I’m too tired to even think about writing anything, but I did spend several minutes playing and re-playing starlet morphing. It is quite amazing.

Via Hudson County Jersey Blogger, Mister Snitch.

Dear Shit for Brains,

Surely you noticed the Big, Fat, Black Capitalist Car zooming along at about 60 miles per hour when you decided to make a hard right turn onto the highway about one hundred feet in front of me. I figured you were reckless, but that you would at least nail your accelerator so as to put some distance between us.

No, you chose to pull in front of me and do twenty farookin’ miles per hour, thereby putting my anti-lock brakes to the test.

God must have watched over your sorry ass today, gnat brain, because I suspect you have no idea how close you came to wearing a two ton Big, Fat, Black Capitalist Hat.

Douchebag!

I’m way too tired to come up with anything readworthy, so I thought I would give you a peek into one corner of the writing chamber at the House by the Parkway. The guitar is a Gibson Dreadnaught that is probably older than most of the peeps reading this post.

The tour is concluded. The bus will depart in fifteen minutes.

A couple days ago, I listed several things that I just don’t give a shit about. At the time I wrote it, I was going to include fishing, but I didn’t, knowing that it might be assumed that I am hostile to fishing, or, worse yet, disdainful of those who like to fish – nay, love to fish. Of course, I am neither. Several blog buddies are avid fishermen (GuyK, RedNeck, Dash, Yabu, Marcus and Catfish come immediately to mind).

So, to them I say, “Go forth and fish! Enjoy!”

For my part, fishing leaves me cold. Here are a few reasons why:

Fishing is icky, and it makes your hands stink.
Fishermen are always sticking their hands into nasty shit. Consider bait. Freshwater fishermen happily plunge their hands into a bucket of big ol’, doity woims. Salt water fisherman slice up stinky squid or mossbunker, or even use slimy live bait on their hooks (“Jimbo, ya gotta hook the little buggers in the eye”).

Of course, then there is also the handling of the fish that one catches. Slimy, fishy and sometimes messy, particularly when one has to rip a swallowed hook from the guts of the sorry ass fish. Then they have to be cleaned – more ick.

Invariably, after all this hand ick, it is time to unwrap your sandwich and eat lunch. Guess what a ham and cheese tastes like. It sure as shit doesn’t taste anything like ham and cheese. It tastes like fishing ick. (I don’t give a shit how much time you spend “washing” your hands, your hands and, therefore, your lunch still smell like fish ick.

Fishing screws up a wonderful boat ride or a really nice walk.
I positively love a boat ride. Salt water (bay or ocean) or fresh water (river or lake), there is nothing quite as nice as cruising along in a boat and mellowing out, sometimes with a cocktail or two. However, dragging a bunch of fishing stuff onto the boat icks up the boat to a fare-thee-well with fish ick, blood and gore. The boat ride becomes simply a means to move all over the place to find the farookin’ fish to shit the boat up even more.

The same holds true for fishing from places other than a boat. One day, quite a few years ago, I was coaxed into hanging with a colleague while he did some fly fishing accompanied by a super-avid fly fisherman. We worked our way down to a beautiful running stream, and they waded into the water to do their thing. I sat down on the bank and enjoyed the scenery and sounds, happy as hell that I wasn’t wearing waders and doing all the stuff they were doing (casting, flicking, flicking, casting, fly tying). It looked like a real pain in the ass to me, even though they seemed to enjoy it.

On the ride back, the super avid fly fisherman showed me the picture album he kept in his car. There must have been two hundred pictures of trout, each one with the fish posed next to the fisherman’s fishing rod, presumably to convey the fish’s size. Hundreds of pictures! WTF? Not knowing what to say, I simply smiled and said, “That’s really nice.”

Surf fishing: Same thing. A walk along the ocean is one of finer things in life, as is sitting on the beach and watching the surf or reading a good book, soothed by the sounds of the ocean. To me, it beats sticking stinky bait on a hook and casting a line into the surf, reeling in, baiting the hook again, casting, reeling in etc. etc., not to mention more fish ick on your hands from baiting the hook or from the fish itself if you happen to catch something.

Fishing is … well … boring.
I know that my fishing friends would disagree. They would point out that fishing is a contest between the fisherman and the fish and when they are not in competition, the fisherman can let his mind wander while waiting for a bite. Fine, but to me, it’s sitting there watching a piece of string (nylon or otherwise) sticking out of the water or a bobber floating on the water. It interferes with genuine daydreaming.

I see no reason for me to disaccommodate the fish of the world.
I don’t like to eat fish, which is an excellent reason for me not to bother the fish by jacking them out of water by a fishhook stuck in their mouths. And, obviously, the point of this post is that I just don’t think doing what one has to do produce the end result of jacking a fish out of the water is worth my bothering the fish.

Besides, seeing as how fish don’t bother me, I don’t see any need to bother them.

Finally, by my not fishing, there are more fish left for the fishing peeps of the world.

You’re welcome, fishing peeps.

We’ve all been reading about the spending excesses of the Clinton Campaign, everything from rooms in the Bellagio for $25,000 and the Four Seasons for another $5,000 to $11,000 for pizza in just the month of January.

Just because the Clinton Campaign ran up huge tabs, does not mean that the people who extended them credit will ultimately get paid.

Consider the case of Peter Semetis. Mr. Semetis owns a deli-catering business in lower Manhattan, which was forced to close down following the attacks on 9/11. He struggled to re-build his business, which required some downsizing. Imagine how thrilled he must have been to be contacted last year by the Clinton Campaign to provide catering services (various breakfast trays with coffee and juice) to an upcoming Clinton rally.

What’s not to like about being asked to do business with the organization that is headed by the Junior Senator of your state and a candidate for the presidency. Perhaps he even envisioned getting his picture taken with the candidate, which he would be able to display in his store.

So, Mr. Semetis provided the goods and services ($2,300, plus $192.63 in tax) on the promise that he would be paid by check or credit card in “a couple of weeks.”

A couple weeks went by and no money came. He began to make calls to the Campaign. He was either ignored or he was told not to worry, the payment was being processed. When he learned that Mrs. Clinton had to loan her campaign $5 million, he became nervous and began calling every day to ask about payment.

Finally, after having been jerked around for too long, he sued the Campaign in Small Claims Court, and got the attention of the press. It was only when a member of the press called the Campaign that Mr. Semetis was paid.

I can only wonder how many others who extended credit to the Clinton Campaign are having the same problem. Maybe the Bellagio and the Four Seasons can afford to take the hit from extending credit to deadbeats, but I worry about the pizza guys.

Perhaps I shouldn’t worry, because, after all, the Clintons are looking out for the Little Guy.

Triumph Brewing Company

It’s happening at the Jersey Blogmeet

April 5, 2007, 6-11PM in historic Princeton, New Jersey, home of the Alma Mater of our favorite colander-wearing blogger.

It’s walking distance from NY and Philly Trains.

The rest of the details are at Fausta’s Site.

A special shout out to the peeps who attended this blogmeet.

Update: I am happy to say that Denny, The Grouchy Old Cripple a/k/a the other half of the Elderly Brothers, will be traveling up from Atlanta to be on the case.

In no particular order:

Most sports, most of the time.

American Idol.

The Oscars/Emmys/Golden Globe/People’s Choice Awards

Ms. Spears.

What most countries think of the U.S.

Donald Trump’s opinion about anything.

What ___________ (fill in the name of a Hollywood chucklehead) thinks about anything.

The portion of any weather forecast that exceeds ten seconds.

Professional athletes and steroids.

Groundhog Day.

Network Television, 90% of the time.

My carbon footprint.

Your carbon footprint.

I had a rather busy and exhausting week, which means that I had just about zero time to spend at the keys. So, now that I finally have the opportunity to sit here for more than a handful of minutes, I have to decide whether to catch up on blogs that I’ve missed reading, or try to write something. Problem is, after a killer week and a rousing hour of snow-blowing, I’m too tired to do either. No loss for youse guys, as I don’t have a single readworthy thought in my cruller at the moment.

Methinks I shall shuffle off to a comfy chair with a book until I nod off, which should take about ten minutes.

Maybe later.

Fausta, a Premier Jersey Blogger, contacted me for advice about having a Jersey Blogmeet (to which non-Jersey peeps are also encouraged to attend), and before I knew it, plans were made for an April 5, 2008 shindig in a brewery-restaurant in beautiful Princeton, New Jersey.

Fausta has all the deets HERE.

I’ll be there, and I hope you will be there too. Move fast, because space is limited.

P.S. While in Princeton, you can visit the campus of Princeton University, Rutgers’ younger cousin.

The subset of Life 101 that has to do with making a living has prevented me from spending any time here and will likely do so for the next couple of days.

Play nice.