One of the drawbacks to living in Dallas:
Today could be hottest day of
the year 8:05 AM CT
08:31 AM CDT on Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Today could become the hottest day of the year as the temperature could reach 103 degrees, the National Weather Service said.
If Dallas-Fort Worth reaches 100 degrees, it would be the fifth straight day of triple-digit temperatures, said Jessica Schultz, a weather service meteorologist.
Today’s record high of 106 degrees was set in 1974.
Yesterday, temperatures reached 102 degrees, making Monday the hottest day of the year so far. The 105-degree record for that day was set in 1939.
Hurricane Dolly was expected to generate some high clouds that would keep temperatures below the 100 mark in Dallas on Thursday and Friday. The hurricane system was also expected to generate a slight chance of rain in Dallas on Thursday.
“That will be the largest extent of effect for us,” Ms. Schultz said.
Triple-digit temperatures were expected to return Saturday and Sunday.
In fact, the NHL even has the so-called “Sean Avery Rule“:
Avery came up with a new, and apparently legal, way to get into [New Jersey Devils’ goalie Martin] Brodeur’s head. With his back to the play, Avery parked at the edge of Brodeur’s crease and waved his arms wildly in a bizarre effort to distract the Devils’ goaltender. He also waved the blade of his stick back and forth in front of Brodeur’s mask.
“I’ve been watching games for 33 years and I have never seen anything like that in my life,” Brodeur told the New York Daily News. “If it’s within the rules, it’s within the rules. The official came over and said it probably wasn’t something that should be done.”
National Hockey League Senior Executive Vice President and Director of Hockey Operations Colin Campbell issued a statement Monday to make the league’s position clear going forward. The statement said:
“An unsportsmanlike conduct minor penalty (Rule 75) will be interpreted and applied, effective immediately, to a situation when an offensive player positions himself facing the opposition goaltender and engages in actions such as waving his arms or stick in front of the goaltender’s face, for the purpose of improperly interfering with and/or distracting the goaltender as opposed to positioning himself to try to make a play.”
So if anyone tried Avery’s ploy again, it will be a two-minute penalty.
But there’s another, odd side to Avery; he recently interned…err, “guest-edited” Men’s Vogue and came away with this really awesome, extra-faggy picture of himself:
Wow…that’s gay. And apparently I’m not the only one that thinks so. As part of his internship, he went to Paris for the Chanel, Gautier and Dior summer shows and fashion writer Susan Kirschbaum ran into him and straight-up asked if he was sure he wasn’t gay.
In creepy, this-will-probably-come-back-to-haunt-him response, he replied “I’m going home to jerk off to you now. And that’s a big compliment.” Gawker also reports that he later texted Kirschbaum to say “the session is going well.”
Eek. Brett Hull, I hope you know what you’re doing. At least B.J. Crombeen, the other player signed today, doesn’t seem to have anything bad going for him. Except, you know, those misfortunate initials.
What is up with me and ‘Shank getting bad service? It never fails…95% of the times we go out to eat anywhere, we get bad service. Wednesday night was no exception, except we worked it to our advantage.
We’d been out to Fry’s and Central Market and were feelin’ a bit peckish, so we decided we’d stop by Posado’s in Frisco for some Mexican eating. It was maybe a bit of an omen when we arrived and the Frisco FD was there putting out a dumpster fire, but we soldiered on. A second bad omen was when there wasn’t a hostess to greet us and we waited like five minutes for a table.
She seated us in a section that had no other customers, which immediately meant we’d be forgotten about. And sure enough, no waiter appeared. And when two finally did wander into our section, they stood around bullshitting and ignoring us. WTF?
“You wanna go elsewhere?” I finally asked.
“Sure,” replied ‘Shank.
So we got up and I decided to find the manager. After another waiter hunted him down, I explained that we’d waited for like ten minutes to be helped while a couple of waiters just ignored us and we’d be leaving.
“Sorry about that, guys,” he replied, “we’ve had a bit of excitement out back.”
Which didn’t explain why the waiters up front ignored us.
“Sit back down and we’ll take care of your meals,” he offered.
We couldn’t refuse. Free food = awesomeness.
Our waiter, aware that we were angered, actually gave us decent service.
So, in this case, our bad service experience was rectified. Maybe that Buffalo Wild Wings manager that offered us a free dessert on the next visit should take note. Or just go to hell.
So I went on a drive/photo-gathering trip northwest of Fort Worth today and my adventures led me to stop at a cemetery out in the middle of nowhere, where I found a tombstone with the most awesome last name ever on it…
She died pretty young…I wonder if Jerry’s bigger staff had anything to do with it…
I drank too much this weekend. Of course, that pretty much describes every weekend, but there was something about this weekend that screamed “whoa, you’ve had waaaay toooo much there, cap”.
I’m not sure why my inner-monologue would call me “cap”, but it did. Just like that coon-ass Coach Ramsey from high school called everyone “cap”. Which, I guess, in the big scheme of things, is better than being called “Hoss”.
Anyhow, Sunday night it was decided that ‘Shank and I would join my friend “Chloe” (we’re changing names here to protect the innocent) and her “boyfriend” (she doesn’t know what they are) Josh (real name, not innocent) for drinks to celebrate her 29th birthday. Now, ‘Shank has never liked Josh, whereas I’ve learned to tolerate him. For the most part. Even if he can be a tool.
But I guess we call can.
We started at the Flying Saucer in Addison, drink overpriced premium beers and sitting on sofas and high-backed chairs that were not conducive to conversation. Which is probably a good thing, because Josh has a tendency to say maddening things.
Like when, after we’d migrated to the louder, more intimate setting of Joe’s (me and ‘Shank’s watering hole, as it’s within walking distance of home, thus minimizing any chance of imperial entanglements), Josh decided to tell ‘Shank he was a horrible human being. Or maybe it was “miserable” or “useless”.
I don’t remember. The fog of $5 Coors pitchers and tequila shots won’t let me see that far into my memory.
At any rate, it was one of those things that you generally don’t tell people. But I guess some people never learned the lesson wherein “if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all”.
Because, you know, some people are totally useless assholes.
Oops…I just said something that wasn’t nice.
Dirk Nowitzki is one scary-looking motherfucker.
This image was in the Dallas Morning News on 5.2.07 and captioned:
“Dirk Nowitzki and Jason Terry celebrate a second-half basket”
If that’s how Dirk looks when he’s celebrating, I really don’t want to be around him when he’s angry. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s angry in this picture and that the caption would’ve probably been more accurate if it just said “Dirk Smash!”.
Ever notice how drinking a little too much is pretty much the same thing as drinking way too much? I’ve noticed. Most recently on Friday night.
I’d taken the day off from work and–along with ‘Shank–occupied myself with playing Bully on the PS2. At about 4:30, we–figuratively–saddled up and headed towards downtown for the hockey game. Why so early? One reason: happy hour at Friday’s in West End. We’ve been occasionally stopping by there before games for $4 Long Island Iced Teas and, as a result, have gotten to know the bartender, a sassy, possibly-lesbian Chicana named Belen.
And we all know what happens when you get to know a bartender…they start making your drinks stronger. Several LITs later and we were lit. Game time was approaching and we needed to be there for the puck drop. Somehow, we made it from West End to the American Airlines Center unscathed. After stumbling our way to our seats and singing along to–rather badly–to “O Canada”, we had the bright idea–at the time–to get more alcohol. Two beers and two periods later, we could barely stand up. An executive decision was made to leave the game at the start of the third period. All I remember about exiting the AAC was–at one point–falling down a flight of stairs. I was ahead of ‘Shank and he said when he rounded the corner, all he saw was me at the bottom of the stairs sprawled out like I was dead. I fought my way to my feet and continued down the stairs. At one point, ‘Shank and I both decided it’d be a good idea to smash a flourescent light fixture. I don’t really remember doing so, but we both had cuts on our hands the next day to prove it.
Walking to the car turned into an adventure. What normally would’ve been a 10-minute walk somehow turned into a sojourn of at least half-an-hour. All I really remember about the walk to the car was ducking down into the garage at the W to piss. The next thing I know, we’re in ‘Shank’s Blazer, half asleep. As I lay there, reclined in the passenger seat, my drunken semi-sleep was broken by the sound of a window rolling down, followed by a gurgled heaving sound…a sound that I immediate recognized–thanks to hundreds of parties during my university years–as someone vomiting. That someone was ‘Shank. For some reason that I can’t quite fathom, my alcohol-addled mind decided it would be a good idea to jump out of the car and run around to the driver’s side to watch ‘Shank puke. Normally, were I not drunk, this would make me gag–and possibly throw up a bit myself, but my inebriation prevent this as I watched him throw up down the side of his truck.
That’s when it suddenly occurred to me that the parking lot was empty…somehow we’d both passed out long enough for the game to be over and for everyone to leave. All that were left were people going to the West End. It also occurred to me that I had to piss again. So I did the only logical thing–I wandered around to the passenger side of ‘Shank’s truck and proceeded to piss on the side of it.
I wonder what we looked like to the people walking by–‘Shank puking on one side of his Blazer and me peeing on the other. I imagine it was quite humorous.
Goddamn, we’re a couple of fuck-ups.
So, DART–Dallas’ rapid transit agency–has decided that the Good-Latimer tunnel–the gateway to Deep Ellum–needs to come down so that a rail line and station can be placed there. Demolition apparently started September 19th, though I haven’t been in the area to see the destruction firsthand. ‘Shank and I journeyed down there a couple of months back to take some pictures of the artwork that graced the tunnel and I present a few for you now.