Well, since Mr. O has started talking about his recent trip, I guess I can't really use fatigue to be lazy about going into this past weekend. Thank you for raising the bar yet again, bastard.

(I keed!)

Actually, there isn't much to say about the weekend. It started for me on Thursday, where I was set for a 12:30pm meeting with JG at the Tenleytown Best Buy (he was working up in that area), at which point we would make a beeline for his spot with a stop for vittles along the way. So I'm inside Best Buy (where I wound up buying Mafia and Splinter Cell), it's about 12:45 when I get the ring-a-ding.

It begins.

"I'm still in this meeting and it's going to be another half hour or so." (That's probably not an exact quote, but that's the long and short of it.)

So I continue to walk around the store, seeing what else I might buy (almost picked up two Slayer CDs, a WWE DVD or two; the one thing I actually wanted--season one of Chappelle's Show--was not in stock). Before I know it, JG is standing next to me. I make my purchases and we depart. We go across the street to where he's parked, load into the car, he pays $4 for ten minutes of parking, and we're off. NCAA tournament, here we come. (Mind you, the first few games are already in progress.)

So we're heading down Wisconsin...traffic ugliness. We turn right on Van Ness to head up to Nebraska (?...lord, I don't know my Tenleytown geography any more) and BANG! The po-po have a stretch of Nebraska outside blocked off. So we make a U and continue up Van Ness, a left onto some street and BAM! Backed up traffic, because there's a light and everybody is waiting to turn left onto Massachusetts. At this point (actually, much earlier--long, useless meeting don'tcha know), JG is steaming. After some more tricky navigation, we finally make it onto Mass and we're home free. We have a generally trouble-free drive from that point. The plan was to find a Popeye's up near where J and J live, but it was not where it was supposed to be. So JG and I decide to make a trip to Giant for some rations and a drive-thru at McDeath's on the way back from Giant. Inside Giant, JG and I embark on what I dubbed the "stoner special." Our haul: beer (2 cases), chips, soda, cookies, ice cream, mini corn dogs, donuts and the most brilliant move of all: a whole chicken.

(BTW, Mr. O, kick Mojo in the nuts for dropping the ball on National Corn Dog Day, a'ight? Fucker.)

So with food in hand, we get our Mickey D's on, and we're heading into the final turn. Humorous (sorta) aside: my cell phone was blowing up that day for some reason. All wrong numbers, of course, and JW, who was wondering where the fuck we were. By the time we get to the spot, two of the games are over (and JG and I had already lost one Sweet 16 team from our brackets with Charlotte losing to the Big Joke in a Red Sweater), we were just in time to watch the closing minutes of the Maryland game.

From this point forward, there's not much to say about the weekend: Chappelle references, basketball, gluttony (we housed just about everything from our haul except for the chicken of all things, plus we ordered Monterey's twice, chinese food once, and JW and I went to IHOP on Saturday afternoon), lechery, beer beer beer, a trip to Bugsy's, "Free Westy!" (All these ducks are killing me inside!), The Swimming Pool, and PS2. Now that's a boys weekend. JG and I are pretty much on the losing end of the tourney pool (he was blasted out with extreme prejudice on Sunday night; I was done the night before), though, I still have my eventual champion alive and kicking. That might be good for third place again.

I came home Sunday night, rested (got more sleep at their place than I would have if I had been home the whole time) and not at all wanting to take on the work week. But so far, it's been very tolerable.

By the way, in case you didn't notice it on the links to your left, there's a new blog for everybody to visit and laugh with: Ruidoso, presented by Mr. GC himself.

Thank you. Now go.

I'm back. My mini-"vacation" at the Double-J Ranch was a great time (as expected). Will blog more about this when/if I feel like it. Right now, just going to catch up on a few things and then call it a night.

Also, since my brackets are pretty much shot, I will now cheer for Xavier for the rest of the tournament. Go Musketeers!

Like my friend Carl O., I, too, will be away from the blog for a few days, as I'm heading for a luxurious stay at the Double J Ranch, where much beer (and Monterey's, hopefully) will be consumed and an assload (Asl; Buttload, or Btl in metric) of basketball will be viewed. I'd make public my picks for the Final Four, but I could do without the ridicule, thankyouver'much.

Of course, my absence means considerably less since I don't update as regularly as Mr. O, nor do I update with news of much "consequence."

Now then, go on about your "bidness."

Just heard on Sportscenter (re: Bobby Knight): "...the general tosses salad everywhere." I knew it! Ha!

Now wait just a goddamn minute...they cut out Eudora Welty's belch. THEY CUT OUT EUDORA WELTY'S BELCH! Did her estate sue, or is this just outright insanity? Someone help me out, please.

Fuck.

This weekend (so far) in patented Carl O. bullet point form:

Friday: apres work, met up with JG and AE for some hot ACC Tournament action at the ESPN Zone. This was my first visit, and I have to say, I wasn't terribly impressed. Bailey's is a better venue, in my opinion. (Especially for its "JG Sports Bar" status.) Didn't do anything after that.

Saturday: early part of the day was spent shopping (first for presents for my sister's birthday, then for myself), while the evening was spent in the company of JG and JW watching the Comedy Central Chappelle's Show Marathon. (What?! Okay!) In between was some more hot ACC Tournament action (fuck Duke).

Sunday: Birthday lunch for sister with sisters, parents, nephew and niece. Also, was able to watch the first half of the Patriot League championship game, where my alma mater was competing for the third year in a row. Once again, they lose a close game and fail to get that automatic entry into the NCAA tournament (again, fuck Duke). Soon, lord let's hope they make it soon. In about 30 minutes, I'll be watching Wrestlemania XX. And while we're on that subject, let me give you the rundown on the card and my predictions.

Christian vs. Chris Jericho (Raw): This should be a solid match as far as the workrate. They certainly did an excellent job building to the match the last few months. Jericho usually steps it up big, and this is probably Christian's biggest non-tag team match at any Wrestlemania. My guess here is that they put Christian over, but not before he gets a solid beating from Jericho. Pick: Christian

Torrie Wilson/Sable vs. Stacey Keibler/Miss Jackie ("Inter-promotional"): Total T&A trainwreck. I wish they wouldn't waste PPV time on matches like this. Only good thing that can be said is that there might be a nip-slip. Otherwise, utterly worthless. Pick: who cares?

WWE Cruiserweight Open (Smackdown) featuring Chavo Guerrero (Champion) vs. Kidman vs. Rey Mysterio vs. Tajiri vs. Ultimo Dragon vs. Akio vs. Funaki vs. Nunzio vs. Jamie Noble vs. Shannon Moore: This should be an entertaining spotfest. No psychology at all. I'm not even sure how the rules are for this match. I'm assuming it's going to be gauntlet style (first two square off, then the winner faces the next entrant, and so on). It could be a battle royal. There have been rumors that Dean Malenko could be a surprise entrant. I'm hoping that due to the fact that they're calling it an open that there are at least one or two surprises (Hurricane? Spike Dudley? Nova?). I'd like to see Chavo retain and enter a feud with Paul London, who really needs a push, because he's probably the second best cruiser behind Rey Mysterio right now. (And Mysterio, who is ridiculously over, is being rumored to be getting a push against heavyweights soon.) Pick: Chavo Guerrero.

WWE Tag Team Championship featuring Rikishi/Scotty (champs) vs. APA vs. Haas/Benjamin vs. The Basham Brothers (Smackdown): The Bashams just had a long run come to an end, so I don't see them picking up the win. Rikishi and Scotty are ridiculous. Rikishi should be cut and Scotty should have his character made over and entered in the cruiserweight division. Haas and Benjamin are the best wrestlers of all 4 teams and would put on the best matches, but don't have much personality at this point to be a top drawing tag team. That leaves the APA, but that's been done many times before. A toss up, but I'm going with the self-proclaimed "World's Greatest Tag Team." Pick: Haas/Benjamin

World Tag Team Championship featuring RVD/Booker T (champs) vs. Jindrak/Cade vs. the Dudleys vs. La Resistance (Raw): You have two guys (RVD/Booker) who were thrown together because they were being wasted otherwise (they should really be in the World Title mix), a team whose gimmick (and title reigns) have become stale (the Dudleys), and two very green, but promising, teams. It's a far cry from the Hardys vs. Dudleys vs. Edge/Christian days of a few years ago, when the tag division seemed exciting. Total tossup, so I'll go with Jindrak/Cade, as they're expected to get a big push in '04. Pick: Jindrak/Cade.

WWE Women's Title featuring Victoria (Champ) vs. Molly Holly (Raw): If only the entire women's division were as good as these two. Though they'll only get 10 minutes tops, it should be entertaining. I just hope that they don't get too excited (considering the event) and blow a bunch of spots. They deserve to shine. The stipulation that Molly has to shave her head if she loses pretty much means she'll win. Because a woman with an ass as fine as her's should not be bald, ya heard?! Pick: Molly Holly.

The Undertaker vs. Kane ("Inter-promotional"): Another match that has been getting solid build up for the last month or so. The big draw to this, of course, is the return of the Dead Man gimmick for 'Taker, after a few years as "The American Badass" biker gimmick. The vignettes of him spooking Kane have been excellently done. I'll totally mark out for his return. As for the match, it should be a lot of Undertaker no selling, then destroying his "brother." Pick: Taker.

Rock and Sock Connection (The Rock/Mick Foley) vs. Evolution (Randy Orton/Batista/Ric Flair): Yet another match that has had an excellent story building to Wrestlemania. Three legends plus two guys who are being touted as the future of the company (part of the future, anyway). The obvious choice would be to have Evolution go over, since Orton and Batista need the rub. Not to mention that neither Foley or the Rock are part of the long range plans for WWE. The wildcard is Flair. If The Rock and Foley win, they could use Flair as the guy who gets beat. That way, Orton and Batista lose nothing in terms of stature, and it would fit perfectly in a future Randy Orton turn. (Flair would be the ultimate legend for the "Legend Killer" to face.) Still, I have a hunch it won't work out that way. Pick: Evolution.

US Title Match featuring The Big Show (Champ) vs. John Cena (Smackdown): Cena is certainly headed for main event status, and it will be sooner than later. An impressive (not to mention clean) victory over Big Show will help that move into the top spots. As far as quality, I don't see this being up there. Cena is good, but he isn't great, and certainly not talented enough to carry The Big Show (improving though he may be). In any case, Cena should get the duke here. Pick: John Cena.

Goldberg vs. Brock Lesnar with Stone Cold Steve Austin as enforcer ("Inter-promotional"): This could have been an epic, but now, with Lesnar announcing he is quitting after Wrestlemania, and Goldberg having made that same announcement months prior, who knows how this will end up. Before Lesnar's announcement, he was the obvious choice to win. Now...who knows? I'd like to see these guys tear it up (Lesnar is good enough to carry Goldberg, that's for sure), but with one foot already out of the door, it could be less than spectacular. Pick: will probably be a lame no-contest or double DQ finish.

WWE Title Match featuring Eddie Guerrero (Champ) vs. Kurt Angle (Smackdown): Many--myself included--believe this will be the match of the night. Two of the finest wrestlers in the world today squaring off in the sub-main event of the biggest PPV of the year. They always leave it all out there, and I don't expect this to be any different. I expect a lot of psychology, a lot of clean, mat-based wrestling, with perfectly placed high spots. I hope this match gets at least 30-40 minutes. Pick: Eddie Guerrero.

World Title Match featuring Triple H (Champ) vs. Chris Benoit vs. Shawn Michaels (Raw): The second best match of the night, most likely. All three of these guys can put on a great show and this should be no exception. Before they made this a Triple Threat match, I would have picked Benoit to win. Now, my guess is Triple H will pin Shawn Michaels, leaving Benoit to take the title next month at the PPV in his hometown of Edmonton. Pick: Triple H.

And there you have it.

Oh, and one last thing. My niece (who is only 2) was singing "Get Low" by Lil Jon the other day according to my mom and my sister. Thankfully, my mom doesn't know what "skeet skeet" means. All she knows is that her grand-daughter is singing a song off the radio. Ha! My sister (the mother of my niece) just laughs it off. Hilarious. Wish I could have heard that myself.

A Thought

This popped into my head on the way home from the gym. And I must preface these remarks by saying I don't know enough to verify or refute this analogy, but does anybody else think the Sedaris/Vowell/Pollack/Eggers school is to literature what the Dave Matthews Band is to music? (I'm sure the more obvious comparison would be Belle and Sebastian, but I'll stick with my original thought.)

No, there was no substance to that. Just something that popped into my head quite randomly. Cheers, monkeys.

Another game: Campfire. JW sent me this link, where you play as one of four serial killers and terrorize a campground. From your good friends at Daydream Software. (Crazy Swedes!) There's a little commentary percolating here (re: the increasing number of games which allow you to play on the "other" side of the morality line and how this game might be going a little too far), but I haven't the time to write it out now. Until then, enjoy the link.

I grabbed this article from Scrubbles. I post this only because I wondered quite the same thing when the issue of gay marriage started hitting media saturation recently. It's parallel to the kind of sentiments I've heard before when women want to enter a traditionally men-only area/institution/whatever: "Sure, we support your right to , but honestly, why would you want to?" I know, I know, it's all about access; not whether they should, but if they can. But still...despite my own inclinations toward marriage, I see my mother and father (and stepfather) all having two failed marriages under my belt, my sister on her way to her first (and hopefully last), and I think, why bother? Then I see how happy all of my married friends are, and how strong their marriages appear to be, and I reconsider. Then Little Lord Thistlewick Vegas speaks up and says, "just bring me the women, I don't care how long you decide to keep them around."

As you can see, I have no way to finish this bit up. So I end it with this awkward sentence.

Yep.

Continuing off the previous post re: the new Grand Theft Auto game, here is a short list of games that are either newly released or future releases that figure into my purchasing plans:

The Suffering: This looks like a solid new entry into the rather thin horror genre. The storyline doesn't seem like it lends itself to a sequel (at least, not a storyline sequel), but that's not necessarily a bad thing. The question is, will it live up to the standards of the genre established by past titles like Resident Evil (at least the first few titles) or Silent Hill?

Mafia: Grand Theft Auto transported to the 1930s? That's one (apparently, off-the-mark) interpretation. Despite the technical problems (it seems all reviewers, when discussing a port to the PS2, has to bitch about the loss of visual beauty and some relatively clunky mechanics) mentioned in this review, the gameplay still sounds satisfying.

God Of War: Sweet. Any game where the preview invokes Clash of the Titans and Heavy Metal (and this is the second preview I've read that does) has got to be quality. Or else, game review land is fileld with a bunch of unimaginative semi-plagiarists. Either way, this looks solid.

Hot Shots Golf Fore!: Looks like it will be even better than HSG3, which means I will be playing the shit out of this game.

Syphon Filter: Omega Strain: I love this series (even though I never got around to the picking up the third one). This is the first one for the PS2 and it looks like it will be as good as the previous installments. And to think, the first game got dismissed by some as a Metal Gear Solid ripoff. Ha!

Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas Announced Hell yes. Mark your calendars, kiddies. Some questions: Will this be set in the present, or will they go back in time again? (70s style would be the next logical step.) Which music groups/artists will be featured on the soundtrack? For what kind of station will Lazlow be working? And what celebrities will be lining up to voice characters in this game?

Website, eh? Subtly Simpsons (Found over at Scrubbles)

Godzilla: dead? I love the headline on this article. ("Japan safe at last; Toho to kill Godzilla.") This link swiped from Jinjur.

In other news, I'm one step closer to being in Salt Lake City next month. All that's left is to book the flight. I know, that's about the most unglamorous announcement ever. But, the trip is to see a couple of my best friends who will be moving there at the end of the month. So fuck you. SLC, baby! The one thing is, I booked these dates on the same weekend of my nephew's birthday party (though, I will not be missing the actual birthday itself, which is that Monday). I told my sister this a couple of weeks ago, and she was not upset. I'll be seeing all of them so much in the next month (I have four birthdays coming up; both sisters, my mother, and my nephew), they'll probably be sick of me by then, anyway. Still, I feel kind of weird knowing I'm not going to be there. I'll just pop-in on his birthday proper and surprise him. Damn, I love that boy.

What else? I dunno. It's almost tourney time. A personal aside: Mr. O, what's up with National Corndog Day, fool? What's Mojo's story?

That should do it for now. And oh Lord, JG and I absolutely wore out our bad Lil Jon impressions on the phone tonight. Curse that Dave Chappelle; his comedy tractor beam is too powerful. If we resist, our hilarious hulls will splinter, revealing our unfunny interiors. (Where did that metaphor come from?)

You know, I really want to comment/rant about the housecleaning the Washington Capitals are currently undergoing. Then I remember, I don't know jack shit about hockey, nor do I particularly care. Everything I know about the NHL I learned from the Sega Genesis circa 1992. Go Ulf Samuelsson!

Lord help me, I'm actually watching the Academy Awards. A summary to this point (it's just about 10:00pm):

-I want to slap Billy Crystal.
-LOTR: RotK so far is batting a thousand. How...dull.*
-I couldn't tell you what any of the acceptance speeches are like, because I've been switching to The Fugitive when the winners start to talk. Who cares?
-I really want to slap Billy Crystal.
-Why is Peter Jackson dressed like a flood victim? Isn't he rolling in cash now? Jesus, man. Armani, motherfucker! You're giving fat guys a bad name in that outfit!
-Hey, tribute to Blake Edwards. I can get behind that.

And the most revelatory thing from tonight's show: Liv Tyler has confirmed my glasses fetish, without question. (Speaking of Liv, is she "exceptional" or what? I was waiting for her to start drooling on herself.)

*You know, I have nothing against Tolkien or LotR, but seeing a movie sweep the Oscars really removes the drama from the evening, especially when I have this deep down feeling that the movie isn't worthy of all of its accolades. (Full-disclosure: I haven't seen the movie, or any of the trilogy, yet. I don't see many movies, period. I think I saw four last year, maybe five. I do intend to see the Trilogy, probably buying the deluxe trilogy DVD set when it is eventually released. But I have to say, the movie has the "taint." That is, its rabid supporters have nearly removed any desire to see this movie. If I have to suffer one more "Omigod, you haven't seen it? You're kidding me!" I just might smack the shit out of someone, possibly Jackson. He deserves a boot to the ass for the way he's dressed tonight, anyway. He looks like a less flamboyant Bruce Vilanch.)

Please help. It's a noble cause. (NOTE: Not safe for work. And act now; you know how fast these auctions disappear.)

Your monkey technique is impressive, but can you defeat my Rummy Style?

Today's (that would be the 21st) Get Fuzzy is hilarious based on one simple phrase that is now going to be part of my vocabulary: Chubby Sanctioned. Oh, the myriad uses!

In other news, JG and I went to see the American University men's basketball team beat arch-nemesis Holy Cross tonight. It was a solid, low-scoring affair. The truly noteworthy items from the evening:

-"You wear purple!" Worst chant ever, delivered by the Delta Gamma sorority, who didn't know well enough to let it die when nobody else would join in.

-"The Weinstein Cowboy" Some guy who made Woody Allen look like Charles Bronson wearing a cowboy hat. This is an offense similar to Homer wearing the rasta hat (in Homerpalooza). Only certain (read: manly and rugged) guys should be allowed to wear cowboy hats. Not some future tax attorney. Fuckin' cretin.

-"You're all devaluing my degree!" Goddamn, speaking of cretins, the place was fat-packed with them. Of course, I have no use for my degree (now, and probably in the future) and I didn't really invest much (well, from an academic standpoint, anyway), so it's not actually devaluing *my* degree. But I feel bad for my peoples here. Luckily, they got their MA on, so it's not much of a loss to them, anyway.

-Despite that indictment of the student body as a whole, the women there were off the chart. Ridiculous. Gott in himmel!

-"We were invited! Punch was served! Ask Poland!"

-JG, as I type this, is probably STILL on his way home, because sections of both the Red line and Blue/Yellow lines going in his direction were operating on one-track. Poor bastard. At least he has his leftover burger to keep him from resorting to cannibalism, should the train get stuck.

That's the evening. Other items from today include finding out that my trip (to see good friends) to Austin, TX in April will now be a trip to Salt Lake City. In the year of the monkey, Damian Vegas gets banned from a state for the first time. Damn. Plus, I'm watching Short Circuit on HBO right now. "No disassemble Johnny-5!"

Yet another celebrity blacker than Wayne Brady. The story behind this picture can be found here. (Via Scrubbles)

"Huh? What is this crap?"
"Fox Corporation: down 10."

It's very scary when Fox is able to make itself look more ridiculous than The Simpsons ever could. Of course, I'm talking about new reality TV show, The Littlest Groom. (On principle, I cannot link to the show. However, in this case, the principle is laziness.)

I just watched the opening to the first episode and I had to change it. This is basically The Bachelor for little people, but with a "shocking" twist. After a certain number of eliminations, they add three more women who are NOT little. Uh oh! What will The Littlest Groom do? Will he "sell-out" and pick one of the taller women, or will he represent for little people the world over and not turn his back on the little women?

Allegedly, this is compelling television. I just don't understand how this made it on the air. And I don't say that because I don't believe little people should have a show of their own. Generally speaking, I don't understand how any of the reality TV shows make it on the air. But honestly, was there a strong push from the little people community to have their own show? Somehow, I doubt it. I could be mistaken, but given Fox's track record, my guess is the conversation went something like this:

Exec #1: You know, the window is closing on this whole reality TV fad. We need to get out some product before it becomes passe. But what angle? Who do we feature?

Exec #2: How about fat people?

Exec #1: We already have My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiance in development.

Exec #3: You know, we could always exploit more black people.

Exec #2: UPN has that market sewn up.

Exec #1: Wait a minute....it just occurred to me. What are the two Ms of comedy?

Exec #2: Monkeys and...

Exec #3: Midgets! Of course!

Exec #1: How about we do a midget version of Fear Factor? Have the midgets do gross things? We could pull the Jackass audience with that combination.

Exec #2: That's TOO exploitative, even for us. What about something romantic? That should be sufficiently creepy to some, while tugging at the heartstrings of the rest.

Exec #1: Well then, how about The Bachelor for Little People?

Exec #3: Midgets...or else, the "Two Ms of Comedy" makes no sense.

Exec #1: Fine...The Bachelor for Midgets...what do you think of that?

Exec #2: I think we have ourselves another hit!

(In unison): We did it!

You know, I hate to say this, but I really wish The Simpsons would end their run and that the NFL would go back to NBC, because I feel like giving up on Fox completely.

Filipinos are world record kissers. C'mon ladies, don't miss out. I may only be 50%, but that's still better than 0%, right? (Thanks to Liz for the link.)

I liked it despite the absence of Flubber. Glayven?

So tonight, I turn to CBS (big mistake) and the Grammy's are on. I come in at the beginning of the big funk extravaganza, which I thoroughly enjoyed, even if George Clinton has seen better days. I think to myself, okay, I can check this out during commercials.

A few commercials later, I go back to the Grammy's...

It's Snoop and Jason Alexander.

*click*

I couldn't even watch that for the morbid curiosity factor.

Then, a commercial or two later, I go back. To paraphrase Marge Simpson going into Uncle Moe's: "Chick Corea with the Foo Fighters? Whatever."

I have now sworn not to go back to the show. I should have known better.

Since Mr. O. has recommended people check out this blog for details of last night's excursion, I guess I should probably post them. So, here she be:

The place: Cap City. The occasion: JG's grad party. But first, let me back up just a bit.

The night before (that would be Friday), I went over to JG/JW's spot, where we had to entertain ourselves for a while because JW's receiver is on the fritz. (Therefore, no DVD or PS2.) In town for the Saturday Night Main Event were DD (with A) and CE. Eventually, the receiver came back to life and stayed on long enough for us to watch Run Ronnie Run!, which was hilarious. ("I didn't even get my suck-off!") After the movie, I bailed back to my place and called it a night.

Now then, back to Saturday night. There was a really good/diverse crowd there: JG's friends from back home, his co-workers, the AU crowd (of which I am one), a couple of JW's friends from school, and a few other people. There was a great open bar, lively conversation all over the place, and Mr. O was at the top of his game. He had all of the best lines (though, I think I scored a decent one by describing one of the attendees as a combination of "Yeardley Smith and Tawny Kitaen," but you really had to be there) of the night. Anyway, as he said, because of some combinations of people, it was a real powderkeg in there. Luckily, no arrests were made (or even necessary), and the party went on without a hitch

The plan was for a group of us (basically, whoever wanted to go) to go to Bugsy's in Old Town after the party. Unfortunately, we didn't leave as one big group, but rather, in a few small groups. And that, my friends, is where my harrowing tale begins.

My group consisted of DD, A, and CE (DD and CE are childhood friends of JG/JW, and A is DD's fiancee). We were all kinda lit, though, CE and I were more in control of our senses. DD was pretty gone, and A...well, God bless her, she was just blasted. Now, keeping her steady wasn't a big problem (she was holding onto me...can I just say that DD is one helluva trusting man?) and getting from point A (Cap City) to point B (the Metro), wasn't much of a task. A bit of a slow trek, as A kept on yammering on about how she never usually gets this banged up, and how she works with adolescents (I suppose this is to add credibility to her statements). She keeps telling me how cool I am, and calls me Jack from time to time (after hearing the story of last week's Black Cat adventure), and unzips my coat, etc. Occasionally, she'll notice other people around her and calls out to them; thankfully, none of us got our asses kicked. Eventually, we're on the platform, but we're too far up, and none of us notice the train pull up well short of where we're sitting. I run for it, but the conductor refuses to reopen the doors. The others finally straggle up behind me, and we decide to stand there so we don't miss the next train. I suggest that CE, DD and I form a barrier around A, so she doesn't wind up on the tracks. Mission accomplished. We catch the train, transfer to another train two stops later (this included a trip down the escalator to the lower platform; thankfully, nobody took a header). We get on this train, and it's a good 15 minute ride or so to our destination. CE and DD are sitting in one seat, A and I are sitting behind them. The conversation, btw, really hasn't changed since we left Cap City, as A is talking about (read: repeating) the same stuff. Eventually, about a stop away from our destination, the conversation turns to A's engagement ring. It's a nice ring, bigass rock on it. Good for her. We get to Old Town, get off the train, and start our trek toward Bugsy's. DD is a bit more sobered up, so he's now in charge of his fiancee. So I'm a bit up ahead (since I know how to get to the place), walking with CE, while DD and A are a bit behind us. All of the sudden, "no! no! no!" (Or something to that effect.) I turn around to see what's going on...

DD: The ring is gone!
Me: Which ring?
DD: *silent*
Me: Her engagement ring?

So A and DD start to freak out, I'm not even sure what CE's reaction is at this point. I tell them all to stay put and I'll trace our steps back and see if I can find it on the ground. I make it all the way back to the station, and I'm looking in there, when the rest of them show up, having followed me back. I ask the station manager if it's okay if I go up and look on the platform. He says go ahead. I go up, look about: nothing. I go back down and start to talk to the station manager again about what can be done re: lost and found. Meanwhile, DD and A had gone up to the platform themselves. I go up (with the manager) to retrieve them. A is kinda losing it at this point, saying over and over that she's not leaving and she just wants to go home. With mine and DD's urging, we eventually get her downstairs. I pull out my cell phone, thinking about who I could call at the bar to debrief on this situation. Lo and behold, there's a message. It's Mr. O. I call him back and get his voice mail, just stating that we're at King Street, there's been a bit of a situation, and that we'll be there soon. Meanwhile, the station manager calls ahead to the end of the line, where the train has just arrived. They'll search the train and then call back. I ask CE to stay with the manager to wait for the call, while I go to trace our steps out of the station again. A little ways out and BAM! There it is. I pick it up and run back to the station yelling "I found it!" DD gives me a hug, A seems to be close to tears, and CE is just being as patient as can be. I thank the station manager for his help and patience. The guy was very cool and understanding about the whole thing. I put the ring on my keychain (I'm pretty much sober at this point) and we restart our hike down the street. I get the ringy-ring from Mr. O and I tell him to let JW or JG know that one of them may have to leave to go back to the spot to let DD and A in. By now, the wind is picking up a bit and I decide that we're just going to cab it. So we grab a cab and proceed to pay $10 (that's with tip) for a ride down the street. It was a total ripoff, but I wasn't going to argue at this point. I just wanted to get back with the rest of the group, where I could have a beer and a seat. By the way, the whole cab ride, A is still repeating things. But this time, it's "you found it? where did you find it? are you sure you have it? I owe you my life!" I'm being very patient about the whole thing, as I'm more relieved than anything else that the ring has been found and the whole mini-nightmare is over.

We get inside, order some drinks, and the rest of the night is very low-key. The only other highlights are "the line" ("Wow. You just got a lot uglier.") and JG trying to get a girl (the person at whom the previous line was directed; and for the record, she's not ugly, IMO) to flash me. After last call, we slip out, but before we do, I give the ring to DD to hold, as he is now sober enough. We start to hoof it up King Street in the cold. JG, CE, DD, A and "the ugly girl" eventually part from Mr. O and me, as we're going to the Metro, where I will catch a train and Mr. O will get a cab. I catch a train as soon as I get up on the platform and ride without incident, waking up two stops before my destination. I was able to make the trek through the cold without public urination, even passing a thicky-thick hooker with a skirt that wasn't even attempting to cover her ass (which is pretty much standard in these parts) on the way. That would be the final image of the night. Apropos of nothing, of course, but I thought it was worth mentioning. Why? Because the big ass is where it's at.

Good night, Springton! There will be no encores!

Please Hammer, Don't Hurt 'Em



This was found here, via Rock Critics Daily.

This should definitely be the halftime show at the Super Bowl next year. (Link found in this thread over at Bagatellen.)

Has anybody seen the Quizno's commercial featuring the Spongemonkeys? I heard the commercial before actually seeing it, so I was caught off guard. I chuckled, of course, but was still a bit shocked to see it. I guess after the internet-TV crossover of the Dancing Baby, all bets are off with this sort of thing.

The 100 Most Annoying Things of 2003. Yeah, most are obvious (and some are just kinda lame), but some of those capsules are hilarious. (Number 50, for example.)

And everybody in the fucking world is commenting on the halftime show of last night's FOOTBALL GAME, so I'm not going to really say much. Except this: IT WAS A TITTY! A GODDAMN TITTY! FUCK! Isn't it bad enough that the philistines are running things, do we now have to listen Tom "Giving Fat Guys a Bad Rap" Shales yammer on about the impact this exposed breast will have on the future of television? Fuck you, Tom Shales. And fuck me for commenting about this for more than two sentences. Dammit!

What's more annoying is that in a lot of ways, it's overshadowing a phenomenal football game. I mean, that was a 15-round classic, so good that it felt scripted. To use a bit of wrestling parlance: that was one excellently booked game. You had a bit of a feeling out process at the beginning, then a quick flurry of offense that got the crowd into it, then some hard hitting back and forth action in the third quarter, that led to a number of near-falls (lead changes), which really grabbed the crowd, coming down to the end where the favorite ekes out the win. And yet...it wasn't scripted at all. Amazing. It would be nearly impossible to write this game any better. And because of some slightly incestuous titty grab at halftime, only the sporting world is talking about it. This is a game that deserves better than that. Even as a hardcore Dolphin fan, I cannot deny the performance that New England put on, or the unfathomable way Justin Wilson was able to lead the Panthers back to the brink of victory. ("Aieeeeee!")

And congratulations to Adam Vinatieri, who will never be confused with Scott Norwood. John Kasay on the other hand...

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.

Can we wrap this up?

The year is about to end. I've now completed 29 of these things, and so far, no two have been alike. Ups? Sure. Downs? You bet. But taken as a year, 2003 was another triumph. Will '04 be the year the entire world begins to know the joy of the Damian Vega$ Experience? Probably not, and that's good. Like the frivolous elitist I am, DVX should only be enjoyed by a special few. But then again, maybe I just don't think the global community should be subjected to my unique brand of delusional shenanigans. (Then why do I blog? Fuck!)

Anyway, the preceding was supposed to be an introduction (of sorts) but we see how that turned out. So let's just go to the big finish, shall we? Now, in no particular order...no wait...in alphabetical order (ha!), I would like to thank the following people for doing their part to keep me from turning serial killer this year:

Alice, Big Steve, Boo, Chuckie, "Darth Nader," De-De, Earl, Fat Sam, "Jheri Lewis," Killa Shirl, Noodles, Ray Ray, Yolanda, and Zen Dover...

Okay, none of those people exist. You know, I thought about seriously name-checking a bunch of special people (the regular kind of special; not "exceptional"), but fuck, most of them don't know this blog exists, and the others should already know how I feel. So instead, I go with ridiculous ghetto shout-outs.

Seriously, though, 2003 was a great fucking year. 365 days without one regret; I'd say that counts as great, or at the very least, not bad. No, to hell with wishy-washy declarations. It was great. From an epic President's Day snowstorm weekend, to a fun 4th of July, to "doing the Rose" in Charm City, all the way to the J. Gardner Beef Explosion (Beef Explosion!), 2003 was a fun ride. Anybody who measures the quality of a year by the growth of their bank account or the amount of donuts punched is missing the point. (Though, those are good things, too.) Memories, friendship, family, and intellectual growth (none of it on display here, of course): that's what it's all about. Forgive the cheesy, obsequious ending, but it's heartfelt, knaamean? If you really need to offset it with something suitably absurd--keeping with this blog's theme and my general raison d'etre--re-read the whole thing in Phil Anselmo's voice. And if you don't know who that is, well, I guess you'll just have to deal with it.

So long, 2003. Welcome, 2004.

Peace and hair grease,
Damian Vega$

The Scout Walker Kama Sutra: Um, I really don't know what more to say. Sadly, I think this is how Star Wars nerds probably practiced as children. "That's not how ya vwing!"

Christmas has come and gone, I have gone and come back (to my mom's place), and now I'm watching Teen Wolf for some reason. Had a great time with the family, and I miss them already. The kids were less terrorizing and everybody pretty much got along. Lack of dysfunction is a good thing, especially during the holidays.

A snippet of conversation (with my nephew):

Me: I don't kiss boys. Only girls.
Aaron: Ewwwww. That's disgusting.
Me: No it's not.
Aaron: 'Eyinda tried to kiss me.
Me: Who?
Aaron: Your friend.
Me: Ohhhh. Yeah, she did.
Aaron: She was crazy.

Then this:

Aaron: My winky is out.
Me: Boy, put that back!
Aaron: I can't. My shorts are too small.

That killed me. Best line of the whole trip. He always manages one hilarious one-liner whenever I go see him.

In addition to the gifts mentioned earlier (from J, J, C and C), I scored the following this year:

Two DVDs (Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown and The Muppets Take Manhattan)
Clothes (a sweater, a couple of shirts, a tie, and a couple of pairs of pants)
A couple of video games (True Crime: Streets of L.A. and Manhunt)
And the crown jewel: Chrome, Smoke & BBQ: The ZZ Top Box Set

Now, some random silliness:

Mash up madness! Download "Christmas on the Block (Xmas Cash-In)" for a holiday-flavored taste of the goodness. But act soon, these things get rotated out. (via Phancy)

How to Talk to a Woman Some common sense (read: duh) stuff laced with enough humor to make it worth blogging.

To co-opt a Randal quote (from Clerks): blogging would be great if it weren't for the fucking people.

Well, Teen Wolf is wrapping up, and I should, too. I can't believe I sat through over half of that piece of dung-covered "cinema." Still, it's better than seeing it in the theater. (I saw this and the Jason Bateman vehicle/sequel in the theater. And yet, I haven't seen Godfather II at all. Hmmmm...)

So, Christmas is nearly here, which means I'm heading home, which for the first time is in Annapolis.

You know, I was reading something about holiday decorations, specifically what people put on their front lawn, and I was reminded of light exploring last year (just over a year to the day, actually), as well as how I really haven't seen much this year. Anyway, last year's expedition was only the second time (the first time during my freshman year of college; we rode around Georgetown) I'd actually gone out to specifically look at the way people decorated their homes. We rode around the Montgomery County area (near College Park) and checked out some of the ritzier homes. You know, it is often assumed that people of means are also people of taste. This ride shot down that myth but good. Tack-ay. Like Vegas, but crappy. Such tragic eyesores, some of those houses. Of course, the kings of all eyesores are on the Eastern Shore, near where my mother used to live. Two houses, across the street from each other, completely done up like a bunch of blind ravers hurling glowsticks into a pool of God's neon vomit. But, from what I've heard, they get donations from locals, which is given to charity. So, good with the bad.

Anyway, this will probably be the last post until the end of the week when I come back. Have yerselves a wonderful holiday, and I'll be back to regale you with tales of my banal (yet hilarious) existence. Be safe.

Peace.

Get your game on! (Man, some of these really take me back.)

What kind of pussy gets beaten up by Jack White? (Warning: graphic photos. Via Fimoculous.)

And now, your weekend update.

Friday, I did...what did I do on Friday? Jebus. I got off work early, as is the tradition when we have our holiday party. Came home, chilled out, went to the gym, did a little more Christmas shopping, did my laundry and not much else.

Saturday, hoo boy. Saturday was epic. Got up and finished my Christmas shopping (at Pentagram City, which is where most of my shopping has been done this year). Then I came home and cleaned up (read: put away the clothes, vacuum, and get it looking reasonably decent) before heading back out again for Jamie's birthday celebration. This year, we (Carl, Jarod and I; Caren was illin') took Jamie to Shula's for some hardcore beef eating. Between the four of us, we threw down on 120 oz. of beef. Now that's tasty! Post-Shula's, we went back to my place, so that leftovers could be dropped off and calls could be made. (Leftovers were necessary, as Jamie wanted to go out after, and as we found out last year when we left my birthday celebration at Shula's: if we want to be able to consume some more, we cannot finish everything.) After some maxin' and relaxin', we bail out into the cold for the brief walk to the Black Cat, our usual venue for all of our drinking needs. We got there, and after a brief stint at a table, we bellied up to the bar and made ourselves at home. Ahhhhh... After about an hour or so, we were joined by the always lovely JB. We basically drank until the bar closed (though, as has been my practice since the Baltimore incident--which I just discovered I never blogged about; how can that be?--I really nursed those drinks). I bailed out of there, got a couple o' donuts at 7-11, got home, and chilled for an hour or so before calling it a night.

Today, I went over to Jamie/Jarod's to watch football. The Carl and Caren also joined, as we were doing our gift exchange today. I got a bunch of really cool gifts.

From Jarod

From Jamie: 1 2 (In the second, I didn't get the whole set, just Meatwad. Carl got Frylock and Jamie kept Master Shake.)

From Carl and Caren.

Damn my friends rock.

Now I'm home, watching football (Go Colts! Help the Dolphins get to the post-season!), and blogging.

Also, today was...nah. I'll keep that in check.

Happy holidays!

For those interested, I posted my Top 25 Albums of 2003 over at my music blog.

Dame Judi + meringue = fun? You know, she's not a bad looking bird. I bet you take 25 years off that, and it ain't half-bad.

Or else, it's really late. Jebus.

(link via Daze Reader)

FOLLOWUP: I guess I was too quick to read that article, because Daze Reader also has links to some pics of the Naked Dame. Remember people, DR is an adult site. Be careful. As for the pictures themselves: actually not too bad. Won't be replacing my Thora Birch fantasies any time soon, but good on her. She has nothing to be ashamed of.

The Illustrated Complete Summary of Thomas Pynchon's "Gravity's Rainbow" This one is for Carl. Ha! (via Traveler's Diagram)

Watching a Conan rerun. The guests: Charlie Sheen (he cool), Scarlett Johansson (she hot), and My Morning Jacket (they suck).

Ms. Johansson has a strangely deep voice for a mere 18 year old, which leads me to believe that she's been chain smoking since she was probably four. (For perspective, Drew Barrymore had her first nic fit when she was 30 months.) And it's not quite at that deep, full-bodied sexiness. Consequently, it's just a tad unsettling. Will this quell my lust for her? Of course not. Still, it's an observation worth making.

(Christ, My Morning Jacket really do suck. Conan introduced them as being from Louisville. How could the town that gave us Slint and Rodan give us this? And another thing: if you're going to be a band full of longhairs, you better fucking rock, and these clowns so do not.)

In light of recent events, and kinda the past year in general, I dedicate the following to my boys. (Keep ya pimp hand strong, fellas.)

A bitch is a bitch
So if I'm poor or rich
I talk in the exact same pitch
Now, the title bitch don't apply to all women
But all women have a little bitch in 'em.

Thank you, Ice Cube.

'Cause all the true gangstas know, Vega$ ain't never love no ho.

Here's been the weekend (so far):

Friday, after the gym, was party time. But first: pre-party drinks. Met with J&J at Union Station, where we made our way to Cap City Brewery. Cooled out there for a bit, nothing too exciting, as it was still very early and not much was happening. A beer later, and we're making our way to the party. The party is being held at the house of one of Jamie's co-workers, a girl I had met previously on my birthday (when M and I bumped into them at the AFI Silver Theater in Silver Spring). We get there, and let me tell you, it's square city, baby! The short version: it was fat-packed with Hill rats, most in their early 20s. Dockers, everywhere. Talk about wanting to smack fools just for living. Anyway, after getting ourselves some beer, we find a spot where we plant ourselves and commence to talking and ridiculing. JG goes and talks with the host, being Mr. Socialpants, while JW and I continue with the beer and scorn. Honestly, it was just one of those things where we couldn't relate (or I couldn't; can't speak for Westy) to the people there, so why bother? That's not being cynical; more like snobbish, as I can't for the life of me imagine having one thing in common with any of them jokers. Sure, some of the girls were cute, but most of them were joined by ducks, so there's no use in trying to assert yourself there. Anyway, we're there for about an hour, chatting mostly among ourselves and with C. (JW's ex-gf) when JW decides he needs a smoke. I go out on the porch with him, partly to keep him company, and partly to keep myself from having to be social beyond my little circle there. We go back in, and a minute or so later, JG comes up and says he's not feeling well and wants to leave. Fine with us; the crowd was pretty lackluster, and JW didn't really want to be there due to exhaustion, anyway. So we bail, and that ends Friday.

Saturday can be broken down thusly: gym, burger, Xmas shopping. That's really it. Funny shopping bit: was standing in line at Kay Bee, and the woman in front of me had one of the most ghetto hauls I've ever seen. Obviously shopping for a little girl, she was buying the following: a toy nails kit (as in fingernails, yo), a toy hairstyling kit, and a toy jewelry set. BAPS, anyone?

Today, Chinese food and football. I have a mountain of laundry to start at some point, but I think that can wait until later.

Two things: I wake up this morning and I actually was able to see the snow before it melted. In the last year, when it snowed, I usually would wake up after it melted. Not always, mind you, but often. Kinda nice to see it. Winter is here.

And: We captured Saddam. This, no doubt, will be blogged to death by people far more qualified (read: smarter) to break down its significance than I, so you can seek out those people for all your analytical needs. (Hint: a few of them are on the left of my words here.)

Ha! It appears that Strom Thurmond was someone's baby-daddy. I gotta tell ya, if this is true--and it seems to be--and this woman was conceived in a consentual tryst, it's gotta be worth a strip or two in Boondocks.

Speaking of which, I picked up the Boondocks treasury this week, and as usual, it's a laugh riot. One thing that surprised me is that the first quarter of the book is taken from old strips that are in the first two Boondocks collections. But that's a small gripe; otherwise, it's worth every penny. Pick it up.

A bit of a follow-up:

I was checking out Gamasutra (a great, informative site for people aspiring to work in video game design and other interactive media), when I came across a small news blurb about the Take Two/GTA:VC/Haitian controversy. In it, it links to this, which they wonder may have been a catalyst in the protests that led to Take Two editing future releases of the game.

That is some really piss poor journalism. It "may be the most graphically violent" game ever? Well, sure, if you've never played games like Castle Wolfenstein or Mortal Kombat. They talk to some guy named John Difenderfer for some authoritative dissection of the game. And he is? As far as I know, he could be a mental patient. He seems to be a "hardcore gamer," which places him in the same ballpark. Racist? It's no more racist than The Sopranos, Goodfellas, or any other mob movie in the last 30 years. True, it trades on stereotypes, mostly for comic purposes, but never to ridicule or "persecute" the people they portray.

Arnold Diaz is the worst kind of hack: he takes a snippet of questionable dialogue, gives it to the director of Haitian Centers Council, and uses the subsequent frothing to vilify a game he has obviously never played. Has context become completely meaningless when it comes to speech? I mean, if I read a quote that contains several instances of the "N Word," are you going to assume right away the person who said it originally was racist? Of course not. Context. Richard Pryor says it: funny. David Duke says it: not so much. So why not apply that same principle here? The dialogue in question comes from "soldiers" in a gang war between the Cubans and the Haitians. You wipe out van loads of Cubans later under direction from a Haitian. Where is the uproar for that? You waste a bunch of French gangsters. Sacre bleu! Again, where is the outcry? For one line of dialogue, completely out of context, this game goes from crass (but entertaining) diversion to racist genocidal propoganda.

Here's something I advocate my readers to do with vigor and aplomb: kill all shoddy journalists!

Bric-a-brac...

For you language monkeys out there, check out Word Spy. I must say, for someone who routinely butchers language for the sake of comedy, I do love sites dedicated to all things lingual. Fun found word: zorbing.

A joke that I know--I know--I shouldn't find funny, but I just do: "When she sits around the house, she's fucking fat!" (courtesy of Dork #10, by E. Dorkin) Something about re-tooling the classics.

Overly cautious politcor, or reasonable concession?. Apparently, context is not a factor here. For those who have never played the game, the line comes from a mission where, in a war between the Haitians and the Cubans, the main character has to, well, kill all the Haitians. If you play further, you come to a part where, while working for the Haitians, you have to kill a bunch of Cubans. So, is that less offensive because the character in the game (Auntie Poulet, a voodoo practicing, Jemima-looking character that you'd think would be more offensive to the Haitian community, but what do I know; I'm not Haitian) does not explicitly say "kill all Cubans?" If people have to take offense to anything in the game, they should be offended by the over-the-top stereotypes. And even then, the stereotypes are used more for comedic purposes (overly machismo Cuban and Colombian men, the sexually-deviant politician, the voodoo-reliant Haitians) than anything malicious (think Krusty doing the "me so solly" bit for an example of a "malicious" stereotype).

So long, Andy. Not usually one to post about sports that aren't football in this blog, but I'm glad to see him out of the AL. Now if the A's have to face the Yankees again in the post-season, they might actually win.

You make the call. Which is more evil: ATF or RIAA?

Hey...Happy Birthday to Marimba Wiggles!

Why is it 4:30 in the morning? Why am I not asleep? Why is there all this snow on the ground? Why did Andy Richter have to leave Conan O'Brien? Why is he (Andy) acting in a movie with the Olsen Twins? (Here's a funny way to tie those last two together: watching some comedian on a Conan rerun tonight, the guy, talking about Madonna and her not-so-shocking kiss on the VMAs, said "The least she could have done is take a strap-on to the Olsen Twins." Live with THAT image.) Why do people care when celebrities get pregnant? Why am I craving a bratwurst? Who the fuck cares about Tori Spelling? Why isn't it legal to pistol-whip B-list celebrities? Why am I writing a running commentary about the stuff on my television? Why do the new Star Wars movies have to suck so badly? Why will I see the third one, anyway? Why is Nicole Ritchie famous? Why isn't she black? Wouldn't she be cooler with a big fucked up afro with a fist pick in the back? Why does Mary Tyler Moore have such a huge fucking mouth? Who buys Tom Cruise as a samurai? Why won't this fucking cough let me sleep? Why is Jessica Alba remaking Breakin'? Why won't anybody hire Adolpho "Shabba Doo" Reyes? Why do I know that fuckin' guy's name? Why doesn't somebody tell Tim Burton that Robert Smith's hairstyle is no longer fashionable? When will this stop?

And my two favorite questions:

How do they cram all that graham?

and

Why am I Mr. Sparkle?

Peace and hair grease, y'all.

Autobots...roll out!

The above image comes from a review of Frankenhooker!, which might just be must-see material. (link via Indie Nudes. Both the review and Indie Nudes are probably not safe for work. Be careful.)

Snow?! Fah. How long ago was it that he temperature was pushing 70? Jesus tap-dancing Christ, what is up with this weather? It's like D.C. is a bizarre, meteorological vortex and every day something different shoots out.

I bagged work today, but it was a legit sick day. I've been battling a monster cough all week, and last night it came to a crescendo. I begged off bed until about 1:30, but because of the damn cough and chest congestion, I didn't wind up actually sleeping until about 4 in the morning, as I moved between bed and futon, chugged cough syrup, and drank hot tea. So, I kept my alarm set, woke up to leave my boss a message saying I wasn't coming in, then went back to bed. Woke up just after noon and have been resting most of the day.

The only time I left my apartment was to meet my friend Ali at 5, as we had scheduled dinner tonight and I didn't want to bag. This now makes it three times I've seen her in the last month, which is a very positive trend. Until about 4 years ago, we used to spend an incredible amount of time together, mostly because we worked at the same place. But when I quit, we started a slow drift apart. Relationships (hers and mine) further interfered with our socializing, then she packed it out to the 'burbs (like every motherfucker that I know, consarn it) and, well, you get the idea. But I'm hoping this keeps up. I think all told, I'm a better person when she's a consistent part of my life. She is my best friend, after all.

Anyway, Ali and I had dinner, then we went over to Tower, where I picked up two more discs: Aerogramme's Sleep and Release (which just finished playing; we've now transitioned to Sigur Ros) and Behemoth's Zos Kia Cultus.

Talking about Ali kinda leads into something I was told by a friend of mine once: that I compartmentalize my friends/life. And this is true. Very much so, and I have no problems with that. Look, not everybody is going to be appropriate for every situation. I know a lot of people have this idealistic notion of "true" friends being there for everything, but let's be realistic: some friends are better to turn to in some situations than others. In my entire 29 years and change of existence, I have met one person--1--that I think I could go to in any mood and be totally at ease. But mostly, I like to be with certain people at certain times. I'm much better at making myself available to people when they need somebody than asking other people to be available whenever I need them. And this is not to downplay the importance of any of my friends to me. These are great people and I consider myself lucky to know them. Also, I don't want to make it sound like I only use people whenever they are convenient. I don't use people at all, because frankly, I don't think there's anything (and here's a rather cynical-sounding assessment) another person can do for me that I can't do for myself. The bottom line is this: nobody is a universal constant to me. I don't even think such a thing is normal.

Tis the season to be jolly? Cracka please. I won't be jolly until I can shake this cough, dig?

Where were we? Oh, right, we were done.

This may be the scariest wedding photo ever.

I don't know how many of you out there (I mean, besides the usual suspects) read The Boondocks, but if you don't, you should definitely check out this week's series featuring Archbishop Don "Magic" Juan. Google the name if you don't know who that is. (And really, everybody should know who Don "Magic" Juan is.) Also, for fans of the strip, there's a new Boondocks treasury out called A Right To Be Hostile. The book includes a foreword by Michael Moore. That's about right, though, a bit of a step down as Boondocks' forewords go. How can you go from Harry Allen (The Media Assassin!) to Michael Moore? It's like going from Dick Van Patten to Kirk Van Houten. (I'm not sure why, but that analogy works for some reason. Hmmmm....)