Saturday, January 05, 2008


Saturdays are for sleeping in. "Sleeping in" by j3 definition is: "extending your normal sleeping period by at least 30 minutes." What can I say, I'm stingy with sleep hours.

This morning, my body was going on its second hour of overtime (could've been the problem) sleep which is pretty unusual being that I'm waking up now at 5:45 without an alarm. I was having a dream in which I was in line at some sort of stadium, some sporting event. It was a concession line and the crowd was pretty heavily packed at the edge of the counter. I ordered something--beer, food, a shirt--not sure. And while I was reaching in my back pocket, I look over to see the man next to me being, not only pick-pocketed, but cold mugged. This dude had his hands in his pockets taking everything he had while he stood there defenseless.

Wanting so desperately to be the "good samaritan" on an episode of Shocking Police Video, I step into action and shove this dude away and snagging the articles away from him and returning it to the victim--yeah, that's awesome. I managed to do all this without any real danger because it was a dream! That's the kinda heroic performance I like. Where it doesn't really take any bravery or physical strength at all. I'm thinking, "How nice to school someone like Pat Morita."

I go back to the counter and continue paying for my purchase. When, all of the sudden I look next to me and with his chest pressed against my shoulder and his chin in my ear, I see the mugger. He says to me in his booming voice, "Boy, I'm-a kick yo ass!" I stand there thinking, "Uh, no you're not." I look at him and tell him to get away from me.

"Nah, I'm gonna whoop you're ass, man."

The incredible feeling of Morita-like power had shrunk and I now was armed with the fighting skill and cohones of a three year-old boy. And like suddenly my "step off" attitude became a "please no!" attitude. I stand there thinking that if I ignore him, he'll walk away.

"I'm talking to you, homie. Look at me!"

I half-turn my head to look at him. I say, "Look, it wasn't right what you were doing to that man. I'm sorry. I made a bad decision. Let's just squash this here."

"Hell, nah. I'm gonna kick you're ass."


Okay, the peacemaker approach did very little. That's usually my forte. Now I'm screwed. I decide that my best move is to simply point my shoes in the opposite direction and begin walking and see what happens. I figured there had to be security somewhere (please). I take what I estimate is about fifteen steps and then...


Dude rushed my ass and clocked me in the back of the head. Believe it or not, even in my dream, I was left with the sensation of actually getting sucka-punched in the back of the head. I fall to the ground and, in the dizzying spin, I look on the ground to see a pool of blood from my dripping chin which was dripping from the insane headwound opened by this dude. Suddenly, I feel this weight on my back and then the shots continued--he punched me in the right ear, the left abdomen, then in the back of my head, knee into my back. I struggle to get up, but I can't.

Then I wake up. How's that for starting your weekend?

I've flown like a raven high in the clouds in my dream. I've run at the speed of sound. I've scaled the Eiffel Tower with not even a shoestring to save me from death. But I could've escape a good ol' fashion beatdown. It's weird. My dreams are slipping hard. How am I going to allow me to get whooped?! I should at least be able to wake myself up before that first blow to the head. Whatever.
Celtics are 28-3 and, for the doubters, 10-0 against the Western Conference. It's pretty difficult for me to really comprehend a record of 28-3. And those three losses have come by an average of three points. That means that this team was nine points short of undefeated. 8th best offense in the league and the best defense in the league proving that defense wins games. And, if the former is true, then you gotta like the Eastern Conference chances once again in the Finals--whether it's Boston or Detroit--the only two teams allowing less than 90 points a game and, of late, the two teams beings deemed the very best in the league. Eastern Conference Finals might be the toughest ever this year. One could only help after the last few years.
Bought a washer and dryer this week. Should've listened to my lovely wife a long time ago. It started when we weren't getting cold water in the washer--this was about three months ago. So we'd fill it with hot water, let it cool and then add in soap and clothes. Meanwhile, the gas bill rises because of the increased hot water consumption (even though we weren't really using hot water) and anytime we were running the washer and I wanted to take a shower, you could trust you'd be taking a cool shower. Yet, we just never replaced it. Last weekend, I decided I was going to troubleshoot this thing and see if I could figure out what was wrong. I took off the hoses, checked the plumbing, swapped the hoses, took off the back of the washer--nothing. And that's why I'm not a maintenance man.
My lovely wife gets home the next day after work and, whaddya know, the washer is filled to the brim with water and its leaking all over the utility room. She calls me at work and I rush home. She mentions she tried to tried to drain it using the spin cycle to no avail, but she did smell smoke when she tried this. I tried it and it was the smell of spark smoke. Like there was something electrical that was generating the smoke. That was all the convincing I needed as I stood there in water with my head over a washer full of water. I quickly unplug the device and we go buy a new one, but my lovely wife, convinced me that we can't have mismatching washer and dryer so we buy the dryer too. Man, that's how they get you. That and the interest-free financing for a year for purchases over $599 yet we ain't wanting to spend 600 bones on a washer.
Yep, should've listened to my lovely wife back three months ago when she suggested we should just go ahead and buy new units.
Hope you all enjoyed the list from this year. I've already began collecting 1988 on the Zune and, let me tell you, at this pace, I'll be through 1990 by the end of the year. It's gonna be a dope year for Da Pocket Prophet.
I mentioned it before, but I'm going to again: please do not park in your yard. Use the driveway or get a bike. And, please take out an ad in paper if you want to sell something. Do not put it in your yard unless it is part of a yard sale. We have these morons down the street who have put a floor furnace out in front of their house with a sign on it that reads, "FLOOR FURNACE $350." It's been out there for about two months now so I doubt, after the weather it's had to endure, it's really worth anything, but it still sits out there. Don't be such a lazy cheap-ass and just take out an ad. And if that doesn't work, load it in your little pick-up truck and properly dispose of it. These are the same awesome neighbors who had a yard sale and instead of taking all their unsold articles to a donation spot, they left them scattered across their yard with no sign indicating that they were free for taking. So for two days, their yard looked like a closet exploded. I want to take a sign down there and put it above their front door that reads, "HOUSE FREE TO NON-WHITE TRASH OWNER."
Mike Huckabee plays bass. He was just on Fox News playing bass. Mitt Romney should not be president solely because he said he was a Red Sox fan yet, in the same conversation, referred to Fenway Park as "Red Sox Stadium." What the? I don't know where my vote is this round. Still waiting for the handshaking to take a backseat to the candidates' platforms. I like Charles Barkley.
Bought two new pair of New Balances last night. My lovely wife is right. My only vice is sneakers. Luckily, it's a binge-and-purge disorder and not solely binge.
Tucker goes to school in two weeks. Can't wait for him to embarrass me like Jax during the leash excercise by taking a huge dump in the middle of class. I'll tell you this: potty training a dog is the worst torture that a human can actually live through.
It's a Bob Dylan day.

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