Appetizer: Using only 5 words, describe how 2004 went for you.
Loving life but still broke.
Soup: Name something you did in 2004 that you’ll probably never do again.
Match.com. There’s a petting zoo at the Kimball’s in Carlisle if I ever get that sort of urge again.
Salad: What did you learn about yourself in 2004?
I’m quite soluble.
Main Course: What news event from 2004 will stand out in your memory?
Bush winning the presidential election. History will be kind to him.
Dessert: Name something you purchased in 2004 that you really, really like.
My HP Media Center PC. I could gush about it for hours.
My greatest New Year’s resolution victory had to have been back in 2001 when I vowed to quit smoking once and for all. I haven’t had a puff since. Yes I’m gloating – it’s no easy task. Would you like to know how I did it? Should I share my secret here, for the ages? I could probably make millions writing a book or creating a self help DVD, but since I’m in such a good mood today I’ll let you in on my little secret. Here’s how you quit smoking:
You quit smoking.
If you ‘only smoke when you’re driving’, you’ll end up right back puffing a pack a day. If you ‘only smoke after a meal’, same thing. If you like to light up ‘just once in the morning while reading the paper’, likewise plan on being right back at that smokey teat within a week. And if you only smoke when you drink, you might as well have never even bothered dropping it in the first place.
Here’s the tough straight poopy dope: any iteration of smoking will ultimately lead you right back to whatever sad habit you started with. Once I figured that out, removed it from my life completely and stopped pretending I needed to wean myself off of it like a newborn from a juicy teat it was actually kind of easy. So if you’re planning on dancing with the dragon this coming year, I want to say to you, best of luck. And teat, just one more time.
A few weeks back my friend Brukkake asked me to help him out with an article he was writing. He’s a news writer for SearchCIO.com and wanted to put together a fun, year-end piece about what some of his readers thought about current and upcoming movies. Sounds innocent enough, right?
Take a gander at the finished product, Geeks Weigh In On The Best Movies of 2004. Look for a witty jab from yours truly, Mr. ” It’s Looking More And More Like They’ll Find Me Dead Beside A Trunk Full of DVD Porn”, in the very last paragraph.
Am I like Booger? A huge dork who doesn’t realize he’s a huge dork? A giant dweeb who’s dweebiness is apparent to everyone except him? A pathetic los… Wait. Don’t answer that. Don’t answer any of those. Goodnight.
In a few days, my old email address (email@example.com) will no longer function. I’ve been trying to wean most of you on to the new one, but some folks just don’t want to get with the times. So, if you want to stay in touch, update your records. One more time for the cheap seats:
My e-mail address is dave (at) davepye.com!
While we’re on the subject, some of you have probably noticed that people have stopped listing their email address properly, and have taken to substituting the @ symbol with something else. For example: firstname.lastname@example.org becomes bob (at) smith.com. In case you were wondering, this is because there are untold numbers of automated scripts out there, incessantly surfing the web just to harvest email addresses. These addresses are then sold to companies who will spam the bejaysus out of you. So, if you have a website, and you want your email to remain spam-free, disguise it somehow.
So once again – david.pye.com and email@example.com are ancient history. There will be a time-capsule-esque link to my old website from this one. Update your address books and your browsers, or risk losing me forever.
There are a lot of exchanging hosting for your small business including computer servers that provide a storage for your email hosting and other information. Exchange outsourcing services are dedicated exchange hosting that is monitored by professionals.
Is this thing on? I’m back – and what a tedious trip that was. It was great to see my friends and family, but the whole week had this dreary let’s-drag-Grandma-into-a-nursing-home-kicking-and-screaming element to it that has left me extremely glad to be back in Beantown. Other highlights included:
- Driving 4 hours in a blizzard with violent stereo bronchitis.
- Chastizing my little cousin for telling jokes that would make Don Rickles blush.
- Drinking Doornkaat with a German gentleman and seeing the scar on his leg where he was shot by a Russian sniper whilst digging an anti-tank trench in 1944.
- 5 words: Star Wars DVD Box Set. 13 more words: Never sleeping with a woman again having just admitted my excitement at that.
- Walking into the Albion in Guelph after a 7-year hiatus and recognizing people I knew.
- Driving down old highway 6 with a Tim Horton’s in my hand and the Hip on the radio.
So yeah. Canada had its moments. And I’m back. What’s on for New Years? Let’s get that bastard over with, too.
Those who are looking for a new home don’t know many of the benefits of modular homes. There are a lot of different types of homes including prefab homes which are great for first time buyers. With manufactured homes, you can choose from many different homes and designs for your modular home.
Just a quick note to let everyone know what to expect from Pye In The Face over the next week or so. First of all, I am currently sick as a dog. I’ve left my apartment once in the last 3 days to go to CVS for Theraflu and Nyquil. I don’t know what prompted this malady, but the timing couldn’t be worse. So y’all are going to have to do Wing Night without me.
Wednesday my sister and I are driving 9 hours to Toronto for Christmas. The highlight of which will be placing an elderly relative into a nursing home. Happy Holidays. Then Monday night it’s off to L.A. to meet with a client.
The next week is going to be awfully quiet. Far more awful than quiet. Bear with me – I shall return.
Boss lost his small, grey mouse – which chirps loudly when he swats it – about a month ago, and nothing I’ve bought him since has seemed to fill the void. He’s been despondent and inconsolable, mewing incessantly about the evils of British imperialism. And then something most unexpected happened.
I awoke one morning last week to see Boss gloating proudly over… is that… could it be… squeaky mouse?! Was he sent off on some secret mission for the Irish Republican Army (it’s no secret that Boss has had past affiliations)? Did Boss stage a clandestine raid while I slept to free Squeaky from Al Queda captors?
Obviously not. Cats have short memory spans, and like some kind of feline alzheimer patient, I’m sure he just carried the toy off behind a piece of furniture and forgot all about it. Still, it’s fun to imagine that your pet is a secret agent. And to only leave the house during full moons on odd numbered months.
This is going to be a short one. Not feeling very humorous today. Loads of work and holiday related stress harshing my mellow, man.
Appetizer: What is something that never fails to grab your attention?
Acts of terrorism, road flares, poutine, small shiny objects and barbed-wire thongs.
Soup: Who was the last person that gave you money?
My Dad wired me some cash in lieu of a birthday present earlier this month. He and my mother are currently spending their summer in a Florida trailer park, so it was a convenient solution. Especially since you can’t send deep-fried turkeys, methamphetamines or Jiffy Wine through the mail. The money went to Pixies tickets, and I’ll spare you any more gushing about how much I enjoyed those concerts. Thanks be to the ‘rents.
Salad: If you were a Smurf, what would your name be?
Where do I start? Here are a few possibilities: Pinty Smurf. Resenty Smurf. Canucky Smurf. Commitmentphobe Smurf. Sanford and Smurf. Tragically Smurfed. I need to stop.
Main Course: Do you believe in astrology? Why or why not?
Not really, although the classic description of a Sagittarius is me to a ‘T’. Still, I won’t be calling Dionne Warwick anytime soon. Christopher Walken’s Psychic Friends is more my speed.
Dessert: Have you seen any snow this year yet?
I saw a few flakes last week, but they melted instantly. The most snow I’ve seen this year was in a Quicktime movie my sister sent me of her snowboarding up in SugarBush. And I’d like to keep it that way.
A group of friends and I used to make time every week for ‘Wing Night’ which was held at the SideBar, usually on Tuesdays. Wing Night would consist of a few pitchers of Pabst and enough chicken wings to be declared a partial poultry genocide. Once Monster and I ate 50 each in one sitting. And, let’s just say, we were sitting down again shortly afterwards in more secluded locations. The night eventually grew to include a rotating group of faces, but then died off sharply around 6 months ago. We’ve recently been discussing its resurrection, and I thought this would be a perfect time to roll out another one of my silly related Photoshops…
What do you get when you marry geeky Tolkienesque fandom with weekly gastonomical hammerings of biblical proportions? Why, Frodo with a Buffalo biscuit, of course. And like a Hobbit to the Cracks of Doom – starting in January I’m bringing Wing Night home again. So prepare yourselves for the very imminent Return of the Wing.
One of my roomates is parting amicably for reasons of finance. It may also have something to do with all the dead hookers. Regardless, Mardi and I will be needing another… Roomate, that is. I have the hookers covered – With lime in shallow cellar graves for the most part.
If you’re interested, know someone who is interested or just have some sort of sick fascination with what the insides of other people’s apartments look like, click the linky: 20 Cleveland Place #1
I don’t really party like a rock star or kill women of the night, anymore. I think that’s important to point out when recruiting a potential occupant. Just don’t send that link to your crazy cousin ‘OCD Skip’, or some girl you know from middle-school who smelt like pee. I’ve had good luck with roomates thus far, and I’m due for a real disaster. Don’t tempt it.
Today was the first bitterly cold walk to work I’ve endured this season. We’ve been lucky for a long time as the weather has been quite warm, quite late. But Old Man Winter has tightened his grip, and it’s time to buy another Masque. A quick aside about that wonderful warmth inducing product – remember you’re wearing them. Masques will make you look quite scary, and if you barge into a 7-11 wearing one, you might end up at the business end of a 30-30. If you choose to learn this the hard way, your next Kit-Kat may be your last.
But back to what’s going to be my hugely unpopular observation for this fine Wednesday – Boston Common, North Station, Haymarket, Downtown Crossing – were all completely devoid of homeless people this morning. I’m not going to cop out and ask rhetorical questions like “Does it make me a bad person if I’m glad the bitter cold has driven all the carrion inside?” I’m going to make a few up front statements that you can take or leave. Or use as justification to firebomb my apartment (we are in Massachusetts, afterall).
If you have a friend, relative or aquaintence that’s been struck homeless by mental illness or some other misfortune, I’m not referring to them. What I’m glad to be rid of for a few months are the rude, aggressive drunks that plague this city every summer. I walk back and forth from North Station to the Copley area to work every day, and am asked for money an average of 5 times a trip. Asked is actually not the best word. Beleaguered might be better.
Maybe living in the city for 5 years has chipped away at my empathy to the point where I no longer feel sorry for people who are passed out in the street, covered in their own pee. Maybe it’s because that person is sometimes me. But guilt-trip myself as I might, I can’t deny how noticeable and lovely the lack of a vagrant presence was this morning. No one held the door for me on my way into the Dunks, I didn’t have to brave the park bench gauntlet past the Park Street T-Station and Krazy Kris Kristofferson and Slow-Motion Man were nowhere to be found.
I do actually hope they’re all somewhere warm and cozy, being looked after by social services, getting a shower and sucking down some hot soup. But their numbers seem to be multiplying like tribbles – and I hope it’s just my mind playing tricks on me. Or the mentholated schnapps.
So those monkeys that had gone to heaven? Well they finally flew out of my butt.
It wasn’t the first time – they performed ‘Tame’ in 1989 and ‘Trompe Le Monde’ in 1991 – but it was uniquely magnificent in it’s sheer unlikeliness. This time last year, they weren’t even speaking. They play the final show of the reunion tour, or The Pixies Sellout as they themselves call it this week. Letterman was a nice capper.
Joey, Charles, Kim and Dave – thanks for a great year. I feel like such a fanboy freak saying that, but I really mean it. Anyone who knows me will contest to the fact that I can die now. Albeit alone.
My technical issues of the last few days have been remedied, and I apologize for the lull. When you don’t post for a day or two, and you get emails from your faithful readers asking where you’ve been, it’s a nice feeling. But I’ll have to let you know because as of right now I’m just guessing.
But why liken my heralded return to the comeback of a pioneering hip-hop group, you ask? Because a four-day blog absence is similar in many ways to dropping out of favor in the rap world. Gold chains are in short supply. You develop a startling dependency on malt liquor. Your clothing ceases to be “fresh”. You can no longer claim to have “drama, hoes”. I could go on – and I might. After some more malt liquor.
If I were prone to lying, I’d tell you that I spent my downtime pining for the ability to vent publicly online. I’d tell you that my inability to let off steam and share my insights with the world nearly led to an anyeurism of fatal proportions. And if I were a truthful soul, I’d tell you just how much fun you can have playing San Andreas for 8 hours while inadvertantly covering your couch with half-eaten honey roasted peanuts that you can get for $2 a can at the CVS on Hanover Street. And that I will likely die alone having just sort of admitted that is indeed how I spent the majority of my weekend. I suppose the next step is to grow a ponyatil and get a tarantula?
Regardless of my penchant for arachnids and dying alone, I’m back in full effect. And I’ll play a little catch up this week, too. So keep watching/looking away uncomfortably. And best rap group ever, while we’re sorta on the subject.
I am looking forward to this week, simply because I have absolutely nothing planned. No concerts, no birthdays, no nights out, no Christmas parties – nada. I am going to work, sleep, then work again… and it will be lovely in it’s lethargy.
My wick is whacked. My midnight oil is burnt. My liver could probably be sold to medical science as a freakishly resilient oddity. I’m thankful for all my friends and the accompanying healthy social life – but I honestly want to move to a cabin in the woods Kazinsky-style, write a rambling manifesto about cheese and speak only to squirrels.
Don’t cry for me. There are worse problems to have. But do go and go see Ocean’s Twelve. It was surprisingly excellent.
Appetizer: Make up a word and give us its definition.
Balderdash is the best board game ever devised. If you’ve played it, you already know that the object is to try and bluff/fool your friends into picking your phony definition of a real, but little known, word. One night, senior year of high school, Mike, Kent, Nate and a few others were playing it around my kitchen table. I got the word ‘scumble‘ and defined it as “Any fight taking place in West Concord“. When that particular group would get together and play, the game would become about cracking up your friends. That was one of the hardest laughs I’ve ever had. But I don’t want anyone to think we spent our Friday nights sitting inside playing board games because that would be uncool. Not at all – Friday nights were for Dungeons and Dragons.
Soup: What is currently your favorite song?
I’ve previously stated that pound-for-pound, my all-time favorite song is There Goes The Fear by The Doves. And I imagine it always will be. The Pixies’ amazing rendition of Something Against You last night at Avalon would run a close second. But the album I’m currently playing the hell out of at work is Lou Reed‘s New York. I haven’t given it any attention for a decade, and it’s still brilliant.
Salad: What’s at the top of your Christmas wish list this year?
“My Christmas Wish List” in big, red crayon.
Main Course: Name a scent that reminds you of someone in your life.
Hi Karate always reminds me of a shop teacher I had in grade 7. The rumor was, that this guy had removed the inside of his pants pockets. And had once, while he was holding a piece of wood or a hammer or something, asked a student to reach into his pocket to get a tape measure – where they then found themselves grasping a semi-chubbed giggle stick. This story spread like wild-fire throughout our school, and I always felt bad for the man because he seemed absolutely harmless when I was locked in his office with him looking at Austrian pornography.
Dessert: Who is someone on television that you feel probably shouldn’t be?
Jon Stewart. He’s adored by hundreds of thousands of young, impressionable people who are too thick to discern real news from satire. And he’s violently partisan, which makes it all the more unhealthy. I am the complete opposite of a Jon Stewart fan. Used to go see his stand-up, now all I want to do is see him fall down – on a chainsaw.