just like keith hernandez
We are coming out of the tunnel at work. I can feel it. The nights are slowly getting shorter. There is hope. There is laughter. There are awkward fist-bumps and calm coffee runs.
And, lucky me, I love the people I work with. Strong citizens of the world. Team players. Sarcastic, angry, prone to swearing, but righteous in their hearts and committed to the job at hand.
Plus, I have discovered one antidote to the long hours and the completely unexciting pay: I have begun openly drinking beer at work.
Here's how it goes: once the higher-ups filter out, around six or seven, I have decided it is officially OK to drink beer. Not a lot, just a couple. Maybe just one, depending on how precise my work has to be on that given night.
Even the higher-ups drink wine on certain occasions. My beer drinking is practically sanctioned. I might shotgun one at my desk tomorrow.
It makes things more better. Although it isn't helping me get skinny, and I have a big red gin blossom on the bridge of my nose.
Whatever, I am drinking beer at work. I got no worries. Are you drinking beer at work? You should be.
Although the other day I was in the middle of a beer and I left it somewhere in the office and was unable to find it. I don't think that's very smart. It's not Nancy's house party on the corner of Bassett and West Mifflin, it's a place of business and some people there don't even drink on the job. Keep track of your beer, son.
I think it is now just about safe to say that the Yankees will make the playoffs (I might regret that, but I doubt it) and if so, it has been the most enjoyable season in years. Well played, Yankees. Joe Torre, go win us a WS and step aside with dignity and grace. Mike Mussina, keep sprinkling the HGH on your wheaties for another month and then disappear. I still think it's a flawed team with only one and a half reliable pitchers, but the bats are scary and if they get hot they could do a little damage. As anyone with half a brain can tell you, the playoffs do not necessarily measure anything more than luck, timing and luck. Sad as it is, the best team does not always win. The regular season, 6 months long, full of twists and turns and injuries and slumps and underage girls from the hotel lobby and angry wives and bad food and long flights and 81 performances of "Cottoneye Joe" and repeated offenses of ignorance and malice by the sports media who read way more into every loss and win than they need to and clubhouse music arguments and facing every team a whole bunch of times, while less romantic and exciting than the postseason, is a better indicator of who is good and who is not. Consider the playoffs a fun little lottery that the best teams get to play in as a reward for being good for half a year.
Do you ever hear about something and you know you'll like it because it's right in the middle of your wheelhouse, and you get embarrassed at how predictable you are, so you don't check it out? That's how I was with The Hold Steady. Everything I heard about them excited me and reminded me of my own lameness. From Brooklyn via Minneapolis. Replacements fans. Springsteen comparisons. Nerdy emphasis on lyrics. I was ashamed of them and of myself. And then I broke down and I iTuned all their records. And I like 'em a lot. Dammit. The singer's speaky style gets super-annoying sometimes but overall I'm digging that shit.
This goal is 10 feet, bitches:
Photo by PBdotC
And, lucky me, I love the people I work with. Strong citizens of the world. Team players. Sarcastic, angry, prone to swearing, but righteous in their hearts and committed to the job at hand.
Plus, I have discovered one antidote to the long hours and the completely unexciting pay: I have begun openly drinking beer at work.
Here's how it goes: once the higher-ups filter out, around six or seven, I have decided it is officially OK to drink beer. Not a lot, just a couple. Maybe just one, depending on how precise my work has to be on that given night.
Even the higher-ups drink wine on certain occasions. My beer drinking is practically sanctioned. I might shotgun one at my desk tomorrow.
It makes things more better. Although it isn't helping me get skinny, and I have a big red gin blossom on the bridge of my nose.
Whatever, I am drinking beer at work. I got no worries. Are you drinking beer at work? You should be.
Although the other day I was in the middle of a beer and I left it somewhere in the office and was unable to find it. I don't think that's very smart. It's not Nancy's house party on the corner of Bassett and West Mifflin, it's a place of business and some people there don't even drink on the job. Keep track of your beer, son.
I think it is now just about safe to say that the Yankees will make the playoffs (I might regret that, but I doubt it) and if so, it has been the most enjoyable season in years. Well played, Yankees. Joe Torre, go win us a WS and step aside with dignity and grace. Mike Mussina, keep sprinkling the HGH on your wheaties for another month and then disappear. I still think it's a flawed team with only one and a half reliable pitchers, but the bats are scary and if they get hot they could do a little damage. As anyone with half a brain can tell you, the playoffs do not necessarily measure anything more than luck, timing and luck. Sad as it is, the best team does not always win. The regular season, 6 months long, full of twists and turns and injuries and slumps and underage girls from the hotel lobby and angry wives and bad food and long flights and 81 performances of "Cottoneye Joe" and repeated offenses of ignorance and malice by the sports media who read way more into every loss and win than they need to and clubhouse music arguments and facing every team a whole bunch of times, while less romantic and exciting than the postseason, is a better indicator of who is good and who is not. Consider the playoffs a fun little lottery that the best teams get to play in as a reward for being good for half a year.
Do you ever hear about something and you know you'll like it because it's right in the middle of your wheelhouse, and you get embarrassed at how predictable you are, so you don't check it out? That's how I was with The Hold Steady. Everything I heard about them excited me and reminded me of my own lameness. From Brooklyn via Minneapolis. Replacements fans. Springsteen comparisons. Nerdy emphasis on lyrics. I was ashamed of them and of myself. And then I broke down and I iTuned all their records. And I like 'em a lot. Dammit. The singer's speaky style gets super-annoying sometimes but overall I'm digging that shit.
This goal is 10 feet, bitches:
Photo by PBdotC
posted by hans q. bungle at 02:01
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