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Centuries from now, if an alien race discovers this photo after the humans have been wiped out by bird flu and American Idol, what do you think they will say? This is way better than the standard quotelet – so have at it:

“Dave panicked a little when he realized evolution was rendering his fellow gigantor neanderskulls extinct.”

“Always a fan of Mike Meyers, Dave was thrilled when he was asked to join the cast of ‘So I Married an Axe Murderer 2′”.

In the meantime, you can ooh, coo and aah over little Madison Annette Harkins who was born 2.5 weeks ago, making a huge splash on the Newport scene. It took her roughly 30 seconds to crank out some tapioca onto my shirt, which would have been good luck were she a bird. Seeing as how she’s a human, it’s probably a good day for me to buy a lottery ticket.

I’m sure I’ll tell her that story when she’s older, and I’m saving the shirt in a ziploc just to make it all the more awkward for her. Not really. She’s beautiful, Mom and Dad are overjoyed and there are many more pictures coming soon. Congratulations to Heather, Chris, Uncle Matt, Pappy Phil and the entire H-camp.

Otherwise, A zany weekend that I’ll piece together with photos when I get a moment to myself. Frank Black at the Beachcomber, Nausett naughtiness, Neo-nazis, crazy strippers, Newport Saturday night – I am brown, dehydrated and praying for death. But what a way to cap off the summer. The show Friday night was amazing and I am so glad we made the pilgrimage and met Madison, too!

When I think of Siamese cats, especially a pair of them, I think of the devious little jerks from Lady and the Tramp. But as a breed, they’re quite fun to own. A friend of a friend has just such a pair that she unfortunately has to unload. Taking on a pet is for life. If I got rid of my little orange bastard every time he did something to annoy me, I’d have dropped him off in a field back in 1998. But sometimes circumstances arise that force tough pet purging decisions. If you’re on the market for two cats, or live near dogs in love who keep eating all of your meatballs and have to be stopped, send me an email and I’ll hook you up with some good Siamese shit.

Friends and I tend to meet up at the Pushcart in the North End every Thursday night. My NE boozer of choice used to be the Different Drummer, way back when, but that building was sold 2 years ago and now resembles the Parthenon. It’s yuppie bait. This neighborhood is being snapped up and developed quicker than you can say ‘gentrification’ – but the compensation is enormous. These buildings are lottery tickets, hold-outs are cashing in and post-Big Dig Boston’s downtown is about to become an incredibly beautiful and therefore yuppified place to live. The neighborhood flips every century or so. Ira gave it up to Seamus, Seamus split when Anthony arrived and now Anthony is passing the torch to Biff and Bunny.

As the affluent yutes move in, and the demographic collides like a gas truck into a Girls Gone Wild tour bus – there are bound to be oil and water type problems in the 02113. Never was that more apparent to me than last year when I wrote about a community meeting I attended which was called due to excessive late noise by the aforementioned yutes. But there’s actually a lot of yute-on-yute crime, which doesn’t involve the natives, that’s just as disturbing.

I saw what was perhaps the worst, silliest, non-fight I’ve ever witnessed 10 minutes ago as I was walking back from the Pushcart (awesome pizza, by the way) on the corner of Prince and Salem. A tall skinny white kid with longish hair was screaming at another 20-something on the opposite end of the as equally skinny street. “Do you know where I live? Do you know where I live?” The abusee responded “Why are you flipping out on me man?” To which hockey hair replied “Do you know where I live?”

Maybe he was lost, in retrospect. But just in case – can I jump in here?

Jerktown? A Wu Tang Clan video your older brother let you watch when you were 10? OK I give up. Where do you live? Let me guess – Brooklyn? Fuck off. As I walked away from the ‘fight’ I chuckled, remembering my 20s in Canada where knock down, drag out slugfests would start in front of a Slush Puppy machine over the last squirt of blue raspberry syrup. And that was the gay bar. I swear I just went in to use the ATM.

People who don’t want to fight make a lot of noise in hopes of getting a post-bravado smile from a passing skunt. People who really will fight will just walk up and pop you with little to no ado about anything. And I love watching that two second moment of facial realization before head meets concrete when the two worlds collide. Especially when it isn’t my face.

This is a great place to live. Don’t drag this late night pseudo toughguy horseshit into it. If you’re going to call someone out, hit the mutherfucker. I’d gladly grab a Buffalo chicken calzone and stick around to watch. Otherwise, let us get some sleep you silly Laguna Beach watching bastards. You ain’t gonna do a goddamn thing.

Who else is going to the Frank Black show at the Beachcomber this Friday night? Let me know and we can all meet up beforehand at the, uh, Beachcomber I’d imagine. It’s either that, a dirty seagull nest or a sand dune.

Some biggish things are afoot here at PITF. First out of the gate, tomorrow will mark the return of Wednesday Wadio! I was sorry to see it go due to Radio.Blog’s bandwidth issues, but see no reason not to keep it moving using YouTube. Just about very music video imaginable is available on YouTube, and it doesn’t sap away my juice. So look for that, and when applicable I will include links to downloadable MP3s you can fire on to your desktop or iPod. No sense spreading the sonic gospel if the only place you can hear new music is by watching grainy, choppy videos online.

Also, Blogger is finally launching a categorization feature, which will allow you to, for example, click the Wadio category and see every single one of them I’ve ever written on one easy page. Also up for categorization – Quizzlet’s, Quotelets, Tall Tales, concert stories, etc. It’s a good way for people to find or revisit the 2+ years of content I have collecting dust in the database. It will also be good for SEO and site indexing.

It’s also high time for a redesign. While I’ve hacked into this template quite a bit (note my cute little face within the colored dots above, fundamentally it’s one of the standard blogger ones available to everybody. I’d like to spend a little money and have something completely unique created for PITF from scratch. If you know any good designers with Blogger template experience, send them my way. So I’ll be breathing some new life into the old girl, which she sorely needs, and I hope you’ll stay riveted to my silliness like it were a rickshaw/SUV collision.

I love the Happy Mondays. I take crap for it sometimes (Nate) but I friggin’ love them, man. The news feed on my Squidoo lens is firing up reports that they’ve secretly been recording an album all summer. With Sean’s new exposure thanks to the Gorillaz, and Bez’s media-darling status since winning Celebrity Big Brother last year, these pill-popping punks are poised for a comeback. Which will suck. But a boy can dare to dream, can’t he? Let me sleep a little longer.

It’s also imperative on this Friday afternoon that you comprehensively review the 10 Best Will Ferrell Skits of all time. Why? Because I am this close to raping you.

Some quick endorsements: >> Only one apartment left to fill. If you have anyone in mind, forward the link. It’s a great pad. >> Aubs is selling 2 tickets to a reggae concert at the BOA pavilion on August 19th. Email me if you’re interested. I’m sure as hell not, ya lazy bloodclot. The closest I get to reggae is one particular ska song which is on my all time top 10 favorites list – Ghost Town by the Specials. And the theme song for Cops which I watch so frequently I can also probably be considered a little special.

It’s only fitting that I write something about the intense heat today, as it’s forecast to go up to a near record-breaking 100+ degrees on this fine Wednesday. The heat is on, little babies. And Boston is like an egg that’s been cracked on a griddle. Which has then been placed on the surface of the sun. I assume by a rather bored division of NASA, but I’m not really sure how this analogy ends. Let’s just end it.

The heat is taxing. Draining. I ran up and down the floors of my building 7 times yesterday, showing potential tenants the open apartments and roofdeck. When I crawled into bed to watch Saxondale last night, I quickly fell into the deepest sleep I’ve had in a long time. And it was murder getting up this morning. I still feel like I ran the Boston Marathon yesterday, and maybe even crapped down my leg like that woman from a few years back. Nah, I had white pants on and would have noticed.

Stay cool, people. Drink lots of fluids and lay off dairy. Huddle under AC units, even if they give you dry eyes or sore throats and remember the immortal words of Walter Winchell – “It’s a sure sign of summer if the chair gets up when you do.”