Friday, April 19, 2002
My friend and climbing partner was just in a serious climbing accident. He and another climber were about to decend from the top of a completed climb via a technique called a simul-rappel. Basically, each person rappels simultaneously on each side of a rope threaded through the anchor. The wieght of each climber counterballances the system. If one climber unweights the system, the weight of the other will pull the rope through and send him right to the ground. As my friends began to rappel, the weight of one climber inadvertenly pulled the other into the rock, trapping him against the wall and forcing open the safety mechanism on the rappel device. This sent my partner crashing to the ground, forty feet below. He has two broken ankles. He already had a busted rotator cuff and a torn bicep from prior injuries. He's having some mobility issues as you would guess. Still he is lucky to be alive. Broken ankles after a forty foot grounder should be considered a blessing. I have said this before, but climbing is generally a safe sport. It just leaves little margin for error. If you get the chance to learn from a climbing accident, you got lucky. I'm relieved he is still with us and will be back on the rock in a few months.
Jim Parisi
Speaking about sex, during the same conversation, my friend's phone rang. It was her new boy toy. He just got back into town and was making the "booty call". My cell phone sadly remained silent. Needless to say, she left dinner early that night. I gotta admit - I'm a little jealous. I need to find me a new local sweetie or add some friends with benefits to my rolodex. I don't have any. Usually a friend with benefits is an ex-girlfriend of some kind. All my ex-girlfriends marry their next boyfriends. It's a strange phenomenon - and one that has recently kept my cell phone quiet late on Friday nights.
Jim Parisi
Thursday, April 18, 2002
I was recently talking about sex with some friends. They had been a little disappointed with past lovers (just to clarify, not, repeat NOT me), and were lamenting about how difficult it is to talk to men about their love making, um, methods. They claim that if you talk to a guy about his performance (or lack thereof) *before* sex, he will get all nervous and won't perform. If they talk to a guy about lovemaking *after* sex, he will get defensive and offended and won't perform. The last thing you want to do is bruise that oh so fragile male ego that is oh so connected to the... you get my point. Me, I have a suggestion (don't I always). Talk to him *during* sex. And don't just talk to him. Fire him up. Come on ladies! Think like your man. You want him to get passionate in bed, in the middle of your next session, grab him by the back of his head, pull him close and whisper hungrily in his ear, "Is that all you can do?" Now you just made it a challenge. And you better hold on. Of course if that doesn't work either, feel free to contact me for private counseling. :-)
Jim Parisi
Wednesday, April 17, 2002
Paula, if you ever practice this type of law, I will disown you. Maybe I should sue Yahoo for bringing me news that depresses me and subsequently puts me at risk for suicide.
Jim Parisi
I was just thinking about a recent post I made regarding an engagement ring. What's with women and diamonds anyway? It's a rock. A shiny chunk or hardened carbon. That's it. No big mystery, no magic. It's all marketing and hype brought to you by DeBeers. And for the amount of money they charge for that chunck of carbon, aren't there better ways to express lasting love? It's two months salary - not income - SALARY. Pre Tax. For a tiny, shiny, rock. How about an engagement Lexus? Or an engagement trip to Tahiti? Or an engagement cabin in the woods? Or an engagement downpayment on a house? This of course is just another reason why I am still single.
Jim Parisi
I just got back from San Francisco. I was driving back to the airport, when a round, older, Asian woman in the car behind me began vigorously picking her nose. Really mining that nasal cavity - going at it big time In all the way to the knuckle. Now I'm not offended by a little digging, but let this be a lesson to everyone who drives a car: When you are driving, you are NOT alone. We all can see you, because those windows, surprisingly enough, they work both ways. The funny thing about this particular woman: She wasn't even alone in the car. She had a passenger talking to her the whole time. This I find even more distressing, although I suppose it's a common problem. There are a certain percentage of people out there who don't care about their appearance. Either that or they are totally oblivious. It's a serious affliction. The condition is found in perfectly intelligent and otherwise normal people who choose to wear brown socks with sandals, sneakers with dress pants, or bad neon running shorts with polo shirts. Or anyone, ANYONE, who can't tell when their pant legs are three inches too short for their legs. In it's advanced stages (often found in senior citizens, mathematicians, or chemistry graduate students), people will find no need to bathe for two, maybe three days, will forget how hairbrushes work, and shop once a decade at the Sears clearance rack.
Jim Parisi
Tuesday, April 16, 2002
I saw a Ford Excursion with a huge Thule cargo carrier roof rack. An Excursion. With a roof rack. What in God's name is this guy carrying that he needs a roof rack on an Excursion?! The damn thing is bigger than my first apartment! Listen buddy, I know you want to look like Eddie f***ing Bauer with all the outdoor toys and all, but you are taking this a little too far. Besides, how can an outdoorsman justify a car that actually has a negative number for MPG.
Jim Parisi
Monday, April 15, 2002
Two shoutouts: Dan (Dantastic as my roommate calls him) finished the Boston Marathon in 3:28:22. He is a superhero. And my sister, my baby sister, passed the bar exam. Paula, I have never been more proud of anyone in my life. You are awesome. Even if you now are a lawyer.
Jim Parisi
My back is all jacked up. I have done nothing for two days except sit and work in front of my computer. Damn it. I knew I should have done something less strenuous this weekend, like rock climbling.
Jim Parisi
My friend Dan is running the Boston Marathon today. He wants to run the course in under three hours. That's 26.2 miles in less than 180 minutes, or a sub seven minute mile for every one of those 26+ miles. That's like running from my house to Long Beach. I run more than three sub seven minute miles and I need to puke - and I'm in good shape. And Dan only stops running because someone tells him to. I think he is looking for a harder race. Maybe one that's barefoot. In the desert. In July. He is a sick, sick man. I think Dan has a resting heart rate of about four. Dan, you are a masochist. And this is why you are still single. Your girlfriends can't catch you! Good luck. And don't vomit too much.
Jim Parisi
Sunday, April 14, 2002
I just can't do *anything* with my hair today.
Jim Parisi
