Last Minute Plea

All the news outlets are reporting that California governor Arnold Schwarzenegger (that still sounds so weird) has denied clemency for Stanley "Tookie" Williams, founding member of the infamous Crips gang. He is scheduled to die Tuesday morning.

This story has been making headlines for the past few weeks, especially after Kenneth Lee Boyd become the 1,000th person to be executed in the United States. He died of a leathal injection, but reports say he did live long enough to see the confetti and balloons with "1000!" printed on them drop from the ceiling.

According to an AP report, prosecutors and victims' advocates say Williams is undeserving of clemency because he never owned up to his crimes and refused to inform on fellow gang members. As co-founder of the Crips, he is in essence responsible for hundreds of deaths since 1971.

On the other hand, many people look to Williams' 20 years in prison, where he wrote a cautionary memoir and children's books warinig of the dangers of gangs. They had hoped Schwarzenegger would commuted Williams'death sentence to life in prison without parole.

But regardless of your stance on this case, or the death penalty in general, I think we can all agree that "Tookie" is a completely stupid nickname. And no one, no matter what ills they did in life, deserves to have "Tookie" etched into their headstone. And so, I'm offering this last minute plea: please give Tookie a new nickname before he dies. I would have gone with, wait for it....









The Cripskeeper.

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Hey, Remember That Time...

Remember back in the late ninties when NBC aired reruns all summer, but tried to pawn them off as new, because "if you haven't seen them, they're new to you"? Man, that was lame. Who did they think they were kidding?

Hey, remember when the fate of the world depended on going back to the year 2004? Or when I watched Catwoman? And who could forget when that guy on the train asked the woman next to him if she wanted to see his toes? Oooh...or how about that time I did something remarkably similar to what I'm doing right now?

Yeah, those were the days.

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Is it Safe?

I walked through the Public Garden on my way to work yesterday morning and I saw a squirrel fall out of a tree. I didn't even know what it was at first, I just saw something drop out of the corner of my eye (I saw it out of the corner of my eye, it didn't drop out of the corner of my eye), followed by a loud thud.

The squirrel was okay, though. He landed in the pond and jumped out as quickly as he fell in. The way he hopped back onto the tree almost looked like the was he fell out, only in reverse. Except that now his once-fluffy tail was all wet and stringy. And he looked pretty mad. I don't know if he was mad because he fell and all his little squirrel buddies saw him, or if he was trying to kill himself but didn't fall from high enough, so now he's just wet and cold. Or maybe, just maybe, he was pushed. Whatever the case, he didn't look happy, which is pretty difficult for a squirrel.

I knew as soon as it happened that that's what I was going to write about yesterday. But as the day went on and more and more faxes piled up in front of me, I realized that wasn't going to happen.

Later in the day, I saw a guy on the corner in front of Starbucks, saying "Will someone just give me some money, please? I ran out of excuses." I'll give him points for originality, Even though he can't hold a candle to this guy:



So, uh, ninjas killed your family, huh?

Yup.

And left you with nothing but the clothes on your back and a peice of cardboard?

And a Sharpie. They are an enigmatic people.

Okay, but if they killed your family, why did you draw little smiley faces?

Well, that's what the ninjas look like. Have you seen them?

Smiley face ninjas? No, can't say that I have. Sorry.

They're just...big spheres with smiley faces on them. They're like...you ever play that old Atari game Berzerk?

Yeah. With that stupid smiley face guy that would kill you. What was that thing called?

Oh, um...something like Art. Argo...

Otto! Evil Otto!

Yeah, that's the guy. These ninja dudes look like Evil Otto from Berzerk. They kill you, and they smile when they do it.

Oh that's creepy.

That's right, so that's why I'm trying to get some cash for some lessons to avenge my family.

Okay. Well, um, here's a dollar. Go get those smiley bastards. And hey...be careful out there.

Hey, thanks man. I will.

I knew as soon as he said it that that's what I was going to write about yesterday. But as the day went on and more and more faxes piled up in front of me, I realized that wasn't going to happen.

Today, I had to run over to Staples to get some cartridge toner for my boss. His printer is in his office, and I've never seen it, so I can never remember what model it is. In the past, I'd just bring the empty container along and have them find one that looks like it. But that always takes too long, because they can never find it, and usually they have to call everyone that works there over to the counter to look for it. Fortunately, last time I noticed that each box has a different picture on it, so now instead of pulling out a crumpled piece of paper that says "S020108, " I just say, "I need the one with the dice on it."

Anyway, on my way to the store, I was nearly hit by a giant, powder-blue sheet of Styrofoam that a strong gust of wind flung in my direction. The wind is unusually strong today, and I heard the thing flying towards me. I have to admit, I wasn't thinking about you guys, because I moved out of the way just in time as it slammed into the trash barrel next to me. If I was thinking of you guys, I would have let it hit me, because reading about someone who was hit by a giant, powder-blue sheet of Styrofoam is a lot more entertaining that reading about someone who was almost hit with one. But I wasn't sure how much it was going to hurt. I mean, yeah, it was light weight, but the wind was really strong and it had some momentum behind it. Plus it's cold out, so the cold air must have made the Styrofoam harder; more solid. Kind of like how a football gets if you leave it out all winter.

I think about that when I'm watching a game in the dead of winter. That ball must be like a rock. Imagine trying to kick one of those things. People are always saying place kickers aren't real athletes, but I'd imagine kicking a cold football any distance must hurt like hell. It's like stubbing your toe for a living. I don't think that's a career I'll be pursuing.

Well, nearly being done in by flying killer Styrofoam was the last straw. I still have a pile of faxes in front of me, but I had to take the time to share that with you, because if I didn't, progressively weirder shit would just keep happening until I wrote about it. So I think I'm safe now. For a little while, anyway.

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There. I posted. Happy?

I found twenty dollars in my pocket today. That was pretty cool. I have no idea where it came from, though. Hmm. I hope these are my pants.

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Sometimes They Come Back

This may come as a shock to those of you who check back here for updates every day, but I'd have to say that my biggest weakness is procrastination. Why put off until tomorrow what you can do next week? That's my motto. Actually, I was going to write about this earlier, but, well...you know.

Procrastination is my Kryptonite™. Actually, I've never been anywhere near Kryptonite. Maybe Kryptonite is my Kryptonite. I mean, it looks extremely radioactive, like it could give you cancer or something. But excluding actual Kryptonite, I'd say that procrastination is my Kryptonite.

Case in point: any number of the purchases I've made over the years based at least to some degree on the considerable savings I'd get from the mail-in-rebate. It always starts the same, "Wow, with the rebate, this is practically free!" My cell phone had a rebate of nearly 75%. But the problem with rebates is you have to mail them in. I don't think I've ever followed through and mailed in a rebate in my entire life. I did try once, but by the time I sent it out, the offer had expired. It's just too much effort. You've got to get the receipt, make copies of it if you bought more than one thing with a rebate offer, cut out the UPC code, find a stamp...why don't they just give the rebate at the store? If you ask me, it's a conspiracy controlled by the U.S. Postal Service.

I've had that ridiculous headset sitting at my house for a couple of weeks now, and if I don't send it back within thirty days, I'm stuck with a $300 bill. The time for procrastination has come and gone. This thing needs to go. I've carted it to and from work a few times, thinking I could mail it during lunch or take care of it over the weekend, but something always seems to get in the way and it ends up sitting back at my desk. I finally found some time Tuesday afternoon and I was determined to get rid of it once and for all.

I tucked it under my arm and set out for the Post Office. After waiting in line for a few minutes, I went up to the counter and argued my case. I told the guy that I a telemarketer sent me a package that I didn't want and that I wanted to return it without paying for shipping. He said that as long as it wasn't opened, I wouldn't have to pay. But...he couldn't accept it because it was sent to me through Airborne Express and that's how it had to be sent back. I asked him if he knew where an Airborne Express location was, but he didn't know. There was a Mailboxes Etc. near our old office, so I headed there. I stepped out of the Post Office and, as if on cue, it started to rain.

If I had another Kryptonite, like the red kind, it would probably be my navigational skills. I once got lost walking home from the train station, something I'd done several times before. But this time, I thought I'd take a shortcut. So instead of my usual route, which takes about 40 minutes, I hopelessly wandered around for four hours. Much of that time was spent going in the opposite direction. I probably could have walked to Boston in four hours, so it's kind of sad when you realize I pretty much stayed within the same few blocks of Braintree and Weymouth. I finally got to a pay phone and had my dad pick me up at Caswell's Seafood, which is only a few minutes from my house, but I just couldn't walk anymore.

Armed with this information, you can probably see what coming next. I left the Post Office and walked down to where I thought Mailboxes Etc. was. Before I left the office, John T. told me where it was, just in case I ended up having to go there. So I went over to the corner where he said I would find it, but it wasn't there. I don't know what it is about that place, but I could never remember where it was, even though it was relatively close to our old office. I thought maybe he had the wrong intersection, so I combed three blocks in each direction, but to no avail. The rain collecting on my glasses wasn't helping the cause, either. After about twenty minutes, I called the office and asked John T. where it was again. He said it had been a few years since he'd been there, so it might have closed, but it was at the corner of Appleton and Columbus Ave. So I went back to where those two streets meet, and I'll be damned if I wasn't staring right at Mailboxes Etc. I swear to God it wasn't there the first time.

Or, to be more accurate, I wasn't there the first time. I was at the corner of Appleton and Clarendon, four blocks away from where I started.

Just thankful to have found the place, I went inside and propped the infernal package on the countertop.

"Do you take Airborne Express packages? I'm trying to get rid of this thing."

"Um...DHL? Generally, no. But you can call them and have them arrange a pick-up."

"I just...I got this thing from a telemarketer and I don't want the damn thing and I'm not going to pay to send it back."

"They should be able to take care of that for you if you call the 800 number."

Feeling somewhat defeated, I put the package back under my arm and trudged back to the office. At least now I knew how to get rid of it once and for all.

Back at the office, I typed "Airborne Express" into Google and came up with the DHL homepage. I found their 800 number and gave them a call. It wouldn't be long now. After a few minutes of Musak peppered with reminders that my call is important to them, I was greeted by a very nice young woman who listened to my story and, after a brief meeting with her supervisor, said they would pick up the package and return it without billing me. She asked for the location of the pick-up and final destination and told me someone would be over before five. At last! The Hello Direct saga was over!

So why is there another paragraph? Well, you know at the end of horror movies, after the killer gets shot, stabbed, impaled, beheaded and drowned several times over and everyone is calm for a few seconds, then BAM! He inexplicably springs back to life? I came home Wednesday night to find a present waiting for me...








THEY SENT IT BACK TO MY HOUSE!!!

Unbelievable. It came back the very next day, like The Cat in the Hat. What is it going to take to rid myself of this monstrosity? Even now it sits on my desk, mocking me. I put in another call to DHL, and wrote "Return to Sender" in huge black Sharpie. With any luck, this time it'll be gone for good.

Fantasy Football Update: Week 10
The Dingleberries are clinging on to first place at 7-2-1.

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A Question For the Ages

The fine folks at the Comedy Research Institute have dedicated their lives to the scientific pursuit of a higher understanding of comedy. Some have even given their lives to this pursuit (see "the great custard pie massacre of 1932") Others merely die on the inside, toiling away in CRI's vast archives, in search of answers to comedy's most Sphynx-like riddles: "Why is a raven like a writing desk?" "What is the average person's threshold for knock-knock jokes?" and, of course, "Is Andy Dick punishment from God?"

Today, CRI "Laughologists" ask you to kindly participate in the poll below, scientifically designed to extrapolate the "lifespan" of topical humor. The results of the poll will be printed in the December issue of Comedy Research Institute's Published Essays & Stories. For a copy of CRIPES, please ask for it by name at your local newsstand, where you will be openly mocked and called a silly person for asking for a made-up publication.

One more point of interest: In it's vigourous search of the internet, CRI has discovered other instances of the name "Comedy Research Institute" on the world wide web and have therefore decided to rename their organization the University of Finding Out Why Things Are Funny. This change will take effect in the next issue of UFOWTAFPES.

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The Final Countdown

Over the past few years, TV has become less of a form of entertainment and more like a form of torture. The airwaves have been cluttered with mind-numbingly awful sitcoms, scores of CSI and Law & Order clones, and an unrelenting torrent of reality shows that are so bottom-of-the-barrel putrid, they leave you begging for more mind-numbingly awful sitcoms and CSI and Law & Order clones. Anything that's even remotely interesting is swiftly and quietly taken out back and put down.

But every season I come back, with the hopes that one of those good shows might last a season or two. No matter how many times I've been beat down, I always come back. Network TV is the Ike to my Tina.

And you know what? For the first few weeks of this season, I thought this time really was going to be different. I mean, would the old network TV even let a show like My Name is Earl make it on the air, let alone pick it up for the whole season? There's no laugh track. There's only one camera. Just like a certain other great show that had just happen to get the nod for a third season. Yes, after a summer of uncertainty, Arrested Development came back. See, TV had changed!

Silly, stupid Tina.

I guess I have no one to blame but myself for the shiner I got this afternoon. Of course, I could blame the network geniuses at FOX, who apparently have no idea how to handle an Emmy-winning, critically-acclaimed comedy. In hindsight, perhaps premiering the third season opener against a special Hurricaine Katrina relief telethon edition of Monday Night Football, then pulling the show for several weeks in favor of the lowest-rated World Series in television history were not the greatest ways to attract new veiwers. To their credit, they did show two episodes back-to-back this week, it's first week back since the WS, and apparently last until some time in December. But hey, Stacked! is coming back!

Tim Kring isn't off the hook, either. Who's Tim Kring, you ask? Only the writer of a little movie called Teen Wolf Too. To this day, simply mentioning "Jason Bateman" will cause some people to set themselves on fire and jump out the nearest window. Those poor, jaded souls probably never even gave Arrested Development a chance. It's a shame, because they're really missing out. Plus, they're on fire.

But really, most of the blame lays squarely on the shoulders of the veiwing public. How many times have your co-workers told you about this show, only to have you say you'll "get around" to watching it? Maybe you've even chuckled at the name Bob Loblaw (and by the way, if you haven't, you're some kind of robot), or at the opening line of his commercial, "Why should you go to jail for a crime that someone else...noticed?" Maybe you stopped while flipping through the channels one night and thought to yourself, "Hey, is that Super Dave? I'm pretty sure that's Super Dave. Why does he have a camera on his head? Huh. That's weird. Oooh! Navy Seals!"

In the end, it's probably for the best. With any luck, Arrested Development will land on HBO, possibly coupled with Curb Your Enthusiasm, where it will collect mounds of awards and hopefully work in a ton of jokes at FOX's expense. Are you listening, HBO? Even with the low ratings AD's getting now, it's bound to do better than The Comeback.

If you've still never seen the show, the first and second seasons are available on DVD. You can even buy the second season from the sidebar over there and help me out a little. I don't want to try to sway your decision, but Brianna sleeps on the floor. Anyway, once you're all caught up, you can check out the o.p. and join the ranks of AD fans. FOX may not realize it, but there are dozens of us. Dozens!

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I Can't Find My Camouflage Shirt

I just got back from au bon pain. I resisted going there for the longest time, ever since that time I tried to order a bagel. But now that I've cracked their complicated ordering system, it's not so bad.

On the way out the door, I grabbed a plastic knife to spread the cream cheese with. But I've looked all around my desk and I can't find it anywhere. It's made of clear plastic, so it may as well be invisible. I know I put it in the bag. Or maybe my pocket. I know it's not in my jacket, because it was warm today and I didn't bring it.

Where's my stupid knife?! Why can't I ever just eat a bagel without some kind of drama?

But that's not all. Guess what came yesterday:



And so it begins...

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Coyote. Shaken, Not Stirred.

This morning on the way to the train, I saw a dead coyote on the side of the road. My parents said they can hear them howling at night, but this was really the first time I'd actually seen one. Maybe.

When I was in college, there was a semester where one day I only had a morning class, so I'd spend the afternoon sitting around the house. Everyone else was either at work or school, so I could basically do anything I wanted. And what I wanted was to watch old sitcoms on USA. One day, during a commercial break for The John Larroquette Show, I got up to get a drink and saw something outside. I went over to the window to get a closer look. At the edge of the woods, I saw what looked like a dog, only bigger. It was tall and white and looking right at me. I didn't have a National Audubon Society booklet on me, but I was pretty sure I was looking at a wolf. I wanted to get a closer look, so I got a big stick, because, you know, "Stand back! I've got a stick!" and took off in pursuit.

I never saw it again although my dad says he has, and it wasn't even until a few years later that I started hearing reports of coyotes in the area. Since there are apparently no wolves Massachusetts, I figured it must have been a coyote I saw out there. But when I actually saw the footage of coyotes on the news, they were tiny, with short legs. So I still say it was a wolf. And how weird is it that we even have coyotes? I always just assumed that wolves lived in the woods and coyotes lived in the desert. And since we're hardly in the desert...

Anyway, back to the dead coyote on the side of the road. When I got to work, I told John T. about it. He lives closer to the city, so he wasn't as aware of the growing number of coyotes seen on the South Shore.

"A coyote? How did you know it was a coyote?"

"Well, he was clutching a tiny umbrella."

He laughed, so I thought I'd try it out on John M., the "Bud has donuts" guy.

"Hey, I was telling T. that I saw a dead coyote on the road this morning. He asked how I knew it was a coyote and I said because he had a little umbrella."

"What, is a coyote a type of drink or something?"

As Trinamick would say, great googly-moogly.

So here's a question. If there really was a drink called "the coyote," what would be in it? No Goldschlager allowed.

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Hello, Boss!

As if I needed another reason to dump a sack of scorpions in Joe's bed.

Whenever we get unsolicited sales calls at work, we put them on hold for a few minutes, then tell them whoever they're looking for stepped away from their desk. That's what we're supposed to do, anyway.

Last week, Joe said "Halo Direct" is on the line for me. I'd never heard of Halo Direct, but I knew they were either trying to sell me an Xbox or ask me if I've accepted the Lord Jesus Christ into my life. So I took the call, found out it was actually Hello Direct and they sell wireless headsets for phones. I told the guy that the person in charge of making those decisions is away, asked if he wanted to leave a messege, you know, the usual stuff. When I got off the phone, I told Joe that it was a sales call, and next time, just blow him off.

"Sorry. I thought it was a collection agency," he whispered. Jackass.

A few days later, Joe calls me again and says there's an Andrew [Last name begrudgingly withheld] on the phone for me. Again, I've never heard of this guy, but I picked up the phone, and before I can say anything, this guy starts spewing his rehearsed Hello Direct sales pitch. God damn it, Joe. What's worse, is that our entire conversation was echoing loudly back into my ear. I'm not sure what was causing it, but I hope for his sake it wasn't that hands-free thingamagic he was undoubtedly wearing.

I told him we weren't interested, but he insisted that it was a free trial with no obligations. I told him again, adding that we're a small company and don't really need anything like that. But he kept pushing, and the feedback in my ear was getting worse. I could have hung up at any time. I should have. But I couldn't. I guess I should add here that I absolutely HATE the phone. I get really nervous and uncomfortable. I only use my phone when I have to. I say what I need to say, and then hang up. I was stuck on the phone with this guy, and I just wanted him to stop talking, so I said "fine." No big deal, right? I started to give him the company's address, when he interrupted, "Now, I have your address as [my home address], is that correct?"

Holy crap! How'd this guy get my home address? Well, now there was no way I could hang up on him, he knows were I live. I don't want to come home to a burnt-out shell one day, with this Andrew guy standing in the driveway, smelling of gasoline.

Let's see you hang up on me now!

So now I've got this stupid headset coming to my house. And if I don't send it back in thirty days, I've got to pay $293. God damn it, Joe.

"Sorry. It sounded like he knew you."

If discovering that you're getting a $293 hands free headset from Hello Direct shipped directly to your house had a polar opposite, it would have to be discovering the 69 cent miracle in a can that is Hello Boss.


I bought a can last weekend when Michele took me to Kam Man Food, the Asian marketplace in Quincy. Dispite living in Quincy for over a year, we never really went there, except when her mom came to visit. The first night we drove by, part of the "K" wasn't lit, so Michele looked up at the sign and said "I Am Man Food?"

Anyway, they have all kinds of cool weird-looking Asian fruits and vegetables that I'd never heard of. Most of them were all spikey and imposing, like they were from outer space. But the best part is the candy and drink isles, where you can pick up some Japanese candy and some really cheap Red Bull knock-offs from Thailand. Red Ice comes in a little brown glass bottle, and tastes a little like cough syrup.

Then there's Hello Boss. It's kind of like those little Starbucks drinks they sell for almost two dollars, only they're 69 cents and they have that funny little guy on the can.
Hello, boss!

I also grabbed a few cans of what I'd imagine to be Hello Boss' chief rival, Mr. Brown. Mr. Brown is also a coffee drink in a can, costs the same, and has an eerily similar mascot. I don't know which came first, but someone is clearly ripping somebody else off.



I think I'd prefer vanilla Mr. Brown to the vanilla Starbucks Frappuccino even if I wasn't broke. That stuff's pretty good. As for Mr. Brown versus Hello Boss, I think I've got to go with the Boss Man. Sure, they're both only 69 cents, but Hello Boss is a hefty 11.5 oz., while Mr. Brown is only 8.12. Plus that Mr. Brown looks a little too cocky for his own good.

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What Have We Learned?

I think we leared a lot yesterday. We learned that you can find just about anything on the internet. We learned that the guy that cuts off his legs every night for a living was not some childhood hallucination, but magician Rudy Coby, and that he even had his own comic book. Who knew? I think the lesson here is that just because someone remembers something that no one else does, it doesn't mean they imagined it. It just means they watched an obscene amount of television when they were growing up.

Anyone remember D.C. Follies, with Fred Willard and a bunch of terrifying Kroftt puppet versions of late eighties media and political figures? There's not much about it on the internet, and what little there is doesn't include pictures. I remember watching an Entertainment Tonight segment about how they made the puppets. Until then, I thought the puppet likenesses were silly and harmless, which was the point. But at the end of the segment, the lights shut off in the warehouse, and the camera zoomed in on the Nancy Reagan puppet, which winked and nodded at the audience or something to that effect. It was supposed to be this cutesy ending to the story, I guess. But that Nancy Reagan puppet scared the ever-loving crap out of me. I must have had nightmares for a week, convinced that a smiling, felt caricature of the First Lady was going to eat my soul. Oh God! It's alive!!

Fantasy Football Update: Week 7
Well, it had to happen sooner or later. After six weeks, I'm 6-1, coming off a major smackdown thanks to Bill "Old Biff" Parcells.



No big deal, though. I'm still in first with a two game cushion.

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Get A Leg Up On The Pile

Okay, kids, I've got an assignment for you. Back in the late eighties, there was this guy in a lab coat and green pants. Not regular green, but that bluish Miami Vice green that was all over the place back then. Anyway, this guy had four legs, and he would go up on stage and proceed to cut off his appendages with a chainsaw, one by one, while The Peter Gunn Theme plays in the background.

I would think it would be pretty hard to forget something that monumentally weird, but when I brought it up with my friends a few weeks ago, they all looked at me like I had mayonnaise bleeding out of my eyes. I should have been the one with the blank look on my face. I mean, how do you just blank out a guy sawing off his freaking legs? If we weren't all broke, I would have put money on this guy's existence.

Have you ever been the only one that remembers something, and it gets to the point where you start to think maybe you imagined your entire childhood? Fortunately, Al Gore invented the internet, where you can find 9,000 other people that remember the same ridiculous things you do. That's a pretty good feeling; to sit back and say, "See, I knew Snow White had her own sitcom in the eighties!"

So I went home and did a search for "chainsaw," "lab coat" and "Peter Gunn." Nothing. Nothing relevant, anyway.

So...anyone want to back me up on this? Max Headroom-looking four-legged chainsaw guy, anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

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Kitchen Math

4 caramel cubes+ 60 seconds in the microwave = a burnt clump of caramel, lots of smoke and everyone yelling at me.

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The Original Blue Man Group

I was reading the Metro this morning and on the top of page six were the words "UNICEF BOMBS SMURF VILLAGE," accompanied by a comically apocalyptic image. At first I thought one of the interns over there slipped it in as a joke. Nope.

UNICEF BOMBS SMURF VILLAGE



Out of an idyllic blue sky dotted with birds and butterflies come warplanes that carpet bomb the Smurfs' forest village, killing Smurfette and leaving Baby Smurf wailing in distress.

The scene from a commercial featuring the cartoon characters is part of a UNICEF ad campaign on Belgian television meant to highlight the plight of ex-child soldiers in Africa. The 20-second clip is meant to show that war can happen in the most innocent of places, a UNICEF spokesman said. (full story)

I know it's wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. I get what they're saying, but I can't stop laughing. I think it's the fact that Smurfette was actually blown out of her shoe. And the guy running around in the background with his hat on fire...comdey gold. That whole picture just cracks me up. I'm think of setting it as the background on my laptop.

Fantasy Football Update: Week 5
The bad news is, I had Donovan McNabb playing Sunday. The good news is, I also had Drew Bledsoe. So now I'm 5-0 and have the most overall points. But the big news is that Jose finally won! He beat Nick 198-162.

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What Happened?

I don't know if you've noticed, but I haven't been around lately. I guess that means I should take a moment to dispel some of the rumors I just made up about my whereabouts. So I'd like to go on record as saying the following:

I am not now, nor have I ever been, a fugitive on the run from the Malaysian government.

I did not die as the result of mixing Pop Rocks with Coca-Cola.

I did not film a grainy, night-vision sex tape with former Attorney General Janet Reno entitled "One Night in Reno."

I have not given up my highfalutin office job for a more hands-on career at the hobo factory.

I was not called upon by supernatural forces to reluctantly play a key role in the epic battle of good and evil. Not yet, anyway.

I was not holed up in the basement, frantically scribbling lyrics to my as yet unfinished rock opera, Joe Happens.

I did not break into prison in an elaborate scheme to break my innocent brother out.

I was not trampled by adoring fans who spotted me in line at Dunkin Donuts. Not yet, anyway.

As boring as it may seem, I was just on vacation. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow. Or as soon as I shake these Malaysian operatives.

Fantasy Football Update: Week 4
The Dingleberries are doing more than just hanging on. After three weeks, I'm sitting at the top of the rankings as the only undefeated team at 3-0. This weekend I went head to head with Jose, who has yet to win a match up. We won't know the Week 4 outcome until tonight's game is over. I'm ahead by fifty points right now, but if Delhomme has a good enough game, Jose could still come out with a win. I can't believe I'm saying this, but go, Packers!

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The Only One That Could Ever Reach Me

Yesterday I asked Brianna how she likes Nash school. She's very excited about first grade. She told me her teacher is reading the book Because of Winn-Dixie to the class. They're only about ten pages in, but she gave me a summary of what's happened so far.

"The girl has no mother and her father is a creature, but she's just a person."
Her father's a creature? I know virtually nothing about the book, except there's a girl and a dog, and that it was made into a movie earlier this year, but I'm pretty sure that didn't sound right. Then again, maybe her father died and came back as the dog. Didn't that happen in some book? Or am I thinking of that movie where Michael Keaton is reincarnated into a snowman?

"Wait. Her father is a creature?" I asked.

"Yeah. Her dad's a creature and he goes to church."

Ah. There we go.

"Preacher. Her dad is a preacher."

"Preacher? What's that?"

"It's like a priest. You know, they guy that goes up and talks on Sundays."

"Oh. Well, her mom didn't like being a creature's wife."

"Preacher!"

"Oh yeah...preacher...Why didn't she like being a preacher's wife?"

"I don't know. Because a preacher is always at the church and doesn't get to spend much time with his family."

"Oh. Like your dad. Is he a preacher?"

"Not really. But...yeah, sort of, I guess."

This entire conversation took place while she was taking a bath, and since I'm still not really comfortable seeing little naked people, I spend most of the time staring at the towels stacked in the closet.

I hope she'll still be interested in the story when the teacher picks up where she left off today. For ten pages, she thought it was about a girl whose mother left because her father was a creature. That's kind of a tough act to follow. I can only imagine what was going through her head...



Alright, since I haven't been able to post much lately, and because Scott's comment reminded me of it, here's a bonus Brianna story, you lucky bastards:

One day Audioslave's Doesn't Remind Me was playing in the car and I heard this little voice singing along in the background. It was the cutest thing ever. Later, she sang Dragula, which was a little less cute.

That weekend, we were in my mom's car. This time, Queen's We Will Rock You / We Are the Champions was on.

"Hey, I know this song! They play good songs at night!" Brianna said, and she started singing along. My mom was impressed.

"She always does that. You should have been there the other day when she was singing Rob Zombie."

Sensing we were talking about her, Brianna's ears perked up. I swear, whenever that girl hears her name, she turns into Barth from You Can't Do That on Television.



"I heard that!"

"I wasn't saying anything bad. I was just saying you were singing a Rob Zombie song the other day. You probably don't even know what song that was."

"Yeah I do! It's the one about burning through the witches."

Fantasy Football Update: Week 1
The Dingleberries are 1-0, ranked third with 185 points. Not bad, considering I had the fewest "projected" points going in. Not to mention I lost Javon Walker for the rest of the season. Lousy Green Bay.

Oh, and Jose's fifth-ranked MI6 are 0-1.

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Hang In There

There's nothing like 96 hours of disaster relief coverage to make your own problems seem like minor inconveniences. I saw a guy on TV the other day that was desperately trying to find his wife and three grandchildren, and suddenly having to sleep on my parents' couch didn't seem so bad.

Slightly less depressing (okay, a lot less depressing) then all the heartbreaking news stories was the commercial I saw for the Toy Story 10th Anniversary Edition. How could that movie have come out ten years ago?! How did that happen?! I feel old now.

Well, on the bright side, football season starts on Thursday. Last year, Nick and Jose were part of a fantasy football league with some guys from Best Buy. I'd been hearing more and more about fantasy leauges over the past few years, but I never really understood what they were. It sounded like something that involved twenty-sided die.


As the weeks went on, it started to make a bit more sense, even though I still don't really understand how the points work. They seemed to be having fun, though, and I wanted to try it for myself. So this year I'm giving it a shot. We had our live draft two weeks ago. If you're unfamiliar with the whole process, basically you take turns picking who you want on your team from a list of available players. Kind of like how we used to pick teams for kickball in fourth grade. Everyone picks two quarterbacks, three wide recievers, two running backs, two tight ends, two kickers, two guys that can be either wide recievers or running backs, and two teams' defenses. It's only a six team leaugue, so no one really got saddled with bottom of the barrel type guys, but I was still in the middle of packing up the apartment when we had the draft, so some of my choices were a bit hurried. So ever since then I've been adding and dropping players like crazy, trying to fill out my roster with the best players available. So long, Jim Kleinsasser. Hello, Jeb Putzier.

In the battle of players with silly names, I dumped Plaxico Burress in favor of Peerless Price, while Price was still in limbo. I figured he'd have to land somewhere before the season started, and I was a little weary of Plexiglass only because he'll be catching throws from Eli Manning. Who knows, maybe Eli will do better this year, but it sure looks like he's the Billy Carter of the Manning family. Jose added Burress to his roster a few days later, and with my luck, the guy's going to have a career season.

Anyway, I named my team the Dingleberries. Why Dingleberries? Well, I don't expect to be at the top of the standings every week, but hopefully I'll be able to hang on long enough to get into the playoffs. I wanted to use a customized logo, but Yahoo only lets you use one of their generic football helmets, or some kind of creepy winking Backstreet Boy. That stinks, because I wanted to draw up a liitle graphic of a berry in a football helmet, or at least put up the team's motto:



So there you go. I'll keep you updated on how my team is doing each week. And as long as he's doing worse than me, I'll keep you updated on Jose's team, too. We're going head-to-head week 4.

Now...about the Disgusting Girl blog. From what I saw on this site, DG found out about the blog and Madman, the guy who wrote it, was fired. How did she find out, you ask? Madman had his blog set up to send him an email every time some one leaves a comment. I have mine set up the same way, but he had it go his work email rather than a private one. So when he went on vacation a few weeks ago, he had his auto-reply message on, and everyone (including me) that commented on his blog during that time got an auto-reply email with his name, the name of the company he worked for, the address and the phone number. I'm sure he wasn't thinking about his blog when he set up the auto-reply, but it was a HUGE mistake on his part to have an his comments go to his work email. So basically, I'm guessing someone got an auto-reply and decided to be a dick and called the company.

Every trace of Madman is gone, even his other blog that was just a list of other people's blogs. According to Cassy, someone called the number from the email and was informed that he was terminated. Someone else said that he posted a comment on her blog saying he was almost fired and that she was to remove the comment as soon as she read it. I hope he didn't really get fired over this. But either way, it doesn't look like he'll be writing about DG anymore. So many questions were left unanswered. Will DG and Tiny get married? What's going to happen with her lawsuit? And what about poor little Pope? I can understand that DG is upset, and she has every right to be. But she can't just leave us all hanging, we were there for her whole pregnancy, for crying out loud! And possibly even the conception. She could at least start her own blog and pick up where Madman left off.

Well, I think we all learned a thing or two from this. I just hope Ted, the annoying guy I work with, never finds my site. You know, Ted?

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