Tuesday, September 26, 2006


*So I was making a bag of Trader Joe's Orange Chicken the other night, right? And I grab the towel off the oven handle, open the oven, and reach into the 450-degree heat to get my food. And as I'm manuevering the tray out of the oven, the towel sort of shifts and next thing I know my pinky finger on my left hand hits the tray.

And I pretty much howl in pain, and run my finger under cold water under the faucet, but don't feel anything. I basically spent the rest of the night with my finger throbbing and occasionally pain shooting down towards my wrist.

Seriously ... the tip of your friggin pinky finger should not cause so much pain that you end up a blubbering wuss. I don't get it. I've ignored some major stuff in my life, like the time I was 18 and had a horrible asthma attack, but insisted on finishing the game of Super Mario Bros. 3 I was playing with my friend Luke at the time (and I did better on that particular game than I ever did before or after) before going to the hospital; and one day I covered a Patriots game and my lower back was in so much pain I could barely move. But I graze a hot tray for a nanosecond with my finger and I'm done for the night.

*If you're one of my MMA readers, you can usually see me on UFC PPVs. I'm usually in the octagonside press row directly behind what's usually the challenger's corner for title fights. When the hard camera is focused in that direction you'll usually see, the fighters, the fence, and my big bald head. The first couple shows I went to, I'd get 2-3 calls from friends per night, but then the novelty wore off.

*We had an In 'n' Out Burger 18-wheeler pull up to the office yesterday and there were free double-doubles for everyone. And while I'm on the subject of food that will send me to an early grade, there might be no sandwich on the planet better than the pastrami rueben's at Canter's on Fairfax.


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