Today, let us talk lettuce, people.
Not your average conversation, I take it. I don't even like lettuce, but I'll riff about it. Sure.
Oh, I get it, you're wondering what I could say about lettuce that could be so enthralling and entertaining, right? Well, you may be right in thinking that, afterall, not many could pull off a discourse involving lettuce.
I came across the idea a while ago at a local bar while attending a trivia night. The question came up what food had been aptly renamed because of it's cool, crispy texture.
Not just lettuce, but Iceberg lettuce from what was previously titled Crispehead lettuce. I wondered to myself, that's an interesting renaming, so I looked it up.
Back in the 1930's this guy started sending shizerloads of this green business across the country, protected by ice on top. When the trucks came in, supposedly, people would yell, "The icebergs are here" a la Paul Rivere's famous phrase warning tea sipping of the Redcoats or British (which I still like to translate his words into modern Bostonian speak, "Hea come dose queers").
I hardly believe people couldn't wait to have this tasteless lettuce arrive at their doorstep, let alone have a nickname for it. So I got to wordering some more.
My conclusion is a conspiracy theory, but a theory nonetheless. I believe some sick bastard was talking some seriously ill will about lettuce and compared the crunchiness to the sound made when the Titanic first made impact with an iceberg. In his pretend words, I believe he said: "Every time, I bite I envision people sliding down the edge of the boat, ya know? But without the screaming and stuff."
After a while the phrase caught on, like all do. We call this guy "Wobbles" at Beef Barn, because of the way he walks. He's a big dude, so it's funny. It's even more funny when we call him it and 2he thinks we're calling him by his real name, which happens to be Bobby.
Now, granted, the guy that came up with Iceberg lettuce's name was probably knee slapping his way to the bank for a long time, but nowadays he's probably in a grave somewhere. Can't we rename this pathetically tasting part of our diets?
You have to admit, Crispehead isn't that bad in itself.
The forgotten part of my blog:
1. More food for thought: The difference between a western omelette and an eastern is peppers. Is that because peppers don't grow in the east or something? Or was somebody just too lazy to name it correctly?
2. Instead of saying pina coladas, I chose to say Pinas, which turned into a million puns involving the word penis.
4. screw 3.
5. When I see loud, giggly little girls, I think to myself, "Oh, dear god. That could be the next Ayiia from Real World 33 in Cancun."
6. On my run today I saw a guy from behind that was walking like a zombie. I balked at the opportunity to twist his head right off his shoulders.
7. Now that I think of it, Zombie movies are completely unrealistic. They move to slow, they're too weak to push their way out of their own six foot deep grave. Oh, and they're dead, and never coming back to life. Just a minor detail.
8. It's inevitable: every chick my age reads those Twilight novels, therefore I must condone the reading of them, else I be single forever.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Monday, August 3, 2009
One bad idea deserves another.
I'm sorry about yesterday. I simply shouldn't have started another 7 in 7 without a computer. These things happen. I'd say it will never occur again, but Thursday is coming up. and Friday... and another Saturday.
We'll see.
Anyway, this post is by request from a good friend named Fox. I schooled this kid in basketball some three or four weeks ago and have felt sorry ever since. I had zero business taking his lunch money, but when the H is O, I can't let go. You know.
So, this is for him. He asked me why I don't go to local newspapers, like Providence Journal and NY Times and ask if I could drop a column in weekly on our local pitch league at Parenti's in Smithfield, RI. I told him the idea is hot and has never been done before. I also let him know I'd take this idea as far as it could go.
I drove home and this is literally as far as it'll go.
Justin Townsend
www.what-townie-learned.blogspot.com Columnist
SMITHFIELD - "Whatever happened to getting cards, you slut?"
At least twelve people said that phrase and more Monday night at Parenti's Restaurant in the first round of pitch playoffs, looking for cards like a midget trying to find the stage at a U2 concert.
The cards never responded, instead giving the desperate a measely ace dry and five low cards the next hard. After the game, seven of the twelve left in disgust adding: "I need a smoke."
Another grim statement, "It just isn't meant to be tonight," was said by almost every team except team 24, who could be seen gazing into each others' eyes knowing full-well tonight was meant to be. Later, the two could be seen in a grey 96 Toyota fogging up the windows, giving one another jacks of all suits.
The lack of cards gave an overall feeling of hopelessness in the first week of playoffs, scheduled for three weeks, but could extend if necessary, or depending on if the owner loses in the first two weeks.
"We'll see how it goes," Dennis's mustache said. "You win some, you lose some. If you lose, we advance. If we lose, we play best of seven. If after that we lose, best of nine. We'll see how the cards fall."
The real upset came later in the night when team 33 overcame a fourteen point deficit to move into the second round of the playoffs. Team 33 team captain and league veteran, Brandon Biron, could be seen constantly wiping sweat from his brow and mouthing the word, "Wow," continuously. Or maybe it was "now." Or maybe said journalist wasn't close enough to tell.
"Early on in the fifth game, I thought to myself, 'What would Jesus do,'" Biron said. "Inevitably, I figured Jesus would bid 4 with Jack dry to make the game go longer. Jesus don't care about time, though, because he's in heaven for eternity. These schmucks have early tee times or some bologne."
His brother came over and hugged him for the first time in his 24 year lifetime, adding drunkenly, "This is the only time in my life I've been proud to call you brother, brother."
The kissed, then hug, then kissed again, then proceeded to eat 20 buffalo wings, three bowls of popcorn and one celery stick each.
Another upset came after Team 21 was taken down in the fifth game to a couple nobody's with no talent. Team 21, who has two titles to claim, was constantly one final bid away from going out, but couldn't seal the deal, as they say in pitch leagues.
"I looked under the table to see if he still had balls," Elliot Darling said of his hack of a teammate. "He won't be my partner next time. I can guarantee you that. I'll let my sister play with me before him."
Of the winning teams, eight were heard saying, "tough luck", and "good game", but later saying to their teammates, "Easy win."
Of those eight, three would go home and watch Friends on TBS.
Four teams failed to show up and forfeit. Sources close to one team said one of the guys' wife was about to give birth. The opposing team sent a statement via text, "What a homo."
Next week in the sweet 16 matchups, four more teams will fail to show up, allowing four more undeserving teams to advance and needlessly drink two more pitchers of Coors Lite at the low cost of five sheckles.
We'll see.
Anyway, this post is by request from a good friend named Fox. I schooled this kid in basketball some three or four weeks ago and have felt sorry ever since. I had zero business taking his lunch money, but when the H is O, I can't let go. You know.
So, this is for him. He asked me why I don't go to local newspapers, like Providence Journal and NY Times and ask if I could drop a column in weekly on our local pitch league at Parenti's in Smithfield, RI. I told him the idea is hot and has never been done before. I also let him know I'd take this idea as far as it could go.
I drove home and this is literally as far as it'll go.
Justin Townsend
www.what-townie-learned.blogspot.com Columnist
SMITHFIELD - "Whatever happened to getting cards, you slut?"
At least twelve people said that phrase and more Monday night at Parenti's Restaurant in the first round of pitch playoffs, looking for cards like a midget trying to find the stage at a U2 concert.
The cards never responded, instead giving the desperate a measely ace dry and five low cards the next hard. After the game, seven of the twelve left in disgust adding: "I need a smoke."
Another grim statement, "It just isn't meant to be tonight," was said by almost every team except team 24, who could be seen gazing into each others' eyes knowing full-well tonight was meant to be. Later, the two could be seen in a grey 96 Toyota fogging up the windows, giving one another jacks of all suits.
The lack of cards gave an overall feeling of hopelessness in the first week of playoffs, scheduled for three weeks, but could extend if necessary, or depending on if the owner loses in the first two weeks.
"We'll see how it goes," Dennis's mustache said. "You win some, you lose some. If you lose, we advance. If we lose, we play best of seven. If after that we lose, best of nine. We'll see how the cards fall."
The real upset came later in the night when team 33 overcame a fourteen point deficit to move into the second round of the playoffs. Team 33 team captain and league veteran, Brandon Biron, could be seen constantly wiping sweat from his brow and mouthing the word, "Wow," continuously. Or maybe it was "now." Or maybe said journalist wasn't close enough to tell.
"Early on in the fifth game, I thought to myself, 'What would Jesus do,'" Biron said. "Inevitably, I figured Jesus would bid 4 with Jack dry to make the game go longer. Jesus don't care about time, though, because he's in heaven for eternity. These schmucks have early tee times or some bologne."
His brother came over and hugged him for the first time in his 24 year lifetime, adding drunkenly, "This is the only time in my life I've been proud to call you brother, brother."
The kissed, then hug, then kissed again, then proceeded to eat 20 buffalo wings, three bowls of popcorn and one celery stick each.
Another upset came after Team 21 was taken down in the fifth game to a couple nobody's with no talent. Team 21, who has two titles to claim, was constantly one final bid away from going out, but couldn't seal the deal, as they say in pitch leagues.
"I looked under the table to see if he still had balls," Elliot Darling said of his hack of a teammate. "He won't be my partner next time. I can guarantee you that. I'll let my sister play with me before him."
Of the winning teams, eight were heard saying, "tough luck", and "good game", but later saying to their teammates, "Easy win."
Of those eight, three would go home and watch Friends on TBS.
Four teams failed to show up and forfeit. Sources close to one team said one of the guys' wife was about to give birth. The opposing team sent a statement via text, "What a homo."
Next week in the sweet 16 matchups, four more teams will fail to show up, allowing four more undeserving teams to advance and needlessly drink two more pitchers of Coors Lite at the low cost of five sheckles.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
I don't think this particular blog came out how I wanted it to.
Believe it or not, I can be a very traditionalistic person sometimes.
When it comes to certain things like baseball stadiums, "in God we trust", Rhode Island and Providence Plantations, and other non-sequitious, somehow sentimental stuff people came to hold onto with ravenous fortitude. Obviously, I could care less about the above subjects. I have little to no power over any of them, and they're so inconsequential to my life.
If they got rid of God in the pledge, I litarally wouldn't be affected in any way.
There was once a young lady that told me using italics in writing was a good sign of a bad writer. She read it in a book somewhere, from somebody "reputable" and somehow I should abide by his opinion, as if it really means anything. That's how it goes, I guess. All over what? Italics? Come on.
Whenever I see examples of this time-wasting, frustration-producing stuff, I always say to myself, "I hope that's not me someday."
BUT there is always an exception.
Case and point: anytime a book or former television show gets made into a movie I get irked.
I simply don't condone. I'll see it, but I won't agree with the production.
For example, I'm very interested in seeing the film adaptation for The Road, but I won't agree with the making.
The main reason I bring this up is one part GI JOE, two parts Harry Potter.
Let's start with GI Joe. Who came up with the idea that this would be a great idea? The show itself wasn't anything to hoot and holler about. It grabbed the attention of a lot of us early to mid-twenty somethings back in the day, but we all know the strength in this show wasn't the show, but the action figures. Do we really care enough about a movie coming out that was primarily interesting because it was moderately fun to play with its toys?
I don't know who will watch this movie, but bravo to you. Your interest only provokes future comparable movie versions of bad shows we were only interested in becuase of the toys. Eventually, the continuous remaking will lead to worse ideas and lead to a movie based on sex toys transforming into monuments that Power Rangers use to get off weird fifty-story tall aliens.
Harry Potter fans calm down. I'm not gonna blast you for, essentially, loving a children's book about a kid wizard that plays a made-up sport, but as an adult. That's excusable. You're allowed to feel like a kid, even when it comes to reading levels.
I will say, though, that I'm not a fan, simply because I don't want to have the conversation about whether the film stayed true to the novel. The story and cinematics could be mind-blowing, but I don't want to have that conversation. I can't even escape this conversation when I haven't watched the movie:
Person A: did you see harry over the weekend?
Person B: no, i decided to knit a quilt instead. you don't want your knitting skills to fade over the summer months.
Person A: oh, no kidding. well, if you want to see it, it's really gnarly and stays true to the book closely.
Person B: well, maybe when there isn't a real housewives of jupiter marathon, i'll rent it or something. i'd read the book, but why waste my time, now, when the movie depicts the novel so closely already.
I'll lie about this topic of conversation and say it's really because it provokes less reading, but that doesn't really bother me. I'll also say on occasion that the adaptation, no matter how accurate, will only show the interpretation of the director, screen writer, and producer. They'll tell you what the film is about, instead of letting you visualize, analyze and make your own conclusions. That's more or less how I really feel, but that doesn't grind my gears.
It's that conversation about whether the film stayed true.
When it comes to certain things like baseball stadiums, "in God we trust", Rhode Island and Providence Plantations, and other non-sequitious, somehow sentimental stuff people came to hold onto with ravenous fortitude. Obviously, I could care less about the above subjects. I have little to no power over any of them, and they're so inconsequential to my life.
If they got rid of God in the pledge, I litarally wouldn't be affected in any way.
There was once a young lady that told me using italics in writing was a good sign of a bad writer. She read it in a book somewhere, from somebody "reputable" and somehow I should abide by his opinion, as if it really means anything. That's how it goes, I guess. All over what? Italics? Come on.
Whenever I see examples of this time-wasting, frustration-producing stuff, I always say to myself, "I hope that's not me someday."
BUT there is always an exception.
Case and point: anytime a book or former television show gets made into a movie I get irked.
I simply don't condone. I'll see it, but I won't agree with the production.
For example, I'm very interested in seeing the film adaptation for The Road, but I won't agree with the making.
The main reason I bring this up is one part GI JOE, two parts Harry Potter.
Let's start with GI Joe. Who came up with the idea that this would be a great idea? The show itself wasn't anything to hoot and holler about. It grabbed the attention of a lot of us early to mid-twenty somethings back in the day, but we all know the strength in this show wasn't the show, but the action figures. Do we really care enough about a movie coming out that was primarily interesting because it was moderately fun to play with its toys?
I don't know who will watch this movie, but bravo to you. Your interest only provokes future comparable movie versions of bad shows we were only interested in becuase of the toys. Eventually, the continuous remaking will lead to worse ideas and lead to a movie based on sex toys transforming into monuments that Power Rangers use to get off weird fifty-story tall aliens.
Harry Potter fans calm down. I'm not gonna blast you for, essentially, loving a children's book about a kid wizard that plays a made-up sport, but as an adult. That's excusable. You're allowed to feel like a kid, even when it comes to reading levels.
I will say, though, that I'm not a fan, simply because I don't want to have the conversation about whether the film stayed true to the novel. The story and cinematics could be mind-blowing, but I don't want to have that conversation. I can't even escape this conversation when I haven't watched the movie:
Person A: did you see harry over the weekend?
Person B: no, i decided to knit a quilt instead. you don't want your knitting skills to fade over the summer months.
Person A: oh, no kidding. well, if you want to see it, it's really gnarly and stays true to the book closely.
Person B: well, maybe when there isn't a real housewives of jupiter marathon, i'll rent it or something. i'd read the book, but why waste my time, now, when the movie depicts the novel so closely already.
I'll lie about this topic of conversation and say it's really because it provokes less reading, but that doesn't really bother me. I'll also say on occasion that the adaptation, no matter how accurate, will only show the interpretation of the director, screen writer, and producer. They'll tell you what the film is about, instead of letting you visualize, analyze and make your own conclusions. That's more or less how I really feel, but that doesn't grind my gears.
It's that conversation about whether the film stayed true.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Riding the rides for free
Show me a genus of people cooler than carnies and I will straight up button-hook you. Truth is, carnies are the coolest and I don't even want to think about other lifestyles that might rival their majesty.
Carnies, if you don't know (and quite frankly, if you don't know then keep it to yourselves), are carnival workers.
I call carnie a lifestyle because it truly is a decision to go days without bathing, spend over ninety percent of the day shirtless, and be willing to have sex on church grounds. All this while travelling the country, drunkenly allowing our great nation's children access to dangerous rides that are a wiggling, loose screw from falling apart from the inside out.
Nothing, my friends and astute readers, comes close to that.
Hobos? Not a chance. Anyone can hop on a train and steal food. I've never met a hobo, but I'm pretty positive they'd crumble two weeks into being a carnie; it takes a certain unabashed delinquincy to pull off a summer filled with sunburns and unprotected sex on church grounds. It takes finesse.
A roadie? While the showering thing holds up and having a plethora of sexual partners, they get to listen to awesome music and check out hot chicks (*unless it's a Dixie Chicks concert, of course). Roadie and carnie sound alike too, but in no way, shape or form, does a roadie compare to the rigorous chosen lifestyle of the carnie. Hot chicks? The hottest carnie has permanent UTI, four kids with four different guys she works with, has a tattoo of tweety bird on her ankle and drinks scotch straight out of the bottle. She just so happens to work the cotton candy with her bare hands and her name is Doris.
The lifestyle, for the most part, is arcane to most, for the same reason boats don't get any close to icebergs. They see the inherent danger with colliding and decide to stay away.
In years past, I came as close as I ever wanted to carnie folk. I was working at Our Lady Queen of Martyrs and went out to collect trash and re-beautify my church's holy ground. That's when I found Kenny Chesny and his soulmate tucked underneath one of our trailers with Coors Lights cans scattered around them like flies on carnies. He was shirtless and very dirty. She was exposed, her farmer jeans somewhere close by.
Hours later I saw the two running the kid's rides, the man still shirtless and very dirty, while his alleged girlfriend and newly acquirer of several vanerial diseases sported a stained halter top.
That day I decided, no matter what I do in life, I'll always be doing alright, so long as I never averted to being a carnie.
Several scattered thoughts that should have been pushed down the garbage disposal had it been working:
1. As I said last night to a friend: "Whatever you end up getting out of your mom's attic, it's not cool."
2. "Life's a catalogue... order it" is my new favorite phrase.
3. How did anyone ever like Big Pun's music? It sounds like he has a mouthful of jujubee's every song.
4. I wonder why we named it hide and go seek instead of skulk and go prowl. Skulk is such a better word than hide.
5. I never thought of chowder as a breakfast food until this morning.
6. Telling people your hard drive crashed is just asking to be pelted with jokes about internet porn. That's the toughest part of having your hard drive crash.
Carnies, if you don't know (and quite frankly, if you don't know then keep it to yourselves), are carnival workers.
I call carnie a lifestyle because it truly is a decision to go days without bathing, spend over ninety percent of the day shirtless, and be willing to have sex on church grounds. All this while travelling the country, drunkenly allowing our great nation's children access to dangerous rides that are a wiggling, loose screw from falling apart from the inside out.
Nothing, my friends and astute readers, comes close to that.
Hobos? Not a chance. Anyone can hop on a train and steal food. I've never met a hobo, but I'm pretty positive they'd crumble two weeks into being a carnie; it takes a certain unabashed delinquincy to pull off a summer filled with sunburns and unprotected sex on church grounds. It takes finesse.
A roadie? While the showering thing holds up and having a plethora of sexual partners, they get to listen to awesome music and check out hot chicks (*unless it's a Dixie Chicks concert, of course). Roadie and carnie sound alike too, but in no way, shape or form, does a roadie compare to the rigorous chosen lifestyle of the carnie. Hot chicks? The hottest carnie has permanent UTI, four kids with four different guys she works with, has a tattoo of tweety bird on her ankle and drinks scotch straight out of the bottle. She just so happens to work the cotton candy with her bare hands and her name is Doris.
The lifestyle, for the most part, is arcane to most, for the same reason boats don't get any close to icebergs. They see the inherent danger with colliding and decide to stay away.
In years past, I came as close as I ever wanted to carnie folk. I was working at Our Lady Queen of Martyrs and went out to collect trash and re-beautify my church's holy ground. That's when I found Kenny Chesny and his soulmate tucked underneath one of our trailers with Coors Lights cans scattered around them like flies on carnies. He was shirtless and very dirty. She was exposed, her farmer jeans somewhere close by.
Hours later I saw the two running the kid's rides, the man still shirtless and very dirty, while his alleged girlfriend and newly acquirer of several vanerial diseases sported a stained halter top.
That day I decided, no matter what I do in life, I'll always be doing alright, so long as I never averted to being a carnie.
Several scattered thoughts that should have been pushed down the garbage disposal had it been working:
1. As I said last night to a friend: "Whatever you end up getting out of your mom's attic, it's not cool."
2. "Life's a catalogue... order it" is my new favorite phrase.
3. How did anyone ever like Big Pun's music? It sounds like he has a mouthful of jujubee's every song.
4. I wonder why we named it hide and go seek instead of skulk and go prowl. Skulk is such a better word than hide.
5. I never thought of chowder as a breakfast food until this morning.
6. Telling people your hard drive crashed is just asking to be pelted with jokes about internet porn. That's the toughest part of having your hard drive crash.
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