It has been fun 2009, I hate to see you go. In fact, I am not really sure where you went. Maybe it was the booze. Maybe I was busy. Maybe it was a combination of both. Now that it is almost the end of 2009 and many best of the decade specials are appearing it's time to review the best, the worst, and the unrecorded of 2009. I would like to note that the first decade of the 21st century started in 2001 and lasts until 2010. I am not sure what decade is ending with 2009 since 2000 was actually part of both the 20th Century and the 1990s. Aside from that, couldn't we celebrate the best of the decade every year since there were 9 previous years? I guess it could be said for every arbitrary 365 days and thereby my 2009 year in review would quickly become pointless. So forget most of what I just said and read what accompanies the pictures below.
I am sitting in the parlor of Pics of Me in Front of Stuff Manor watching the Temple Owls play in their first bowl game in 30 years, listening to the wind howl outside, and marveling at how Al Golden, Temple's football coach is dressed in a shirt and tie with no coat. My 2010 New Year's resolutions should include being as Bad-Ass as Al Golden. Being more bad-ass, in a good way, should be in everyone's New Year's Resolutions.
Just like the end and like most of the years I have existed, my 2009 started off with a lot of football.
I watched it in Baltimore with This Guy and Mets Fan.
Finally, there is the overriding goal of Pics of Me in Front of Stuff - visiting all 50 states. The journey started off a bit slow this year, not reaching Maine until after Memorial Day. Hawaii was already cleared off the list when I visited over the summer. Fortunately, CP and I took a road trip through the Southeast US at the beginning of December. The event is still undocumented on Pics of Me in Front of Stuff, but if you think Hawaii was thoroughly described wait until you start hearing about exciting places like Birmingham, Alabama and Hamburg, Arkansas!
Here's a preview of the whirlwind roadtrip I drug CP on to start off December. This trip helped me reach states 28 through 32. That leaves 18 to go with just under 2 years to accomplish it. You can imagine what next year's road trip looks like.
View Larger Map With that said, the year is coming to an end and we at Pics of Me in Front of Stuff would like to wish all of you a Happy New Year. Look for bigger and better things in 2010!
Before there was Cleo Possum....
Before Iowa brought the Penn State Nittany Lions down to Earth...
Before the soulless Yankees defeated the Philadelphia Phillies in the World Series...
CP and I returned to Central Pennsylvania for some fair food. Not fair food, as in food that treats everyone equally though that would be pretty interesting. I mean fair food as in the deep fried, unhealthy deliciousness at the Bloomsburg Fair and probably most fairs in small towns around the US. This wasn't the first time and probably not the last time, but it certainly was a time. A time that I was determined to fill myself with as much fried food deliciousness as humanly possible. Everything is better deep-fried. One time Homer Simpson deep fried his shirt. I did not go that far, but the thought crossed my mind. I tried just about everything else deep fried that I possibly could. My health and gastrointestinal tract be damned.
Sadly, the weather was not as fair as the food and there was no opportunity to watch cars crash into one another outside of the usual action on the Garden State Parkway and the Jersey Turnpike. I have never been anywhere in my life with more cars that have clearly been in accidents than near Pics of Me in Front of Stuff Manor in New Jersey. Holy crap, Guidos, get off the phone, slow down, and watch where you're going. Jenks or D'Jais is going to be there if you are 15 minutes later. You might even be having a hair gel emergency or be fired up to get to Belmar but I would really appreciate it if you did not run into me. Thanks!
Luckily, the weather held off long enough for CP and me to consume well over our recommended daily limit of calories. I started off my day at the fair with a sausage sandwich. Unfortunately, there was no picture taken of the sausage. I was pretty hungry so I more or less devoured it. Our photos start with a Fiesta Frank, an interesting and nostalgic choice. The nostalgia is because Fiesta Franks are a product of Berks Foods where I was lucky enough to work as an intern in the quality control department when I was in college. That's right, quality control on hot dogs. That may sound like an oxymoron similar to jumbo shrimp or military intelligence but hot dogs and all processed meat products are regulated by the USDA and therefore require certain specifications necessitating a QC lab. While the regulations are lax in comparison to the pharmaceutical industry they're still there. I still eat hot dogs after working for the hot dog factory if that makes you feel better, Dear Reader. You may want to see what I ate over the course of my visit to the Bloomsburg Fair before taking that statement too seriously.
CP and I decided to go for a more ethnic feel for our next food when we headed over to Dave's Gyros.
I am really lacking in gyro related anecdotes so I will let the picture speak for itself. CP certainly appears be enjoying that gyro, doesn't she?
The gyro was quickly followed by waffles and ice cream. It was a bit early for desert, but it felt like an appropriate interlude. Something to soothe the beasts that were bound to rage in my stomach. Consider this a gustatory preemptive strike on future weapons of deep-fried destruction. I had 'intelligence' that told me my stomach was receiving shipments of deadly material (i.e. fair food) and I felt that the shock and awe of some ice cream was necessary. Ice cream does not take up much room in your stomach so this desert did not slow down my intake. All of the other food coupled with the eventual rain did that.
The ice cream interlude was followed by a stroll to the outskirts of the fairgrounds where it appeared the less established vendors served their food. One of those vendors was Bloomin Thai. Who goes to the Bloomsburg Fair for Thai food? No one. We certainly did not, but Thai food is often deep-fried as well as more common fair food.
Nothing screams Central PA like fried calamari.
While not the best calamari I have ever had, it certainly was the best calamari at a fair I have ever had. And that's something right? With that brief international interlude aside CP and I returned to the more traditional forms of deep fried goodness found at fairs everywhere - fresh cut french fries!
That's not windex CP is spraying on those french fries, that's vinegar. Vinegar is not usually what I eat on my french fries. I really only eat vinegar on my french fried potatoes at fairs. Call up, Robert Stack, because that is a regular Unsolved Mystery. Why do we do that? Unfortunately, that squirt bottle was not the only thing spritzing that day because the clouds turned into a rainy day which tried to chase us from the fairgrounds. The rain did more than try. It succeeded in chasing us off from the fairgrounds, but not before we stopped at one final fried food dispensary. This last one featured bloomin' onions and fried cheese balls, the piece de resistance of heart stopping fried food adventure.
If there is anything that screams fried unhealthiness more than deep-fried cheese I am not sure what it is. And with those cheeseballs, CP and I bid the Bloomsburg Fair a fond farewell a little sadder, wetter, and cholesterol filled than when we arrived.
With apologies to Henry Wadsworth Long Fellow... They shoot a pumpkin into the air It splattered to earth, I know not where For, so swiftly it was chunked, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.
How's that for some Fireside Poetry? Impressed?
That's certainly more intellectually stimulating than the poop and genitalia related references I usually make. Then again this is just the beginning of what could be a lengthy post so I'll see if I can fit a sophomoric joke or 5 further down. Keep your fingers crossed.
I did not actually do the shooting of any pumpkins or the locating of any pumpkins or anything really besides watching and beer drinking at the World Championship Punkin Chunkin outside Bridgeville, DE. I did drive the 3+ hours from Pics of Me in Front of Stuff Manor, located in Central/North Jersey. That is almost a day in dog years. Luckily, Movember had started and Cleo Possum helped me power through the long drive. Stronger than a cup of truck-stop coffee, Cleo did not let me quit until the trip was through. I wish I had an anecdote from the drive considering that everyone always says It's the Journey not the Destination. In this instance the journey was in the dark through New Jersey and Delaware. This picture may have been taken on the return trip or at some other point in Movember. It certainly was not the Oregon Trail.
I did not see the graves of anyone who dies from consumption on this trip. Oddly, though I shot over a half a ton of meat, I could still only carry 100 1bs of meat home with me. I did not harm any pumpkins in the making of this blog but I can not speak for any one else featured in this blog. If you or any of your friends are from the ASPCS (American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Squash), you may just want to navigate to a different url. I recommend this one.
On November 6th, the Pics of Me in Front of Stuff Team, aka CP and I, headed down to Bridgeville, DE to watch the 24th annual World Championship Punkin Chunkin. In case you missed it above, I drove through the night to get there even if looked bright outside in the picture. After modestly starting 23 years ago with 4 competitors throwing a pumpkin up to 126 feet, the Chunkin has grown to feature 72 teams chunkin punkins up to 4000+ feet. As a fan of mostly useless artifacts and pointless events not to mention tailgating and beer I found myself drawn to the Chunkin. There's no avoiding it, I have been to far too many NASCAR races to deny my affinity for sitting in a field with a beer in my hand. Unfortunately for CP, she was forced to go with me and perform her photographic duties. The Official Mom and Step-Father of Pics of Me in Front of Stuff also drove down to Delaware to partake in the excitement.
This guy was there, too.
We all know excitement just follows This Guy.
He may be linked to the destruction of hundreds of pumpkins.
And maybe a few brain cells.
November 7th was the second day of the competition. The current format has 12 different divisions based on chunkin mechanism, age, and sex. The catapults and trebuchets and air cannons and all of the other chunkers are lined up along a firing line by division. The officials work their way down the line giving each team one shot to chunk their punkin. There is also a large award for the longest overall chunk. The longest chunk award has been dominated in recent history by the air cannon division. The air cannons are huge pieces of equipment that resemble artillery pieces. These cannons use compressed air as opposed to gun powder. If you have a chance to watch it, I highly recommend the show on the Science Channel chronicling this year's Punkin Chunkin as well as the show highlighting the road to the Chunkin. Air cannons can launch pumpkins close to a mile in the air. The air cannons looked terrific on television. Up close and personal, I felt the air cannons were anticlimactic since the pumpkins are shot out of the cannon so high up and at such a high-velocity that they are nothing but black specks at most. The distance, noise, and post-chunking steam not withstanding, the air cannons were my least favorite competitors to watch. Re-watch Snot Rocket chunk their punkin above.
The air cannons were not the only ones vying for major awards at the Punkin Chunkin. Big things come in small packages. The small packages here were tiny elementary school-aged girls vying for the title of Little Miss Sunshine or Lil Miss Punkin Chunkin or Lil Miss Sunkinshine or something to that effect. My feelings regarding the disturbing activity of child beauty pageants aside, this chilly little girl won the award this year. She was by far the smallest girl on the stage. Can't you just sense the cuteness emanating from her? I am surprised my camera can handle that level of cuteness. She might be bound for great things. There is a recent precedent for such things. Beauty pageant contestants from a state no one really pays attention to have been known to 'Go Rogue'. We have seen this before. Mark my words, this little girl could be running for Vice-President in 2048. I can envision the Lil' Bush or more likely Lil' Rovie plotting behind the jungle gym somewhere. A chill just ran up my spine.
The air cannons and the cute little girls were not the only excitment at the chunkin. Oh lords no! They were both joined at the Punkin Chunkin by trebuchets and catapults, the most visually impressive categories of squash launching methods. Those categories appealed to my inner Roman Legionnaire (MAXIMUS! MAXIMUS!) ready to set siege via assault by punkin. For the uninformed, trebuchets launch their projectiles based on the leverage created by dropping a counterweight while catapults encompass many means of launching projectiles (aka chunkin punkins) via non-explosive means including trebuchets, torsion catapults, and balista. Based solely on potential energy built up in a spring pulled tight or a counterweight help up in the air they are really simple physics gone wild. Just think if they put commercials about Physics Gone Wild on Comedy Central at 2AM. The only porn related joke I can think is of something about black bodies. I might get back to you on it, Dear Reader, but probably not.
The most visually imposing catapult was the trebuchet Yankee Siege.
My first thought was that the big damn thing could hit my house from here. My second thought was these guys have to be Red Sox fans considering they're from New Hampshire - why call themselves Yankee Seige? Why does most of New England dislike the New York Yankees but consider Yankee ingenuity a good thing? And why do they say Wicked Pissa? Luckily my house is more than 2000+ feet away which is the still-impressive distance Yankee Seige chunked their punkin while we were in attendance. The 12,000 lb counterweight allowed the trebuchet from New England to launch a pumpkin 2034 feet to set a new world record. For those of you not hip to the conversion, that is nearly half a mile! This is not something you probably can do in your backyard. But you can rent Yankee Siege...so maybe you can! Despite the imposing Northeastern grandeur of Yankee Seige my favorite punkin chunker had to be Merlin, a trebuchet out of Leesburg, VA. Merlin is a floating arm trebuchet which uses a much lighter counterweight and relies on much greater efficiency in transfer of the energy dropping weight to the arm.
This launching mechanism makes for a very entertaining chunk.
For those of you who have the DTs due to a lack of Pics of Me in Front of Stuff, I apologize. I am sorry. I hear the DTs are rough.I am proud to see you managed to stop shaking long enough to type my long url. I hope maybe you just bookmarked your favorite blog...and this one, too. The Thanksgiving Holiday coupled with my vacation created a time vacuum that sucked up any and all of my time I had for reporting on the crap I go to visit. Think of it as a time black hole. I barely managed to have a birthday! Fortunately, CP had some vacation and decided to bake me a cake. Cake and time sink aside, I apologize for the lack of content, but the 'good news' is I have visited several 'exciting' new places during vacation which will be filling the pages of Pics of Me in Front of Stuff soon. The bad news is this post is not going to feature much in the way of 'exotic' locales. Before I can get to the stuff behind me in pictures I need to mention a movement that is near and dear to my heart if my heart was located near my face or my testicles. There is a joke relating those two body parts and their proximity in there somewhere. It'll come to me eventually. And seriously who doesn't love a good genital-mouth joke? I certainly can't think of anyone.
Anyone who loves balls-to-mouth jokes most surely knows the reason for the 'Stache pictured above is
Movember. Maybe you do not like balls-to-mouth jokes, but still know about Movember. For those of you who do not know and prefer my brief synopsis to actually clicking on the link, Movember, the Reason for the Season, is an international movement aimed at raising awareness and funds for prostate and testicular cancer. Movember is aimed at changing the face of men's health through the Movember Foundation in conjunction with the Prostate Cancer Foundation and the Lance Armstrong Foundation. I have been known to raise money for charity previously especially the Crohn's and Colitis Foundation of America. I raised $5600 for the CCFA because my mom has suffered from the disease for over 20 years. Having both a prostate and multiple testicles I am even more invested in this particular cause. You can compare charity to a breakfast - bacon and eggs. For the CCFA, I was a chicken. I was involved. I layed an egg, a 13.1 mile; $5600 egg but I am not directly affected by the disease. For Movember I was the pig. I was the bacon. I was committed. I decided to be a big pig and grow a mustache. Some would say it was a decision I made a long-long time ago.
Oink. Oink.
For those of you who not down with the 'Stache, my particular model is known as the Trucker or the Horse Shoe. Though unable to grow one of her own Karen Alloy does a thorough and entertaining job of describing the types of mustaches as well as bemoaning her inability to grow one of her own. She's also nice to look at. Needless to say so I will type it, I am a fan of hers on Facebook now.
Thanks, Karen!
The most famous proponent of my chosen mustache model is Hulk Hogan. Like the Hulkster I was known to storm into work waving an American flag and patriotic music blaring during Movember.
Luckily, I also kept an extra shirt in my office for when I ripped it off upon arrival in my office. It wasn't me, it was the mustache. He even took on a life of his own. He actually earned a name - Cleo Possum - the same way porn stars earn their name - first pet + name of the street you grew up on. Cleo got to go on several adventures and took me with him. Him and I were spotted in New York City, Delaware, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, Georgia, and Alabama.
Cleo and I had our happy moments like here in Georgia.
And our less than happy moments.
Cleo brought some unique insight to the world, but he burnt brightly and quickly like a shooting star.
On December 1st Movember ended Cleo was gone, but he'll be fondly remembered. Together we helped raise awareness for prostate cancer and that's what truly mattered.
That one helped to end the cold war!!!! Aside from Abraham Lincoln and Santa Claus, there are few beards that match up to Sylvester Stallone's beard in Rocky IV. Lincoln's beard helped to win the Civil War and freed the slaves.
Santa's beard helps bring joy and presents to children all over the world. To top all of that Rocky's beard helped end the Cold War and prevented mutually assured destruction between the United States and the Soviet Union.
If I can change and you can change, everybody can change and maybe I can stop posting pictures and videos that were not captured by me or CP and get to the point. The point is, like many great men before me, I grew a beard this October to help inspire the Fightin's onto consecutive World Championships for the first time in their 126 year history. Blocking their way was the Evil Empire, the New York Yankees, a team composed of and cheered by many who had given up their souls in favor of baseball glory. I am not saying all Yankees fans sold their souls, I am just saying there is a good chance the Devil does not just wear Prada, but he or she also wears pinstripes. Tell me Yankees fans, does it hurt not having a soul? My only basis for knowledge on this subject is the Simpsons.
It takes a daring and possibly slightly unstable man to grow a beard for the baseball playoffs. It takes a down right nut-job to grow a beard and wear the opposing team's hat into New York City when playing the Yankees. All I can say is, look at that beardo.
It clearly takes an understanding woman like CP to put up with this shit. Beards are not attractive, comfortable, or, in my case, sanitary. Do you know how much food gets caught in there every meal?! Not only does CP allow me to drag her retarded places and take my picture, but she also puts up with a beard followed by a month worth of mustache aka Movember.
The funny thing is, baseball players don't even grow beards. Well, aside from the House of David baseball team, most don't. Beards are for the hockey playoffs. But consider this. Hockey playoffs are played in the summer when the weather is warm and the players skate on melting ice in heavy sweaters and pads. They sweat a lot in all that gear. Having briefly lived with a hockey player in college I know just how awful those pads stink. Baseball playoffs are played in the fall when the leaves are changing and the weather is starting to turn cold. One of the games in the NLDS in Colorado was postponed due to wintry conditions. So tell me why it makes more sense for hockey playoffs than the baseball playoffs? In case you missed earlier this month, I eventually used the beard as part of my Halloween costume. That was all CP's idea. Isn't she smart? I witnessed Game 3 of the World Series in the Village with a Phillies hat and a playoff beard. Unfortunately, that night and the entire series did not work out in the Phillies' favor. Yes, I know tthhhhhhhhheeeee Yankees won. Yes, that is the most spectacularly bad call in the history of broadcasting. I do not just mean after this World Series, I mean when the lame announcer says it after every Yankees win. Yes, that is likely sour grapes coming. Sadly, I had to take a long look in the mirror following Pedro's lackluster start in Game 6.
I had to say goodbye to the beard.
And say hello to the moustache.
Thanks to one of my many Steeler fan facebook friends for letting me steal his picture. Also, don't fret, I'll get back to writing about weird places I have been soon.
This trip reminded me of an iconic movie scene from the Christmas classic, Die Hard. Sadly these are the best representations Youtube had to offer. Instead of Hans Gruber, we get Severus Snape.
Yippie kay yay, Muggle-fucker? Or instead of Alan Rickman as Severus Snape we get some Eurotrash doing the video game version of Die Hard.
Shame on you, Youtube. I expect more out of you than this. I could not find a version of the real scene that allowed itself to be embedded. Here's the real one that the jerks at Youtube won't share. Then again, if I had the ability not to rely on 80s and 90s movie references maybe I would not face this problem. I could save a lot of time and effort not scouring the internet for videos featuring the esoteric scenes from the movies and television shows of my youth. Just think how much I could accomplish if that were the case? Unfortunately, it's not. Back to the topic at hand. While unbelievable to many from New Jersey, even though I am from Pennsylvania and many of my friends are avid hunters I have not handled many guns in my life. When I was in the Boy Scouts in the 90s we got to shoot .22 and archery. There was a shotgun to shoot as well, but I never took part. I never had a reason why I did not. It was just one of those things that just never happened. Last year I had a chance to change that following the Heart of the Highlands 5K, but for some reason CP and I were not able to stick around and shoot. I ran, we all ate some delicious breakfast at Mark and Kate's house and returned to the Pics of Me in Front of Stuff Lair. This year, I missed the 5K due to driving issues, basically leaving too late and me not being able to follow directions. We pulled in just as the race was pulling out. It was interesting seeing the winners finish, I am usually a little over halfway when they are closing in on the finish line.
Now I know what the 30 minutes of boredom CP must feel when I am running and I have to say it made me appreciate her even more. My lack of running was followed by a trip to the shooting range to shoot some skeet.
No not that kind of skeet, skeet, skeet... In fact, I am not sure if we were skeet shooting or trap shooting. I have no idea what the difference is and I am pretty sure it's not relevant. Thunder Mountain Skeet & Trap is located in Ringwood Manor State Park very close to the New Jersey-New York border. When most people think of New Jersey they think of South Jersey with its beaches and pine barrens and 'North' Jersey with its chemical plants, refineries, and New York City. However, that 'North' Jersey encompasses the southern part of the northern third of the state. Much of the northernmost part of New Jersey features woods and mountains. It's hard to believe, but it is very scenic and probably my favorite part of New Jersey. If you like hiking and live in NJ or NY, I highly recommend finding your way to Ringwood. If you like shooting or would like to try shooting a shotgun, I recommend Thunder Mountain Skeet & Trap. A fee of $17 got us each a box of shells and a shotgun and a helpful young man to serve as attendant. CP and I each got to handle some shotguns and shoot some bright orange objects as they flew through the air after one of us said 'Pull'.
Here's CP.
Turns out she is a pretty good shot. I will keep that in mind come Christmas time. Someone is definitely getting a good gift based solely on my survival instincts. CP may have to go by AO (Annie Oakley) if she keeps that up.
Here's me.
I am not such a good shot. You could call me DM as in Dead Meat if AO and I ever got into a shooting match. By shooting match I mean gun fight. I missed the first 5 clay pigeons but somehow managed to shoot as many as CP when it was all said and done. That's why I slipped our attendant aka un-leasher of clay pigeous and official score keeper $5 when we left.
While I'll never be a card carrying member of the NRA, this was fun. It felt pretty good to pulverize those little orange sons of bitches. Yee-haw!
Paul Bunyan and Babe were walking through the Village.
No, really...
It may sound like the punchline from some American folklore joke, but you can clearly see it happened. CP, pictured above as Babe the Sexy Blue Ox, and I, dressed up as Paul Bunyan, spent Halloween in Greenwich Village. Our original plan was to watch the Greenwich Village Halloween parade, but apparently that was also the plan of about 2,000,000 other people. Since we were a little late, we headed to a bar to enjoy some beverages and watch Game 3 of the World Series.
Yes, I know I had a Phillies hat on.
Yes, I know I was in New York City.
Yes, I know the Yankees won that game and the World Series.
Baseball and the soulless Yankees and their soulless fans aside, I had been growing my lumberjack beard for approximately 1 month. CP, being the resourceful young lady she is, decided that she would put the beard to good use since it really did nothing but scratch her. It obviously did not complete it's original purpose of helping the Fightin's win a second World Series in a row. Unfortunately, the Phillies were not World Phucking Champions for a second time. I did have a killer beard to look like Paul Bunyan though.
My beard and the Phillies aside, the Village was full of characters that night.
Joining me in the cavalcade of facial hair was Gabe as Magnum PI.
I have trouble telling these two apart...
He's the captain of our Movember team, helping to kick the crap out of prostate cancer!
And he's still single ladies!
Speaking of eligible bachelors, Dr. Pepper was on the loose as well.
Trust him, he's a doctor. No, really, he is a doctor, just not the kind that deals with patients.
Better hurry ladies, the doctor is in high demand.
Finally, for the dudes, what is always really on our minds was running around too.
Before the World Series started and Chase Utley pwned CC Sabathia on Wednesday night there were some other memorable moments for the Philadelphia Phillies in New York City. They were in New Yankee Stadium in May.
They also brought some excitement to Citi Field.
Instead of embarrassing the Mets again, Wednesday night the Phillies visit the Bronx to continue the defense of their 2008 World Series victory. Pics of Me in Front of Stuff visited Philadelphia to join in the celebration! In case you missed it, it was kind of a big deal.
Before the Phillies could reach the playoffs and defend their title as World Phucking Champions they had to recapture the NL East Division title. In 2007 and 2008 the Fightin' Phils battled the New York Metropolitans until the end of the season when the Phils did whatever it took to win and the Mets folded like an oragami master. In 2008, Pics of Me in Front of Stuff visited the dump known as Shea Stadium for the last series between the NL East rivals. Thank God they tore that place down. The Phillies lost the game but they took 2 out of 3 in the series. In case you have not heard the Phillies also went onto win the World Series. In hopes of recapturing the magic, the night before the above triple play, a rag-tag team of Phillies' fans and a token Mets' fan visited the newly opened Citi Field for an enchanted evening of baseball
....and a lot of beer.
Like many great adventures, this one started with free hot dogs. I doubt that pig would look so happy if he knew we were on our way inside to consume some of his friends that had been processed into tube form. In case you have not heard of it before, Rudy's, a bar generously described as a dive on 9th Ave near 44th Street, serves free hot dogs to go along with their cheap beer. The 6 of us, the 5 gentlemen pictured and CP behind the camera, started off the hot, humid summer day with some cold, cheap beer and some lukewarm hot dogs. Fortunately, as a former employee at a hot dog factory, I know it is as safe to eat hot dogs uncooked as it is to eat them cooked. Hot dogs are heated in the factory and are essentially ring bologna with a little less sugar. In addition alcohol helps kill bacteria and given the amount of beer that was consumed it is unlikely any bacteria could possibly have survived in our stomachs. Beer was essentially our Purel. Rudy's home brews, Rudy's Red and Rudy's Blond, could be marketed as antibacterial elixirs... Aside from the beer and hot dogs, there is also a hilarious story involving the Mets fan, the bearded young man in the picture above, and his personal space being invaded by a drunken middle-aged British woman. She was willing to surrender to him ala Cornwallis at Yorktown or maybe Corn-holis at Porntown. Despite her willingness, the Mets fan was less than interested and the awkwardness pervaded and it included a British accent.
High-larious!
Following our successful outing at Rudy's, the 6 of us hopped on the 7 train to Queens. Little did we know we would accompany the wife of Mets right-fielder Jeff Francouer to the game.
Aren't they a cute couple?
Through an excellent observation, CP noticed Mrs. Francoeur had a fancy ID badge attached to her purse. Via some minor camera manipulation, she was able to photograph said badge for closer examination. Caitlin Francoeur was riding the 7 train with what appeared to be her in-laws. The elder Mrs. Francouer even laughed at one of my jokes. Me: I had a friend in high school who once wore a t-shirt that said 'In case of rapture you can have this t-shirt.' Jeff Francoeur's Mom: Ha Ha Ha
Taken completely out of context you may assume I went to high school full of Christian fundamentalists. Maybe I did. You may also have noticed that was not really my joke or really a joke at all, but it still happened.
We eventually arrived at Citi Field in Queens to meet the Mets and watch the Phillies beat the Mets. The Metropolitans new home is certainly an upgrade over Shea Stadium which I am certain I have described as a dump more than once. Twice actually. Since the naming rights were partially paid for by TARP, it better be a nice stadium. Our tax dollars got sunk into the damn thing, ours and Bernie Madoff's money. I am glad my taxes only went into the stadium and not into improving the baseball team. There are two obvious reasons. The first is the fact that they are the Mets. Seriously, aside from buying tickets, food, and beer at a game in which the Phillies are visiting I want no part in helping to finance that organization. The second is that even if I did not hate the Mets, the Mets were awful this season. They were not quite Washington Nationals bad or Texas State Armadillos bad, but not far behind them in awfulness level. The Mets did not have early 1990s Kath Ireland going for them either.
While early 1990s Kathy is quite a hottie, I still would not give up this guy to get her.
We did actually watch a baseball game in Citi Field. J.A. Happ, 2009 NL Rookie of the Year, pitched 7 innings and gave up 1 run. Chase Utley however countered with a 2-run home run into the right field seats in Citi Field. If my facebook friends were paying attention they would know I christened that location Chase's Place due to Utley's propensity for hitting home runs there this season. My Bartner called the right field seats in Yankee Stadium Chase's Place after he took CC Sabathia there twice in Game 1 of the World Series. Too soon? Either way Pedro Feliz and Chooch each added an RBI to get the final score and Brad Lidge even nailed down the save. Despite the 11 blown saves everyone mentions, Lidge did manage to wrap up 31 save situations and this just happened to be one.
The obnoxious and victorious Phillies fan in me left Citi Field singing High Hopes.
We miss you, Harry.
After all the singing and the yelling, thanks to the Phillies win and a whole lot of beer everybody had a good time at the game. Even the Mets fan.
If you stay tuned, you may hear about singing and dancing part of the evening. Also, maybe another story from Hawaii.
Hello! You probably know me, but imaybe not. I don't take sports as seriously as I ued to. I have goals and if I remember to write about them you'll see when I accomplish them.
