Excellence in Photographic Journalism

A picture may be worth 1,000 words. Excellent photographs which illustrate events and places across the world should be worth at least ten times as many.

I recommend you add a bookmark to the Boston Globe's regular online feature The Big Picture. Updated frequently, the Globe posts between ten to twenty captioned full-screen high resolution photographs on a theme or story. It's quickly become a daily must-view site for me.

Sox on Fox

[Blogging from the road . . . my buddy Jeff's house]

I usually hate it when Fox broadcasts Red Sox games. But today's broadcast is pretty good. The main reason is that those two uber-annoying buffoons, Joe Buck and Tim McCarver, aren't the hosts. It's Jerry Remy and whomever the usual play-by-play broadcaster for the Reds happens to be. It's cool. Neither are being biased in their comments, and both have clearly done their homework about each teams' strengths and weaknesses.

One funny thing about Fox's coverage is the radar gun. Either the operator has been drinking, or it's broken. Volquez's fastball was clocked at 56 MPH, even though it clearly was touching the high 80s or low 90s. Better yet, Wakefield's knuckleball was just clocked at 100 MPH.

A Perfect Set!

Look . . . I am fully aware that this is a stupid post, but after all this is my blog. Once in a great, great while I'll get the perfect triumvirate of Pop-Ice flavors. Orange, purple, and blue. You're welcome to have all the green, red, and pink ones from the box.

I have a serious Pop-Ice addiction. I need help. Is there a 12-step program available? I go through a 100-count box every week.

Okay. I am officially creeped out.

I'm too creeped out by the pencil's face to say anything. Words fail me.

Walk of Shame

This morning I was forced to take the Walk of Shame. No, not that kind of Walk of Shame. I did the motorcyclist's Walk of Shame.

As my son can attest, this morning as we were on the way to drop him off at school, I said "wow, I can't believe I haven't had to put gas into Val for so long. It's weird."

Yep. That kind of Walk of Shame. On the ride back home, Val began to sputter. I smugly reminded myself to tell Joey that Val hit the reserve tank only 45 minutes after I made that foreboding comment.

I reached down with my left hand to switch from the main tank to the reserve . . . wait a second, why it the fuel selector pointing UP? Oh f*ck ... that means I'm already sucking down the last few drops in the reserve tank ... I had broken the cardinal rule of riding a motorcycle. Always check the position of the fuel selector before starting the engine. Every single time. I've never made this mistake before today, and I'll never make it again.

So began my walk of shame. Thanks to that guy (whose name I am sorry to say I cannot recall) in the tan Chevy Cavalier for pulling over on the exit ramp to Devens, and thanks to Paul for the ride back. They are two good Samaritans who were kind enough to pick up a stranger wearing a leather jacket, carrying a helmet in one hand and a gas can in the other.

Another Reason to Love Boston

This story is all over the media today. A quarter of the adults in New York "are infected with the virus that causes genital herpes." I bet that Jeter is the cause for more than half of them. He at least gave it Joba for sure.

I Love Cathy

I love Cathy for a lot of reasons. First, she's one of the funniest people I've ever met. Secondly, she's one of the funniest people I've ever met. I'm sorry, did I repeat myself? Well, she's funny enough to deserve the top two rankings. Thirdly, I love her husband Paul. Her kids are nice too, but, yeah. Lastly, she's always been my "emergency backup mom." Don't you have one too?

Today I especially love Cathy for giving me (and my son Donnie, but let's face it, it's all about me) a dulcimer. Have you ever heard a dulcimer? Aerosmith is the only major band of which I'm aware to use a dulcimer on an album. Here ... listen to this.

Click the "play" button below the image, not in the middle of the album cover.

Meet Val's Sister Megan!

I know, I know . . . I've been posting an awful lot about my motorcycle Val lately. Well, *shrug* too bad. I'm so excited that I could spit. I've never fully understood that saying. Why would one feel the urge to spit when excited? I digress.

On the way to my sister's house this afternoon to pick up some paperwork, I happened to glance into a parking lot as I drove by at 45 MPH. What I saw made me fully turn my head (a big "no no" on a motorcycle), then slam on both the front and rear brakes.

I saw, for the first time ever in real life, another Valkyrie.

Me being who I am (just a bit north of outgoing), I marched into each store in the strip mall until I saw somebody carrying a helmet.

Paul is my new buddy. He had a hard time finding a Valkyrie, just as I did, but eventually landed Megan (his Valkyrie's name ... much more original than "Val"). She was an insurance write-off, and had been declared legally dead after being laid down at about 60 MPH. Her tank didn't match her VIN (plus it's obviously a 2001 tank on a 2002 Valkyrie), her light bar still shows some road rash, and the radiator hose isn't stock.

But Megan is beeeeeeeeeautiful. Paul put on a chrome radiator grill cover, chrome oil dipstick, nice highway pegs, and a few other nifty add-ons. The biggest difference between Val and Megan is that Megan doesn't have a windshield. She's looks abso-frickin'-lutely gorgeous.

However, just like women, you can't judge a book by it's cover. Although Megan looks like a fox, I would never take off Val's windshield. Do you know how much it hurts to get hit in the forehead by a piece of gravel or a junebug at 80 MPH? Not pleasant. Plus, Megan has the California Emissions package, meaning a carbon scrubber which takes away about 5 - 8 horsepower. But c'mon, big whoop. Megan could still gallop with Val at 140 MPH if they wanted to do so.

*sigh* There are so many things I want to buy for Val to make her prettier.

Everything I Need

Sunglasses, a beer, and my dog. That's all I need!

And that's it and that's the only thing I need, is this. I don't need this or this. Just this ashtray. And this paddle game, the ashtray and the paddle game and that's all I need. And this remote control. The ashtray, the paddle game, and the remote control, and that's all I need. And these matches. The ashtray, and these matches, and the remote control and the paddle ball. And this lamp. The ashtray, this paddle game and the remote control and the lamp and that's all I need. And that's all I need too. I don't need one other thing, not one - I need this. The paddle game, and the chair, and the remote control, and the matches, for sure. And this. And that's all I need. The ashtray, the remote control, the paddle game, this magazine and the chair.

--- Steve Martin, "The Jerk"