Monday, February 2, 2009

Monday Six-Pack

Growing up in Pittsburgh our pastor was able to get us in-and-out of Sunday Mass in 42 minutes flat. He, like everyone else in the congregation, needed to get home, get breakfast out of the way (for the congregants, a big Sunday breakfast for their massive Catholic families) and then settle in for the day’s Steelers game. No one could give a more meaningless, but most importantly, quick, homily than Father Rogers.

So today, Super Bowl Monday*, I’d just like to offer my congratulations to my Steelers on their breathtaking victory over the Arizona Cardinals and sixth Super Bowl championship. I am the kind of fan who believes in “any given Sunday,” and the Cards almost pulled it off last night. They gave the Steelers all they could handle, but in the end I think the deciding factor came down to the Chris Collingsworth “Kiss of Death Pick.” Throughout the playoffs, every team the NBC broadcaster has picked has gone down in flames.

So I’d just like to thanks Collingsworth for picking the Cards. Keep up the good work Chris.

Sex Sells
There was a lot of sex in the Super Bowl ads last night. We expect that, of course (seriously, where do you think the Budweiser Clydesdale was taking that circus horse? He was going to sow his wild oats), but one of my favorite ads is one many people hate. The ad in question, the Career Builder ad that kept repeating itself – the woman screaming in her car and the guy crying at the bus stop and so on and so forth – added a new phrase to what I thought was, until that very moment, a thoroughly closed lexicon.

Let me present to you for your consideration, the newest euphemism for masturbation. Adding to the glory that is whacking off, spanking the monkey and pounding the pud, I offer this: Punching the koala, a phrase I feel works equally as well for men and women alike.

So next time you find yourself heading off for a little “Me Time,” instead of using one of those tired old euphemisms, try this: “Well, time to go punch the koala.” Your friends and family will thank you and, more important, you’ll feel better about yourself.

Jackass of the Weekend Award No. 1
Dear Jackass in my building,

Next time, when in your haste to finish up your 113 loads of dirty baby clothes you decide to pull two of my three loads of laundry out of the dryer and then toss my expensive and not-yet-quite-dry work shirts on the table, don’t get annoyed at me when I passive-aggressively take my own sweet Goddamn time hanging them up so they don’t wrinkle any more while you’re waiting for me to empty that last dryer.

I set a kitchen timer so I don’t keep you and our other neighbors waiting, and I traditionally set it for 5 minutes less than the running time of our “Fires of Hell” dryers. So I know you pulled my still-slightly-damp shirts and jeans out and put your stuff in before the time I’d paid for expired.

Fuck you very much.

Jackass of the Weekend Award No. 2
This award goes to the not-bad-looking-chick in the Harris Teeter parking lot in Ballston on Saturday who, despite her great ass, is still a Jackass.

Would it really have been that much of an inconvenience for you to have walked that cart back up to the lobby of the store instead of pushing it into one of the very last empty parking spaces? Seriously, you only had to walk about 100 feet and your husband/boyfriend/incestuous brother-lover could have followed you in his BMW and picked you up at the door.

You didn’t seem to be suffering from any physical ailments or handicaps. In fact, it was your long and shapely legs attached to your ass that drew my attention as you loped gracefully across the lot with an embarrassed smile on your face while you selfishly made everyone else’s life just a bit harder.

I hereby place the special Irish Shopping Cart Magnet curse upon you and your husband/boyfriend/incestuous brother-lover’s shiny blue Beemer until you mend your ways. But you won’t, so you’ll just go on pissing people off with your thoroughly thoughtless actions and your car will continue to attract our four-wheeled agents of revenge.

Change we can believe in
Why am I at work today, the Monday morning after one of the most exciting Super Bowls in all of recorded history (at least since The Super Bowl in 1966)?

Now I don’t expect the government to bail us out on this one, since its powers are and should be limited, but I can’t understand why the NFL refuses to play its signature game on Saturdays. If this were the case, instead of being at work I could be at home watching the looped post-game coverage again and again with drool running from the corners of my mouth as I subconsciously contemplate which of your sponsors’ products I want to buy.

Get with the program. It’s February, you’re not competing with college football for air time or visibility. So move the game to Saturday (or the Sunday before President’s Day as an option) and let us sleep in as we bask in the reflected glow of our teams’ victories.

Six down, 994 to go
The whole time I was driving home Friday I was telling myself I was going to bail on my run and, instead, do it the next morning.

But then I found myself at home and realized if I let myself slide this early in the game it’d be the start of a bad pattern. I had no reason to skip the run I realized, and I found myself striping down and pulling on my running clothes.

I did my same 2-mile loop, counter-clockwise this time, and ran farther on the first burst (so to speak, since “burst” will never be a term anyone would apply to my speed) than the last two times. In fact, since goals are important, I ran the whole first mile at a decent pace, and then walked only in short stretches the rest of the way home.

My calves were still tight, but they’re coming around as they get stronger. I’m hoping this won’t be a problem by this time next week. The one concession I am making, since I felt a bit of a twinge in my knee yesterday, is instead of running Monday-Wednesday-Friday this week, I’m giving myself an extra day of rest and going out Tuesday-Thursday-Saturday. The big reason for this is, despite my total inability to complete the loop, I’d like to run on the Mall this coming weekend.

*Hey, if there’s an Easter Monday, there can damn well be a Super Bowl Monday for our country’s most important secular holiday.


Jo said...

Ditto on the favorite commercial. That (and oddly enough since I'm a girl, the Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head commercial)was one of the few commercials I actually liked. The Koala getting punched part was hysterical!

Fearless in Toronto said...

I am pretty sure that my own Version of Hell will include a shared laundry facility where some dude is always touching my underwear without permission.

FoggyDew said...

Jo - Hello. Ya know, I missed the Potato Head commercial. And I'm smiling right now thinking about the koala getting the commercial, that is.

Fearless - First time in three years someones messed with my clothes. That's what made me feel so...violated.

JoLee said...

Steelers still = yuck, but I'll let you enjoy your glory.

Mass in 42 minutes or less? Seriously? That's impressive. I don't think I've EVER sat through a Sunday Mass that was less than hour to hour and a half.

LiLu said...

I think my favorite had to be the Conan O'Brian Swedish Bud Light one. Oh, Conan, you can do no wrong with that hair.

FoggyDew said...

JoLee - Father Rogers was a serious fan. Even midnight Mass clocked in at less than 90 minutes.

LiLu - You know, I think I missed that one as well. ARRRRRRRGGGGHH. He does have the hair thing going for him. Wonder if he'll change when he moves to 11:30?