I’ve never been in the New York Times newsroom, but I can tell you without equivocation, there used to be ton of old white men there. Maybe they all have been laid off.
The old white men that are left may not trim their eyebrows with the feeling that it gives them some gravtitas.
John L. Lewis
But for the rest of us, who are married to women point out our lack of grooming
“did you shave today?”
“when are you getting your hair cut?”
“when’s the last time you trimmed your toenails?”
know that at some point, trimming the hair from above one’s eyes and in one’s nose and in one’s ears, is part of the routine.
ANDREW ADAM NEWMAN, (I love that NYTimes.com puts the writer bylines in ALL CAPS. They may do the same thing in the print edition, dunno) needs his guybrows trimmed.
Obviously ANDREW ADAM NEWMAN knows about hair. Looks like he shaves his head or at least has a tight buzz cut. No doubt he is losing his hair… which leads to this:
“I wish the hair on my head would grow as fast as my eyebrows,” said Mr. Sultana, 62, a real estate developer who lives in Forest Hills, Queens, and Panama. “I have very bushy eyebrows, and I can look like Groucho Marx.”
No wait, that’s not it… it’s this:
Five years ago, Mr. Sultana made his first appointment with Ramy Gafni, an eyebrow stylist, …and who charges $75 for a service he calls “eyebrow sculpting.”
Jesus with Frog Flippers! Seventy-five dollars. That should include a wash, set, and blow-job.
I’ll overlook his misplaced “s” ( the extra s at the end of saving) I like his idea soooooooo much. It’s almost as good as my 28 hour days for the weekends.
There are advantages to daylight savings time, but we lose an hour of our precious weekends each time we make the switch.
The problem has an easy solution: Instead of taking one hour from our sleep on Saturday night, why not take an hour from Friday afternoon instead?
Go home an hour early tomorrow. Set your clocks ahead then.
3:58… 3:59… 5:00…. Happy Hour!
Spread the word, mmmmkay? If we can’t have DST all year ’round because of loutish farmers and loudmouth lughead Moms, let’s have this little bit of compromise.
G’head. Take off an hour early tomorrow afternoon. I’ll write you a Daylight Saving Time note if you need it.
Former Wyoming senator Alan Simpson had a well rehearsed sound bite at the ready for Fox News. Most are sniggering at the Wyoming Senator’s apparent butchering of Eminem and Snoop Dogg’s names, calling them Enema Man and Snoopy Snoopy Poop Dog.
It’s a hilarious, well written and well delivered sound bite. It’s just too clever to be a screw up.
I was pleased with myself that I didn’t panic. I knew the roll was going to happen, there was no stopping the inevitable, so literally, I had to go with the flow.
After my easy exit from my watercraft, I turned loose of everything and concentrated on my safety. I floated gently down the stream (merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily life is but a dream.)
I didn’t hear Scott suggest the trying to catch the eddy (as seen on the video.) I was focused on my inner clamness. I missed the eddy and he realized I was pretty helpless and needed to swim to the bank. He didn’t have to tell me twice.
As I reached the closest bank and and stood up in the water, I looked to see Scott rounding a bend with my kayak upside down.
I swore. A lot. Not really mad at anybody, just mad that Scott had to take time to corral my kayak. Rather than enjoying himself, he was helping me out. In the longer video, it shows he really had to work to get my kayak to the side. Really work.
As I stood there cussing, Paul came along and said I might want to get out of the river because of hypothermia. Once on the bank, I could see that Scott had maneuvered his kayak alongside mine and was waiting in an eddy around the next bend.
By then, I’m done. I mean I am turning it in. I am pooped and mad and don’t want to be a further burden to the guys. I start walking on the bank. I’m dragging myself and my kayak back to the put in. No doubt about it.
When I reach Scott and my yak and tell them I am throwing in the towel, they both say that the rest of the trip is an easy float. The rapids were done.
Besides, they reveal, it would be a two hour walk back dragging the kayak. That convinced me to continue. If not anything, I am lazy.
I pulled my kayak up on the shore to dump it. The paddle gets wedged under the boat and I proceed to lift the kayak full of water onto the paddle shaft.
It broke.
But I didn’t realize what I had done until I was sitting back in place ready to hit the current. Paul noticed the one paddle end was at a 45 degree angle to the shaft.
Yes, I am in the creek with a broken paddle. Shafted. Hoisted on my own petard. Screwed.
I cuss some more. A lot.
Without a second thought, Paul said he could use the broken paddle and I should take his. Then he realized he had hand paddles.
Yeah, the guy was willing to spend the rest of the trip with his hands in the freezing cold water so I could use his paddle.
Didn’t I tell you how nice these guys were? The guy gave me his paddle!
They were right, the rest of the trip was a float – albeit a fast one. We sped along with the current as I listened to them talk about the real whitewater they normally played in. I was hoping they would speculate that perhaps there were some Class 3 rapids we passed through.
Nope, they agreed that these were still Class 2.
Class 2: Some rough water, maybe some rocks, small drops, might require maneuvering. (Skill Level: Basic Paddling Skill)
Basic paddling skill. *cough*shit*cough*
When we reached the take out, we all agreed that the wind shift had chilled us pretty well and there would be only one run this day. But what a day it was. I’m ready to go back – but only when we can read the river gauge and it reads 2 – 2.5 feet.
I was down the creek with a broken paddle once and don’t care to repeat it.
