How different would rock n' roll history be if The Ramones last name was "wiener".
Too much light makes the baby go blind, but too many blinds makes the window go dark. Think about it.
Today is my second anniversary working for Lullabot. Joining the team is still one of the best decisions I've made. š“š¤
LIR-Arg!
Over the long weekend I had the pleasure of visiting Sarah Lawrence College, an all around better school than Hofstra. Why, you may foolishly ask? Because they offer a seminar called āLube It Upā, thatās why. Who doesnāt want to be a part of that? The only thing at Hofstra that comes close to being that slick is your local Dude-Guyās hair, which is decidedly less appealing, especially in the current context.
However, this weekās column is not about Sarah Lawrence. Sure they have a beautiful campus, progressive classes, and a six-dollar buffet with everything from waffles you make yourself to real eggs, but what I really want to talk about is how I got there. Yes folks, Iām talking about the Long Island Railroad.
Everyone who goes to Hofstra has been on it, and if you havenāt there is a good chance you donāt go to New York City often, in which case you should stop being such a huge townie. But I digress. I donāt care what you do; your experience on the LIRR is always going to involve adventure. And by adventure I mean black holes of logic. Hereās how a typical LIRR riding day goes.
Youāre all set to go, but for some reason you donāt have a ride (i.e. your car is in the shop, your roommate is away, and the cab is fifty dollars), so you take the blue beetle. After the pain in your ass subsides from being bounced two and a half feet in the air after every bump for twenty minutes, you quickly realize that you have to pee for much the same reason. So you waddle to the bathroom only to find that itās closed after 1pm. Also, the train you were trying to catch departed five minutes ago, meaning youāll have to wait almost an hour for the next one. For some reason, Hofstra decided it was in the best interest of their students to time the buses so that you always miss the train. So, squeezing your thighs and feeling like the victim of some elaborate Rabinowitzian conspiracy, you sit down to wait.
What happens in the time between when you sit down and when you get on the train largely depends on whether youāre in Minneola or Hempstead station. In these modern days, Hofstra is nice enough to send the blue beetle to Minneola. Nobody knows when, but if youāre lucky enough to stumble upon that magical time frame, you will doubtless spend your waiting period admiring the day, the people, and the surprising lack of chewing gum on the floor. If, however, you end up at Hempstead, not only will you wonder at the surprising amount of chewing gum on the floor, you will also see something weird. My first time at Hempstead station, I watched a full-grown man floss his teeth with his ticket for well over five minutes.
Finally you get on the train, and by this time you really have to pee. You sniff yourself after you sit at the window of a three-seater and no one sits next to you, then proceed to fall asleep. Later, you are invariably woken up by the automated stop announcer screaming, āHolis!ā The auto announcer hates Holis, and every time he has to say it the fact just makes him angry. You can hear it in his voice. Holis must have done something awful to the auto announcer. Iād do an investigative report, but itās probably some dirty Long Island Railroad secret and Iād end up getting whacked by the mobā¦come on pseudonym, protect me!
So anyway, you finally get off the train and rush to the public restroom in Penn Station. The stench is so overwhelming that it seems that of the thousands of people who use it daily, none of them hit the toilet, and so ends your odyssey. That is, until you have to come back.
Yet the Long Island Railroad needs our love, just like anything else. We need to care for it, nourish it, and push it on its way. Just a little something extra to make those wheels turn, to loosen those pumps, and to maybe make the auto announcer say a nice word or two about Holis. When you come right down to it, all the LIRR needs is a little lube.
Woof, I really loved run on sentences. Sounds like I was really stretching to find something to be pissed about. I had plenty of things, but I wasn't touching the real stuff. "Rabinowitzian" is a reference to then Hofstra president Stuart Rabinowitz. The execution needs work, but I still like the concept of the "Holis" joke. The dude really does yell that stop and no others.
The phrase "Cranberry Wizard" popped into my head. Fun band name, or urethra magician?
First time really listening to the lyrics to Jack & Diane.
Suckin' on a chili dog outside the Tastee Freez.
Diane's sittin' on Jackie's lap, he's got his hands between her knees.
Jackie say, "Hey Diane, lets run off behind a shady tree.
Dribble off those Bobby Brooks slacks and do what I please"
I don't know what's more gross about this sex proposition, the one sided ...do what I please
or getting handsy while sucking a chili dog. šµ š
The copyright takedown problem has large negative impacts on your favorite artists, and hence you, and gets worse I think because itās abstract and legal and thatās always a safe haven for big corporate.
As we all know, The Breeders kick ass. šµ
Our apartment is in the sauce. š¶ļø
From sarajw@front-end.social.
Hey hey hey CSS Tricks is actually back!!
@geoff is going through updating the articles that need it and writing great new ones! Yessssssssss
Go check out @csstricks - find the new ones and scroll down past a few strange test posts to find lots of recent links to fabulous older articles that have been updated š§”
THIS.
Sitting on a New Jersey beach, which means itās time once again for everyoneās favorite couple-spotting game: āGranddaughter or Mistress?ā
From Eric Meyer.
Getting my ass whipped at Magic: The Gathering at friendly local draft. The game has changed a lot in twenty years (whoād have thought?). Lots of fun still.
I bought my first ever pair of chucks. Iām digging them a lot. š
Conan OāBrien Must Go is so good.
As I was walking home, a giant rat ran under my foot. I fully stepped on a rat, I heard it squeak, and it vanished into an ally all before I realized there was rodents about. Me and my roommate laughed in disbelief for the rest of the walk.
Butthole Sun by Fartgarden. Is that anything? šµ