This Week In Lunacy.

So, in the recent past, say the last year or so, a revolutionary invention was thrust upon us adoring masses. What was this paragon of innovation you ask? What possible gadget or gizmo could have caught my discerning eye?

The Go-Tart.

That's right. The Go-Tart.

Somehow, I never realized exactly how unportable the Pop Tart really was. It's chunky and rectangular. You need to hold it between fingers. No longer with the incredibly versatile Go-Tart. Now, boys and girls, it's thinner, and rounder! You can close your fist around it! Now, you never have to miss your bus and be late for school, because instead of being forced to sit down at the table, and eat that Pop Tart on a plate with a fork and knife, you can snatch it up in your hands and GO GO GO.

I can't believe anybody really thought there was a problem in the portability of the Pop Tart. I mean, for crying out loud, the whole selling point years ago was that it was something you could heat up if you wanted, and still take with you on the go. Every time I see a Go-Tart commercial, I wince a bit at the stupidity of us all.

Cooperstown: A Recap.

Nice town. Wouldn't want to live there.

A true one stop-light town

With a few possible exceptions, and I apologize to those of you who are those exceptions, Red Sox fans are the most obnoxious and rude baseball fans by far, if their Hall of Fame etiquette is any indication. Loud, rude, pushy, and kinda dumb. And if I had to hear "where's dah sawk?" one more time, I was gonna give someone a good sock.

How many baseball souvenir shops can one small town have?

Don't waste your money on the wax museum. While there's some funny things in there (like the "Pete Rose Induction" exhibit, or Steinbrenner and Constanza), they have a figure of Roger Maris in the right hands batters box, and misspell Vin Scully as Vin Sculty on a placard. No need for that.

I never knew that Cy Young wasn't his name. Cy that is. It was short for Cyclone. Annoyingly enough I can't remember his real name off the top of my head.

A League of Their Own took MANY liberties with the real AAGPBL. For instance, it was more like softball pretty much the entire period of WWII. Only near the end, in the 50s, did the rules become more like baseball.

There's something magical about watching a game at Doubleday Field, even if the "history" of Cooperstown is a bit bogus.

I highly recommend the Italian restaurant on Main Street next to the CVS.

There's a Chinese take out type place on Pioneer Street called Foo Kin John. That's hilarious.

I know many people named John who will get sent this image at times.

You shouldn't take a child under 5 or 6 in to a huge musuem. It took me and my friend about 7 hours to get through it. Think about what a place like that would do to a small child. Then think about what that cranky small child does to me. Now, make it like 100 cranky small children, but still only one of me.

Did I mention lately that I hate people?

That's Freakin' It!

Was going to do a Rhyme and Treason tonight, but circumstances led me to having to put out an ultimatum instead. Plus, I thought of a better way of doing R&T which I'll discuss as soon as I get something off the ol' chest.

Asshole drivers...you are officially on notice.

I am sick and damn tired of d-bags waiting to the last possible minute to merge over. For whatever reason you have to. Lane legitimately ending, construction, accident bypassing, whatever. The second you see you should get over, GET...THE...HELL...OVER. Your asshole move of not merging only creates a bottleneck.

You are on notice. Because I'm no longer going to sit there and let you do this. From now on, I'm going to straddle the middle line. That's right. I'm going to block your dumb ass from getting by. See, I figure, I might be an asshole to you, but this is better than you being an asshole to EVERY SINGLE PERSON YOU PASS, and every person that has to wait that much longer because you wouldn't merge early, saving yourself a couple minutes tops.

I will block you. Try and stop me. Because you'll probably end up rear ending me, and I don't care if I'm straddling that middle lane, you're still gonna be liable. That'd be the icing on the cake.

Look, it's not rocket science. Get over when you know you have to. But I'm not going to sit there, in the correct lane like a good little boy, and watch you be a prick to every person in the correct lane anymore. I'm blocking the dillholes. I urge all of my readers to do the same.

As for Rhyme and Treason, I'm bringing it back Monday. Instead of immediately putting up the responses, I'm going to leave it open for most of the "work" week. Responses should be in by Thursday night. Then, on Friday, I'll post the responses, including the one I feel was the best, which in a sense will be the "winner." Judged solely by me, because I believe in a ruling class, especially since I rule. So, all of you have been clamoring for Rhyme and Treason, check this space on Monday. Which is like, late Tuesday in Australia. Stupid time zones. Stupid sun revolving around the earth and reaching places sooner than others. Stupid astrophysics!!

Adventures in Misanthrophy!

So, no real secret: I hate people. Current company excluded. Generally, the rule is such; if I don't know you, you're probably stupid and annoying and I hate you. I know, logically, it doesn't really hold water, but don't take away one of my tenets of life, I may never recover.

Anyway, this sort of makes dealing with customers at work dicey at times. Because...well, I hate them if I don't know them. I enter in to the relationship on the negative side. I do my best to try and curb my misanthropic tendencies, though. I do try. Give me some credit.

So, this morning, dealing with a client. I'm already, as pointed out, predisposed towards hostility. He starts trying to move something manually that can't be moved manually. A divider wall on a motor, to be specific. I say, quote, "You can't do it that way, let me go turn the motor on."

Of course, this is one of those guys who I'm predisposed to hate...for real. For he is one of these frustrating people who only hear the first part of a sentence, especially if it's a negative. So what did he hear? "You can't."

So he starts berating me about how that wall NEEDS to be shut because sound will bleed through (newsflash...gonna bleed either way, there's space at the top and bottom), blah blah blah. I know this though...I'm trying to shut the damn thing. Oh no, he didn't hear that part. But this kind of person justifies my crappy outlook on people. Don't get me started on how he thought a wireless mouse was somehow a wireless transceiver to send a signal from his laptop to a video projector. Pushing buttons and freaking out because "it's not showing up! It's not showing up!"

The technologically retarded should not be allowed to use technology. But that's a completely different rant.

At least, it makes it easier for me to say that when people go "you don't hate people." I can totally go, oh yeah, what about THIS GUY?

So, how are you? I like you guys.