Since I'm bored, I'd like to present 10 reasons why I wish my life was more like pro wrestling.

1. All arguments settled in the ring: Well, I might as well get the most compelling reason out there first. Who wouldn't like to resolve conflicts with an elbow drop into your adversary's chest a la The Macho Man? Or slap a Figure Four on him until he saw things your way?

2. Similar to the first, you can wail--ABSOLUTELY WAIL--on people with folding chairs, sledgehammers, and other objects, and not get thrown in jail for aggravated assault or attempted murder. Let me tell you, my reaction to dumb people lately is "damn, I'd like to hit you with a brick." Well, if not a brick, I could at least pick up a chair and just club them in the head with it.

3. I'd like to taunt people/be taunted with a "you fucked up" chant anytime somebody, well, fucked up. It must suck to be a wrestler and blow a spot in front of thousands of people, but it's always a trip when that chant goes up. I'd love to do that to a ridiculous co-worker who made a blunder due to her colossal ineptitude. And hell yeah I'd take the taunt if it meant I could taunt others. I believe in fairness.

4. Most of the women would be pretty f'n sweet. No further explanation needed, really.

5. My own theme music and accompanying pyro. If I knew that every time I stepped out of my building that some monster pyro and appropriately adrenaline pumping music (I've always thought "Just One Fix" by Ministry would be great entrance music for Damian Vegas) would kick in, I'd try to get to work on time.

6. Going back to the chants, if there's one I like even better than the crowd "you fucked up" chant, it would be its inverse, the "holy shit!" chant. You know, the most mundane tasks could become extremely satisfying if a crowd started chanting "holy shit!" in amazement at your actions.

7. No dress code. Let's face it, you can pretty much wear ANYTHING in professional wrestling. From Gorgeous George to Hillbilly Jim to Roddy Piper, wrestling attire really runs the gamut. While I'd probably skip the singlet, I could deal with some flashy Rey Mysterio style gear (including lucha mask).

8. Having a catch-phrase. Not all wrestlers have catch-phrases, but the great ones usually do, and I'd like to think that I'd have one if my life were more like wrestling. I think I'd have to come up with something better than "You just hit the jackpot!" for the Damian Vegas character, though. That just sounds like a Ted Dibiase rip-off.

9. Constant travel. Okay, this one you don't need to be a wrestler to experience, and most wrestlers get worn down from all the travel. But since I do so little of it now, a life on the road, experiencing different cities 4 nights a week, sounds like a little slice of heaven.

10. Cutting promos on people. For those not familiar with the term, cutting a promo is basically when a wrestler goes out and gets on the mic and puts over the angle in which he's involved as well as himself. The very best at it--the Ric Flairs, the Mick Foleys, the Rocks, the Steve Austins--can whip people into a frenzy consistently and get people to totally suspend disbelief. I'd love to just walk into my office at work, pick up a microphone, and just start riffing on everything and everybody. The rest of the day would be a breeze.

All of you convinced Mike Piazza would be first have to pay up. I like the line about Cleveland being the "right team and right organization for him." I mean, I know they mean in terms of being big enough to welcome him into their clubhouse, but it's much funnier imagining (shoot, who plays with the Indians now...oh well, time travel!) Joey Belle, Charles Nagy, or Tom Candiotti mincing about the dugout and doing their best "Men On..." impersonations. You know, Sandy Alomar Jr. belting out Judy Garland while Greg Swindell sings backup. (And...jazz hands!)

You know, I just realized that I really did par-tay on Chinese New Year. (Read below about last Thursday's shenanigans.) Unintentionally, of course. Still, considering it's the Year of the Monkey, it seems to be a slightly weirder than usual coincidence.

Okay, now I'm going to brave this weather for the gym. Hopefully, the conditions will mean that place is empty.

Keep Dean Alive: Check it out on the bottom left of the page. It might be the only time I enjoyed The Crystal Method. I said might.

Also on the Dean note, yes, a professional wrestler did incorporate the Howard Dean bit into one of his promos. (Chris Jericho on Monday Night Raw, FYI.) Not surprisingly, Dean's bit was better. (No knock on Jericho, who is a helluva wrestler and usually great on the stick.)

Yes, this Dean shit is already old. Whaddaya want? This is what I do. This is my thing.

I'm watching the Homerpalooza episode of The Simpsons, and it's chock-a-block with possibilities for domain names, should I choose to finally register for my own:

ThatFatJamaicanGuy.com
SuddenlyUncool.com
SuccessfulFreaks.com
YouGotToSassIt.com
NiceTryNarc.com
PageantOfTheTransmundane.com
TheRichAndTheIgnorant.com
DesignedToHurt.com
Walk-InHumidor.com

Of course, I could probably come up with a similar list for just about every episode of the Simpsons (even one from my least favorite episode: "NoFootLongs.com").

I wonder how many of those already exist. I'm too lazy to find out.

And finally, I think I may reinvent my entire apartment like this. (Link courtesy of Sarah's Journal.)

Wha' happened?

Wha' happened, indeed. I'll tell you wha' happened: Vegas happened, baby, and damn I am sweet.

Now that I've got the hubris out of the way, let's get down to bidness, starting with last Thursday:

Thursday, after work and a quick change at home, it was off to Whitlow's to meet with my friend Jodi and her clique. It was Mug Night, where you buy a mug (or bring one from a previous Mug Night) and get to drink cheap mugs of beer until 11:00 for $1.50. (That's pronounced "a buck fiddy.") Though no novice drinker I, I did make the cardinal mistake of not eating anything before I started with the drinking. Instead, I proceeded to down cheap beer and be remarkably social. Even when my one connection to the group there left (that would be Jodi, duh), I stuck around with her friends. It was a solid evening, even with the Tar Heels shitting the bed in a major way on the televisions. Anyway, many beers (plus digits) later, I proceeded home, making it back into my place 11:30ish. After some fumbling and stumbling, I promptly passed out in my shower. Yes, for those who know my sordid past, this is the second time that's happened. This time, I woke up at 4:30 in the morning, where I hastily packed my suitcase for the Philadelphia trip. After some speed packing and a set alarm, I was back into the black. In a very short period of time (though, it honestly felt longer), some fine classical music informs me that it is 8:00. So I'm back up, finish the packing, get myself scrubbed up a little, dress, and await my ride, Mr. and Mrs. O, who (as stated previously) are also going up to Illadelph. 'Round 9:30 or so (bad traffic, don'tcha know), my chariot arrives, and it's time to get on the road.

Being the generous people they are, the O's provided the breakfast of champions--Dunkin Donuts--which I was able to get down with no ill-effects. Then, at some point during our ride up, we decide to stop at A&W (I believe this is in Delaware). Mmmmmm...corn dog nuggets. (And in my case, a cheeseburger as well.) If your stomach is aching just reading this, imagine how I felt. I got it in me, we load into the car, and we're on our way again. Some time later (don't know exactly how long, as I wasn't really watching the clock), my ass is being dropped off in front of the hotel where I will be setting up fort for the weekend.

Quickly through some mundane details: check-in, unpack, chill briefly, go out for walk, bump into the O's within 2 blocks of my hotel, then proceed to just walk about, occasionally ducking into a store for warmth or genuine interest in commerce. A few hours later, I'm back in my hotel room.

Now, the reason I'm in Philadelphia is to meet my friend Monica (aka the Left-Coast Stalker). The short-version on Monica and her role in the DVX universe: in 2000, shortly after the election, I posted a caption for a picture on this website. With my caption, I include my Geocities website (in one of its earliest incarnations). Some time later (not exactly sure how long), I get a random email from a girl in L.A. who says she liked my caption and checked out my site and was connecting to my rant on the job search (this is when I was about a year into my temp work). For some reason, I did not discount her email as spam and a few days later, actually responded. From that, some steady correspondence began and a very solid friendship developed. But now I'm starting to prattle, so let's just fast forward three years and a cross-country move later (she's originally from Jersey and currently lives in Philly), we decide to meet after I make some noise about needing to get away for a weekend.

Back in Philly: Monica and I finally set up a time to meet (she's working). So I cool out for a couple of hours, then it's cab time. Her place of bidness is closed, but her co-worker (I assume under her instruction) let's me in and there you go: first meeting. We exchange pleasantries, I crack some jokes, give the premises the once over, and, after she finishes up some work, we head out the door for dinner. Our destination: Gianna's Grille. Dinner is delicious and conversation is pleasant. From there, we're off to South Street for some music shopping. First stop: Repo Records. The purchases: Acid Mothers Temple Magical Power From Mars, Pixies Complete 'B' Sides, and Prefuse 73 Vocal Studies + Uprock Narratives. Next up: Spaceboy Music. Picked up here: Ephel Duath The Painter's Palette and Ruins Hyderomastgroningem. Coming right after that, we go to 4th Street, where I hit Cue Records. The roundup here: RJD2 Your Face Or Your Kneecaps and Mr. Dibbs The 30th Song. We did go to one more place after that, but I found nothing there. (It was Noise Pollution, which is right next door to Cue.) I really wish I had gone to the Relapse Records store. Oh well. Next time.

From there, we're off to her place, where we basically just chill out, watch a little Adult Swim (on tape), and then I'm off since she's got to be at work at ungodly hour o'clock in the morning.

(What? Oh. Ha! Suckers. I know what you were expecting. For your information, she's very happily taken already. Jebus, what's wrong with you?)

Back to the hotel, watch some tv, then I'm out like a light.

Saturday: wake up a little after nine all intent on getting some room service, then, working in a hotel, remember how the smallest dishes eventually wind up ridiculously over priced. So I check out the food listings in the Philadelphia Weekly and Philadelphia City Paper and finally decide on going to the Marathon Grill. Egg sammich? Check. Bowl of fruit? Check. OJ? Check. Then I take a walk, eventually finding my way to where Monica was working on Saturday (diff location), so's I could gauge how long I would have to leave the hotel before meeting her after work. After some more walking about, I go back to the hotel room, where I watch North Carolina redeem themselves by beating UVA. Soon after, it's time to break out to meet up with Monica. We meet up, and our destination is one of the big highlights of the trip: The Mutter Museum.

I'll spare you the horrifying and hilarious details of the museum and will just say that if you're in Philadelphia any time soon that you should really check it out.

From there, it's more walking around the city, including a stop in Nuts To You, mostly because I love the name, and also because Monica hilariously proclaimed they have "really cheap nuts." We also hit a comic book/collectibles store, where Monica picked up a reduced-for-quick-sale Lego Green Goblin, a female Transformer (who didn't Transform) and this Keyop action figure. As for myself, I picked up a Badtz-Maru plush. Solid. We then rolled back to my hotel for some chilling out and also to make plans for the night. We reduce it to two choices: Rock Tits at The Khyber or The Muppet Movie Sing-a-long. Undecided, we come to the conclusion that it's time for more foodstuffs, so we go back to Gianna's. We get the food to go and head to her place just a couple of blocks away. We set into our dinners, threw in more Adult Swim and just relaxed. Unfortunately, Monica started to feel ill (not to mention she was sleepy from having to wake up so damn early), so we bagged plans. I admit I was (only)slightly disappointed that we didn't go back out, but we still enjoyed the evening. First, we popped in MST3K (Mitchell!), then we watched A Mighty Wind. I rolled out of there after that movie ended, got back to the hotel, and crashed again. (Well, after a bit more TV watching, and no, I do not mean hotel porn. Shit, ain't no way I'm about to pay $13 for hotel-edited porno.)

Sunday morning: wake up, clean myself, pack things, call Mr. O to set up departure plans, then call Monica to see if she wants to join me for breakfast before I have to leave. She agrees, and after talking with Mr. O some more, we all wind up going to Li'l Pete's for some delicious eggs benedict. (Mr. O had already polished off some take-out eggs benedict from LP earlier that morning, so he just chilled mit beverage.) Apres breakfast, we walk to Mr. O's car, drop off Monica, and then it's back on the road. Now several hours (filled with sleep and wrestling--go Benoit!--and video games), I'm blogging.

I have to say I had a really great weekend. We both agreed that it was like we'd been hanging out for much longer than we had. And I know those reading may find it dull that there was little city exploration and an odd amount of television, but I gotta say, my only plan was to hang out with Monica and pick up some music. That's a 100% success rate in my book. Illness was an unscheduled bump, but really didn't interfere with fun-making. Plus, I'll be back up there again. It's close enough and cheap enough (especially with my work connections) that a weekend jaunt is very easy to make with little preparation. So I can always do more city exploration in the future.

And there you have it. Konichiwa, bitches.

For my cat friends: Introducing the Napoleon Cat. (Thanks to Monica for this hilarious photo and site.)

What To Do With Your Day Off

If you follow the Vega$ example, you, too, can maximize your enjoyment for future days off. For instance, for the celebration of Dr. Martin Luther King's birthday, I did the following:

First, start with the late awakening at an alarm-assisted 11:45 (about 7 hours after I went to bed). Get my shower on and then I'm pretty much out the door to meet my two fellow holiday observers, CO (who had to work a couple of hours this morning, despite being a fed employee) and JG (fellow bon vivant) at the Capital City Brewing Co., where Mr. G will be having his grad party in a couple of weeks. Had a couple of beers, and while doing so, we decided (well, C and J had been discussing it prior to my arrival) to make today a drinking holiday. But first, to eats. We decided we'd go to the Red River Grill, so we settled up, checked out the room where the grad party festivities will be held, and bundled our badasses out the door. Get to Red River and...fuck! They're closed until 5. So we head across the street to Armand's and make the pizza buffet lunch. Solid. From there, we must plan our next destination. Titty bar? Bugsy's? Hey, why not Lucky Bar? So we get on down to our destination, grab a booth, and proceed to drink and shoot the shit. Plus, this being a soccer bar and all, there was some hot and heavy "football" action, with Newcastle taking on Fulham. (Go Magpies!) After the match ended, the sports void was filled with some more football, this time on some fruity quarter-sized blue field, between Belgium and the Ukraine. We quickly ignored that and shot some pool. And just when you think the sports excitement could not burn any more intense, what do we get next on the Fox Sports World network? That's right: cricket. Please, stop hatin'. It's very unbecoming. Eventually, Mrs. O joined us for the last round and a bite to eat, and we bailed, the Entourage heading for the Virginia suburbs, and I to my tasteless, downtown spiderhole. Now here I am, watching Raw and slowly working the toxins through my body.

That, my friends, is how you celebrate your day off.

Up next: Philadelphia!

Now, some Saturday blogging.

This blog has been quiet for a variety of reasons lately. These are: work (for a few weeks it was totally making me its bitch), health (have been contending with a cold that lack of sleep is only making stronger), and some family issues that occupy the rest of my thoughts (and are not really fodder for this blog, anyway).

Some random bits:

Was talking about this last night at a happy hour. This is a PR move, right? I mean, I'm a giant Dolphins fan, and beyond that, I'm a huge Marino fan, but I have no idea what this will do for the organization, except give it a bit of that "classic" Dolphins feel. Personally, I'm not convinced that football skills, of which natural instinct plays such a large part, translates into success on the sidelines or in the front office. Consequently, coupled with the fact that this is his first substantial role in a non-player capacity, I don't see what this will do. Sure, Marino has that competitive spirit, and he's stayed in touch with the game through various television jobs, but how will that impact breaking down film of college players? How will that help him in picking out the gems in free agency? If he's not going to be making these decisions (and considering the promotion of Rick Spielman, that would seem likely), then what will he be doing? Contract negotiations? Spiriting away the bodies of Wayne Huizenga's dead hookers? One thing that has come up is that this is merely a figurehead position until the Wanny question is finally answered with a resounding thud and then he gets moved to the sidelines. Who says that's a good idea? Again, can instinct be translated to coaching talent? Hasn't anybody noticed how rare it is for a great ex-player, in just about any sport, to be a great coach as well? I don't know, I like Danny a lot, and I hope that his presence will energize the locker room and light a fire under the players, but honestly, I think this will be like Michael Jordan joining the Wizards front office. It will generate some ticket sales, energize the area for a brief moment, he'll make one or two splashy (but questionable moves), and then he'll recede into the bureaucracy. Thankfully, the chances of Marino suiting up again are nil, so it doesn't have to play out entirely like that debacle.

Next weekend, I will be in Philadelphia hanging out with my former Left Coast Stalker and proud vegan friend, MJL. This trip is unrelated to the one the O's will be taking to Philly that same weekend (for readers of Mr. O's blog).

Hey, look at this! (Have one of my fellow blogging friends posted this before?) I think we all need a little bit o' formality and bureaucracy. Needless to say, I'm going to be distributing the sexual congress request forms at every social function I attend in the future.

In gaming news: I have put Manhunt on the backburner and have taken up Sly Cooper and the Thievius Racoonus. Less blood, more cartoons. That's what I need. Another design winner. I love the cel-shading and the level design is top-notch. I could see this becoming a long-running series, as the characters are all winners, too.

That's it. Now go on, go do fun!

Oh wait...one last thing: where the hell is Edie McClurg?

Before I crash for the night, I leave you with this:

"Somewhere in the universe, there is evil, harboring cheese. What if the red planet is just a wax coating covering a delicious monterey jack? Only the supporters of our cosmic cheese initiative will be supplied with crackers."

Thank you and good night.

As I said a few months back, I would probably break my streak of not watching any reality TV for The Surreal Life, and I am. As we speak. And so far, it's hilarious. It might wear on me after a while (mostly because of Rob "Vanilla Ice" Van Winkle), but how can you not love a show that has Ron Jeremy and Erik Estrada?

My name generates only 9 points. See?

Pholph's Scrabble Generator My Scrabble© Score is: 9. What is your score? Get it here.

(link via SR)

One note on tonight's episode of The Simpsons: wasn't Professor Frink's son adorable?

Back to bad television....

In order to be the man, you gotta beat the man. Woooooo!

Well, I'm firmly into the weekend and feeling a lot better than any other time I have this week. Sure, I'm still nursing a bit of a cold, but all in all, I'm much more relaxed and just enjoying the numerous distractions that can be found inside my tasteless hovel.

But before I get into more inane banter, I give you this: Super Chicken! Somehow, this show's existence eluded me until last night, when Mr. O made me aware of the chickeny goodness. Then today, he really outdid himself by sending me a .WAV file of the Super Chicken theme (lyrics can be found at the above link). Hilarious. I have no idea about the quality of the show itself, but the premise slays me.

Also: I think this will be making it into my reading pile soon.

So, back to the banal goodness. If you've ever been a wrestling fan, you'll probably recognize that I started this post off with the classic Ric Flair catch-phrase. That is because I'm currently watching "The Nature Boy" take on "The American Dream" Dusty Rhodes on disc one of The Ultimate Ric Flair Collection, the most recent DVD collection from the WWE (which I picked up in part of a mini-spree today), and probably the most essential one they've released. Even though business is down for the McMahon Empire, they can still generate a ton of revenue because of the huge library that they own. This Ric Flair collection is (to my knowledge) the most extensive one they've released. It's three discs and contains just about every true classic that Ric Flair has been part of, packaged with the promos and storylines leading up to each match. It also has Flair giving his thoughts on the matches and the performers, providing some very intriguing insight. For younger wrestling fans who only know Flair from his more recent work in the WWE (mostly as a non-wrestler), this is a perfect view into why wrestling was able to survive as it evolved from smaller territories into the "sports entertainment" that it is today. And while Hulk Hogan and Hulkamania may have put wrestling into the mainstream spotlinght, Flair is unquestionably wrestling's legend nonpareil. (Well, American wrestling's, anyway.)

You know watching these older matches, it's a shame that the day of the wrestling fatman is over. With a few exceptions (Big Show, Rikishi, and Bubba Ray Dudley...am I missing anyone?), the current wrestling landscape (read: the WWE) is populated with mostly chiseled competitors. Now, I'm not asking for a return of the Uncle Elmer's and King Kong Bundy's of the past, but surely there's another Dusty Rhodes out there. Hell, if Ric Flair was coming around today, I'm not even sure he'd be able to make it, as Flair hasn't ever really been the super-cut Don Muraco or Paul Orndorff type (or for you modern wrestling folk, Triple H or Batista). Of course, that's more of a Vince McMahon trademark than an absolute trend. Personally, I'd rather have the classic booking and psychology of old paired with less than perfect physiques than this on-the-fly nonsense and high-spotting being put on by a bunch of Greek-god wannabes. But...that's a rant for another time.

The only other noteworthy item in today's binge is this. A couple of songs from this album are in True Crime: Streets of LA and quite surprisingly, they hold up well nearly 15 years later.

One last comment: thank you to M, who knit me a scarf last year that is paying off bigass dividends this year. Very effective in this ridiculously cold weather. I finally picked up some gloves, so now I'm actually well-protected against the Arctic conditions. Now spring can take its time if it wants.

So, here I am.

This week has been, without a doubt, one of the most trying I've had as a member of the adult workforce. It had everything but a screaming match. And to top if all off, it was the last day of the girl with one of the BEST...ASSES...EVER. Epic. When Prince sang, "I bet that if you threw that ass into the air it would turn into sunshine," he was no doubt looking at a girl like this. Anyway, my piggish objectification aside (and sorry, I usually keep those things to myself, but DAMN!), it is sad because she's one of the few people who makes that place tolerable any more.

Here's the short version of tonight: came home, agreed to go see Bubba Ho-Tep, found out it was sold out, went to dinner/drinks with JW and the O's. And now I'm thinking of turning off the lights and playing Manhunt, just to give me Kafka dreams.

Nothing more for blog purposes tonight. Full functionality will be returning to this blog any day now.

This blog will be quiet for a bit longer, as, well, let's put it like this: work sucks, work sucks, work fucking sucks.

I still contend this will be my year. This job is just going to make the final tale that more compelling.

Now, go on about your business.

"The Screw of Damnation." Ha!

"You look like a fat man in dire need of an ass-brusin'!"

(The above quotes are from the last Aqua Teen Hunger Force of 2003.)

I'm kinda loopy on Nyquil now, so there's no real reason for this post. Just some late-night cleaning out of the cobwebs before sleep.

Lots of football this weekend, and I slept through/ignored most of it. Without the Dolphins in the playoffs, those games have no meaning to me. And we all know the BCS system is a sham, so why even give them any of my time? I will admit to watching part of the BCS Championship tonight, but only to pull for LSU. F*ck the Sooners, and their bogus #1 ranking.

I am doing battle with a ridiculous cold, that I am beating back with Nyquil. Consequently, I am sleeping like an elderly bear. I have to say, it's a good feeling, as I usually deprive myself of sleep. On the other hand, I haven't done much with my weekend except for go shopping (foodstuffs and medicine) and hit the gym a couple of times.

I've also finished True Crime: Streets of LA and have started Manhunt. True Crime was fun, if a bit repetitive after a while. It also doesn't take very long to play through, and I did all three endings. But, it was fun while it lasted. Don't know how often I'll go back to it, though.

Not too far into Manhunt, so I can't say if this is the off-the-charts gorefest many of the reviews make it out to be. I will say that I don't think it's something I could play for long intervals. There's only so much sneaking around and thug-butchering I can do in one sitting. Though, I must say that from what I've played so far, Rock Star North deserves credit for really trying to put together a unique gameplaying experience. We'll see if it is a complete success, but so far, so good.

...and we're back.

2K4, fool!! What?!

I am in a chipper mood, which is a 180-degree turn from where I was about 5 hours ago. Sheesh. Work. I won't go into much detail (trying to keep the dark side of my mind out of this blog), but it's getting worse. Must find new employer soon. Blech.

Anyway...the celebration of the new year was held at the Double-J ranch this year. I shall sum it up in haiku:

BBQ sammich
Texas hold 'em for paper
Let's deep fry twinkies!

Yes, we finally deep-fried some twinkies. We have been kicking this idea around ever since we first heard about it a while back. Personally, I thought they were tasty, akin to a bear claw. I'd be willing to try them again, but no time soon. We're considering trying some further experimentation, perhaps with string cheese or mini Snickers bars. Big thanks to Mr. and Mrs. O for bringing all the necessary ingredients--and frydaddy!--for our culinary exploration. No doubt Carl dipped some kneepads in the leftover oil and was whizzing about his house the next day chasing the cat. That crazy kid.

On separate occasions, 2004 was declared the year of the Twinkie and the year of the Bar Fight. There was one other declaration, but I cannot remember what it was.

It was, in fact, a very good time. Not once did I feel like I should be out doing something else, which just proves that it's not where ya at, it's who ya wit'. (Oh lord, more cheesiness; I apologize.) Between poker and meat and fried Twinkies and alcohol and South Park (uncensored f-bombs on Comedy Central, yo), it was quite an end to the year. And nobody got blowed up or plowed into by a drunken revelrer in an Escalade. Huzzah! The next day, after waking up 'round 1:30, we (J, J and I) played games until the early evening, then ordered Chinese food and watched Tombstone, a solid movie. "Skin that smokewagon and see what happens." Seeing Billy Bob Thornton being made into a bitch is hilarious. Like Sonicburger getting punk'd.

One last thing: watching Conan (the first of 2004) and he's talking to Ethan Hawke. Seems Mr. Hawke is a hardcore LotR fan. Surprisingly, Conan just mentioned that he's never read the books. I find that surprising. Now I'm in good company.