I Am The Luckiest Man Alive, or, My Hallmark To The Home Warranty

First, to those of you who played against Tom Brady in fantasy football this weekend, my condolences. And to those of you who actually played against Tom Brady this weekend, Ah - HAHAHAAAAAAAAA!!!!

I loath the Cowboys.

In some 18+ years of published writing (if we are counting the high school paper as 'published' [and we are]) I have never been able to come up with good titles or headlines (see above). Part of what stymies my literary production is starting down that 'title' field. I just look at it, can't think of anything, and the inaction crushes my will. I wonder if I can move that field to the bottom. Hey, Google, can we get on those guys with his $600+ Google shares working on that?

(Am I the only person kicking himself for missing the Google IPO? That's a rhetorical question - I am nowhere near flexible enough to kick myself. And I have the body age assessment from the gym to prove it.)

I

So Sunday night, I came home to find the house stiflingly hot. Since the temperature outside was around 45 degrees, I was immediately concerned. My fears were almost immediately realized when I found that our 23 year old HVAC unit was churning like crazy, but no air was coming out of the vents. Uh oh.

INTERLUDE 1 - RESPONSES TO COMMENTS FROM LAST POST: 1) EShine requested my including an "-sshole of the Day" in today's post. After much thought, as I sit here watching the baseball game, I am going to have to go with Tim McCarver, who could also be described as "-sshole on any day ending in 'y'". 2) Clarifying my remarks, my wife said she did not give me a dirty look. Look, anyone who knows me knows I get rough 100 dirty looks a day. I think I know what one looks like, and that was a dirty look, dear.

II

Having had this problem once before, when something inside the decrepit beast had frozen solid, I called the heat & air company and explained I had no air coming out, and I had this problem before. The women asked me a series of regular maintenance questions, and I tried to make it sound like I ever did any of those thing. She knew I was full of it but played along. She then asked if I regularly changed the filter (I don't) and when I had last done it (I hadn't). I told her recently, but I could not remember exactly when.

"You know you should do it every 30 days, right?"

"It has been slightly more than 30 days."

"How much more?"

"I can't be sure. I'd have to consult my notes."

Silence.

Giving up, she asked if I still had my home warranty, which I told her I did. She told me to call them, and I started going over with her my story, verbally barfing up all my "maintenance" and the previous frozen block incident.

"Sir, just tell them the heat doesn't work. Don't say anything other than that."

INTERLUDE 2 - ME AND MY MUSTANG: One rainy night in college, I ran up against a curb and scratched the living hell out of my passenger side rims. They looked awful, which was a particular sin on an otherwise gorgeous car, kind of like all those tattoos on Amy Winehouse. Unlike the tattoos, there was no alcohol involved in my accident. But I digress.

Sometime after that, I got in an accident, and while the estimate was being done my insurance company listed the rims as a repair item, and I, in the one idiot monk moment of my life, blurted out, "That damage was from a different accident." And years later, when the lease ended on the car, I had to pay for those rims. To this day I consider it an idiot tax. I was not about to make the same mistake again.

III

The warranty guy answered, and I said, "The heat doesn't work."

"Sir, can I get your policy number?"

"The heat doesn't work."

"I see. I can pull up your information from the caller ID. Is this a new problem?"

"The heat doesn't work."

"Sir, you realize heat is an element and neither works nor doesn't work, it simply is. Do you mean the heatER doesn't work?"

Even though I did not have a periodic table handy and was fairly sure he was wrong, I gave him this one. "The heater doesn't work."

Desperate to get me off the phone, he opened a claim and formally dispatched the heating company to my house.

INTERLUDE 3 - RANDOM THOUGHT FROM EARLIER IN THE DAY WHEN I WAS LISTENING TO THE NEW ERIC CLAPTON DISC: You know how Eric Clapton used to be referred to as "The fifth Beatle?" Is he now "The third Beatle?"

IV

I ran into a fraternity brother at Home Despot on the way home. We did the "haven't seen you in a while dance," and he said, "I am just running in here to get baby proofing supplies. My wife and I thinking Jake will be walking soon and we want to make he has a safe environment to find his legs in. You?"

"I'm buying HVAC filters to make it look like I perform regular maintenance before the technician arrives."

"Won't they be able to tell it's a brand new filter?"

"I am going to drag it through the dirt and pull a few of the matted hair balls off the cat and stick them in the there."

See, my mind works fast enough to create a filter lie illusion, but I can't be bothered to actually change the filter. What a waste of a brain.

INTERLUDE 4 - SUPER AGENT? MORE LIKE LEX LUTHOR AGENT: Dude, Dice-K has completely failed to live up to the hype, much like every other Scott Boras client who has ever taken a breath. When are GMs going to learn that any guy Boras slums for is going to have a ROI relatively equal to the return on stock in Chevy. I love how Boras is famous for his 200 page client dossiers he send to GMs. Here, tonight, right now, I will give you the shortest book ever written: "Boras Clients Currently Wearing World Series Rings." Number of pages: 0. This guy is the second biggest problem in baseball, right behind Don Fehr, the born into incredible wealth union leader. Where's the Unabomber when the need him?

V

The heating guy took one look at the machine and said, "Man this thing is ancient. Who was the original owner of this house, Moses?" (I thought this was hilarious).

He did his thing and determined the coils and thermostat were dead. This is a time when most guys nod their heads and try to match technical wits with the expert, and ultimately embarrass themselves. Not me. Me, I said, "Can you open this jar of nuts? I can't get this open."

He could, in fact, open the nuts.

He explained the system was so old parts were no longer made for it, so the interior system would have to be replaced. "If you had just called us out of the phone book, this would be a $7,400 repair."

I lost interest in the nuts. "How much is it for people with a home warranty?"

He did some quick math. "$2,100."

Score.

INTERLUDE 5 - ESPN: THE WORLDWIDE LEADER IN SHITTY COMMERCIALS: I love ESPN, but I just want to be clear - there will never come a time when I order a battery powered knife off of TV. Or from anywhere, for that matter. I also will not be selecting a local hardware store based on the recommendation of a mascot who looks like something out of a child molester catalog. I'd like to stab that guy with the battery knife, were it I were not boycotting said knife.

VI

The only downside to the repair is the 23 year old exterior unit cannot be replaced at our uber-warranty-discount until it fails, so says the heating guy. "What would it take to fail?" I asked.

He eyed me up and said, "If someone took an ice pick to that, they would be able to tell."

Got it, I thought. No ice pick. I may have to rethink my position on the battery knife.

Random Thoughts During Sox - Indians game

I am going to try this blogging thing, beginning with my random thoughts while watching the second game of the Red Sox – Indians ALCS. Which is American League Championship Series. Which is professional baseball. Get out from under your rock.

I can’t make up my mind about Curt Schilling. On the one hand, he has awesome post season stats. On the other, while I’ve never met the man, he’s widely regarded as a jerk. So, my opinion of the man is being influenced, if not determined, by what other people (whom I have also never met) have allegedly said in the press. When I think about it like that, Curt, you’re a hell of a player. That’s all I have.

This mouse pad on my Dell laptop is way too sensitive.

I cannot stand these baseball playoffs commercials with Dane Cook. I wish someone would spike him. And I’d like to volunteer for the job. And for those of you who know me, I am not a volunteer type, so that should tell you how I feel about Dane on TV, which is sad, because I really enjoyed about 44% of his Retaliation album.

I have been hearing about J.D. Drew, and all his talent, and his lack of heart, for years, and you know what? This guy never looks like he is having a good time. I’m willing to bet, somewhere out there, there is a father (who sucked at baseball) who pushed his kid like crazy to be good at baseball, and made his kid the most miserable millionaire not named Lindsey Lohan. And somewhere, there is therapist who could put his kids through college spending years and J.D.’s payments to ultimately get him where I just did. J.D. – this one’s on the house pal. Remember who loves ya.

Damn Dell mouse pad screws me again. I tell ya, if I had paid for this computer I would be pissed. Pissed.

Add Chevy to the list of companies with shitty commercials.

I heard once that Tiger Woods bench presses over 400 lbs. I told this to a co-worker, now in his early 50s, and he was incredulous, saying, “I used to really work out, and I never got much over 300 lbs.” to which I replied, “Well, I guess that settles it. You couldn’t bench 400 lbs., so I guess there’s no chance a world class athlete with a work ethic that puts in the 99^th percentile of human beings could.” What a dipshit.

I hate that Claritin-D is now behind the pharmacy counter. What a pain in the ass. The terrorists haven't won, but maybe the meth addicts have. This is bullshit.

I remember watching Coco Crisp play single-A ball locally and thinking, "This guy can't hit." And now he plays for the Boston Red Sox, and you know what? I still think this guy can't hit. You know why? Because he can't.

Kevin Youklis has the strangest grip on the bat I have ever seen. His top hand barely touches the handle. How this guy hits I have no idea. Of course, I have always been a lousy hitter, so we could say hitting in general is a mystery to me. Except where Coco Crisp is concerned. He flat out cannot hit. Believe me, I have been a non-hitter for twenty four years. I am an expert in non-hitting.

The Indians just walked in a run. I think I have seen that at least four times this post season. If that doesn't prove Major League Baseball has expanded beyond the number of major league level players available, I don't know what does. You take Colorado, Arizona, Florida and Tampa Bay (good as two of those teams are and Florida has been) out of the league and Coco Crisp is waiting tables somewhere. And the only winner in the current situation: the restaurant, because you look at Crisp and just know he would screw up your order. I asked for onion rings, not fries. How hard is that?

I should watch myself. I'll bet Coco Crisp could kick my ass.

Travis Hafner looks like he's either Vin Diesel's younger, dumber brother or escaped from a zoo. I guess he could be both. (This thought, which I had during the first inning, was what finally got me to start with the blog).

Hafner could definitely kick my ass. So could Vin Diesel. Even though he's like 5' 2". But it's a tall 5' 2".

I am so happy the Yankees got knocked out of the playoffs. Not because I don't like their players. I think every kid playing should aspire to be Derek Jeter, he's all heart, even though he is wildly overrated defensively, mostly because of the blown call where he allegedly threw Jeremy Giambi out (the replay shows Giambi was safe by more than a full second). I like Alex Rodriguez, although he could not be less suited to play for the Yankees than he is. Awesome player, simply awesome, certainly the best I have seen. But, like another Yankee, Roger Maris, he's boring, and Yankee fans do not suffer the boring. Borish, absolutely, but never boring. No, it's their fans. Not the local fans. The out of town fans, the ones near me, who never lived in New York, who've never been to New York. The posers who think claiming Yankee fan status says something about them. It does, it says you are a front runner, and, in 2007, a loser. Enjoy.

It is almost 10 PM, and my wife and I are about to go to bed, she to sleep, me to continue watching the game and continue Colbert's book, which is amusing but making no permanent impression on me. I will eventually drift off, and then be awaken numerous times by the baby crying, the sheets being fought over, and my inability to breathe since the meth addicts have driven my over the counter meds behind the counter. And, for the record, yes, it too much of a pain to go ask the pharmacist. And it is a waste of her time. And yes, every pharmacist in my area is a woman. So, single guys, consider pharmacy school. Looks like a target rich environment.

My wife just asked what I was doing and I told her I was working on the blog and see gave me the dirtiest look. This should be fun.