Close your head, I see your thoughts!

Last Saturday, I was faced with the unfortunate circumstance of going to the hospital to visit my 6 year old brother. A high fever, a sore throat and some delirious mumblings prompted my mom to get him checked-out at the hospital. After derailing my action-packed Saturday plans to go to the hospital I hoped for the best, but I had no idea what was ahead of me.

While my brother laid in the bed waiting to be treated, I roamed around the pediatric ward like the mischievous person I am. I took two steps out of the room and I was almost trampled by a group of people who ran alongside a stretcher as if they were athletes on the US Olympic bobsled team. I tried my hardest to catch a glimpse of the poor soul on the stretcher, but I only saw her arm. On closer observation, I noticed that the arm that I saw was not attached to anything. The injured patient actually used her left hand to hold her right arm, which was completely unattached to her body. Why would they bring this 13-14 year old girl to the pediatric ward? I don’t know. The sight that I saw was like a weird Don Hertzfeldt film and I felt like I was high on shrooms or something, so I went back into my brother’s room to recuperate. But that was just the beginning.

I wandered outside of the room once again and somehow ventured out into the waiting room, which had a view of the hospital’s driveway. In the driveway was a woman and a young child on a stretcher. Suddenly, someone yelled out “MAKE WAY” and the “stretcher-pusher” wheeled the woman and child past me at supersonic speeds. About an hour later, the waiting room’s door opened and the mother and son reentered the waiting area. Apparently the hospital’s staff transferred the people from the stretcher to a wheelchair, but something was odd about this image—something had gone horribly wrong. The woman had a broken arm which was bandaged, and the child….oh man, the child. I need a new paragraph to talk about the child.

The child was a cute looking child who couldn’t have been more than 4 years old. He sported a wonderful smile on his face, bright blue eyes, and a hole…a hole in his head. One could almost see directly into his head via a dime-sized hole between his two eyes. Externally, I tried my hardest not to cringe, but internally I was screaming “WHAT HAPPENED?!?? CLOSE THAT HOLE!!! WHY ARE THEY IN THE PEDIATRIC DEPARTMENT?! I CAN SEE HIS BRAIN!! WHAT KIND OF SICK BUSINESS IS THIS?! THIS IS NOT HUMANLY POSSIBLE! I’LL NEVER RECOVER FROM THIS! I HOPE HE RECOVERS FROM THAT!!” The worst part was that the doctors and nurses in the department seemed completely unfazed by the hole in his head. To add to the horror of the incident, the kid never shed a single tear.

I could easily continue speaking about what was going through my head at that moment, but I don’t think that the english language contains the correct words to accurately express my thoughts.

My brother was finally diagnosed, treated, and discharged and I was free to leave from the bloody pediatric inferno. I hopped in my car and drove towards the hospital’s exit when I saw a homeland security helicopter landing on the hospital’s landing pad. I didn’t bother to stick around to see the response of the emergency room because I had already accurately predicted it: ”just send him to the pediatric ward.”

World Cup, Schmirld Cup

I hate the World Cup. There…I said it. But I’m not your typical World Cup hater.

At the beginning of the tournament I ignored all games except those that the Trinidadian team played in. Since I was born and partially raised in Trinidad I was naturally inclined to see them demolish their opponents. Trinidad did not go far in the competition and as a result I was on-edge, ready to snap at anyone who mentioned the fact that we lost…twice.

After I got over the loss of my home-team, I became a fan of France. I’ve never been to France, didn’t know a single french person and haven’t eaten french fries in months, but I took 5 long years of French in middle and high school, so I felt the need to give back to the country with my support.

When France defeated Spain, I was happy. When France defeated Brazil, I was ecstatic. When France defeated Portugal, I was jubilant (thank you, But then the final game of France vs. Italy came and I was, once again, on edge.

Due to other duties that needed to be fulfilled, I caught the final game at the 49th minute, but that didn’t spare me any distress. Each time France took the ball near their goal with their bright white, seemingly-angelic outfits, I was ready to jump through my 52”, 1990’s style big-screen television and kick the ball to the goal for them. This couldn’t have been good for my blood pressure.

The game went into overtime and the France player, Zidane, head-butted the Italian player in the chest. Although I consider the act of frustration to be 100% gangsta, it made the team suffer, which made me suffer…emotionally.

The game went to penalty kicks, which I’ll call “shootouts” because of Zidane…the gangsta. The French player tried to be cute and kick the ball high into the air, rather than directly into the goal, and as a result the ball was rejected by an inanimate object…the goal post. Give me a second to rant about this…

I’m neither a soccernista nor a mathematician, but I would imagine that the height to width ratio of a soccer goal is 1:5. Why on Germany’s green grass would you kick the ball up into the air rather than left or right into the goal?!? WHY?!

Because of this foolish move, Italy won 5 to 3 on penalty kicks and they flaunted their victory in my face. This act of showmanship arose feelings of repressed disgust for the Italian team for defeating the French, and somehow affected my physiological status.

Basically, I hate the World Cup because it puts me through a roller-coaster of emotions…and it doesn’t even have the decency to give me a reward for the anguish that I suffered. Thanks, World Cup… now you’ll have thousands, if not millions of people in therapy for years! and its affiliates do not condone Zidane’s actions, nor do we support random head-butting by its readers; however, you have to admit….that was cool!

Do my shoes go well with my car?

Sneakers and Cars

After buying a new car, regular people typically go in search of car accessories to enhance their purchase. But Me? I’m no ordinary man. I buy my sneakers to match my car, regardless of how hideous the sneaker may appear to be.

My Open Letter to T-Mobile

Dearest T-Mobile,

You won over my heart many years ago when you were a little company named “Omnipoint.” You advertised that you had a “100% digital phone network” and I signed up because I thought that digital was sononymous with “new technology”. I was greatly let down when I found out that your network was 100% digicrap. But I still stuck with you.

You merged with another company, picked up the name “Voicestream,” flaunted your new logo and sent me a flyer that promised better service and I believed you. I bought a new “trendy” phone and expected reliable service, but your service was thrice times worse than anything that I’ve used in my life, including walkie-talkies and tincan and string. Often times, I got so sick of your horrible, horrible service that I resorted to yelling on the rooftops for house-to-house communication. But I stuck with you and your quadraplegic network.

You became T-Mobile and gave me 1000 anytime minutes, free nights and weekends, and all the other bells and whistles for $39.99/month. The network was greatly improved and you kept giving me free things to keep me as a customer. You reminded me of my second girlfriend who always said, “don’t go! I’ll change! I’m different now!” But were you really different, or was it all a facade?!

You kept sending me letters in the mail saying, “looky here, we’re improving” but the lingering 2 bars on my cell phone proved otherwise. You sent me a letter saying “we’ve expanded our network to upstate New York,” but during our yearly retreat to Poughkeepsie, my phone had less bars than a dry Mormon University. You sent me another letter saying “we’ve upgraded our coverage in northern New Jersey,” but I could never hold a phone conversation on my way to school because the call was always dropped. I stopped relying on my cell phone and started to use word-of-mouth and snail-mail for everything, BUT THAT DEFEATED THE PURPOSE OF ME USING YOU IN THE FIRST PLACE!

Basically, what I’m trying to tell you is that it’s over. Just like that. I’m tired of the broken promises, the lies, the deceit and the dinners when you ditched me and left me alone at the dinner table.

I’m leaving you for your second cousin…Sprint.

Why Sprint? Because she’s better than you are. She is giving me everything you gave me in addition to unlimited video mail, picture mail, broadband internet, mobile television and companionship for $10 less than I paid you. Also, Sprint looks better than you do.

I got this sweeeet phone from them and after 2 weeks of using it, I’m not turning back.


It was fun while it lasted, but I got tired of this seemingly endless love/hate relationship that you got me involved in.

Love your ex-customer,
Geremy F


After a month chock-full-o-classes, I’M FREE! No more 6 hours of classes each day. No more quizzes everyday. No more frustration.

Now that I’m free, I can resume normal life again. I’ve got so much to tell you about, including but not limited to:

  • My matching purchases
  • Attempted murder of the Nokia
  • The new chick in my life
  • The Gerelaxer v2

Big things!
Big things.

Three months later and I’m victorious!

The family weight challenge, which started on March 3rd ended yesterday with a STUNNING upset by Geremy. I weighed myself last night and saw that I lost 15.5lbs, half of a pound more than I needed to. I immediately grabbed the winning money and paraded around the house screaming, “HAAA!!! YOU CAN’T HOLD ME! YOU LOSE, I WIN!”

I win.


I got rid of my three month old cell phone and have been using my 5 year old cellphone instead, all because of my crazy cell phone theory.

I made the decision to sell my Dell Axim on 5/21/06 and got it sold within one week of my announcement (with a profit margin of over 50%). After shipping the handheld to its new owner, I realized my dire need for a portable scheduling device. After taking a couple of days to research my options I came to a decision to purchase another “all-in-one” device, much like the T-Mobile Sidekick II. But there was a problem. Since my current phone is so amazing, a new phone wouldn’t seem like that big of an upgrade, so I came up with a plan to solve the problem. I call it “the low end theory.”

My Tacky Cell Phone Hierarchy Theory

My theory
If I got rid of the mobile luxuries that I’ve come to enjoy, such as ringtones that sound like a live band performing in my pocket and jiggapixel phone cameras, and suffer myself to live in the “olden days,” I will appreciate the features a lot more when they arrive in my next phone.

So that’s exactly what I did.

I went into my vintage electronics box that was in the far corner of the attic, between my Teddy Ruxpin and my Pet Rock, and I got my Nokia 3390, which I purchased when I was a sophomore in high school for $260. The phone was in great condition, the battery was fully charged, and it reminded me of how cool I thought I used to think that I thought I think I felt when I was 15.

I gave my three month old Motorola to my mom and popped my T-Mobile sim card into the Nokia. The phone had many luxury features, such as a volume up button, a volume down button, a microphone, and a trendy “Nokia” badge on the back. My plan is to use the phone for 15 days to get fully acclimated with the old technology and then buy a new phone to bring myself to the top of the cell-phone totem pole.

The Nokia might be heavy, tacky and antique but it’s a small price to pay to see the look on a strangers face after hearing my generic “brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring” ringtone.

The swimming …thing

I was changing into my swimming britches when my sister called out, “there is something swimming in the pool!” I jumped up and ran outside, prepared to slay the moose that invaded my H2O, but instead I saw a helpless beaver/squirrel/rat hybrid mix that was trying his best to keep his nose above water…or was he??

My first instinct was to run inside and get my camera to take pictures of the creature as it did the “squirrelly-paddle,” but I didn’t want it to get sucked into the skimmer and shredded by the pool’s pump and filter. I’m also guessing that the beaver’s/rat’s intestines doesn’t do much for the purity of the water. I stood there, thinking about my next move when a voice yelled “KILL IT!!” That voice was my sister, who was watching the event unfold from the safety of the dining room. I chose to ignore that voice.

I took a long pole and stuck it in the water so the….thing could have something to hold onto, but he didn’t use my help. He swam around the pole and smashed himself head-first into the tiled wall. Again, I stuck the pole into the water and scooped the…thing up. I placed him in the grass, expecting him to run away and tell his friends about his near-death experience, but he was stubborn.

The rat stood up, watched me for about 10 seconds, then slowly walked in the direction of the pool. He jumped onto the concrete platform surrounding the pool and looked at the clean water that flowed past him. Seconds later, in a move of utter stupidity he swan-dived back into the water and paddled his legs like a 13th century speedboat.

I couldn’t have a rodent skinny-dipping in my pool, so I tried to quickly scoop the…thing and throw it across the fence in one swift move. Just as it was time for the…thing to fly out across the fence, he held onto the pole, which caused him to fall onto the ground with a dumbfounded look on his ratty-face. He laid still on his back for about 10 seconds, which made me believe that he was [finally] dead, but as soon as I went in to get a closer look, he hopped on his wet feet and ran away.

I’m mad that a naked beaver/squirrel/rat hybrid mix was the first to christen my pool for the summer, but more importantly, what’s with all of these suicidal rodent experiences?!

I am a klutz

Every major event of my life, from the time that I got electrocuted while trying to add more power to my remote controlled car, to the time when I went to the bank at 3:33am in a T-shirt and slippers to make a bank deposit, was documented in my electronic life, also known as my Pocket PC. I was fully aware of important data that the little device held, so I performed weekly backups, as well as daily computer synchronizations to keep the information protected.

But I messed up.

On May 14 at 3pm, I was on my way home when my Axim chimed that familiar brrinquhz noise (it’s hard to spell sounds) to remind me to back my stuff up. I said to my self, “Mr. Amazing, (because that’s what I call myself), you can just do it later.” “Later” turned into “in three hours,” which soon turned into “Wednesday.”

Wednesday passed and I decided to skip the 2 second backup process because “one missed backup won’t hurt anyone.” But it hurt me. Ouch!

Before going to sleep on Thursday night, I checked my Pocket PC to look at my activities for the following day, but Axim was dead. I found my extra battery and popped it in, expecting everything to work flawlessly but I got error messages left and right.

“Please press the Calendar Button to reset device.”
“Please press the Reset Button to align the screen.”
“Would you like to clear all information? Yes / No
“If your name is Geremy and you forgot to backup on 5/14, you are doomed.”
“This device will self-destruct in 5…4….”

I had no choice but to delete all data in the PDA, but I wasn’t worried yet. I went to my computer to restore the information from my 5/7 backup, but it was non-existent. My 4/30 backup? Vanished. My 4/23 backup? Gone ‘till November. My 4/16 backup? Left on a jetplane. Then it hit me and I knew that I was the maker of my own demise.

A day before the regularly scheduled backup I needed more space on my computer’s hard drive because there was a large file that needed to be downloaded. I looked through all of my existing files and evaluated what needed to go and the PDA Backup folder was at the top of that list. I figured that I’ve never used them in the past, so I can stand to see them go. I have now realized that I have the poorest judgment in New Jersey. As for the synchronized data on my computer? Nowhere to be found. Technology…

I can’t take the chance of this ever happening again, so I am going to get rid of my Axim. Sure it’s like putting your favorite child up for adoption after he accidentally lit all of the family albums on fire, but THAT’LL TEACH HIM!

My Car History Continues

I spent prom night of my senior year of highschool in the hospital because an impatient woman ran a stop sign and wrecked my beloved 1991 Lexus LS400 that I got for my 17th birthday. Months after the incident I was car-less and had to borrow my sister’s Chevy Malibu to go everywhere. My dad, feeling sorry for me and my inability to freely go where I needed to, stepped in on my 18th birthday to fund the down payment of my current car, the 2003 Nissan Altima 2.5s with airbourne capabilities and a 175hp engine that is powered by a juiced-up rat in a wheel.

For the duration of the lease I faithfully made payments and kept her clean, even though she was the victim of 3 hit-and-runs, 2 key-ings, and 6 drive-by hissings. I took her places, bought her shoes, and washed her all the time, but now, her time is over.

Stay with me, I’m going somewhere here.

Once again my dad came to my rescue and discussed his plan to give me a certain amount of money to fund a portion of the price of my next car. He suggested that I take the money and buy a used Hyundai Elantra, but sorry…I’m just not a used Hyundai Elantra type of guy.

I narrowed my coices to three cars:

  • Audi A8
  • BMW 740il
  • My dream coffee colored Lexus LS400

After looking for 10 days, I found THE CAR.

I assessed my finances, came up with a way to pay for the car without selling my body, and then bought it. Now, I am (once again) the owner of a sweet new fully loaded Lexus LS400, the family’s 5th and most beautiful Lexus to date. The strange thing is that it’s almost the exact car that I asked for last year, with the omission of chrome wheels.

Sorrowfully, this story doesn’t have a fairy-tale ending. Due to the money I’ll be paying Nissan for the overage miles and “wear-and-tear” on my Altima, Nissan is predicting a huge boost in third quarter earnings. I will be spending the next few years using my new car as a cab to pay back the Nissan mafia. How bittersweet!