Fenway Fail

It's summer! So get on those ball caps, fire up the Stub Hub account and get your butt down to Fenway for a ball game- Oh, oh wait. You can't? Because its raining? Like 2 inches of rain all in one night? Sweet.

                                                             +

  =  

:(

Yup, my Tuesday ended like that. I was under the impression I was going to watch the Sox kick some Mariner ass; little did I know the gauntlet I was about to enter into trying to accomplish said goal. I drove to the T, dumped the car, paying $3 in doing so, loaded up the Charlie Card and away I went. Now, I know the T always smells like a mixture of garbage and bum, the two generally not being mutually exclusive, but there's a certain kind of elevated effect that occurs when you throw in the fact that all the moisture in the world has been trapped in the air for the last 3 days due to constant cloudiness. Basically, that business lady wearing too much perfume, the little girl who dropped ice cream and left it there, those college kids who drank too much last night and consequently ralphed Coors Light and cheese fries everywhere, all those people, though they may be long gone, have left their stench behind to stay.

Finally, the orange line came to a screeching halt and I, along with every other nut determined to sit through a monsoon, either because of their determination to get their $20 worth or because they actually were just insane fans, crowded on. Here we have a gambit of people running, from dads with their kids to old guys having some sort of heated discussion pertaining to the downfalls of prestuffed canolis (which I have to say I quite agree with) to two people on some sort of awkward date. Wait ten minutes, hop on the green line, and swap out the old guys for some inebriated 20-somethings and the dad for a confused and annoying soccer mom.

Ahhhh yes, Kenmore Square, I have arrived! The dew drops (well, downpour is closer but who's counting?) hanging about Lansdowne Street, the Citgo sign gleaming in the distance, it just warms the cockles of my heart. So, onward I march, triumphant at the fact there's merely a delay. My Red Sox wouldn't cancel on me and the Mariners are from Seattle, the land of depressing, rainy weather, so they're used to this crap anyway. When all of a sudden, what fresh hell? "The game's canceled!" screeches an annoying preteen boy at me. Whatever! He could be lying or falsely informed. I proceed forward, determined that not only will I sit on the soaking bleachers for hours, but also stopping off at the Sausage Guy first. So, hah! Take that you prepubescent jerk! "Its not happening!" "It's cancelled!" "Game's off!"

Ahhh! OK, I get it. Fenway failed me! So no game, no sausage, no Sweet Caroline. What I can take away from this experience is some soaking hair, an empty stomach and a lighter wallet.

"Oh! But wait," you say, "what about the rain date?"
Well, my dears, I spent the rain date, which might I add, was no less rainy, at my super duper fun job I couldn't call out of. How might I sum up the night for you?

"Cornbread or Italian?"
"Yes."

Insert me banging my head on the counter repeatedly.

If it ain't Broke, Break it.

Last Saturday I went home after work, washed off the general smell I've come to know simply as food and yanked on the sweatpants. Why, you ask? Because as much fun as it is to squeeze myself into an outfit that's too tight, paint on a face, and then spend the next 3 hours of my life having mildly unattractive men try to engage me in some sort of horribly choreographed dance involving unwitty banter and bad puns, I thought I would take a night off.

Yes, I'm in my early 20s, but I was due to cash the 4 inch heels in for a night on the couch with a movie- old age is setting in and it's really getting to me. So the movie? The Girl with Dragon Tattoo. It's your typical story of old man hires young disreputed reporter to investigate the murder of his niece that occurred decades ago on a remote island in Sweden. Enter in the young goth chick with said tattoo, who seems to be a troubled young individual, with an unexplained ability to hack into computers. Overall a fabulous movie, with some awkwardness involving anal rapage- so, maybe a little heavy for date night. It was originally filmed in Swedish and you get the option to watch it dubbed in English or subtitled. Subtitles are better as they stay truer to the book.

So naturally, the movie was a complete hit around world, as was the novel it was adapted from, and therefore, what do we silly Americans decide to do? Why, make our own 'recorded in English' version, of course! Because why watch the original film in all it perfection when we could watch some sort of crap remake with this chick playing the very dangerous and dark Lisbeth Salander:

Doesn't strike me so much as the spiked
dog collar-wearing type.

As opposed to this lovely lady who should've (and did) play her to begin with:

Now set her up against a bunch of bums in a subway
with only a broken beer bottle to defend herself with
 and they're goin' down.

But hey. if there's a will, there's a way and seeing as the will in this case is millions of dollars, I'm sure come hell or high water, a way will be found. It's too bad that past remakes such as The Ring, The Grudge, The Eye or any other Japanese horror film couldn't serve as a cautionary tale of the future suckiness that, no doubt, will ensue. So come December of 2011 I will sit and wait, probably not with baited breath, to watch this all unfold, and if the report comes back positive from me, then damn, egg on my face.

Beach Bimbos

Every year, that sweltering, nasty part of the year, some sort of crazed idea comes over me and I think that it's time to pack up and move this party to the vast beaches of New Hampshire. I think we all do it, only to immediately say to ourselves, "What the hell have I done?!"

There are always a few kinds of beach goers plaguing the shores of the Atlantic. Let's start with the least offensive:

1.) The creepy older gentleman

Camera phones are not a requirement, but
often a popular accessory .

Usually overweight, and in addition to being a complete eyesore, they tend to pack up their belongings for the day, and find a nice spot to park their asses from dawn till dusk. Now, what is wrong with this you say? I shall tell you. The creepy old guys, apart from their blatant disregard for T-Shirts, also tend to exhibit seagull -like tendencies. One will rarely show up alone and if they do, they call upon all of their little buddies to come join the party, taking up the maximum amount of space and leaving a trail of beer cans and cigarette butts  in their wake. 

2.) The Thong Bikini

A style popularized in the 80s and 90s by women who were actually in shape, it has now been carried on only by the trashiest. Cellulite and and some sort of ass tattoo professing their love of a one-night stand they had back in 1982 usually accompany this particular look. Back in the day these classy ladies probably would have gone for the aformentioned old men. This style isn't limited to simply New Englanders either though, as the truly classy Angelina of Jersey Shore once said, "She went in the hot tub wearing only a bra and a thong; have some class, at least wear a thong bikini."

3.) "Like, OOOOOOOOOOOh my God! That life guard was like toooootally checkin' us out!"

SELFIE!

3.) Yes, that horrible squeal can only be emitted from one type of creature on this planet- the teenage girl. Beware not to set up your blanket too close to these beachgoers lest you want a deep insight into the world of hair extensions, the best style of Uggs and the ever important information pertaining to "that girl in Casey's Spanish class who was like totally sleeping with her boyfriend's cousin's best friend's older brother, who goes to college at UC Boulder and is like, totally, probably, pregnant." Oh yes, friends, they take vapidness and topics that are utterly trivial to a brand new level.

4.) Babies...

ughhhhhh! (because who knows what
the hell they're thinking)

Let me preface this with a window into my views on children. Done? Good. Lets continue.

Every year. Every. Year. There's always one family, with one ugly baby, who shows up, carves out a nice 12x12ft. plot of space to call their own and laughs gallantly on at whatever their little brat child does. Behavior usually includes throwing crackers out to watch the seagulls eat them (yes, please just invite all of god's little creatures to where I'm lying why don't you?), screaming loudly out if the attention is moved, however briefly, away from them, or throwing sand everywhere (including on me).

So every year I go to the beach and after not being able to float in the freezing water for longer than 5 minutes I retire to the sand, where this compendium of creatures loiters about.



And now I would like make a brief foray into a completely unrelated topic- Jersey Shore. As I'm sure you know, the cast of characters is back for another season of... well, whatever it is they do. And in celebration of this I would like to throw in a nice little quote from the episode of the week, so here we go:

Jersey Shore Quote of the Week: Finally, the heavens have answered & I found a barbershop in Miami. (Well thank god for that. The economy may be in a recession, children are starving in Biafra but don't worry folks, the heavens have opened, Vinny found a barber shop).