Breaking News! Storm of the Year Update

or In-AccuWeather strikes again...

And the grand total of snowfall for the storm of the year is....

a whopping.... INCH!? Psyche!!

Oh AccuWeather. Will you ever stop toying with us? Why you alwayz gotz to play to our fearz n'at?

Kind of reminds me of that old joke...

"Why is sex like snow? You never know how many inches you're going to get or how long it will last."

Clearly this team of experts is clueless. Thank God I'm not bumping uglies with any of these guys. Seriously. All talk, no action. Oh well...winter just started. They're bound to get one right sooner or later. Right? Feh. Don't bet on it.

It's Snowing!?! Run for Your Lives!!?!? 

or how local television yahoos try to scare the bejesus out of the public 

Okay, so here at the big K we use a weather service called Accu Weather whose accuracy is, shall we say...suspect. Seriously. This "weather expert" is wrong almost as often as it is correct. Hence we have dubbed it "In-Accu Weather". A fair moniker considering its track record. Although some would argue the inaccuracies are a result of the fact our little hamlet is snuggled between elevated topography which makes the actual weather event outcome unpredictable. yadda yadda yadda  Yeah, right. Pussies. 

Anyway, we live in the North East. The North East in the winter gets...wait for it... winter weather! You know like snow, ice, hail whatever. Go figure. So when the forecast calls for, oh say...3-6 inches of snowfall, there's no need to panic. 

Au contraire, mon frere! 

We loves to cause a panic! A mere dusting to two inches is enough to spur the public to rush to the nearest grocery store and stock up on toilet paper and milk, because...you know one might actually be trapped in the house, shut off from society for a grueling hour or two. Three to six inches (of snow--get your mind out of the gutter) and your staring down the face Armageddon! Run for your lives!! Break out that Y2K generator and the survivalist supplies. Load up the gun and position yourself by the door to fight off the inevitable anarchy and lawlessness. It's Accu-Scare!!

Now that's not to say we haven't had some major storms blow through our (deri)area. We've had actual blizzards. The real ones where we've all had to dig out from under two feet of snow and roads were actually closed for a day or two. All of us trapped at work for the weekend because our relief couldn't make it in to the station. But most of the time the "big weather event" doesn't come to pass. It's just hype to get ratings, and we look like schmucks for breaking into programming to report the storm that isn't. Reminiscent of the boy who cried wolf.

All that said, In-Accu Weather is calling for a relatively large amount of accumulation between now and tomorrow evening. It's been snowing that fine, quiet powder that suddenly is three inches thick for that last two hours...with no sign of stopping.  

Hmmmmm...  Could it be? Could they actually be...right this time? Are we headed for an honest-to-goodness, cross-your-heart-and-hope-to-die winter storm? We'll see tomorrow. Hey, even a broken watch is right twice a day. 

Friday Photo #9 

chair Jenga 

So where I work, the Mother Ship is so cheap she rarely ever forks over the dough-re-mi to buy us new chairs. Ergo, we are left to pilfer, er.. "liberate" chairs from other areas of the building.  On certain occasions, we've picked over the office equipment bones of defunct sister companies like hungry hyenas. We're not proud. Just need a place to sit our ever-expanding carcasses, is all. Don't be judgin' us. 

This particular type of chair is always blowing a tire, pitching the unsuspecting occupant hither and yon in the most ungraceful fashion. Okay... it is kind of amusing to watch. In true cynical newsroom fashion, someone put forth a naming challenge. The winning entry says it all. 

Attack Of The Fecal Spores 

or don't be dropping deuce in my neighborhood  

Okay, so at work we have two sets each of women's and men's rooms in our newsroom. The first two are for general po(o)pulace use. The other two (besides housing a toilet and a shower...yes, a shower. who takes a shower at work?) each contain a ginormous mirror surrounded by big ole lights so the talent can put their faces on. And trust me...some of them NEED to put their faces on. One in particular is so downright frightening without make up, she could scare dingos away. Seriously. If Zombies saw her in the morning, sans face goop they would scream and run for their very lives as if they were being chased by...well Zombies!! 

But I digress...

Anyhoo, this one blonde, chippie talent who hosts our little dog and pony morning entertainment show, without fail, drops a big, stinky deuce in our general bathroom. And then scurries off to her "talent" bathroom to fix her face, leaving us to fend off her fecal spore invasion. 

That. Ain't. Right. 

You know those spores adhere to the fibers of your sweater and then you end up smelling like whatever road kill she ate the night before. Seriously, what the hell is this chick eating?!? She's as thin as a toothpick, but she must be masticating on some major malignant meats to produce such a stench. Yiicccch! 

Honey, do us all a favor and drop those friends off at your home lake before you come to work. At least do a mercy flush half way through pinching a loaf to cut down on the seismic stank.

A little courtesy, Chip. That's all I'm saying.

A Saturday Night Live Gem 

or who knew an entire show could be funny... 

Okay, so if you've read my blah blah blog, you know how much I love Paul Rudd. (That in no way means I'm cheating on Rhett) This past Saturday, SNL replayed the episode in which Paul hosted. Surprisingly, there were a lot of funny skits. Usually the humor only lasts for about 35 minutes, then the rest is just... painful. Not so for this show. In fact, one of the funniest things I've seen them do in a long time aired toward the back end of the program after Weekend Update. 

You know I never liked Justin Timberlake, but between this and the "Dick in a Box" bit, I've really grown to enjoy him and his sense of humor. And that Adam Sandberg guy is a stitch. Plus, come on...Few things are funnier than straight Dudes in heels and frocks. Seriously. It's hilarious. 

My only question is...where'd they stash their junk?

Would The Homo Sapien Please Stand Up

or how to go from an Australopithecus to Homo Erectus in five minutes...or longer

(Okay, so I'm only into the blogging thang three months and I'm already cheating...sort of. I know this post and the last should have been one, but in my defense, one posting would have been a long, rambling mess and I would have lost you half way through--you're eyes glazed over from sheer boredom. How that's different from any other entry, I'm not sure. But I'm only thinking of you. Seriously. That's my story. So sue me.)

Anyway....

So (as mentioned) I had lunch with my best friend from college the other day. A mutual college buddy of ours has gotten all nostalgic lately scanning and emailing old photos from various stages of our past. On the way home, we stopped at my house to look through some old photo albums for him to scan and send along.

OHMIGOD!! These pictures are hilarious! We thought we were so styling. Big hair, long side burns, big-assed glasses (trust me, there are photos of big-assed glasses). Seriously. My hair had it's own zip code!?! I actually PAID for that volume. *shudder*

Anyway, after being amused for some time, it was time to get up off the floor.

Holy Crap!

He had a difficult time straightening his pegs from a crossed-legged position. I had trouble unfolding myself from a pretzel shape. When we finally got off the floor, it took a good couple of minutes to straighten from a simian, knuckle-dragging hunch to the full upright homo sapiens we were when we sat down. When the hell did this happen?

Not funny, advancing age. Not funny at all. Wise ass.

Noshing With An Old Chum 

or oh my, look at the time...

Okay, so I had lunch the other afternoon with my best friend from college. He actually was my first friend at PP College. We met eons ago in July of 1979 standing in a long line at orientation. You do the math. All I know is I've known him longer than I haven't. It's curious when you realize you've known someone so long, you can't remember when they weren't around.

I remember he was about six inches shorter than me and looked like he was about 15 years old. He sorta insinuated himself into my conversation, but he was so entertaining we ended up having lunch together. He wrote me the funniest letters all summer. They were hilarious. I still have them...somewhere in the wreckage I call my home. When we caught up with each other again in September, I almost didn't recognize him. He'd grown at least seven inches and was now able to look me square in the eye.

Anyway, we started talking about how we don't feel old mentally, but have developed old-person syndrome crap like my crazy-crunchy lower back issue and his need for Lipitor. I'm going to start calling him Mean Old Mr. Wilson though, because he does absurd things now like argue at length with the teenaged video store clerk about why the original version of Goodbye Mr. Chips is filed in the musical section when it clearly is not a musical. Duh.

Best Friend From College: Do you realize this is not a musical?

Teen Video Dude: Wha?

BFFC: This is not a musical, but it's labelled a musical. This should be in the drama section.

TVD: So.

BFFC: You need to change the label so it doesn't get filed back with the musicals.

TVD: --?

BFFC: No one will be able to find it if it's in musicals.

TVD: They're labeled by the corporate office.

BFFC: So change it.

TVD: They're labeled by the corporate office.

BFFC: But it's incorrect.

TVD: (pause) Are you going to rent it?

BFFC: Well..no.

OMG. Ha Ha Ha! What the eff? When did this happen?

He kills me. Pretty soon he's going to be yelling "Hey you kids. get outta my yard!", firing off angry letters to cereal companies, wearing funny hats and hiking his pants up to his armpits.

Oh-Oh... Too late.

I kid, my friend. I kid because I love.