A Conspiracy Against Franciacorta!

I think I beat Jesse Ventura to this one.

About a year and a half ago, I was wandering through the sparkling wines section of Astor Wines, like you do, when I stumbled upon a wine I'd never seen. Looking down at the bottle, I mouthed the words "Ferghettina Franciacorta." Unfamiliar with either of these words, I wondered which was the producer and which was the name of the wine itself. I looked to the neck of the bottle and took note of the very familiar ribbon indicating Italy's highest wine designation, DOCG. This shocked me; as the son of Italian immigrants, and someone who has been helping his father make wine (including champagne-method sparklers) since age 7, I could not believe I was at that moment discovering an Italian sparkler I'd never so much as read about! I immediately brought the bottle to the register, projecting a poorly-feigned air of confidence as I made my purchase.

Recession-Proof Business Plan: Coming to a Late-Night Infomercial Near You...

Amazing things happen when you are bored at work. I came across the below website while Google imaging a picture of a hot dog to send to a co-worker. Context will not save me here, but, for about two months, there was this recurring smell of hot dogs in our area; I guess this was my way of exploring creative ways to complain about it. We never actually identified the source of the phantom stench, but, I always suspected (and still do) that it was the hoggish secretary around the corner - affectionately referred to as "Wench" - who consumes a steady diet of weight loss supplements, pop chips and overripe fruit. (We suspect the latter is for purposes of clandestinely catching a mid-day buzz.)

A Tribute To My Muses:

Below you will read the creative product of my daily commute. It is written in the style of the epic poem, more or less set to the rhyme scheme of The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. I dedicate it to the many women who unknowingly served as my muses. You are the Lad[ies] in Red to my Chris De Burgh, and you continue to inspire me every day. I love you.


One Million Ghetto Bitches

Local Authorities Deem History Channel Unwatchable

I will spare the reader the contrived or potentially self-important tone of the obligatory "welcome post" and jump right into commentary. Suffice it to say, this blog serves partially as a personal record of thoughts on any and all things, and with luck a forum for others to enjoy.

As one of those jerks who haughtily refers to himself as a "student of History" in casual conversation, I used to think there was at least one channel I could relate to in the unfortunate sensory deluge of so-you-think-you-can-dance-your-fat-Kardashian-ass-off-with-vampire-Guidos-in-3D programming. This is no longer the case. History Channel has now relegated itself to the odious realm of what I can only refer to as "White Trash Programming." Let us now explore this most tragic of roads to perdition.