Striking a Chord

So there's apparently some new dangerous fishing show on the National Geographic Channel called Wicked Tuna. We see a promo for it, and I turn to Kathy and say, "It's like Deadliest Catch, but it's set in Boston."

And she says: "And it stars the guy who fixes your piano."

Pretty much every day, I get confirmation that I definitely married my match.

"Dorrreen! The keybaad is shaahp, stahting around middle C. Call in the wicked tuna!"

Rob

P.S. I got yer wicked tuna right heah!

War an' Peace an' Sushi an' Udon

So I went to my meeting this morning, and as I suspected, I dropped a bit: lost 3.8 pounds, or as photoblogger Drew McDermott put it when he posted this photo back in 2008: "3.8 pounds of Russian Literature. Fuckin' thick book."

I think he was actually reading it, not dropping proportionate bits of it from his body. But both are to be celebrated, and hopefully I'll get around to reading it one day, too.

Anyway, 3.8 pounds is nearly two puppies that have found a good home away from my belly. So that's somethin'. Altogether, I'm 6.2 pounds down since I started this fistfight with my own mortality. Lunches were the key this week, I think, choosing udon and sushi over sandwiches, for the most part.

Plus: I'll be riding my bike in the Five Boro Tour on May 6... which means I'll have to be riding it for long distances a lot sooner than that, because that damn ride is 40 miles long and part of it is going up the Verrazanno Bridge. Never mind that part of it is riding down the bridge, part of it is riding up that big ol' hump. But hey, that's what the Humpty Dance is all about, huh? It's your chance to do the hump.

And with that horrible moment of word-association, I bid you a fond adieu.

Rob

Thursday's Meeting

So: Went to a meeting in the city (where I'm working this week), and was up two pounds.

Which is, apparently, one Chihuahua/Westie hybrid puppy.

Which means simple math tells me that if I weigh myself in puppies, I weigh half as much!

I weigh 120 puppies! Which is terrifying, if you think about how much poop I'd produce.

Anyway, I'm not gonna stress about the gain. I was wearing heavier clothes than I do at my home meeting, and had already eaten breakfast (including a couple of bananas), rather than just ingesting a couple sips of coffee on my way out the door. So 2 pounds is a rounding error. In that I am rounder than I want to be, and would like to correct it. Hopefully this week will turn out better.

But in the meantime, puppies!

Rob

A Close Shave in Gotham City

Dreamed about Batman last night, so that’s a win.

Of course, the context of that dream was pretty unusual. It started out normal enough: a crime scene, and Batman was checking out the body of the murder victim. He’d been scalped, and part of his scalp was on the floor of the warehouse next to his body. Batman could tell—and therefore, as the audience, I could tell as well—that the murderer was no ordinary hair-thief, scalping innocent victims and wearing their hair on his head. Instead, from the position and condition of the leftover scalp piece, Batman knew that the murderer was using the dead man’s hair as pubic hair.

I recall thinking, “Of course, they can’t say that outright, because kids might read this. But it’s pretty clear to a grown-up.” Ah, the magic of sequential art.

Cut to the office storage closet that Batman operates out of. (Editor’s note: This story takes place in the days before the Batcave!) As he’s analyzing clues on the Bat-computer, he notices that there’s one less fine red felt-tip pen on the shelf than he expected... and there were red dotted lines at the edge of the incision point on the victim’s head! Which meant the killer was inside the office!

My alarm woke me up before Batman could do a company-wide pube inspection at Wayne Enterprises, so I’ll never know who the killer was. But giving it some thought this morning, I wondered what his (or her) supervillain name would be. And then it hit me: The Merkin Psycho.

The only problem is, which one will Christian Bale play in the movie?

Rob