16 March, 2007

Co-Stan-Za, and other Seinfeld moments applied to everyday life.

Remember the Seinfeld where the pigeons wouldn't move for George and he ended up running them over? Same thing happened to me yesterday, only I was on my bike.

I was riding through the city on the way home from work, around 3:30 in the afternoon. As I do, I was riding in the street, and moving at a rather swift pace. I was quickly approaching a group of three pigeons, so I steered left. They moved into my way. I steered right, they moved back.

Dammit, these birds were persistent. I whistled to startle them. Nothing. I yelled. Nothing. This was in the span of about 3 seconds, mind you. So I am getting pretty close, and they're not moving. I slow down, and steer left. They move into my way.

To hell with these birds, I thought, and pumped the pedals. They'll move.

Of course they moved in the end, because as unintelligent as they are, pigeons know they're not going to win against a bike. A biker, however, is a different story. When they finally dispersed mere moments before I crossed their plot of asphalt, one of the rats with wings decided that it would fault me with making them move, and dive bombed me. Not in the shit on your hat and call it a day sense, but in the fly directly at my chest with claws out sense. Jousting being the state sport of Maryland, I should have seen this coming.

I tried swerving, nearly hitting a parked car, but the little bastard nailed me right in the chest, bouncing off like a riot gun beanbag. As I rode away, the pigeon had the gall to fly alongside me for a few moments before heading off to some wire, no doubt to high five his little pigeon buddies and collect on a bet.

George Costanza, I feel your pain.

In unrelated notes, at this writing, I have only erred on three of my first round picks on the NCAA bracket. Duke, Georgia Tech and Notre Dame, I'm looking at you. If Arkansas and Texas pull it out, an entire side of my bracket will be correct. This good fortune can't last. Because I had the thought "at least none of my Sweet 16's are out,' that means that at least 8 of them are going to tank tomorrow or Sunday.

I'm really pissed about the crap that Gwen had to go through at the airport all day today. First her flight gets delayed a few times, a total of three and a half hours, and it was ultimately canceled. She said there were only three announcements the whole time with updates on the situation, and I actually found out by looking up the flight status online that her flight was canceled before she knew.

So it's canceled, come home, right? Well there's the little matter of the bags. Apparently the bags couldn't be retrieved in any sort of timely manner, or possibly at all. Not that the runway attendants had anything else to do, what with all the flights being canceled and all. Well she waits in a few long lines and ultimately finds out that her bags may make their way to Boston first before coming back to Philadelphia. This is ridiculous since the plane never left the ground. Can't they unload them to the revolving belts and be done with it?

Anyhow she's been at the airport since like 11 this morning, and currently is still there, without her bag, and without any clue when she might be able to retrieve it.

And to think that it was 75 degrees but two days ago. Global warming? Still a myth.

Henry Waxman is the ugliest man on the hill. I watched him on C-Span this afternoon for a solid hour. I'm not even kidding. I missed the Plame testimony though, which was apparently very exciting.

Waxman could jump out from behind the desk and fly away with those ears, but might meet some wind resistance from that mustache of his. He looks like David Cross, if David Cross had no sense of personal grooming or style.

Seriously though he looks like a gargoyle.


Blogger Jessica said...

Wow, never mess with a pigeon!

11:16 PM, March 17, 2007  

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