A Little of Everything

Thoughts on...

The Gym

I don't think I'd be able to work at one of these places, especially if it was my responsibility to sell memberships. I'd most likely end up laughing in the face of a good portion of the people trying to sign up. And yes, I would've laughed at myself.

I saw a really huge girl trying to use the back machine today, and I spent a good twenty minutes trying to figure out what kind of boat she equated to. Tugboat didn't seem like enough, and houseboat just wasn't working. U-boat may have worked if she'd been working out in leiderhosen. I finally settled on something that made me laugh out loud and lose my grip on the biceps curl: she's not a tugboat or a houseboat or a U-boat, she's a god damn gravy boat!

Unfortunately, the back of her shirt pulled up a bit everytime she used the machine, revealing a tattoo that probably would've worked better on someone else: "Princess" written in flowery script. Of course, it's also entirely possible that this tattoo was to commemorate something she ate, as she appeared able to devour your average bulimic in a single gulp. I wasn't nearly as concerned with the tattoo's origin as I was with its future. The skin supporting it looked a bit flabby and loose. So let's say she goes to the gym regularly and avoids the damn Dairy Queen...that flab is going to go away, and the tattoo may contract a bit to match. There seems to be a very good chance that "Princess" could become "Piss," and that would just be hilarious.


The Fucking Weather

I understand how people can like snow. It looks ok on the way down, and there's something serene and (gasp!) almost pretty about a field of untouched snow.

But what happens in Boston when the temperature drops below 32 degrees Farenheit and the clouds open up isn't snow, it's a natural fucking disaster. There's nothing beautiful or pristine about winter in this city, unless maybe you're on the common or on crystal meth.

Crossing the street becomes like trying to raid a castle surrounded by a 30 foot moat.

You'd better do your best to avoid walking too close to the curb unless you want to look like the loser of a mud wrestling contest because some douche bag on a cell phone couldn't get his SUV around a pothole. People do their best to avoid the cracks in the street during the warmer months, but I swear they start aiming for them as soon as they're full of icy muck.

And you can tell this storm came up the coast. I swear certain piles of snow smell like New Jersey.


Deal or No Deal

I caught a bit of this show while eating dinner in Flan's tonight. For whatever reason, I'm much more inclined to watch TV when said set is on the other side of a bar than I am when it's in the middle of someone's living room.

Anyone who laughs at me for watching professional wrestling and then turns on Deal or No Deal and thinks they aren't being hypocritical deserves a kick in whatever they have for reproductive organs.

Deal or No Deal generally tries to be as ridiculously melodramatic as possible while showing off some good looking girls and making the occasional joke that isn't really funny - and this is different from wrestling how? If they gave Howie Mandel cool entrance music and lit off fireworks when he walked onto the set to start a show, I'd be half expecting "Stone Cold" Steve Austin to climb out from under the stage and whack him in the back of the head with a briefcase labeled 3:16.

It really grates on me whenever Howie says something like "You've got to keep the $750,000 in play." As if the contestant has any control over his or her own dumb luck. Look at how skillfully she selects number 12! Great form!

And is this the same Howie Mandel that used to put on one of the dirtiest comedy acts I've ever seen? If so, who castrated him?