Park Street Rambler

Josh Sneed is Frickin' Hilarious

noreply@blogger.com (Park Street Rambler) — Sat, 16 Jan 2010 04:16:00 +0000

Lately, I've been watching Comedy Central's stand-up clips on demand. Today, I stumbled on a seven-minute segment from Josh Sneed who is easily one of the funniest comics I have ever seen. His timing, facial expressions and onslaught of side-splitting anecdotes make for a hilarious routine. In short, he brings the funny.

Here's a clip from the segment I watched:

Jokes.com

Josh Sneed - Chuck E. Cheese Pizza Oven

comedians.comedycentral.com

Joke of the Day

Stand-Up Comedy

Free Online Games

If you like Sneed's stuff as much as I do, you should vote for him here. Comedy Central is hosting a Stand-Up Showdown and will honor the comic who receives the most votes.

What are your favorite comedians?

My Goals for 2010

noreply@blogger.com (Park Street Rambler) — Sat, 02 Jan 2010 16:20:00 +0000

With the dawn of a brand new year, I've been pondering all the stuff I'd like to accomplish in 2010. I've got a bunch of ideas, but of course the hard part is seeing each goal to fruition. So, I have created the following list, which will give me something to consult throughout the year and help me measure my success.

To Do List for 2010:

Run a 10K
Go on a road trip (avoid Nebraska)
Write novel or collection of short stories
Learn to rap like Jay-Z
Watch marathon of my favorite childhood movies (i.e., Goonies, Breakfast Club, Star Wars, The Beastmaster, etc.)
Try stand-up comedy
Date Alicia Keys [My wife is OK with this because she doubts my chances... what does she know??]
Watch less (reality) TV
Remember people's names
Go on a deep sea fishing trip; catch a marlin with a bad temper
Invent a time machine
Use time machine to go back to the moment the Sox won the 1918 World Series
Get that stupid Miley Cyrus song out of my head
Start of fire without using matches
Eat more bacon
Get ripped abs
Drink better booze
Become independently wealthy
Sky dive
Learn how to play guitar like U2's The Edge
Get nickname like "The Edge"
Set my hideously embarrassing car on fire and push it out to sea. [Driving my car is seriously like wearing tall, black socks and sandals in public]
Avoid social disasters, especially in elevators and at cocktail parties
Post updates to this blog more often

So, that's my list. What's yours? With any luck we'll accomplish all of our goals this year.

Photo Credit: H.Koppdelaney

Dogs Most Likely to Cause Allergic Reactions

noreply@blogger.com (Park Street Rambler) — Thu, 17 Dec 2009 02:21:00 +0000

Recently, I called my brother to chat. We shot the bull about what was new and what we were planning to get our folks for Christmas. During our conversation, I let him know that my wife and I were considering getting a dog and I joked that he probably wouldn't be to happy -- the poor kid is terribly allergic to dogs and cats. He then asked me what breed I had in mind. I told him we were thinking about stopping by the shelter to pick of a Wheaton Lung Plugger.

He howled with laughter and after we hung up, what ensued was a flurry of text messages, each of us trying to outdo the other with a breed more likely to cause an allergic reaction. This is our list:

Scottish Wheezer
Lhasa Achu
Stuffed Nosed Collie
Sneazing Walker Coon Hound
Schnneagle
Cocker Choo
Miniature Sinus Pincher
Long Haired Albuterol

...and my favorite...

Red Faced Lung Terrier

Ok. I realize that this may seem corny and a bit childish. The truth is I simply don't care. At the time it struck me so funny that people at the office thought I was losing my mind as I tried to contain body-shaking giggles.

Have any good suggestions for our list?

Photo Credit: E3000

Anyone for an AdultBjörn?

noreply@blogger.com (Park Street Rambler) — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 02:38:00 +0000

Who else thinks BabyBjörn missed out on an amazing marketing opportunity when they decided not to make an AdultBjörn?

Seriously. Life would be so much easier if I had someone to carry me around all day in a little shoulder hammock. I could even sleep while in transit.

Want to go to the mall, work, the in-laws, a concert, the DMV??

Sure! I'll get my Björn!

So, what makes babies so special that they get to have all the comforts of life? Why can't we adults have the same transport options?

The time for an AdultBjörn is now! Of course, it would probably be hard to convince other folks to carry us, but we'll get there when we get there.

In the meantime, I'll be designing my own personal Björn. Soon BabyBjörn will be sorry they never expanded beyond the baby market.

Photo Credit: Sean Dreilinger

What's your name again?

noreply@blogger.com (Park Street Rambler) — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 02:42:00 +0000

Every now and then I'll meet someone, exchange pleasantries and then promptly forget my new acquaintance's name. In some cases, I'm so busy fretting about how to make a great first impression, I never commit their name to memory in the first place, ironically condemning myself to a slew of future awkward encounters.

People tend to be forgiving about name reminders if it's your second meeting. But, at some point, the thought of asking becomes so embarrassing that you'd rather go on for the rest of your life saying "Hey there! How are you doing?" than actually broach the subject.

So, what is the point of no return? Is it after one meeting, two, three?

I tend to think you're in trouble if you haven't figured it out by the third encounter. In which case, I highly recommend adopting a nickname for your new friend to hide the fact that you're an idiot.

Here are just a few endearing nicknames you might use:

Chief
Captain
Love
Buddy
Bro
Shorty
Man
Sport
You
Pal
Jam Master J

Of course, if the person in question has a distinguishing feature, you might model a save-your-ass nickname after this trait. For example, you might call someone with red hair, "Ol' Red" or if they're retaining water, you might call them "Cankles."

What works for you?

Photo Credit: ~BostonBill~

embarrassment hangover [n.]

noreply@blogger.com (Park Street Rambler) — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 00:12:00 +0000

embarrassment [N.] \im-ˈber-ə-smənt, -ˈba-rəs-\
something that embarrasses

hangover [N.] \ˈhaŋ-ˌō-vər\
something that remains from what is past

Has this ever happened to you? You're driving along -- perhaps you're on a long road trip -- and your mind starts to wander. You think of that nice vacation you had in Maine or maybe the punchline of a joke comes to mind. You grin to yourself as you hop and skip from fleeting thought to fleeting thought. You might even start humming some jingle you heard on the radio as the road's yellow lines race past your car.

Then, without warning, you remember an event from your past so horrifyingly embarrassing and vivid, it forces an audible "arrghh" from your lungs and startles any passengers who may be along for the ride.

What you've just experienced is something I like to call an embarrassment hangover:

embarrassment hangover [N.] \im-ˈber-ə-smənt, -ˈba-rəs-\ \ˈhaŋ-ˌō-vər\
the experience of suddenly remembering and reliving an embarrassing moment from the past

Embarrassment hangovers can be triggered by a wide range of stimuli ranging from a friend's story to a song on the radio. But no matter what the catalyst, the experience is bound to be unpleasant as you relive a social disaster from your past.

It might be the time you peed your pants in gym class. It could be that moment you accidentally copied the entire company on an intimate email. It could even be the time you danced like a complete ass at a friend's wedding.

No matter what, the memory hits you and it hits you hard. In some cases, the memory is so powerful that you actually forget what you're doing at the present moment. After a few minutes of intense shame, you suddenly realize people are talking to you:

"Hey are you ok? Is something on your mind," they ask.

You make up a story: "Oh. I was just thinking about all the stuff I have to do on Monday."

But your next embarrassment hangover is lurking there somewhere in the recesses of your mind, just waiting to pounce and make you feel like an idiot at the most inconvenient time.

Ever had an embarrassment hangover? What was the source of your humiliation?

Photo Credit: Striatic

Dazed and Confused at IKEA

noreply@blogger.com (Park Street Rambler) — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 19:59:00 +0000

Have you ever noticed that IKEA has the same layout and design as a casino? No doors, windows or clocks, bright lights everywhere and a steady supply of crisp, cool air to keep your head up and your wallet out.

Not to mention the entire place is a maze of epic proportions. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if the skeletons of a few unsuspecting shoppers were found in the corner of a room display with a Poang or a Klubbo clutched by their brittle little fingertips.

Every time I go with my wife, I'm determined to resist the beast and not buy a single lampshade or desktop organizer. Not one damn Swedish meatball. Not one!

But then I usually stumble out four hours later feeling totally dazed and confused. And, of course, I have a cutting board under one arm and a Karlskrona under the other.

And I hate myself for it.

Photo Credit: davecobb

UPDATED: "I'll Flush You Alright"

noreply@blogger.com (Park Street Rambler) — Wed, 17 Dec 2008 02:03:00 +0000

[UPDATED] Ok. So as many of you know, I orphaned this poor little blog while I pursued some other interests and regrettably disappointed some of the site's fans. I'm genuinely sorry about that and hopefully this update will make it up to you.

As I perused the interwebs, I recently stumbled upon my picture of an amusing sign (see below) on the venerable PassiveAggressiveNotes.com who kindly featured this passive aggressive note several months ago. I had submitted it to the site thinking I had a snowball's chance in hell of getting it featured and then promptly forgot about it. Now I'm thrilled to see it was posted and well received.

Thanks Passive Aggressive Notes!

Found this sign in the men's bathroom at a local restaurant...

Top 20 Social Disasters - Part IV

noreply@blogger.com (Park Street Rambler) — Mon, 15 Dec 2008 01:15:00 +0000

Without further ado, I submit for your enjoyment the final installment of "Top 20 Social Disasters."

20. Awkward Icebreaker
This one comes to us from faithful reader Caroline...

The awkward icebreaker is bound to occur when a close friend introduces you to her coworkers or long lost college roommates. With the first handshake, you're thrust into small talk: Where do you live? What do you do? But you eventually run out of things to discuss and that just gnaws at your friend who's dying to see you guys hit it off. So what does she do? She suddenly busts out some random, embarrassing story about you:

"Hey, Cindy. Tell them about that time you had that weird rash on your elbows... No, tell them. Tell them... Ok. So, Cindy went camping with this guy and she ended up laying in some..."

Because nothing establishes a bond between strangers better than rushing them through the normal course of friendship.

19. I'll get this...when I find an ATM
You're out with friends having dinner laughing, joking, maybe even having a few drinks. When the bill comes, you want to show some love. You figure, "Hey, I'm a nice guy. I'll pick up the check." With a big grin on your face you announce it to the whole table.

Of course, that's when you realize that they only take cash, and you only have three dollars in your whole entire wallet. You see where this is headed...

18. Keep talking while the room is hushed
Don't you love it when you're in a loud room talking loudly with a friend and then, for no particular reason, the room suddenly goes quiet? Oh yeah, and that's always the EXACT moment you say something remarkably embarrassing.

"blah blah blah blah.... BOOBS!!"

17. Takin' a header
In a recent comment, reader Molly reminds us that public falling is a classic social disaster not soon forgotten. A few years ago while attending college, I was on my way back to my dorm room from the campus center. In my hand I carried some chicken bites. In the other was a tiny container of delicious BBQ sauce. It was a frosty January day and the quad was covered in a sheet of ice. Sure, I could have walked around the perimeter on the salted and sanded sidewalk, but I was in a rush to enjoy my tasty chicken bites. So, I decided to take a shortcut across the ice.

After no more than 10 steps I slipped and just as it seemed I might recover my balance I was launched some four feet into the air. Everything went into slow motion and I remember seeing the chicken bites alongside me as if suspended in air. Then came the bone crunching sounds of my body colliding with the frozen ground. Worse than the fact that I never got to enjoy my treats was that my fall was a great public spectacle resulting in resounding laughter from all sides.

16. On a road to nowhere
Ever tell a story that just went nowhere? Reader Robyn reminds us that sometimes a well conceived story can crash and burn if you can't seem to get to the punch line. She writes, "You know, like when you start a story and halfway through you realize that everyone is listening intently and you don't even have an ending. So you have two choices - go off in a tangent creating another story with a more exciting climactic ending and hope no one asks why the two are connected or just do what I do, which is trail off with a low grumbling, a few 'yeah, but' and then say something before anyone else like 'Wow, that was a good story. Best one I've told in awhile. A real keeper. Good stuff...' and once again trail off until someone takes over. Crisis averted, or is it?"

Or is it?

That's it folks, but if I missed any, please leave a comment!

Top 20 Social Disasters - Part III

noreply@blogger.com (Park Street Rambler) — Sat, 15 Nov 2008 16:39:00 +0000

The following is the next installment of my four-part series, "Top 20 Social Disasters." Each is a common, but no less embarrassing social faux pas.

15. New baby bomb
Any statement that implies, insinuates or explicitly calls out that a woman is pregnant when she is not is the very definition of a social disaster. The question, "So how many months along are you?," is only acceptable if the woman begins the conversation with "I'm pregnant" or "I'm in Alcoholics Anonymous." Yet people (usually men) continue to socially implode by asking this perilous question.

14. Spill on the Nether Region
This usually happens while eating or drinking in a seated position. Through some mishap you manage to spill crap all over your lap. The problem is that even if you explain what happened, there's always the suspicion that your story is a cover up for a particularly bad episode of incontinence.

13. Let's take your car
This one just sucks! After weeks of treating your car like a landfill, your friend/boss/co-worker/girlfriend/boyfriend suddenly decides there's a desperate need to take your car instead. It starts innocently enough. "Mind if we take your car this time?," they say. Then the terror sets in just imagining how they'll judge you at the sight of a sneaker, two coffee cups, four bags of chips, a cord with no corresponding device, a broken CD case, half a donut, six sugar packets and a can of peas. What's your plan of attack? You figure if you shove everything into the back seat like a burrowing prairie dog, NO ONE WILL EVER NOTICE. But they ALWAYS notice. And there's no explanation that will suffice.

"Oh, it's just been crazy lately. I just haven't had any time to [tip my car on its side, dump its contents, wash it out with a fire hose and dunk it in 800 gallons of disinfecting chlorine]. Sorry about the mess!"

12. Puberty strikes back
I suppose this one's more of an issue for guys, but let me explain as best I can for the ladies out there. It's been a long time since I was 13 years old. It was a challenging time in my life as I strove to overcome adversity, especially in the vocal pitch department. For most boys, a cracking voice is particularly embarrassing because it's like a tiny, effeminate boat horn that announces to the world you have no hair on your chest.

Now fast forward a decade. Imagine how much worse it must be for a man whose voice suddenly cracks after years of manliness. What I can say from personal experience is that when your adult voice does decide to crack unexpectedly, it's never in the middle of a long intelligent sentence that offers plenty of room for recovery. Nope! It always happens in the midst of a one word response.

Her: "Can I spend the night?"
Him: "Ye-ah!"

11. "Hi-lo" greeting
You're walking down the office hallway at a brisk pace. Another co-worker approaches you at the same rate of speed. You want to be sure you pick the best greeting, but it's just so damn hard when there are so many choices. You could go with with the tried and true, "hello." But, then again, you think: "Yeah, but 'hi' is edgy, brief and powerful. I want to make a statement." You're the creative type, so this dilemma is no match for you. At the last second, you decide on a hybrid of the two: "Hiii-lo."

Congrats, buddy! You pulled that one off.

File this bumbling greeting in the same category as the infamous mismatched response. For example, someone asks, "What's up?" Your unforgettable response: "Good!"

As always, I want to know what your thoughts are? Am I missing any social blunders? This is your last chance to influence the remaining five social disasters in my series.

Top 20 Social Disasters - Part II

noreply@blogger.com (Park Street Rambler) — Tue, 21 Oct 2008 23:37:00 +0000

The following is the latest installment of my ongoing series examining the Top 20 Social Disasters. Enjoy!

10. Case of mistaken identity
This often happens in department stores. Your significant other is in front of you checking out some magazines. You look away and without looking back you give 'em a tap on the shoulder and say something real endearing like, "We are in desperate need of toilet paper!" When your eyes focus back on the person, you realize in horror that it's not the love of your life. Nope. It's just some random shopper who's now considering filing a restraining order.

9. How's the weather?
We all know the cocktail party nightmare well. You're standing with a drink in your hand and someone, with whom you have absolutely nothing in common, opens up a dialogue. It's a nice gesture, no doubt. But soon you both realize what you've feared all along -- you have absolutely nothing to say to one another. Look down at the floor. Look up. Ask a moronic question: "What's up with these napkins??" Uggghhhh.

8. The "chicken wing"
The job interview wraps. It's time to assert yourself with a strong, memorable handshake. Except the bastard clamps down too fast and catches a whole lot of fingers. Your only hope of salvaging some kind of dignity is to wrestle that little thumb free, but it's not looking good.

Getting your thumb pinned down feels a lot like a playground bully is beating you with your own arms.

7. Sidewalk tripskip
We've all done it. You're walking along confidently, maybe even a little bit too self assuredly. Suddenly, you trip on a sidewalk crack and lose your balance. What do you do to save face? That's easy. You fly into a goofy jog walk. Because, hey! You meant to go for run at that exact moment ...while carrying a bag of laundry.

6. Sloppy meal choice
That triple-decker Reuben always sounds like a great idea when you're ordering. But, when globs of Thousand Island dressing are seeping into your shirt sleeves, it's time to join a new online dating site. Lobster, chicken wings and cheese steaks are just some of the meal choices that will leave you begging for a way to go back in time and order the fruit plate.

What social disasters have you encountered?

Top 20 Social Disasters - Part I

noreply@blogger.com (Park Street Rambler) — Sat, 18 Oct 2008 16:12:00 +0000

Whether it's forgetting someone's name or botching a handshake, every social interaction offers infinite opportunities for awkwardness. I know from experience! Over the next few weeks I plan to examine the Top 20 worst social disasters.

For now, here's the first installment of goofs that will leave you aching with an embarrassment hangover.

5. Elevator nightmare
Whether it's awkward conversation or flatulence, a lot can go wrong in the tiny confines of the elevator. Seriously! It's best to take the stairs. Just boarding the elevator can be an issue. One time a woman was trying to get on, but I accidentally hit the "close" button in my efforts to keep the doors open. The woman thrust herself between the doors which clamped down on her like jaws of death. Then, just as suddenly, they swung open and the woman flew in. I'll never forget the scowl on her face after she came to the conclusion that I had purposely tried to shut the doors on her.

4. Trash talk express
Nothing like trash talking your boss when he's standing right behind you. "Doug looks like he fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.... oh, ummm, hey, Doug."

3. What's your name again?
"This is Karen, and Karen, this is...........umm........rrrr...ahh." And the only thing more humiliating at that moment is your red face and sweaty forehead. I especially hate it when you forget someone's name after you've already introduced about eight people. The things people do just to hide that fact should also be included in this list. For example, coughing like you've suddenly been stricken with Typhoid or pretending to be distracted by something in the distance. "This is Bob, Sara, and .... WOW!! I had no idea they had salad here!!!"

2. Hold that door!
Holding the door can be a nice gesture, except when you commit too soon. You wind up looking like an ass as the person you're trying to help has to run a half marathon across the parking lot just to take you up on the offer. Of course, you might also be on the receiving end of the gesture. In which case, you'll be the one racing like an Olympic athlete through mud puddles. The worst is when you have two laptop bags and a coffee. You wind up spilling crap all over yourself just to make the other person feel like they were helping you.

1. Hug or handshake?
One of you goes in for the intimate hug. The other sticks to the formal handshake. Self aware, you both switch and end up doing the Macarena like a couple of idiots. One night, my wife introduced me to a few of her friends. As the night came to a pleasant close, I decided to say good bye and ended doing a fairly awkward hug vs. handshake dance.

I'd love to get your feedback on any embarrassing social experiences I might have overlooked. Stay tuned for more!

Loonie Exchange

noreply@blogger.com (Park Street Rambler) — Sat, 04 Oct 2008 16:38:00 +0000

In the midst of these dire economic times, it's important to take serious measures to keep your assets safe. No, I'm not talking about diversifying stock options or making sure the local bank is FDIC insured.

Nope.

I'm talking about changing my U.S. dollars into Canadian currency.

Sure, I'll lose some money in the short term, as the Canadian dollar continues to outperform the ubiquitous buck. No doubt the exchange rate will be awful. But, when everything goes bust here on Wall Street, at least I'll be able to take the five-hour trek up to Montréal to buy bread and milk with my big bag o' Loonies.

And while everyone in the U.S. is trading cigarettes for gasoline, I'll be enjoying a frosty beverage on Saint Catherine St. with my best gal. I know the bar tender will be impressed when I throw down some serious coin.

"Another round, sir...and a Loonie for your troubles!"

Listen to the analysts and economists spewing fiscal nonsense all you like, but I'm headed straight for the bureau de change!

(Photo courtesy of Fire Engine Red)

Procrastination

noreply@blogger.com (Park Street Rambler) — Thu, 04 Sep 2008 02:18:00 +0000

There's always so much I want to do with my free time. Read that book. Write that blog post. Go for a run. Take a walk. Paint a portrait. Learn to play guitar like Muddy Waters. Get ripped abs, etc...

But it occurred to me today that if I did more stuff, I would have less time to do nothing.

(Photo courtesy of Mickie Flick)

Hey, That's My Trash!

noreply@blogger.com (Park Street Rambler) — Fri, 15 Aug 2008 15:05:00 +0000

It's hard to imagine a world without the concept of property. When we own something, it's ours, fair and square. And theft is a valid cause for anger, whether it's a stolen bike or a coworker passing off one of your ideas as her own. But a recent situation has me scratching my head about this whole "property" thing.

A few nights ago, I was awakened at 1:00 a.m. to an odd rattling and clanking racket outside my window. If anyone has ever seen me shaken from a sound sleep, they'll know I look a little like a newly hatched bird, only a lot crankier.

(Me at 1:00 a.m. )

So, I get my bearings and head over to the window to see what's going on. There, in the midst of several trash cans, is a man rummaging through countless bags of refuse -- MY refuse.

Strange and contradictory feelings began to flood my mind. On one hand, "that's my trash and he has no right to go looking through it," and on the other, "I did just discard all that crap."

Issues of identity theft aside, I never thought I would be angry about someone taking my trash. I don't seem to mind when it's the sanitation worker. And, hey, maybe it was Al Gore doing his part to recycle and save Boston from total submersion into the abyss.

I eventually decided to go back to sleep and leave the man to his devices -- harmless or not -- because, ultimately, losing sleep is way worse than losing trash.

What are your thoughts? Anyone ever get angry at a dumpster diver?

(Photos courtesy of incendiarymind and Audreyjm529)

Murder Plea for KFC???

noreply@blogger.com (Park Street Rambler) — Fri, 08 Aug 2008 11:47:00 +0000

Every now and then, an idiot does something so profoundly stupid it shakes our faith in humanity. Tremayne Durham is just such an idiot and his actions have made us all question the future of our society.

According to the recent AP story:

A New York man who pleaded guilty to murder in Oregon in exchange for buckets of fried chicken will get calzones and pizza to go with his life sentence.

Just... WOW!! Apparently all that contrition is making him hungry.

(Photo courtesy of Roboppy)

Just three easy payments...

noreply@blogger.com (Park Street Rambler) — Sun, 03 Aug 2008 16:40:00 +0000

Let me know if you also think this is odd...

I was shopping at the Men's Wearhouse in search of a new shirt. I found one I liked but soon noticed that it was excessively long. So, I flagged down one of the associates who looked like Al Pacino and approached sales like Kevin Trudeau.

Me - "So, I was looking for a shirt and found this one, but it seems a little long. It doesn't say it's a tall or anything. Do you happen to have shirts in the same size, just shorter?"

Al Trudeau - "No. Some come like that so we can tailor them down for a custom fit."

Me - "So, how much does it cost to tailor it down for a 'custom fit?'"

Al Trudeau - "Just a one-time payment of $20."

Me - "OK? So I pay you $20 and you will tailor whatever shirts I buy here?"

Al Trudeau - "No. We'll tailor that shirt for a one-time payment of $20."

I ultimately decided to pass on both the shirt and the tailoring. But on the way home, I kept trying to wrap my brain around the "one-time payment" line until I got a bloody nose. I understand the line if it is a one-time fee for multiple tailoring jobs, but I don't get it if it covers only one shirt. In which case, a one-time payment is the only appropriate option.

Are you aware of any installment plans for tailoring? Like, "Sure we'll hem your pants for just three easy payments of $19.99"?? In which case, the Men's Wearhouse is giving us a bargain.

"Wait! I only have to pay ONCE???!!!!"

Anyone else encounter bizarre sales tactics?

(Photo courtesy of darque9)

The World is a Box of Crayons

noreply@blogger.com (Park Street Rambler) — Thu, 24 Jul 2008 02:34:00 +0000

For years, I have had the sneaking suspicion that girls grow up with a larger, more comprehensive box of crayons than boys. Why make such an outrageous statement, you ask. Well, tell me this: Why is it when most women see a sweater, they can jabber on all day long about its varying shades of "plum" or "eggplant," while most men are content to call it "purple," and keep it to themselves?

Honestly, why is it that women can rattle off a myriad of colors so sickening, it would make even the Teletubbies throw up a little bit in their mouths, while men, for the most part, seem content to use ROY G. BIV (that's Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, etc. for those of you who were sick that day of school, or were perhaps more invested in eating their crayons than writing with them)?

Some are quick to argue that this is just more evidence that women triumph over men in sophistication, depth and intellectual prowess. But I'm afraid that assumption is fraught with error. In fact, simplicity can not only be a virtue, but in some cases, it can even be a sign of remarkable intelligence.

Far too often, I'll be getting ready for a night out with friends, when I hear a sudden utterance that causes pangs of terror to reverberate throughout my body.

"You should wear your Raw Sienna shirt, tonight," the voice of my better half bellows from an adjacent room.

"Raw Sienna?," I say softly to myself, struggling to force the images of Boss Ross and his "happy little tree" from my mind. "Which shirt is that?!"

"You know…," says my sweet, stomping over to my chair and holding a decidedly brown Polo shirt between her thumb and forefinger. "This one!"

But I do not know. Nor had I ever known Raw Sienna intimately until that very moment.

Or there are occasions when I'm shopping at a mall of some sort. During these occasions, I usually have a mission. "I need pants," I say to myself and then begin to execute my plan of selecting, acquiring and purchasing the aforementioned item. In my experience, this is not how my lovely shops.

At some point, on my way to said pants, I usually run head long into a horrific inquiry, the answer to which will invariably decide my fate, and sleeping arrangement for the evening.

"Which one do you like? The Magenta or the Cadet Blue skirt??"

"Uh…which one do you like?"

But this only buys her enough time to pick up something she calls "Mother of Teal."

If you're anxious to know how that inquisition ends, let's just say I never choose the right one.

This kind of nonsense even applies to my car, the same sleek Tercel I have mentioned in previous posts.

"Well what color do you think it is?" I ask.

"Pink."

Of course I have no idea what she means by this, so give her a piece of my mind. "I don't know what the hell p—p-ink or whatever you said is, but it's clearly red!"

By far, the worst is when my better half and her friends get together and have a few glasses of wine. They're all like…

"So I went to the GAP today and lavender, lavender, orchid."

"Really, because I just saw a cute little marigold, fuchsia, marigold."

"You totally should have bought it! My friend from college tried on an aquamarine Robin's egg blue!"

*******

Now that I have demonstrated this rainbow of nonsense, let me get back to my point about simplicity. To women's credit, their world has depth. It is a multi-faceted, dappled tapestry of variance and heterogeneity. But with this complexity comes confusion and indecision. I believe that an exposure to gross numbers of colors at a young age can have harmful consequences, even inducing altered perceptions of reality.

The ability to read more depth into a given situation than the particular situation merits can ultimately lead to serious developmental and social problems. On the other hand, it is the ability of men, in the absence of colossal boxes of crayons at a young age, to infer from multiple variables and seemingly contradictory meanings, a more simplistic, clear and logical conclusion.

To reduce the wildly complex world of plums and eggplants down to the more logical purple in the white-hot heat of a mental crucible, demonstrates a tremendous feat of intellectual prowess. This is not to say men are more intelligent than women—

But then again, using the deductive skills that come from years of wielding a tiny box of crayons, it actually does.

Sorry.

And so, I will once again use my powers of deduction to infer that having placed all of these variables down in writing, and having derived the above conclusion -- that women are somehow damaged by a larger box of crayons -- I will logically be sleeping on the sidewalk tonight...

...with my tiny box of crayons.

(Photo courtesy of Laffy4K)

Deep Thoughts: The Bono vs. Edge Debate

noreply@blogger.com (Park Street Rambler) — Mon, 07 Jul 2008 13:59:00 +0000

Hope everyone had a pleasant 4th of July celebration! I know I've been a bit delinquent with my blogging, but I promise more is on the way.

In the meantime, here is a question my friend and I were debating on our way to see a Sox vs. Yankees game at Yankee Stadium (it's a long drive from Western Mass).

Who would you rather be: Bono or the Edge?

Discuss.

(Photo courtesy of Phil Romans )

The Plastic Bag Incident

noreply@blogger.com (Park Street Rambler) — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 17:16:00 +0000

I was about to jump in my car to get some groceries this weekend when I was struck by a sudden sense of responsibility. "Time to save the planet," I thought, as the smug began to rush over my entire body. I imagined the 82-year-old neighbor giving me a high five and tousling my hair as I rushed up the stairs to grab some reusable bags (which, as far as I know, may actually be made out of a biodegradable cotton-like substance formed when dolphins are consumed in a coal furnace).

Anyway, I come back down, throw the bags in the car and head to the supermarket. After several minutes of winding up and down the aisles in search of a variety of tasty items, I finally make it to the check-out counter where I plop my "green" bags down and display a self-satisfied grin. Apparently, I was too self-righteous to notice what was going on as I paid for my food.

It was some time later that I noticed the cashier had quadruple-bagged my milk before placing the plastic mess in my save-the-earth bag, thereby negating any benefit of bringing my own reusable bags! But, truth be told, I had no idea that my milk could potentially taint, infect or destroy the rest of my groceries.

Screw the planet! Now that I know milk poses a clear and present danger to other groceries, I'm going to start bringing latex bags and a giant rubber satchel made out of tires just to hold my virulent dairy.

(Photo courtesy of Arbel Egger)

Meeting E.T. with OCD

noreply@blogger.com (Park Street Rambler) — Sat, 14 Jun 2008 21:33:00 +0000

Most of us have fond memories of Spielberg's 1982 classic E.T. Not this guy. I have a sweet case of OCD, so the very thought of a dessicated alien hanging out in my closet is enough to give me the heebie-jeebies.

What's that, poor little feller? You got left behind by your intergalactic family? Well they should've attached you to their craft by a long leash, Mitt Romney style. At least that way you'd be dangling behind their spaceship, rather than fraternizing with my toys.

Wait! Did you just put a glowing, freakish little finger on my Atari? Guess I'll just toss that in a bonfire! Thanks for that, space man. And you best believe I'm burning all of my stuffed animals, too.

I don't care if they dress you up in a goofy little outfit and point out how cute you are. There's not enough Purell in the world to put my mind at ease. I'll be obsessing about all your tiny little space germs invading my body for the rest of my life. In fact, I haven't felt this gross since I slipped out of my flip flops and onto some dog crap when I was five. Took me eight bottles of antibacterial soap and a therapist just to feel right again.

Now where're you going, little man? Hey, stay the crap out of my fridge. Ohh! WTF?! That's a brand-new milk carton. Well now you can just toss it down the toilet. Pasteurize it 12 more times; there's not a spitting chance in hell I'm ever taking a sip of that tainted dairy.

You know what? From now on, I'm just gonna live in my G.I. Joe tent outside. And when those scary government folks show up at the end to wrap everything up in cellophane and latex. Well, they best just save some of that for me. Oh, and don't mind if I do try on one of their air-tight suits. I'm gonna need it just so I can sleep at night.

E.T., you may eventually rejoin your family, but my life as I know it is over. And since you waddled past my mom, I'm never getting within three zip codes of her ass again.

(Photo courtesy of Carol Esther )

Poison Potpourri

noreply@blogger.com (Park Street Rambler) — Sat, 07 Jun 2008 13:59:00 +0000

We just noticed a few carpenter ants in our kitchen. Never a good sign. So, I went on a mission to get some RAID Ant & Roach spray to take care of the problem.

When I get the spray home, I notice the can says "Country Fresh Scent."

Country Fresh Scent?!!

Well, I read the directions and sprayed accordingly. Sure enough, my home smells like the English countryside, but I'm wondering: "Is this stuff killing me while it attacks ants AND unpleasant odors?"

Next product on the market:

Spearmint Cyanide Toothpaste - "Kills bad breath for ever!"

(Photo courtesy of Dalantech)

These Days, Just Rolling Up a Window Will Cost You

noreply@blogger.com (Park Street Rambler) — Tue, 03 Jun 2008 18:15:00 +0000

My wife was driving me and a friend home after a dinner party. As I sat in the back it began to get a little hot, so I did what most people do in that situation -- I rolled down the window. Little did I know that the decision would cost me more than a Nintendo Wii.

Upon arriving at our destination, the window refused to go back up. It was about that exact moment a monsoon rocked the Northeast. I barely had time to duct tape the much-needed trash bag to the back of my wife's Camry.

Classy!

The sound the trash bag made on the way to the shop the next morning was unforgettable, a bit like the sound of a hundred parakeets beating their wings against a tiny cage.

Long story short... $345.92 just to roll up my wife's window. Guess I'll have to postpone my plans to get sweet rims for my Tercel.

(Photo courtesy of Anoxlou )

Subscribe Today!

noreply@blogger.com (Park Street Rambler) — Wed, 28 May 2008 01:31:00 +0000

If you haven't already, please subscribe to my blog. All you need to do is click the button in the top left corner that says, "Subscribe in a reader."

Then indicate where you want the feed to go. If you have a Google account, click the Google logo. If you have a Yahoo! account, click the Yahoo! logo, etc. After you set up the feed, any new posts will be sent directly to the main page of your account.

It's easy! But if you don't do it now, you'll make a baby cry!

This baby....

(Photo courtesy of clappstar)

Anyone for a vasectomy?

noreply@blogger.com (Park Street Rambler) — Fri, 23 May 2008 14:15:00 +0000

Yikes!!

(Photo courtesy of Saffanna)