The Trouble With Talk Like a Pirate Day

I like pirates. I do not like pirates as much as I like stealthy ninjas, but pirates use the word "plunder" liberally. I enjoy talking about booty. (Booty!) I used to enjoy today's holiday, Talk Like a Pirate Day, the celebration of the pirate vocabulary and cadence.

But now? I think it's just too commercial.

Talk Like a Pirate Day got its start in 1995, way before blogs blew every annoying trend out of proportion and we relied on Dave Barry to operate in that capacity. In 2002, Barry wrote about the Cap'n Slappy an' Ol' Chumbucket and their holiday. It caught on, and it was fun to talk about my friends' booty. More than I already did.

But just like Christmas, things got out of hand. Now the creators of TLaPD are cashing in on their success. They've released books. You can download ringtones. At some point today, your mom has called you to ask how you "Arrrr," then cracked up.

Next thing you know, there will be a touching cartoon special about how the lessons of Talk Like a Pirate Day should be honored all year long. We should always pronounce our Rs, which is an especially important lesson for Boston. We should always eat citrus to avoid being called scurvy dogs. It's all too much.

I just want to be left alone to honor Talk Like a Pirate Day without ringtones, books, or costumes. It's what my pirate forefathers would want.

Bad Blogger

Oh hello, readers. How are you? I've been remiss in writing here, I know. But I spend most of my days blogging on Boston Daily, so if you're looking for me, that's where I am. I'd write here more, but I don't have much else going on. I get up, write stuff, then go home. Right now I've got some time, so I figured I'd drop in and give you some random thoughts.

Update: Jesus Sing-A-Long
Knock on wood, all's been quite on the neighbor front. A friend of mine pointed out to me this weekend that it was Rosh Hashanah last week, and maybe they were celebrating. But I think there was a Jesus or two in the songs, so it's probably not a Jewish thing. Whatever, at least it's quiet now.

In other frustrating apartment news, I motivated myself to go to the laundromat before the approximately eight hours of The Biggest Loser comes on, but when I attempted to leave my building, I saw that the pull handle on the lock was stuck in the out position. I tried to wiggle it, but it didn't move. I pulled on the door, and found I was locked in my building. Of course, the on-call maintenance guy said he can't fix the lock until tomorrow. Instead of risking being locked out, I'm just going to stink until I get to a laundromat next weekend.

Britney Spears
Okay, her performance at the VMAs was awful. But I would kill a puppy to be "fat" like Britney Spears is "fat." If I ever have a daughter, she's not going to see a TV or read a newspaper until she's in college.

Britney Spears is not fucking fat. Not to get all weepy about it.

Casinos
I feel like I'm always up in arms about this. A casino is not a cure-all. While Massachusetts can probably handle mega-casinos better than the already densely populated Ocean State, I personally still don't like them.

Lincoln Chafee
He's not a Republican anymore!

Former Sen. Lincoln Chafee said he has left the Republican Party because the national GOP has drifted too far from him on critical issues, including the war in Iraq, the economy and the environment.

"It's not my party anymore," Chafee, who represented Rhode Island from 1999 until 2007, told The Providence Journal in an article published Saturday.

Awesome.

This is terrifying
There really are two Americas, folks. Here is a book on why women should wait to have sex until they're married. (Guess what? It involves "Satan's Big Fat Sex Lie." And the horrifying idea that one's parents should be brought into one's sex life.) Where is the edition that encourages men to wait?

Red Sox
AIIIIIEEEE!

That is all.

Come On World Hear the Song That They're Singing

I was a little tired when I got home tonight and felt like nesting. I baked some lovely pumpkin bread and called my brother to see how he likes his new job. As I spoke to the family, I heard a loud booming bass sound coming through the walls.

On Labor Day weekend, a couple move into the previously vacant apartment next door to me, and when I saw them moving in I heard one person playing a banjo through their open front door. I slammed my door to let them know I didn't enjoy loud music at all hours, and so far they've only had small jam sessions. This new noise was loud, with a woman singing a kind of folk song.

I got up to check on my bread, and heard the music more clearly through the kitchen, and thought I was hearing a Negro spiritual or something. There was a loud guitar and what sounded like a group of people singing. I figured they had their stereo up loud and decided to let it ride until 9.

At 9:15, I'd eaten a considerable amount of pumpkin bread and the music was still clearly audible through my walls. Sick of being passive-aggressive, I went next door and pounded on the neighbor's door.

As I stood waiting for someone to answer my loud and impatient knock, I heard more clearly what was happening. At least four people were in the neighbor's apartment singing a song about Jesus. Loudly. I waited for a while, but I was chilling in my hallways in my gross pajamas and decided to go back inside since the Lord apparently does not care about pissed off neighbors banging on the door.

Of course, once I sat back down to watch History Detectives somebody opened the door. After a minute, I heard doors opening and closing and the music stopped. I don't know if another neighbor complained or if some of the band had to go home. Someone is still singing, but I think once I turn on my fan for some white noise I can ignore them. But while Jesus may love them, I am going to be mightily angry if this keeps up. I'm going to go look for apartments in a fallout shelter now.

EDIT: Just as I pressed publish, someone broke out a harmonica. Oh hell no.

Oh Jesus Christ

For fuck's sake.

Seriously? Are we still making jokes about Hillary Clinton being a man-hating bitch? Really?

The Hillary Nutcracker, which sells for $19.95, is quickly becoming the most Hill-arious joke of the campaign trail.

The 8-inch plastic figure captures Sen. Clinton in all her walnut-crunching glory, with steel-lined legs (“stainlesssteel thighs!”) that can pulverize even the hardest shells.

Well, okay then. I'm going to go listen to my Sublime albums and put on my Doc Martens, since it's apparently still the '90s. Maybe I'm overreacting, but until somebody makes a Mitt Romney package of condoms for multiple wives or a John McCain paddle for little jerks I'm going to be kind of sore about this.

[via the Daily Intelligencer]

Men Behaving Badly

Living on a bus line isn't easy. For the past few weeks, I'd gotten in the routine of taking a bus that brings me to the Orange Line and into work, but with the new schedules the T started running this week, I've been taking a bus that brings me the Green Line at Lechmere. While the ride is a little slower, I always get a seat and can space out for a while.

This morning found me getting to work insanely early through some flux of the time-space continuum, so my Green Line train was unusually empty. At Park Street, a man got on the train and sat next to me. He then unfurled his Metro onto my lap, and leaned forward to read.

My purse was on my lap, but it was still annoying to have this guy gazing in the direction of my crotch. I started wiggling my leg to give him the hint that he was in my personal space. No dice. I rolled my eyes and gave a death stare so fierce the male nurse across from me who seemed quite nice was afraid. Nothing.

Instead of just waiting the guy out or talking to him (I was pre-coffee and therefore not verbal at this point) I too leaned forward and started reading his Metro over his shoulder. I got a few paragraphs into a piece about the Patriots before he caught the hint and maneuvered the paper away from me. But by the time I got off the train, the paper had wiggled back onto my thigh.

You know what's nice about a newspaper? You can fold it in half to make it easier to read. It doesn't have to be spread wide open and take up three seats. So keep your papers off my freakin' lap, people, or else I'll whack you with my bag as I get off the train.

Pigeon Hobo

My little brother went to Baltimore a month ago with his friends on vacation, and was startled to watch one of Baltimore's hobos picking pigeons up off the street and stuffing them in a bag. Lucky for us, he had a video camera with him and taped the act as it happened. Behold, Pigeon Hobo.



Whoa.