Five-by-Five

Confession:

I once was a huge comic book junkie.

I still have, somewhere, a large portion of those comics I once collected (and hell, maybe some were good investments. Anyone know if Wizard is still the go-to source for a comic's value?) likely stored away in bags, with the cardboard backers, in boxes in a storage place.

It was somewhere around 4th or 5th grade that this started. I'd loved the funny pages since I was a wee lad, and vividly remember that I learned the word doubt (and how it doesn't sound a damn think like it's pronounced) from a Garfield collection in 1st grade.

Like most boys with basic TV access growing up when I did, I was a huge junkie for GI Joe and Transformers. Then one afternoon I saw that they had comics too (this was likely at a gas station, and a few years before my attention would be drawn to that rack of magazines wrapped in plastic). I'm not sure if I was able to convince my folks to get one for me on the first try, but it eventually happened.

Throw the kid an allowance, and I was soon blowing the whole thing on comics.
I even drew some of my own (I had better artistic/drawing talent then--it has since atrophied). I had no clue what the actual creative process was for most comics, so I went the difficult direct route of making it up as I went a long mostly, and drawing random layouts on a page before filling them in. There's a reason I didn't grow up to be Frank Miller or Jim Lee or Todd McFarland.

It lasted pretty much until puberty. I'd like to say women replaced comic books, but I was skinny (like "hey, I can see ribs" skinny) about a decade and a half before skinny dudes were "cool". Plus there was the whole braces thing, and the acne. Let's not talk about that.

Guitar (and guitar-related magazines, with interviews I'm damn glad my parents never read--I don't think they'd see Dimebag from Pantera as a good influence) quickly replaced comic books by 7th grade. The comics got boxed up, rarely looked at, and that was that.

Until a few months back.

I saw that there was a "Season 8" of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, a show I was such an unabashed fan of that I once attempted to write a script, and actually got far enough in the process that I was looking for a way to submit it (and of course, found out that Whedon and Co. don't take unsolicited scripts--damn. I though a special "Spring Break Buffy where the Scoobies get to take on a Chthulu cult was good times.) But the catch to Season 8 was it was in comic form. I passed at first.

Then one day I saw the first few issues collected in graphic novel form at Borders, said "what the hell" and I've been hooked ever since.

It's a great season so far (and I have my own theory about the identity of the masked Big Bad, Twilight, but I'm keeping it largely to myself) and the first 10 or so issues are now in two graphic novels. But this might make me a comic geek again...

Gimmie Fiction

I know, I know. It's been a long while since I've made any updates. A lot's been going on...and not a lot's been going on (how's that for cryptic?)

I may have gotten hooked on the short post format over @ Shorter Excerpts (see link to your right, click on it) and longer-form stuff has been forgotten. Also, it's not football season.

But I aim to return my original blog to "Regularly updated" status. For starters, here's a snippet of a longer-form bit of fiction that may form a complete and functional short story on its own:

A Malady Particular To This Generation (IV)
(Excerpt)

“Mike?”

“Yeah. Brooklyn?”

“Yeah.”

She was shorter in person than Mike thought she’d be. This had become a chronic issue for Mike. If pulled aside by some semi-officious statistician that dealt with height and asked what he thought the average 20-something female’s height would be, Mike would probably guess “at least 5’7.”

Brooklyn looked more or less exactly like her Facebook profile pictures: Short, reddish-brown hair (likely the red highlights were added in recently), clear, untan (but not pale) complexion.

Green eyes.

She had on one of those fancy belts that Mike thought looked like a curtain pull tied about the waist, jeans, and UNC blue blouse showing a teasing-but-not-taunting amount of cleavage.

Her only accessory was an iPhone, which she was somehow typing something on using only her left thumb.

“So, should we get some drinks?”

“Sure. I’ll have an appletini.”

”Scrubs fan?”

“What?”

“The show? Scrubs? Zach Braff? That guy from Office Space?”

“Oh. No. I just like them. Plus Scrubs is on opposite Grey’s so I can’t watch it.”

“Ok. Well I’ll be right back with the drinks.”

The whole time, Brooklyn’s thumb was going nuts on her iPhone.

Mike thought it a bit presumptuous to assume he was paying for the drinks, and wasn’t a huge fan of playing waiter with them—this was mainly the result of several dates in a row where all the women paid for their own drinks, and the most recent two seemed insulted and pissed off at the notion that Mike would pay for both. Now Mike’s “Golddigger Radar Antenna” was up, and he thought getting a draft PBR would be a good preventative tactic. That many folks can’t tell a lager from an ale from a pilsner, and any beer in a beer glass will look pretty similar—that didn’t enter his mind.

When he got to the booth Brooklyn had selected—her back to the wall, but somewhat secluded in the bar—she was still at the iPhone, but trying to keep it hidden. Could a person touch-type with a thumb?

Friday's Best From The Rest

Recapping some favs from the Week In Microblogging over at the "other, other" blog of mine:

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An unsettling thought

anthonydever:

heather-rivers wrote:

If you only get psyched about things you’re not really getting paid to do, you’re getting paid to do the wrong things.

But getting paid for sex is illegal (unless it’s for a porno.)

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Too Sense: The "Bitter" Truth

Income inequality (and the stagnation of real wages for 3/5ths-to-4/5ths of the population since roughly 1976) is the true political third rail.

Not only does it risk the wealthy folks at the major networks…it’s not a pure partisan issue. Sure tons of blame can be heaped on Republicans (the GWB Administration in particular) but the sleaziness of Democrats in DC can’t be brushed aside (remember, four of the Keating Five were Dems, and Clinton’s treasury sec. was instrumental in overturning Glass-Steagall. Afterwards he got a nice cushy job with Citicorp which wouldn’t exist if Glass-Steagall was still around.)

So all you soon-to-be college grads: if nothing changes, look forward to making less than your parents.

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sarahcroberts:

Whaaaaaaaaaat? If you work at the Garden and have a nice enough ass, you too could be in Playboy!

Does this mean Olive Garden is the Hooters of generic Italian food now? (It’s been a while since I’ve been to an OG).

I will admit though, I’ve seen “Girls Next Door” and while Kendra’s hot, her booty is pretty unspectacular. But hell, the waitresses there are wearing “some new kind of panties” that Frank the Tank hasn’t heard of, well, maybe they’re ready for their airbrushed, dear-God-don’t-let-your-labia-get-in-the-shot moment of fame.

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Just When You Thought You've Seen Everything

siddman:

martasparta:

My commute provides me with enough stories to write a novel with. I’ve seen people puke on themselves, on other people, piss in public, rowdy Ranger fans get kicked off the train. But tonight was a first.

A girl was apparently giving guy head and then puked on him.

She got kicked off the train, he went to go clean off in the bathroom. Not sure if he got kicked off. She was no porn star either, so it wasn’t even hot train blow.

Thankfully I didn’t really see this, just all the reactions on everyone’s faces who might’ve caught a glimpse of it.

If it wasn’t for sloppy people on the LIRR my commute would be such a bore.

Meanwhile, I sit on GA 400 wondering when—not if, but when—one of the morons reading a proposal or sales report or the one idiot in the CRV that was reading a romance novel WHILE DRIVING is going to run into me.

I wish GA had better rail transport. It’s not because I hate driving. I thought Atlanta traffic had caused me to hate driving a while back…but then I realized sitting in traffic, averaging 8 mph, that’s not driving. And I can almost understand why people are risking life and vehicle: it’s sometimes over an hour of your time getting nothing done.

One more thing: who are they calling at 7:30 in the morning? And am I just an extreme anti-morning person in that I can’t see a point in talking to anyone that early unless I’m getting paid to do so?

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Talking Points Memo | POLL-McCain even with Obama, leads Clinton-Reuters poll

More disturbing:

“McCain was seen as a better steward of the economy than either Democrat despite their repeated criticism of his economic credentials. He led Obama by 3 points and Clinton by 5 points on the question of who would best manage the economy.”

See, I WANT to believe people aren’t stupid (well, other than some of those 28% that think Dubya’s doing a bang-up job who aren’t in the top 1% income-wise) and something like this comes out.

The man is on record as stating “I don’t know much about economics”. He was involved in the Keating Five scandal which was part of the nasty S & L scandal in the 80s that helped set the nasty precedent whereby if big business (especially finance) fucks up, the taxpayers cover for them (without, you know, getting a say in it. Unless someone came and said to you on tax day “do you want most of this going to fund Bear Stearns?”)

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Stereotypical Tumblr User Checklist

you…

• use a mac: Nope.
• are twenty something: For a little while longer.
• take polaroids: No.
• live in nyc: No.
• wish you lived in nyc: Not right now. Until at least say Feb. 2009 I’d prefer to live in Sydney or Aukland or somewhere not in the US.
• draw sometimes: Not anymore.
• upload videos to vimeo to fit in: Hadn’t even heard of vimeo until earlier this week.
• have a muxtape: Not yet.
• work for collegehumor/vimeo/bustedtees: Nope…used to post on the CH message boards waaaaay back in the day (circa 2000-2003.)
• are a vegetarian: Nope. And I usually supplement with pills or V8 as I don’t eat near enough fruits/veggies still.
• are a photographer by profession or hobby: Nope.
• like cats more than dogs: No.
• like yarn more than cats do: No
• have an interest in typography: Maybe a little.
• would vote for obama if you voted, which you don’t: I already did vote for Obama.
• take pictures of yourself: Yes. But only in the nude (sometimes with erotic props*)

(via everyone)

*note: some things in this sentence might not be 100% accurate.

A Rebuttal to "The Good Ol' Days"

If you happen to have the current edition of Vanity Fair (with a glorious cover trio of Tina Fey, Sarah Silverman, and Amy Poehler) flip to page 118.

They have some excerpts from a charmingly dated (nearly 100 years old) manual on "Don'ts an Dont's" for Wives and Husbands.

It's a disturbing window into marital life from the days when miscegenation was a crime, "speak only when spoken to honey" was doctrine, and balding, lumpy, riddled with phlebitis old white men ruled all (or, as John McCain calls it "the good ol' days.")

Well, except for the fact that Viagra wasn't invented, so loveless marriages at least had a good chance of becoming sexless marriages earlier.

Anyway, I figured I'd pull a few of their quotes, and tack on some comments to them. Mainly because it's free (free things are great in a recession) and also because my bracket is already so throughly fucked, I can't devote myself fully to basketball.

First, the "Don'ts For Wives":
"Don't expect your husband to be an angel. You would get very tired of him if he were."
-Well, duh. Because then he'd be dead, and despite what that Patrick Swayze movie may tell you, you can't have sex with a ghost. Also, don't put Baby in a corner.
Or...100 years ago Nice Guy Syndrome was going strong.

"Don't try to excite your husband's jealousy by flirting with other men. You may succeed better than you want to. It is like playing with tigers and edged tools and volcanoes all in one."
In general, I'd say it's probably best not to wildly flirt once your married...though the undertone here is that if the poor defenseless woman starts flirting, she's powerless not to have sex with whomever she's flirting with.
Gender issues aside, it's now my life's goal to somehow play with at least tigers and edged tools at the same time (working up to adding that volcano.)

"Don't bother your husband with a stream of sensless chatter if you can see that he is very fatigued."
Thanks Blanche Ebbutt, this one comment launched decades of bad stand-up comedians, and I blame for sitcoms like that crappy one with John Belushi's talentless brother.

Don'ts For Husbands:
"Don't forget that character is more important than genius. If your wife is a true woman, don't worry about the rest."
And if Mrs. Dumb-as-rocks isn't a true woman...well either you're also quite stupid (note: "she" probably shouldn't have genitials exactly like your's) or maybe you should reevaluate your sexual orientation. Don't worry, if you keep it (mostly) hidden, you can still become a prominent Republican!

"Don't scowl or look severe. Cultivate a pleasant expression even if nature hasn't blessed you with one."
I'd like to see the phrase "look severe" come back into everyday lexicon. It just sounds cool. "Dude, you look severe." "Thanks." Wish me luck on this project...my earlier attempt to resuscitate the phrase "bee's knees" was met with sour pusses and cries of "flim-shaw."

"Don't give up cricket, or football...or whatever outdoor sport you have been accustomed to just because you are married. Athletics will keep you from becoming flabby."
Well, I guess 100 years ago they didn't have the "Fat Guy+Hot Wife" shows. At least they're throwing the ladies a bone (other than...you know...)

My Thought-Out And Erudite Response To "No Cussing Day"

What the fucking fuck is this fucking nonsense?

Where My Bitches Is At?

Sometimes weeks can drag on and on and on (like last week), and afterwards, despite your best intentions to fill your blog with witty, somewhat long-winded commentary on a number of topics ranging from Obama's potential in the General Election, Hillary, Detroit automakers and oil companies and a theory I have about public trust, and Kevin Rudd apologising (I assume they go with the Queen's English spelling) to the Aborigines. But some weeks are like a hangover after downing a few bottles of Jack after drinking 100 oz. of beer.

And when that happens, it's easier to slap a title from an old rap song up there, and share my favorite dog pictures from Deadspin's Westminster Dog Show coverage, along with a few extras, with captions.
This dog is clearly auditioning for the role of Gene Simmons in the All-Corgi KISS Tribute Band.
Meanwhile, this poor pooch was captured by a band of NYU film students looking for an extra to play a dour, old Russian woman in their adaptation of Dr. Zhivago.

If you remember the Lady of Rage song "Afro Puffs" it's impossible to look at this dog and not get the chorus stuck in your head.
Ladies and gentlemen, I've found Ed Grimley's dog!

This is the face of a dog who does not know the meaning of the word "neutering"...
It's been said before, but I'm saying it again here: dressing your dog, no matter how tiny and "precious" he/she is, in tiara and crown only drives the dog into a deep depression. And doggie-Prozac ain't cheap. Plus this is something Paris Hilton does. Do you really want to follow in her STD-laced footsteps?
This Boston Terrier is the Nick Saban of dogs, as he (I think a he) doesn't have time for this shit. Or, if you believe in reincarnation, is the spirit of the grumpy old man who always yelled at those "damn teenagers" to "stay the hell off my lawn." Your call.
"I've got a pulse! He's not dead." "What happened?" "Well, I think he just got sick of all the running around and groping from all these judges."
Alternate joke: The Westminster Dog Show takes the "Now...Play Dead..." portion very, very seriously.

And finally, we conclude with the Dog (DAWG) who should win the whole thing:
In RED

And BLACK.

Only 201 days til kickoff if you're reading this on Hump Day...

Michael Stipe IS Hip-Hop (sort of)

So, while spending a rather boring Wednesday night pantsless, aching, sore, cursing the writer in Men's Health that taught me how to do dumbbell squats, and watching "Top 100 Songs of the 90s" (which I still feel should be "90 songs of the 90s" but that's just me) something hit me.

What's the REAL connection between the Georgia football team, and a 17-year-old line-dancing rapper? Soulja Boy didn't start the dance. Nope. He (while being like 5 or so, according to the math I just did in my noggin) was just copying Michael Stipe, who as you can see in the video, was "crankin' dat" over a DECADE before Mr. Collipark's latest protege.

And if I have a few more beers to go with my muscle relaxer, I think I can find the Macarena in here too.

Plots Available To A Good Home

As I've mentioned before, the novel I'm working furiously to finish right now isn't my first attempt. Or even my second.

Now, not all of those would-be novels are consigned to either my junk-heap or content to rest in the ghost of my dead hard drive (RIP 2000-2004). Two of these incomplete would-be tomes are waiting their turns, or waiting for me to complete some intense research. A third might see the light of day as a screenplay (which given its history is fitting.)

Flashback to the summer of '98. While I was probably one of the few people in my graduating high school class to not have Comedy Central, and therefore, miss out on South Park's debut, I had found myself absorbed in a show called Buffy The Vampire Slayer (not from the beginning, but close). Faced with my first summer in years where I didn't have a summer reading list packed mostly to the gills with stuffy old books I had no interest reading, I figured "what the hell, I'll write a Buffy script and see if they run it." Obviously I had no idea how TV writing, or professional creative writing worked, but hey, wikipedia wasn't around, and people didn't even really use Google. My hook was that it was going to be a special "Spring Break" episode of Buffy, where they go down to Florida, or somewhere near a large body of water, and they encounter some Lovecraftian cultists bent on raising one of the Old Ones, and of course, Buffy and the Scoobies would thwart this nefarious plot. Then, a bit later (ah the days of dial-up, pre 56K Internet) I found on the semi-official site, The Bronze, that they did not accept outside script submissions. Not being a big fanfiction person (what's the point if you don't actually see it?) I decided to expand and adapt it to more normal teenagers. And then late in my first semester at UGA, I joined a band, and the story was forgotten.

With ScriptFrenzy (a similar, but not as strenuous, contest to National Novel Writing Month--a 20,000 script in the month of June) starting soon, I'm thinking about going back to it.

Some of the others...not so much. So here's two plots of abandoned novels I have no major use for, but you might:

1. Working title(s): Full Circle, Just a Bunch Of Stuff That Happened. A genetically modified government super-solider escapes, turns evil (don't they always?) and takes over the mafia, with the eventual goal of world domination. But the original thrust of the novel was going to be on how this mafia-CIA/FBI/etc. conflict messes with the sort-of-but-I-didn't-pull-it-off-54,000-words-in-related lives of over a dozen characters. I was trying for the bastard offspring of Stephen King's The Stand, and Altman's Short Cuts more or less, and it was my first attempt at a novel. So I can't say I lacked novelistic ambitions...

2. No working title: A postmodern collegiate bildungsroman. Over educated, smartass son of an Amherst prof is a freshman at UGA. His "failsafe" prom date shows up on the bus his first week of class...only she's had major plastic surgery and is now both smart and, to our narrator, groin-grabbingly hot. The movie script he wrote as a joke for his dad has been picked up in Hollywood and now he's rich. His agent though, is an embodiment of the Native American Trickster god, Coyote. And it was supposed to be a variation on the genie story where he gets everything he thinks he wants, but also somehow trapped inside a script he wrote...and I couldn't figure a way to reconcile the two threads easily...plus the protagonist was shallow and greedy enough that one person that read an early draft of chapter one compared him to the reprehensible narrator of Martin Amis's Money...and I didn't want to write 300 pages in that voice. But maybe you do...or can think of a better comeuppance for him.

Friday Happy Hour: Quick Shots

*This picture is just begging for immature captions--have at it.

*Almost finished with that new story. I'm having issues with the ending--mainly I can see the story ending in two different ways, and I kind of like both. Any thoughts on a "Special Edition DVD" short story format where you get both endings?

*The job search continues, slowly...and I'm not discouraged. Taking the first job offer that came my way--more than once--is part of the reason I'm in this mess now. And as the temp agency continues to put more money in my pocket than my old job did, I still think this new plan of being as picky about employment as I am about who I date will pay off. Sort of ironically, the time searching for a new job, while also working 40 hours, blogging, writing, recording songs and trying to get a new band together doesn't leave me with enough time to consider myself good serious dating material for anyone. So any ladies eyeing me as your potential boyfriend: you should probably look elsewhere right now.

*There are only two new episodes of LOST left this season. I'm going to devote a longer blog to why I love this show (it's the only show I make sure I watch weekly, and I'm a barely reforming TV junkie that watched almost every episode of The OC's horrid third season). If you haven't it watched, it's probably pointless to start with these final episodes, but if you feel sporting, give it a go. And who knew Ben's dad was Napoleon Dynamite's Uncle Rico?

*El-P's I'll Sleep When You're Dead is the best hip-hop record released in 2007 so far. If you don't have it, go buy it.

*While there are tons of blog posts lamenting the decline of Book Review sections in major newspapers, they are missing the upside: Dan Brown fever has passed, and really talented authors are getting mainstream print media publicity (though to be fair, it's established folks, like Chabon, Pynchon, Cormac McC, and DeLillo getting the pub.

*Jonathan Lethem's newest, You Don't Love Me Yet: not bad, but it felt too light on character and plot to warrant being called a full novel.

*Irvine Welsh reading this saturday. Given that several very very cool and happy things happened in my life following the last reading I attended, I'm hoping history repeats itself (and shh, don't tell the world, but Butch Walker's in town this weekend too...)

Post-Weekend Hangover

Call it Monday Morning Hair of the Dog and fire up your old Nazareth records...

*The Yankees, so strapped for pitching they were about to take passersby off the street and test them in the bullpen, shell out $28 million (pro-rated, but then hit with 40% luxury tax so: a lot of money for a 45-year old) for Roger. Roger proves that he isn't all about the money, but may be the single most self-absorbed athlete ever. In any sport.

Would the Sox be a better team with Roger out there every fifth day? Probably. In theory, he's better than Julian Tavarez, and probably better than Jon Lester. But, he's also 45, and was a 5- or 6-inning pitcher on average in the National League--recent World Series ring aside, there's no doubt he faced weaker line-ups. So really, the biggest plus to the Sox getting Roger would have been keeping him from the Yankees. With the Yankees though, an older Roger swaps the relatively weak NL lineups for Boston, Toronto, and Tampa Bay on a fairly regular basis. 5 innings of Clemmens is better than 4 of Kei Igawa, but it still leaves 3 innings for pitchers not named Mariano to pitch, and the Yankees bullpen isn't going to get less worn out with a workload like that.

I didn't want to throw dirt on the Yankees season before, and it's a lot harder to do now, but I'm not going to concede anything yet either. Roger circa 1999 isn't coming back to the Bronx any more than Mordeci Brown is pitching for the Cubs. And when the Sox take the division even after Roger rode in on his expensive horse for the Yankees, it'll be that much sweeter.

*There's been a minor fuss on sportstalk radio about UGA QB Matt Stafford's alleged extracurricular activities (HT: GeorgiaSportsBlog). "Oh no, he's holding a beer keg," the standard refrain goes. Well yeah. But he's not drinking from it. The more disturbing thing to me about the situation (well, aside from being photographed spooning his backup, which makes the whole "I didn't drink from the keg" angle nil and probably assured Stafford of an extra trip up Sanford Stadium's steps around 5am some morning) is that apparently the coed he's chilling with is an Auburn girl. Now I'm not going to come out and say all Auburn girls are terrible (I know they aren't all bad).

But if your the starting QB for the University of Georgia, you should be hoisted kegs over Georgia girls. Being a few years removed from college I don't know if Stafford's celebrity on campus would be such that he'd rather hit up a NASCAR event than Twilight, but if David Greene and David Pollack could show up downtown (Pollack in particular I recall frequenting the pool tables at Classic City) so can Stafford. So, single ladies of Athens (well, those of you with no romantic interest in me) I beg of you: save our QB from the Auburn harpies. I'm not saying there dating, but if they were, I wouldn't put it past her to dump him right around the Georgia-Auburn rematch. Perhaps being dumped by a duplicitous Georgia girl is what led to Brandon Cox's performance? I'm not saying, but...

*Very uneventful weekend for your humble (sic) blogger. Friday was the highlight, with some great performances all around from the three bands (The Renegadez, The Empties, and Beyond Tomorrow--featuring former Of Mirth & Matter bassist Michael Ellers on keys!) with The Empties putting in a really solid performance. Saturday's planned Cinco de Drinko pool party was cancelled because of the weather, and I spent part of the day wondering if I'd gotten either too sensitive to weather conditions or if I was just coming down with something (turns out it is a cold. Guess who's buying some Claritin today?) Worse, my backup plan of spending the afternoon writing and recording was interrupted by what I have since dubbed the World's Largest Outdoor Sausage Party next door. My unofficial count: well over 50 dudes, 4 girls, and countless pointless bellowing. Here's hoping they all go home for the summer and my last few months as an Athens resident are largely dumbass free.

The lowlight came downtown Saturday when I was heading towards The Church and Walkers, only to overhear some dumbass passing the Human Rights Festival Stage yell "more socialism, vote democrat" like he'd just discovered sarcasm. And I wonder: would attempting to explain that if he supports Bush, he's more or less supporting a fascist register at all? Would he listen to reason at all (at say a later time when he's not drunk)? Or, was my first instinct to just beat the shit out of him the best result? Of course I also felt for most of the weekend that guys that wear visors need to be at least slapped upside the head on general principles (at least 90% are insufferable douchebuckets). If this were a livejournal blog, my mood would have been: bellicose.

Quick Shots For Friday Happy Hour

Perhaps we've reached a breaking point on the # of stupid things the administration's doing, especially war-related, but I'd love to see a little more outrage over the whole "building walls in the middle of the night" fiasco.

Just so I understand: the Iraqis are going to learn to get along with each other and come to peaceful solutions, because we're going to put giant concrete walls...er, "barriers" between them? Why? Because it worked so well in Berlin? And works so well in the West Bank now?

Forcing Freedom isn't taking a horse to water and making him drink by gunpoint, it's more like putting two angry cats in a bag, and then tossing a slightly large dog in there to settle them (note: in this strained metaphor, the US military is cast in the role of the dog, and Shrub and co. as the people throwing the dog into the bag with the fighting cats.)

In sports, Bama may be considering a live elephant mascot. I recommend the write-up linked for a large laugh. And I want to dismiss this, what with online Bama fans having that stellar track record of calling Spurrier to Bama and Rodriguez to Bama...but they were right about Mike Price...

The Red Sox go to the Bronx this weekend to face the last-place Yankees. Even if complete disaster strikes, the Yanks can't pass the Red Sox in the standings. The pitching matchups aren't quite as nice as last weekend (Wang vs. Tavarez makes me nervous as the Red Sox were able to slap around Wang a lot less last season--hehehe "slap around Wang"--and Tavarez's starts thus far have been near UGA's midseason (say the Colorado/Ole Miss games particularly) "my eyes, the goggles do nothing" bad. However, 20 games into the season, New York has no saves, Fruitbat's ERA is in the 7.00s, and if A-Rod had resembled a normal human at all, they might have the worst record in MLB. Ideally, the Red Sox sweep, but 2-3 would still be a nice kick-'em-whilst-they're-down move.

It's Twilight weekend in Athens, which means drinking downtown saturday, and the one time people can stumble drunkenly down the middle of Clayton with no reprieve (well, after the race, and before they reopen the street...which I think has been getting earlier and earlier).

I figure it will be a good time, but maybe not as cool as the first Twilight I remember going to: that evening wound up also being my first ever blind date, and my first date with someone who would describe herself as a "stalker" (possible reason I might be single: I've had more than one girl admit to being my stalker, and I've dated every single one...though I choose to say I've lucked out and only met the really really pretty, cool stalkers. Yes, that's the ticket.)

Tuesday Grab-bag of Odds & Ends

*Florida and Ohio State Pt. 2 "One Boring Moment" garnered maybe 3 total minutes of viewing time from yrstrly. It was probably 4 minutes too much. While previous posts may hint that it's not that big a feat to turn my stomach, this whole Florida-winning-titles-in-major-sports thing needs to stop. If things work out and I make it to Jacksonville this year, prepare bail money in case of a UGA loss. The smug coming from UF fans is now at Yankee fans circa 2003 (well, to Boston fans anyway.) It's gotta stop.

*Saturday I'm going back to Sanford stadium, probably dateless, but all the bad memories of my last trip (the Game I Will Not Speak Of Again...in my head I was in the stands with plenty of other people, and some Johnny Walker, and the bleachers were hard to stand on, but nothing happened outside of the stands) well, I'm 100% I won't see another UGA loss (b/c it's the spring game and Georgia's basically playing Georgia. Though I guess if you wanted to quibble with semantics Georgia has to lose and win...). There will be tailgating somewhere on North Campus (weather permitting). However, a planned Floating Beer Pong party at the pool afterwards is likely doomed as it won't be as unseasonably warm as, say two weekends ago.

*I've been compiling a list of things I will buy once I have some disposable income, here's the top items:
A Vacation--I have had no vacation since 2002. I've been unemployed and slept in, but that's not really a vacation. This needs to change. Jacksonville for UGA-UF, Boston for a Sox game (or possibly the Police at Fenway), Baltimore before Ryan up and moves, New Orleans, NYC. Doesn't so much matter where, just so long as it's vacation. Obviously, a witty, attractive, intelligent, non-Bob JonesU-sympathizing female traveling companion would be a bonus.

A Dog--Ideally an english bulldog (white). I've more or less been living alone for the past two years (I have roomates, but they're in law school, so it was possible to go days without seeing them. Makes for a quiet apartment though) and without sounding too emo, yes, it can get lonely. A Dog would solve that I think. Plus, there's hard scientific research that shows women find a man out with a puppy far more attractive than if he didn't have one (I think mainly because a dog-less person in a dog park is a bit koo-koo....)

A laptop--ok, sure, there's the obvious reason below (which would really be more sentiment than anything.) But also, after The Girl brought it up, I did probably my first serious research into laptops (I'd thought about getting one before, but figured they weren't good for much, or if they were, were wildly expensive.) Turns out I was mostly wrong. They can still be wildly expensive, but only if you're looking for say, HD-DVD editing-capable laptops, or laptops-in-only-the-loosest-sense 20-inch screen behemoths. A nice 15.4 or ideally 17-incher (don't even think of making that joke) can have a gig or more of RAM, a 120 GB HD, and enough USB ports to add anything else. So I could write downtown, or in the park, and record tracks wherever.

*I wanted to talk about Opening Day. Schilling and Co. made that too painful. Here's to a revamped Josh Beckett tomorrow...

*Quick look at what's in the pipeline, post-wise: that whole second-chances pt. 2 thing, a looong post about Web2.0's impact on dating, Football stuff, and maybe something on Dice-K