I'm gonna make you girls a Hump Day treat!

Courtesy of Sandeep:



http://www.nytimes.com/2007/08/01/dining/01drun.html?pagewanted=3&8dpc&_r=1



Something to aspire to as you head out for various Wednesday-is-the-new-Thursday-is-the-new-Friday festivities, anyway. My new life's ambition is to swim in the pool of the Four Seasons NYC restaurant.







Also, for my (not your) enjoyment: Things You Learn Riding the T.

1. Trot Nixon still plays for the Red Sox. At least, that's what all the fat, sweaty, drunk bald men riding to Kenmore for the game would have you believe, since ALL of them, to a man, still wear their Nixon jerseys with bloated pride. (The only exception: occasionally, you may see one in a Varitek jersey.) Seriously, guys: It's time to let it go. I, like you, will always hold a special spot in my heart for any member of the 2005 Red Sox. But you don't see me wearing a damn Pedro Martinez jersey to games.


2. Every guy in Boston is too short for me. I don't understand how this continues to be true. I'm only 5'9", for crying out loud. And yet, everywhere I look: short men. And the tall ones are all 19-year-old BC students. This, to me, is the definition of modern tragedy.


3. Only people with really cool hair should own iPods, at least according to the new Apple ad campaigns.


4. Still got it: no matter what I do, I persist in looking really, really unfriendly. Those of you who haven't heard me rant about this before should know that I have an uncanny ability to frighten people away from sitting next to me on the T. The seat next to me can be the only seat open, with like 10 people already standing in the car, and NO ONE will sit next to me. Yesterday, I actually overheard two guys (they thought I couldn't hear, because I had my iPod on [despite the fact that I don't have cool hair], but I DID hear them) who had just gotten on have the following exchange: Guy 1: "Look, there's a seat over there." Guy 2 [looks at the seat, then looks at me]: "Nah, I'll just stand." Wow. I wasn't even WEARING my Bitchy McBitch sunglasses! I've been told time and again that I just give off this vibe of Really Intimidating, and I don't understand it. Maybe I should start carrying around one of those big old-fashioned lollipops, or a puppy or a baby.

You can learn lots of things riding the T. Maybe I'll keep this going. In other news, everyone loses to the Orioles on occasion, and the Sox front office still haven't come out and announced who the Player-To-Be-Named-Later in the Joel Piniero deal is. So I can still hope. And here, without further ado, is the cover to the Memphis Redbirds comic book I was squawking about yesterday. (Hooray for Deadspin!) Rick is kind of hidden in the back, signing autographs and looking sexy. Comic books are fun!

And because I'm feeling kind of rant-y (no Splenda in the break room!), here's a quick entry from the Hate List: People who go to the gym and fucking WALK on the treadmills. While holding on to the handles. I just don't understand it! I guess I'm exposed to more of this since I belong to a chicks-only gym, which, while eliminating the sweaty-guy-breathing-down-your-neck-while-you-use-the-weight-machines factor, definitely ups the wuss factor. I just think, if you're going to spend all that money on a gym membership, that you should get a damn WORKOUT in when you go! Walking on a flat surface while watching "VH1's 100 Best Bodies" (a.k.a. The List Where Terrell Owens Beats Out Heather Graham, But Loses To Ashley Judd) is not a workout. Walking to the grocery store would serve you better. But you'd probably just buy ice cream and cookies, wouldn't you, fatass?

[Note: maybe this is why people don't sit next to me on the T.]