From the monthly archives:

February 2005

This Bachelorette Chick Really Sucks.

by Dave on February 28, 2005


I promised my roomate I’d Tivo the last episode of the bachelorette for her while she’s working. I’ve had it open on my monitor tonight as I’ve been working. And it’s been painful. And I feel a strange urge to crank up a showtune while drinking carbonated mineral water which I don’t fully understand. But it’s almost over and I can honestly say – I want to watch Jennifer Schefft die in a boating accident.

She rejected not one, but two proposals tonight. “I want you to know that I was fully committed to this. I want you to know that.” She’s used that phrase 14 times tonight. She’s a shallow, self-centered sow who likes herself an awful lot. “You’re wonderful. You’ve been great to me throughout this whole thing.” The fact that the two dejected bachelors are sitting beside her on the couch right now as opposed to urinating onto her face in tandem is a tribute to their restraint.

Thankfully, someone in the studio audience just stood up and asked her “Without sounding harsh, what is it going to take for you to be satisfied?” (Bear in mind she rejected someone on the bachelor before she was given this, her own show). She declined to answer that, and the next three questions she was asked. She’s truly awful.

If it’s bothered me this much, I have to assume that the legions of loyal women viewers who watch this show must be disappointed too. And that I’m gay. Somewhere, a casting agent is losing their contract with ABC.


The Thompson Sub-Machine Cannon.

by Dave on February 28, 2005


I hate to advocate weird chemicals, alcohol, violence or insanity to anyone… but they’ve always worked for me“.

I was a little sad when Hunter S. Thompson killed himself a week ago. Discovering his books and essays while in University was an eye-opening and welcome break from the conventions of my American lit classes. Thompson made it clear to me for the first time that when it comes to writing and journalism, there really are no rules. Narrative, wordplay – you can bastardize it all, find your own voice and still wind up with something both entertaining, unique and if it’s called for – informative. It also doesn’t hurt to scribble while under the influence. Which is a relief, as I currenly have my pants around my ankles and a Wild Turkey IV pumping into my right arm.

Thompson remains original, even in death. He often expressed his desire to have his ashes fired into the sky by a cannon, and to honor that wish his family has sent out a nationwide call they hope the rare breed which are cannon-owners will heed. Move the snow-blower out of the way and dust off your best Civil War replica boom sticks. Hunter needs you. And just what do you get if you agree to help fire Hunter out of your cannon? Why, the honor of firing Hunter out of your cannon, of course. Anyone who agrees to make the trip, cannon in tow, will be financing the trek themselves. I paid $8 in shipping for a miniscule phone battery last month. So best of luck to the fortunate volunteer. They also have to win an essay writing contest and entries must be exactly 100 words in length and sent via snail mail.

My apartment is full of all kinds of crap I’ve collected over the years. But alas, a cannon is not part of the clutter. So as my own personal tribute to Thompson, I fired open a bottle of Retsina and forced 2 of my friends who’d never seen it to watch Where The Buffalo Roam on Saturday night. Bill Murray’s hilariously accurate portrayal came to pass after he befriended Thompson in the late 70s and spent a lot of time with him at his Owl Ranch in Colarado. It’s said that it took Murray months to get out of character and he ‘continued to act Gonzo through the beginning of the next season of Saturday Night Live, to the consternation/annoyance of cast and crew members’. But at least he has never been Al Franken.


Appetizer: Name something that makes you scream.
Cock & ball torture. Joining an online dating site with a cleft-lip, a wooden leg and a drinking problem before going out with 3 different women named ‘BoSoxGirl78’. Thrusting my face into a hot jet of steam and receiving 3rd degree burns. Base-jumping 20,000 feet without a parachute into a dumpster behind the Gillette factory. Shoving saxophone reeds under my fingernails and then drowning a puppy in a briny pickle barrel. Margaret Cho. God knows I won’t do any of those things again. Margaret – call me.

Soup: Who is a musician you enjoy listening to when you want to relax?
There’s no better CD in existence for relaxing/suicide/fornication than Grace by Jeff Buckley. I was washing windows the day that he died. Venditti yelled up the ladder “Hey! That fruitcake singer you like drowned”. He was right – and as I nearly fell backwards off the roof in shock, I realized my secret weapon (Jeff Buckley music) would forever be limited to that one album. And rohypnol.

Salad: What was the last book you purchased?
I haven’t done much reading since I hooked my computer up to digital cable in my bedroom. I used to read voraciously every night before bed. Now I watch Tivo’d episodes of Sanford and Son. Voraciously. While I’m on the subject, that is hands-down the funniest sitcom that’s ever been. Click here for a cool S&S soundbyte and synopsis. Or here for titties.

Main Course: If you could live one day as a historical figure, who would it be?
Sinatra. If you have to ask why, it’s because you’re gay.

Dessert: Talk about a time when you were lost.
I have a pretty poor sense of direction. I’ll admit it. On the way home from my last trip to Canada, I took a wrong turn at Albany right before the Mass Pike and drove my sister and I a good 45 minutes out of our way. Having already been in the car 7 hours at that point, I was not popular. I was, however, covered in cat hair and french fries. The moral of the story? My internal compass is Amelia Earhart-esque, especially with a kitten in my lap and a mouthful of potato products. This is going nowhere. Have a good weekend.


Name My Unfortunate New Medical Condition.

by Dave on February 24, 2005


I love having a site like this – interactive, current, communal – but this stress exists to come up with good content each and every day. I know I’m not the only one who suffers from this fun new bloggy plague. If a site ceases to be ‘sticky’ people no longer show up every day to get stuck. Some days, I’ll post 3 or 4 different articles like it’s nothing. On others I could be channeling Steven King, who could write 16 pages about a popcorn kernel, and wouldn’t be able to think of a single word. It’s easy when you have a sports or political blog because there’s always fresh fodder for your typing fingers. But when your common thread of choice is simply humor – ’tis a whole ‘nother ball game. Still – Pye In The Face has been going strong for 9 months and 300 posts, so I’m still a ‘functioning’ ____ (insert my new medical condition’s name).

There’s also this other annoying distraction that keeps me from musing more during the work week. It’s called a job. Before I get back to it, however, I feel the need to coin a phrase coming on. What could one chisten ‘the stress induced by pressure to come up with blog content’? I await your suggestions.


How High Is Denver? Very.

by Dave on February 23, 2005

in Heartwarming

PITF favorite Gary Puppa has been in Colorado pitching his innovative services to various NBA teams – and just sent me a couple of photos from an All-Star Game party he snuck through a kitchen ventilation shaft to attend. I’m only kidding, of course. Gary was obviously invited. The other attendees only thought he’d snuck in. After the misunderstanding was cleared up, and the rest of the guests realized Gary was indeed supposed to be there, they immediately asked him if he still talked to Corey Haim.

Method Man (a.k.a ‘Meth’ a.k.a ‘Johnny Blaze’) seemed to take to Puppa (a.k.a ‘Pupp’ a.k.a ‘Corey Feldman after a bender’) like he was a box of White Owls. The fast new friends were later seen observing a moment of silence for ODB before swapping do-rags. I find it fascinating that although these photos were taken 2 minutes apart, Meth has managed to change his entire wardrobe about 8 times. So, so fly.

And just when Gary thought the evening couldn’t get any fawnkier, Redman burst onto the scene like a glaucoma patient’s capillary. While the ‘Funk Dr. Spock’ gave the camera the NYC salute, Meth took a swig of his Motorola and called Ghostface on a Budweiser. Great pics, buddy. When’s the release date for the first Pu-Tang Clan album?


Introducing The New Gallery Section!

by Dave on February 23, 2005

in Pye in the Face

Slowly and surely I’ve been devising a way to incorporate photo galleries into this site. There are many easy external/3rd party options, but the trick was to keep the gallery experience as fluid and seamless as possible. I’ve settled on a system that’s a bit clunky, and involves a lot of work on my part, but it looks good. So I’m proud to finally introduce the new gallery section of Pye in the Face!

Fans of the old site are probably wondering: Where all the devestatingly funny captions, you witty bastard? Well that’s easy – they’re on the old site, dummy! You’ll be happy to know, however, that I’m working on a way to allow anyone to caption any of the photos you’ll see in this new gallery. And more than one person will be able to take a crack at the same picture. Click the photo of Katherine’s motorcycle cake at the beginning of the Thanksgiving gallery to see what I have in mind. And stay well clear of my camera. Unless you’re dressed as a topless mime and I’ve already paid you.


The 10 Greatest Rock N’ Roll Myths.

by Dave on February 22, 2005

in Musical

Since this past weekend has left me shivering like Keith Moon after a JD enema, and we spent last week discussing the merits of naming fish after dead rock stars, I thought I’d kick things off with this list of the 10 greatest rock myths of all time. Let’s talk about #10 for a second:

10: Led Zep and the mud shark
‘A pretty young groupie with red hair was tied to the bed,’ claimed Stephen Davis in Hammer of the Gods. ‘Led Zeppelin proceeded to stuff pieces of shark into her vagina and rectum.’ Not quite. Zep did catch sharks from the window of their hotel, but the pesce in question was actually a red snapper, while the perpetrator was road manager Richard Cole.

I am so relieved that was just a myth. I mean – can you even begin to imagine Jimmy Page standing over you trying to shove sushi up your chute? Thank goodness it was only Richard Cole and a snapper. Because as opposed to Robert Plant coming after your bum with a bucket of chum – that’s completely acceptable.

Yuck. Anyhew, I’ve been working on a new Pye In The Face gallery section which will debut sometime tonight with photos from Saturday’s Mardi Gras party. Thank you all for coming, and I’m glad it turned out to be such a silly bead-slinging soiree. Stay tuned for my next debaucherous creation, the 5th annual Cinco De Mayo party which will be held at the SideBar on Saturday, May 9th.


Gettin’ Tanked – In So Many Ways.

by Dave on February 19, 2005


What a wonderful Saturday in human history. Not only is the big Mardi Gras party tonight, but the new fish tank is up, running and populated! Monster and I drove to the Galleria this morning and stocked up on supplies. I got a new light, food, 2 underwater Mayan castles, a net and even a new scratching post for the Boss. And what of the fish, you ask? You’ll remember earlier this week I was all excited about getting to choose what sort of fish I wanted. I even asked for suggestions. It turns out, the nice lady at Petco told me what sort of fish I had to buy. And they’re scarcely bigger than ants. I was disappointed. I’ll explain.

“You’re going to start off with three Tetras.” The lady turned her back to me and walked over to the tank she had in mind. I immediately balked – “I am? These guys are miniscule. May I ask why?” She didn’t appreciate my questioning her ultimate fishy wisdom. “Because. They’re hardy” came the strained reply. Obviously she meant that the little buggers were resilient, and a good way to kick off a new tank and balance out the PH levels before introducing more delicate additions. “What, like they solve mysteries together?” That got her laughing, and she ended up being quite helpful in the end. As opposed to the fat twat I initially took her for.

So she gave me three Tetras to start off with. Any more than three fish introduced at a given time can cause toxic shock to the rest of the community. They’re tiny (for scale see the one circled above to the right in front of the sacred Mayan temple) and indistinguishable from one another – so I’ve decided to call them the Hansons. Hopefully they won’t wrap foil around their fins and bash new fish into the glass. All in all, I think my little ecosystem is off to a ‘swimming’ start (LOL, ROFL, ROFLPM!) and I’ll keep you updated when I add new citizens. Cornett, Jodice and Jim will be here in half an hour for the party pre-game – at which point the Hansons won’t be the only residents of the apartment up to their eyeballs in filthy liquids.


Appetizer: Name 2 things you do that you consider beneficial to your health.
If you live in Boston, you’ve been to Haymarket. “Caahn on the caawb! Foaah fer a dollaah!” In addition to being a T-Stop, it’s an open air collection of farm stands which are assembled late every Thursday night and remain until early Saturday evening. It’s primarily composed of fruit stands but there’s a flower guy who looks like Frank Stallone, a row of fish stands the stench of which would make Quint‘s eyes water and it’s the only game in town if you like to watch Asians fight over rotten kumkwats. Anyway, once or twice a month I go down there on Saturday morning and buy bags of carrots, apples and celery. I fire up my juicer like Jay Kordich and the aforementioned combination makes for a lovely, energizing bevvie chock full of vitamin C, potassium and Absolut. That still leaves 1 more thing, huh? OK – #2: actually leaving my apartment to walk to Haymarket.

Soup: If you made a New Year’s resolution, how’s it going so far?
My New Year’s resolution was to, over the next 12 (well, 10.5 now) months, to complete all of the half-finished websites I have floating around out there. There’s the dog sweater pattern site, the boston interior designer site, the halloween site, the personal injury attorney site, the free condom site, the boston bar site, the cigar humidor site, the mesothelioma site and about 5 others. So yeah, as you can see it’s going wicked-well.

Salad: Name something that has happened lately that bothers you.
Don’t get me started. First off – Trump fired Danny last week! He was the only one on the college team with any creativity, whatsoever. Then Brigitte went to America with Foofie-Foofie, leaving her poor fiancee Matteo with little more than a broken heart and some proscuitto. And to top it all off, Da Brat is the only Surreal mansion resident who got a VH1 development deal. And I thought that Tsunami shit made for a bad week.

Main Course: What is your favorite quote, and who said it?
I just covered this last week. So I’ll provide my second favorite instead – from the movie Rushmore. It’s funny cause it’s true:

But here’s my advice to the rest of you: Take dead aim on the rich boys. Get them in the crosshairs and take them down. Just remember, they can buy anything but they can’t buy backbone. Don’t let them forget it. Thank you.” -Herman Blume (Bill Murray).

Dessert: What do you collect?
I collect MP3s, DVDs and emotional baggage. I’ll have you know that I once earned a collector’s badge in Boy Scouts for my sensational photo album full of Raiders of the Lost Ark trading cards which I still have. Complete set. The cards are in perfect condition and as I’m writing this I’m slowly realizing they are probably worth something. Which is good – because the admission that I still have this childhood artifact in my room will likely force me to start paying for sex.


Our Lives In Song.

by Dave on February 16, 2005

in Musical

Viral blog quizzes are cutesy and somewhat embarrassing to read, but I accidentally found one on a friend’s site that caught my eye. Please feel free to get all interactive-like and fill out your own in a comment. Here’s the rub:

Choose a band/artist and answer only in song TITLES by that band.

Are you male or female: Nimrod’s Son
Describe yourself: Oh My Golly!
How do some people feel about you: Gigantic
How do you feel about yourself: I’m Amazed!
Describe your ex girlfriend/boyfriend: Something Against You
Describe your current girlfriend/boyfriend: I’ve Been Waiting For You
Describe where you want to be: All Over The World
Describe what you want to be: Blown Away
Describe how you live: Head On
Describe how you love: Make Believe
Share a few words of wisdom: Distance Equals Rate Times Time

That was fun. Now take your favorite band and give it a whirl. BTW, I don’t currently have a girlfriend – hence my choice of titles for those questions. Unfortunately the Pixies never wrote a song entitled ‘Non-committal Man-Boy’.


I’m Glad Someone Had A Good Valentine’s Day!

by Dave on February 16, 2005


It’s my distinct pleasure to welcome Cole Thomas Peden into this crazy world of ours, and it’s a better planet for having him. Best wishes to Steve, Jen and their new family. “He’s honestly a wee miracle,” says the proud new Dad, and apparently Jen is taking to motherhood “like a duck to water”. I’m not sure quite how Steve is taking to it, but I’m going to use this opportunity to drop in my personal favorite “like a fat kid to a Smartie“.

He was born at 4pm on Valentine’s day, and weighed in at 7.7 lbs. I fully expect Cole to be running his own print shop by the time he’s old enough to fire his maiden paintball. Nice work, kids. I look forward to meeting/scaring the heck out of the little guy. Yes it’s true, babies love me. And be sure to click here for a Pye in the Face exclusive – Cole’s very first music video.


Crazy Mardi Gras Party Developments!

by Dave on February 16, 2005


As you know, I’m throwing a Mardi Gras party this Saturday at Tiernans. Read my previous related article or visit the Evite for more information. I want to give everyone an update on some breaking special arrangements and surprises just in case you’re still on the fence about whether or not you plan to attend/binge drink.

First and foremost, the Corona girls are definitely coming. They’ll be running around in their skimpy little tanktops promoting Corona Lite and buying a whackload of it for party guests. They’ll also have giveaways, brand schwag and large breasts. In addition to my DJ who’ll be spinning from 9-2, a well known WBCN personality is coming down in the station’s Hummer to give away a bunch of very cool prizes and run some Mardi Gras themed contests. The station is also running 4 radio spots between now and then, billing the event as ‘WBCN & Corona’s Late Mardi Gras Bash’. I am billing the event as ‘Pye & WBCN & Corona’s Late Mardi Gras Bash’ since it was my goddamn idea, but who has time to be petty on a night like this is shaping up to be? I’ve been told that they’ve spent 10K on the event to date – so get your fast asses down there for a great time and some free goodies!

{ 1 comment }

The previous article on the Vermont Academy reunion really got me thinking about those strange days, and I realized that there are a wealth of stories which combined would make a great Tall Tale entry. Memories that grow dimmer and dimmer with each passing year – and it’s been 13 already – so with no further adue…

I was 17 years old, fresh after graduating from public high school – only to be dropped right back in to do my senior year all over again. This time with the added bonus of getting used to living away from home for the very first time. It was called a post-graduate year and was a way for me to trade my time on the VA football field for a partial scholarship and the opportunity to get my grades up (way up) in order to get into a better college. It was also called ‘what I had to do in order to avoid spork vivisection by my father’ and, in spite of the remote location, strict rules and rigid schedule – was still a very favorable alternative. Don’t let the Baby New Year photos fool you.

The number of people I still keep in touch with whom I met during that one short year is testament to how formative it was. Every single one of the PGs were stuffed onto the same floor, and we were all former public school party-monkeys flailing to adapt to our new life in the gulag. Up at 6… 8 hours of class… 3 hours of sports… 3 hours of study time… bed. Each and every single day – including Saturdays. We could be expelled for smoking, dipping, drinking or fighting – usually with just one strike. As most of us excelled in all of the above, it took a lot of getting used to and all we had for amusement was eachother. There were many friends made and many, many mischievious evenings born of our collective boredom. Idle hands… the devil… you see where this is headed.

I could seriously write a book about my time at VA but for our purposes here I’ll just touch on a few of the more memorable moments. And it will be hard to pick and choose. To really do this justice, I’ll add one or two stories a day for the rest of the week. I may add new unrelated articles on top, but will keep updating this one – so check back if you dare. I mean ‘care’.

Lessons in Leaners
Many of our more creative moments stemmed from the fact that we could get kicked out of the school for so much as belching at an inopportune moment. If, God forbid, revenge needed to be meted out on some disrespectful 4 year student it had to be done very anonymously. There were three particularly memorable reprisals that I want to share. The first involves my least favorite floormate, Eric. Eric liked make a lot of noise and keep me awake at night. A skinny little soccer player, he also liked to flaunt the fact that I could do absolutely nothing about it should I want to remain enrolled in school and out of juvenile detention.

The dining hall served Chicken Cordon Bleu about once a week, or ‘exploding chicken’ as we affectionately called it. When you sliced into the breast, which was stuffed with cheese and ham, a hades-hot stream of molten provolone would shoot out and burn the back of your hand (or worse). But I didn’t plan on burning Eric – No, rather I recognized the true reprisal potential of poultry. I ate half of my portion and then stuffed the remainder in a napkin before returning to Slum 3.

Eric was a soccer player and had a very expensive pair of cleats that he was quite proud of. Soccer season had yet to begin, and I knew that said cleats sat unused and out of mind in his closet. We weren’t allowed to have locks on our doors (leading to many thefts by the extremely dodgy and maladjusted 4 year students leading in turn to many of the described revenge tactics) so I waited until Eric went to the bathroom before striking. I kneeled down inside his closet and quickly jammed handfuls of chicken up inside the toes of both his beloved soccer shoes. I returned to the empty hallway and went back to my room – the perfect crime.

A few days later, Eric and his roomate were sleeping in friend’s rooms, as the vile stench of rotting chicken had driven them out – despite their best attempts at locating the source. About 5 days went by before a janitor thought to examine the shoes. Suspecting ‘foul’ play we all got a good talking to from our dorm parent Mr. Shapiro, who knew full well that Eric’s frequent annoying behavior had left him with the equivalent of a bullseye painted on his back as far as the PGs were concerned. The event, like the stench, blew over fairly quickly after that and Eric started keeping to his end of the hall after lights out.


Vermont Academy Reunion In Brookline.

by Dave on February 14, 2005

in Heartwarming

Back in October, Wardy organized a Vermony Academt reunion at a Vietnamese restaurant in Brookline. I’ll update this entry with more details after I talk to him as I can’t remember what the place was called. It was multi-year, so classes from 1992 all the way back to 1942 were represented. I met a lot of great people whose names I really wish I could remember now. If it weren’t for these photos that I just found on a CD while cleaning my room, I’d continue to think it was all a dream stemming from bad pork.

First we have myself and the illustrious Billy Kelleher, who lived across the hall from me on the 3rd floor of Alumni Hall – or Slum 3 as it was affectionately known – in 1991-1992. Billy and I were both ‘ringers’ brought in as post graduates on scholarships to play sports. Billy’s hockey talents far exceeded my fruity meanderings on the football field, and he went on to captain the Dartmouth team for several seasons. He currently lives near me in the North End, and we get silly a few times a year.

That’s Doug Rumsey on my right, another former Slum 3 boy. Doug is a successful model whom you’ve probably seen in AT&T Wireless and Gap ads. And lookie here! A quick web search reveals that he is also a Vermont Stud, which I will be sure to tease him endlessly for the very next time I see him.

Q: Since you said you weren’t shy, where’s the strangest place you’ve had sex?
A: Wow, that’s very personal, so how about I tell you about a kiss? I kissed someone underneath a waterfall in the Virgin Islands. There’s just something about the ocean and the water.

Oh my God you’re so busted, Rumsey.

The headmaster, Jim Mooney, asked me if I’d like to visit VA sometime soon and do a Q&A with the students about what I do for a living. It would take place at one of the morning meetings where I’d stand on stage in front of the entire school like I did several times 13 years ago. The faculty would want me to talk about online advertising. But all I’d want to tell the kids about is the silly shenanigans we got up to when I was a student there. I’d like to do it eventually, but first there are several statute of limitation laws I’m going to have to look into.

{ 1 comment }

Going Sledding? Try Using A Hill. And A Sled.

by Dave on February 14, 2005


Janet sent me a photo of her sledding this past weekend up in Vermont. She looks like she’s having a great time, but I’ve been sledding a time or two in my life and can’t help but notice a few key elements seem to be missing here. I used to tear up Nashawtuc Hill in Concord with my Super GT Snow Racer. Damn straight. They called me ‘The Avalanche’. They also frequently called me “Hey big, drunk 16-year-old who is far too old to be sledding – you’re hurting our children”. Which I never thought was that catchy.

Now, if Janet had said to me instead that she’d been lying in a snowbank while up in Vermont, I wouldn’t take issue with this photo. Is this the training hill? Do they take a couple of dry runs across a parking lot before working their way up to an incline of some sort? Will they actually give her a sled next weekend? Yes, the sledding’s changed a lot since I was a lad. But not the drinking.