The only fitting, respectful and meaningful way to honor the 45th anniversary of the moonlanding.
“MOCK – YEAH
ING – YEAH
BIRD – YEAH”
The only fitting, respectful and meaningful way to honor the 45th anniversary of the moonlanding.
“MOCK – YEAH
ING – YEAH
BIRD – YEAH”
Allegedly drunk Dracut driver crashes into eatery
No one hurt in incident
The Lowell Sun
Updated: 07/15/2014 06
TEWKSBURY — Apparently no one told Bryan Waruhiu the Jade East chinese food restaurant on Main Street doesn’t have a drive-thru window.
It does now.
Tewksbury police allege that at around 4:30 a.m. Monday, Waruhiu, 21, of 64 School St., unit 101, Dracut, was driving drunk when he plowed into a brick wall at the restaurant at 433 Main St.
No one was in the building, but the crash left an eight-by-10-foot gaping hole in the brick building, prosecutor Daniel Brunelli said. When police tried to interview Waruhiu, he allegedly gave a false name.
In Lowell District Court hours after the crash, Waruhiu was released on personal recognizance after pleading not guilty to charges of operating under the influence of alcohol, negligent operation of a motor vehicle, providing a false name to police and marked lanes violation.
Waruhiu’s conditions of release are that he is to abstain from alcohol and submit to random screens.
His next court date is Aug. 27 for a pretrial conference.
Well, color me crushed (not like the ice in the delicious J.E. Mai Tai either – the bad kind). Meet my new arch nemesis, Bryan Waruhiu. Bryan, Bryan, Bryan. Where do I begin? You have hurt a legend. You have hurt a local institution. You have hurt a temple of splendor and happiness. Most of all, Bryan, you have hurt my feelings. If you were not aware of my feelings for the beloved Jade East, then click here HERE .
After you digest (pun intended) that writing from the heart, you will understand my anger. I understand you had a couple of wobbly pops that night, Bry. Certainly not going to judge you on that. What I am going to judge you on is what right you have to leave Dracut at that hour and decide to cross through two towns to break the crushed ice in the Mai Tai of my heart? If I am not mistaken, the Jade East’s red headed, weak, disappointing, drop out step child, the Lo Kai, is within Cow Town town limits, correct? Why not get sozzled in your own back yard and start smashing in to local libation holes. Just stay away from the Jade.
Bryan, have you seen the new Derek Jeter commercial about Respect? You could learn a lot – even from a Yankee. When you sober up, I insist you drive past the ol’ Jade and tip your tipsy cap. Respect is not given, it is earned.
(In honor of Mr. Manilow’s birthday and today’s WCAP discussion, dusting off this confession from a couple years back)
My name is Frank and I am a FANILOW.
What is a Fanilow?
Urban dictionary simply defines this term as follows:
1. Fanilow (FAN – A – LO)
Noun: A Barry Manilow fan. Thus, fanilow.
“Frank is a Fanilow and giant, raging closet queen.”
I added that last part of the sentence.
True? You betcha!
Once again, I am reluctantly sharing another of my guilty pleasures with the world for your amusement. Unlike previous guilty pleasures I have described in the past, this one snuck up on me. Like the rest of you (whether you are being honest with yourself or not) I enjoy a few things in my life that I would just assume no one know about. However, most of those pleasures have been a part of my little personal secret for some time. This Manilow thing has taken me by surprise, but I have to face a bitter truth about myself.
I am a Fanilow.
I am trying to identify exactly when this metamorphosis occurred? I attribute it to a few recent episodes.
• The Tour. The Brooklyn, New York native (born Barry Allen Pincus – bet you didn’t know that? Why? You are clearly not a Fanilow) is currently touring across the U.S. and has an upcoming stop in neighboring Worcester, MA (nope, have no bought tickets…YET). With all of the commercials on both radio and T.V., The man who Writes the Songs that make the (nearly middle aged straight men cry) subconsciously slipped into my brain.
• Easy Access. My wife is a quasi-uncommitted-Fanilow but she does own his Greatest Hits album which resides in her car. Once when I happen to be the one carting my three (soon to be disgraced by their father) children on the weekends, I noticed the CD was playing when I started up that family wagon. Didn’t think much of it at first, but I also noticed I did not shut it off or even turn it down despite my kids plea to listen to some other annoyed pop crap. Kids, when will they learn to appreciate true musical genius?
• Lyrics. What I never realized was that I have unknowingly been cataloging all of the lyrics to many of his hits over the years and I was belting out Mandy all the way to swimming lessons.
Close your eyes for a minute and picture this scenario (never mind, you are reading, how can you close your eyes).
A beautiful Saturday morning in Anytown, USA. Sun is shining. The sounds of children playing. Lawnmowers are starting up all over the neighborhood. Off in the distance you hear a strange sound. Faint at first, it slowly becomes stronger. All of sudden, you notice a car barreling down Main Street. But, what is the noise coming from this Mom Mobile? Is it singing? Can it be?
In a squealy baritone you can finally make out the words…
“Well you came and you gave without taking
But I sent you away, Oh Mandy!
Well you kissed me and stopped me from something
And I need you today, Oh….”
Oh crap. Yeah, that sound was ME. And as I pull to the stop light I quickly realized the four junior high school boys riding their bikes are hysterically laughing at me. As the light turned green I slowly pulled away to the sounds of their laughter and feelings of shame.
“Real slick pal! Might as well change the name of the song to ‘Randy’, Liberace! Maybe next week you can just fly the kids to their lessons on your Fruity Fairy Wings? You are disgusting! ”
How did this happen? Without any scientific evidence to back me up I am fairly confident that 37 year old heterosexual married men are not Barry’s prime demographic?
I need a game plan to rid myself of this newfound guilty pleasure. I need to cleanse, dare I say exorcise, this demon of an affliction that has taken hold of me.
Maybe I should drink myself half blind like Lola did every night at the Copacabana, you know, the hottest spot north of Havana?
Perhaps I need a long quiet Weekend in New England to gather my thoughts and retake my manhood?
Maybe, just maybe, I will Smile (again) Without You, Barry?
I know for certain I am Ready to Take a Chance Again with my manhood.
Even Now, I just don’t know anything anymore, but hopefully by Daybreak I will have some answers to why this has all happened?
Will I Make it Through The Rain?
I just pray that I will be able to say that it Looks Like I Made It.
Whew. Enough with the bad references.
I need to take the ‘MAN’ in Manilow and self-apply; STAT. Maybe I’ll head to the store and pick up a few things to break this spell.
Let’s see. Case of Budweiser? Check.
Carton of unfiltered cigarettes? Check.
Old Spice deodorant? Check.
Wrangler Jeans? Check.
Copy of ‘Manilow: Live at Royal Albert Hall’. Che…
No. Wait. DAMNIT!!!
Alice Nelson – housekeeper, meat lover, lonely spinster
Long time maid and housekeeper Alice Nelson passed away at the tender age of 88.
Ms. Nelson was a the longtime housekeeper for Mr. Michael Brady and his family. The late Mr. Brady, his second and estranged wife Carol and their combined 6 children lived in a strange looking home with an Astroturf lawn in Fakesville, CA. Ms. Nelson was a devoted caregiver, dinner maker and blue dress wearer for more than 10 years until her retirement in 1974. Following her tenure with the Brady Family, Ms Nelson went in to a deep depression due to painful mental anguish inflicted by the Brady family. After years of shock therapy and medication Ms. Nelson revealed she was tormented on a daily basis by each and every member of the Bradys. In addition to forcibly being ordered to constantly wear a medium-blue frock with a sad white apron day in and day out, Ms Nelson conceded to the fact that she was continuously berated by sexual innuendos and the threat of violence against her.
Following her discharge from the renown Phillips Institute, Ms Nelson’s life continued to take a turn for the worst. In 1983 she entered a long daze of drug use including meth amphetamine and crack cocaine. Members of Ms Nelson’s real family are quoted as describing Alice as “a raging and rampant drug user who would stop at nothing to get her next fix.”. After several stints in rehab treatment centers, Ms Nelson got clean and sober and attempted to reenter her life as a housekeeper. Sadly, this would not be a lasting recovery. In 1987, she was caught stealing from her employer, a Mr Clifford Huxtable. Found in her possession were (43) of Mr Huxtable’s lavish sweaters valued at more than $3 million dollars. Bouncing from job to job, Ms Nelson finally managed a short lived career in lowe budget maid pornography films, but soon drifted back to her dark hole of drug use. Often seen wandering on Hollywood Boulevard wearing her same housekeeping outfit from her time with the Brady Family mumbling the phrase ‘More coffee Mr. Brady?’, Ms Nelson seemed to be condemned to a death sentence by overdose.
However, in 2001, through the help of her long time companion, Mr. Samuel Franklin, Ms Nelson defeated her demons and left her storied past of addiction behind. Ms Nelson became an active member and spokesperson for M.A.D. @ U.U. (Maids Against Drugs & Ugly Uniforms). She spearheaded a national public speaking tour and helped hundreds of distressed housekeepers across the country free themselves from the daily grind of abusive employers like the Bradys.
In 2010, she married Mr. Franklin at the home of Ms. Jan Brady’s in Santa Clara, California (the only Brady that Ms. Nelson kept in contact with following her employment). A private, but lavish ceremony was held for the bride and groom where pork chops and apple sauce were served to their 9 guests inclucding Joe Namath and Don Drysdale.
This past year, Ms. Nelson’s health continued to fail and in an apparent “fall” over the weekend Nelson would never awake. Police believe foul play may be involved and Nelson’s husband, Mr. Franklin, and a “Cousin” Oliver Tyler have been taken in for questioning.
Ms. Nelson will lie in state the home of Mr. Lawrence Dittmeyer, a former neighbor of Nelson during her service for the Brady family. Following the private ceremony, Ms. Nelson’s body will be cremated by Mr Dittmeyer’s famous BBQ pit.
In lieu of flowers, please make donations in Ms. Nelson’s name to “The Johnny Bravo Foundation for Bell Bottom Rehabilitation.”
Time to make that climb back up on to my soapbox again. The topic at hand is text messaging. Text messaging (‘texting’) has revolutionized communication. We all now have the ability to instantly and directly reach 1 or 50 people in a matter of seconds. No longer are we bound to pick up the phone and perform the arduous task of pressing, like, 10 buttons and actually have to converse with another human. No, no. Pleasantries and politeness are not needed to the world of texting.
“Pick you up in 10 mins”
“Dinner at 6?”
“This is a lot of blood.”
At the speed of sound (or that of your cellular carrier) we can cut through all the goobily guck and get straight to the point.
Truth be told, I absolutely love texting. I love NOT having to talk to as many people as possible. Be honest, so do you. Sure, this practice has possibly hurt our ability to convey our feelings, thoughts and ideas in a vocal manner, but so what? I am just as happy getting that silly heart-shape emoji as a real ‘I love you’. Really, I’m cool with it.
Anyway, overall I am a big fan of texting but there is a specific aspect of this everyday routine that grinds my gears:
Selective texting or, as I have coined it, “Selexting”.
“Selexting” is the practice of selectively choosing when and if you respond to another person’s text message to you.
Selexting pisses me off and here is why…
While I do not proclaim to be the Alexander Graham Bell of modern technology and communication, I feel confident in saying that texting is a relatively fool proof system of digital correspondence. Unless you are using completely dated cell phone technology (i.e. the flip phone) or your carrier is ‘Guatemalan Jim’s Off Shore Towers’ then you know that 99% of those texts are reaching your audience. And if that is the case, then why do people think they have the right to suddenly not answer you?
Flimsy answers like these usually follow a dark hole of un-communication:
“I didn’t get your message?”
“My phone died.”
“My mom had mild seizure.”
I’m calling bull shizzil. On you, you and YOU.
Of course, there are those times when we actually do put the phone down for a while (although, except for sleeping and surgery, do we really?) but for the most part we are all an arm’s length from our mobile device at any given time. Selexting has replaced the ‘push to voicemail move’. It has replaced the non-responsive email move. The problem is that you can always get away with a missed call. You can certainly say you are buried under emails and missed one. You can not, however, hide from the always dependable text that you see pop right up in front of you.
I could continue to rant, but instead I am here to help. Like anyone, sometimes you don’t want to deal with people for a million different reasons but, as explained above, the sender of that text knows you are playing a game. So, have some legit instant responses ready to go that are sure to cast some doubt and allow you to safely ignore a friend, colleague or loved one.
If you want to be left alone and not exchange lengthy texts with your….
“Hey, can’t talk, getting a surprise for you. :)”
You will totally be left alone for the near future. Of course, you now need to get a surprise but who doesn’t like gum?
“In Victoria’s Secret…see you later. ;)”
That dude on the receiving end will give you all the time and space you need.
“Such a stressful day, Mom. Really could use your home cooking”
This is a cheap ploy but…oh well. Not sure how your Mom operates, but I would have my 10 favorite meals prepared for me by sundown and still not need to call her back.
Dad is always proud to see you having fun. You bought at least 5-6 hours until you need to get back to his naïve, old ass.
“Mom is looking for you”
Just leave them with that and they have someone new to harass.
“Finishing up the Penske file.”
What the hell? Give this a shot
“Sick as a dog. Catch up later”
You are never, ever getting back to this person but this instant response softens the blow.
“Who is this?”
That will show ‘em. Go away psycho.
Pre-program these responses into your phone and eliminate more keystrokes.
Oh, don’t text and drive.
Have a nice day!
Growing up to be a responsible adult male takes a lot of work. It takes years of teaching from our elders. It takes hundreds of mistakes. It is a lifelong learning experience that none of us will ever perfect but we keep trying. I think we have all absorbed many of the same little tid bits to make us better men. Beyond being responsible, we all strive to be good dudes. Guys that people want to hang out with. Today I want to impart a few ‘tips’ that will hopefully make sense. I stole a few of these from some men a lot wiser than me and added a few of my own. These tips apply to men of varying ages and stages of life. The old saying before someone offers you advice is “take this with a grain of salt.” Yeah, I dont know what that means? Take my advice with a shot of Jameson.
Here are your 37 Guidelines to being a Good Dude:
1. Give a firm handshake…..unless you want to really freak a guy out…then offer him the ‘dead fish’ and a painfully slow wink
2. Chew with your mouth AND EYES closed. Power move.
3. Love dogs. Hate cats. (I hate both but I have no soul)
4. Learn for cook for yourself. If not for yourself, for the ladies. A man in a kitchen is irresistible.
5. Always give up your seat on the bus (do people still ride the bus?) to an older, a pregnant, or a hot woman. If a woman possesses all three of these attributes, give her a high five as well.
6. Fight fair. Always. Unless said opponent is stronger, bigger or tougher. In that case, throw a sucker punch and bolt for the fire escape.
7. Learn to like (or at least fake-like) martinis or whiskey. James Bond & Frank Sinatra can’t be wrong.
8. Always hold the door open for a woman. If you have to hold a door open for a man, then no eye contact or pleasantries allowed. Continue reading
With the Marathon approaching I am dusting off this one for your reading pleasure. The subject of the Marathon has become a very touchy subject due to the tragedies of 2013, but let’s try to bring a little levity and some laughs to the whole subject of running.
March 23, 2012
With The Boston Marathon just around the corner I wanted to offer a comprehensive review of the “sport” of running.
I can sum it up in 3 words: Running is stupid.
Whew. I feel better just writing those words down.
Let me backtrack a little bit. Running, for the purpose of exercise and general health is, I suppose, a positive and productive activity. Of course, running improves your cardio-vascular health, relieves anxiety, and certainly keeps the pounds off. But guess what, I don’t care. Running – just for the sake of running – is stupid.
Think back to when you were a kid. You ran for reasons. You were playing tag. You were running in a race against your friends. You were playing (real) sports. You were running from your Dad because you opened your big, sarcastic mouth one too many times (maybe that was just me?).
But, to run just…’because’. I’m all set.
Well, I can already hear the “BOOs” from all of you running rebels that live and breathe this horrific hobby. Several of my closest friends and family members love running and a few have even completed marathons. My Dad, my cousin, my college roommate to name a few. Listen, good for you guys! Congratulations! WOO HOO! Job well done! Yippie!
Running is stupid.
Which brings me to a more specific aspect of running; marathon running. Are you freaking kidding me? Why on God’s green earth would ANYONE want to run a marathon? Anyone? Bueller? Come on! Forget the actual act of running a marathon. I can almost understand the satisfaction of having thousands of fans cheer for you as you trudge through 26.2 grueling miles. I get that. But, how about the incredible amount of training and preparation that goes into it all? No thanks. Months of work. Millions of miles (maybe not millions, but it’s called alliteration, folks). Hundreds of hours of your time.
Really, people? Sore muscles. Achy joints. Bloody nipples. Odd bowel movements.
Wow, that sounds fantastic…where do I sign up?
OK, bring on the counterpoint, Bill Rogers and Uta Pippig. I’m waiting.
“Running alleviates my stress.”
“I don’t feel right unless I get a run in.”
“If you have never experienced a runner’s high, then you should not give your opinion.”
Too late and here it is: Running is stupid.
Well, I think I have clearly relayed my standpoint on the subject, but I am going to offer you a chance to get back at me. Perhaps there is a more personal reason for out-of-the-blue attack on all of you jogging jackasses?
I started running this week.
Yes, yes…I know. Laugh all you like. Not sure what inspired me to start this week. Possibly because of the 87 pounds of corned beef and cabbage and 105 pints Guinness I have ingested over the past few weeks. Could be that I have been lacking any exercise program in my life for a while. Entirely feasible that I was feeling guilty that my wife has recently decided to taking up jogging with the rest of you imbosiles. Could be all of the above? Doesn’t really matter, but I woke up earlier this week and took to the street.
Mrs. C.I.B.F. leaves for work at 6:00AM and, with a busy day ahead; I knew I should just get this out of the way early. So, at 5:32, I laced up the Asics and hit the road.
I began my first jog in a very long time at a slow and steady pace. I am not looking to break any records. I have no goal or end game in mind. I am simply out here to feel a little better about my health and possibly drop my blood pressure down to a normal range. What I soon learned was that it would not be the actual act of running that would cause me issue; but rather…panic.
As I made my first turn down a side street I realized how damn dark it is at that time of day strictly reserved for the newspaper kid and insomniacs. Suddenly, I felt an overcoming sense of fear. A dog (90% positive it was Cujo) barked from its yard and I nearly jumped up a tree like a Tom & Jerry episode. I smelled something? Oh God, it’s a skunk. Where is it? Christ, he is going to spray me right in the face! Who‘s that coming at me? Crap! I bet it’s a serial kill….nope; it’s another one of you stupid joggers.
“Hey man” I huffed at him like a 80 year old, chain-smoking asthmatic as I am trying to play the role of neighborhood Kenyon. I was completely thrown off my game. All of these distractions and empty fears were actually adding stress to this supposed stress-reducing activity. My pulse was not racing from the intense aerobic workout. It was because clearly there was a madman (or a blood thirsty, rabid animal) tracking me through the neighborhood. A Boogey Man (quite possibly Boogey Men?) was surely on my tail. That I know for a certainty.
Before I knew it, I was actually sprinting – not jogging – in one direction; back towards home. I am not going to risk my life over this silly pastime. I will not be maimed by some psycho or wildebeest for the love of this game. Just not worth it. I have a family to think about for crying out loud.
And there ends another chapter of my storied athletic career. Sneakers are retired. Wind pants are doing just that; blowing in the wind. I am hitting the proverbial showers for good.
Running is stupid.
Best of luck to all you marathoners!
Today, April 2, is Autism Awareness Day. A day when we continue to offer support and spread awareness about this disorder that impacts 1 in 66 children. My guess is this ‘spectrum disorder’ impacts all of us to some degree – child, friend, niece or nephew. To show your support, splash a little BLUE in to your wardrobe. Share this information on Facebook and Twitter using in the hashtag #LIUB (Light It Up Blue)
These children, and adults alike, need so much support but more important they need UNDERSTANDING from society. This affliction is a very confusing landscape and, as a parent of a child that is severely impacted, I pray that people always simply treat him as they would treat anyone else they encounter.
As I helped get my three children get ready for school this morning, they reminded me that today was April Fool’s Day. Each was looking for some type of prop to bring to school that might trick their small brained friends and it got me thinking how cruel of “holiday” this could become with a little thought and preparation. Specifically, I could absolutely haunt and destroy my children’s mental welfare if I wanted to…all in the name of April Fool’s.
Here are a few I am debating attempting later on at home.
(ALERT: If you have children than can read, but also still believe in the Easter Bunny I suggest you send them outside to play while you read on. Of course, what do I care? Harden them up.)
• Disney Dummies
Tell your children they are going to Disney World TODAY. Make up an elaborate story about where you are staying, the plans you have made, the plane ride, etc. Pack their suitcases. If you have time (and are completely sadistic), give them each one of those Mickey Mouse Ear Hats. Tell them to go out to the car with their bags and when they get outside…
“April Fool’s suckas! We’re not going anywhere. And I am pretty sure Goofy is a pedophile. Now go back inside and do your homework.”
• Dinner Diss
Inform the kids that you are making their favorite dinner tonight EXCEPT substitute the main ingredient with sawdust/cobwebs/drain hair/Ipecac/body parts of their favorite dolls/whatevs. This really works best in they like soups, stews or pies. Right after they take the first bite…
“APRIL FOOLS! You just ate your American Girl doll’s eyeballs!”
• Santa Claus Ain’t Coming Town
Draft a letter from Santa Claus announcing his incredible discontent in their behavior and regardless of what they do for the next 9 months there is no way he is coming to their house this Christmas. Once they finish crying…
“April Fools! But yeah, Santa isn’t coming because well, we made him up.”
• Tooth Fake
When your kids get home from school, inform them the dentist called and it appears as if each has some major cavities and they need a tooth/teeth pulled today. If they are dumb enough to believe this, drive them to the dentist office, lead them inside reception area and then leave them there needing to figure it out for themselves. As you drive away scream…
“April Fools! Walk home! And P.S. – there is no Tooth Fairy either!”
• Toy Story
Hide all of their favorite toys/games in the garage/shed. That’s it. Don’t explain anything or console them. Give them back on Labor Day. Say ‘April Fool’s’ then. They won’t get it but will be SO mad. Epic.
Just a few friendly ideas to make this a fun day for the whole family.