Irritable Male Syndrome

Sunday, June 19, 2005

Blogging at the bar, Part III.XIV

That's right, folks. I've come back to where only some people know my name--the bar. The wireless connection is intermittent at best, so I have nothing else to do but make fun of people in my head and try to make some sort of rambling type post. Though, I never need any sort of connection to silently mock others.

A few weeks ago I sold my laptop to my brother for an ungodly low sum of $300. Why did I sell it? Well, the highest resolution on the craptacular Dell 5100 was not very good. I'm not sure of the exact setting, but I think that at one time, it would display, at most, 3 colors and 15 pixels. Not very good. And because of that, it was impossible to multi-task between internet poker and the various websites I need to have open in order to satiate my ADD.

There's no way that I could go without a laptop--I'd be left with reading being my only viable option for the daily hour-long shitter marathons I've grown accustomed to ever since I started drinking coffee--and it was just good timing that my roommate was getting rid of his Dell that had a much better screen. Hey, if I'm going to be addicted to a fucking card game, I might as well maximize that addiction. The only problem with this laptop, even more than most, is that the keyboard is NOT made for typing. Strange, I know. I'd do better to hire a guy with no hands and allow him to stump out whatever I was dictating, all stenographer-like. He'd probably type faster than I am right now. I don't think that it's possible to type slower.

Fuck. The wireless keeps cutting in and out in about 15 second intervals. This wouldn't seem like a big deal, but the computer feels it necessary to alert me each time it flip-flops. Signal Strength:Very Low. Wireless connection unavailable. Make up your damn mind!

Hey, look at the guy geeking out with his laptop at the bar, getting mad a fucking information bubble. So cool, that one.

Speaking of bubbles, I was golfing with my dad and brother yesterday(more on that in a bit), when my brother told me that his wife, Kristen, bought a Bubble Mower for my niece. How cute. I think I'm going to keep her as my niece for a bit longer.

Does anyone remember the Bubble Mower from their youth? I'm not sure how long it's been around, probably 20 years? I don't know. I do know that it's just a little hunk of plastic that spits out bubbles when you wheel it around. It doesn't mow shit, so I have no idea why it's shaped like a mower. Perhaps Bubble Shopping Cart was too much of a stretch? And I'm sure that "Bubble Wheelchair" wasn't quite what the advertising people were jumping at the opportunity to promote.


Back to golfing and Father's Day Eve. I spent the equivalent of 5 years during my teens on a golf course. If there was still daylight, you could be sure that I'd be chasing that stupid ball until the night swallowed it whole. Now, though, it seems that the only time I ever step onto a course is for Father's Day. At least there's one day year I can count on pissing the daylight away by attempting a Rockford in my rented EZ-GO.

Just for the record, I've been told by a reliable source that the feat is easiest at dusk. So I've been told. I don't know from experience, that's for sure. Ahem.

Even though I only golf once a year, I can still hit the shit out of that dimpled orb. All I need now is a short game--which is oddly enough, important to getting a decent score--a hot Scandanavian wife and some man boobs, and I'd be all set for the PGA. The bigger question is this: "Is the PGA ready for me?"

Short answer: Hell no.

So, do I have the skillz to pay the billz?

I shot an 86, You be the judge.

Since I "celebrated" my dad yesterday, I spent today walking around my neighborhood. On the weekends, the main intersection near my house is packed with people. High school girls in frilly skirts and perma-tans, sopping for the latest fashion statements at Urban Outfitters or GAP, overprotective soccer moms close behind. And of course, there are the ever present gay men.

Gay men are usually outnumbered by the young girls, but today they former was out in full force. In fact, the neighborhood was uncharacteristically quiet for a weekend. And I couldn't figure out just why it was just the gays and I enjoying the beautiful day.

About a few hours into my walk down Hennepin and back up Lyndale, I thought: Duh, Chad. It's Father's Day, you twit. Gay men haven't changed their routine because they're not celebrating the Hallmark holiday. They were disowned many years ago for being gay

Har har, I funny.


At 1:24 PM, Blogger Drizztdj said...

You'd still probably kick my ass golfing. I'm about a 15 handicap on a good day :)


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