Come on, there was no way in hell I wasn’t going to try this place out:
- It’s called BONERS BBQ
- It’s barbecue
- I love barbecue
- It’s in a easy to get to location
- It’s next to Turner Field
- I want a t-shirt
- IT’S CALLED BONERS
Tag: observations
Can addiction really be called a disease?
I was listening to the radio one morning, and I heard about some guy on some reality television show, whom, like many other reality television personalities, has a supposedly fascinating life story that warranted putting them on television in the first place. I don’t particularly remember, nor care about the specifics about his journey, but I remember the part where he talked about how he was 70 days removed from rehabilitation, and then he said that he was afflicted with a disease: addiction.
It’s a word we use a lot, addiction is. I’m addicted to zombie games, caffeine and tasteless humor. I know people I accuse of being addicted to working out, cougars, and other supposedly menial things. But would I say that myself, or any of these people whom I’ve applied the term “addicted” to, are diseased? Fuck no.
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Hank Conger
If I told you that about this baseball player named “Hank Conger,” most people would get the image in their head of a white guy. Probably a sleepy-eyed Texan, closely associated with Hank Hill, from King of the Hill, since come on, just how many people out there really are named “Hank” anyway?
Well, pictured above is the real Hank Conger, a catcher for the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim of Orange County, California. Not what you were expecting, huh?
Owned at the ballpark
I thought about putting this up on my sports brog, but then I thought fuck it, this isn’t really something for BS,W. When I first saw these two storm out of the section, I said “hehe, they’re going to go break up,” not really thinking much of it. But then minutes later, I turned around and noticed the two of them hanging out on the railing, appearing to be having some intense conversation, based on the tepid body language. “Holy shit, I think they are breaking up!”
Instead of watching Brave after Brave helplessly flail against Tim Lincecum, I found myself voyeuristically watching this young couple appearing to be headed down Splitsville. My usher friend and I sadistically watched with enjoyment as with each pleading arm wave from him, and the dismissive hand through the hair from her, the negotiation appeared to be going nowhere but downhill.
And then came this moment of truth, that I managed to capture on camera, completely coincidentally – the wiping of the tears.
Miami and I seem to be incompatible
Disclaimer: This rant was originally written at close to 4:00 a.m., before I went to bed after my first day in Miami, Florida.
I don’t want to jump the gun here too much, and the truth is that I am having a good time down here in Miami so far. I should really be asleep, since I have to be up in less than five hours to ensure that my rental car isn’t ticketed for when the parking lot goes from free parking, into pay parking for the prime parts of the beach days, but I’ve got a lot on my mind about my experiences in the city of Miami so far, and I’d like to get them in writing while they’re still fresh on my mind.
In short, Miami is no doubt a lively, bustling city, but the truth is that this is most absolutely definitely certainly not a place I’d ever want to fathom living. In my opinion, Miami sucks, and I’m not going to miss this place one bit when my trip is over. Some of my favorite shows like Dexter and Nip/Tuck may take place here, but damn if those shows do a fantastic job of making this place look a whole hell of a lot better than the cesspool that I’m finding this place to be.
Now part of it can be my fault for taking the same cost-effective approach I take on my of my other baseball road trips, but the truth is that such an approach has yielded some genuinely good results in the past. It’s just this approach in Miami has me led to believe that this is possibly one of the worst places in the country.
Pussificiation of America: Rolling Bags
I remember when I was in the eighth grade; I had one of those de facto worst days of my life. I had homework in just about every single class that day, it was rainy and I forgot an umbrella, and at the time, I was a walker to and from school. My backpack couldn’t contain anymore text books and weighed a million pounds, and I had to relegate to stuffing things into my trumpet case by the way I was in the band back then and had a huge cumbersome trumpet case to lug around too. I walked home in the rain, furiously upset and discouraged, lugging about 20 lbs. of extra weight, and when I got home, I changed into dry clothing, and sprawled out on my back on the carpet and closed my eyes.
Nowadays, if an eighth grader were in a similar predicament, a parent would complain to the school board to reduce homework, or the necessity of textbooks outright, and in today’s economy, would ultimately go through. If the parents didn’t pick up the child in their Toyota Sienna with the button-touch automatic opening and closing doors, the child would still be forced to walk home, but instead of carrying a backpack, they would undoubtedly be dragging a rolling bag on wheels.
A weekend at the faire – And the winner is…
Oh baby, is that a broadsword, or are you just happy to see me..?
Naw, sweet cheeks … that really is a broadsword, but it doesn’t mean I’m any less happy to see you.
Oooh, I can’t resist a man who carries a broadsword, and wears a Kurt Warner football jersey to the Renaissance Faire… kiss me now! /dives in for spontaneous make out session
Continue reading “A weekend at the faire – And the winner is…”