Alright, so unfortunately for story-telling purposes, I’ve already told quite a few of you this story, so please bear with me. In my personal opinion, the story is simply too good to not be included in the Jeety’s Joint official cannon.

So come with me, if you will. It’s Saturday night, March 25, 2006. Before leaving, Chris asks if I want him to turn off the lamp on his side of the room. I said, “I don’t care,” but that was a good sign that I would be going to sleep before he got back, which was always nice. And then he gave me permission to turn it off if I wanted to. I felt honored, as you can imagine.

Fast forward to about 2:30 in the morning. Who’s the Boss has just come on. I normally just wait for it to come on to sing along to the theme song (because it is AWESOME, if you were wondering… “A brand new life around the bend!”) and then turn it off. I wasn’t terribly tired, so I left it on for a bit. Tony was jealous of Angela’s new work friend. It was a good one. Anyways, about quarter ‘til 3, the roommate comes stumbling (read: stumbling) into the room. He drops his keys on the floor and literally walks INTO his bed. Smooth. Conclusion: Chris is wasted.

So then after a little more bumbling around the room, he strips down to his boxers and leaves the room. I thought it was a little odd he didn’t take a towel, but whatever. He’s odd. So I turn off Tony Danza and Judith Light and try to fall asleep before he comes back into the room. Turns out, this was not going to be a difficult task.

So it’s 6:30 in the morning and I’m awoken by the door creaking open. It’s Chris. Just coming back into the room. Now… I’m a bit groggy at this point, but even then I knew enough to think that this was unusual. Then I heard the distinct sound of repeated spitting in the sink—like when your mouth won’t stop watering. Is it safe to say we’ve all experienced this? Though… probably not caused from the same thing as Mr. Gonzales’ problem. Conclusion: Chris just spent four hours “worshipping the porcelain goddess” as Jackson put it so nicely. Puking his guts out. Upchucking. You get the picture.

Fast forward again. He wakes up sometime around one. And from then (barring the several hour nap he took in the middle of the day) until he went to bed that night, he sneezed probably about 30 times an hour, and his nose ran like a faucet. No exaggeration. It’s about 10pm and he asks me if the store downstairs is still open. I said, yeah, I think it’s open late on Sundays. How ‘bout gettin’ some cold medicine there, chief?

He said, no, it’s just the hangover. Now… at this point, I have to admit that I’ve never had a hang over. So, I thought wow. That is interesting. But then he offered this little nugget: “Yeah, I spent last night in the shower for a long time. I just sat on the floor of the shower and puked… that’s what I do.” I’ll repeat that for you. “That’s what I do.” Wow.

He continued, “Yeah, I think I might have passed out at some point, because that’s a really long time to just sit there.” Ya THINK??? “All I remember is feeling really pruney and then looking at the clock when I came back and it was 7:30.” (Note: It was 6:30 because that’s when he came into the room and woke me up.)

So according to his theory, spending four hours on the cold floor of a shower, with water that is bound to get freezing at some point pouring over him has NOTHING to do with his newfound head cold. Interesting. Conclusion: Chris could be potentially be mentally challenged.

So anyways, for the next few days, I wouldn’t come in our room unless you have a full blown haz-mat suit on. Things are a bit… yucky at the moment. I hope you enjoyed hearing about this disgusting turn of events as much as I enjoyed telling it. Until we meet again, oh ye faithful readers!

Here’s the new lampshade I bought Chris. I figured I owed it to him for providing me with such a great tale. He is wearing it. And also… well, you see what Mr. T has to say about the matter. (Note: I did not actually buy a new lampshade.)

What can be said about bowling? On one hand, it’s a fun game of skill and general merriment. On the other, it’s a filthy practice in poor hygiene, which could potentially take years off of your life. Either way, bowling is just something you do. Like it or not. (Or at least, it should be. If anything, it adds character. What kind of character is a separate issue.)

So anyways… for two periods in my life, bowling was king. Not being able to drive anywhere on my own Freshman year, Baden Bowl’s lanes became my home away from home. It was this year that I bowled my high game (until four years later, at UT) with a red ball I would never see again. The second period began in the fall of my senior year and continued through much of the winter. At this point all of my friends, myself included, were able to drive wherever they wanted… yet somehow we were pulled, perhaps gravitationally, to the glowing neon sign along the mighty Ohio River in beautiful Baden, PA.

Occasional run-ins with the “league folk” (the kindest name I could think of…) at Baden gave me a clue as to what I was getting myself into when my brother asked me to go with him to “League Night” at the Rochester Turner’s alleys. Now first, let me qualify that word… “alleys.” Umm… let’s describe the room. Okay, for starters, we’re underground. So, think “bunker.” As you enter the room, you see a huge wall of bowling shoes… each decaying at their own rate, each emitting their own separate, yet equally foul odor. The pair I selected had deposits of a yellow substance on the sole of the shoe. I didn’t ask, they didn’t tell. Here’s the rest of the room: there are six (oh yes, six!) lanes… eached waxed before the War. (Yeah, that’s right. Back when there was just one to speak of.) The planks were about as shiney as my backporch deck. We were surrounded by cinderblocks and the odor of cigarette smoke was actually choking my soul.

Now on to the people. They all seemed nice enough. However, I was completely unaware that Bill Press went bowling in Rochester. For those of you who don’t know him, Bill Press is one of those political pundits on a show with Pat Buchanan. I kid you not, this man is an exact match. The other celebrity that night was the real Kramer. We all know Kramer on TV as actor Michael Richards, but the man his character was based on looks exactly like “Doors by Ike”… Ike. The only thing stopping him from flying down the alley behind his ball was his left hand, which he slammed on the ground EVERY time he threw the ball in an effort to stop himself. He actually BOWLED like Kramer would. Unbelievable.

(These are exact replicas of the guys I went bowling with. Especially Kramer. Oh, and cute book Bill. Hey, thanks for your TV show by the way. It’s really solving a lot of problems in Washington and NOT contributing to worthless political jibber-jabber. Oh, wait…)

Other than that, the only thing that stuck out about the people was that the entire spectrum of life could be found there. You had the kid, couldn’t have been older than 12, who never should have been there in the first place… probably addicted to nicotine without even knowing it. Kevin and Jeremy, both Dutch Ridge Elementary school teachers fill the gap… And then you have “everyone else.” Here you have your over the hill folk. They span anywhere from gray hair to a Korean war vet with very few fingers. You wouldn’t believe how well he bowls, though.

A few hours and about three packs (2nd hand style, of course) later, we walked out. It was at this point that I was told that some of the “over the hill” folk in fact had kids at Dutch Ridge. Grandkids, right? No. Kids. Jeremy clued me into the fact that one night a week at the Rochester Turners has added about 20 years of appearance life to these men. (Among other things, I’m sure…) Fascinating.

Anyways, it was surely an experience for the ages. You’ll be happy to know though, that the new father Kevin strips down and showers immediately upon entering his house… so as to not harm his young child. Well, that’s it from here. Sorry this one took so long to write… It was over a week in the making. I have a pretty good story coming up though. Stay tuned!

And here is where we went bowling.

Well, even though I’m technically on break, I figured I’d write a post. Spring break has been incredibly intense, as Beaver typically is. hehe, actually, there’s been one particular little guy occupying a lot of my time, lately. Anyways! I had found these pictures of confusing signs back when I made my post about street names… at the time I thought maybe they were a bit too racey for family and friends, and well… they probably still are. But here’s a little spice in your life! In no particular order…

Continuing with our theme of street signs… this is a favorite of mine. The corner of um… and uh… right. Well, at least we know we’re in the general vicinity of Windjammer.

Enter the spice. This sign is probably more direct than most, but uh… I guess in dealing with these types of issues, it’s best to be direct. You’re going to want to know that type of penalty beforehand.

Here’s a classic from our friends up north. Er… well at least neighbors up north, depending on how you feel about the Canadians. Anyway, I think it’s brilliant. After all, why are signs always written to humans? Dogs need to be informed of the rules, and why not speak to them directly? Not only that, but grrr, bark and woof are all dog words that we humans know as well. I applaud the Canadians for being one of the first human-dog bilingual trend setters.

And continuing with our international theme, the Australians were nice enough to clarify a few common misnomers about their mysterious land of marsupials. I mean, who knew people weren’t riding kangaroo to work? Certainly not I.

Okay, so make the kids leave the room for this one. Here we find a video store… who, I agree with the caption writer of this picture, needs to find a new font for his store. Um, for those of you without your glasses on the store is called MEGA FLICKS. What did YOU think it said??

Well, little Eli has been in the world just over a week now, and already he’s showing signs of greatness. He’s already begun walking already the house, going to the bathroom on his own, and from what I understand, he just shaved for the first time. During one conversation with his family about the meaning of life, his response to each answer was, “Proposterous!!!” Good stuff.

However, he’s also showing other signs. As it turns out, he refuses to take off his Longhorns bib. When they do try to take it off of them, they feel the full set of gums. He also, from time to time, flashes the “hook’em,” whenever he feels necessary. And finally, he and the gnome will stay up til all hours, philosophizing… and predicting the March Madness bracket.

Well, apparently “scooping” the parents on the news of the birth of their own child does you no good. Indeed, Jeety’s Joint was the first to report the birth of young Eli. Strangely, no comments were left about this event. Yet on “the competition’s” page, we have counted FORTY (40, for the illiterate, which… if you’ve gotten this far, I applaud you. But that seems unlikely. Also note, there is no “U” in forty. Fourty = not real. Remember that.) posts of congratualtions, yada, yada, yada. It’s alright. I see how it is.

But!! Through a secret, covert operation, Jeety’s Joint was able to obtain an EXCLUSIVE picture of baby E-Biz. That’s right folks, we have a picture seen no where else on the internet. And as you can see, it’s a good one:

Also, at this point, something must be addressed. I feel as if it is the “giant elephant in the room” that no one’s talking about, if you will. Since May 16, 1986, I have reigned supreme in the Bechdel home, with a certain title. For almost a full twenty years, I have been known as “The Wee One,” as christened by my grandfather, Harry K. Wyncoop. Retroactively, as of February 28, 2006 at 8:45pm, I hereby proclaim Elijah Kevin Bechdel as “The Wee One,” from this day forward, until another Bechdel child is born at a later date. Should Elijah at any point fail to live up to his title, the name shall be assigned to the next youngest Bechdel in the line. Which… happens to be… me. But from what I hear, he should live up to all of the duties of said title. Congratulations!