So yeah, this isn't fun.

Due to the beat down that occurred at Giants Stadium yesterday (and I'm not talking Sanchez) I took today off. For those of you wondering, this is what a broken collarbone looks like:


I think these are the two broken pieces:


Apparently there is a chasm between the broken pieces. My hopes of being a shoulder model are forever ruined. I'll refrain from posting pictures of what this thing actually looks like. No reason to make you gag.

Oh, and Charlie Weis was canned today. So yeah, there's that.

I'm never rooting for the Jets again.

Whelp, so much for being thankful for my health. I attended the NY Jets game against Carolina this afternoon with a colleague of mine. Great day. Great weather. Great tailgate. Crap game but the Jets pulled out an uninspiring win.

Then there was post-game in the parking lot.

The scene: Six grown men and two kids from the neighboring tailgate, passing the time with a game of touch football.
The call: 10 yard slant over the middle (redundant description but necessary for the non-football readers).
The play: Broken pass, incomplete.
The result: Broken left collarbone.

Sonofabitch. I blame Mark Sanchez.

I've never been in this kind of pain before. Perhaps this is because it's my first broken bone, but the fact that the collarbone is sorta-kinda-maybe attached and related to everything is a literal pain. It doesn't help that I'm left handed either. Try brushing your teeth or putting on a sock with your non-dominant hand then get back to me.

No pictures from the hospital, but this one is of some creep taking photos of these lovely ladies.

Tree time.

Continuing tradition, we cut down the family tree this afternoon at a farm in upstate New Jersey. It sure does beat buying it off of a Manhattan street corner.

This will never get old.

The broskie and I hit up some shopping this afternoon, and this gem of a shirt was for sale at Dick's Sporting Goods. Spectacular? You better believe it.

Plenty to be thankful for.

Health. Home in Brooklyn. Home in Jersey. Friends. Fam. Yuengling. Dear Old State. GPA enabled phones. Food. Drink. My ipod. Employment. Garlic. Joe Paterno. Blogs. Every play that actually changes the season. Flying into LaGuardia at night. Thanksgiving leftovers. The Brooklyn Bridge. Netflix. Books. The act of eating peanut butter with a spoon. Christmas in New York. Snow. Sun. Heck, all four seasons. 27 World Championships. Digital cameras. Macs. Hulu. Salt and pepper. Unlimited Metro cards. That's what she said.

Turkey and gravy step aside. There's a new killer combo this fall.

I discovered Dogfish Head's "Punkin Ale" one night after work at Stag's Head pub. Seasonal brews are nothing new, as Sam's and Blue Moon have been doing it for years with much success. But this Dogfish brew is hard to track down, and even if you find it you'll be paying a premium for a 4-pack (10 bucks in NJ, 13 Brooklyn). But dammmmmn is it worth it.

I sat down with a cold ale this afternoon and nonchalantly sliced off a piece of homemade banana bread. Bite of bread. Swig of Dogfish. Brilliant. The combination of spices and flavors from each came together in ridiculous perfection. I foresee myself enjoying this combination for the rest of the week.

If you see this beer in your local shop I highly recommend picking it up. Just note the 7% alcohol content, slightly higher than you the typical Miller Lite. Then again, it won't set you on your ass like Michael Scott's seasonal drink of choice:

Park Avenue is trying to force the fall season out.

The Christmas lights are here right on schedule, if you count pre-Thanksgiving on schedule. Leaves are still on the trees that line Park Avenue, giving the midtown stretch of pavement a fall-like feeling. But it's not. Thanksgiving is all but an afterthought here in midtown. Christmas trees are for sale on the streets. Black Friday commercials are on overload (even Hulu is running them).

More pictures of the holidays to come when I am back after the holiday. Cheers!

The End of an Era.

Goodbye, Philadelphia.

Annoying Gap commercials invade more than just your living room.

The newest slew of Gap commercials [link] are a sure sign that flannel is alive and no longer a hipster-only fashion. But unlike the TV spots that you can avoid, Gap is giving you no choice but to stare at their smiling faces while you wait an eternity for the bus. These maniacal characters will surely not allow you to fall asleep like beer.

While on the subject of commercials, this one for Sony's Play Station 3 is one of my favs. With a stick. Stick.