there's like a one foot gap between rows, and no amount of crimping or tinsel is going to make this look any better than the tree from A Charlie Brown Christmas. I love that movie. Hell, how can you go wrong with Peanuts? Awesome stuff.
Melanie Thornton, the female singer in La Bouche ("Be my lover, wanna be my lover... la.") died in a plane crash today. This was one of those, "Oh yeah! I remember her, and now I feel sad" moments that only happens when a person is tired and listless. I have senioritis again, people, and it's worse than before because my next year is by no means secured.
Also in "Oh yeah!" news, the winner of FOX's shitty Murder In Small Town X, a New York City firefighter, was killed on September 11. Did I ever watch Murder In Small Town X? No. Is it any less spooky? Nope.
I spent almost two full hours talking to Andi tonight, with the Rams-Bucs playing on in the background. Reminder of the good old days, when we would talk three-four hours every night. About endlessly stupid stuff, just the general crap that two people stupidly infatuated with each other do. Tonight, it was more nothing - her bragging that she's spending New Year's in Rio, me trying to make her feel guilty for never coming here to visit. Obviously it wasn't the same, but it still felt good. All kidding aside, and offense meant to no one, she is one of the most amazing girls I have ever met or could ever hope to meet. Maybe I'll open that "Girls That Dumped Jon Couture" gallery yet, just in her honor.
Babe, you did ask for it.
"Dude, what a psycho. And she's fat too."
- Meg, after seeing ex-gf Ali at the football game. What a suck up, huh?
Lastly though, I have to tip my hat to new Free Press editor-in-chief Dave D'Onofrio, whose entire interview of me for Spring 2002 Online Services Director was, "Who owns Bill R. Yelenak in Free Press Football?" Twelve interceptions later, I'm still in the staff box. Yeah, it's a dumb ending to the update, but you try maintaining a train of thought when you go to sleep in the middle of writing one of these.
November 25, 2001 - Errand Redux
Here, at the end of my final Thanksgiving vacation ever, I've finally figured out how to beat the traffic... go back on Monday. Always have been slow on the uptake.
These "wake up and go" things have disaster written all over them. I have to be at work for nine, and the plan is that we wake up at like five to drive into the city. I'm taking bets now on how many hours late I'll actually wake up, because there's no way I'm waking up at five. That or I'll wake up at five, then fall back asleep until someone smacks me around 6:30.
I now have all but one roll of the trip film back - the Canada pictures are floating around somewhere. I'm going to scan them when I bring the computer home at Christmas, so those of you breathlessly waiting to make a wallpaper of the "Welcome to West Virginia" sign... hold on!
Also at Costco, I finally saw an honest-to-God 24" TV. Wasn't half bad; I'm going to stop bitching about it now.
For a reason which I never fully remembered, we went back to the mall today. Gives me an excuse to throw in a few more shopping notes from the other day:
I saw a sign in a store window advertising "J.Lo, by Jennifer Lopez." The fact that Jennifer Lopez can have her own clothing line sold in stores is more proof that society has already hit its peak. I swear, the early '90s is going to prove to be America's pinnacle. You just watch. Fights in EA hockey games had blood, MTV didn't suck, it was a grand time.
Radio Shack is worthless. The only purpose Radio Shack has left is to buy wires and batteries, and do we really need a store to just sell stereo cable and camera batteries? Anyone who buys anything like a television from a Radio Shack should be roundly laughed at, ridiculed and killed. (I was told I don't put forth enough opinions on the page, so from now on, I'm exaggerating everything.)
H & M is a high-class TJ Maxx. That said, it's a nice store. They had jeans for $19, which I probably would have bought if my mother hadn't sworn me not to buy myself anything else until after the holidays - I've only asked for like four things, so if I buy them all I'll ruin Christmas and get disowned.
There's this new store at the mall called Hollister Co., and it's a direct rip off of Abercrombie and Fitch. They must be affiliated somehow. There were these two kids sitting in the entryway, wearing Birkenstock sandals and hemp necklaces. I assume they're on the payroll.
Someday, all these kids are going to look back and wonder why they spent $175 on three T-shirts and a pair of flip-flops. I hope I'm there when it happens, just so I can point and laugh.
Three Victoria's Secret shops, one mall. Do I really need to say anything else?
Belmont Springs owns the web address www.water.com. I don't know why this disturbs me, but it does. Water.com; drinking in the 21st Century.
Cornell 4 - 2 BU
Four goals on 19 shots. A blown two-goal lead. Splendid.
|@ WBA - 11/25/01
Read the recap on Hockey East Online.
For lack of any analysis that doesn't contain swear words:
TOLD YOU SO!
Makes me glad I missed most of the game between trips to the mall and watching the Giants season wash down the drain. Fields' seeming propensity to allow massive numbers of goals on small amounts of shots is starting to concern me a little. Though when your team is in the Top 10 nationally, it's probably best that mouths get shut.
A game up at Lowell's next (Dec. 1), and I'm pondering a road trip to Tsongas. You want to go, drop me a line!
November 24, 2001 - Almost Bloated
I'll be quite honest: this break, I've been lax in my updating. Everything has been written the day after it happened, which hasn't been a problem until now. I can't remember what I did during the day yesterday, which leads me to think it couldn't have been all that important.
I remember watching the hockey game, and during part of it, writing the update for the 23rd. I remember going out to Olive Garden with the gang, then bringing them back here and getting them drunk. But that's about it.
I suspect I didn't do anything all day, because I didn't shower at all. Lisa tried to get me to go see her cousin's band with her, but I ended up not doing that. We all met over at Brian's, settled on Hospitaliano Land for dinner, then waited for an hour in the parking lot while I used my Ted Kennedy voice to keep everyone annoyed.
Few complaints with TOG. They took their sweet-ass time getting is our salad and breadsticks, and I was starving so it went noticed. Plus they put a 15% optional gratuity on their checks. It's as though they're saying, "We're not going to charge you, but we think you're too dumb to do math." I suppose I can't complain; the food is realtively cheap and relatively excellent. I ate asparagus it was so good.
Technology is a wonderful thing. Any time you start to doubt that, get yourself a bottled Guinness with the rocket widget fizzy thing in it. How can you not love Western culture?
"Just because I'm awake doesn't mean I have to be talking to you."
-- The title of Charlie's second book on dealing with women, the sequel to his award-winning "I already told you I love you, bitch!"
BU 5 - 3 Cornell
God bless Fox Sports New England.
|@ WBA - 11/24/01
Read the recap on Hockey East Online.
Every year, the Athletic Department schedules games during breaks, so that all the parents who don't like bringing their kids to games where all we students swear can still endear them to BU Hockey. Amazingly, they haven't made them games against BC this year: it's a two-game home set with old rivals Cornell. Both were charter members of the ECAC in the late '60s and early '70s, and played several times for the national title back in the day. Yesterday was the first time they've played in 5 seasons, and how do I know all this? I watched the game on TV, silly!
Justin was replaced by Matty Cooch and my Dad (for a spell) in the hockey posse, as we turned the game on with Cornell up 1-0 in the first. Jason Tapp, who normally scares me to the point of aneurysm, was incredibly solid yesterday, keeping BU in the game until the inevitable comeback came through.
Great game, great finish. The only reason I ever thought we'd lose it is because I'm a Boston sports fan prone to expect disaster. Took the lead for the first time with a minute left, and sealed it with an empty netter. Have you ever noticed no one scores empty net goals anymore? Puck will always get thrown down near there, but hardly ever goes in. Kudos to Jack Baker for giving the group another excuse to jump around.
Dave Hendrickson, the Hockey East writer for USCHO, predicted we'd still be unbeaten after the Cornell games. With Fields in net today and the team on a roll, you'd think I'd be confident. But I smell a tie at best. Don't ask me why, just marvel at it later.
November 23, 2001 - Stereotyping The Mall
"I take solace in knowing I'll be dead of a heart attack before I turn 40."
As you can tell, it was another good day in Cooch's World.
It was a day that statred, and ended, with much better times than were in the middle. And who do I have to thank for the above muttering? Why, it's the crowds and stores at that finest of Western Massachusetts' shopping establishments, the Holyoke Mall!
Each year, I have heeded my mother's warnings and steered clear of the malls on the day after Thanksgiving. This year though, important decisions have to be made in time for Christmas. Which of the big three game systems needs to be nestled in front of my new TV? Just what will my new TV look like? Just what do I want for Christmas other than exorbitant electronics and the yearly request, booze and hookers? The Holyoke Mall held the answer to all these questions, so I thought, so after some discussion the trio of myself, Matt and Meg made the drive to Ingleside.
It was a miserable trip on all accounts, as the net result of of five hours at the mall (for me, anyway) was a colander, a pizza wheel and a bad mood. The crowds didn't get me, well, any less than they usually do. It wasn't the traffic... well, here's my notes from the trip, as they happened:
We arrived and parked in overflow parking, which is usally no more than the place where all the snow gets plowed to, and thus is covered in the stuff until early June. You can tell it never gets used, because it looked like it was last paved in 1973. We first drove a once-around the mall, New England's second largest, but I was far too ambitious to cut anyone off and steal a space. Most people had just added spaces to the ends of marked rows, meaning half the roadways in the parking garage portion were choked off by cars. Those rent-a-cops need to get out their booth and start pseudo-ticketing some ass.
We entered through Toys 'R Us, a 35-minute walk from where we were parked. Of course, I saw about 12 empty spaces as we walked, because that's the way the world works. I kept things tense and uncomfortable the whole way, by throwing a fake hissy fit when Meg asked for a copy of my insurance information before I borrow her car over Christmas Break.
In the toy store, I was wowed at some new Nerf dart gun that can fire twenty suction-cup darts AT ONCE. The people at Nerf, they are gods. Them and the Lego people, timeless classics. Played with their stuff long after it was healthy for me to be doing so.
When we finally managed to find the video game section, they had all three systems set up for play; first time I'd seen either the XBox or Gamecube live and in person. Matt got in some good time on NFL Fever, letting me attempt a two-point conversion. The net result of the viewing? None. PS2 is still the tentative leader, based mainly on strenght of existing games and familiarity. XBox is back in the running, but just barely. It's on graphics strength and a slight interest in a few of their exculsive games, but the controller is just too fucking big. GameCube is still an unknown quantity to me, though given past tendencies on what games play well on Nintendo systems (Super Monkey Ball anyone?), I don't give it much hope. Yes, I really am giving this THAT much thought.
We went to one of the mall's three pretzel stores next. Three stores that sell little more than pretzels. God Bless America.
I hate all the sweaters at Structure, because as Meg put it, "they would just make you look gay."
While Matt and I were waiting outside Old Navy for Meg to use the coupon I gave her, I saw an ad poster in the chick store The Avenue. With an American flag as a backdrop, three models were standing in J.Lo sunglasses, legs apart, looking mean. Across them was a single word: "United." Kneejerk patriotism pisses me off like few other things piss me off. Gee, the World Trade Center got destroyed... I bet we can make a profit on it! That's exactly what it is, and no one can make me believe otherwise.
The latest "closed in three months" storefront to open at the mall is called the House of Aahs..., a name that seemed to piss Matt off more than anyone else. They sell time in these things called "Aquamassagers," which are essentially a tanning bed that pelts you with jets of water. You lie beneath a plastic sheet, so you stay dry, on a massage pad. The top gets closed down on you, then this row of jets moves up and down your body drilling you... presumable invigorating the muscles of your ass and other areas. For $10 I almost tried it, but the line was too long. Unfortunately, I predict it will be open another 72 hours. Sucks to be them.
Target is the only store I can walk in and be mezmerized by housewares. That's where I bought my colander and pizza wheel, as well as saw my beloved football for $5 cheaper. I have gained great respect for the store; I dare say it gets the vaunted "Cooch Seal of Approval."
My brother waited almost 45 minutes to play Dance Dance Revolution at the arcade, and was then booed oof by the skaters and niggers who stnad around the machine all day. Yeah I used that word, because that's what these worthless sacks are. You don't boo a kid because he can't jump on a colored square as fast as you fucking can, especially when it's my brother. That set me off on my mood more than anything else, though getting to Best Buy and seeing how small a 24" flat-screen TV really is didn't help.
I'll spare you the other notes, because this is already way too boring. Generally, seeing the fucking dregs standing around that DDR game, not letting Matt play, then booing him when he did just pissed me off for the rest of the day. Although if anyone wants to buy me a 32" flat-screen TV (or above), I'll be your best friend. Just know that as soon as I saw the woman pushing a stolen shopping cart down the hall singing "Jingle Bell Rock," I was happy I long ago gave up faith in the human race.
The night, fortunately, was much better. The gang, Jennie Mac included, went to Mad Maggie's in downtown Springfield for a little pool and video gaming. Charlie and I made asses out of ourselves pretending to be DJs; Whitey, Kev Cornwell and I shared a beer; we took over the abandoned Santa display; goofed around before heading to Stop and Shop for snacks, then came back to the house and were here until 2:30 a.m. stuffing our faces.
Meg was saying to me, as we were up til 5 a.m., how jealous she is of the relationship I have with my friends here. I never really thought about it, and I'm guessing most of us don't, but the fact that we've stayed together as long as we had is really incredible. I love the posse here, especially... yeah, I'm gonna get myself in trouble.
This is too long; I'm not even concentrating on what I'm writing. There's something very important I want to discuss, but not now. Maybe later.
November 22, 2001 - Brownie Pride
In honor of Agawam's 14-6 win over our rivals from West Springfield, today's update will be written in rich orange type. If you can't read it, I suggest kissing my ass.
"I cut up brains."
-- Whitey, explaining what he's been up to at school. Neurobiology's been keeping him busy, least I hope that's what it is.
If it's Thanksgiving Day and I'm home from college, things are pretty formulaic. Up early, meet with some portion of the Agawam crew, go to the football game, then head off to Washington, Mass., for a Couture family Thanksgiving. Only this year did I really start to enjoy the whole Thanksgiving thing; maybe it's my age. I'm just glad I don't have to watch any stupid Thanksgiving Day parades... hate that. I hate televised parades on Christmas, on New Year's... whenever they're on. So boring, stupid commentary, don't even get me started.
Anyway, this was the warmest it's been for the Thanksgiving game since I started going five years ago - my senior year at AHS, when the game ended I was numb from the knees down. I'd assumed that Meg wasn't going to want to go, but with it being warm, she made the trek to Harmon A. Smith Field to watch the 3-7 Brownies play the 4-6 Terriers. Without fail every year, the two teams are within one or two wins of each other - meaning the games are always close. Not that it matters, since for most of yesterday, I wasn't even watching the game.
I treat the football game as an alumni mixer - from seeing old teachers in the ticket booth to seeing old people walking around the track. I couldn't name ten people I know who still go to the high school, all the cheerleaders look like they're about 11, this is how it has to be.
Last time I saw my best pal Whitey? Last year's game. Last time I saw psycho ex-girlfriend Ali? Ditto. I talked to Whitey for the whole second half, after Lonnie found him for me. Saw Ali talking to Geoff, so I walked down to say hello. She bolted faster than the French surrendered in the Second World War.
After the game, and a gas up/snack in Westfield, it was time to drive up Routes 20 and 8 to Washington, and Uncle Norman's farm. OK, it's not still a farm, and given how rolling it is, it couldn't have been much of one. But for the sake of everyone in the family, it's the farm.
Most years, the trip is little more than an excuse for my adorable little cousins to beat on me and steal my glasses. This year was much better though; I actually enjoyed it. The football came along, as did Meg, and that can only help. But I think I just appreciated being with the family more than anything else. Got to see my grandmother, who agreed I'm losing my hair, and suggested I go to a doctor. I love my grandmother, she's worth the trip alone. Best pies anywhere... I dare you to try and compete!
Not much desribable fun to be told... Meg and Matt watched Shrek, I played with the little cousins and only had the football stolen about 25 times, pitched some apples against a tree, managed to drive home without putting the CR-V into the woods. Can't complain.
I'm planning on golfing tomorrow morning, but please bear in mind there's no way I acutally will... seems I never do anymore.
November 21, 2001 - Route 90 Can Suck It
Today is the busiest travel day of the year, except for Sunday, which HAS to be busier. Yet every year, I still wait to make the trip home until Wednesday, as I will undoubtably wait until Sunday to go back to Boston. Maybe I just have a thing about four-hour drives on the Turnpike... when 90 minutes is normally excessice in length.
I only worked a half day at the Mail Room today... first time I've worked so little I think. Joe, showing that he really dose have a caring side, went to Boston Market and bought a Thanksgiving bounty... turkey, squash, spinach, corn, beans, gravy... the works. Nicest thing he's ever done, by far.
After work, I washed dishes for the first time in like three days... overly necessary. Then it was get the shit together, get all the garbage out in the lobby for B&G to deal with, get the tub scrubbed and free of "black gunk," then grab things for break and meet up with Meg. Meg, for lack of anything better, will be having a Couture family Thanksgiving this year. We also brought Geoff home, which come to think of it, I think I've done every year. He was there for the "Dad packs away three beers by the time we hit Framingham" trip, which really is a story that deserves to be told.
Freshman year: I'm living in Rich Hall down by the football field. Daryl and Geoff are hitching a ride home with me, because Dad's coming down to pick me up. He gets to Babcock Street, and while I'm loading my things in the car, he goes over to the old Sako's Deli (now the site of a Greek pizzeria... yes, Greek pizza) and picks up a six pack of Budweiser. Now this doesn't faze me a bit, because I've long been a believer that my father drives better when he's had a few. Course it never occures to me that my traveling companions aren't used to this.
We hit the first reststop, then a Burger King, and Daryl taps me on the shoulder. "Jon, you know your Dad's on his third beer?" The hilarity goes from there. We lived, Daryl grew up to become a dick, and all's well that ends well.
Yesterday, we left Boston at 2:00, got home by 5:30. I expected it, but it still got under my skin. Strangest thing was when we got to the I-84 interchange... a logjam every day of the year. No cars there... traffic all along the Pike, no traffic at Exit 9. Strangest thing I've ever seen.
Only good to come out of the drive was that I won my second attempt at a TV on uBid. Ladies and gents, Cooch is now the proud owner of a Toshiba 24" Pure Flat TV, for the bargain price (inc. shipping) of $349. It's no WEGA, but I'll take it any day of the week.
We got here, and as it is every trip I come home, the plans were rolling to do something before I even hit East View Drive. As it ended up, ten of us went to Ground Bound, then to bowling in Windsor Locks at Bradley Bowl. Some went to Denny's after that, but it struck me as rather fucking retarded to go out to eat twice in one night. Course when you're with Michele Ingalls, who... I can't even put it in words, I just don't like her. Never mind.
Meg's here with me. I like Meg; I think anyone who reads this on a daily basis can see that's pretty obvious. But this is Feeding Hills, this is a life I've always considered separate from my one in Boston. I have friends I see here, friends I see in Boston. The people I know here know me from my high school days, not as much from my BU stuff. You know how it is... it's the same for all of you. I'm not saying my friends don't carry over in both arenas, just that some are BU friends and some are Agawam ones.
Meg's being here changes the whole composition of things. When I go out, I can't just out with the Conservative Majority (Mario, Charlie and Sunny, if you're scoring at home). Meg will be with me for every moment of the next five days, a girl whose relationship with me is as strange a chemistry as I've ever had around me. So I'm a little on edge, and combine that with me, the best bowler of the group historically, failing to break 100 and finishing 7th out of 8, and you've got an all-out pissiness fest.
I need to be pissy now and then, because I don't beat people up. I don't kick the shit out of things to release anger, nor do I like to scream my brains out. I have to let off steam... in the very way Meg can't stand me letting off steam. My being pissy makes her cry; a cry that I can't tell if she really feels or not.
I'm glad she's not having to spend Thanksgiving alone in Boston, I'm glad she's getting to spend it with me and my family. I'm really am happy she's here, but at the same time I'm not.
If you understand that, then you really are my friend.
[We really are the Agawam High School Brownies. Yes I'm serious, and yes you need to stop laughing.]
BU 8 - 4 Harvard
Well, I'm surprised.
|@ Bright - 11/20/01
Read the recap on Hockey East Online.
With this being BU's fourth game in eleven days, I had a real bad feeling they were going to lose tonight. Course I'm so used to seeing the team blow, the instinct is to always assume the worst. This is the team that decided it'd be cool to slack off for the BC game, thus ripping my undefeated dreams from my brain. I think I can forgive them...
We've been getting outshot a lot lately, though if we can score 8 goals on 28 shots every night, I like our chances. I've watched a game at Harvard before, with Hypho and Coen. We sat in like the fourth row, with our faces right over the glass. So the whole game, we thought we were going to get drilled in the teeth by a puck. It's a building that does not scream Harvard, it screams "upscale community college." Great place to watch, especially since there's usually more BU fans there than Harvard.
I really should have gone... never gotten to use eight sieve calls in one game - we scored nine against Princeton my freshman year, but I hadn't started going to games yet.
I was left to follow the results on the computer, and Bill ended up being the one to tell me the final score. He'll love hearing that.
I have nothing more to add, just that if we get a split with Cornell this weekend, I'll be pleased. Only home games I'll be missing this year, I promise you that.
November 20, 2001 - Bosley Told Me So
"My pic on the posse page looks too much like a dental ad. And I look fat. Don’t squish this so I look fat. And don’t do it just because I said not to."
-- Meg's got a new picture on the Posse page. I think it looks worse than the other one... course I also eat rib sandwiches from Store 24 and walk through Brookline drunk at 2:30 in the morning.
The American League MVP voting was announced today, with Ichiro Suzuki completing the konichiwa of his seppuku. I remember buying into the "Yeah, he kicked ass in Japan, but wait til he faces real pitching!" sentiment, so I must offer my humblest sashimi to you, Ichiro. I also remember thinking in the first month of the season, "Damnit. He's gonna steal the Rookie of the Year award away from Shea Hillenbrand!" Ahh, memories...
Memo to the two sportswriters who picked Roberto Alomar: Thanks for coming guys, just leave your press passes at the door. No no, we'll give you a call in a couple weeks if something opens up. No, thank you, we really appreciate it.
I swear, if I don't get a job in May, I'm finding out who those guys are and egging their houses... with rocks!
"Jon - By far the coolest guy I know. The site says it all..."
-- A link from Lisa's profile on IM. Lisa, the most beautiful young woman I have ever met, the girl who threw me a party when I moved to Nashua, the girl who knows all it takes to get a mention here is to stroke my ego the slightest little bit... God, I'm an ass sometimes. :)
Had my meeting with Professor Falla this morning... went swimmingly. I honestly gave it some thought, and couldn't come with any idea for a final project. So I went in, thinking he could help me come up with something. He asked me what I wanted to work on, I said I didn't know, he said, "OK, I'm a busy guy. When do you want to come back?"
The nerve of me to come in for my mandatory meeting with such a busy guy! I can understand his not wanting to deal with me until I gave him something to work with, but I'm not the one who demanded a meeting with all of his students. He offered me another meeting time when I had class, so I'm screwed now. Eh, I've been screwed for years, I'll deal.
So I spent much of today looking over the website of Bosley Medical, the best hair transplant surgeons in the country. I know they're reputable, because as a child, I remember seeing their commercials during the 10 a.m. - noon game/talk show block - you know, the Classic Concentration/Caesar's Challenge/Trump Card kinda time slot. Anyway, this is what I've decided based on that information:
My hair is not falling out because I don't eat enough broccoli, something that given my attempts today, I'm never going to eat enough of. It's falling out because I've been blessed with the baldness genes, and increased testosterone levels (must be from all the football :)) have triggered them. My hair will continually fall out until I do something about it, and I see there being two options:
1) Shave my head.
2) Get a hair transplant.
Is either one of them all that appetizing? No. A better alternative than having a horseshoe of hair, ala a couple of Cooch uncles? Absolutely.
The problem lies in the wallet, as a hair transplant is cosmetic surgery and cosmetic surgery... yeah. So I need to be frugal if I choose to go that route. In that vein, what did I start doing tonight? That's right, bidding for television sets. In my own defense, these auctions have some absurd bargains, and I got my stereo that kinda works off uBid, so I'm sold on the idea.
I'd tell you just what I bid on, but you'll go and steal it from me. That's right, I trust none of you. Except for Matty Cooch, because he knows if he crosses me, I have access to where he sleeps.
November 19, 2001 - New York, New York
At 8:30 a.m. tomorrow, I have a meeting with Jack Falla to discuss my final project for his class, which must include a query letter, a player profile or sports feature and a sidebar. I have sat here for at least six hours, completely unable to even come up with a bad idea for a story.
I don't know what it is that's making this so difficult, but my brain is in complete vapor lock. Because I have no other reasoning, I think I'm going to blame it on the one thing I've found no one can question me on anymore: losing my hair. I guess when my hair is coming out, it's taking brain cells with it.
Got a call from Mom yesterday, telling me they can't make me a doctor's appointment until Christmastime. I told her I'd be bald by Christmastime... the sad reality is this is completely true.
I stayed up to watch the Giants game last night, even though I knew full well before it even began they were going to lose to the Vikings. The karma was just stacked so high against them... playing a desperate team on the road who you beat 41-0 in last year's playoffs. It wasn't like the Eagles game though, where there was just this angering feeling of helplessness the whole way through, because I never once thought they were going to win. Does that make me a poor fan? No, it makes me a realist. It's like how I know when the Giants have 2nd and Goal on the 5, they'll run a sweep and lose four yards. Then Collins will be sacked on the next play. You think I'm wrong? Go watch some tape.
I should be a pro coach. Then I could wear a hat 24 hours a day and no one would think it was the least bit strange.
I do love how the game was billed as a must-win for the Vikings. It was, but what about New York? We're now 5-5, a game and a half behind the Fat City Eagles, and playing Oakland next week. Some traditions never die... the Giants have never made the playoffs in a season following a Super Bowl appearance.
Before the game, watched a celebrity Weakest Link as opposed to a supermodel edition of Millionaire. Hey, they were on, I needed to kill time while eating. The rationale behind Supermodel Millionaire is understandable, given the number of porn-hoarding males in America, but it's one of those shows that no matter what were to happen, it would give me an aneurysm. If one of them was unable to get a $100 on their own, which Howard Stern told me happened the other night on a question about "only a face a Mother could love," I would be ranting at the television. If one of them guessed their way to a million dollars, I'd be having flashbacks to not getting picked for their college shows.
Weakest Link is better to a point, because you know all the contestants are hapless failures before it even starts. Has anyone ever gotten close to $125,000 total for seven rounds, never mind a single one? They always seem to throw in one completely asanine question just to break the string... course I've only watched two full episodes of it because it sucks.
To take a quote from Dee Snider's morning show on Hartford's 104.1, "what'd we learn today?"
I'm a moron.
Kerry Collins really is nothing more than a drunken racist who should not be the core of one's fantasy team. The loser in the Pats QB controversy needs to "start spreadin' the news..."
The only game shows worth watching are Scrabble, Press Your Luck and The Price Is Right; Jeopardy would be on their too if they'd put me on their college show. Screw you King World Productions!
Oriental people may be annoying, but they sure do make a good salad in a bag.
November 18, 2001 - Alcoholic Auctioneering
I'm sprouting out all over the Internet...
It's Cooch's First eBay Auction!!!
Now you can buy a piece of Cooch's World... TWO Madden computer games! Bid early, bid often!
I now sit here writing this with a sore nose and a headache, which can only mean one thing... Free Press Football made its grand return today, this time from mighty Nickerson Field!
"I'm salivating on myself... but that's probably because of the possible concussion."
-- From me to Meg, who was offering me Tylenol to ease my headache from football.
I must say, playing on the NexTurf was very nice compared to last week's actual grass. My only complaint would be that the little rubber chunks to simulate "dirt" tend to stick everywhere, but I'd rather it be there than play on the old AstroTurf. The game was another blowout - 14 TD's to 2 - and an absolute blast despite my getting bashed in the face by a Yelenak forearm. He says he was grabbing for my waist to block me, though how one would manage to miss the waist and hit the face amazes me. I don't fault him though... it is Bill. All I knew was I turned, charged, had my glasses knocked to the ground, felt a twinge in my face and a trickle of blood out my nose. God I love football.
Apparently, I sent Scott Brooks pinwheeling through the air on a kickoff return. I wish I had seen that, but having not, my personal highlight would have to be running the length of the field (half a soccer pitch) on a kickoff, then getting to the ball before anyone on the receiving team could, scoring a TD. Kind of a combo of skill and Josh not understanding kickoffs are live, even in the end zone.
[Editor's Note: The remained of today's update was written at 3 a.m. on Monday, after I returned from BC via walking down Beacon Street. Please bear in mind upon arriving at the lobby of 98 Mountfort, I was drunk enough for it to take four attempts to unlock the door to my building.]
One last note about football. I invited Jon Rea, who seems to take a great deal of pride in telling me I'm an incompetent athlete. Such as today, where I threw two passes that were dropped after they hit my receiver in the chest. Jon Rea then proceeded to say, "OK, time to get Trent Green out of the game and put Kurt Warner back in." Please bear in mind these were dropped balls, which hit my receiver in the chest before they bounced to the ground.
Rea, fuck you. I'm glad you think you're God's gift to athletics, but you know what? There's a reason why you don't play any intercollegiate sports... because you suck just as much as I do. So bite my ass.
Anyway, I did watch some football today, much of it with a bag of ice on my nose because it hurt so damn much. After watching the Buccaneers choke hardcore on FOX, I watched The Simpsons, then made my way to Amit's to watch the Patriots-Rams game. Course it wasn't that simple.
When I talked to Amit, he told me he lived at 66 Commonwealth Avenue, just after the church, which seemed strange to me because I thought he said he lived on campus. Undeterred, I made my way, via the T, to 66 Commonwealth Avenue... in Boston, which is also just after a church. Unfortunately, BC is not located in Boston, so it wasn't until calling Amit from Newbury Street did I figure out he meant 66 Commonwealth Avenue... in Newton.
Is this my fault? Probably. Can you shut the hell up? You better.
I finally did make it to Amit's room by quarter of ten, just in time to see Antowain Smith essentially fumble away the game. Let me tell you, Amit has one of the crappiest rooms I've ever seen... communal toilets and showers, and he's a senior. He does have a sink all to himself though... good for him.
So after we watched the Pats lose and sampled a little of Comedy Central's "Let's Bowl!," we did what we do best: got drunk. He had bought a $5 bottle of wine, which turned out to taste just like a $5 bottle of wine, so off we went in search of a corkscrew to open it. On the way, I met almost all of his friends on campus, and all of them were really cool. He was trying to make me out to be Jewish to some of them, just because some of them are trying to find Jewish guys, but such is life I suppose.
I finally left there at five of two, and about a minute into my walk back to BU I realized I was way too drunk to be walking home. Nevermind the fact I was wearing my Skechers boots, which are not the equipment to be wearing when one is walking over three miles.
"Do you have any whipped cream? My roommate's turning 21, we have a stripper and we really need it."
-- Random girl to a Sysco delivery guy in Cleveland Circle. I swear to God this actually happened... it's too good to make up.
After reaching about 1880 Beacon Street, and knowing I would have to go all the way to around 900 Beacon Street, I began to look for landmarks to keep me motivated. Vinny Testa's, Kokopelli Southwest Grill, the Store 24 after the wooded section of the road, the intersection with Harvard St. that I'd been at 8:30 the very same morning (Meg's father and girlfriend invited me to a little family get-together brunch at Zaftig's... least I think it's called that), Amory Park, etc. All the while I was walking, I just kept thinking how easily I could crawl behind a bush and fall asleep. The fact that I actively said this repeatedly only reinforces why you shouldn't drink, kids. Alcohol is bad for you, it's just empty calories, even if it does make everything funnier.
In talking to myself the entire way home, I must have said, "I'm drunk" about 12 times. The only time I stopped talking to myself was at the Harvard St. intersection, when three Italians in a sportscar stopped me for directions to Chestnut Hill. I gave them directions to BC... same damn thing I think. If I was sober, would have done it all the same.
I finally got back to my apartment at quarter of three, meaning 50 minutes for over three and a half miles... better than most of you could do sober!
[Editor's Note: It's Monday morning now, and I feel fine other than my nose and my finger. I probably shouldn't have glossed over the brunch story with Meg's family, but in the interest of preserving the drunken rant, I'm gonna stop now. Just know Zaftig's is the Best Jewish Delicatessen in Boston, and that I was very awake and conversational for it being 8:30 a.m. on a Sunday, a time when I love just being up and about because it's so peaceful in the city.]
BC 3 - 1 BU
Are you fucking serious...
|@ BC - 11/17/01
Read the recap on U.S. College Hockey Online.
I suppose it was inevitable that we would lose... but did it have to be tonight? I suppose it just fit with the mood of the day, for our first loss to come to our arch-rival, a team so screwed up they can't get out of their own way. This just strikes me as one of those wins that's going to put BC on a huge winning streak, spark their season, all that great stuff.
Now I know what they must have felt like when we beat them in the '99 Beanpot, still the greatest sporting moment I've ever witness in person.
"We came as a team. The guys were all up for each other, and we just went out and kicked their ass."
Freshman Bobby Hansen, after the 9-14-2 Terriers beat the 16-9-2 Eagles in overtime, 3-2. Sophomore Russ Bartlett, who scored the game-winner, was released from the team before his junior season.
I wasn't at last night's game, mercifully. I've already been to one hockey game at Conte Forum - January 8, 2000. That night, we jumped out to a 4-0 lead by the 13-minute mark of the second, only to piss it away for a 4-4 tie. Let me tell you, as someone who went into BC wearing a jersey of the opposition: if your team doesn't win, prepare to be verbally assaulted.
That made it feel all the better when, on a night later that year, I walked onto the ice in a deserted Conte Forum and spat on the eagle painted at center. And to think I actually like BC football...
Please note how I have written five paragraphs and barely touched on last night's loss. That's the sign of quality, people. You don't get this kind of avoidance from just anywhere.
From what I understand (by reading the BU Hockey message board on Yahoo!), the team came out flat. I understand overtime road games on Friday and Tuesday could make a team tired, but come on... this is Boston College we're talking about. The bitter rivals, stealers of our Beanpot, the national champions. You don't come out flat against BC, in fact, there's no game you should be more up for than BC. I'm not a hockey player, I'm not an athlete, but that's my perspective. Still, how much can I complain when, even with the loss, the team's 6-1-1? Third in the conference, three points behind but with two games in hand?
A whole lot, that's how much. You don't come out flat against BC. Now I have to listen to Amit pound his chest about how great they are... and the BU-BC basketball game is still to come. What a day.
November 17, 2001 - Nothing Man
[Meaningful News!: I have finally gotten around to creating a .PDF version of my resume. It's now posted, so I encourage any of you with job openings in your companies to circulate it around the office. I'm not kidding, though if you find any errors, tell me first.]
Today might possibly have been the most useless day I've had in college. It could be debated that nothing good came out of today, and I'd probably be the one debating that.
Having my first free Saturday since the second week of October, I slept until almost noon. I needed that, and I shudder to think the condition I'd have been in if I'd had anything to do. I never showered. I never shaved. I never even changed my clothes. It was that kind of day, as the furthest I strayed from my computer was to go to the front door of the building, to let Meg in late tonight.
The net result of everything I did today was that I narrowed down my choices for a new TV (thanks to a one-month subscription to Consumer Reports Online) and updated my resume, making it into a .PDF in the process (thanks to the fine folks at FinePrint).
Other than that, it becomes a sob story. Positions at the DFP have been decided for next semester, without me even getting an interview. I've alerted them to this and have been called by the head of the Board, but I'm left to wonder whether I should even bring it up again. They never would have given me anything anyway, because in their eyes I'm worth no more than to cut-and-paste their stories on the website. But that's their prerogative; if they don't want me, they don't want me.
As for the people they actually gave positions to, well done to all of you. I can't say I agree with the choices that were made in many cases, but it's not my place to comment. Or perhaps more accurately, those who have gotten fucked over have rationalized it in their heads by now, so I've got no right to try to start a war with friends of mine.
Many of the people I've met at the DFP have become good friends of mine, which is why I can go play football with them tomorrow and hold no ill will towards them. As far as working at the DFP however, I think those days may honestly be over. This semester they really have been already (one story in almost three months), but this weekend's course of action may have sealed the deal. Given twelve-odd hours to mull everything over, I'm really not mad about it. I just think there comes a time where a person has to move on.
I actually intended to go to a party they were having there tonight, but before I could get in the shower, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My parents, Mom especially, has been telling me this whole balding thing is a figment of my imagination. Now I have evidence that maybe even she'll buy; a legitimate bald spot about three inches back from the front, right on where I part my hair.
I'm calling home on Sunday, and I'm demanding they make me a doctor's appointment over Thanksgiving Break. This has gone on long enough. If they won't do it, then I'm ruining Thanksgiving Dinner. Period. I've had enough.
I go back and forth on the hair issue - yes, I am vain enough to keep talking about it day in and day out. There are times I think about it to become at peace with it, but then more shows up missing and it guts me all over again. I have enough problems to deal with from a physical appearance standpoint... being bald is not something I want to have to cope with.
Meg and I also had a chat about things last night, but for the first time on this site, I'm declaring something "none of your business." It's nothing all that exciting, it's just because odds are she'd kill me if she saw it on here.
And don't even get me started on the hockey team...
November 16, 2001 - Quotent Quotables
"When are you coming down to Philly for that bowling thing?"
-- Morgan from the Scotland trip, on our Penn Bowl BUCB trip.
"Lick my lobes, bitch... I'm sick of hiding my feelings."
-- Justin, now in the Posse, subtly hitting on Meg. Last I checked, she didn't.
There was probably a good deal more quotables, but as my days of walking around with pad and paper aren't here now, they're long forgotten. Except for one that I refuse to print, because it's the most disgusting thing I've ever heard. Ever. EVER. Far more disgusting than this:
"Are you kidding me? If you bought me a Playstation 2 and one of those 27", flat-screen, silver Wega TVs, I would get naked, climb into a dog cage and have sex with a cocker spaniel."
-- There was a precedent for saying that, I swear.
Today wasn't much of a day, though I did get a good deal of crap done after work. Having Saturday free for the first time in a month just makes Friday go that much better. I got laundry done, finally managed to return soda cans to ghetto Star - last night I walked down there, but homeless people were using all the machines for about four hours -, decided the XBox sucks, ate a lovely dinner of tortellini, made a few chicken quesadillas and wore corduroy pants.
Wait, I almost forgot. I also bought alcoholic beverages and gave them to underage students.
Bill was here, hitting on Jen Z., which anyone from Agawam knows... well, you know it, I'm not gonna say it. Meg and Justin were here, meaning she spent most of the night trying to make out with him. Bethany and Lisa were here too, but I can think of anything funny to write about them, or anyone else that was here.
Considering I have no grasp on how to throw a party, it was a pretty fun time. Plus I'm getting a knack for pricing liquor... going into the Wine Press, I had $30 in my pocket. My total bill? $29.97.
Some people just have a gift. And given my parents, it has been nurtured and taken care of. When you're 13 and you ask your father if you can have a beer, and he says yes, that's living. That's also why I don't drink hardly at all, but that's beside the point.
This update sucked. That's what I get for not writing it til one in the afternoon on Saturday.
November 15, 2001 - Celebrity
People often ask why anyone would want to come to Boston University, why anyone would subject themselves to all the policies, the lack of a campus, the hordes of rats and homeless people. Today was such a day where that question need not be asked.
Mike Emrick, Devils' play-by-play man, caller of three Olympics, five All-Star Games, seven Stanley Cup Finals, thirteen playoffs... Mike Emrick talked to my class today. Not talked to a lecture hall full of 350 kids... no, he talked to like 15 of us in Sports Journalism. Here I am, eight o'clock in the morning, coming off about four hours of sleep, listening to one of the finest hockey play-by-play guys ever tell me about himself. Hearing his whole story of how he got into broadcasting, how he preps for games, so much stuff... if only I'd had the balls to ask him to yell "SCORE!!!!" just once. Half of you understand his calling of goals is very distinctive, the other half of you are morons. OK, maybe not morons, but you're getting there.
Just listening to Emrick talk reminds me of why I love broadcasting. Ever since I was a kid, and became well aware professional athletics was not in my future, I've been calling my own games. Just talking to myself in the driveway, out on the neighbor's yard, in my Mountfort apartment playing Koosh basketball... some things never change. It just strikes me as the natural progression of a person who talks to himself. Yes, I talk to myself. I'm the only person who never pisses me off from saying something stupid!
So yeah, I talked to Mike Emrick today, in a class taught by Jack Falla. The way I figure it, at least I'll have had a touch with greatness when I die. God knows I'm not reaching the annals of my profession anytime soon... Cooch's World can only reach so far.
Tonight, I went out to Logan Airport for the first time since... you know. Meg's father and his girlfriend were flying in for a little east coast vacation, and I was told they had more luggage than three people could carry. I assumed we were driving there. Course I later find out we're riding the T, which honestly, would have changed my "availability." My hatred of the T is legendary, for reasons that even I can't fully explain. With me being exhausted, it was only magnified.
The airport was near deserted at seven at night, with closed shops and few flights coming in to Terminal B. Things really didn't look that different, until we saw the two MPs patrolling. A man had left two bags next to a post and was just walking a bit as he spoke on his cell phone. He wasn't reprimanded for doing it, just told nicely he should stay by his bags.
All the parking areas by the terminal were empty, as they were too close to the building. Cops were stationaed all along the sidewalk. Yet it didn't feel any different to me. To think that 60-odd days ago, the things that happened there, the people that were walking around that very same terminal B... it didn't really faze me at all.
I still haven't been back to New York and I still haven't had the need to fly since that day, so maybe then it will feel different to me. I know when I see a picture of the buildings I feel saddened, but that's more because I feel wistful about the time I made the trip up to the Observation Deck. But to actually feel like we're in a whole new world, as we are, I'm not there yet... always have been slow on the uptake.
Last night I just felt useless, as it turned out there were only three bags to carry. So I was just there... I'd make an "excess baggage" pun, but then I'd have to punch myself in the face. Nothing to carry, nothing to say, just there to get my pants dirty and have a huge scab torn off my leg (the shopping cart incident will now scar me in two ways instead of one). I hate saying I was miserable, since it was my own fault for keeping myself up til 3 a.m. this morning, but this site's nothing but not honest. Honest to a fault. So honest, you all know that when no one's around in my apartment, I play basketball games against myself, doing a running commentary the whole way.
November 14, 2001 - Show Blow
Another week, another radio appearance...
(DON'T CLICK IT! There's no archive yet... not that you'd want to hear it anyway.)
Today was one of those rare days where, on the whole, life sucks.
Consider the following items as evidence in the case of Sucks v. Couture, 2001/11/14
Kirkland's Signature Minoxodil Extra Strength For Men is only for curing baldness on the back of your head, not for the front. With it being the same as Rogaine, I suspect this is nature's way of telling me to "Fuck off." Meg attempted to buoy my spirits by saying my hairline might just be receding to a "mature level." I really hope she's right.
Though I still got to go to Costco, get three more rolls of film developed (St. Louis, Kansas City, Ohio-W.V.) and buy more supplies like sausage and luncheon meats.
The radio show has lost its newness. Last night I ran out of gas about 1:30 a.m., and even before that, things were just dragging. When no one calls in to your show, and you're left to listen to yourself talk, things slowly die.
I love talking on the air. But it would be so much more rewarding if I knew there was one person listening. One person that isn't a personal friend of any of ours, of course.
My apartment, by my standards, is a hole. Plus I'm gonna have to do laundry soon. I hate doing laundry. Not because I hate being clean, but because I hate never being able to get my jeans dry without fear of scorching them.
A day after yesterday's historic rant, I have to write a sports column ANYWAY. It's our assignment for Sports JO tomorrow. Of course, because my new idea (telling people to stop attending Bruins games until the team removes their heads from their asses) didn't pan out, I'm revising my BU Hockey one to make it suitable for class - somehow I don't think Prof. Falla would appreciate the humor in telling you all to stop jerking off.
Now, when I get a rewrite on it, I'll have no doubt as to why I got rejected by the FreeP... again.
Today's wasn't all bad though.
I actually applied for Managing Editor, thus forcing the staff to interview me... again. You know what they say: you can't score unless you shoot.
Something Meg related, probably. No specifics, but she did take the trouble to drive me out to Waltham at lunch today. Waltham is where Costco is, before you even ask.
I'm still an asshole. And I'm still proud of it. :)
BU 4 -(OT)- 3 Yale
Tapp gets a win. You know they're blessed now.
|@ Yale - 11/13/01
Read the recap on Hockey East Online.
Completely forgot we were playing this game. Saw we won while walking down Cummington Street from work. Didn't see the name "Tapp" until later... that really made me smile.
Ain't nothing else to say. Last time we were unbeaten through seven to open a season? 1978.
November 13, 2001 - Same As Ever
I suppose the following story should be neatly formatted, spell checked and e-mailed to the editors of the Free Press, so that it can be properly addressed. However, I have no intention of doing that, because it won't matter one way or the other. If the editors choose to respond to attacks on proofreading errors by printing this editorial, then I shudder to think where this would end up:
Nine days ago, the Sports staff did what they should have done a week into the semester: they fired Austin Wang, who may have been the worst columnist since some zoologist gave a monkey a pen. That same night, last Sunday, Bill ran into me on the street as I was coming home from the BU-UNH game. Excited, he told me he'd gotten me a sports column for the rest of the semester. Seeming too good to be true, some investigation showed it wasn't quite that easy... I was supposed to submit two perspectives (600-800 words, standard fare), they'd get reviewed and I'd be golden.
Thankfully, November 4 was eventful enough to give me all the fodder I'd need.
I had my two submissions done by Tuesday night, and hand delivered them on disk to the office.
I think they're more than adequate. First was on the freshly-ended baseball postseason, the other a plea to the student body to support our still-unbeaten hockey team. Read them yourself, and tell me what you think. May as well post them here, since they're never going to get run anywhere else.
So for the past week, I waited patiently to be contacted by someone, to tell me what was going on, what people thought of my submissions, any news at all. I was getting secondhand info telling me they'd been received, and I know Jeff had my phone number... two notes on his desk are still there to this second. In hindsight, I should have been calling every day, pestering, being the little bitch I always try so hard not to be. But I wasn't.
I'm not really sure what I expected when I opened the paper to the back page today. I suppose I thought I'd see my hockey column, printed with no columnist picture and no snazzy title with it. Seeing no column printed there didn't seem out of the realm either. Seeing Ryan Canner-O'Mealy's goofy fucking mug above some drool-mixed spew about how wondrous our men's hoop team will be... that wasn't anywhere on the list.
I'm much less fired up now than I was walking down Comm. Ave. with the paper balled up in my hand, searching for the nearest trash can. Still, it hurts. It hurts more than most probably think, it hurts more than I'm probably expressing, it hurts more than it should.
It's not even as much the fact that I got rejected again that bothers me, though that is a big part of it. It's the way I was treated... not even worthy of a call. Any kind of message anywhere along the way. Is it really too much to give a fucking phone call to someone who takes the time to write you two thought-out pieces? An e-mail? A quick word while we were playing football on Sunday?
I don't regret the time I've spent and will continue to spend at the DFP - some of my best friends at this school have been made through that office. That said, the complete lack of professionalism in the newsroom at 842 Commonwealth is a slap in the face of anyone who has worked at that paper in the last thirty years. Anyone who has truly dedicated their time to putting out a quality product is being done a disservice, as some of the today's bigger players spend more time fingering each other and getting smashed than looking at the pages they put to print each day. For a newspaper trying to pass itself off as professional to run an incorrect date IN THE MASTHEAD is inexcusible. To make a joke about it is beyond comprehension to me.
There are so many people at the DFP right now who genuinely care about the quality of their work. For the most part, the day-to-day copy is second-to-none. But even that's not enough, when you have editors who make changes to just prove to themselves how important they are.
Am I oversimplifying things? Obviously. That said, after being fucked over for at least the fourth time by "the best independent student newspaper in the country," I'm still going back for more. Tomorrow, I'm going to apply for Managing Editor in Spring 2002. Do I want the position? Hell yeah. Do I have a snowball's chance in getting it? Of course not. I just want to make the all-powerful Board of Directors sit there and humor me one more time before I get blown off again.
There's no way I could actually be chosen for the position. Why? I'm in all the wrong cliqués... I dare have a life outside of the office.
NOTE!!! - [The previous rant got out of hand about midway through, though I stand by everything I said. I kept hoping the conclusion would right itself, but as you no doubt can see, it didn't. We will now have to ignore the positive things that happened today: free tickets to tonight's 5-3 Bruins win (albeit in front of a crowd of only 12,000), seeing a midget walking two dogs down the street, the return of an incorrect printer cartridge for a second incorrect printer cartridge... perhaps these things will make a future update where the news is slower. Or perhaps they'll be forgotten, like me to a time when my hair couldn't be pulled out easily.]
November 12, 2001 - The Sort-Of Holiday
In a matter of twelve hours, I've received five refusals to attend messages for BUCB's high school tournament on December 8th. It's not surprising given I sent out a message to my mailing list yesterday, but it is surprising that I haven't even gotten one message that's the slightest bit optimistic.
Today was a holiday in Boston and around the country, though you'd be hard pressed to notice on the BU campus. Despite most campus offices being closed, the ENG Copy/Mail Room not among them, students still had to go to class. This is always something I've wondered about in my time here... the mixed message being sent. Everyone always talks about what a cheap holiday Veterans Day is, saying Memorial Day is the real day we should thank our nation's veterans. Even back when I was in Feeding Hills flagging gravestones with my dad and brother, Veterans Day was just the mop-up run - change the flag if it was tattered or worn, but for the most part leave them be. Memorial Day was the full replacement day.
If America is going to celebrate a Veterans Day in November, celebrate it. Don't half-ass a tribute, either do it or don't. These men and women deserve better than a day looked at as no more than one off work.
Working from nine til noon, I heard about the crash of Flight 587 from the unlikeliest of breaking news sources... Howard Stern. What amazes me is had this crash happened three months ago, no one would have batted an eyelash. There would have been a media blitz, due to it crashing in a residential section of America's grndest metropolis, but it would have been immediately passed off to mechanical failure, to pilot error, to what used to be the only thing that crashed planes. But now, I can run a poll on the Daily Free Press website, highly scientific as it is, and have 57% of the voters think there were terrorist implications. I'll admit, seeing that black smoke pouring from New York again gave me that feeling in the pit of my stomach. But let's be realistic - no one hijacked that plane.
If nothing else, looking at all the maps of the boroughs of New York means I finally have a grasp on where the hell everything is. Up until yesterday, I thought Rockaway was a slum, not beachfront property. Course now I also have the theme song from "The Nanny" in my head... talk about a show that couldn't get off my TV fast enough.
Thank God I don't watch The King of Queens... I might feel more directly connected to the crash. "Hey, isn't that Kevin James' neighbor's house on fire? Sweet mother!"
Plane crashes, and I'm talking about CBS sitcoms.
I actually do have more to talk about, but that's gonna wait til I don't have to be to class in ten minutes.
November 11, 2001 - The American Way
It takes an awful lot to get me out of my apartment on a Sunday afternoon... tackle football with eight other FreeP staffers among the falling leaves is enough. The FreeP Football idea has been weeks in the making, but never put into motion until today at Brookline's Amory Park, one of the rare open spaces in Brookline where the rich bastards let anyone do anything more strenuous than walking.
Yesterday, during lunch of the college bowl tourney, we played a little pickup football on the BU Beach. Of course, we were all dressed in... let's say non-football attire, making it pretty damn difficult to do much of anything. Course Jon Rea, who loves to deem himself an athletic hero in any sport, has decided that based on my performance, I am utterly incompetent with the pigskin.
I'll be honest... his first bomb to me went right through my arms untouched. Other than that though, I give him nothing.
Hey Jon, here's an idea. It's a lot easier to catch a football if the guy who's throwing it can actually put it in your general area, rather than six inches out of reach.
Today was much better on the whole, being that the overall quality of play was better, and that I was in jeans and sneakers. The exact was not as much forgotten as never known to begin with, but it's a safe bet to say the juggernaut of Dave, Halpin, Josh, Scott and myself won going away. Brooks wasn't there for long, as he managed to break his glasses in the first ten minutes of play, but the rest of us ran ourselves ragged. Seiing everyone else winded actually made me feel decently in shape, which was nice.
Both teams stuffed the other on their opening drives, then it didn't happen again for the next two hours. Bill threw about six interceptions, interspersed with some gawdy number of touchdowns, to help us win. All my highlights came before Conway came with a camera, so when Bill eventually posts the picture up on his website, it's not gonna look good. I sense we'll be seeing the one where he dodged my blitz, then ran the length of the field for a score. Meh.
With gambling now over, my in-depth football focus falls to my fantasy team and ESPN's Pigskin Pick'em, where I can attempt to show off my superior prognostication knowledge. Course my fantasy team now sits at 1-8, and my season pick percentage is a dominant .547 (70-58).
But hey, least I wasn't the guy who busted his glasses apart playing football!
November 10, 2001 - Blessedly Over and OK
For the last four Saturdays, a certain extracurricular activity has held all of Cooch's World hostage, minus the duct tape, windowless van and empty warehouse. This was the final Saturday of BUCB's four-week Fall push, three weeks of which were tournaments we hosted on the Charles River Campus. Today was TRASH Regionals, which we've hosted for five years in a row. Anyway, it's over.
Today's bash ran incredibly smoothly, considering MIT's student team dropped out and failed to tell us. Coen made contingency schedules to account for this happening, something I always say I'll do but never do. It's TRASH, pop culture questions, my bread and butter, the only thing I'm any good at. Did I get to play? Of course not.
I'm not really all that pissed, because I know my services were neede elsewhere - there's not a person on the team who could even have a case to say they moderate as well as me. Still, the first tournament I'll play in this year will be in FEBRUARY. These four weeks, I split time between doing stats and reading questions, the same thing I'll do at our next three events (high school tourney - 12/8, Penn Bowl - 1/25&26, Terrier Tussle - 2/2). Barring any unforseen shift, I'll play in only three events this year.
There was one open spot for me to play yesterday; Coen's new Babson team needed a fourth, and given their experience level, it might have been one of the only times I come close to carrying a team. But we jointly decided to give it to BUCB alum Beezer, who had quite a trip up from NYC.
First, READ THIS FOR BACKGROUND!!!
Beezer and I had planned on actually forming a team for Saturday, with Meg and Boggie, the last Gov. Gen. of the club before me. That fell apart, but Mark still wanted to come up for the weekend. I offered up my floor for the weekend, he said he'd meet me at the BU Central T-stop after his bus got in to South Station at 10:30 Friday. When he didn't get in until 12:30, I was a wee bit concerned. When words equivelant to "cokehead stabbing guy" left his mouth, it was pretty clear he had a story to tell.
The man who did the stabbing on the bus was sitting across from Mark in NYC. Beezer switched his seat with Mr. Zacker in the station, because Zacker wanted to sit with his girlfriend. Costa was spewing expletives throughout the trip, until retiring to the bathroom while driving through Guilford - undoubtably to power up for his return to Providence. When he re-emerged, he choked and stabbed the boyfriend sitting in the seat Beezer originally had taken. Zacker hadn't said anything to spur this, hadn't done anything to provoke this. He was just there.
Mark said that when Costa went to go to the bathroom, something like this happening flashed through his mind, and I'd have to say my thought process wouldn't have been a whole lot different. On the exterior, he seemed much calmer than I would have been had our roles been reversed. But fully substituting myself in his place, I can't even begin to fathom it.
Needless to say, I had no objections to giving him the spot yesterday.
BU 3 -(OT)- 2 Maine
A comeback from 0-2? In the third period?? On the road??? AT MAINE?!?!
|@ Alfond - 11/9/01
Read the recap on Hockey East Online.
Since Orono is a full 250 miles (and five hours) away, I don't think I'll be making a trip up there anytime soon. After initially planning to listen to this game on the radio, I completely forgot it was played until after Saturday's tournament. Coen gave us the happy news in my apartment, to which Robin gave a hearty "sweet!"
We're coming back from two-goal deficits at Maine now? If this continues to happen, I'm going to become irrational and start assuming we're seriously good. I think I could deal with that.
November 9, 2001 - Rant-o-riffic
Ripped from today's Free Press:
More than $21,400 worth of valuables was reported missing by two BU suitemates, 18 and 19-year-old students, in Myles Standish Hall on Oct. 30, a police spokesman said.
One of the victims reported her $6,000 diamond earrings, $15,000 Cartier wristwatch and $250 cash were taken between 10:45 a.m. and 1:30 p.m., police said. The second victim told officers that $150 was missing from her room.
Reality Check: $6,000 earrings? $15,000 watch? In your dorm room? If I've got a $15,000 watch, I'm wearing it 24/7. In the shower, in the pool, everywhere. Better yet, I'm hocking it on eBay.
You're in college. You have anything worth $15,000 in your possession, you might want to stick it up your blankety blank when not in use. That or LOCK ALL YOUR DOORS, DUMBASS. What WILL your management classmates think of your faux pas...
And oh yes, this headline was also ripped from today's DFP:
X-Country Chase NCAA Birth At NE Regional
Hope they find it, because the NCAA isn't going to want a little baby running around free at a major regional event.
I had this whole thought-out rant planned this afternoon, but my family came down and I completely forgot what the hell I was mad about. This is the story of my life... strong impulses, dissolved away by time. How poignant is THAT!
I have two new torch lamps in my room now, thanks to my loving parents. They're very nice. They don't match the ambiance of the Christmas lights, but actually being able to see more than makes up the difference. I'm kinda sad they're not the halogen torchiere lights that started all those fires - I never get to see if I could use one of those as a grill.
Bless my mother, but she looked at me and said I've always had no hair where my part is. If I've always had a hairline like I have now, then I've been the most oblivious person in the world for these past 21 years. And I suppose I've always had fistfuls of loose hair when washing my scalp, right Mom? I appreciate the concern, but this is one of those situation where you just gotta go, "Son, you look like crap. Go buy a wig, because I can't even look at you. In fact, I'm going to go throw up right now."
It's amazing how losing one's hair makes you forget about gaining weight. Honestly, increased girth is the last thing I'm worried about anymore. This is the greatest weight loss secret in America...
"Hi, I'm Jon Couture. You might know me from my all-star performances on As Schools Match Wits, WTBU's Radio V, and through my website, Cooch's World. Like you, I've struggled with weight for a number of years. But I've finally found the secret to mastering my problems... it's called, Go Bald."
I'm just full of advertising ideas. When the fam was at Bennigan's last night, I saw this on the menu:
"At Bennigan's, we've put the 'baby' back into our baby back ribs."
So of course I come up with the tagline...
"Now with 100% more real baby flavor!"
I am so fucking hilarious. Matt almost fell off his chair... course Matt also made an island out of his potatoes, then used his broccoli to make a tree in the middle of it.
November 8, 2001 - Not Ready For My Closeup
"Have you been knitting a quilt?"
"Drink Gatorade. Gatorade is a sexy drink."
"There's nothing wrong with taking care of business, and shopping at home."
-- Steve Cravak, the under-appreciated heart of Vito's 'Radio V' programme
Please bear in mind that, because of a multitude of reasons, I'm working on three hours of sleep. So please, for yourself and me, drop those expectations a little bit lower, will you?
Today was Senior Portrait day, the first time the "Holy crap, I'm graduating soon" syndrome is supposed to strike - it hit me when I was regisering for classes for the last time, but I'm a little out there. Portraits were the worst experience I've had in a while, not even considering I was wearing black shoes, white socks, a brown belt, tan pants and a blue blazer. I can hear the fashion police sounding the alarms already.
Of course I was in a rush, because if I wasn't, it just wouldn't feel natural. I run back from the Free Press at 2:30, get in the shower, and manage to get myself dressed by 3. I have to be to the GSU for 3:15, so my tying my tie on the first shot is nothing short of miraculous. Please bear in mind this has never happened before, and will never happen again. So now I'm out the door, in plenty of time to get to my appointment.
Course I get to the GSU and decide to run into the bathroom. Noticing myself in the mirror, I notice my tie is long enough to be covering my fly. So now I'm trying to disassemble myself in a public bathroom, meaning I'm unable to touch anything or anyone. With time now running short, I tie the thing and see it's too short. To compensate, I take the skinny end and tie it in a knot, to keep it hidden behind the important part. After this whole production, how pissed am I to find out none of it was even necessary.
Every one of these portrait people was insistent on calling me "Sir," and that just bothers me. I'm not a "sir," just don't call me anything, call me "you," I don't need the formality. So after a brief period of waiting and checking my fly, the sitting began. It was around then I entered the seventh circle of hell.
The first question I got asked was "Are you going to be keeping your glasses on?" My answer of yes elicited confusion from the photographer, as though you have to be a fuck-up to wear glasses in pictures in the year 2001. Apparently my wearing the glasses in wasn't enough of a sign I'd be wearing them in the picture. Why didn't she ask, "Are you going to be keeping your pants on?," because hell, I wore those in too.
So to eliminate glare, this woman took my glasses and tilted them up, at about a 45-degree angle - I'm told it won't be noticeable, but I wouldn't buy anything she's saying. Have you ever tried to wear glasses tilted up at a 45-degree angle? They don't rest on your ears, they just kind of hover on the side of your head, and if you move at all they fall off your face. So I'm here trying to keep my glasses of the floor, straighten my back, keep my chin down, my eyes on the lens... and she's asking me to smile. Yeah, that's gonna happen.
Just telling you now Mom: you want senior portraits, you better save your money and take them yourself.
The family's coming down for the weekend, so Matt can tour Northeastern. Course if he goes there, I'll shoot him. I don't think he could get in... he doesn't smoke enough pot to meet their requirements.
We've also got College Bowl this weekend, the merciful last of our four straight weekends. It's TRASH, it's the most fun, and the lovable Mark Beazley will be lodging at the Mountfort estate for the night. Suppose I should probably vacuum and wash the dishes that have been "soaking" since Tuesday. Meh.
So Meg and I went out to dinner tonight. We were hungry, we went to Uno's for dinner... and it suddenly struck me as to what I was doing. Granted it was more a trip of convenience than anything else (Pier One's sofas SUCK, and Trader Joe's isn't as bad a place as I thought), but still, it was Meg and I. I'm too tired to actually analyze things on paper right now, but it's worth noting.
I want my fucking hair back.
November 7, 2001 - Dapper
WTBU's Radio V... now with 100% more COOCH!
(Be like me, skip the songs and listen for banter... Comic GOLD.)
I have a question... who the hell put Bud Selig in charge of anything beyond dressing himself? This guy, I mean, this guy is not the guy. He wants to contract the Twins? The Marlins? Here's an idea... let's contract the Brewers. Shit team, ugly new ballpark, Wisconsin... sounds like a winner to me. Baby, this Bud's for YOU!
Speaking of people utterly inequipped to do their job, I've finally decided that Annie, the girl who bought latex gloves at the Mail Room after the anthrax scares, has gone completely useless and off the deep end. We were bogged down all day today, as the Undergrad office needed 5,600 copies of their Undergrad Scholarship Examination, plus a hand-placed wafer seal to keep the booklet closed. We had specific directions to place the wafer seals with the perforated line that spans the seal across the pages (rather than up and down - with the pages).
I just realized this is only something that would bother me, but I'll continue anyway.
We have a huge note saying this thing about the seals. I explain it, sit down by the copier and start getting my seal on. Fifteen minutes later, I look to see how far along my co-workers are. One of sealing away. The other is reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. The fact that she then proceeded to seal the tests incorrectly is entirely irrelevant... any graduate student at an American university reading Harry Potter while they're being paid to do anything needs to have their head examined. Examined or kicked, either one will do. Granted, she's a lingusitics student attempting to write a textbook for kids based on Potter, but she'd be reading it anyway. When later on in the day, she started cackling because we got a Ph.D. request letter "that was sooo cute" because the guy introduced himself in it, that sealed the deal.
I'm a horrible co-worker, but you gotta go with me on this one. I'm a horrible person to work with, but only because I long ago gave up believing people are anything but inherently stupid.
You ever heard of Trader Joe's, that alternative grocery store that sells hard-to-find products like fajitas in a bag and chapped cow's ass? I got a flyer for their newest store (downtown) today and became immediately intrigued. Which is funny, because Meg's always been in love with the place, and I've always been tainted to it because one Homecoming Weekend, my father went to the Cambridge one to buy snacks, and came back with these rubbery cheese curls and a trail mix made from engine parts and plumbing supplies. Supposedly though the place is gold, as most of my Nashua co-workers were enthralled by it, so I'm least gonna go look at it. Maybe they have hair tonic...
And finally, here comes the witty:
Ten Years Ago Today: Magic Johnson announced to the world he had contracted the HIV virus from being a playa, and I'm not talking basketball. He is alive and well as I write this.
Magic lives, yet police have pulled two bodies out of the Charles River (adjacent to BU) in the last 72 hours. There's a study in contrasts for you.
"I went out and bought a new suit and heels and all this stuff and I just wanted to tell someone."
-- Lisa, who's interviewing at the Globe tomorrow for an internship. Give 'em hell!
November 6, 2001 - Don't F With The Twins
Let it be known I opened my second six pound, ten ounce can of pineapple chunks this evening with just 20 turns of my can opener - which, it should be noted, is the same brand can opener used on Skylab. I swear this was on the packaging, as encouragement to buy it. I remember saying aloud, "Holy crap! This was on Skylab, I have to buy it!"
No I'm not kidding, I actually said that. And today, Professor Bacevich actually said this:
"Well, World War III probably would be pretty depressing, if you think about it."
-- I wish I could remember why this came up.
Sepaking of class, let's talk about Queer Class, because we haven't done that in a while. Yes, so how is Queer Class going, Cooch? Well italicized me, it blows. Why's that? Well, we got our newsletters back today. And I, thinking I had one of the best ones in the class, got a B-, B, B as my three grades. What so bad about that? Shouldn't you be happy? Fuck you, italics. I got railed, and I'm not talking FreeP "put quotes on the wall" style. Those are my lowest grades of the semester (which proves my schedule is, if nothing else, built for retarded people). Why do you suppose your grades were so low? Well, it could be because I don't understand the subtleties of design, that I don't give proper appreciation to the difficult task of typesetting and laying out a piece that remains consistent throughout. But I'm going with the "my professor is a stupidhead" theory most collegians use, with my tongue firmly and securely in my cheek.
I broke down and got a haircut tonight, to get myself ready for the Thursday yearbook pictures. On the plus side, there's no gaping holes on the top of my head now, other than the original gap along my part (that's beginning to look like it's been there all along.) However, I'm now convinced that if I let this go for another couple months, you're gonna be able to see through to my brain. I can't believe I'm actually saying this... next trip to Costco, I'm buying Rogaine. Minoxodil will soon become my new best friend. Yes, I really am that vain. When you have so little to work with, it's imperative that you keep it.
The U.S. Postal Service now owes me 32 cents, because their vending machine in Kenmore didn't have any way to give me change. How much of an ass am I gonna feel like when I go up to the counter and go, "Excuse me? I'd like to redeem my receipt here for 94% of a stamp, please. Yes sir, I have been waiting in like for twenty minutes to do it. Please stop laughing at me."
I suppose today wasn't all bad. The Daily Free Press, which let's remember, I quit at about six weeks ago, game me free tickets to Tuesday night's Bruins game against Montreal. Seems they gave the B's free ad space in exchange for tickets... now that's my kind of business. Of course I'm still getting shafted: Bill went to tonight's Oilers game and got to sit in $140 club seats. I'm not sure Bill could spell h-o-c-k-e-y... OK, he's not that bad. But my getting free seats halfway up the balcony in the corner is only made palpable because... they were free, dude!
And rumors are flying around that there's going to be a new sports columnist emerging in the next week or so... But I wouldn't know anything about that...
November 5, 2001 - Umbrella Shopping
Have you even noticed that French Onion Sun Chips taste exactly the same as Harvest Cheddar Sun Chips? How is this possible if both are as advertised? Onions and cheese do not even come close to tasting the same. Prove it to yourself. Eat a mouthful of grated cheese, then a mouthful of onion powder, and tell me you can't tell the difference.
Actually, please don't do that. I don't know how impressionable you kids are nowadays.
I've had to defer to not doing my latest FreeP story, on the thrilling world of ATM fees, due tojust overwhelming workload in other things. This is only going to be the second time I've had to back out of writing a story, and the first one was more a matter of principle than a matter of me slacking off. [NOTE: If I tell you I'm going home for the weekend, do not assign me a story and expect me to write it.] As it works out, I won't be writing tonight either like I'd planned, because after telling the city editor I wanted to cover something for Tuesday's Boston mayoral election, I proceeded to be forgotten and ignored.
The Free Press, as most of the staff will proudly tell you, received one of twenty Pacemaker awards this past week. The award cites the paper for being one the most outstanding collegiate papers in the country and, as all the other winners have faculty advisors, means that the Daily Free Press is officially the number one independent student newspaper in the country. Am I proud of us, and I am saying us because i was involved? Yes. Does it surprise me? Yes, a whole hell of a lot. This semester especially (which we weren't judged on for the award), the lack of professionalism I've seen in the DFP is physically palpable.
I don't want to rip into anybody too much, because a) it would be sour grapes and b) the work the staff does now is very strong, considering people's other responsibilities, but something still needs to be said. I sent in a submission tonight for... well, maybe you'll find out tomorrow what it was for... , and never received any confirmation that anyone had gotten it or would read it. Only through IMs to people did I find out it had gotten there, and to this moment I don't know if anyone read it or not. Granted, this is something I could have avoided with a phone call, but it's not like the paper is being deluged with 900-word submissions. The least I should get is a quick, "Hey, we got this thing, thanks." Least that's my take on it.
And really, if you're reading this site, having to listen to what my take on stuff is probably what you're after. I have more to say, but I also have class.
I need a haircut, but I'm afraid to find out what's left on the lower layers of my scalp. Though I guess that's what hats are for.
BU 1 - 1 New Hampshire
UNH always has been good at kissing their sister...
|@ WBA - 11/4/01
"[BU’s Brian McConnell] was coming down the right-hand side and I just laid down to take away the five-hole," said Carney, still sporting tape on his left wrist with the words "BU-win-focus" written in marker. "The shot hit my pads and I saw it go out into the slot. I knew [Pandolfo] would try to go over me so the only thing I could put up was my leg. Then I realized that I might actually have a chance and it did hit me."
-- UNH Goalie Matt Carney, whose desperation kick from his back with 26 seconds left in the overtime kept the Terriers from first place in Hockey East... for now.
Unblemished? No. Unbeaten? Yes, and for the time until our Friday game in Orono, I will remain unable to figure out how that's possible. For two periods tonight, the Terriers were dominated in nearly every aspect by the #12 Wildcats. They were outhustled, outshot, outplayed and outmanned, yet by the grace of Sean Fields, escaped unscathed. This win belongs almost solely to him, with a slight nod going to the man I've taken to calling "Freschetta," Frantisek Skladany.
Walter Brown was about 600 short of sellout last night, a phenomenon I continue to not understand. Ranked #8, playing #12, a hated rival, and we can't fill the barn up. Logic tells me the bandwagon jumpers should be intching for a chance to get behind a winner now, but maybe that's still a few weeks off. The Wildcats did a decent job of filling Section 1, though their repetoire of cheers began and ended with "U-N-H! U-N-H! U-N-H!" Very sad, and easily diffused with a well-placed "Sucks!" after each round. Course I can't ask for much, being that there's a 60% chance they don't teach the alphabet in Durham.
Considering the team couldn't stand in numerical order during the national anthem, which is something even bantam teams do, it's quite possible they don't teach numbers either. But anyway...
The past few seasons, one of BU's biggest problems has been a lack of desire to shoot the puck. Pass up the wing, skate around, let the defender slide in front of you, pass to the wing, circle the net, pass to the point, pass to the other point... you get the idea. I had thought, given the shot totals from the first four games, that this was lost and gone forever. Not so, as we were outshot throughout the game, for the first time all season. I can only assume the team was tired, having played a very physical, draining league game on Friday night, but still, just throw the damn puck at the goal and see what happens! No one awards goals for the finest deke.
Fatigue played a major factor against us in the first two periods. While there was less "puck's next to my skate and I can't find it," there were many more missed passes and giveaways than I've seen all season. UNH essentially ran roughshod over us until the third, when we came out fired up and firing shots.
The game's only goals were scored within a minute of each other, midway through the third. UNH struck first, on a rush by Hemingway up the right wing. Blowing by our two pursuing defenders, he deked Fields to the ground and stuffed it in the left side, completely flattening an already quiet crowd. Having seen how we were playing, one goal seemed like all it was gonna take, until Skladany scored on a give-and-go (forget what I said about passing earlier) to equalize.
We had our strongest rushes in the last minute of each period, none as strong as at the end of overtime when Carney made a save that left even Pandolfo giving him a slap on the pads.
I feel lucky to have gotten the tie; had Tapp been playing, we'd have lost at least 4-1. Not much else to say about this one, other than if you were watching the game on FOX Sports New England, I was on TV sometime during the second (period or intermission). I was the guy in the blue hat and jersey, sitting next to the girl in the USA Baseball T-shirt. [In hindsight, wearing a Nashua Pride baseball cap to a game against UNH was horrible karma. This tie's on me, gang.]
November 4, 2001 - Purple 1, Satan 0
I'm getting extremely tired of these animated advertisements that just kind of cruise over your browser screen while you're trying to read something. I'm on ESPN.com this morning, trying to read some story about the 15-2 sodomy the Diamondbacks inflicted on Das Yankees last night, and these dollar aroumts start raining down across the screen and collecting at the bottom. It was an adding for Sprint Long Distance, to tell me "my savings could just start piling up!" Know what Sprint? I go to college. I love savings, but I hate you.
Remember on September 1st, when I sounded the death knell for a certain baseball team that's getting no mention here until April 2002? At halftime of the Giants game today, I started writing up another one. There's only one thing in NFL 2001 worse than losing to the Washington Redskins: losing to the Dallas Cowboys the week after you lose to the Washington Redskins. This is one of those games where I'm actually glad FOX-25 doesn't show football doubleheaders in the Boston area, because before my G-Men came back to win, I'd have given myself a concussion.
Today was far from the greatest day in my sporting life. Despite the Bears heroics to beat Cleveland, my sports gambling career ended today when the Saints somehow lost to the J-E-T-S at home. Total profit? $56. BU Hockey, despite a third-period outburst where they remembered how to shoot the puck, tarnished an unblemished record with a tie against New Hampshire. However, neither of these results can wipe the smile from my face, because of what happened in today's sporting main event. Perhaps Nick Cardamone, hockey writer for the Free Press, said it best.
"That was my dream for 2001... to see Paul O'Neill go out of baseball crying like a little bitch."
Thank you Diamondbacks, for winning the World Series trophy your manager tried to so hard to make you lose.
November 3, 2001 - Sofa?! What Sofa?
Can I just ask a question? How much of a dipstick do you have to be to assign your stress level a percentage in your Instant Messenger profile each day? Course if you look at his picture on the link above, I don't think you'll question the truth of my statement.
So today was a BUCB first - two tournaments in the same day. I'm pretty sure that it will also be a BUCB last, because things were just disastrous - least by our standards. We had the ACF Fall Tournament in the morning and early afternoon, then the late addition, a mirror of the Discordia Singles Tournament, filled in the rest of the time before vampires and assholes kicked us out of our rooms.
For those of you unfamiliar with my CB speak, ACF stands for "Hi. We like to write really long questions about shit you don't know or care about, then charge host schools $25 a team to ensure hosting our event was a complete waste of their time." Truth be told, the question we played on yesterday were slightly better than the ACF I started boycotting when I took over, but still fall into the realm of things I don't know, don't want to know and never will know. My scheduling had each round taking a half hour, and things being over by 4:30 at the absolute worst. The questions were so droning, rounds ran long, I had to push the schedule back, and that's 4:30 thing became a reality.
So now we're running right under the gun, and we've got 14 people looking to play in a singles quiz tournament that I didn't even want to run in the first place (In a continuing effort to look less like the club's dictatorial overlord, I let the team vote whether or not to hold this singles thing. Course I figured they'd say no.). Of course Erik Nielsen, the shaved-head ogre who wanted to do this in the first place, wanted to play in it, so I was left to half-ass run it. Our main room reservations ended at six, so when BU's Van Helsing Society of live-action role players came to use the main auditorium we were in, I relocated to one of the two "held until 7 p.m." rooms that Buildings & Grounds hadn't locked because we weren't using it. So at about 6:45, we'e about two-thirds of the way through our round robin, and in walks an Indian guy with a wisp of a moustache and a Brian Boitano-esque poofy white shirt.
Guy: "Excuse me, how much longer are you going to be using this room for?"
Cooch: "Oh, I'd say we'll be done in about a half hour."
Guy: "No. You'll be done at exactly seven o'clock. We have this room reserved from six p.m. to midnight, and our reservations overlapped by an hour. You may have this room until exactly seven o'clock."
It was at this point my mind and my body diverged.
Instinct: "Sure thing, fairy. If you want, we can get out of here at five of seven, so you can get all your elaborate dildos laid out on a table beforehand, so your time here won't be wasted on logistics when it should be spent doing what you do best: taking it up the ass. I have a better idea though. Why don't you get out of my classroom, sit your bony ass down in the hallway, and I'll come and get you when we're done, OK?"
Cutting the last round and a half from the round robin, we blew straight through to the finals, whose matchup was already determined. I felt like a complete ass, being that we're supposed to be the competent tournament host, but no one seemed to mind other than me. It was good finals match, taking about 10 minutes because I was reading and Mike Usher (MIT) and Vik Vaz (Harvard) are rain men.
Meg then cooked me dinner, an offer I took her up on because a) I'm saving that thawed chicken in my fridge for next Halloween to use as a toupee and b) the thought of cleaning the Foreman Grill after use was not something I looked forward to. That and she was making pot stickers, and you can't go wrong with marijuana on an empty stomach.
I am so not funny.
She's got a picture of me in front of the sign demarcating the Continental Divide in Colorado where if you squint really hard, I look attractive. That thing will be up here before too long, I promise you that.
Should I acutally go through with buying a sofa tomorrow, you're getting a picture of it along with the hockey update Sunday. And if any of you spill anything on it, I'm mopping it up with your tongue.
BU 4 - 3 Northeastern
Boy, do I love being wrong.
|@ WBA - 11/2/01
A game like this is what Hockey East is all about: a rocking building packed to the rafters by fans of both sides, quality hockey throughout, and a game not decided until the final buzzer. Course, the fact that we won it helps me to feel that way.
Before the game began, I predicted we would lose tonight's game, but come back to earn a weekend split by beating UNH on Sunday. Nine minutes in, with the score 2-0 bad guys, I was in my "God, I hate being so smart" mode. We were dominating play, blowing chance after chance in front of the net (including a flurry where we had to have about six viable scoring chances in twenty seconds, with a hit post the closest we'd get), while the Huskies were converting on everything. Halfway through the period, we had double the shots, they had double the goals. To outshoot your opponent 20-6 and leave the ice feeling lucky to be tied is not something anyone should try repeating anytime soon.
It was one of those games that you just felt like we were going to let slip away. I was struck by the number of times our guys would be skating around with no clue that the puck was about three inches from their skates. I can understand why this happens, but it just seemed odd that tonight it happened repeatedly all game long. Fields was not sharp in the first two periods, as the scoreline no doubt shows. We couldn't hit the broadside of a barn and they couldn't miss. I chanted "Fuck 'em Up, Fuck 'em Up" what seemed like 34 times, but we could not put home a power play goal. As the third period began with it 3-3, I said to Justin, "This is a big period. Not just in a this game sense, but in a whole season sense." He may not have heard me, as my voice was giving out halfway through the second -- WBA was as loud as it's been since DiPietro left... I'm now Section 8 for life.
If we play every third period like we played the one tonight, the Icedogs are going to be a team no one wants to fuck with. Sean Fields was hardly spectacular, but he was more than adequate to every that came his way. John 'Psycho' Sabo, after being tackled by a guy named "Judy" earlier in the game, proceeded to knock Northeastern's Jason Guerriero (least I think it was him) into sometime in December - we're talking one of those hits where the guy has to crawl off the ice because standing just isn't an option.
And at 3:35 of the third, co-captain Chris Dyment put a skipping pass top shelf, giving us the shorthanded goal that would prove the game winner and almost causing Justin and I to leap five feet in the air. Needless to say, Meg, Hypho and Allyson think we've lost our minds, but considering we were in Section 8, we blended in just fine.
I don't know what else to say, and given that I have to get to CAS, I won't say much. We look damn good, and a win Sunday puts first place in the conference back where it belongs: on Babcock Street.
November 2, 2001 - In A Rush
Today was one of those days where I had to get a lot of BUCB planning done, for our tournament on Saturday. So of course, it was the busiest day we've had at the Mail Room since 1884. Undergraduate department needed their scholarship exam done, grad department needed their applications done, every professor needed their tests copied... what the hell. If I wanted a job where I had to work to make money, I'd go to McDonald's.
There was an extra pressure to get stuff done early today, given that the BU-NU hockey game was looming for the evening. Course I could still do stuff afterw... oh wait, but the Free Press told me they had two kegs they needed some help with after the game. And they're so much easier to lift when they're empty.
It never fails to amaze me that at every FreeP party, the amount of sexual tension in the room would be enough to kill a room full of elderly people or young children. After hockey, dinner and cleaning up, I unlock the office door and let myself in to a chorus of people screaming, "COOOOOCH!!!" Of course they were all drunk, but is there any better feeling than walking into a party and getting the "Norm on Cheers" treatment? Anyway, I walk in, and within thirty seconds I'm grabbed by a girl I don't even particularly like, and I'm being groped and having my ear licked. It's like the whole staff just needs to have an orgy every six to seven days or so... it's like cleaning a rabbit's cage. In both cases, a tarp should be laid out first, to protect valuables.
"I am a Benefits Administrator. That means I get to talk to professors who are retarded."
-- Anonymous, in response to the question "So, what exactly is your job here at the university?"
November 1, 2001 - Truly, The Evil Empire
[Coen got added to the Posse page today, plus Jon Rea and Lisa got their ghastly pictures changed. Go there now, and send in your own pic to get on there too!]
For a fleeting moment tonight, I thought about how great it must be to be a Yankee fan. To know every time you take the field in a big game, no matter the score, no matter the situation, you're going to win. Down two runs in the ninth? You win. Facing elimination against a team better than you? You win. Forced to rely on players like Jim Leyritz, Luis Sojo and Scott Brosius in the clutch? It doesn't make a difference.
No words can properly describe what happened on that diamond in the Bronx tonight. It's not even as much that I'm angry because New York found the way to win again, but that this team repeatedly finds the way to escape at every turn. To even dream what happened tonight would be far fetched, never mind to have it happen... two nights in a row.
There's only one thing left to say.
ALBIE FUCKING LOPEZ?
The Series in on the line, and you point to a guy who sucked with the Devil Rays? How do you have a job?!?!
2001:  -  -  -  -  -