Holiday weekend
Gone by without enough sleep
I should have done more.

There, in haiku, is the summation of this past weekend. Friday, I did a little shopping, picking up two DVD sets (Chappelle's Show Season 2, Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law Vol. 1), a CD (Pitbull M.I.A.M.I.) and more fuel for the Xbox (the second Splinter Cell game). The damage was nearly a lot worse, but I showed some restraint.

Saturday was a whole lotta nothing, really. I woke up late (for the record, sleep for this past weekend started at 3am, 5am, and 5am), did some much needed grocery shopping, and putzed around the house, splitting time between napping, finishing up the second Ratchet & Clank (an excellent 3-D platformer for you PS2 owners out there), reading (some articles I printed from the internet that will, with any motivation, help flesh out some writing I have planned), some writing (my web presence grows ever larger), and little in terms of much needed housework.

Sunday, I did not participate in a family barbecue, partly because I wanted to keep the day open just in case anything popped up and partly because I need a break. I love my family and I always have fun with them, but I've seen them so much in the last two months due to the parade of birthdays that I did not feel like making the trip. A social gathering, as it turns out, did happen, but it would not have precluded my attendance at the family barbecue. Oh well, at least I got to sleep in, relative to when I would have had to be up to make it to the barbecue. That night, I had dinner and drinks with Los O's and JG, the first time we had all been together at once in what seemed like forever. After, Mr. O, JG and I watched a movie, Anchorman, at JG's spot. A fun, relaxed evening. Even though I got home a bit before 3, I wound up being up even longer because I made the mistake of throwing on Project Gotham Racing 2, which brings out the OCD-gamer in me.

Monday was chore (note the singular) day, as I did a load of laundry and dedicated what little I had left of my holiday weekend to sloth. Oh, I did do a bit more writing, so I guess that is something. And now, I bring the banality to you, bloggie-style!

On the horizon:

The "unofficial" bachelor party for Fletch is this weekend.
Having the last of my clutter being carted off on Thursday.
Should have new furniture to fill the spaces within the next couple of weeks, including a drafting/art table, if I can find a cheap one. (Helloooo, Craigslist)
More writing!
Minor league baseball: I'd like to throw this out there to my peeps. The Potomac Nationals (I had no idea they had changed!) have a home series against the Frederick Keys in a few weeks. We can marvel at new mascot, Uncle Slam, and take in some hot, single-A action. If I didn't have this bachelor party, I'd suggest it for this weekend.

Thursday: had dinner with NV after she failed the Furr'n Service Exam. Fortunately, she was pretty even-tempered about the whole thing and wasn't really depressed that she did not pass. Her sister had taken and failed the exam before, so I think she was really mentally prepared for that outcome. Dinner was good, then we walked around downtown for a while. Was good to see her. I had not seen her since she transferred from AU.

Friday: was supposed to be birthday dinner with Big Lou, but it didn't pan out, as he had fallen ill. He sounded terrible when I called to confirm our plans. We've made plans to reschedule for this week sometime, should he feel better and have the time. I did not really do anything with my new free time, which was nice. Good to be able to wind down the week that way.

Saturday: early to rise so that I could meet with MT to have a bit to eat before going to see Revenge of the Sith. I had higher expectations going into this movie than either of the previous episodes and I am happy to say that they were met and exceeded. The only other thing I will say is that I was a bit disappointed with the way that Mace Windu went out. It wasn't nearly as embarassing as the way Boba Fett went out, but I still expected more. At least he will always have the coolest lightsaber of all time.

That night was the Virginia Wine Party with Los O's. I was unable to score a Virginia wine from my neighborhood liquor stores, so I chose a random chardonnay (Fat Bastard, from France, I believe) as my contribution to the party. It was another fun gathering, despite my normally indifferent attitude toward wine. The people there were all very nice and friendly and provided a lot of entertainment, especially when the evening just boiled down to a few people. With a few of the remaining partygoers sufficiently lubricated, some quality music on the Hi-Fi, including Star Wars and Other Galactic Funk, a 1977 release on Casablanca Records (scroll down nearly halfway to check out a description of the album, the artist, and the cover art), the hilarity was pretty consistent until the end, including a ridiculous cab ride home with Mojo.

Sunday: Nada. Slept late yet again, but not as late as I should have. Had some Chinese food for lunch, and now I'm here, watching G4-Tech TV and blogging. I know I'm your hero.

SOS: Students for an Orwellian Society: Won't someone please think of the children?

Well, when it rains, it pours. On my plate:

-Big Lou's Birthday dinner (mmmm...steak)
-Revenge of the Sith with MT (who, I discovered this morning, got accepted into SMU's Perkins School of Theology to get his D.Min. He is the Obi-Wan to my Luke. Or at least the Bunsen Honeydew to my Beaker.)
-Dinner(s) with NV, who is in town to do the Furr'n Service Exam thing.
-Suburban Wine Tasting avec Les Obergois (Sacrebleu!)
-Laundry (I'm a dirty, dirty boy.)

Plus, I need to get more furniture in and out of my apartment.

And, if I have time, I must hunt down and torture Bono.

Not enough hours in the day, I tells ya.

For three strange days, I had no obligations...

Friday: Cubs vs. Nats at RFK. I joined CO and his gang (wife, a few in-laws, co-workers), as well as JG and his co-worker, for some hot, non-DH baseball action. Unfortunately, I was enraged when I first got there. Between navigating through Dockers nation to even get to the Metro, to having to endure the inane banter of my fellow passengers, to pushing through and ocean of idiocy making my way into the stadium, by the time I reached my seat (which took two attempts, as I misread my ticket--the idiocy is contagious!), I could no longer mask my contempt for humanity. Fortunately, I was able to decompress much faster than expected and enjoyed myself. Post-game, JG, his co-worker and I traipsed through the neighborhood around RFK to find a cab, as enduring the Metro was not exactly a "must-do" event. After about ten or fifteen minutes of walking, we manage to snag one and get ourselves downtown for the night's drinking destination: The Saloon (on U Street, a few doors down from Ben's Chili Bowl). I really enjoyed that place. They had great beer, the surroundings were intimate and conducive to conversation, and they had games to play! I wound up beating a Russian (JG's co-worker) at chess. Three in a row, no less. U-S-A! U-S-A!

Saturday: This day was dedicated to shopping and a bit of cleaning. What did not go to those two endeavors was spent napping or eating. Shopping was for household products, as I'm trying to get the tasteless hovel that I call "home" into shape. So there was a trip to the hardware store and a trip to Staples (nice walks in absolutely gorgoues weather) and finally a trip up to Adams Morgan to hit the CD/Game Exchange, where I purchased nothing. Still, it was worth it for the walk alone. I got back just in time to avoid getting soaked, as the skies opened up probably thirty minutes after I got home. The evening was a quiet one on the couch, basking in the glow of TV, video games, and a long overdue phone conversation with EMT.

Sunday: Wasted day, just about. I woke up at 2:45 (!) and pretty much just putzed around the apartment. Got my first food at 6. The only other thing I did was hit the Black Cat to see the Peter Brotzmann Chicago Tentet play on The Backstage. (My thoughts on the performance can be found here.

All American Weekend!

Actually, before I begin that: Happy Birthday, Carl O! Welcome to XXX. Try not to wreck the place.

Anyway, tomorrow is an evening game of America's Pastime at RFK, watching the displaced Canadian team take on the hapless Chicago Cubs. It's unfortunate that Nomar is busted. It would be nice to have someone to boo.

Saturday will be some sort of spring cleaning. I've already started the disassembly of my apartment. Now I need to wrap it up over the weekend. Beyond that, I think I'll be hanging with Big Lou during the day, with a possible trip to Bethesda squeezed in.

Sunday will be a jazz performance at The Black Cat, featuring German jazz legend Peter Brotzmann. I'm expecting a blowout of terrific proportions. Hopefully, I'll have something interesting to say about it over in mein music blog.

Tonight was my monthly night out with ES. As is our custom when we hang out on Friday nights, it means dinner and games. Tonight's game of choice was the incredibly addicting Lego Star Wars. The game is almost laughably easy, but superb fun all the same. It's probably more fun if you're a Star Wars nerd, but even if you're not, the art (who knew it was possible to make Darth Maul adorable?), storyline gameplay, and free play modes should be sufficient to suck in even the casual gamer. It's amazing how the Star Wars series of video games have turned around; it used to be that the success rate was extremely low. But with the Knights of the Old Republic Series, Bounty Hunter, Battlefront, and now Lego Star Wars, they are on quite a hot streak. Hopefully, Episode III (both the movie and the game) will be just as good.

"Chappelle's Show" Shut Down

This sucks. First guess: it's the cheeba. The stickiest of the icky. Second guess: Dave is a really sensitive perfectionist who is crumbling under the pressure to produce a season that will live up to the hype and millions of dollars invested in him. Occam's Razor says...

Oh well. I hope he can pull it together and get the new season done.

(Thanks to EMT for the heads up.)

Spotlighting sports in the Sportlight Spotlight

Heckuva game tonight between the Wizards and the Bulls. I tells ya, if the Wizards knew anything about second half defense, they could actually make a real impact in the playoffs. As it is, while it's impressive that they seem to be on their way to winning a first round series in ages, beating a depleted Bulls team in less than convincing fashion isn't the way to gain confidence with Shaq and the Heat on the horizon. Honestly, as much as I'm pulling for the Wizards to make some noise (especially since my sorry, no-account Hawks are once again the laughingstock of the league and won't get better any time soon, since the #1 pick will "miraculously" wind up going to the lottery-bound Lakers), if Curry and Deng had made it to the post-season, I think this series would have already ended, especially the way the Wiz have lapsed in the second half of the last two games. Here's hoping that these two collapses will toughen them up for game six, because they seem to be the kind of team that could very well be thinking about round two already. Playoff inexperience and youth, don'tcha know.

I have to admit it: I'm actually enjoying the NBA playoffs. It's been a while since I've been able to honestly say that, but the games I've been able to catch have been fun. I'd love for there to be a Phoenix vs. Washington final, but that's not going to happen. We'll likely get Miami or Detroit vs. San Antonio, which should be ultra-competitive, but rarely high-octane. Nothing wrong with that; I'm just a sucker for a fastbreak.

Hey! Kentucky Derby this weekend. I have no idea what's what. My junior high self (the one that was addicted to horse racing, thanks to "Swing For the Fences" Big Lou) is weeping.

Football: I haven't much to say, except that the current state of the Miami Dolphins quarterbacks is the most pitiful I've seen it in my lifetime. Not even the laughable days of just a few seasons ago when Damon Huard (Huardball running wild!) was "managing" the offense and clowns like Cade McNown and Jim Druckenmiller were on the sidelines was this bad. A.J. "We Traded A Second Round Pick To The Eagles And All We Got Was This Lousy Quarterback" Feely sucks, and I'm not interested to see what he can do. I think we know what he can do, and adding Ronnie Brown and Ricky Williams to the backfield won't make him better. Hell, adding Randy Moss would not have made him better. He's a serviceable backup, slightly less talented than Gus Frerotte, the current #2 and, I'm guessing, eventual #1. To add insult to injury, Brock Berlin--the only quarterback from "The U" that I've never really cared for--has been brought into camp. (I haven't been reading the wires, so if he's already cut, well, good.) Meanwhile, The Ultimate Sage Rosenfels Experience continues to get ignored. And even though he hasn't done anything to prove he should be given a shot, I still have this hunch that the kid is good and is just being wasted. It's sad. How they went from Marino to this motley crew of turd polishers (and Sage) is beyond me.

Baseball: Fuck baseball. I keed. I will say this: I don't have Nats fever, I hate that Baltimore is doing well, and I have not kept up with the A's at all, except for the morning box scores. I have no idea who is doing what for that team. I think one of the reasons why I cannot keep up with baseball is because the people who do the baseball shows on TV are all terrible. I can't watch a show like Baseball Tonight because I cannot stand anybody on there. I think my days of being a "true" baseball fan (whatever that means) are well behind me.

Plus: I am really, really tempted to pick up God of War and Jade Empire, but will not do so for several reasons. However, for any readers who have a PS2 or Xbox (respectively), go do yourself a favor and pick those games up if you haven't already.

And away I go!

iPod One

Yeah, I'm sure this has been blogged to death. But I must make my own joke! Ahem...

I'm surprised there's no Geto Boys on the disc. I mean, besides being the second most hardcore act to come out of Texas (behind G-Dub himelf), who doesn't think of our esteemed leader when hearing the line, 'Back up in your ass with the Resurrection'?

Thank you. And if that joke has already been made...well...it was obvious. I plead innocent to plagiarism.

The legislature of the State of Idaho is sweet.

WHEREAS, any members of the House of Representatives or the Senate of the Legislature of the State of Idaho who choose to vote "Nay" on this concurrent resolution are "FREAKIN' IDIOTS!" and run the risk of having the "Worst Day of Their Lives!"

I really must see this movie. Hey, CO, wanna send me another one of them thar Netflix coupons?

PSA

For you D.C. locals, please, go to your local Spring Mill Bread and taste the deliciousness. I recommend the asiago pesto. And if you're in the mood for one, get yourself an oatmeal chocolate chip cookie.

For you Netflix users, queue up this classic: Emperor of the North. I have not seen it, but this description has sold me on its merits. How can you not like a hobo-killing Ernest Borgnine, or Lee Marvin as "King of the Hobos"? Showdown!

And for even more funny, go pick up Home Movies: Season One. Worth owning just for "Director's Cut", featuring a "rock opera based on Franz Kafka". Don't worry, the rest is gold, too. And if you do it after Tuesday, go ahead and get yourself Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law Vol. 1.

Nashville: The Big Roundup

Well, the NCAA tournament is over, yet my recollection of our trip to see OPENING ROUND games is not. It seems my old nemesis Mr. Laziness has won this battle. But the war ain't over, bitch! I'll best you yet!

Ahem.

Anyway, not to drag this out, I shall put the remainder of this travelogue into haiku form.

Ronald McDonald
Big Aussie from Georgia Tech
Why do you suck so?

Okay, sorry, that was a giddy little hiccup. But I will make the rest brief because, well, it's old news. As a matter of fact, let's just jump to the big finish...

I leaned in and looked him straight in the eye and said, "I told you no bitchass Aussie can outdrink me." Then I pie-faced him off the stool. JG and I left about twenty minutes later. When we were, Schenscher was blowing chunks all over the freshly scooted boots that had come from the dance floor to watch us drink.

Sorry again. It's just that Luke Schenscher was kind of a running joke during our stay. Much like he is on the basketball court.

Day three: basketball free, so we got to sleep in a bit. First stop: The Ryman Auditorium, former (now only seasonal) home of the Grand Ole Opry. I was blown away by that place. It's very hard to articulate. The sense of musical history, knowing how many legends have crossed that stage, the intimacy of its design...it gives it a realness that larger historically significant icons don't have. Rather than being overwhelmed by the myth, you feel like you're existing inside of it. Anyway, I really loved that place, especially all of the concert posters, courtesy of Batch Show Designs.

After the self-guided tour through the Ryman, we did a little shopping, as JG wanted to do the souvenir thing. We went into many a shop, picking through countrified trinkets and baubles. One quality find was a deck of Hank Williams Jr. playing cards. I also dug the Bocephus collector's plate. Sadly, I did not buy either. (JG picked up some cards.) The best stop for shopping was the Lawrence Record Shop, which is a heavenly gift for vinyl fetishists and record cover art collectors (CO, I'm looking at you). This is where I saw the Isaac Hayes cover where he's wearing the most ghastly Cosby sweater. Other comedy included some quality Tiny Tim covers and, of course, Kenny Roger's The Gambler. Tremendous.

After that, we got ourselves a little lunch. Naturally, since there was no live basketball happening in the city, all the people there (C-A-R-D-S-CARDS! Dammit!) for the games were in any bar that had a TV tuned to CBS. We thought we had ourselves a perfect place because one of the waitresses (walking in our direction) about to start her shift was sinfully hot and criminally underdressed...and she was in uniform. Caliente! But, once we got inside, that place was so jammed with the tragically ludicrous that we just walked right back out. Eventually, we settled into the bar right across the street from the Gaylord Center (name escapes me at the moment). This place really cemented my impression that the female bartenders and waitresses in Nashville are all smokin'. Had myself a pulled-pork pizza and watched Gonzaga shit the bed against Texas Tech. If they had managed to pull that out, that would have given me enough points to win my NCAA tourney pool and I would be a couple of Benjamins richer. Adam Morrison: go fuck yourself!

From there, we did some more store hopping, including a stop inside Ernest Tubb's Record. Not as cool as the Lawrence Record Shop, but good all the same. If I recall correctly, this was the last stop before we headed back to the hotel to drop off the various purchases from our excursion. We chilled a bit, then went back out to find a record store I found advertised on a sidewalk bench. We started making the trek, but realized it was really too far away. We turned back and went in search of a bar of some sort to catch the games and a beer or many. Packed. Packed. Packed. We went into a seafood restaurant/martini bar that had a television...not showing beer. So, that was one beer and check please! We went into an Irish pub next door that was just dead, except for clowns upstairs playing darts. While up there, I gave JG the heads up. Across the street, many young women, all wearing the same athletic apparel, were getting off of a bus and going into the place across the street. A decision!

The destination was the Wild Horse Saloon. Now, right away, we realize this is a HUGE tourist trap. It's basically a countrified Hard Rock Cafe...just down the street from the actual Hard Rock Cafe. Anyway, we go inside and take it up to the second floor. We grab a spot at the bar and let the night happen. I can sum the experience up as such: beers, basketball (including the double-OT shoot out between West Virginia and Wake Forest), line dancing (we only observed), another hot bartender, plenty of fly ladies, too many kids, me being a coward, unintentional insults, text-messaging, buffalo wings, belt buckles, and shirt-piping. The girls in red, by the way, were not the Louisville cheerleaders as we had hoped, but the Dayton softball team. Some actual lookers in their ranks. Good for them! Several hours later, we go back and crash, but not before a brief detour at Crossroads (the bar from the first night for those playing along) to scope out the adorable bartender that JG willed into existence. This time, he really outdid himself, as she was dancing on the bar when we walked in. Breathtaking. We did not stay long, as the place was really packed and it was getting late. All in all, a fine Saturday. Not as exploratory as it should have been, but hey, a good time is a good time.

Day 4 (Sunday): more live basketball. The games were both extremely entertaining, as Florida and douchey Matt Walsh had their asses handed to them by Villanova and Louisville sent the Big Aussie Clown and his posse on their merry way. Our pre-game meal was at Demos, where the food was, once again, "the bomb." That's in quotes, because our recently hired waitress (the exception that proves our previous hotness rule) used that phrase three times to describe menu items. After the games finished, we went back to Wild Horse for a couple of beers before the taps went dry for the evening. We shot a few games of pool before packing it in. Since we had to be up super early the next day, we just went back to the hotel. And that's it for Sunday.

The Drive Home (Monday): We hit the road at exactly 6am. I slept for much more of this drive than I did the drive down, I think. Not much to really report, as the drive was mostly uneventful. The only thing to note is that JG has an uncanny ability to find Pizza Hut lunch buffets, as he did in SW Virginia. The town name is escaping me now...Marion, I think. A most impressive skill. And delicious, too! Our timing was perfect, as it did not start to fill with the lunch rush until we got there. Some hours later, I was sitting on a Metro train taking me back into the city. All in all, it was a great trip. Not as particularly bawdy as I/we might have hoped, but nothing bad can be said about the experience. I really like the city and look forward to going back, which will be this summer with any luck.

And that, my friends, is all I have to say about that.

Nashville: Day 2

(You know, next time I'm on a trip and I have plans to document, I should probably take notes, because my laziness and generally bad memory are not making two week later recall any easier.)

A brief addendum to day one: when we left the bar Thursday night, or perhaps even while we were there, I turned to JG and said, "I think you willed that girl [the hot bartender] into existence." I swear, tailor-made for him she was. Now then...

The second day in Nashville was about basketball. After a pretty decent night of sleep, during which I guess I did a little bit of talking (and I remember the dreams from that night; consequently, I did not press the issue in terms of what I was saying when JG told me of my antics), we woke up, scrubbed ourselves clean, and made the trip to the arena. On the way, we stopped at Walgreen's so I could pick up some nail clippers. On the way out, I dropped the receipt. Given the tidiness of the area, and my own personal litter-free philosophy, I went to pick it up. Just as soon as it hit the ground, a huge gust of wind grabbed it and took off. For some reason (again, I think I felt obligated to keep the area clean), I gave chase. This did not last long, as the wind-swept paper kicked it into another gear and blew well ahead of me. Still, I chased it long enough to look ridiculous, but (thankfully) not long enough for JG to capture it on film.

So, we get down to Gaylord and slowly make our way inside. The complex is a nice one, though, I'm too architecturally stupid to do it justice. It was thoroughly modern, as is to be expected, but was small enough that, as sports/entertainment complexes go, had a very intimate feel to it. As a matter of fact, I would say there was not a bad seat in the arena. We certainly had an excellent view of the action. The games slated for that day:

Ohio vs. Florida
New Mexico vs. Villanova
Louisiana-Lafayette vs. Louisville
George Washington vs. Georgia Tech

Since the games are now two weeks old, I won't go into much of the action. I will say that, of the four, Ohio vs. Florida was my favorite. Ohio's comeback from 20 down in the second half was a lot of fun, especially since I was sitting next to a douchebag Florida fan and his son. This guy was hilarious, chanting "Gator Bait!" in his thick Flemish accent, then becoming outraged when his team nearly choked itself out of the first round. What's better is that he tried to blame the officiating, implying they weren't calling anything on Ohio, even though they had whistled the Bobcats 10 times in the first 10 minutes of the second half, while only calling 7 or 8 on his beloved Gators. It was quite a joy to be chanting "O-H-I-O" with the Bobcats fans. Even though I had Florida winning in my brackets, as JG said, it's hard not to pull for the underdog in that atmosphere. And hey, I'm an Ohio boy. Go Bobcats!

The other games were also fun and closely matched, though, by the end of the GW/Georgia Tech game, I think most of the crowd was just wiped out. That's a lot of basketball in one day. Other notes:

The "C-A-R-D-S Cards!" chant got stuck in my head, big time.

Georgia Tech had the best pep band, by far. I mean, not even close. Case in point: they had the decency to do "Oye Como Va" while the GW band (I think it was them) played that shitty Santana song from about six years ago. You know the one. I can't remember the assbag who did the vocals, except he was in the band that ripped off The Zombies around the same time. Can somebody help me out here? (Though, I think I'd prefer my ignorance on this matter.)

The pep bands really need to expand their repertoire. There were at least four songs that got repeated throughout the day.

The chili cheese dog was a mistake.

After the games, we went off in search of a means to sate JG's hunger for Italian. We passed a couple of places, but they were a bit pricey (more of a concern for me, admittedly). We eventually found Demos' Steak and Spaghetti House. No wait, no screaming decor, and some quality food. It was a perfectly relaxing end to an exhausting and emotionally charged day.

From there, it was back to the hotel and quickly conking out.

Next up: Day Three. Teaser: Isaac Hayes + Cosby sweater = tragicomedy!

The Road to the Final Four
(or, JG and Vega$ do Nashville)

If anybody has noticed the lack of activity in this spot, well, it's because I'm pretty lazy about updating this thing anymore. However, the last week it has been due to a road trip to the great city of Nashville in order to view some quality college basketball as part of the opening rounds of the NCAA tournament. We (that would be JG and I) departed stupid early on St. Patrick's Day, returning this past Monday (errr, two Mondays ago at the time of publication). The following is an account (how detailed it turns out to be has not been determined; see my previous remarks re: laziness) of this trip. No embellishments were made and everything is guaranteed 100% true. And if you don't believe me, just ask JG or myself. I'm sure you will find that our stories corroborate.

Day 1

This starts with a 4:30am wakeup in order to get on the road at 6. JG and I are completely loaded into the car and ready to go at 6:16. The morning drive is mostly uneventful, with little traffic to speak of. Then, an hour or so into the trip, the weather takes a turn for the comical, as it starts to snow. That's right: snow in Southwestern Virginia, at a time when many kids around the country are about to start their spring break. Good times. We make a stop for gas, where I also buy myself a nastyass bear claw, some chili cheese Fritos (for snacking later), and a tasty beverage. After a smoke and a smash, we head back out on the road. We pick up the ESPN affiliate and are disgusted that they are already doing a poll to talk about what should be the lead story on Sportscenter: the opening of the steroid hearings (but remember, Kucinich says it's "not a witch hunt") or the opening day of the NCAA tournament. So we flip through the stations and happen upon the Flemish morning zoo type show. (Note: Flemish was our code word for "Southern" for this trip. I forget how that came up.) This was hilarious, as the morning crew was doing some bit where they were all Irish (it's St. Patrick's Day, dont'cha know) and were telling some story, but for the life of me, between the comedy of Les Cracquers doing an Irish accent and the fact that they were cracking themselves up while doing so, I could not tell you what the story was about. But the punchline was "Prostitutes? I thought you said Protestants!"

Our next stop, some six hours into the trip, was at a Wal-Mart in Bristol, VA, where we picked up snacks intended for the duration of the trip, and some disposable cameras. In the check-out line, we were behind a mother and her daughter, who looked to be three years old. The girl was cute and kept babbling, as children do. Given her age, I would have assumed that some actual words would be in the child's vocabulary. But I swear, what she was saying was not of this world. She said something in my direction, and I turned to JG and said, "I'm sorry, I don't speak Flemish." Chuckles!

We then went over to Damon's to get lunch and watch some tournament games, which had already started. Nothing much to report from here, except that it started my run of meals that included some sort of pork product. Check that: it continued it, as JG and I had dinner at Southside 815 the night before and I had some sort of fried pork sammich. From there, we got back on the road. Most of the next part of the drive was uneventful, as far as I can tell, as I slept through a decent part of it. Though, I will say that the near head-on collision with a big ass truck (which I caught on camera!) was hilarious, if nearly pantwetting.

Our next stop was...Knoxville? Shoot. I can't remember where it was, I think it was just before Knoxville proper. I just know it was at a Dairy Queen, where we stretched our legs, got some beverage, and returned the calls of one Mr. O. (I got voicemail.) After some more photo ops, including a shot of Dairy Queen's brutally honest depiction of their breakfast combo, we hit the road again. A few hours later, we're in Nashville. By the by, if these times I'm posting are inaccurate, well, it was nearly two weeks ago and I slept a lot while we were on the road, so deal with it.

The traffic getting into the city is pretty terrible, as we hit town right at rush hour. Not good for JG's nerves. Combined with his sleep deprivation from the last week and the loooong drive, it had a very zombifying effect on him. As we're turning right onto Charlotte (or was it Church?), I point to JG's left, "Hey! There's Anothy's Showplace!" Well, this startled him, as he briefly took his hands off the wheel and was completely befuddled for a second, later telling me that he thought he had missed a turn. We get to the hotel, doing a circuit around it trying to find the non-valet parking (turns out there isn't any). I jump out and check us in while JG handles the parking. The lobby is decorated with Georgia Tech banners. Turns out, the Yellow Jackets were staying in the same hotel. Unfortunately, there were no Ronald McDonald-looking seven foot Aussie's lumbering around when we checked in. Room keys and cookies in hand (I *heart* the Doubletree), I meet JG downstairs, where he's finishing up the valet paperwork. We grab a bellman's cart, unload the car, and Nathan--the valet/bellman--helps us bring up our stuff. After some friendly chit-chat and tipping, JG and I begin to decompress. After some sufficient relaxation, we decide to walk to the Gaylord Center to see how long it will take to get there from the hotel. After reaching our destination some five minutes later, we go in search of beer and vittles. We walk by a bar and JG stops and says, let's go check this out. I walk back. "It's dead." We continue walking again. "No, let's go check this out." We go back, hesitate in the doorway, before one of the bartenders says c'mon in! So we do. We take a seat right at the bar. The place truly is dead, save ourselves, the two bartenders, and the three performers onstage. But, as it turns out, JG made the right call.

Exhibit A: the cutest damn bartender ever. EVER. She was totally a JG girl. (I won't elaborate; those who know JG will know exactly what I'm talking about.) She was flat out adorable. And she had the cutest Flemish accent, with just a trace of that helium-influenced young girl sound. Awesome.

Exhibit B: she and the other bartender (an older lass) were experimenting with new drinks. Since nobody else was around, and they couldn't really drink them, we got to sample them. By my estimate, we got three or four free shots. A Covered Wagon, a Six Shooter, Cowboy Candy, and Spitfire. Those are the ones I remember.

Exhibit C: being St. Patrick's Day, they had some drink specials. No green beer, but green shots were just $2 a piece. Apple Pucker is a green shot. I asked how much it would take to fill up the drink cup (that previously contained my Six Shooter, which is like a Flemish version of a Long Island Iced Tea) with some delicious pucker. She said she couldn't fill up that cup, but she would gladly pour shots from a small shot glass into a very large one. Worked for me. Four shots got it filled, and boy they were delicious. So much so that I got four more soon after.

Exhibit D: good music, provided by Julie Raye, Chicken and Kenzie. Mostly covers, and mostly just guitar and voice (provided by Chicken and Julie, respectively), with hot fiddler Kenzie occassionally joining in on fiddle, or taking lead vocals. It was pretty nice.

JG and I were there for about four hours before we decided to head back to the hotel and get a good night's sleep before day one of hot basketball action.

And that wraps up day one of the trip. I think I will be posting these by day, instead of putting it all into one gigantic post. This is done because of my laziness and attention span.

Well, let's see. I've got a belly full of beer (Super Mug!) and bar food, a cold, and a bit of the old sleep deprivation. Now, obviously, is not the time to recount the Nashville trip.

However, as teasers, I give you some choice lines:

"Prostitutes? I thought you said Protestants!"

"I'm sorry. I don't speak Flemish."

"I'm pretty sure you willed that girl into existence."

"Go back to Philadelphia!" (And JG's too late but still funnier than "jerkstore!" comeback: "If by Philadelphia you mean Syracuse...")

"Dokun Akingbade in for Pops Mensah-Bonsu." (It helps if you know how to pronounce the former.)

"I posted up Luke Schenscher!"

"You know the secret handshake. Just fix this!"

And etc.

After the torrid tales of Nashville, I believe I will be taking a break from this blog in order to get focus on some other things going on 'round these parts. Fortunately, I've been conditioning you, the loyal reader, for this for some time now. And you thought the slow trickle of posts was a sign of laziness and indifference. Ha! If I come across something that I absolutely need to talk about, I'll post it here. Otherwise, I'll likely only be posting over at MG, as I have a few albums/issues I want to discuss. I'm also aiming for a new site design here, though that is certainly not a priority.

Is that 20-sided die standard issue, maggot?! It's okay, Poindexter. There's still plenty of room in the Gygax Army.

Taipei 101 Tower is now the world's tallest. I like the bamboo-styled sectioning of the tower's design. I bet getting carryout from there is a bitch, though.

Still, despite its impressive appearance, I question the sanity of building it only 650 feet from a fault line, no matter the feats of engineering involved.

Click for image.

Some backlash against the previous Pope article to which I previously linked.

Both of these links, FYI, I found here. I didn't even catch this link the first time I read that post.

I don't pretend to know what's going on with the modern Catholic, but I'm just a little disturbed by the vitriol and persecution complexes on display in those comments. Can someone please explain to me the "hatred that...Catholics encounter"? Is it part of the pedophile priest backlash, or is there something more that I am missing? Or has this just been going on forever and I've never picked up on it before? I'm honestly curious.

Oh boy...

Pope!

Over-the-top, but occasionally funny. Good enough, eh?

Plus: We'll never get to hear his hilarious post-tracheotomy rendition of "Come On Eileen."

Clint Eastwood's foxy boxing picture knocks out The Aviator for best picture.

Ray never say it coming.

That is delightfully ridiculous. Thank you to Dr. C for giving me a heads up on this. Outstanding.

"Kiss my Converse!"

Have been blogging a bit too much about death lately. Let's see if we can change that.

A quick rehasing. The last couple of weeks have been about dealing with the flu and its aftermath. That was kinda ass. It's also been about not doing much of anything at work (and still getting paid; fancy that). The benefit of boss vacation, don'tcha know. Of course, my occupational lethargy meant that I stayed much later than I wanted to tonight to finish some work before he comes back tomorrow.

Beyond that, it's been kicking about the house, hooked either to my stereo, a book, or a video game. Have been conducting some music-related investigations, leading to some fascinating internal monologue re: art, the process of creation, and the avant-garde. Thoughts a-brewin', as always, but I'm currently lacking the commitment or coherence (the latter is a semi-permanent state) to really do something with it. I also need to stop letting better writers preclude me from even attempting to articulate thoughts on many of the subjects I'd like to write about. I've not yet found that place inside me that millions of other bloggers have discovered that allows them to go on--usually at great length--about any number of topics, despite a painful lack of expertise or writing skill. I've always contended that the best thing about this blog is its lack of pretense of being about anything more than a clearinghouse for links and the occasional pithy remark. I'd hate to upset that delicate balance by, you know, trying to wax intelligently (inanely) about things that I find interesting. My vanity only goes so far, and my public flexing is my limit.

Goodbye, Reggie.

As a Dolphins fan, Reggie Roby is the only punter that ever mattered. Sad.

Author Hunter S. Thompson kills himself.

A _co-moron_ is anyone who engages in interminable, pointless, tedious discussions with a moron, trying to "educate the moron" / "prove the moron incorrect" / "triumph over the moron", failing to understand the separate but equal futility of each of those goals.

The result of an aggregation of _co-morons_ is a sufficient supply of ego stroking attention for the moron that the moron becomes _embedded in_ the discussion forum, with no reason ever to leave it in peace, and the forum becomes a saturated "troll flood plain" rife with low quality content and with no room left for its intended discussions.

This I found randomly here. God bless the nerds.

Yahoo! News - Va. Bill Sets Fine for Low-Riding Pants

Low Ride!

So, so ridiculous.

Dead.

Ossie Davis (RIP)

Max Schmeling (I knocked him out just last week.)

Are we sure this isn't a true Hot Carl?

Kiddie Records Weekly: dig them crazy album covers!

I swear, just give me a sampler, two turntables, and the budget of a small island nation so's I could stock up on vinyl like this, and I could turn out the greatest party record ever.

***

You know how I can tell the new Punisher video game is going to suck? Because they barely show any of the actual in-game screens in the commercials. It seems like it's all cut-scenes. I think they're trying to sucker people in with the graphics, only to hand them a crappy game.

Unless, of course, those are the in-game screens. In which case, this could be the greatest game ever.


***

One feature of the Xbox that I hope the PS3 will integrate: the ability to create your own soundtrack for certain games. A nice touch.

I got a fever and the only cure is...

Duce! Duce! Duce!



(for Carl)

Union Reaches Tentative Deal With Hotels

This is great news, and just made my weekend. I really hope the union got a fair deal. Kinda makes me wish I had gone to the team member gala that's going on as I type this.

Well, not really. My co-workers are fucking clownshoes. But congrats to the union! What you lacked in chants, you made up for in determination.

WHFS is dead. Long live WHFS?

As many of you local Washingtonians may know, WHFS, "modern rock" radio for the D.C. metro area, switched formats without warning, becoming El Zol, a Spanish-language station. It has, not surprisingly, outraged several locals, who now will have to look elsewhere for their Nickelback fix. I, on the other hand, fail to see what all the hub-bub is about. I understand that many moons ago, 'HFS was somewhat relevant (this would be their free form years). But in the dozen years that I've lived in this area, 'HFS has been largely forgettable, offering little more than what kids could get (with moving images!) on the MTV. It's place as a local institution aside, I see no reason to get all worked up over the format change. It's not like 'HFS was presenting music you can't find anywhere else. 'HFS had its day, and maybe if they were more interested in building a following by providing a true alternative (remember that word?) to what was out there, I'd give a good goddamn about the station's demise. But, switching from one corporate controlled format to another means little to me. It's like noticing corn in your stool: it's different, but it's still shit.

Vaya con dios, 'HFS.

As some of you may know, I work at one of the larger hotels that will be hit by the labor fallout that looms on the horizon. Today, they started to "walk and work", meaning they work their shift, then go walk a picket line on their free time. A full-blown strike could happen as soon as this weekend.

Now, I could go into a few of the more relevant issues being brought up in these discussions, or I could go into my own opinions about hotel management, the union, etc. However, I will bypass these relevant hot topics and, as always, go straight for comedy.

Worst. Chants. Ever.

I think my contribution to the revolution may have to be writing some new chants that won't make them sound like toll booth school rejects moaning the lyrics to The Banana Splits in German. (Or something equally ridiculous.) An example of their inspiring rallying cries:

"I don't know but I've been told/DC is a union town."

They also did a parody of some fight song from Remember the Titans, but I haven't seen that movie, so I can't really give any details. (My colleague informed me of the source material for that chant.)

Anyway, I really am hoping that this can be resolved before a big strike breaks out. With any luck, reason and fairness will finally make their way to the bargaining table and everybody can walk away happy. Naive? Possibly, but what else am I going to wish for?

I wonder what Snopes will have to say about this.

Mud shrimp, anyone?

I know this is a little late, but have some holiday music right here.

I coulda/shoulda x-posted this to my music blog, but this intrigues me more from a science/tech/geek standpoint than a musical one. Though, having listened to one of the tracks here ("Holy Night"), it also works on a musical level as well. That track is minimal, but the fluctuating peaks of sound has a very sensual quality to it. I probably couldn't listen to a lot of this at once, but there's enough to it that I could revisit it.

Anyway, you should probably read here before checking it out, just to get a better idea of what you're actually listening to.

Welcome to 2005.

Have been banged up the last couple of days, riding out some mild food poisoning. Consequently, blogging is not particularly high on the list of things to do when I'm home. But, thought I'd say a few words, welcome the rabble to a new year here at the clown college known as The Damian Vegas Experience (DVX in shorthand).

First, I'd like to say how much I'm enjoying (from the little I've seen; I've been napping most of this evening) USC putting a beating on Oklahoma. I'm not really a USC fan, but for some reason, I don't like Oklahoma. I have no reason. Just a hater, I guess.

The year wound up very nicely, I must say. Family-wise, this is without question one of the best Christmases I've had in some time. Everybody was there, there was no drama, and everybody seemed really happy. Plus, my nephew and I spent a lot of time together. That's always a good thing.

Work has been pretty busy, as to be expected for this time of the year in an accounting office. I will say, however, that stress-wise, it is nowhere near what I was expecting, which is a huge godsend. This food poisoning nonsense was bad enough. But if the stress had even approached last year's levels, I would have quit on the spot and probably released some of my gastro-ick in the director's office as a parting shot. (For the record, the offending food was mashed potatoes; I can't believe one of my favorite foods turned on me!)

The New Year's Eve celebration was also low-key, but very nice. JG and I made the trip up to Emmaus, where we dove into 2005 with JW, CE and his family. No twinkies were deep-fried, but I did have some apple pucker. So things balanced out.

The football season has ended. That means the fantasy football season has ended as well. Once again, I sucked in the league that counted ($$$) and won my non-money Yahoo league. Oh well, I had fun anyway.

Shameless plug: check out Missives to the Masses, SR's re-invention of his blog. It's a quality, well-written read.

Getting kinda scattered here (I mean, even for this blog), so I'm wrapping it up. Best wishes for the new year to my friends. And to my enemies: crabs. Mutant crabs laying waste to your genitalia. Resolution #1: no pulling punches in 2005! I rule you!

Kobe's Heel Turn?

Bill Simmons, over on ESPN's Page 2, suggests that Kobe "turn heel" and embrace his notoriety. That would work, except (yes, I'm about to pretend this suggestion was serious) that heel or face, you have to have charisma to get over. I've seen Kobe in interviews. He's got all the mic skills of Steve Blackman. Frankly, Kobe would probably come off more as Bob Holly than Hollywood Hogan if turned heel.

But then, I'm just a wrestling nerd. What do I know?

In your face, Patriots fans! Tom Brady could not save you!

And to the Steelers fans out there: you're welcome. Use the home-field advantage to your, um, advantage.

Yeah, I know, this is just the third win of the season. You gotta take your opportunities to gloat whenever they come. This is the best thing to come from this shitty season. Could not have happened to a better team.

Proof that Girls are Evil.

The question is, how does Ice Cube's assertion that "life ain't nothin' but bitches and money" fit here? Any of you math gangstas want to figure this out?

There's a live music review over at my music blog. Check it out, if'n you're so inclined. And then go buy Panopticon (which I'm listening to as I type this; another benefit of having a boss on vacation).

Say, have you heard of this viral marketing thing?

(See what I did there? Well, you will after you read the article, which requires a login because it's a NY Times piece.)

This bit from Shake on Aqua Teen Hunger Force (in the episode "Moon Master") is so ridiculous it's almost sublime:

"What's it called? Anal Blazer? 'Cause that's what you like to play, over and over, don't you? You know how to play it? I'll tell you. Level one's in a truckstop filled with lonely truckers! Level two's in a public restroom along the highway."

The fact that there would be a game called "Anal Blazer" nearly made me Danny Kaye my drink all over the place, but Shake's description of the levels just put it over the top. That, friends, is commitment to a bit.

Speaking of ATHF, Volume 3 of the series is now available. Go out and get some.

Hope all of you good people out there had a great Thanksgiving, however, and with whomever, you chose to celebrate. To my friends who read this, I am thankful for your wit and intelligence, because it enhances mine by association. (Ha!) Sorry, but there was no way I was going to sneak in some sentimentality without the requisite cheekiness.

I thought I had more to say, but apparently not. Hmm. Don't that beat all.

Oh wait, there is one thing: the new commercial for Jenga (with the father about to jump on top of a human pyramind comprised entirely of children) is hilarious, in the same way that Jack Black kicking a dog off of a bridge is hilarious. It's great when advertising doesn't completely suck.

Now I'm done.

Just Because

Jerry Springer: The Opera?

Reports that the production was to be called Jerry Springer in The Magic Skin Flute are completely unfounded.

Also, many critics are already starting to sing the opera's praises, saying it is "cut from the same cloth as Boito's Mefistofele" and that it is "a worthy successor to the works Britten or Rossini."

I love this game!

Man, the one time you don't want them to suspend Ron Artest, look what happens.

I'll say it up front: Ron Artest is a knucklehead. Always has been. There's no real justification for him going into the stands.

Yet, somewhat guiltily, I'm glad he did. I just wish there would have been a good few minutes of a breathtaking beatdown before being pulled off. Because, quite frankly: fuck the fans.

Yes, it was just a cup of ice. Yes, he should have just let security handle it. I'm not saying he's right. I'm just saying the fans need a good asswhuppin, and I wish they had let Artest uncage some serious violence, because jackass fans--far more than spoiled athletes--are ruining sports in this country. Hell, I won't even stop at sports: any form of live entertainment is being ruined by fans who think that the price they overpaid for admission entitles them to behave like a bunch of savages. Well fuck the lot of them. I just wish that the cup of ice had been thrown at Shaq. Not because I want to see Shaq suspended for the season, or because I wish him any ill will, but because the violence Shaq would unleash would have been hilarious and I don't see too many people in an NBA arena being able to peel Shaq off before he does damage.

And I do not even want to hear people say that professional athletes should be held to a higher standard. Any other time, people want to see athletes be humble, be like the "rest of us." They want them to pay for their crimes just like anybody else. (Just ask anybody who is still seeing red over the OJ verdict; you know they're out there.) Yet, when these athletes have a very real and human reaction, as Artest did, we expect them to be above the norm, turning the other cheek. Well, you can't have it both ways. I certainly am not repulsed by Artest's actions, idiotic though they were.

What kills me is that, not only did this fan not get the asswhipping he so deserved, he will probably try to sue Artest and get some money out of it. Yet, there's absolutely nothing that Artest can do to hurt this person financially as much as Artest is getting hurt already. That's a shame.

While the punishment meted out by David Stern are not likely to be reduced upon appeal, I would like to suggest a way to handle future cases of fan jackasserie.

If a player is hit with any foreign object thrown by a fan, the player (or players) who is hit should immediately request a video replay of the incident. You can call it a "player challenge" or something. Naturally, this would require more video surveillance of the crowd, but I don't think that should be a problem, what with all the money the league makes with suspensions and such. Once the unruly fan has been singled out on video, he should have his face put up on the Jumbotron, with the caption "Waste of Space" underneath. Then, he should be escorted down to the floor, where he must face his victim. The victim will then be given an option: strike the fan (but earn a three-game suspension) or give the fan a chance to apologize or (now strap in for funny!) soil himself. Then the fan should be kicked out of the building and barred from further events at the arena for at least one year. Before each future event, they should play a slideshow of all fans who have been banned. Any fan who spots one of these offenders in the crowd should be urged to turn him in for a small cash reward (about $500). If a barred individual is turned in at an event, he should be prosecuted for criminal trespass. And, for comedy purposes only, if the banished individual is at the same event (ie, he was banned during a Pacers game and is spotted at another Pacers game), if his victim is in attendance, the offender should be brought to the floor again, and this time, kicked square in the nuts by his previous target.

And if the offender is a woman, each arena can keep the city's, biggest, baddest bulldyke on call to administer punishments, if necessary. Heck, they could generate some serious cash by making the competition for "Female Guardian of Fan Integrity" a live event. I know I'd pay to see it.

This could be bigger than Elf Bowling and Frog Blender.

Um, yeah.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am now a proud owner of The Real Rip Taylor CD. (Thank you, Jim O!)

Cue hilarity! And please crack up!

You know, I rarely get over to Modern Humorist these days. Anyway, behold: The Britney Papers.

Loser.

I don't think they could have used a worse grab. He looks like an even bigger douchebag than usual.

Vaya con dios, Wanny. Perhaps if you get another shot at coaching, you'll actually care enough about the offense to let someone else run it.

And thank the maker that Huizenga and Spurrier have both said that the latter will not be a candidate for the Dolphins job. I would have had to start smacking fools just for living if that happened. If we're going to remain defensive-minded, why not Romeo Crennel? Brad Childress is another possibility, since he has experience with A.J. Feeley when he was up in Philadelphia. Personally, I'd like to see an offensive-minded guy in Miami, like Mike Heimerdinger or Al Saunders. Sure, they're an offensive line and a running back away from being able to accomplish things on that side of the ball, but having a coach in place who can work with what he has on offense until better players arrive is a big step in the right direction.

Of course, I would like to see the Dolphins go the way of the Redskins and go back to the future: Don Shula as "new" head coach!

So I was checking through my Sitemeter stats, and one of the referrals was from Technorati's political post index. It was listed under "Recent Posts from Liberal Bloggers." I had no idea I was a Liberal Blogger. I mean, I am a Blogger, and I am Liberal, but I've never been terribly explicit about it in my blog. Perhaps it was my endorsement of Rip Taylor that got me classified as such. It certainly isn't my association with hipster Republicans.

And another thing:

Vote or Die.

Thank you.

Today's random internet find: Blum Blum Shub. My new band name.

A quick rundown of the past few days:

Friday: nothing. End of the long work week. I went to the gym Friday night.

Saturday: helped JG move into his new digs. Very nice bachelor pad he's got going on now. Mit fireplace! Solid. After we (JG, CO, RF, and I) finished, we went to Lone Star for a few beers. At the point, Mrs. O picked up Mr. O, while the rest of us headed toward southern MD to return the U-Haul. We get it returned, then get ourselves to RF's very Shag round house, where we got ourselves showered (man, we were busted after that move). After a bit of chilling, we make our way to Wal-Mart so JG could pick up a couple of things for the house, then we went to dinner (Ruby Tuesday's style), and finally finished up the evening at The Green Door. RF did us a big solid by being the DD, so that JG and I could get our drink on. As always, a good time was had, making a nice cap on a long, long day. We crashed at RF's, with JG and I talking trash about fantasy football before we finally just crashed.

Sunday: wake up and JG and I get our asses in gear back to Alexandria, where I am deposited at the Braddock Road Metro stop. Now, let me say that I wasn't particularly rehydrated, didn't get much sleep (maybe 6 hours), and didn't shower before leaving RF's. Now, while I'm not in a bad mood, I'm certainly not feeling completely alive.

And this is where the fun begins. First, I put my Metro card into the machine and it jams. So I have to a wait a minute or so for the manager to get over and open the card reader and fetch my card. Just long enough for me to see the Yellow line train pull away. That's fine, I'll catch a blue and then I won't have to transfer. Next blue line is in 6 minutes. So I give CO a call to find out how his wife was doing in the Marine Corps Marathon, with the hopes that I can catch her at some point. We talk until right before the Blue line comes. It's just before 11:00 when I board. At noon, we're just about to pull into the Crystal City metro stop. For those of you unfamiliar with the Metro system, that's just two stops away from Braddock Road, which is usually covered in five minutes. It seems I had the good fortune to get on the train that would get stuck for about 40 minutes just outside the Ronald Reagan National Airport stop due to a failure in the system grid (or whatever). Fuck. Now, I have my headphones on, so the time isn't really spent with my thumb up my ass. But after about 20 minutes of not moving, of false starts that shake the train enough that it feels like it might derail (and we're suspended probably a good 25 feet above ground where the train was stuck on the track), my mood does a nosedive into the black. Completely infuriated, particularly because of my Metro card had not been jammed, I would have been able to board the last train to get through before the system decided to go into the shitter. After 45 minutes, we are slowly pulled back to Braddock Road by another train, where my fellow passengers and I are able to switch to a Yellow line train. Or Green. Or Orange. See, the electronic marquee announcing arrivals said it was a green line. The outside of the train said it was an Orange line. But the conductor said it was a Yellow line. So we take off on whatever color train (it was a Yellow, based on the route), get to National Airport without a hitch...then stop. We hold in the station for about five or ten more minutes. Finally, at 12:20--80 minutes later on what is usually a 25-30 minute ride tops, with transfer--I get off at the Farragut North metro stop. Some of the rage had dissipated at this point, as all I wanted to do now was get home, shower, and watch a little football. Unfortunately, I was in no mood to go back out and see Mrs. O, wherever she was at that time.

Here I am, a shower, nap, two football games, and a dinner later blogging about the nonsense. I feel much, much better. I cannot believe tomorrow is November 1st. Worse, it's a work day. Still, I just popped Caddyshack in, and Rodney is making his first appearance as I type this sentence. Hilarious. "This is my guest Mr. Wang--no offense."

Finally: good luck to Mr. O, as you embark on NaNoWriMo.

If only this were in Badtz-Maru. (Link found at Jinjur)

So, so small.

This is on right now. I can't believe the Emmanuelle series has come to this. Had Jim Varney lived, I'm sure we would have seen Ernest Does Emmanuelle. Somewhere, Hoot Gibson is weeping about this lost opportunity.

I've chosen Richard Pryor instead. I believe I've made the right call.

Tucker Carlson vs. Jon Stewart: Fall Brawl

STEWART: You know, the interesting thing I have is, you have a responsibility to the public discourse, and you fail miserably.

CARLSON: You need to get a job at a journalism school, I think.

STEWART: You need to go to one.

Gold!

Christopher Reeve dies at age 52.

RIP, Superman.

(Another reason I'm going to hell: the first image to enter my head is of the fetus-sucking Christopher Reeve from a recent episode of South Park. That episode is hilarious, but I am terrible.)

Farewell, Rodney. You weren't the greatest rapper, but you were certainly one of the funniest men alive.

(Rodney was my father's favorite comedian. I hope Big Lou is holding up okay.)

Check it out, people. My endorsement (and my buddy MC's comment on said endorsement) is actually being used on the The Real Rip Taylor Rap Song CD web site. Woo hoo! Who knew the genius of Rip Taylor would pay such dividends for this here blog?

So, I only have to wait five more years before The Tonight Show is watchable again. Not soon enough, if you ask me. Fuck Jay Leno.

Gold!

Well, now I know what to get everyone for the holidays.

The Sect of Homokaasu - The Gematriculator

Uselessness stolen from GC. Behold:

I finally get British humour. Too bad it's only tongue-in-cheek. This could be the best thing to happen to art since, um...since...soup cans?

(C) 2004 Scott R. Kurtz

You know, I used to be a hardcore Star Wars nerd, and still consider myself a fan despite the now-tarnished "legacy" (fuckin' Jar-Jar). But I'm starting to find my fellow Star Wars fans to be more intolerable than the changes being made to the movies themselves. Look, if you still have the original, unblemished versions on tape, pop those in and enjoy. But to piss and moan because the new movies aren't as good as the originals (duh) or because Lucas keeps fucking with his movies is pointless. Despite your ability to recite the movies in your sleep and make your genitalia look just like Bib Fortuna, they are not YOUR movies. Let it go. Jesus.

Now I'm depressed. It sucks to lose a hero. RIP, Mr. Meyer. If heaven is anything like I picture it, you should be right at home.

Oh, for crying out glayven!*

*Note: Not Simpsons related, merely nerd related. The use of Frink, therefore, is appropriate.

Sustained.

The World's Shortest Blog

Ridiculous and hilarious. If my site didn't make it abundantly clear, this makes it official: there are too many blogs.

3-0, fool! What?!

Strangely, I feel no different. I think when you jettison artificial deadlines for your goals in life, milestone birthdays such as this are neutered for the most part. I don't feel old. I don't feel unaccomplished. (Not to say neither is true, I just do't feel it.) I'm just one year closer to being able to legally date women "half my age." And that can only be a good thing.

I don't feel like I'm getting stodgy, either. My tastes have not ossified/pussified. I actually feel better conditioned, physically, than I have in quite some time. And, of course, my pimp hand is stonger than ever. Intelligence remains low, but confidence creeps ever higher.

Anyway, the intent here is not shameless self-promotion/deprecation (well, not with this post; obviously, this blog, like most personal blogs, is a big fucking vanity project). Just a few meager ruminations on turning thirty. I'm the first in my group of friends (at least local friends; my out-of-towners all beat me to it) to hit this mark, and it's not as earth shattering as I once imagined.

I think today, because I can, I will use this phrase wrecklessly (complete with mock-Japanese accent): "Please to moustache ride?"

And the countdown is on...

T-Minus 117 minutes and counting.

Will this spell the end of my tenure with my current employer?

And if so, is Damian Vegas gonna have to choke a bitch?

DOOOOOM!

So, a strike seems inevitable. Oh well. The only positive I see from this is the remote possibility that some of the managers in this place could suffer from some hot, picket-line violence. I want to see cars overturned, baby!

In semi-related news, I may resign from my position before this week (day?) is up. When you become increasingly furious as you walk to work, you know it's time to change jobs.

Stuck To ODB

Like you clowns won't watch this.

Outstanding.

Only the first part of this applies to me.

I haven't heard anything official, but I'm pretty sure the strike is a-happening.

If the hell that was my day on Friday didn't make me more sympathetic to the cause, a flyer that was posted by union members today surely did. I don't have it here (I thought about picking one up to scan, but I did not want any union members to think I was trying to silence their voice), and describing wouldn't do it justice. Needless to say, it was a parody that was, if not worthy of The Onion, at least as good as The Modern Humorist.

I think I may have quoted this before, but this line is still gold:

"Well aren't you little crackers just as cute as the dickens."

Ahhhh...good evening. Boozin' mit JG and Los O's. Slept past my metro stop. Fortunately, I woke up at the stop after, and there was a train going in the other direction at the next station.

Now I'm here, eating a KitKat and watching South Park. This much I know: no showering for me tonight. It's just not worth the risk.

Surprise of the night: not one hooker spotted on my way home. I must have hit the lull time before they're out in force, which should be in about 20 minutes or so.

Bedtime soon.

Football season is here, folks. And it already sucks. (For me, anyway. Fuckin' Dolphins.)

"Buncha savages in this town.

Lord, help me...

I can't get "Love Shack" out of my head. And it's not even the whole song, just the goofy Fred Schneider bits.

Dammit!

For Greg.

Now that's what I call special sauce....

Booooo!

The weekend, prior:

Friday: Dinner with mother and youngest sister out in Maryland. A little bit of shopping (finally replaced my ghettotastically beat-up wallet) and some clothes from mom (six new shirts, and none of them suck. Go mom!) later and it's back home. I de-boarded the Metro sometime around 12:45am, meaning that it was too early for K St. Hooker saturation, though I did pass one who was built like Will Sasso. (And this time, that's not a compliment.)

Saturday: down to Alexandria to meet with JG for a trip to South Central PA (not nearly as gangsta as that sounds) for a birthday party. Los O's followed us up there, as well. A good time was had, with plenty of cooked flesh and beer to sate our lusty needs. Beer pong is an okay game at which to suck (as I do) if, and only if, you're playing against people who don't. Otherwise, it can be a Bataan Death March with no beer consumption to speak of.

That night, shortly apres the departure of Mr. and Mrs. O, JG and his crew and I went to another house (read: the beer had run dry!) for more beer consumption. We also played a little 'Hole, watched some TV (split action between college football and Chappelle's Show), burned things (well, that was mostly MH) and got some more food into us. For the record, Domino's may not do pizza very well, but their wings are pretty decent.

Sunday: after crashing at JW's spot, he and I (and Goose!) hit a diner for breffuts. An eggs benedict later, we're back at JW's watching the DVD section of Triumph the Insult Comic Dog's hilarious Come Poop With Me. Soon after, JG arrives to haul my sorry ass back to DC. On the way, we make the stop: Hoss's. Boy howdy, is that good eatin'! An hour and change later, I'm being bundled onto the Metro, soup (homemade, from the family JG) and sleepover bag in hand. The rest of the day was spent melded to my PS2 with some HSG:F! action.

Monday, I give to you in haiku form.

Virginia suburb
Fried chicken and The Simpsons
Drama by Dick Wolf.

And that's it...

"I'm a firm believer in the philosophy of a ruling class. Especially since I rule." This could either be genius or tragic. Only time will tell.

Speaking of ruling geniuses, I believe I'll own this year's fantasy football for once. If the powers that be are going to curse me with a poo-poo Dolphins team, the least they could do is hook me up with a fat fantasy football payoff. Deuce McAllister to glory, bitches!

Now if you'll go excuse me, I have a little nasal drip to attend to.

So I'm sitting here, watching the 25 greatest moments in sports or whatever this fucking show on ESPN is called (Ed. Note: it's called "The Headlines"), and it's the one about Tiger Woods winning The Masters. Anyway, it's very well put together, hitting all the requisite highs and lows, and just after one of the more serious moments in the program, we get commentary on Tiger by Luther Campbell. Yes, 2 Live Crew's Luther Campbell. It was so ridiculous that I let out a shrill, Krabappel "ha!" when his face came on the screen. Classic.

More appropriate for my other blog, but since this one gets more traffic...

You Have Bad Taste in Music

Are you listening to me? Because I'm about to unload!

So, I really hope that Lil Jon opens up a school for backup singers someday.

Thaitanic has quality food. And the decor (especially the bar stools) is quite shag. CLJO, take note. Best of all, it's located right around the block from me.

Have started waking up at six in the morning to hit the gym before work. I'm getting more sleep, I'm getting to work earlier, meaning I'm getting OUT of work earlier. And on evenings where I don't have plans: two-a-days!

I like saying "Errrybody." Curse you, J-Kwon!

Finally finished up Breath of Fire: Dragon Quarter. Good game. Not the best balance, but that's sort of the intent, considering the overlay system of restarting/restoring games. I can't imagine people making it through the game without a few restores. But apparently, they do. Geeks.

"Hello? Dr. Cheesesteak? We require one sandwich. With 40 ccs of cheesesteak, stat. With an infusion of medical sauce."

Hot Shots Golf Fore! is out. Will probably be purchased this weekend.

I cannot wait until football season actually starts for real. You know, when Chris Simms will be taking his rightful spot on the bench and I won't have to deal with names like Kordell Stewart unless there's a rash of injuries.

I still contend that Tony Shalhoub's greatest role was in Quick Change.

"Hey, martial arts fan. Are you ready to get your guts kicked out?"

Okay, now I'm bored with the two-bit Larry King routine. Bedtime.

sincerely,
Damian "Thunder Kick" Vega$

Can anybody tell me where I can get my hands on a Carlos Arroyo jersey?

What does it all mean?

The US got beat. I don't want to hear, "they didn't beat us, we lost the game." No, you got beat. Plain and simple. And the final score should not have been as close as it was.

This is not a punk US team deserving the whupping they got. There's a misconception that any team of NBA pros has got to be full of egotistical lunkheads. That can be true, but it really isn't in this case. With the exception of Iverson, this is a team of quality character players. And say what you will about AI, but considering how many other elite players couldn't find the courage to represent, he deserves at least a slap on the back for going to Greece.

The best players in the US have really lost touch with some of the fundamentals (shooting a jumper, especially) of the game. There are still some players in the US who value the jump shot (Rip Hamilton, for one), but increasingly, it seems this is a mostly lost art. High school kids jumping to the pros without learning these fundamentals from college coaches is not helping, either. But that's a whole other rant.

All of that being said, international competition just isn't as close as the events of the last few weeks (and the sports columnists spreading the word) would indicate. Without taking anything from any of the other countries, let's face facts: they are not facing Shaq, Kobe, Garnett, Vince Carter, etc. I'm sorry, but I've yet to see any team--international or otherwise--that has an answer for Shaquille O'Neal. And as much as the rest of the world has raised their game, I find it hard to believe that any team on Earth could hang with a starting five of Kobe Bryant, Shaquille O'Neal, Kevin Garnett, Ben Wallace and Allen Iverson. Maybe some international coalition of all-star players (Nowitzki, Yao, Stojakovic, etc.), but not one individual country. But the fact is, those players are not here, and the US did not raise the level of their game to match the expectations and reputation surrounding "US Basketball" on an international stage. It's one thing to say you're good (Los Angeles Lakers), it is something else to go out and prove it (Detroit Pistons).

Much love for Puerto Rico. They showed what being a tenacious, fundamentally sound team can do. I hope they go far.

If I Can Be Serious For A Moment...

Just a brief entry to thank those people who sent good thoughts or otherwise wished my sister well for her surgery, which was completed successfully yesterday at Johns Hopkins. As of this writing, she is awake (but in pain, obviously) and her vitals look good. So, barring any post-surgical complications, she should be on the road to recovery.

Thanks again. The madcap hilarity that usually fills this space will return anon.

I missed my calling.

Bric-a-brac

Had dinner with Big Lou (my father, for the uninitiated) last night. Came home with lumpia, stuffed shrimp, pansit, and fresh cantaloupe and pineapple. Delicious.

Went on a bit of a music binge yesterday as well. Some solid additions to the collection, I'd say.

Also picked up ESPN NFL 2K5 this weekend. No, it's not Madden, but it's supposed to be nearly as good. And for $19.99, it's worth the risk.

And while we're on the topic of games, here are a few titles (I've done this before, I think, but can't find it in the archives) on the horizon that I think would make wonderful additions to the library of any PS2 owner.

Hot Shots Golf: Fore! This will be out in a mere 10 days and looks like it has far surpassed HSG3 on every level.

Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas Yeah, I'm one among millions awaiting the release of this game. I've yet to read one bad thing about the game. The setting this time around is actually split between three cities. The cities are based on Los Angeles, San Francisco and Las Vegas. Rockstar Games have gone out of their way to up the realism quotient, allowing you to customize the lead character by way of visiting barber shops, tattoo parlors and what you eat. That's right, diet is important to the gameplay here. I wonder if they considered making buying condoms an option before you pick up a hooker. Honestly, while I like the fact that they are trying to add realism to the game, I think it might be unnecessary, and possibly a distraction as far as the whole eating element is concerned. I mean, leave that shit to The Sims, a'ight?

Silent Hill 4 I honestly don't know why I'm looking to pick this up, because I haven't played SH2 or SH3. But I want to, and I want to play this as well. I think I should probably get one of the other titles, first, though, to make sure the series hasn't fallen off.

Metal Gear Solid: Snake Eater The last two MGS titles for the Playstation (not including the VR Mission training games) have been spectacular, and I expect nothing less from this installment.

Sly Cooper 2: Band of Thieves I bought the first Sly Cooper when it was a Greatest Hit and I loved the game. Yeah, it was a bit too easy, but the art was fantastic (I love cel-shaded games), the characters were fun, and the gameplay was enjoyable. I actually watched a demo of this playing in the store today and it looks great. I'm sure it's not much harder, but who cares? Fun is fun, no matter how much you have to work for it.

Star Wars: Battlefront I honestly don't know too much about this game yet, but they have been on a bit of a roll with their recent Star Wars titles (the Starfighter games, Knights of the Old Republic) and I'm a Star Wars mark, so there it is.

WWE: Smackdown vs. Raw Speaking of being a mark. Okay, I guess you have to be a wrestling fan to be looking forward to this. But I swear, if you look at the Smackdown games as just another "fighting" game, it more than holds its own. Always a great game with immense replay value. But again, I guess you'd have to be a wrestling fan to enjoy replay.

And did you know they're making a game for Reservoir Dogs? Well they are. Don't know if this will be good or not. Chances are no, but we'll see.

If you don't buy this right away, there is really something wrong with you. (Found courtesy of Rip Taylor dot com)

Now the US can finally see Vincent Gallo get his suck off. The Brown Bunny will be showing at the E Street Cinema here in D.C. on September 10th. You know, I think I'll just look for the minute or so worthwhile footage from this film on the internet and save the $10. Still, kudos to Mr. Gallo for being able to pull this off.

I now have a reason to keep blogging! This is an interesting concept, if ultimately nothing more than a creative time killer. I can't believe such a site exists. And hey, I have a shareholder! She bought 4000 shares of The Experience. (Sorry boys, the only one among you who also has a shareholder is SR. Keep blogging!)

And for those who read about my MCCXXIII dilemma: I opted not to go. I did wind up going to Mexicali Blues with Mr. and Mrs O., who were joined by some friends o' the missus. A good time was had, especially as the laughter I induced in Mr. O led to pain in his leg.

Some things I don't get...

Guys who wear buzzcuts/flattops with absolutely no military affiliation.

The popularity of televised poker. I love poker, but to me, it's one of those things that is much more enjoyable to play, but maddeningly dull to watch on TV.

People who think Van Halen was better with Sammy Hagar. I just saw a commercial for Best of Both Worlds, which features the best of Hagar-era and Roth-era VH. In the commercial, they alternate clips of songs from each era, and it's no contest that the Diamond Dave era was far superior.

UPN still exists? C'mon, did they give Fox this long to fail miserably? They should pull the plug on this awful network. Case in point: this abomination. Not to mention they tried to revive Dan Cortese's career. For that act of insanity alone they should have their broadcast license revoked.

***

In other news, I'm going to MCCXXIII tomorrow after work. Well, I'm tentatively going. I've been invited, I've said yes, but I think I'm going to back out. The reasons? One, money. Even though it's just a $15 cover for open bar from 5-9 (plus tips, of course), I'd still rather save the money for something else, clothes in particular. Two, my rule about not mixing work with pleasure. These are my boys, true, but I'm still trying to keep a clear demarcation between the hotel and my home life. I fear the slippery slope this could introduce. Three, it's MCCXXIII. This flies in the face of my "fuck any club with a velvet rope" personality. Four, and this isn't really an issue (I don't think) but I like the possibility, nonetheless, violence. Considering my showing during the bar crawl a couple of weeks back, the fact that I'm going to hate 95% of the people in this joint and it is practically an open bar for five hours, well, the chance of a drunken, violent outburst, no matter how remote, is there. Especially if one of the hated 95% turns out to include some unsavory co-workers who have been known to frequent MCCXXIII on occasion.

Oh, I'm feeling nerdy: I seriously think I might have to make this. I know I'll likely have no takers among the Entourage, but I'm putting it out there anyway, in case anybody needs to know my whereabouts on the weekend of October 2. Though, how dull do you have to be to turn down a chance to meet one of the stars of Tron?

(This was found when I was checking out the minibosses site to see if they might be playing on this coast any time soon. And sure enough, they will be at MagFest. Thanks again to CLJO for clue-ing me in on this band. This almost makes you a credible hipster. Ha!)

Snippet of my current conversation

ML: ...I also saw The Stepford Wives.
Me: Ugh, why would you see that?
ML: Because I didn't know it would suck ass worse than any movie ever!

What kind of fucking morons would claim responsibility for this?

The Return of the Great Assholio (pt. ii)

So, we leave Lulu's and head to Porters. This is another establishment that nobody had been to before. We get in, grab a beer, and kinda hang back by this area at the end of the bar near the door. Then, we decide (and I may be mistaken, but I believe this was prompted by a skirt) to make our way back. I get a slight separation between myself and the boys, which is just enough not to see where they go. I choose wrong, of course, and go downstairs. As it turns out, it was only wrong in the sense that this was not where the boys were. I found out, upon our reunion, that it was definitely more happening than the upstairs route they took. Anyway, we return to the floor on which we entered and found a nice spot near a beam and these benches along the wall. We basically just surveyed the scene, with me taking a break to "sing" along to "Kiss" (by Prince) when it came on. We officially declared it "dead" (ha!) shortly after and left. Our next stop: Sign of the Whale, right around the corner.

Oh yeah...

So, we get there, passing the Madhatter (just next door), which has a ridiculously long line coming out of its roughly Fotomat sized interior. People, please. There are so many bars on this crawl, why not go find one where you are not constantly dry-humping strangers just to get close enough to the bar to ask for a shitty Bacardi O? Of course, SotW was not much better. We go in, and something just snapped in me. It may have been the music playing (fuck Bon Jovi, okay?), or (much more likely) my testosterone and alcohol levels were pushed into the red simultaneously. Whatever it was, I went kinda insane. I started screaming "can you believe all the guys in here with vaginas?" and "this place is packed wall to wall with pussy" and so forth. When I would pass some duck, I'd say (loud enough to be heard, mind you) "excuse me, miss" or "pardon me, ma'am." Unbelievably, nobody decided to play the role of tough guy. Not a one. And I found this, in my fabulously inebriated state, disappointing. I think I was really ready to deal on the first jackass who even looked at me cockeyed. At one point, while we're in the back, beers in hand, this clown walks by and I start to mock him with this little jig (if you've seen the movie So I Married An Ax Murderer, you should know the one I'm talking about; yes, I was so drunk I stooped to ripping off Mike Myers). Well, as I'm doing this, this cute girl and her friend ("I specifically requested...") walk by, and the girl starts dancing right at me. Then she comes up to me and tells me I have to flip my collar up...

(RANT: Okay, why in the world is this fucking fashion disaster back? I find it an atrocity and I think the precious men and women who have started flipping their collars up, in some futile effort to look fashion-minded, should be stoned in the street and then sterilized. Fucking wastes of blood and tissue, my lord...)

I tells her, I says "You have to give me one of those beads if you want me to do that." So she obliges. Being a man of my word, I flip it up, and she puts her arms around me so her friend can take a picture of us. Post photo, I immediately return the collar to its natural non-Queer Eye state, and ask her what she's doing the rest of the night. She said something drunkenly about drinking more (*swoon*) and going to another bar (possibly Lulu's) but now she had to go to the bathroom. Somewhere in all of this, she must have asked me for my name (or I offered it, who knows), because as she's coming back from the bathroom, she stops by and says "Damian, you have to keep this collar up" and she clumsily pulls it up, then walks off. After our beers are finished, it's back out into the night. Again, all the way out, whenever I have to press by a guy, it's "excuse me, miss" or "pardon me, ma'am." No takers. Oh well, that's probably for the best. Still, this is turning out to be a terrible "Year of the Bar Fight."

Oh yeah, re: the photo, CO stated "you know that's going to be on somebody's blog tomorrow." Ha! I can only wish for such immortality.

Once outside, we decide to head to The Front Page, up in Dupont Circle. I am definitely more calmed down now, though I'm still taking swipes at ducks here or there, including outside the men's room at FP, while waiting for JG to emerge, when I directed some dudes coming down the steps by saying "bathroom's this way, ladies."

We go upstairs, and we stand by the bar on the side of the establishment near the restrooms. There, we watch this totally trashed (and slightly trashy) girl gyrate sexily for her boyfriend. After a few minutes here, we walk to the other side, near the dancefloor and get some more beer in us. On this side, we watch another drunk girl freak this guy she's with at the bar. The way they were going it would lead one to believe that they were mere seconds away from one of those "beside the dumpster in the alley" fucks. But, when I went up (ha!) and asked the dude if he was going to be hitting that, he actually said he wasn't. Hilarious.

After our beer, we decided to leave again and go back to Lulu's, by which time things should have definitely picked up. And things were definitely livelier, but not in any major way. We grab the same table we were at the last time and got more beers. (Oh, this just came back to me: on one of the visits to Lulu's--I believe it was the first--I squirted a dollop of ketchup on my hand, a la the salt for a shot of tequila, and sucked it right off. What in the world was I thinking?) Unfortunately, I had backslid a bit into my misanthropy for the night, mocking some of the ducks that passed by our table. At this point, I believe the boys just gave up and withdrew a conversation about...something. War, cars, the price of tea in Kenya. Something. All I know is that after the discussion, I turned to CO and says to him, "So, who would win in a fight, Rommel or Francis Marion?" I'm pretty sure he came back with "I will stab you" or something like that. After hitting the head one more time, we decided to call it an evening. We parted ways at the exit of Lulu's, the boys heading to the Metro while I went home, stopping for McDonald's (again...ugh) on the way. I got home, killed the food, talked to EMT on the phone for a bit, and then crashed, waking up seven hours later to begin this day, which was an awesome outing with AK. I shall detail this soon, I suspect. Until then, read and laugh at my public shame. 'Nuff said!

++ DVX: THE DAMIAN VEGA$ EXPERIENCE ++

Sports note: congratulations Maria Sharapova for winning, in a most convincing fashion, your first Wimbledon. Kournikova with skills, indeed. Has anybody thought about what kind of response this final might have received in the 60s? A strong, black American woman taking on a Russkie? America's race issues pitted squarely against its patriotism? Comedy!