My New Whip (Know What I'm Sayin?)*

If you've spoken with me, read my blog or been in the same area code as me in the last 15 months, you are well aware that I've been on the hunt for a new car. Not that the Saab was a bad ride, but a man with my power (uh?), wealth ("at least $10 million" according to Yogan) and great social standing (several people from Southern NH know I exist) requires an auto of the highest quality.

Being that I am somewhat cheap and tend to over analyze everything I do (you don't want to know what goes through my head after a first date), picking a car, dealership, salesman, trim, add-ons, and financing plan was a huge undertaking. Among my requirements were the following:

• A car I can beat up - The Saab is dinged beyond belief. The new car must be able to handle my man-child clumsiness.
• Something that can haul a decent amount of cargo - It has to fit golf clubs, a bike, skis and several drunken 1998 Maine Class A basketball championship team members. All at once.
• An auxillary input jack - I MUST be able to listen to my iPod without changing the radio station every 10 minutes.
• AWD/4WD - Believe it or not, NH and ME get nasty in the winter, especially at Sunday River. It must get me there and back no problem.
• A sun roof - I'm a diva. No reason other than the fact I like them.
• A decent sleeping area - Between my XC journey and a couple nights in Boston, I realized the importance of a comfortable area to rest my eyes for several hours.
• Decent gas mileage - At least 20mpg combined
• Something as sexy as its' owner - This is self explanatory and goes without saying.

With those requirements in mind I started researching. And test driving. And doing more research. Then calling dealerships. Then interviewing salesmen (seriously). Then even more research. When all was said and done, there were a handful of small SUVs pushed to the way side:

• Jeep Patriot and Compass (horrible drive, kinda for chicks who like chicks)
• Toyota RAV4/Honda CR-V (every one I asked said "Oh, my mom loves hers")
• Subaru Forrester/Outback (too expensive, again for chicks who like chicks)
• Ford Escape/Explorer (didn't like the drive that much)
• Another Saab (Saab + GM = $40,000 worth of garbage)
  

In the end, all signs pointed to the Honda Element. It carries cargo well. It has a nice ride. There is a sunroof in the back for some reason. The seats actually turn into a bed. And the kicker - you can spray the inside down when it gets covered in unidentifiable liquid/solid combinations.

So without further adieu, my new Element:




If you're in the Southern NH area and are looking to buy an Element (or any other Honda), let me know. The good folks at Peter's Honda never once made me feel uncomfortable, never tried any funny business, and gave me a great deal. Big thanks to Matt and the rest of the team there.


*Yet another TPB reference. Please watch with a native Skowheganite if you haven't already.

Google Analytics - Take 2

In an attempt to amuse those that know most of my stories before I post them, I decided I should come up with a brand new post whose details have yet to leak to my numerous fan forums or be scribbled on bathroom stall walls. Seeing as how I'm not skilled in fictional literature and my Q&A pool has dried up, I've decided to go to one of the hidden gems I've discovered through this blog - Google Analytics.

As you may recall from previous posts, there are a few pieces of info collected by Google Analytics that I find interesting such as visits per day (around 8 - thanks a lot for the support you bums) and referring sites (yet another shout out to the McGarrys for the traffic they send my way). The two pieces of info I find of utmost interest are where people are viewing from, and what they are searching for that leads them to me.

So a little rundown of where people are stalking me from:

Manchester, NH

34 visits in the last month. Between MiaManda and the dodgeball teammates, I'm getting a few hits.

Sterling, VA

A distant second at 17 as co-workers and friends stalk me, my facial hair and that beaver like hair do I was carrying around.

NYC

Ummm, no idea who has tracked me down 9 times. If you find my blog more interesting than all of NYC around you, please let me know. I'm honored and sad for you at the same time.

From there it dwindles down to a few visits from locations that can be easily attributed to family members, random acquaintances, and those that kinda want to know what I'm up to but can't stand the thought of listening to a rambling 45 minute soliloquy over a crappy cell phone connection.

Oddly enough, I'm starting to get some international fans as I've had hits from Canada, England, Germany and Romania. Glad I can further perpetuate the horrible American image for them.

And now, without further ado, everyone's favorite subject...search terms that have lead to Fat Man Running...

• "Badlands Running" - Not too bad. Kinda glad I can be associated with that search.
• "Dangers of iliteracy" [sic] - Ummm...I don't know whether to laugh or cry at the irony.
• "Fat waddle" - I'm a little offended, but I can understand the connection.
• "Fat man running photo" - Really?
• "Fatman in lycra" - Come on now.
• "Fat guy humping diaper" - Just why?
• And the best - "Old big fat man to man massage in london" - Seriously, who is f'ing with me? This isn't funny.

I will leave you with those deeply disturbing thoughts of fat men in various stages of undress, physical activity and lubrication. God help us all...

Halloween '08

Just a quick update on Halloween: The Maine crew is in to the Trailer Park Boys as much now as ever. In homage to this genius of a show we decided to imitate them to the best of our abilities:




















Maybe not 100% accurate, but pretty damn close. We missed out on J-Roc who had to cancel at the last second, but were lucky enough to have MiaManda there as Sarah, Melissa as some kind of prostitute, and Danielle as a more mature (and freakishly realistically pregnant looking) Ellen Page to make the night plenty of fun.


Always remember: A dope trailer is no place for a kitty.

Finally Growing a Pair

As some of you may know, I'm a bit weak when it comes to standing up for myself. In what I consider a very unfunny joke, I believe my parents sat down soon after my birth and decided that they should produce two humanesque creatures who they would breed with the sole purpose of using me as a verbal and physical sparring partner. Luckily, I'm fairly jovial when it comes to such activities and am able to take most of it in good fun.

Over the last several years I've come to realize that while such activities are entertaining among family members (the blood type, not those you are legally bound to until the NH judicial system grants you that sweet, sweet taste of freedom), it is not so good when dealing with most other people. In fact, a certain cell phone company (which rhymes with 'Mint') recently decided to extend my service plan for over a year without my consent. Normally, you are at their mercy and have no recourse other than days spent screaming on the phone at low paid customer service reps, so I was not optimistic about my original end date being hononred.

Luckily I found this equivalents to this particular carrier's thermal exhaust port - the Better Business Bureau and the FCC. It turns out that both companies act as watchdogs over the cell phone industry and don't take kindly to activities which pry on individual consumers. Less than 24 hours after fililng complaints with both organizations, not only was my original contract honored, but an apology was provided and all blame was accepted by the carrier at hand.

So the long and short of it is, honor your end of the contract and you have people in your corner to help ensure the big bad cell phone companies honor theirs.

Up next: Off to Portland for Halloween to act as an idiot savant who loves kitties and lives in random structures with great degrees of mobility...

Big Birthday Thanks!

I figured I should give a shout out to everyone that helped with my kick ass birthday weekend. It was by far the best since the infamous 13 year old ball of rotundness that was me did a seated shirtless dance on video resulting in still jiggling moobs

So for everyone that texted, left facebook messages, sent emails or gave phone calls - Thanks!

Special thanks to Hayes, Brett and MiaManda for plying me with five dollar pitchers, a perfect view of the mechanical bull, and by far the best homemade cake ever. This 43,521 calorie creation of pure pumpkin spice and peanut butter deliciousness may never be topped (or leave my colon).

Deliciousness by MiaManda

Don't Stop Believing

The MLB post season is amazing. Money and egos go out the window and everything comes down to who plays better, harder, smarter and makes fewer mistakes.

Unfortunately, with the MLB post season comes the many irritants that seem to repeat themselves year after year after year. Here are the things that have begun to chap my arse this post season:

Baseball Tonight without Harold Reynolds

I know, I know. He was allegedly slapping asses and grabbing the ladies down in Bristol and deserved to be fired. But really, Gammons, Kruk, Kurkjian and Ravich have tried to fill the hole he left with no luck. I'd wish that we were back in the 60s so such actions could be swept under the carpet, but the same ignorance that allowed sexual harassment would have also kept him off tv.

Unenthusiastic Players

I've never held back my great displeasure with J.D. Drew. He is lazy, always hurt, slammed by La Russa and is as charismatic as my refrigerator. Just moments ago he hit a walk off single to top off a come back from 7 down. He sounded about as enthusiastic as I will on the morning of my first colonoscopy. Unfortunately it seems that Jay Bay is following in his footsteps when it comes to showing any emotion whatsoever.

Tim McCarver/Joe Buck

Could there be a more awful game calling duo out there? Joe Buck has two things going for him: his dad's legacy and his voice. His condescending attitude is apparent within 2 minutes of the first pitch and his inability to criticize any umpires, managers or MLB executives is reaching legendary proportions. God forbid a ball bounces three times and is called a strike - he might actually have to acknowledge an ump's mistake!

The NFL has realized that Buck is a dud and have attempted to make it right by pairing him with Troy Aikman. Unfortunately MLB has done just the opposite and teamed him with Tim McCarver, who makes Joe Morgan look like a master orator. McCarver seems to make a game of each broadcast where he throws a bunch of baseball phrases in a hat and just pulls from it at random times. Paying him to speak makes as much sense as paying me to walk around shirtless.

A Lack of Remy/Orsillo Giggle Fits

There is nothing better than coming home on a Tuesday night, turning the Sox on, and listening to Rem-Dog and Don giggle like school girls on Valentine's Day. These attacks usually last an inning or two and make no sense, but are too funny to get irritated by.

Other than that, this has been a pretty good post season so far. It'd be great to see Amalie Benjamin and Rem-Dog get the nationwide airtime that Orsillo has, but I'm sure that will come in time.

A picture is worth...

A quick run down of life recently - I'll keep it short:

• The hair is long. As is the beard. Some may say Uni-bomber-esque.
• My fantasy football team (Chady's Buckets) is kicking some ass. I think it is because of the team uniforms.
• The girl has yet to wisen up, so she's still around.
• And life of late is resembling the former phrase of my blog title rather than the latter.

Luckily, this has all been captured in one glorious photo:
Ta ta for now...

-Chad