Hey everybody. I’m blogging from humid South Florida. My family and I are visiting my grandparents for a few days, which means no internet for a few days, which means no YouTube videos of animals humping things. I don’t know if I’ll be able to survive. Anyway, I’m at a Starbucks down the road now, where I can pay ＄10 for sweet, sweet T-mobile Wireless DSL. Anyway, onto the things that I’ve been bottling up for a few days, special Palm Beach County edition.
— It was really scary getting down here. It’s never a good sign when after you’ve been sitting on an airplane for an hour waiting to leave the gate when the captain comes on the PA system to tell us that a part of the plane is not working and we can’t take off until it is fixed. Naturally, I’m assuming that he means some part of the engine or hydraulics. It’s even worse when next time the captain comes on, he tells us that they’re trying to get a replacement part and test it for 10 minutes. Just 10 minutes! Yeah, then two minutes after takeoff, it’ll break, and my last thought will be regretting never trying a McRib.
I later found out that the part in question was the GPS navigator in the cockpit. This made me simultaneously relieved (that it wasn’t an engine part) and confused. I mean, didn’t they fly commercial planes before GPS was invented? Was this part really that necessary? We’re just flying from D.C. to Florida. All the pilot has to know is to go south and once there’s nothing but water below us, he’s gone too far.
— There is nothing to do around here. While I may be in south Florida, I’m nowhere near the sexy part of south Florida. I’m in the independent living, adult community part of south Florida. Everywhere you turn, there’s a doctor’s office or a bagel shop. Here, a grand night out is heading over to the coupon slots and winning 50 percent off Metamucil at the pharmacy.
Tonight, I’m going to a minor league baseball game. It’s going to be fun to see all the players that aren’t good enough to play for the Florida Marlins. But seriously, minor league teams are always fun. I’m sure you’ve heard of many of the crazy promotions minor league teams have. My favorite one comes courtesy of the Fort Meyers Miracle, who recently had “Billy Donovan Night,” where fans can opt out of their ticket purchase before the third inning.
— Anyone else think Lindsay Lohan’s publicist paid off Maxim Magazine so that she’d be number one on their Top 100 Hottest Women list? There’s no way any sane person would put Lohan number one on a list like that. That is unless the Maxim editors are turned on by anorexic, alcoholic, no-talent actresses. Or they really loved “Herbie Fully Loaded.” Scarlett Johansson or Keira Knightley should be number one, hands down. Also, I’d drop anyone who acted in a bad movie or TV show or sang an awful or annoying song at least 10 spots. This list includes Eva Mendes, Fergie, Rihanna, Katherine Heigl, Ashlee Simpson (who was an improbable 16th; the editors must have bought three yachts with the money her publicist bribed the magazine with), and Hilary Duff (who would probably be off the list with the number of bad movies and songs she’s responsible for). On the positive side, the best move the list made was Sarah Silverman at 29. Finally, the Jewish people have a universally-accepted hot chick. Now we just need to get Alessandra Ambrosio to convert.