(no subject)
Today should have been better than it was.
I mean, I was at Fenway Park on Opening Day after my favorite team won the World Series. I got to see them raise the championship banner, I got to see them all receive their rings commemorating the victory. I got to see BASEBALL again, but...
It was cold. Not so bad outside, but in the park it was testicle-fusingly cold. I've been to October games that weren't nearly as wintery. My penis is officially an ornament now. It should have a label on the side of it warning you not to leave it in extreme temperatures for prolonged periods of time. On the positive side, no need to ever look for a girl again.
The phrase, "The friendly confines of Fenway" is outdated. I got practically molested by an old drunk who I've decided to call Uncle Mustache. This happened not once but TWICE. He was sitting in the row behind me and got up for beer (surprised?), using me to steady his trashed ass. Look, I don't have a problem with people giving you a quick pat on the arm or back to let you know they're there and excusing themselves as they pass. This fuckhead was in full-on Buster Bluth mode, gripping my shoulders like he was about to give me a Goddamn massage. I felt uncomfortable and sort of violated but let it slide, muttering something about how he's probably a pedophile under my breath.
Then he did it again. I didn't like this guy to begin with because his voice had the back-of-the-nasal-cavity timbre of a smoke alarm. Honestly, because I didn't see this guy at first, I thought he was a 13-year-old kid. That made his language a course for concern. I counted six utterances of "cocksucker" from him, which is one thing if you're in the bleachers. But we were twenty rows back from the backstop microphone and there was a preteen girl there with her father two seats to his left. Where's your filter? Heckle the players all you want, because we know you're going to. But keep it clean, for fuck's sake.
Anyway, the second time I looked at him and said, "get your hands off me." He was startled. He didn't think that in a million years, anybody would have the gall to tell him to keep his extremities to himself. The response I got was, "What? You a little touchy?" Knowing who was around me, I stood up and said loud enough only for him to hear, "No, YOU'RE touchy, and I don't appreciate it. Keep your fucking hands off me." Jerkoff.
Maybe I'm just tired, I don't know. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night, and had to get up early to take my car to the garage and then walk to the train station. There was a lot of walking today.
The Tubs album was supposed to come out today. The link to the downloads magically disappeared from the Amazon page last night. What the Christ? This is why I didn't get any sleep last night. I was up til 4:30 in the morning waiting for it to show up on Amazon or iTunes or Rhapsody or something, anything. No such luck. And no explanation from anyone as to why it's not ready for release. The physical CD album is supposed to be out on the 29th, I'm not counting on that anymore.
It wasn't all bad. The Sox won. The Tigers are still winless. Dice-K left the game after 6 2/3 of nearly flawless pitching, to a standing ovation. I got a sweet new hat. I hung out with Emily for a few minutes while she was working the MikeFM event at Who's On First?.
Just for once though, I want something to go well. I want something to go right, to go the way it was supposed to. Just for once.
This is why I'm giving serious thought to moving cross-country.
I mean, I was at Fenway Park on Opening Day after my favorite team won the World Series. I got to see them raise the championship banner, I got to see them all receive their rings commemorating the victory. I got to see BASEBALL again, but...
It was cold. Not so bad outside, but in the park it was testicle-fusingly cold. I've been to October games that weren't nearly as wintery. My penis is officially an ornament now. It should have a label on the side of it warning you not to leave it in extreme temperatures for prolonged periods of time. On the positive side, no need to ever look for a girl again.
The phrase, "The friendly confines of Fenway" is outdated. I got practically molested by an old drunk who I've decided to call Uncle Mustache. This happened not once but TWICE. He was sitting in the row behind me and got up for beer (surprised?), using me to steady his trashed ass. Look, I don't have a problem with people giving you a quick pat on the arm or back to let you know they're there and excusing themselves as they pass. This fuckhead was in full-on Buster Bluth mode, gripping my shoulders like he was about to give me a Goddamn massage. I felt uncomfortable and sort of violated but let it slide, muttering something about how he's probably a pedophile under my breath.
Then he did it again. I didn't like this guy to begin with because his voice had the back-of-the-nasal-cavity timbre of a smoke alarm. Honestly, because I didn't see this guy at first, I thought he was a 13-year-old kid. That made his language a course for concern. I counted six utterances of "cocksucker" from him, which is one thing if you're in the bleachers. But we were twenty rows back from the backstop microphone and there was a preteen girl there with her father two seats to his left. Where's your filter? Heckle the players all you want, because we know you're going to. But keep it clean, for fuck's sake.
Anyway, the second time I looked at him and said, "get your hands off me." He was startled. He didn't think that in a million years, anybody would have the gall to tell him to keep his extremities to himself. The response I got was, "What? You a little touchy?" Knowing who was around me, I stood up and said loud enough only for him to hear, "No, YOU'RE touchy, and I don't appreciate it. Keep your fucking hands off me." Jerkoff.
Maybe I'm just tired, I don't know. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night, and had to get up early to take my car to the garage and then walk to the train station. There was a lot of walking today.
The Tubs album was supposed to come out today. The link to the downloads magically disappeared from the Amazon page last night. What the Christ? This is why I didn't get any sleep last night. I was up til 4:30 in the morning waiting for it to show up on Amazon or iTunes or Rhapsody or something, anything. No such luck. And no explanation from anyone as to why it's not ready for release. The physical CD album is supposed to be out on the 29th, I'm not counting on that anymore.
It wasn't all bad. The Sox won. The Tigers are still winless. Dice-K left the game after 6 2/3 of nearly flawless pitching, to a standing ovation. I got a sweet new hat. I hung out with Emily for a few minutes while she was working the MikeFM event at Who's On First?.
Just for once though, I want something to go well. I want something to go right, to go the way it was supposed to. Just for once.
This is why I'm giving serious thought to moving cross-country.