4-0.

newest word I'm using with increased frequency

"modicum" replaces "regal"

I am also seriously looking to continue my use of "congruent" and "dynamic" in completely unorthodox situations.

In true Flair fashion

OK, so I never followed wrestling during its brief heydey, but I know there are many members of my blog audience (pop. 4) who will appreciate this article about Rick Flair's son, a HS wrestler, and his recent (and HILARIOUS)) mat escapades. Apparantly the kid who beat him celebrated with the signature Rick Flair strut, which didn't go over well with Rick's son, as would be expected. Apparantly, violence ensued.

The winner's dad, gotta love the quote: "I won't tell you wrong, Colby is a hothead."

as your haughty guide to all things Internet

I just want to make sure you all are aware of wikipedia.com (which you probably are, if you are alive). But if not, it's an online encyclopedia with all its articles written by normal folks who just sumbit what they know about a given topic. As such, it's certainly not beyond repute, but as it involves normal folks who CARE about the detailed things they are writing about (i.e. the veritable 'experts' on each subject), and it is well monitored by said folks, I generally think it's the shit.

also, I haven't had any reason to use it yet, but if some research paper ever comes calling, Google Scholar is the way to go. And yes, we're getting engaged next month.

One stat

stands out from the night of epic DErailment as worthy of remembrance (maybe because it's one of the only things I actually do -- and I'm still trying desperately to forget Manish picking me up and twirling me around at Goodfellow's).

9-1.

Sutton's

So, you CH cronies knew that the eating of the food (nevermind, Phipps, I take back what I said about stealing other people's stuff) had to happen for me at the town's landmark dining establishment. That it was the last day of school my third year here and I hadn't done it was an embarassment.

Well it has all been rectified. Alex held me by the hand (figuratively, though we did sit a little too close for comfort and even touched legs once) and helped good ol' Suttons deflower my virgin tastebuds this afternoon. I feel no need to describe this in any more depth, as I am sure your own Sutton's experiences suffice to enlighten you as to its charm.

Señor Butts

Me: "Chris, what are you doing later on?"
Chris: "I'm resting."

LOL.

the results are in

and the critics give it two thumbs up:

genabena7: one of the things i love about my days: reading your blog.

Rain is just water

So, today, there was some badassness. DTM was in full effect.

Now, I don't talk much about DTM as I loathe all forms of modesty-broaching and hold a firm, steadfast believe that nothing is ever worthy of leaving the deserved realms of humility. But, today, DTM impressed me. And they talk about him, so why can't I?

After his interview (it wasn't bad, but just don't ask), DTM walked out of the Smith Center to a light drizzle. Quickly this escalated to a veritable downpour (no, it wasn't thunderstormesque, but it was legit). Still, DTM pressed on. Around him, people ran for cars, sought out overhangs, and the smart ones whipped out umbrellas. DTM was not smart, but he was also not fazed, and so he pressed on. Wearing his dress clothes, he slowly proceeded from dry to wet to soaked. But he pressed on. And the coolest thing during it all was his steely, unwavering resolve. Despite the weird looks as he passed people comfortably dry and sheltered from the downpour. Despite the rain dripping off his hair and into his eyes, he blinked not, nor gave ninguna wipe-away. Despite. And though it may have been because of his mood (last day of classes and all), I don't think that explains it. No, there was something more, something greater and more awesome (in the real sense of the word, not the overused, cheapened slang sense). He was oblivious to the rain, completely unaffected by it. Actually, he kind of relished in it, saw that he was bigger than it, and embraced it for what it was. It was quite an experience.

To the other, to DTM, is to whom occur the things.

OK, I admit it

This Andy tribute thing is lame. The presses have been called off.

Sad face for sucking at life.

It's a celebration

Classes are done. Over. Finito. Cumplido. Nyet (ok, so I don't know much Russian). Either way, ya basta.

Celebrate good times, come on.

or in the immaculate words of Manish, time to get DErailed.

(notice the lack of exclamation points -- I struggle greatly with expressing my emotion)

Somos Mexicanos

Graphic design artist extraoridnaire, and my new heroine (well, I'm not sure I have any others) Gena has compiled a phenomenal photodocumentary of Team Taxco's experiences in Mexico last summer. If you want to see what I look like with a shaved head, check it out. And my personal Spanish tribute to being bald.

In honour of lifts, boots, and the good duck Andy 10

While I think Andy held an unadmitted interest in the furry creatures that roam our campus, something tells me he would appreciate this.

It's like the Lord of the Rings battle .... TIMES 10!!!

(first of all, I hope somebody besides Rell gets that reference, which by me saying it, probably gives it away). Second of all it kind of loses all its humor because it deals with my life, on very serious levels. But if you can't laugh at life, well then life is gonna suck for you.

I thought about titling this post "decisions," cause that's what it is. I interviewed today for a job I would love to get (on pins and needles, fingers-crossed until this weekend). However, even if I get it, it has no definite location attached. All I need is el Internet. And it pays not well. At all. So I am stuck with an excruciatingly hard decision, stuck in Limbo one might say. I can stay in CH (location to be determined and moving carried out ALL in the midst of finals) or return home (presumably via Gus if he's got it in him -- yeah right) and work for the local paper (Junior College World Series, what). So you see my dilemma. Basically, I pay out of my pocket to stay here and the bank account takes a huge hit it can't really afford, but I get to be in a town with friends or I go live with the Rentals for free and work a job at an actual newspaper like I prob should before I give it all up. (oh yeah, for those of you who don't know yet, I'm entertaining law school thoughts b/c I THINK I hate journalism).

I'm struggling enough with this to solicit comments/lobbying campaigns from any and all of my blog readership. The only problem is I don't think any of my family reads this, so the friends voice might be a little disproportionate. But that's okay, I don't think I could handle a tie and still maintain my loose grasp on reality.

life in Limbo

I live in Limbo. Stop by and say "hi" sometime on your way to Somewhere.

In honour of lifts, boots, and the good duck Andy 9

I'll just let the email I got from Andy be the entry today. I don't pretend to understand it, but that's what we love about him:

FW: Joy

hello btw :)

xxx

>Subject: Joy

>Date: Wed, 27 Apr 2005 14:51:08 +0000 > >
Check this fuckers

If you get them i'll buy you a keg of beer. I got one then gave up coz I wanted to cry.

I'll send a real email soon.

You all touch kids

http://members.home.nl/saen/Special/Zoeken.swf

My allegiances and a bit more

this post has a few inspirations. One is obviously Jeff's post about what teams he follows at what level of interest/investment, but another is the NBA playoffs, since that league is the only one in which I don't really have a regular "favorite" team -- at least not since MJ left. Therefore, I recently found myself evaluating where my sports interests lay, and I figured since I talk about them so much, y'all should formally know as well.

Out-of-this-world/life-sustaining:
College Basketball: Carolina.....and a perverse, distorted, and psychotic hatred of dook

Very, Very Important:
NHL: Avalanche......and a perverse antagonism for Detroit
NFL: San Francisco......a perverse antagonism for Dallas and Green Bay; (really respect the Pats while the Niners are sucking)

Important:
College Football: Carolina, Colorado (sex party U)........and a perverse antagonism for Texas (fuck 'em horns!)
all college sports: Carolina

Cursory, why do I follow them (but I do) interest:
MLB: Rockies......and a perverse antagonism for the Yankees
MLS: Rapids

which brings me to the point of this post. The NBA. My favorite team here changes, well, regularly. And that's not a bad, bandwagon thing. I just hate the league, can't watch the games, but still come to respect certain players/teams from afar. And then I "root" for them in the playoffs. But I don't REALLY care who wins. Since the Bulls run ended, I have liked, at different times:

Toronto (with Vince and T-Mac)
Philly (when AI carried them)
Washington (with MJ)
Dallas (with Antawn)
Chicago off-and-on (just 'cause I couldn't turn my back)
and, of course,
Detroit (they are like the Pats of the NBA, everything the right way)

.......and a perverse antagonism fo the Lakers the entire time

This year in particular, I am "rooting" for:

Phoenix: I love the way they play. They are really fun to watch, which is better than I can say for most of the NBA. I think it might because they don't really have a 1-on-1, go-to guy, so there's none of that 20 seconds of dribbling, crossover, pull-up jumper that every other team does.

Denver: hometown kids, and yes, this is bandwagon jumping. They've never been good as long as I've been alive, so give me a break. Plus, I waited until George Karl became the savior, so I had a real reason to like them. And who can neglect the best (and in some senses that means the worst) throwbacks ever?

Chicago: How the hell does this team win? What is there to even like about them? Scott Skiles has done a hell of a job getting a true cast of characters to come together. I hate Duhon (and Deng), but my love for Ben Gordon has always been sky-high (if he had been anywhere as close to as selfish as he should have been at UConn, OMG). Gotta respect Hinrich at the 1/2, and any dude that looks and plays like Nocioni, well I like him just for proving all that is wrong with the NBA. It sounds weird to say, but in a sense, Chicago is a true "throwback to WAY back" team.

Detroit: Rasheed, Larry Brown, sort of Billups (CU), def Prince (how'd he get good?), of course Big Ben, and gotta love Rip. And they play defense, and they play together.

so we'll see how they do. And it'll be fun to pick new favorite teams next year, which goes against all the sanity in my bones (unlike Fischer, I have some). It is certainly a nice change of pace to follow teams in the NBA without my mental health state on the line...

cool tidbit

When Google was a Stanford research project, it was nicknamed BackRub because the technology checks backlinks to determine a site's importance.

I think the name change was a good idea. Can you imagine being like, "hold on a sec. Let me backrub it real quick,"?

nothing on this earth

ruffles my feathers (what a stupid expression, btw) like shitty napkin dispensers. So basically the horribly ineffective ones that seem to litter every food establishment.

I mean, something so simple should actually work with a modicum of success, right? But no. It's excruciatingly, frustratingly hard every time. Sometimes you get one, sometimes none, sometimes 4. And the worst part for me is the feeling of it...ugh, I shudder just thinking about it. Maybe I'm a little sissy, but that dry, grating feel of trying to grasp at a napkin firmly wedged sends shudders through my spine. It's like the feeling of chalk (which I also hate). Or the gross dust I can honestly feel on the bottom of my shoes after walking through a kids playground lined with pebbles. I can feel the dust on the bottom of my shoes, through my shoes.

Maybe I'm just neurotic. Yeah, that's the ticket.

how I amuse myself

sessa BABE 85: i miss you.
DanTheHeel: baby when i used to love you
sessa BABE 85: noooo, i hate the word used
DanTheHeel: baby when i to love you
sessa BABE 85: haha
sessa BABE 85: you are the best.
DanTheHeel: i believe that love is the answer
sessa BABE 85: it is
DanTheHeel: i believe that love will find a way
sessa BABE 85: it will
DanTheHeel: love hurts
sessa BABE 85: i wish you didnt quote songs when you spoke to me
DanTheHeel: 'cause every time I tried to tell you
the words just came out wrong
so I'll have to say "I love you"... in a song
sessa BABE 85: haha
sessa BABE 85: oook

Doomsday

so it happened, the nightmare scenario.

Gone.

Rashad. Ray. Sean.

Marvin.

Jawad. Jackie. (Melvin.)

and let's NOT forget JamesOn. and J.R.

Back: David, Reyshawn, Q.T(O)., (Wes). (Byron).

I never thought it possible. Well, not never. After we won, I saw it as very possible. But last summer, no way. I mean honestly, this scenario had no chance in hell of ever evolving. But it did. Ray and Rashad were always gone. Somehow Marvin found a way to be perfect when there was about a 4% chance (and 20 minutes) for him to be. And then Sean, the one with no NBA upside, had to play out-of-this-world for the last half of the season. And we won the National Championship.

Now, we might not even make the NCAA. But we won the National Championship, and I'm actually sort of looking forward to next season (I would really like to nab Echefu, so we'd at least have SOMEONE with size to come off the bench). But face it, we have NO PRESSURE -- well, aside from being defending champions, but none at all relative to Carolina terms. The ACC, save dook (fuck, fuck, fuck) is really depleted and weak. We'll be playing freshmen and watching them learn. And we'll get to see the difference between Roy and Matt. It's going to be different, but sometimes different can be fun (and sometimes it can be horrible -- i.e. 8-20 -- see? even my optimistic posts are forever ruined by Carolina-sports-induced pessimism)

But we won the National Championship.

the saga continues

Today, I learned the most interesting thing of all about 38-year-old hottie. She's a M.I.L.F. I mean, I think we'd already established that she was an I.L.F., so the revolution was the out-of-nowhere addition of the M. Yes, she's a mom. The girl who I originally thought was a "hot senior" (meaning college) is actually a grown, married woman who apparently has got at least an 18-year-old son among her offspring. Well, I was right about her being a hot senior; she's graduating with a degree in communication this May. Maybe I'll go and watch and meet the fam (see if she's got a daughter, right).

*She also wrote a 13-page, unprompted (as in, NOT FOR CREDIT=crazy bitch) rant that lays into Myles Brand that she plans to send to him for him to read at his leisure. Y'all know I don't like him, so (even MORE) props and bonus points to Mrs. M.I.L.F.

You learn something new everyday.

In honour of lifts, boots, and the good duck Andy 8

Andy was never that enamoured (I think they spell it like that) with our crazy drinking antics. And to think, it could have been Phipps.

masterbaseing

This post serves two functions:

1.) it recognizes that I went to CHiPs (I hope that's how you are supposed to do it) with Manish two Fridays ago. I never knew this (cult) world existed. And how awesome it is. I will be attending future shows in the future (and let me just say future one more time). But they made me laugh, at that makes me return. which brings me to...

2.) masterbasing. Yes, it was a hilarious skit that dealt with stalkernet itself, that all-popular master(data)base that is thefacebook. Now, I will admit I was very briefly a facebook fan, and probably started it well earlier than most of you (which is, of course, a true sign of my immense popularity, just like gmail, which I had before all of you too). THWSTSIT (there was some thick sarcasm in that). But, if you haven't guessed it yet, I hate, despise, and kill facebook. The fact that people derive self-worth from it is saddening, and I only go there when people I know only as mere acquaintances ask me to be their friends, and then I reject them. Sometimes it takes three or four rejections for them to realize that I'm not just ignoring them but instead making the declaration that we aren't REAL friends. Moreover, I hate that my REAL friends will browse it for hours, scouring the intimate details of people they don't know who wish to make their personal info public (this coming from the keystrokes of a blogger, who publishes his life to the world -- why do I do that? No doubt, a lot if it is for self purposes; I like it, and it helps me reflect on and remember things, but still. Why do I give a fuck if you all read it, 'cause I obviously do) But back to hawkeyeing facebook (and being hypocritical). That is pathetic. Truly. There is no need to do it, and it's kind of scary in a stalker way. And I don't even want to think about it in a masterbasing kind of way. So stop the masterbasing mania. Get rid of the iPods. And to some extent cell phones, too. Let's hang out face-to-face, and people talk.

This coming to you straight from the Cave of the Recluse.

El vestido is back

and by vestido, I mean vest. It was a good mish. Lesley didn't seem to happy to seen me, but that was probably because I was taking the light of her life away, my LaBatt Blue tech-vest. Which just goes to show you that even when you are a good guy and you spend an entire hour keeping some girl from passing out on the bathroom floor before finally convincing her to go to her room, and then watch her win a $7,500 scholarship the next day for ironic effec, all while knowing she lost your vest, it can still all work out in the end.

Gus was good, too.

In honour of lifts, boots, and the good duck Andy 7

Andy never did understand Americans' approach to religion.

weekend redux

so, it was quite the weekend, and worthy of a quick recap

Friday saw my first "Lazy Afternoon" ever. Yes, that's right. Chris, Alex and I ventured into the foreign territory represented by all things Greek, and spent the afternoon/evening wasting away at Pantana Bob's (also a first). Talk about strangers in a strange land. I told you, Greek is not DTM.

But, it turned out to actually be a very nice little Friday. The interactions were a little bit awkward, but I didn't hate them all (well, I hardly ever hate the girls THAT much). Plus, it turns out that it wasn't a "Lazy" afternoon, but a "Wasted" afternoon, so that probably aided with the social lubricant. Plus, I may have found a way to recoup the lost tech-vest, so that's more money. We spent the nightime hours at the BBQ on Carver street, where all of us reached and exceeded high levels of intoxication. I walked home with Dude Searcy, tried to do a cartwheel and fell pretty hard (I've got the cuts to prove it), ate at Cosmic, and went to bed with no idea that Saturday could be Friday's equal.

But it was.

Sabado Gigante, to be honest, was merely Sabado Medio-Gigante. Searcyfest was just Searcy-hang-out. And it still rocked. Lots of beer pong was played. Lots by yours truly (and an unacceptable number of losses). There weren't that many people, but the key ones made some appearances, and the night was a success. The walk home saw many things, as drunken talk turned serious. I think I ended up peeing outside of Lewis Dorm (which was a very stupid decision), but I made amends for it by discussing with Jimmy -- in the cold -- the most contentious issues of theology and my problems with my own faith until after 4 in the morning. Nick even joined in at the end. To say the least, it was interesting....a journey even.

And that was my weekend.

Booober 5 = genius?

every so often, Henri (not Picard) has an away message that is simply miraculous. I feel it my inexorable civic duty to enshrine them here, thereby preserving the exquisite specimens for future generations to study and simply wonder over. Entry numero uno:

every once in a while a made-for-tv movie comes along that completely changes the way movies are made forever. for our generation, it was Spring Break Shark Attack. tonight, CBS is going to pump out another instant cinematic classic, Locusts. i can only dream that Locusts is able to develop such dynamic characters as JT.

In honour of lifts, boots, and the good duck Andy 6

watch BLING IT ON.

The epitome of how pathetic American culture actually is. Which, of course, is why he came here. But he never believed it ACTUALLY was as bad as it appeared from across the pond.

Also, isn't this paradox as big (assuming paradoxes have size) as it gets? Ghetto-hardened street soldier meet screaming, shrieking, all-things-Paris Hilton-loving teeny bopper.

The terrible story of cart loss...

and how YOU can fight back.

You've got to be kidding me. Hilarious.

and perhaps the question we all need to be asking is exactly how/why I come across this stuff?

2005 NFL Draft, 49ers style

1st pick (#1 overall): Alex Smith, QB, Utah

You all know most of my thoughts already. We had to take him, and I guess I'm glad we did (now, I just hope we can sign him -- and relatively quickly). I would have loved Braylon Edwards, but you just can't have Rattay carrying the torch of this proud franchise. Anyone picked here would have been too high in my opinion, so the value isn't great, but seeing what happened to Rogers (falling to 24) pretty much shows the Niners were stuck without any legit trade offers, and there was really only one choice. He may bust, but we had to do it.

Grade: B


2nd pick (#33 overall): David Baas, C/G, Michigan

I'm not going to pretend. I know absolutely nothing about him. And to boot, I don't really understand or appreciate anything about OL line play to begin with. Granted, it's not a very exciting pick from a fan's perspective (we'd all love WRs and RBs and CBs every pick), but I hear the trenches are pretty important as far as winning football games and we certainly do need to protect our new sizeable investment. I think the Niners have more important priorities (secondary), but I'll view it as a positive sign that Nolan is trying to establish the offensive line as a true strength of this team. Add Bass to our only splash in free agency in like 6 years, Jonas Jennings, we've got Newberry (stud) and two young guys with a lot of potential in Kwame Harris and Justin Smiley, and maybe Kevan Barlow will actually be a top 10 RB in the NFL as I predicted steadfastly (and horribly wrongly) before last season.

Grade: B-



3rd pick (#65 overall): Frank Gore, RB, Miami

Head-scratcher. I still think Barlow just laid a dud last season, so I don't really see RB as a need -- at least compared to our defensive woes. Then again, we won 2 games, so every position can be upgraded. Kiper seemed to like it, but all I know about Gore is that he gets hurt constantly and never really impressed me all that much when he was healthy. The good news is I'm feeling better about Baas the more I hear. Gore could be a steal, but I just don't think the Niners can afford to be taking any sort of risks considering the position they are in.

Grade: C


Day 1 recap: solid, not spectacular. No jump-off-the-wall picks, and those who know more than me seem impressed.

Grade: C+

Update.....

apparently we traded into the third round, which I like. I like it a lot. I forget who we picked, some OL from Oregon. I don't like that. At all. But I'm drunk, so I withhold further judgment. Sabado Gigante is on, but not yet happening.


........................

Day 2:

Nothing really amazing, and I'm not really qualified to comment on any of these players since I recognize them not at all. Except Rasheed Marshall, but I know him as a QB, not a WR. Two tight ends in a row is sort of inexplicable....but we lost our longsnapper last week to Detroit so maybe that's what we're looking for. Anyways, here are my flashpan reactions (info stolen from ESPN to save time):

3 30(94) Adam Snyder OG OREGON
Philadelphia traded the 94th pick to San Francisco for the 102nd (4th) and 175th (6th) selections.

We traded to get him (and kind of got ripped off, IMO), so let's hope it's worth it. I like that we're protecting Smith, but OL is not that big of a need...at all. Grade: C+

5 1(137) Ronald Fields DT MISSISSIPPI STATE

I know nothing about him, but I like that we went DT, especially if we're gonna try to play a little 3-4. Grade: B+

5 38(174) Rasheed Marshall WR WEST VIRGINIA

He was a good QB, and I liked him. No idea how he'll do at WR, but I probably would have preferred an actual WR. Still, there's something about the pick I like (call it the Curry factor, RON WHO?). Grade: B

6 31(205) Derrick Johnson CB WASHINGTON

Good. We need secondary help. Grade: B

7 1(215) Daven Holly CB CINCINNATI

I like this even more. Don't know why, but something about a CB from Cincy seems really good to me. Cool name points too. Grade: A-

7 34(248) Patrick Estes TE VIRGINIA

WTF? Eric Johnson had a great year and I think this dude had 7 catches last year. Total. Granted, Heath Miller, but still. Oh well, it's late anyways. Grade: C

7 35(249) Billy Bajema TE OKLAHOMA STATE

Same as above -- guess we really wanted to shore this position up, eh? Still, it seems like we just gave up here at the end, not sure I like that. But hell, it's not like they are supposed to make the team (except, considering the situation we're in, 7th round is still important) Grade: C


OVERALL DRAFT GRADE: B-

In honour of lifts, boots and the good duck Andy 5

There's just something that tells me Andy would appreciate this greatly.

what an awesome job

more Google love. Like I said, get used to it.

The man behind the magic (ok, so they're just drawings, but I still love them). They can be one of those simple things that makes a day just a little bit better, ya know?

In honour of lifts, boots and the good duck Andy 4

Banana phone.

The relation is obvious enough. Plus, more badgers.

the week in (semi) brief

First order of business: It’s my sister’s birthday! Happy Birthday, Laura! Love you and wish I could be there to celebrate!

Doomsday: Tomorrow it all unravels (and I could mean that on soooo many basketball levels). As well, it may apply to my first trip to P-Bob's for a Lazy Afternoon. Stories will certainly happen.

Loquaciousness: I have been blogging a lot (I’m sure you’ve noticed). I don’t know why. The past few weeks have just had an abnormal amount of important things, I think. The level of production is sure to decrease. Fear not.

Ben and Jerry’s abomination: I hate people. This much has become obvious. As king appreciator of all things free and outspoken hater of all corporate rip-offs (starfucks, especially), free ice-cream day would normally produce the fuzziest of emotions in my insides. And in fact it did, props to Ben and Jerry for having some scruples. But sheesh, how sheeplike will people be simply for a cold dessert? People were waiting 45 minutes to an HOUR to get one measly scoop of free ice cream!!! I’m sorry, but that’s ridiculous. I could hear the bleating from across the street.

Slicing my finger open on my razor: I did this, and I wasn’t shaving. And it hurt.

Biol 11 girls: This was a highlight. As I was walking across campus I see two girls in front of me walking towards me. Suddenly they stop, animated looks on their faces. As I approach, I can hear one say, “Which is that? Dang, I KNOW this.” The other is craning her head to hear something and scanning the tree above them. Girl number 1 suddenly blurts out, “Northern Cardinal! It’s a Northern Cardinal.” Sure enough, Girl number 2 has just located it and is pointing out the brilliant red bird above them. Gotta love Biol 11.

My history: Not quite sure this has the greatest application, but it’s Google, so benefit of the doubt. I’ll be sure to try it (just like Picasa, which is working out) if you care to inquire.

Reminder:

“I'm reminded again at just how amazing the freshman of 1994 were. Three of those players - Joe Smith, Jerry Stackhouse and Rasheed Wallace - were 1st team All-Americans in their second season, with Smith being named ACC and national POY. If that's not enough talent, you know who else was in that freshman class, but hadn't received quite as much attention yet? A guy you may remember named Tim Duncan.”

The ACC has been home to some pretty amazing stories, this being one of them.


I hate the Yankees: This isn’t sports. Read this and you can’t possibly justify being a fan of this team, IMO. Wait, I didn’t mean team, I meant monopoly.

Spanish substitutes: That’s right, in the past two weeks I’ve had TWO substitute teachers in my Spanish class. WTF? I thought learning in college couldn’t take place without the original professor. Needless to say, I was quite peeved. But the second time it was Celina, and I love that lady so it was okay.

Smokers: Smokers, as a general category of people, suck. If you smoke, stop. Even if it’s " just when you party.”"

In honour of lifts, boots and the good duck Andy 3

The icon of our nation, displaying with great panache the dignity and rectitude of his character, gives the ol' presidential salute.

Oh, sorry, I meant dignitude, which is clearly evident amid his 1st-grade antics and self-amused cackling.

George Bush is an arrogant boob. And we are the idiots who elected him (sorry Andy and the rest of the world).

I read a whole book

and the fact that this is the first book I have finished since summer, and probably just the 5th since I started college is the least remarkable aspect of it all.

Because the book I read, from page 1 till the end, was written, in a non-dumbed-down way, entirely in SPANISH.

Yes, I have completed my first legitimate trek through Spanish prose in its original, unaltered form. It was good. And fun. And Gabriel García Márquez. No, not Cien años de soledad, desafortunadamente (I love that word--8 syllables!!!), but Crónica de una muerte anunciada, which was quality in its own right, owing to the genius of its author. You all might have heard of it as Chronicle of a Death Foretold.

It took a bit of time, not going to lie, but it wasn't intolerably hard. It's probably the last one I'll ever read, just because I don't foresee ever having the time or reason to do it again. Still, it's nice to have done it, and though it was never something on my to-do list, now I can say it was -- and that it's crossed off since it seems like a life achievement of some merit (TWSHIT).

Don't steal!

Kids, stealing is bad. Don't ever do it.

Especially when it involves trying to get access to a test.

By nabbing (yes, Manish, it's a real word) your professor's computer.

When you go to Berkley.

And your professor is a complete and total badass.

Watch the clip. (Skip ahead to 48:50 -- unless you are Ryan and like to learn this stuff.)

world record

I've always been obsessed with palindromes, but never conceived one could be this long.

It's a little cheapened by its lack of coherence and wit, but at the same time it's mindboggling, and in fact, truly beyond the mind's comprehension.

and with the first pick...

in the 2005 NFL Draft, the San Francisco 49ers.........

TRADE.

This is what I want. In my ideal world, the niners will move down to the 5th pick, where they will select Braylon Edwards (who I'd always marveled over, but fell in love with during his interview on the draft special on Monday). There are only 2 minor problems with this scenario: the niners won't get the 5th pick (even though I would take the Bucs' insulting offer to move down for a fucking embarassing 3rd rounder), and Edwards won't be there.

Oh well. They should do it anyways. They should do something. They should trade down.

Why do I say this? Because I am scared. This draft is horrible. It's the worst since '91. So of course, this would be the year that the niners decide to suck it up hard. I can't even get into following it like I have in years past (when clearly it was not as crucially important). It's like I know we're going to suck anyways, so I don't care. And I know we're going to pick Alex Smith (who luckily, I've started to like more and more over the past week -- maybe out of desperation, but still). And let's face it, while it would be an absolutely phenomenal pick if he turned out anything like the last niner QB to play college in the Beehive State (wait, wait...I don't mean Brandon Doman), he's got a huge chance to bust.

I know with the #1 pick I should be really excited, but it's hard to have faith in the organization after the past few years. And it's hard to be excited when you know next year is going to be like cheering for the Rockies. Even though I think I really like Nolan, who knows if goddamn York is actually serious about his all-of-a-sudden 180 degree turn away from cheapass miser? I kind of hope this absurd contract Smith wants (he's NOT Manning!!!) does turn us back into the frugal bastards that ruined a dynasty. Add Scot McLoughlan (who's like 10), and consider that he has to head up a draft to revolutize a franchise in his very first year doing it -- and with the added pressure of picking first? Call me a skeptic (plus, anybody who spells their name Scot, you have to wonder about their abilities to cross all their t's.....ok, lame, I know, but I still don't like the way you read it and keep hoping that the abducted "t" reappears).

So all signs point to Smith. I guess he's okay, we'll see. He did tear up the Heels this past year like a infuriated brother attacking his sister's doll collection. Then again, so did every quarterback of any caliber we played.

Damn you, Matt Leinhart. (note: I don't know that he'll be that good either -- at least not for the niners -- but at least he would have given some value to the first pick.)

Still, Saturday at noon, my heart will be racing and I will be ready for some of the best, laziest, most interesting 8ish hours of sports of the year. This weekend, at least as it approaches, becomes my favorite of the 52 we get. I do nothing but watch the threads of the NFL's future weave themselves together all day, for two days straight. It gets no better.

In honour of lifts, boots and the good duck Andy 2

In a not completely direct sort of way, it's related to football (the right kind), and it's gotta be somewhere in Europe.

White shirt rules.

Jay Bilas

If you like college basketball, you know he's the best. By far. It was a realization I sort of hesitated to welcome -- given his background -- but this year for some reason in particular (maybe it was because I knew he was from dook yet still gave North Carolina all the props they deserved) he won me over. And more. To the point where I hope he does EVERY game.

Anyways, he came to Mick's class on Monday and blew me away even more. He's just great, and he talked so openly about everything -- K, people he "hates," philosophy, the Heels. And he gave us his "little black book," even though I didn't get all the time I wanted to peruse it for his detailed notes on every player he's watched. It was awesome. I don't feel like writing much more, so I'll quote some from the paper I already wrote on him, but suffice it to say I like the guy:

Impressive.

That’s the only way to say it.

Jay Bilas is incredibly, unexpectedly, and amazingly impressive. Moreover, his impressiveness is even more impressive in that it defies containment to any one area, instead overflowing in its abundance to make itself readily identifiable in every facet of his being. He is simply, undeniably, and inspirationally impressive. As a professional. As an imparter of knowledge. As a father and husband. As a person.

I can’t believe I’m gushing over a dadgum dookie. Coming from a Tar Heel born and bred – one with an instinctive, automatic and (previously) insurmountable hatred for all things dook (I cannot even bring myself to spell it correctly) – that’s probably the biggest compliment I’ve ever bestowed. On anyone. No lie.

And I save it for a dadgum dookie.

Sports class wasn't all bad

Before class, I had my most extended conversation ever with my long-lost 38-year-old hottie. Turns out she was really hyper from being up early (4 a.m. -- see, I get details now) in order to ready her garden for some committee coming to tour it. She said 1500 people were gonna walk through it in the next few weeks. So I guess she's got a pretty cool garden. Girl's got money it would appear -- and she wears those expensive/hip shoes that Kerri? does in Sex and the City to boot (and Ana is the only reason I know that, I swear. Though it is a quality show, I just prefer sports).

She also proceeded to lecture me (and I accepted it in Mrs. Robinsonesque fashion) on various topics. First we talked about how she knows "ZERO" about sports. "I didn't even know McCants until last New Year's Eve. Everyone was like McCants, McCants, McCants. And I was like, who the hell is McCants?" She particularly doesn't like how sports is the only thing people actually talk about on campus, especially since it is of such little consequence (at which point, I felt compelled to withold from expressing their criticality to my existence). But then we talked about what people would unify around if it wasn't sports, and the alternatives were not very appealing either. In particular, she expressed her extreme desire to avoid at all costs the discussion of politics, namely the ill-informed, non-experience or real-life born, simply regurgitated opinions that are so common among the vast majority of kids here. Maybe we are true soulmates after all.

Am I a celebrity?

No.

But I did get to hear Myles Brand talk to our class today. (This after I heard Jay Bilas -- who I need to blog about, the only dookie I'll ever admire -- and Miri Ben-Ari yesterday).

That's Myles Brand, NCAA President.

And total toolbag.

I mean, I don't hate the guy. I just don't respect him all that much. First of all he parlayed his handling of the Bobby Knight situation into this cushy post, and now he heads an organization which, in many aspects, I despise for its shady/hypocritical practices.

(For example, never before has the NCAA considered licensing jerseys with player names on them, but now that they are poised to make a gonzillion dollars by allowing the use of player likenesses in the next wave of video games --which Brand said are coming in about a year, and are "completely indistinguishable" from normal broadcasts *bullshit* -- suddenly they are backtracking from that well-established position.)

anyways, this is no place to get in to the paying-players debate. Well, maybe it's exactly the place, but either way it's not going to happen. But that's what dominated our discussion in class today. I had my hand up the entire time, but the little weasel knew I would nail him (actually, at this point I had yet to grow to fully despise him, so maybe he just knew I would ask a tough question), so he never called on me. Then, at the end, he says -- and keep in mind he's a former philosophy professor and this is a philosophy class -- "you all made a lot of strong, forceful, opinionated conclusions, but where were your arguments?"

well, if he'd called on me, my question (as opposed to all the dumbasses in class who just rambled on and on spouting their personal opinions like ANYONE wanted to hear THEM talk when MYLES FREAKING BRAND was in a class of 50 people) was, "Maybe it's on utilitarian grounds or whatever, but how, in a simplified scenario, do you argue for the moral justification of saying that a student who wishes to play softball or wrestle has a greater right to the money brought in by a star point guard than the actual point guard himself?"

caveat: I'm actually a supporter of the system as it stands, more than less.

anyways, pissed off that he'd ignored me, I asked him after class. And he ran away. Figuratively. I mean, as the head of the NCAA, he really can't take any sort of strong position (or he'll get nailed for it sometime -- this is what I hate about politics), but I figured he might let his guard down talking to a student, one-on-one, after class. No, instead he tried to flip it on me. Bastard.

Brand: I don't think it's utilitarian principles. It's not really a moral argument at all. It's just how we've done it.

Me: (thinking, wtf, isn't the whole point of philosophy not to justify based on what is or has been but instead on what ought to be?) Yes, that's what I'm saying. How do you justify the current system?

Brand: Well, I don't think it's a utilitarian argument. It's an educational argument.

Me: (thinking, ok, dumbass, the utilitarian thing was just a suggestion -- why don't you answer my question?) Well, as far as education then, where is the ethical support or justification for saying that those students have a right to education more than the player has a right to "his" money?

Brand: This isn't some socialist thing. You keep trying to turn it into a socialism thing. (insert me thinking, WTF -- socialism, where the hell did you come up with that). It's not utilitarian or moral at all. It's just educational.

Me: (how is it not moral? And what great philosopher first touted the "educational" theory? I now hate him for being a dickwad, and am just frustrated that he won't give a solid argument at all). Yes, all I'm saying is don't you have to justify the educational argument in the first place?

Brand: Perhaps. (with an evil smile)

Me: (HOW?!?!?!?!)

In honour of lifts, boots, and the good duck Andy 1

It's only appropriate that we start the rites of remembrance with this.

We miss you Andy: Badger. Badger. Badger. Badger.

Mushroom. Mushroom.

"plentiful sunshine"

What a glorious combination of words. I'll never get tired of seeing that.

and then today got even better

More curling on ESPN! I'm serious. I love this shit.

Oh, and having a nice date with Henry at the Rat while watching aforementioned curling was nice too ;-)

Note:

I use a lot of parentheses (when I write).

Miri Ben-Ari

So yeah, I took a stab at Culture today.

I'm not into the whole artsy scene much, and therefore have done an expert job of avoiding it my whole life.

However, tonight I got the chance to see one of my favorite musicians (who I'm proud to say I discovered before most -- a fact I hang my artistic cap on and point to as proof of my musical genius, though I CHOOSE to rarely apply it, TWSHIT). And I got to see her for $5. Money. (pun intended).

Actually, while my love for Miri Ben-Ari has not changed (except for me becoming more attracted to her -- I hadn't realized she's kind of hot, especially with her Israeli accent and in spite of her determined, focused, intimidating scowl while playing), it turns out I was less-than-enamored with the concert. I wasn't disappointed. Just less-than-enamored.

I guess I just wanted her to play more of her own stuff (which, btw, is really cool, you should check it out. "Sunshine to the rain" is the name of her first single, I think. Not sure if it's been released yet). But yeah, I wanted her actual songs instead of just snippets of all the famous songs she's had parts in. Even though that was really cool. And she is really incredible and talented.

It was a catch-22 for me/her....she could play all the stuff I wanted and hardly anybody would know it (=lame atmosphere) or she could play all the popular stuff that we've heard before (and loved). I guess the balance wasn't exactly what I'd hoped for.

Still, I really cherish the experience. Especially the going alone part, that rocked ;-) Thanks to everyone who made that possible. Nah, I found some people I knew there, and most importantly, I got to see the Hip-Hop Violinist at her absolute finest, which is a sight to behold and guard forever.

Bobby Fischer

We've all seen the movie (if you haven't you need to), and seeing as you are reading this blog, you most likely have seen the recent Jeremy Schaap-Fischer fiasco (and then then the in-depth follow-up this week) on Sportscenter. (Or if you aren't a sports fan, you probably follow the news enough to keep up to date on this important traitor/extradition/economic sanctions stuff).
Anyways, I call it a fiasco because that's what it is. I'm not justifying Fischer or any of his views (in particular the letter he kept referencing) -- he's obviously a little unstable. You might could say he doesn't have a "sane bone in his body." But likewise, I think ESPN's role in this whole thing is equally despicable.

WHY do you send a reporter with a personal history -- and a conflicting one at that -- to cover this....nut? That's hugely irresponsible.

Of course, that's exactly why they did it. It's part of the whole sensationalism/entertainment aspect journalism is being corroded by. ESPN sent Schapp to defend his father's honor. Don't fall for this bullshit about him wanting to meet, understand, and know the man his father once befriended. That's all crafted so that you don't call ESPN out for unscrupulous practices, which clearly they employed. But if they send Steve Cyphers (personal hero, GJ represent), where's the story? There is none. Shame on you, ESPN.

Somehow, IN THIS EPISODE ONLY, I find my sympathy resting with Bobby Fischer, despite his indefensible views on the world. Still, I wish the greatest chess player in this country's history -- and perhaps of all time -- was a little bit less of a recluse/maniac and had a little less hatred for things American or Semitic. Why does genius so often correlate with eccentricity?

before we proceed with the funny

we must always contrast it with the real, and know exactly what the contrast means.

Hopefully these links work -- they're the best I've seen as far as communicating the devastating power (give 'em a bit to load):
phuket
beach with kids
sri lanka
thailand
patong beach
china

ESPN knew what I needed and....

they nailed it, "right on the button" you might even say (if you are lame like me and enjoy poorly executed puns).

That's right, waking up today was a difficult task. Lots of work loomed ahead (still does), and the motivation was sorely lacking. Enter ESPN.

And curling. For those of you who don't know, curling is perhaps the coolest sport in the world. While the USA had their shit handed to them by the Swedes, simply seeing the unrivaled sport for the first time since the Salt Lake Olympics was enough to fuel me for days on end. I cannot be stopped now -- curling is my life source.

* Does anybody remember that curler who looked IDENTICAL to Mrs. Thompson?
* the "button" is what they call the "bullseye" of curling, hence the cliche "right on the button"

total embarassment

so I'm guessing y'all read it when I wrote about my epiphany regarding President Bush.

Well it turns out I'm a toolbag. Because Andy Dick (whom I despise for trying WAY to hard to be funny but only acheiving it rarely -- with that maddening frequency that just allows him to get bit part after pit part to continue to piss me off) has already expounded on the fact.

This is sort of funny -- not because of Andy Dickwad, but because of the actual video (do you see it, conservatives? Do you actually see it?) of our fearless leader, our President.

One week late, but video in tow

Tiger is my hero. This shot was incredible. I pissed my pants. He won another green jacket. And he did it with his C game for two days.

I hope he's back (not quite sure he is though).

Google love

this will be a recurring theme if you read my blog.

I love Google.

They are awesome.

If you missed the addition of Satellite to Google Maps, well, I'm sorry for you. And you are lucky to have someone as awesome as me to blog about it.

While most people have occupied themselves by scanning the globe for the crazy/interesting, the popular, the profitable (props to this man, master of computer code) or the absurd (also here and here), I just went a little more homely (and of course here).

For those of you who are a little less informed about my life back home or out here, I decided to be nice:

(GJ, I live on that beautiful red dot)


(Chapel Hill, with cute little labels)

no thumbnail, but G-9 (well, just Mill Creek, my home next year with Alex, Chris, and Jimmy).

ok, I figure it's time to wrap up my first REAL blog post. See? I've turned crazy -- word up to cool spanish verb "enloquecer" -- and linked a million times like all the true members of the blogosphere. And I use words like blogosphere. There is no hope for me.

But thank you Google, I love you. And to share in the bounty of information I have been privy to, I have permanently linked to your blog, where you share with the world all your awesome secrets.

WARNING

Get ready.

A host of crazy links from the past is going to be coming over the next few weeks.

As the year winds to a close, I find it only fitting to remember our lost comrade who was missing this year -- one Mr. Andrew (and we all know how to say that) Holdsworth, a ducky chap if ever there was one. Pikey to be sure (jk), but a great infuser of beer knowledge, and friend to us all.

Keep in mind, this is not the greatest assemblage of links with tenous connections to Andy ever. This is just a tribute.

iRant

So I'm feeling pretty good, pretty pleasant on this nice little Sunday afternoon.

What better time for a rant about another evil I see in the world? (yes, I think I am disturbed).

However, this rant is at least salvaged somewhat by the fact that it is rooted in a deeply held belief in the goodness of people (and a discussion with Claire).

Maybe it's because I'm from a small town. Maybe it's because I'm from out West. Maybe there's just something about the water in Grand Junction and drinking the snow pack's ambrosia before it gets contaminated by crossing the state line.

But where I'm from, people -- get this, EVEN STRANGERS -- are generally nice to each other. Now, we're not like one of those stupidly ridiculous '50s movies (where everybody is so overcome with joy that they simply must whistle to let it out), but it is quite common to smile at someone as you pass them -- and for them to return it. And, most importantly, it is legitimately genuine. Sometimes, when we're feeling really crazy, we might even utter a friendly "hello." But at the least, eye contact avoidance is considered rude -- not the norm.

Unlike here. Now I first noticed the phenomenon well before the iPod craze, so it certainly is not to blame. And don't get me wrong, I am absolutely, positively, undoubtedly going to marry Apple. My love affair with this company is longstanding, has led to a hatred of all things PC, and is rivaled only by my infatuation with Google. As well, I recognize the absolute awesomeness of music, and the extreme necessity it can be. It can make the school day so much better.

Still, iPod has made a bad situation incredibly worse.

People have become zombies, slaves to their music.

Walking across campus, for me, is like trekking through the epitomical zone of modernity. Nobody cares to carry out the simple, traditional hallmarks of our culture, of society, of humanity, preferring instead to hear the latest Gwen Stefani song. Ok, so that's a bad example, but you get my point.

Even when you see your friends, the exchanges are unnatural, altered, awkward. You may try to talk, but they can't hear you. You don't know if they'd rather stop to talk or keep on grooving. Normal conversation rarely follows when their headphone, recently and laboriously removed, dangles annoyingly, still blaring. And of course, should you happen to see a friend a good distance away, no longer is a call across the quad a veritable recourse. To me, this is sad.

I just wish there were a way for both, or really that people would just make an effort to balance the two better. After all, the degradation/disappearance of normal human interaction cannot be a healthy development. At least it seems that way to me. This is, however, coming from a man with some pretty unorthodox socializing practices, so maybe I am just a lost voice howling in the wilderness.

Hell, with your sweet new pink iPod that can hold 10,000 songs (and if you lacked any one of them, well you would just simply DIE), you probably can't hear me anyways.

okay. done. iPoligize.

the mothership

of them all, of course, must be recognized.

"Separate Ways," you are too good for us incompetent beings.

Sadly, I couldn't find a link (I did find this, which gives a glimpse -- and in some senses is pretty awesome in its own right), but if somebody can scrounge the video up, it will be well worth your, and the world's, time.

wait, wait, wait

hold your horses a sec. We have a late, and in my opinion, winning entry into the race.

Indeed, I'm not sure it's possible to say that you have lived on this mortal coil until you've experienced the creative genius of Hurra Torpedo

Go live life, and love it. All thanks to Norway, where great bands are bred.

the '80s at its finest

Alas, it's no "Separate Ways" (which will change your life by the way), but this video, even if you've seen it before, is always worth remembering.

oh, the days of dance craze.

Eric Prydz, I salute you.

at times

the sadness reaches epic proportions.

Like when Gwen Stefani (an unbelievable musician -- remember No Doubt?) starts to produce utter crap and apparantly resorts to slutting herself out (in her new video) in order to get people to listen to it. And, oddly, when I say this, I refer to "Ain't no hollerback girl" or whatever the name of that horrendous song is. I apologize for not knowing more about it. Wait, no I don't. It's hideous, despicable, and wholly unbecoming. I wish I had never heard it, and never hear it again -- though I'm positive I will (it will be on the radio constantly).

She "sings/raps" about not being a "hollerback" girl, but I don't know if you can call it singing, or anything really. It is straight up the worst song that I can remember in a LONG while (10-15 years, no exageration). There's multiple verses devoted solely to bananas for chrissike. If you haven't heard it yet, be thankful. If you have, I apologize. Hopefully you can move on.

And the thing is, I like Gwen Stefani. In fact, I love her even. She's a great musical talent and hot as hell. But let's hope the public -- who clearly by now I have little faith in -- has the strength to recognize absolute shit (i.e. this song) instead of blindly following the paved paths of all that is popular. Because this horror of a song shouldn't be. Period. And now I'm going to have to get sick watching everyone fall in love with it (the Backstreet Boys part deux -- and I don't want to even think about their upcoming album).

So, please see through the crap and stand up and say, "Songs can and should be TONS better than this, and I'm not gonna buy this horseshit just because you are 'naked and famous' and hot as hell."

Please. This is all I ask.

newest word I'm using with increased frequency

"regal" replaces "indict"

sometimes it happens

that Jimmy doesn't blog (for an unacceptable period of time).

epiphany

last night it came to me in a flash of pure lucidness:

George Bush is a pure genius at talking to morons.


So, I'm not political (publicly), and I don't really mean to indict anyone with this comment. It's just so beautiful it its simplicity. And its truth. It explains everything.

George Bush has a masterfully crafted (and carried out) appeal to the general public, the vast majority of whom are morons (no matter what their political affiliation). But Bush is an unparalleled expert at reaching them.

That gets him the critical mass of the vote. Then, the intellectually able among us (yes, I include myself b/c I'm haughty like that) -- which constitutes a very small segment, maybe 10-15% -- make a lot of hullaballoo and debate and debate and argue and debate and discuss and pontificate. But it's all for naught. We like to think we're important because we understand it all. But honestly, intellectuals, including/especially the media, don't affect shit -- either way. We like to think we do, but we don't.

When it comes down to it, the masses determine things, the morons -- the people. And we are a government OF THE PEOPLE. Which makes Bush a .....shit, I've contradicted myself.

way too much time

this is what I did today


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yeah, right. But whoever did this scares me a little bit. The funny thing is it's probably some girl in graphic design (eh, Gena?)

Oh, Diane

I am starting to wonder about my apparant (and recently born) fascination with older women.

But Diane Lane is gorgeous, and a great actress to boot. And I am honestly infatuated with her. Last night, I spent a very unwise 30 minutes (at 3 a.m.) watching the middle of Unfaithful, before finally regaining willpower. It was awesome.

That is a really underappreciated movie. It is spectacular on so many levels, and a great expose of the intracacies of society -- plus it's nice to see a female slant on adultery for once.

The ending, however, is horrible; it sucks it hard. Damn Hollywood for always needing a murder to end everything. Otherwise, I really think it would've got some nominations (hell, it might have anyway, what do I know).

oh, and one more thing

Southpark rocked again tonight.

Just thought you should know.

"It will take the world by storm"

Or so we hope.

thus, we unveil the greatest creation of this modern age of instantaneous electronic communication:

TWSHIT

It's the new-age "LOL." Everybody's doing it. If you want to be cool, you'll "TWSHIT," too.

Seriously, just about anyone with a sane mind recognizes the extreme, wasteful absurdity of LOL. Personally, it drives me mad and I made a vow long ago to never use it. Except, imagine this, if I ACTUALLY did laugh out loud (which we all know, for me, happens about once a lifetime -- judging by the statistics that have come in so far). So, having PAID ATTENTION to the words it stands for and being confident enough in myself to not have to lie when conversing with faceless entities in entirely separate locales, I vowed only to use it when it would have legitimate validity. When it would be real. What a novel concept. Clearly (though not for the first time in my life), I was alone.

Evidently the world prefers to move along basking in false pretenses, with its mindless inhabitants (even those who do it with more frequency) concluding pretty much any line imaginable with the hated "LOL." In fact, I think the simple requirement of the mere existence of humor has disappeared -- the use of LOL in any scenario is ubiquitous, and instinctive. It has infected people to the extent that for most, using it precludes thought, which is sad on so many levels. We need to encourage thought wherever possible in this glorious age of mass stupidity, not find ways to expressly prevent it.

Something had to be done.

Enter, TWSHIT: There Was Some Humor In That. It's not over the top. It's quaint, to-the-point, and an accurate expression of feeling. Use it when you find something comical, but not to the point of laughing out loud. Use it in the stead of the despised LOL; return veracity and believability to your writing. Together, we can wipe out the wild fire of falsehoods lit by the insidious LOL. Together, we can allow TWSHIT to light the world.

Or, at the least, now you'll understand what I mean when I use it.

Love

(I really do hate to "broadcast" this -- that is not my intent at all. But in this blog I express myself, and it's my only avenue to reach some of you, so like this I bare my soul. If you don't get it, don't worry and move on.)

I prefer to look at this day as a forceful, inevitable (and I use that in the spanish sense= meaning rougly, "unavoidable") reminder of the power and strength of love.

Certainly, today is a reminder of many things, and always should be, whether we need reminding or not. It defines sadness, and thereby hapiness is well. It forces the welcomed remembrance of a friend gone, and at the same time, of friends still here. It demands deep reflection and also thoughtful projection. It is a day we can always learn from.

It is a day which (perhaps by necessity) constantly teaches us to love in new, greater ways.

I love you all.

I was on Franklin St.

I was on Franklin St. that night.

Amid throngs of Tar Heel revelers overcome with ecstasy.

Above, for fleeting instances, the dancing flames seemingly joined in the blissful celebration.

On top of the crowd at times even, hoisted by unknown hands, the hands of my soul-entwined brothers and sisters.

At, inside, throughout the very heart of a national championship victory.

I reveled in every second of it.

The dumb smile plastered across my face was matched by everyone I encountered. I can only imagine if their brains were similarly faltering. Unable to comprehend the true meaning of the night's events, my mind settled for elementary thoughts, simple conceptions of emotion that could penetrate the enveloping hysteria and arrive at the steps of basic understanding.

"I am happy," was one such thought. "This is cool," another. Maybe add "really" as an enriching preface here or there. You get the picture. I was a little dazed.

Still, I'm not sure that more eloquent words, or any college-instilled knowledge for that matter – even if I'd had a brain capable of processing either at that moment – would have helped in the least.

I was really happy. And it was really cool. That summed it up perfectly.

I was on Franklin St., and we had won. It does not, cannot, get any better.

After the initial frenzy had calmed down a bit, and to a lesser extent, my own emotions as well – so we're talking about three hours later, 2:30 a.m. – I began making a concerted effort to preserve memories.

I looked around, snapping mental photographs of the same scenes, same people, over and over. Over and over.

I hugged friends I had never hugged, lifting them off the ground in my utmost joy. And, in turn, they lifted me off the ground in theirs.

Supersaturated yet still overflowing, I moved on to complete strangers, eager to share my excesses with them. On this night, unsurprisingly, they welcomed them with corresponding eagerness in a beautiful, tacit display of ultimate human understanding.

It was quite remarkable. Just like the night itself.

And somehow my unprecedented actions – ANY display of emotion is a very rare thing for me – seemed entirely appropriate, entirely necessary. On this night.

Even more so when I began to think of my yet unborn grandkids, something I had never, ever done before – a phenomenon which increases in oddity considering I've yet to even meet their grandmother.

Still, with unsettling frequency, I found myself wanting to make memories I could share with my future grandchildren, memories with such resonance that their immutable flow through the generations would be guaranteed.

And I did make them.

Because I know what winning on that glorious night meant, what celebrating on hallowed Franklin St. with my Tar Heel brethren meant, what it all will forever mean.

For it was not something I will never forget, but, rather, something I will always remember.

the day the music died

yup, you can go ahead and cross another name off the possible future Mrs. DTM list.

That's right, hot 38-year-old woman from my sports philosophy class is no longer a viable option.

So, what led to this sudden, unexpected demise? What -- if not her egregious age difference -- finally did her in, you wonder?

Well, before class, I was discussing with her the ethical implications of Colorado's miraculous 5th down against Mizzou and whether it constituted cheating (no) or bad sportspersonship (no, and please note the PC in full effect) -- btw, how awesome is it to actually discuss the Buffs in a college class at UNC?, but I digress.

Lo and behold, in the midst of our ethical exploration, she drops this bomb: "I don't even know what a 'down' is........and DON'T even try to explain it to me. I hate it. I've never been able to understand it."

boom goes the dynamite, that broad was done. Shit, she ain't got time to master football, then I ain't got time to master her (please note the sexism in full effect).


the fact that she also mentioned a husband for the first time today did not play a role in my decision.

horrendous lyrics

one thing that has always fueled the passions of my wrath as much as anything is horrible lyrics -- especially in otherwise good songs (or songs that prevail in their goodness despite pitiful word selection).

I don't have time to think of all of them now, but I will jot down the first few to pop in my head. Should you be so inclined, please feel free to contribute, and the man behind the curtain -- DTM, himself -- will approve or disapprove of your judgements (warning, POTUSA lyrics are supposed to be lame; that's why they are so friggin' awesome):

"Remember the time that I spilled the cup
Of apple juice in the hall
Please tell mom this is not her fault" -- Adam's Song, Blink 182
(the inspiration for this post; such a serious song, such a gutless verse)

"I shot the sheriff, but I didn't shoot no deputy." -- I Shot the Sheriff, Bob Marley
(I just don't get it. Now watch someone come out of the woodwork to give me the social/political context and make me feel like a dumbass.)

"Stop a baby's breath and a shoe full of rice" -- The Freshmen, The Verve Pipe
(OK, I know what this means; I just think it's a stupid way to say it. You don't see Paul Simon or Bob Dylan saying shit like this. Once again, watch the woodwork open up with counterexamples)

"Uh, shorty, turn it around and let me see something
Fuckin' with me for real, it's gon' be something
yeah, I'm talking lights, camera, action
had me singing, 'I'm sorry, Mrs. Jackson'" -- Lights, Camera, Action, Mr. Cheeks
(pretty obvious, although I write this up mainly to pure crap songiness, just like a lot of Eminem/rap -- although those of you who know me know the honest reverance I hold for Eminem and his lyricism; I just wish the man would cut out the phlegm. "oops I mean girl...girl, girl girl")


that's it for now. In hindsight, this post sucked. I had illusions of grandeur initially, but my taxed mind could not produce any salient examples, so I resign defeated, having only provided the eclectic, unimpressive list above.

love this

“I’ve been kind of nervous about stepping up to the plate for awhile now. But....when you see your shot, you’ve got to take it, right?........You’re such a knockout...... And I feel like I’ve spent my whole life afraid to strike out. But, you know...when you see that bucket, man, and you can take that shot, well you’ve got to take it. Fourth down, 3 seconds left on the clock, and I’m swinging for the fences……...I think we make a great team."

--ESPN's "Without Sports" ad campaign

the National Championship tome

I know this has been wildly anticipated, and it has certainly taken me some time to process it all (not that one week is even enough) but I do want to preface this monster of a post by stating that NOTHING I say can truly do justice to exactly what winning a national championship means.

but I feel obligated to try.

mainly, I want to emphasize the fact that this was not just a dream come true, but the dream come true. This is what I have lived for. I know I tend toward hyperbole. This is not hyperbole.

This is the culmination of a long journey. A lifelong journey. Born to two die-hard alumni, perhaps I am no different than a lot of Tar Heel fans. But "destierraed" (sorry, sometimes I just think Spanish words, even when translated to English, do better to capture an idea than the English ones do themselves. In this case, "desterrar" means basically to "un" (des) "land" (tierra), aka exile. The Spanish word brings about a concept that is just more poetic and resonates more, IMO).

Anyways, being "destierraed" in Colorado probably played a vital role in lighting the fire to my crazed being. With my parents as my heroes, and sports a constant part of their lives (and my childhood), it comes as no surprise that I formed an early attachment, bordering on obsession (it quickly blossomed beyond that), to the Tar Heels. Whether it was staying up late to watch tapes with my dad in the basement or gathering in high states of nervousness with the whole family to watch the '93 championship or simply my Carolina blue-dominated wardrobe, I loved the Heels. And with nobody else around -- we're talking Colorado, people -- to gauge my fanaticism by, I went incredibly overboard. Even far surpassing that of my parents. And I'd never even stepped/set (I just learned you could use either one, thanks google) foot on campus, mind you. But I was a Tar Heel born, and sure as heck Tar Heel bred, and with a love burned deep into my eternal soul, nothing was going to stop me from being a Tar Heel dead.

So the dream, like every Tar Heel-crazed youth, was to actually play basketball at UNC, obviously. To play under that cornicopia of hanging jerseys on that hallowed court for the best program in college basketball. That defined everything about me.

Through the 8th grade, I was set. Then, quite abruptly, I realized I was slow, white, and couldn't jump. And nowhere close to good enough. But my goals didn't change (I was far too invested for that). So I just altered my ticket. Academics became my new route to the homeland. And, through the grace of a world usually unkind, I made it here.

Insatiable, I was greedy enough to dream for more. Any national championship would fit the bill, but the absolute ultimate would be one while I was a student. That was firmly pressed up against the wall of all things dreamable.

Mar. 18 NCAA: Oakland Charlotte, N.C. W, 96-68
Mar. 20 NCAA: Iowa St. Charlotte, N.C. W, 92-65
Mar. 25 NCAA: Villanova Syracuse, N.Y. W, 67-66
Mar. 27 NCAA: Wisconsin Syracuse, N.Y. W, 88-82
Apr. 2 NCAA: Michigan St. St. Louis, Mo. W, 87-71
Apr. 4 NCAA: Illinois St. Louis, Mo. W, 75-70

The University of North Carolina Tar Heels, 33-4, National Champions

man, that looks good, doesn't it?.

It actually happened. We won. I went to Franklin St. I jumped over fires. I was with my brothers in blue. And the next day I was in the Dean Dome to welcome the Champions home (just as I was there for every single game not just this year, but the past three). I watched my heroes. I lived my dream.

I was entirely satiated.

I don't want this deep reflection on my inner being to suddenly deteriorate into something cheesy (what would that say about me, after all?), but in recognizing my position at the apex of my life, it becomes increasingly necessary (cheesiness or not) to express my ultimate gratitude to:

my parents, I love you both. Thank you for always believing in me, always being there for me, always providing for me, and for expertly clearing the path to any success I have achieved (or ever will). When I think about your parenting, I think about perfection and how blessed I am.
(p.s. Thanks for going to UNC, too.)

my sisters, I love you all. Thank you for being you, for teaching me, for putting up with me and my antics, and supporting me through it all. I wouldn't be here without you.

my friends, I love you, and you know who you are. Thanks for understanding me, or at least pretending to. We've had some great times together, and I owe parts myself to each of you. All the good parts (if there are any), that is.

the team, who made it all possible. Thank you for representing with class all that Carolina is, for playing hard, as a TEAM, to reach the pinnacle of success. Thank you for your championship defense and your unselfish offense. Thank you, Sean, Ray, Rashad, Jawad, Jackie, Marvin, David, Melvin, Reyshawn, and Quentin. Thank you, Roy, for coming home (man, that changed things around -- i.e. saved my life -- and made this post possible, huh?). Thank you for beating a team of destiny in order to become one of your own (and fulfill mine).

Thank you all for accomplishing the historical, for doing the unmatchable, for making dreams 21 years in the making come beautifully true.

Thank you for definitively and forever legitimizing my life.

We won.

and the HTML said

let me be normal, again

and it was (except for a few slight color modifications).

And the HTML said

let the font be bigger, and it was


the key question is, is it better? We here at DTM headquarters try our best to be user-friendly.

emotion

so yeah, I want to talk about the single event that has elicited the most visible emotion in me in a long time.

Those of you that know me well know that I am far from emotional, so this is a pretty damn significant moment. And for some reason, my revolutionary catharsis has little to do with winning the NC (as would be expected), though it is, of course, indirectly related.

Still, seeing as I felt as sad and as bad as ever have when this horrendous thing occurred, I feel a compelling obligation to blog about it, even with days having elapsed since the incident.

So, on Tuesday, as Gena and I walked toward the Dean Dome to welcome our heroes home, an absolutely horrible thing happened. Directly in front of us, a man, I would estimate at 45-50 years old, experienced the terrible luck of catching his foot on one of the improvisational guardrails that line the walk down to the arena. Incredibly worse, he was holding the hand of his precious, cute, ecstatic, 7 year-old daughter at the time. What followed was a slow-motion ballet of tragedy. To make a gruesome story short, he tripped grossly, lunged forward fiercely, jerking his daughter with him, and despite a mighty struggle to maintain his balance, in the end took himself, and his innocent daughter, to the rough, harsh pavement with an audible slap. Blood quickly followed.

Without a doubt, it was one of the saddest things I've ever witnessed. Mainly because I immediately empathized with the father, as if I were one. That has to be the epitome of a father's worst nightmare.

She started howling immediately and her knee was pretty severely cut.

Of course she was mainly just shocked at what had happened. Her dad, her supposed bedrock and protector, had tripped, taking her with him, and had landed forcefully on top of her -- all unpredictable and straight out of nowhere. Right in front of me. I felt so sad. I cannot emphasize the depth of my sadness enough (maybe Gena can relate). I think that's why I'm writing. It's been awhile since I've felt like that.

His wildest conception of doom -- tenfold. Not only had his little girl been hurt, but it had been HIS fault.

And it pretty much wrecked me, too.

But it has allowed me to assert anew and with confidence that I indeed can feel (though I'd rather it not be pain and sadness) -- rare as it may be.

I felt so bad.

from 9.5/12 to a glorius 12/12

a ragtag post:

Today, I bansheed.

This means I submitted myself to complete shit all day and cranked out three articles for the next three weeks -- don't tell Paul O'Connor. The key thing here is, if I play my cards right, I'm done with "THE CLASS FROM HELL." J-skool vets know it as J-54, Reporting -- aka the end of all fun in life. But now, no more TCT: town council time. No more phone calls. No more harassing people who hate me. No more reporting. It feels good, and I ate pizza because of it.

also, in case you haven't seen it yet, boom goes the dynamite!!! While he never quite starts off as "the man," he does manage to "end up doing poorly." I think it's fake, but you can't help but laugh at Bogot, Hackem Warrick, and Wayne Summers rebounding out the list.

"Nickelodian Rugrats is coming to your town" -- yes, that commercial just came on again. I know I seem to be dealing a lot with commercials lately (maybe I do just watch that much TV), but this one just completely perplexes (and annoys) me. It's a lamely developed rap, aimed at kids, played on ESPN, to get people to go to a Durham Bulls game. To see Angela, from Rugrats. I know it's aimed at families, but somehow I don't think this is the best marketing scheme they could have come up with.

I will have another commercial post as soon as I memorize all the words to it. The ESPN sports cliche relationship talk one. I love the last line so much. And I vehemently deny that it is an indictment of my person to spend time memorizing commercials for the sole use of posting it on my blog to read 20 years from now when I wistfully relive my wonder years amid the shitty hell of a mid-life crisis in order to find the true essence of DTM.

I got my first denial from ESPN Deportes (which I didn't even apply to, go figure). More denials are certainly on the way. We're running out of time here. My future -- and beyond that my summer -- are going straight to hell. Okay, okay, reverse them. Either way, hell is coming.

I watched the new South Park. And loved it. I should have just made each week's South Park episode the weekly meme. I mean, it runs on Wednesdays. And at least that way Rell and Phipps and I could have talked about it, which would have smashed meme comment records to smitherenes. And Phipps wouldn't have to bitch about me not saying "goodbye" like he thinks we're in a relationship or something.

"A tradition unlike any other.....the Masters" begins tomorrow. I like this. Unfortunately, I have Black Thursday = shitty, Class-all-day Day. But go Tiger. And go magnolias.

A new permanent blog link has been added (take a bow Mr. Chris Bernal, the West Coast version of DTM), replacing Nick's -- sorry dude, but the 2 month hiatus just doesn't cut it. It's got some good basketball stuff and a lot of dook shit-talking, so it is easily worth me spending my time there. Plus I kind of like Arizona. And I hate dook. Did I already say that I hate dook?

Sadly, adding Chris' blog reminds me that college basketball is over (tear) and the last four links are going to sadly fade into oblivion for the next few months. I'd really enjoyed reading them, especially Pomeroy's. Perhaps the worst part all is that this means it's GASP! baseball season. In my best Old School impression of the office guy when he corners the Godfather and utters, teeth barred: "I HATE baseball." I know he says golf, but it wouldn't work quite as well that way, would it? Alas, goodbye links, my friends. Oh well, at least my pitiful showing in the ACC prediction will avoid my mouse click as well. *I still contend that if Elder doesn't get hurt, GT does A LOT better, and I win. This is how Freud taught me to protect my ego.

Oh, and I talked to the other half of BenDan for the first time in FOREVER today. Seems the Benjaman is living in Cordoba, Argentina and living life and loving it. He even caught the UNC game down there on ESPN VIVO!, so us Tar Heel fans were represented in the Southern Hemisphere, where the water swirls the other way (Cornholio effect?). Just kidding, I'm too much of a nerd to not remember Coriolis -- although spelling might be a different matter. Anyway, he is good, and celebrating, and talking to him was awesome.

That is it for today. From 404 Grimes, Chapel Hill -- via Argentina -- I'm DTM: chau.

a commercial worth our wonder

This you peons can actually grovel over ... and I will join in impressed awe.

to clarify

becuase my previous blog has received a lot of comments (a new record maybe? -- even a Chris Bernal response, who would have thought?), and because I have been sent numerous caustic, biting IMs indicting me for ruthlessness and being unnecessarily haughty -- from certain faceless people unwilling to stand up in public to my bold, absolute front, I might add -- I figured I need to own up to some things.

Namely, I believed that tsunami surfing one the first time I saw it.

So you see, deep down, though I hate to admit it and try so unbelievably hard to reject it, I'm really just like you. Where it really matters, I'm one of you.



Oh yeah, except that after I saw it, I kept thinking, bitches. You all disgust me.