Themed Park

We haven’t had a ‘silly Connecticut’ story in a while, and I can honestly say I have no idea why I didn’t write this up at the time.

Our local sports team is the Bridgeport Bluefish, a non-affiliated, minor league baseball team. Their only real claim to fame is that their coach is a very renown former lefty pitcher whose deserved reputation was eclipsed by his eponymous surgery - one Tommy John.

Anyway last summer, pre-teenage Spud and his oh-so-teenage brother were staying with us and so we decided an evening at the ballpark would be nice. Next to the ballpark is the Arena, a multi-purpose venue, and this particular evening the WWE was doing its sweaty man dance thing at the Arena while the Bluefish played the Lancaster Barnstormers.

The car-park was more crowded than usual and as we pulled up to the orange vested lady at the gate she said:
“Baseball or Arena?”
“Baseball.” We said.
“Three dollars” said the young lady. I don’t know if it was me, the boys or Christine who actually said it first but we all thought it. So one of us said:
“How much if we were going to the Arena?”
“Oh,” she said, “that’s five dollars”

So I know what your thinking, if you ever go to an event at the Arena in Bridgeport make sure you tell the parking people you’re actually watching baseball. Not so fast! Behind the Arena and the baseball stadium is a ferry terminal which also uses the same car-park and guess what? It’s free!


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Bazza

Picture from Google Maps

Winter Sweeps Out

I awoke early, the sky was just turning grey and the thermometer was reading below freezing. By the time the tea had brewed there was a crimson line along horizon. I took my mug and headed down to the back door. I pulled on my old boots and took the red checkered jacket off the hook.

The winter had been long and cold. Round here they mix sand with the road salt. A lot of sand. The floor of the garage crunched underfoot as I lifted the reluctant-to-open overhead door. It was lighter outside now and a few of the houses across the valley seemed to be stirring, a solitary chimney sent a blue smoke trail into the air.

I grabbed the yard brush, its worn handle felt snug against the callouses on my hand. By the time I finished sweeping out the garage the sky was blue and the brass thermometer had inched past the freezing mark. I drained the tea mug, leant the broom against the door frame and listened. So quiet through the winter, the woods that lined the valley, were waking up. The calls of a distant wood pigeon were mixed with the enquiring whistle of the Robin and the piercing call of a thrush. And there, across the woods, was the unmistakable creaking rattle-taps of a woodpecker.

There will probably be a few more nights below freezing, maybe even another inch or two of snow. But the birds know it’s time. The deer that past through one evening last week, they know it’s time. The tulips and the daffodils know it too - it’s been a long cold one this year but winter is clearly leaving even if a but unwillingly.


<Enter stunningly witty and clever tagline here>


Bazza

Some Toilet Humour

As I mentioned in the note about the bumper sticker, I have been having a significant amount of sinus pain. So much so that me, an ordinary male, was finally motivated to visit a doctor.

While sat in the waiting room looking around I noticed a door with one of those little brown signs on. You know the typical kind of door sign. They're about eight inches long and a couple of inches high and usually brown with white lettering. Generally the signs say things like ‘Authorized Personal Only’ or ‘No Admittance’. I had been kinda staring the door and its sign, unfocused, for a while before realizing what the actually read. it simply said.
PATIENT TOILET
Blimey, I'm glad I know where that one is cos I’d hate to end up sitting on the impatient toilet…











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Bazza

Bumper Sticker Sets Man Free

This afternoon I was driving home behind a car with a whole bunch of bumper stickers on it. One particular sticker caught my eye. It read ‘Pain is weakness leaving the body’.

“Bloody brilliant!” I thought. Given the extreme nasal discomfort I’ve been in for the last few months that must mean I have the strongest sinuses, teeth and cranium in the county!

In fact if we extend that thought out a little further. With all the hangovers, motorcycle accidents and rugby injuries I’ve had - I am probably one stubbed toe away from becoming The Hulk (I even look good in Green)!

Wonder why I can’t get the lid off of the sinus tablets then?

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Bazza

Life In The Stopped Lane

Some people exert that the word California means something along the lines of “place of milk & Honey.” I have just returned from a trip to Southern California and I ain’t so sure. The lifestyle does seem to be different to here in the Northeast or back in the Midwest. However, I’m not sure that life in Southern California is all that. The working life definitely seems not to be idyllic. I chatted with a bunch of locals during my stay and I found myself getting more and more surprised that anything is achieved in Southern California. This is mostly down to the compromises forced upon them by the traffic.

The workday seems to go something like this:

Get up early to avoid the traffic. Get stuck in traffic. Arrive at work and spend first hour moaning to co-workers about the traffic. Work for one hour. Go out to Starbucks. Work 30 minutes. Go to lunch early to avoid the queues. Come back to work, spend thirty minutes discussing lunch then thirty minutes discussing traffic at lunch. Do an hours work. Spend fifteen minutes watching the traffic on the Internet. Leave early to avoid traffic. Get stuck in traffic. Arrive home. Spend ninety minutes recapping to spouse your day and the traffic. Go to bed early as you want to get up early to avoid the traffic.

Maybe companies should just run large buses equipped with satellite communication that drive from one employees house to the next - never actually arriving at an office just sat around on the Freeway all day ...

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Bazza