Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Donde Busscar? - Episode 3
"Donde busscar?" "Where's the bus?" This became a favorite phrase of mine during the trip. Thanks, Todd, for introducing me to it
Yet another recurring theme over the course of the 10 days was the absence and/or malfunctioning of the buses. This theme is present from the very begining when we arrived at the airport. A bus was supposed to be there to fetch us upon arrival. Instead we stood on the curb and waited for two hours until two different busses came to take us on our 4 hour ride from hell. This continued on the next day when trying to go from the hotel to the University for volleyball practice. Bus was supposed to pick us up a good hour -hour and a half before it actually did. Continuing in that same vein - after practice we must have waited for at least another hour for a bus to get us then. This sort of thing happend over and over and over again. You could ask anyone who was still at the University well past the time they should've left - "what are you doing here?" And they would reply "we're waiting on our bus." The same could be said for entire teams standing out in front of the hotel.
Now, if it wasn't that the bus just wasn't showing up - it was that the bus was broken down (theoretically a legitimate excuse for not showing up). I'd heard some stories about busses breaking down with a whole team on board, but I hadn't actually experienced this for myself until pretty late in the week. Our bus did not show up, so we decided to get on Mexico's bus. We were pretty sure that the bus had been driven down from Mexico city by the looks of the thing and frankly I was really unsurprised when it broke down while trying to pull out of the spot it was parked in. We all unloaded (thankfully we hadn't actually left the University) and commenced standing on the curb as we'd grown accustomed to over the past 7 days or so. That bus sat in the University parking lot for the remainder of our time in Venezuela. Every day we'd pull up and say "well, the bus is still there." I guess there wasn't really any hurry to have it towed away and fixed - I'd venture it's still there now. I think busses assigned to team USA broke down no less than 5 times during the course of the week, and I was relieved to have only been on one of them and even more pleased to not have been stranded in the middle of nowhere when it happend. I believe during one incident, the entire boys basketball team had to be cabbed in - 4 at a time - because the bus broke down half way between the hotel and the University.
My favorite "bus" incident of the entire trip was just prior to the Mexico bus break down. Earlier that day I'd been on a bus from the University to the OV. It was kind of a small crappy bus (believe it or not, the busses we normally took were very nice charter busses - far nicer than the charter busses we have here in the US), but we weren't complaining cause it was taking us where we needed to go. As a general rule, driving is pretty eratic in Venezuela (at least that was my experience), so the bus lurching all over the road really wasn't a shock. As we're driving, and lurching, and swerving, a work truck pulls up beside us. Now, this guy can't drive either (of course) and he (or the bus, I'm not really sure which was at fault) side swiped us. Not once......but twice. The bus bore the marks on the right front side and right rear side. As soon as it happend I was like, "well I can't believe it took us nearly all week to get in to an accident." The bus pulls over, as does the truck. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that this will be a quick and easy review of the accident and we'll get to go sooner rather than later. To my utter amazement, the drivers take a look at the bus, then the truck, agree that the world won't come to an end, and we're on our merry way.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Tuesday, August 21, 2007 - The first 24 hours - Episode 2
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
The first 24 hours - Episode 2
Alright, so I said this would be less episodal and more subjective; however, I feel like rehashing the first 24 hours in the order that they occurred - so here goes.
My flight outta Dulles was supposed to be at 6:30pm on a Thursday. I sneaked outta work a smidge early to give myself enough time to go home, throw my crap in the car, and allow myself to be driven to the airport. So far, so good. I got there at a decent time. Was able to check two of my 3 bags curbside, but had to take the third bag of medical supplies inside and pay to check it. (Side note - if the USADSF, or whomever you please, is not footing the bill for more than two bags to be checked, pack it all in 2 -it's not worth the extra cost.) That took a bit more time than I'd hoped, but I was ticketed and really have no problem being the last person to board the plane. I finally get over to my gate to find that the flight has been delayed about 30 minutes. Now, I've been travelling alot with my new job, so slight delays have become pretty commonplace with me. Generally the problem is that the plane I'm supposed to get on hasn't actually shown up to the airport yet - this is a recurring theme.
I take my new found time and go for a walk up the terminal to find a decent dinner. There's a neat wine bar/restaurant up at one end, but frankly I felt underdressed in my Adidas t-shirt, clam diggers and flip flops, so I kept walking. After a bit I decided to try my luck in the Tidewater even though it was slam packed. I found a seat at the bar, ordered a Sam Addams and a crabcake sandwich (I know, go figure). The guy sitting next to me was nice and I chatted with him for a bit. Another guy came in and sat on the other side of me and inevitably I would spend roughly the next hour and a half hanging out with him. On three separate occasions I got up, walked to my gate, and found that my flight had been delayed even longer. Greg from Vermont, thanks for being the only entertainment available at Dulles! Unfortunately Greg also had a flight to catch, so we parted ways and I made my way up to Starbucks.
At this point in time I should've already been halfway to Miami, yet, I was still at Dulles. I shopped around and waited and waited, but the flight wasn't happening. Bad weather was inevitably to blame, but it was getting a bit rediculous. I started to fear that I wouldn't make it down there in time for the flight out to Caracas the next morning and I wasn't sure what would happen then.
Finally, well after I should've landed in Miami and been lazily watching TV in the Marriott, I got on the plane. Got in to Miami about 1am, went straight to bed and got up at 7:30 the next morning. Went out to breakfast, met up with some coaches, athletes, and Lonnie and we gathered everyone to head to the airport. It took us awhile to get through the check-in at Miami, with only one small snafu involving a coach without a passport (he showed up a few days later than the rest of us). That flight took off on time and things were looking up. We arrived in sunny Caracas on time and made it through customs easily. The group headed out front to board our bus to Valencia, yet, no bus was there. A two hour wait ensued, and finally a couple of crappy busses with no a/c showed up and we all got on.
Valencia is a little less than 100 miles from Caracas and the roads are not bad. This should have been a 2 hour drive, yet, it was not. I believe the total road time was a good 4 hours with no less than a 1 hour stop off at a rest area where the drivers just sat and chilled..........with beers.
It gets dark very early when you're that close to the equator, so even though it was only 7pm it seemed to be about 11ish. Everyone was completely exhausted, but we made it to the hotel in Valencia relatively unscathed. Check-in didn't take too terribly long (when compared to the 4 hour bus ride) and I felt like overall the trip was going well.
I unpacked my things in my room, organized the closet nice and neat, showered, and hopped in to bed. I might have only been asleep for 30 minutes or so when there was a loud knock on my door and someone calling my name. At this point I opened my eyes and said out loud "I knew it was too good to be true." I threw on some shorts, checked the peep hole and opened the door to find the swimming coach and several men I didn't know standing outside of my room. They'd kicked the coach out of her room because "some Canadians need a place to sleep." You can imagine my retort being something like, "and why does this involve me?" They were demanding that the coach leave her room and stay in my room because I was the only person in there (specifically because I need to treat athletes in my room and it's not quite fair to constantly ask someone to leave the room). Of course I let her in to stay - it wasn't her fault they were being so completely rediculous. She got her things together, hopped in to the other bed, and went back to sleep. Wouldn't you know as soon as I got back to sleep there was a knock on my door AGAIN! Same stupid guy asking if I had a single room - "no you moron, I HAD a single room till you kicked poor Kathy out of her room and threw her in here!" He finishes up with "are you hearing?" Right, cause this is completely relevant to waking me up in the middle of the night and kicking people out of their rooms.
The first 24 hours - Episode 2
Alright, so I said this would be less episodal and more subjective; however, I feel like rehashing the first 24 hours in the order that they occurred - so here goes.
My flight outta Dulles was supposed to be at 6:30pm on a Thursday. I sneaked outta work a smidge early to give myself enough time to go home, throw my crap in the car, and allow myself to be driven to the airport. So far, so good. I got there at a decent time. Was able to check two of my 3 bags curbside, but had to take the third bag of medical supplies inside and pay to check it. (Side note - if the USADSF, or whomever you please, is not footing the bill for more than two bags to be checked, pack it all in 2 -it's not worth the extra cost.) That took a bit more time than I'd hoped, but I was ticketed and really have no problem being the last person to board the plane. I finally get over to my gate to find that the flight has been delayed about 30 minutes. Now, I've been travelling alot with my new job, so slight delays have become pretty commonplace with me. Generally the problem is that the plane I'm supposed to get on hasn't actually shown up to the airport yet - this is a recurring theme.
I take my new found time and go for a walk up the terminal to find a decent dinner. There's a neat wine bar/restaurant up at one end, but frankly I felt underdressed in my Adidas t-shirt, clam diggers and flip flops, so I kept walking. After a bit I decided to try my luck in the Tidewater even though it was slam packed. I found a seat at the bar, ordered a Sam Addams and a crabcake sandwich (I know, go figure). The guy sitting next to me was nice and I chatted with him for a bit. Another guy came in and sat on the other side of me and inevitably I would spend roughly the next hour and a half hanging out with him. On three separate occasions I got up, walked to my gate, and found that my flight had been delayed even longer. Greg from Vermont, thanks for being the only entertainment available at Dulles! Unfortunately Greg also had a flight to catch, so we parted ways and I made my way up to Starbucks.
At this point in time I should've already been halfway to Miami, yet, I was still at Dulles. I shopped around and waited and waited, but the flight wasn't happening. Bad weather was inevitably to blame, but it was getting a bit rediculous. I started to fear that I wouldn't make it down there in time for the flight out to Caracas the next morning and I wasn't sure what would happen then.
Finally, well after I should've landed in Miami and been lazily watching TV in the Marriott, I got on the plane. Got in to Miami about 1am, went straight to bed and got up at 7:30 the next morning. Went out to breakfast, met up with some coaches, athletes, and Lonnie and we gathered everyone to head to the airport. It took us awhile to get through the check-in at Miami, with only one small snafu involving a coach without a passport (he showed up a few days later than the rest of us). That flight took off on time and things were looking up. We arrived in sunny Caracas on time and made it through customs easily. The group headed out front to board our bus to Valencia, yet, no bus was there. A two hour wait ensued, and finally a couple of crappy busses with no a/c showed up and we all got on.
Valencia is a little less than 100 miles from Caracas and the roads are not bad. This should have been a 2 hour drive, yet, it was not. I believe the total road time was a good 4 hours with no less than a 1 hour stop off at a rest area where the drivers just sat and chilled..........with beers.
It gets dark very early when you're that close to the equator, so even though it was only 7pm it seemed to be about 11ish. Everyone was completely exhausted, but we made it to the hotel in Valencia relatively unscathed. Check-in didn't take too terribly long (when compared to the 4 hour bus ride) and I felt like overall the trip was going well.
I unpacked my things in my room, organized the closet nice and neat, showered, and hopped in to bed. I might have only been asleep for 30 minutes or so when there was a loud knock on my door and someone calling my name. At this point I opened my eyes and said out loud "I knew it was too good to be true." I threw on some shorts, checked the peep hole and opened the door to find the swimming coach and several men I didn't know standing outside of my room. They'd kicked the coach out of her room because "some Canadians need a place to sleep." You can imagine my retort being something like, "and why does this involve me?" They were demanding that the coach leave her room and stay in my room because I was the only person in there (specifically because I need to treat athletes in my room and it's not quite fair to constantly ask someone to leave the room). Of course I let her in to stay - it wasn't her fault they were being so completely rediculous. She got her things together, hopped in to the other bed, and went back to sleep. Wouldn't you know as soon as I got back to sleep there was a knock on my door AGAIN! Same stupid guy asking if I had a single room - "no you moron, I HAD a single room till you kicked poor Kathy out of her room and threw her in here!" He finishes up with "are you hearing?" Right, cause this is completely relevant to waking me up in the middle of the night and kicking people out of their rooms.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007 - Where do you want me to start?
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Where do you want me to start?
I guess I should start with the really bothersome aspects of this entire experience. If I get that stuff off my chest first then I'll be able to move on with the positives of the trip (there were plenty of positives) and not drone on about the BS of it all.
"Donde agua?" "Where's the water?" This was a phrase that everyone should've mastered on the plane from Miami. I recall receiving an email from the organizers where they clearly stated that no one was to drink, brush teeth, or in any other manner ingest the water once we were abroad. This statement was followed by a statement saying "we will have plenty of bottled water for everyone!" Upon arrival I relized that this was not the case. Not only did they not have plenty of bottled water for everyone - they had NO bottled water for everyone. The hotel did have filtered water that they would give you to drink, but upon arrival it was pretty scary trying to decipher what water was safe and what water was not because none of it was coming from a nice sealed bottle. I pretty much beat my head off the table anticipating the entire US team balled up in their rooms dying of dysentery prior to competition ever commencing.
Continuing in this same vein.......... We get up the next morning and volleyball needs to have practice. I come out the front door of the hotel to find that they're out on the sidewalk hitting balls around cause no bus has come to pick them up. Inevitably this turned out to be a positive for me because I really just wanted to work volleyball and swimming and here was my in. I claimed the volleyball team.
Nevermind that we had absolutely no schedule. No practice schedule, no bus schedule, no food schedule, no events schedule - nothing. The coach and players are asking about water, but again, there isn't any. I thought that there would be a simple explanation about the absence of bottled water, so I went to find the team leader. Simply put - he had no water to give. This of course begs the question "why did you send out an email saying there would be plenty of bottled water for everyone?" We did manage to squeeze a few bottles out of his personal stash to take to practice and that was gone before the practicing ever started. I can't tell you what it's like to travel to another country - with questionable hydration practices, with an organization that doesn't see a need to stockpile bottled water for it's athletes. This was quickly becoming an Athletic Trainer's nightmare. So we had the first practice. It was hot, and sweaty, and everyone was awfully dehydrated by the time we got to the Olympic Villa (OV)for lunch. As a team we stole no less than 1 case of water from the OV "cafeteria" and decided then and there that we would make our own stockpile - eff the rest of them. The next day the "cafeteria" began monitoring the water and would only allow a person to take one bottle. Later in the week we would find that if you weren't in the first "wave" at a meal, the water would just be gone (as would food on some occasions).
Where do you want me to start?
I guess I should start with the really bothersome aspects of this entire experience. If I get that stuff off my chest first then I'll be able to move on with the positives of the trip (there were plenty of positives) and not drone on about the BS of it all.
"Donde agua?" "Where's the water?" This was a phrase that everyone should've mastered on the plane from Miami. I recall receiving an email from the organizers where they clearly stated that no one was to drink, brush teeth, or in any other manner ingest the water once we were abroad. This statement was followed by a statement saying "we will have plenty of bottled water for everyone!" Upon arrival I relized that this was not the case. Not only did they not have plenty of bottled water for everyone - they had NO bottled water for everyone. The hotel did have filtered water that they would give you to drink, but upon arrival it was pretty scary trying to decipher what water was safe and what water was not because none of it was coming from a nice sealed bottle. I pretty much beat my head off the table anticipating the entire US team balled up in their rooms dying of dysentery prior to competition ever commencing.
Continuing in this same vein.......... We get up the next morning and volleyball needs to have practice. I come out the front door of the hotel to find that they're out on the sidewalk hitting balls around cause no bus has come to pick them up. Inevitably this turned out to be a positive for me because I really just wanted to work volleyball and swimming and here was my in. I claimed the volleyball team.
Nevermind that we had absolutely no schedule. No practice schedule, no bus schedule, no food schedule, no events schedule - nothing. The coach and players are asking about water, but again, there isn't any. I thought that there would be a simple explanation about the absence of bottled water, so I went to find the team leader. Simply put - he had no water to give. This of course begs the question "why did you send out an email saying there would be plenty of bottled water for everyone?" We did manage to squeeze a few bottles out of his personal stash to take to practice and that was gone before the practicing ever started. I can't tell you what it's like to travel to another country - with questionable hydration practices, with an organization that doesn't see a need to stockpile bottled water for it's athletes. This was quickly becoming an Athletic Trainer's nightmare. So we had the first practice. It was hot, and sweaty, and everyone was awfully dehydrated by the time we got to the Olympic Villa (OV)for lunch. As a team we stole no less than 1 case of water from the OV "cafeteria" and decided then and there that we would make our own stockpile - eff the rest of them. The next day the "cafeteria" began monitoring the water and would only allow a person to take one bottle. Later in the week we would find that if you weren't in the first "wave" at a meal, the water would just be gone (as would food on some occasions).
Monday, August 20, 2007 - Yes, I’m still a Venezuelan doctor...(preface)
Monday, August 20, 2007
Yes, I’m still a Venezuelan doctor...(preface)
Well, you may or may not recall me writing a nice bit on how I'm a Venezuelan doctor - just about a year ago. I swore up and down that I would never....ever... put myself in to that sort of situation again, but alas.....it happend anyway. What can I say - I'm not a bad person. Regardless, this year's adventure actually took me to the mother land of Venezuela (where all good Venezuelan doctors practice you know) for the Pan Am Games. The trip was very very very last minute, so don't be too upset that I didn't let you know I was going. I'm pretty happy to be back - drinking water out of the faucet, trying to get the nasty water stain off my feet, eating salad, and loading up on all my favorite dairy products :) I did have a good experience overall though thanks to a really great volleyball team, nice and patient Venezuelans and certain other comiserators :)
As you can imagine, this adventure gave me blog material for weeks, so I'm going to try and break it down in to episodes by topic instead of by incident (though I'm sure there will be incidental accounts as well). Stay tuned - there's TONS to come!
Yes, I’m still a Venezuelan doctor...(preface)
Well, you may or may not recall me writing a nice bit on how I'm a Venezuelan doctor - just about a year ago. I swore up and down that I would never....ever... put myself in to that sort of situation again, but alas.....it happend anyway. What can I say - I'm not a bad person. Regardless, this year's adventure actually took me to the mother land of Venezuela (where all good Venezuelan doctors practice you know) for the Pan Am Games. The trip was very very very last minute, so don't be too upset that I didn't let you know I was going. I'm pretty happy to be back - drinking water out of the faucet, trying to get the nasty water stain off my feet, eating salad, and loading up on all my favorite dairy products :) I did have a good experience overall though thanks to a really great volleyball team, nice and patient Venezuelans and certain other comiserators :)
As you can imagine, this adventure gave me blog material for weeks, so I'm going to try and break it down in to episodes by topic instead of by incident (though I'm sure there will be incidental accounts as well). Stay tuned - there's TONS to come!
Sunday, August 05, 2007 - Googlenopery...
Sunday, August 05, 2007
Googlenopery...
I enjoy the Washington Post. I get it delivered to my house every day of the week, every week of the year, and (if I'm lucky) I take the opportunity each day to peruse the pages, read what I like and recycle it when I'm finished. Sunday is particularly good because so many more things come with the Sunday edition. Today I was blessed to receive a full catalog from Ikea (I'm gonna bring it over for you Erik - you need it far more than I ever could) among the traditional tidbits I enjoy. Regardless, I'm writing not about the fabulous Ikea catalog, but rather reposting the column I generally find the most amusing "Below The Beltway" by Gene Weingarten. Always funny and witty, and often re-post worthy. I hope you all enjoy this as much as I did
Nope, Yup, Nope, YupAn ontological treatise on flipping coinageBy Gene WeingartenSunday, August 5, 2007; W40
Three months ago in this space, a versatile new word was born. A "googlenope" was defined as a phrase that returns no hits when entered between quotation marks into the Google search engine. Until that day, the word "googlenope" was itself a googlenope. Today, it draws more than 1,000 hits, and the number is growing. The phenomenon has spread to Europe. Indeed, without my knowledge, someone started a Web site, googlenope.com, which is devoted to the art and science of what we shall henceforth call . . . googlenopery.
We at Googlenope International headquarters could not be more proud. But semantic pioneers do not get where they are by resting on their laurels. Today, we further plumb the field by finding new googlenopes, and pairing them with googleyups, phrases that ought to be googlenopes, but aren't.
As always, every time a new googlenope is created and published, it ceases to be a googlenope. In this manner, we shall slowly but steadily create a world where nothing has been left unsaid.
Googlenope: I'd like a middle seat
Googleyup: I'd like to die in a plane crash
Googlenope: world's funniest proofreader
Googleyup: world's funniest mortician
Googlenope: accidentally glued my foot to my dog
Googleyup: accidentally glued my dog to the floor
Googlenope: squalor of the French Riviera
Googleyup: splendor of Hoboken, N.J.
Googlenope: armpit hair topiary
Googleyup: nose hair topiary
Googlenope: 14-karat gold spork
Googleyup: 14-karat gold silly putty egg
Googlenope: died in a freak pogo stick accident
Googleyup: died in a freak mushy pea accident
Googlenope: turkey-chip cookie
Googleyup: chicken-chip cookie
Googlenope: sensitive middle linebacker
Googleyup: sensitive mass murderer
Googlenope: finest Cajun food in New Hampshire
Googleyup: finest Cajun food in the Netherlands
Googlenope: God is a bad dancer
Googleyup: God is a bad first date
Googlenope: All philosophers are gasbags
Googleyup: The Ontological Basis of Plotinus' Criticism of Aristotle's Theory of Categories
Googlenope: the kiwi and sausage diet
Googleyup: the ice cream and prune diet
Googlenope: worshipped for his knock-knock jokes
Googleyup: worshipped for his penmanship
Googlenope: give Hillary a noogie
Googleyup: give Jesus a noogie
Googlenope: Amish shotgun enthusiast
Googleyup: kickboxing Jewish Republican
Googlenope: the most delicious pus ever
Googleyup: the most delicious vomit ever
Googlenope: a passion for orthodontia
Googleyup: a passion for toilet-seat collecting
Googlenope: the World Blimp Racing Championship
Googleyup: the World Snail Racing Championship
Googlenope: uncircumcised hamster
Googleyup: uncircumcised anchovy
Googlenope: My behind isn't large enough
Googleyup: Do I look fat in this muumuu?
Googlenope: Himmler loved humanity
Googleyup: Himmler loved a nice plate of salmon
Googlenope: gangsta clog dancing
Googleyup: gangsta accordion music
Googlenope: how to press your pants with a waffle iron
Googleyup: how to shave your legs with duct tape
Googlenope: googlenopery
Googleyup: de-googlenoping
Googlenopery...
I enjoy the Washington Post. I get it delivered to my house every day of the week, every week of the year, and (if I'm lucky) I take the opportunity each day to peruse the pages, read what I like and recycle it when I'm finished. Sunday is particularly good because so many more things come with the Sunday edition. Today I was blessed to receive a full catalog from Ikea (I'm gonna bring it over for you Erik - you need it far more than I ever could) among the traditional tidbits I enjoy. Regardless, I'm writing not about the fabulous Ikea catalog, but rather reposting the column I generally find the most amusing "Below The Beltway" by Gene Weingarten. Always funny and witty, and often re-post worthy. I hope you all enjoy this as much as I did
Nope, Yup, Nope, YupAn ontological treatise on flipping coinageBy Gene WeingartenSunday, August 5, 2007; W40
Three months ago in this space, a versatile new word was born. A "googlenope" was defined as a phrase that returns no hits when entered between quotation marks into the Google search engine. Until that day, the word "googlenope" was itself a googlenope. Today, it draws more than 1,000 hits, and the number is growing. The phenomenon has spread to Europe. Indeed, without my knowledge, someone started a Web site, googlenope.com, which is devoted to the art and science of what we shall henceforth call . . . googlenopery.
We at Googlenope International headquarters could not be more proud. But semantic pioneers do not get where they are by resting on their laurels. Today, we further plumb the field by finding new googlenopes, and pairing them with googleyups, phrases that ought to be googlenopes, but aren't.
As always, every time a new googlenope is created and published, it ceases to be a googlenope. In this manner, we shall slowly but steadily create a world where nothing has been left unsaid.
Googlenope: I'd like a middle seat
Googleyup: I'd like to die in a plane crash
Googlenope: world's funniest proofreader
Googleyup: world's funniest mortician
Googlenope: accidentally glued my foot to my dog
Googleyup: accidentally glued my dog to the floor
Googlenope: squalor of the French Riviera
Googleyup: splendor of Hoboken, N.J.
Googlenope: armpit hair topiary
Googleyup: nose hair topiary
Googlenope: 14-karat gold spork
Googleyup: 14-karat gold silly putty egg
Googlenope: died in a freak pogo stick accident
Googleyup: died in a freak mushy pea accident
Googlenope: turkey-chip cookie
Googleyup: chicken-chip cookie
Googlenope: sensitive middle linebacker
Googleyup: sensitive mass murderer
Googlenope: finest Cajun food in New Hampshire
Googleyup: finest Cajun food in the Netherlands
Googlenope: God is a bad dancer
Googleyup: God is a bad first date
Googlenope: All philosophers are gasbags
Googleyup: The Ontological Basis of Plotinus' Criticism of Aristotle's Theory of Categories
Googlenope: the kiwi and sausage diet
Googleyup: the ice cream and prune diet
Googlenope: worshipped for his knock-knock jokes
Googleyup: worshipped for his penmanship
Googlenope: give Hillary a noogie
Googleyup: give Jesus a noogie
Googlenope: Amish shotgun enthusiast
Googleyup: kickboxing Jewish Republican
Googlenope: the most delicious pus ever
Googleyup: the most delicious vomit ever
Googlenope: a passion for orthodontia
Googleyup: a passion for toilet-seat collecting
Googlenope: the World Blimp Racing Championship
Googleyup: the World Snail Racing Championship
Googlenope: uncircumcised hamster
Googleyup: uncircumcised anchovy
Googlenope: My behind isn't large enough
Googleyup: Do I look fat in this muumuu?
Googlenope: Himmler loved humanity
Googleyup: Himmler loved a nice plate of salmon
Googlenope: gangsta clog dancing
Googleyup: gangsta accordion music
Googlenope: how to press your pants with a waffle iron
Googleyup: how to shave your legs with duct tape
Googlenope: googlenopery
Googleyup: de-googlenoping
Tuesday, July 24, 2007 - Why you should listen to your hot water tank
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Why you should listen to your hot water tank
A few of you might remember me mentioning a couple of months ago how we should get a new hot water tank. The water looked dingy, so we figured (and were given advice) to drain it and give it a nice rinse. So we did that, a couple of times in a row, yet.........still dingy water. So we figured that we'd have to set aside some dough to purchase a new tank. There are a wide variety out there, but I'd like to have something efficient and as large as we have now (50 gallons). I can deal with dingy water for a couple of months until we do it. Well, apparently the hot water tank had a different idea on what it was going to do in the meantime. Got a call from Brad about 11:30 this morning relaying his story of how a loud crash woke him up, he investigated to find a laundry room full of water and further investigated to find a very wet kitchen ceiling and a hanging pot rack that was............well, no longer hanging. At this point I could only think of the hot water tank, so I told him my theory and gave instructions to shut off the water and gas to it. Driving home I was terribly afraid that something worse happend - burst pipes or something of that nature, but was relieved to find that there really was no other explanation. The bottom seems to have just fallen out of the 12 year old tank (that's about their lifetime for anyone wondering) and when the laundry room could take no more it found another route out - through the floor apparently. 50 gallons at once - I'm surprised the entire 2nd floor isn't soaked. Anyway, now I'm off to hunt for a new tank at Lowes, Home Depot, Sears - the usual suspects. Nationwide will be coming tomorrow to decide who will come to fix our ceiling and such. I hope this results in new lighting fixtures for the kitchen - I hate the ones that are in there now.
Why you should listen to your hot water tank
A few of you might remember me mentioning a couple of months ago how we should get a new hot water tank. The water looked dingy, so we figured (and were given advice) to drain it and give it a nice rinse. So we did that, a couple of times in a row, yet.........still dingy water. So we figured that we'd have to set aside some dough to purchase a new tank. There are a wide variety out there, but I'd like to have something efficient and as large as we have now (50 gallons). I can deal with dingy water for a couple of months until we do it. Well, apparently the hot water tank had a different idea on what it was going to do in the meantime. Got a call from Brad about 11:30 this morning relaying his story of how a loud crash woke him up, he investigated to find a laundry room full of water and further investigated to find a very wet kitchen ceiling and a hanging pot rack that was............well, no longer hanging. At this point I could only think of the hot water tank, so I told him my theory and gave instructions to shut off the water and gas to it. Driving home I was terribly afraid that something worse happend - burst pipes or something of that nature, but was relieved to find that there really was no other explanation. The bottom seems to have just fallen out of the 12 year old tank (that's about their lifetime for anyone wondering) and when the laundry room could take no more it found another route out - through the floor apparently. 50 gallons at once - I'm surprised the entire 2nd floor isn't soaked. Anyway, now I'm off to hunt for a new tank at Lowes, Home Depot, Sears - the usual suspects. Nationwide will be coming tomorrow to decide who will come to fix our ceiling and such. I hope this results in new lighting fixtures for the kitchen - I hate the ones that are in there now.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007 - Social Experiments
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Social Experiments
So, I decided that I was in desperate need of an ice cream sundae this morning. My neck is hurting, things have been less than grand with the recent and sudden passing of a friend from college and his little boy, and I just want some damn ice cream. So after lunch I convince my work friend that she too needs a trip down to the closest ice cream shop - Ben & Jerry's - where we'll partake of a nice sundae that's sure to not be good for us.
We get in to Ben & Jerry's and there's a couple in front of us. They're ordering, so I wander around to look at the flavors available. I notice, sitting in a corner of this extremely small shop, a kid - he's probably 16 or 17, but it's really hard to say cause I don't stop and stare at him - and he's just hanging out with a spoon in his mouth. Not a moment later his phone starts playing some serious racket. Now, when I say racket I do not mean my mother's definition of racket which is as follows: any noise that she does not deem to be pleasing to her ears. No, this was true racket - sounded like a broken walkie talkie stuck in the receive mode with all channels meshing together. Now, when my phone rings I answer it. Even if I'm enjoying the song it plays I answer it. At no point in time do I ever just listen to the song over and over and over again for the fun of it. That is what this kid was doing - to the broken walkie talkie racket. So finally, after a good 2 minutes, he changes it from the racket to the recent Rhianna release. Here's where the gettin' gets good. Not only is the song playing on his phone, he is singing along..... loudly. And not only is he loudly singing along to the song playing on his phone, but he is jammin' out to it - spoon in hand. As I mentioned before, he's sort of in a corner, and he's obstructed from the other patrons' view by a wall. I only knew he was there because I ventured up to look at the flavors. I realize at the moment of his jam-out, that his reflection can clearly be seen in the glass covering the ice cream. The kid is gettin' down like it's 1985 and there's some cardboard about to be laid out on the sidewalk. Truly amazing. But anyway, he's singing, and jammin', and whatever else and finally the song ends and he says "man I love that song", and everyone continues to ignore him as they had been doing. My co-worker says "what if I just walk over there and smack him upside the head." I agree that this would be truly funny and tell her that voilence such as that is perfectly acceptable under such extinuating circumstances. At this point he puts on yet another song - our order still hasn't been taken and we're only second in line, so we opt for Panera, turn around and exit stage right.
Feeling as though we've just escaped a cameo on Punk'd, we head to Panera, get a brownie and get back in the car. On the five minute drive back to work we witness yet another social experiment driving down the road. Seriously - lady (I think, but one can never be sure) jammin' out to her radio - not just singing along (cause I serious love to sing along to the radio), but waving her arms all out the window like she's at Fur or something. Seriously???!!! Seriously.....
Social Experiments
So, I decided that I was in desperate need of an ice cream sundae this morning. My neck is hurting, things have been less than grand with the recent and sudden passing of a friend from college and his little boy, and I just want some damn ice cream. So after lunch I convince my work friend that she too needs a trip down to the closest ice cream shop - Ben & Jerry's - where we'll partake of a nice sundae that's sure to not be good for us.
We get in to Ben & Jerry's and there's a couple in front of us. They're ordering, so I wander around to look at the flavors available. I notice, sitting in a corner of this extremely small shop, a kid - he's probably 16 or 17, but it's really hard to say cause I don't stop and stare at him - and he's just hanging out with a spoon in his mouth. Not a moment later his phone starts playing some serious racket. Now, when I say racket I do not mean my mother's definition of racket which is as follows: any noise that she does not deem to be pleasing to her ears. No, this was true racket - sounded like a broken walkie talkie stuck in the receive mode with all channels meshing together. Now, when my phone rings I answer it. Even if I'm enjoying the song it plays I answer it. At no point in time do I ever just listen to the song over and over and over again for the fun of it. That is what this kid was doing - to the broken walkie talkie racket. So finally, after a good 2 minutes, he changes it from the racket to the recent Rhianna release. Here's where the gettin' gets good. Not only is the song playing on his phone, he is singing along..... loudly. And not only is he loudly singing along to the song playing on his phone, but he is jammin' out to it - spoon in hand. As I mentioned before, he's sort of in a corner, and he's obstructed from the other patrons' view by a wall. I only knew he was there because I ventured up to look at the flavors. I realize at the moment of his jam-out, that his reflection can clearly be seen in the glass covering the ice cream. The kid is gettin' down like it's 1985 and there's some cardboard about to be laid out on the sidewalk. Truly amazing. But anyway, he's singing, and jammin', and whatever else and finally the song ends and he says "man I love that song", and everyone continues to ignore him as they had been doing. My co-worker says "what if I just walk over there and smack him upside the head." I agree that this would be truly funny and tell her that voilence such as that is perfectly acceptable under such extinuating circumstances. At this point he puts on yet another song - our order still hasn't been taken and we're only second in line, so we opt for Panera, turn around and exit stage right.
Feeling as though we've just escaped a cameo on Punk'd, we head to Panera, get a brownie and get back in the car. On the five minute drive back to work we witness yet another social experiment driving down the road. Seriously - lady (I think, but one can never be sure) jammin' out to her radio - not just singing along (cause I serious love to sing along to the radio), but waving her arms all out the window like she's at Fur or something. Seriously???!!! Seriously.....
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