One of the results of this mood had me reading the AP wire with added cynicism, and in order to pass the time, I find it necessary to share a few things I came up with here.
1. Extending the once a cheater, always a cheater notion:
A man who fatally stabbed his first wife in 1981 is accused of attacking his second wife with a knife in the same home, authorities said.
Christine Groth, 53, was taken to a hospital Tuesday after she crawled bleeding onto the porch.
The couple married in 1991, nearly 10 years after Joseph Groth pleaded guilty to involuntary manslaughter charges in the stabbing death of his first wife.
Sorry, but this lady was asking for it.
2. Check the logistics of your plan ahead of time:
Mechanics inspecting a United Airlines jet that had just arrived from China found a dead body in the nose gear Thursday.
He said the person apparently had crawled inside the nose gear's housing intentionally, suggesting an attempted stowaway. It's been attempted before, he said, "but it's never been successful."
"At altitude, there's no air to breathe and it's maybe minus-40 degrees for 12 hours," McCarron said.
3. And this column being promoed on Yahoo! has been pissing me off for a week now:
3 Life Lessons from Country Music
COME ON, SERIOUSLY!?!?
Ugh. Click here if you're the least bit interested by what this has to say, but don't tell me about it. I WILL judge you.
Oh, and Yahoo! people, spell out a numeral at the beginning of a sentence. Thanks.
Today, I witnessed (and was forced into being somewhat a part of) an expansion of this ridiculous philosophy in Qdoba. (Guys who are reading this, please own up and leave a comment explaining your reasoning if you do this. I'll still think you are ridiculous, but try to explain yourself. I'll at least think you can stand your ground.)
So, the situation: Melina has been sick, so I ventured to Qdoba by myself this week. While many would just take their order to go, I still feel it necessary to eat in the restaurant so I can get a refill on my soda to take back to the office. ;)
At this time, there are only two tables available in the restaurant, one a two-top and one with two tables pushed together for four. I head for the single table, but a guy steps in to sit there right ahead of me. I figure I'll sit at the other one and push the other table over a bit to separate and not monopolize the whole thing.
So, I sit down, and the guy who took the two-top asks if I am going to be using all four chairs. I tell him no, and that he is welcome to take that table (wondering why he sat at the smaller one in the first place).
He says, "That's OK, there are only three of us."
I find that odd, but put my earphones back in and go about eating my nachos.
Then his friends come to sit down. See in the diagram below, how they leave the tables the same, but one sits with me, one at the side-end of the other table, and the guy who started all this (labeled "First offender") sits in the crack with no real table space ... and they do this without hesitation as if nothing at all is out of the ordinary.
Please, please explain to me why the three of them would not sit at a four-top table to eat together like the rest of the normal world ... and don't try the "maybe they were hoping to converse" because I listened to my mp3 player the whole time thinking to myself that they were complete idiots. And being weirded out.
I'm still shocked at how weak this makes my bad dating stories. Mine (reference April 16, 2007, blog) aren't even in this league! I guess that's a good thing. ;)
Watching the nation's fireworks show over the National Mall for the second year, all I could think was, "Wow. This is the one time of year I think I will actually always miss New
It seems every Fourth of July, I've still remembered how great it was to sit around that pond to watch the fireworks. Richard Franklin would be nice enough to go out early with blankets to stake out our spot. We'd hang around until late afternoon at the house (usually Shel's), then go down to get food at the fish fry, an elephant ear, a lemon shake-up, play some silly games where you could win a 2-liter of soda, a goldfish or something equally as useless, and you always knew you would run into some people you hadn't seen since school let out in May because EVERYONE went to New Richmond for the fireworks.
It was nice. It was the middle of summer. There was always that one ground firework with the annoying whine, loud boom and flash of light at the end that I HATED, but then there would be the waterfall firework to make up for it. I loved waiting to see what character would be made out of lights at the finale with the "See you in 19XX" tag. And most importantly, when it was over, you knew you still had a whole month and a half left before school started again.
I can't remember the last time I was in New Richmond for the Fourth, and I know that it couldn't feel the same now. There's no more summer break, and it's back to work tomorrow. There's no hope of seeing the person you had a crush on that year. It's not really exciting to be able to stay up past midnight anymore ... but I still remember the feeling those things brought when I'm watching fireworks on the Fourth ...
Other notes from the day:
The outcome of the Cubs/Nats game was not so nice from my point of view, but it WAS nice to finally see a game at RFK that actually seemed to have fans. I think there were about 39,000 there. Usually it's somewhere like 22,000 ... and in that stadium, 22,000 seems like it's only about 5,000. Horrible.
Am I mistaken in thinking that the nacho cheese is a given when ordering nachos? Today, I tell the woman at the concession booth that I want nachos with jalapenos. My standard order. This time though, she brings me back a tray with ONLY tortilla chips and jalapenos. I look strangely at them, and say that I want cheese, too, to which she says, "Oh, well you just said that you wanted nachos and jalapenos." I said, "Well, yeah, I didn't know I had to specify cheese." Weird.
I've always kind of preferred to go to the concession stand to get my food at the game, and today I witnessed the reason my subconscious has told me to do so. The guy with the hot dog contraption came huffing and puffing up the steps toward me, and I looked over just in time to see sweat drip from his brow down onto the packets of ketchup and mustard. Nice. Beer is maybe OK, but you know they're sweating down into that ice water those cans and bottles are in, too.
I'll leave you to ponder that.