HelloSilly

One more thing...

2011-10-06T21:30:00.002-05:00

Goodbye

2011-10-06T12:04:00.000-05:00

OK, I'm not going to delete this blog because there are a handful of good things in it. A few funny ones here and there. I'll keep 'em. But HelloSilly is closed for business now.

I started this blog, if you read the first posts, out of boredom because I got banned from my favorite sports forum at the time. Or maybe I lost a bet and had to endure a self-imposed ban. I forget now. But over time I used it to vent out some occasional frustrations or toss out ideas or just drop some bullshit. That's fine. But it lacks direction.

Now I'm on the verge of new things, big things and scary things. I need to get some direction, find my path and forge ahead. The days of living randomly and allowing life to happen and others to dictate my existence are done. As is this blog.

Fear not! I'm starting a new one.

Violent Spitball of Truth

2011-04-03T09:33:00.001-05:00

So I hear the Torpedo of Truth bombed in Detroit last night. (Cue rimshot.) Charlie Sheen can never be accused of having a mere 15 minutes of fame, but he may be learning quickly that his "battle-tested bayonets" aren't as sharp as he thought. Just like anything else in pop culture, his recent antics that have delighted so many and sold countless t-shirts may already be growing weary on a public that is always ready to move on to the next big thing.

But is there still anything to learn from Charlie? He does seem to lob little spitballs of truth in his interviews and Tweets, and even people who are sickened by his drug abuse over the years are somehow drawn to his warrior philosophy. He puts out the idea that you can't live your life to please others, and some of us, who have always tried to be pleasers to our own detriment, find that kind of idea to be stimulating. There is some truth to the idea that a life dictated by others is not truly your own life. And maybe what we learn from Charlie's disaster in Detroit is that you take a shot and things, and if they don't work out, you still keep plugging away.

But I remain curious as to the attraction so many have to a guy who seems bent on destroying his life. Yes, he may be clean now. He's certainly willing to piss in a cup at the drop of a hat to prove it. But this philosophy of his was born from a lifestyle of pushing the limits, defying the law, alienating people who love him, and most recently, getting himself (and a lot of innocent people) put out of a job. That is nothing to admire. Yet, somehow, people do. And it's not just Sheen. I know I can't possibly be the only person who has ever written words for a living who imagined that if we could just get our hands on some absinthe and opium we could turn into Oscar Wilde. The drug addicts who thrive present an odd temptation. Who doesn't want Tiger Blood?

But there is a big truth in all this that can't be overlooked: we aren't Charlie Sheen. We don't have tiger blood. And neither does he. What he has is fame and money, and enough of both to keep an army of handlers and helpers around him, looking out for him, protecting him, saving him, and covering for him. That's how he's been able to thrive. If he was Joe Shmoe, he'd probably be dead or in prison, not on a stage in Detroit. And that's the truth.

Alone

2011-03-25T19:08:00.000-05:00

Being alone is not so bad as it seems. There are a lot of times when being alone is just what you need. It's quiet alone. You are free to do as you please, for the most part. Sometimes being alone is a life-expanding experience and very good for you. Taking a trip alone or living alone, completely unreliant on anyone, is probably something from which anyone could benefit. Tests your bravery and your wit and the stamina of your character.

But it's those alone times that aren't so good with which we most associate the word. Alone means isolation or abandonment. Loss. You feel much more scared than brave. Your stamina flags. Your wits escape you.

There are times when I have been alone, sometimes by my own doing and sometimes by the doing of others. I have, at times, withdrawn from friends and family. Depression will do that to you. And there have been times when friends have left me alone. Some personal conflict left unsettled, or even just simple circumstances like a move or the demands of a job. But even in those times there are lessons to be learned which allow you to get something positive out of it. Unless the lesson you get out of it is worse than even the being alone part.

For example, I have recently been left with my ass hanging out in the wind. A decision was made concerning a friend. The friend wouldn't like it, but it was agreed that it was the best and only decision to be made. The plan was executed. Then when the wrath came down, the rats abandoned ship and left me holding the bag. "Oh, it was all her idea. I had nothing to do with it." I know it sucks to have someone you love and care about angry with you, but come on. It was either the best decision or it wasn't. If it wasn't, then you can always apologize and make amends. But in this case, it was the best decision and I will stand by it. Alone, it seems.

I don't mind. Another day, another life lesson. From this experience I have learned (or re-learned) a few things. First is that you can't rely on anyone to stand with you when the going gets rough. Most people will leave you. Only the truest of true friends will weather that storm at your side. Second is that you can't be too willing to trust people. They will throw you under the bus to save their own ass. Third is that, even if those things happen, it's still OK. You'll be fine. A little lonely for a time, perhaps, but in the long run you'll make it. Knowing you did the right thing helps a lot in handling that situation.

Dream Big

2011-03-05T14:38:00.000-06:00

A few days ago I had the chance to talk to a woman who is being treated for cancer. The good news is that they found it early, her treatments are going well, and she is expected to fully recover. But even so, you can't help thinking about death when you talk to someone like that. The idea that your life will end one day, whether slowly or suddenly, and that will be all she wrote. There are no do-overs.

Marcus Aurelius said that a man should not fear death. Rather he should fear never having lived. And Mark Twain said that it isn't the things you've done that you will regret most at your life's end. It's the things you didn't do. What do they mean? They mean you should get off your ass and do something.

I'm 41. If I were dying right now, I could look back on my life and think that, overall, it was a decent life. I have a wonderful, loving son, and that's enough to call it a decent life in spite of anything else. But apart from him, I don't have much to show for it. I've spent a lifetime not living or following my dreams. And I can blame no one but myself.

I have figured out that, no matter what your dreams are and no matter how small they may seem, somebody is going to dissuade you. Somebody is going to say that it's stupid or can't be done, or that you'd be better off doing this other thing than what you really want. And if I could give my son one parting piece of advice on my deathbed, it would be to ignore that bullshit and do what you want. Anyone who really cares about you will help you reach your dreams, not stand in your way. Get rid of the people who do. Make your plan and follow through. If you find out for yourself that it can't be done, so be it. But don't take someone else's word for it. Just create a new plan and go to work on that one.

And don't wait until you are 41 to do it.

Throw Me A Rope

2010-08-21T16:04:00.001-05:00

It's bad to wake up one day and realize you are a fuck-up. It's worse when you wake up to this feeling often and still can't break the cycle.

Yeah, yeah. I've had Depression. Yes, it's bad. If you've never experienced it, I'll try to describe it. Imagine a normally functioning human being with friends, hobbies, interests. This person has good personality traits and bad personality traits, like everyone else in the world. They have goals and dreams. They care about things. They have some passion. They have successes to celebrate and disappointments to overcome. They are just like anyone else.

When you add Depression you get...a ~~normally~~ (barely) functioning human being ~~with friends, hobbies, interests~~. This person has ~~good personality traits and~~ bad personality traits, ~~like everyone else in the world~~. ~~They have goals and dreams~~. They care about (no) things. They have ~~some~~ (no) passion. They have ~~successes to celebrate and~~ disappointments ~~to overcome~~. They are just like anyone else (who sucks at life).

So, yeah. I'll cut myself some slack for dealing with that. But what now? Once it seems you are almost out of the black hole you recognize that you have a dearth of social skills. You don't know how to deal with real people anymore. You've lost whatever social talents you may have once had. You no longer have good work habits. Your ability to plan and strategize is gone. All those social muscles have atrophied. This makes you feel somewhat helpless, quite frightened of the world, and kinda worthless. It's pretty easy to slip back down in the black hole unless you can find a rope.

But in short, you're a fuck-up. Even if you do find a rope. It's going to take some work to stop being like that. Where to start? I'm just throwing myself into the fire, going to school. The black hole is telling me that it's a huge mistake and that I will only screw it up. The tiny little voice of hope in my head is saying otherwise, but it's hard to hear that voice some days when all you can see around you is everything you screw up.

I mean, look at this blog post. Writing is the only talent I ever had, and this effort is a piece of shit.

I Got Your Paradigm Shift Right Here

2009-12-30T13:14:00.001-06:00

More than a year ago I wrote about those annoying buzzwords and cool phrases in this very blog. Time to revisit the subject.

I was chatting with a pal recently:

"...and it's like a total paradigm shift..." he said.
"Wait, did you just say--"
"I know..."
"Did you just say 'paradigm shift,' because if you did we can't be friends now."
"I know. I'm sorry, you just pick up these corporate buzzwords at work and they get ingrained."

To his credit, he swears he never used the phrase "thinking outside the box," so I'll just put this incident behind us.

As a sports fan, there are a ton of words and phrases that get under my skin after a while. For example, even though I'm a Browns fan and love the kid, I'm sick of hearing Josh Cribbs described as "a beast." Every time a player in the NFL makes a good play, somebody calls him a beast. It doesn't matter what the play was or how big the guy is or what position he plays, he's a beast. Let's look at the word for a moment. A beast is simply an animal. As humans we are all, indeed, beasts. It's a generic term. A bull elephant is a beast, but so is a field mouse. Now, Shaun Rogers, at 6'4" and 350 may indeed be a "beast" the way ESPN likes to use the word. The comparison makes some sense, particularly given the fact that his position as nose tackle requires him to pound people into the ground. Cribbs is 6'1" and 215, which, believe it or not, puts him at the smaller end of the scale in terms of NFL players. His job on the field requires him to be elusive, graceful, fast. He's not the same kind of "beast" Rogers is. So why insist on the word, ad nauseam? In terms of beasts, it would be much more evocative to call Rogers a rhino and call Cribbs a cheetah.

Another thing that goes straight up my ass these days is "on so many levels." Usually something is described as being "wrong" on so many levels, much like the repeated use of this phrase. What levels are these, exactly? And how many levels could there possibly be? Using the word "levels" suggests a hierarchy of wrongness. It's wrong on level one, but maybe not wrong on level five. Or perhaps it suggests categories of wrongness. Why not just wrong in many ways or for many reasons? Or how about just flat-out wrong, and be done with it?

It is lazy thinking, writing and speaking that causes people to latch onto these words and phrases. The English language is full of words, some simple and some more complex. They are all good and useful for describing anything. The goal of communication is understanding. You use the phrase "paradigm shift" to sound smarter and more elite. Simply adopting a new way of thinking, which is the same thing, doesn't quite have the same snap, does it? You call a guy a beast because you're too lazy to reach into your bag of adjectives and really find a way to describe his play. Not to mention that it's really cool. And why are you wrong on so many levels? I suppose so you can sound like a teenage twit.

OK, I'm done being a hardass. I know we can't help it. Once popular culture becomes saturated with one of these annoying and largely nondescriptive descriptors, we find them popping up in our writing and speech without even thinking about it. I just ask us to rebel against it.

The Most Perfect Bra In The World

2009-12-14T23:58:00.002-06:00

It's a rare thing for me to use my blog as a product endorsement, but since nobody reads it anyway, here goes. I have found the most perfect bra in the world.

If you have big boobs, finding a bra that fits is nearly impossible. I have tried every brand in every price range. Many of them will work, but they don't fit. There is a certain way bras are suppose to fit you. For example, the wires are supposed to fit flat against your breastbone. I have never had a bra fit that way, ever. Until now. And not only that, but it's an underwire bra I can wear all day and it doesn't poke. Sometimes I even forget I have it on. I own two and I am about to own two more. But I was lucky. When I went back to order again, my size was sold out. In fact, most of the sizes were sold out. I searched for an hour until I found a website that had them in stock. I'm not the only busty girl who has discovered this miracle of an undergarment.

It is made by Goddess and is the Keira Banded Satin Underwire, No. 6090. It comes in three colors: Fawn, Chocolate and Violet. Good luck finding one. When you do, you will praise my name.

At The Dentist's Office

2009-12-02T15:41:00.001-06:00

10 a.m. this morning. It's cold. I've been given four shots on the upper right, and it feels like my eyeball is numb. I'm sleepy and my mouth is full of something plastic that is gouging into my lower jaw which has not been numbed, cotton balls and an enormous clamp of some kind. And hands.

Heath the Dentist: "You ready?"
Me: "Uh huh."
(drilling commences, sound of suction hose. "Fat Bottom Girls" starts playing on the radio station)
Dental assistant Bonita: "Oh, I hate this song. It's just awful. There's no need of it."
Heath: "What is it?"
Bonita: "'Fat Bottom Girls.' I know my bottom is fat. I don't need somebody to sing about it. It's not nice."
Heath: "Fat Bottom...is that what he's saying?"
Bonita: "Yes!"
Heath: "Sounds to me like he likes it." (grinding) "You OK?"
Me: "Uh huh."
Bonita: "Like he likes it? Then why would he call it fat?"
Heath: "How do I know? But that's what he said. Fat Bottom Girls make the rocket world go round."
Me: "Wockin."
Heath: "Rockin world. He likes 'em big-boned, Bonita. There's you a man."
Bonita: "I don't need a man. You saw Tiger Woods' wife is beating him with a golf club for runnin' around."
Heath: "You don't know that. He had a car wreck and that's that."
Bonita: "Right. She oughta beat him."
Heath: "What if it was her doing it? Should he beat her?"
Bonita: "....No. Nobody should beat anybody, but I don't blame her."
Me: "Unghh.."
Heath: "You feel that?"
Me: "Mmhmm."
Heath: "Dang, I done gave you four shots!" (injects more novocaine) "I guess you'll learn to floss better, right?"
Me: "Uh huh."
Heath: "You don't know what happened until he says what happened, and you're just gossiping. You don't even know."
Bonita: "It's not gossip if it's true."
Heath: "Yes it is! If it ain't any of your business and it tears somebody down, it's gossip. Don't matter if it's true or not."
Bonita: "Where does it say that in the Bible?"
Heath: "You have to read it in the Bible to know it's true? You ain't ever had people talk about your family?"
Bonita: "My family is talked about enough."
Heath: "Do you like it?"
Bonita: "No."
Heath: "Well too bad I guess. It ain't in the Bible, so you just have to suffer. I need some suction and some composite."
(suction)
Bonita: "Tell him. Everybody knows what he was doing. It's not gossip if everybody knows."
Me: "Uh-uh. Lee ee ow uh ih."
Heath: "Hear that? Leave her out of it. Some of us don't gossip like you, Aunt B."
Bonita: "I hate when you call me Aunt B. She only said that because your hands are in her mouth. Maybe they have one of those open marriage."
Heath: "Like that swinger's club in Texas. I saw that on TV. If I made 37 million I'd just say, 'Honey, this is how it is and if you don't like it you can leave,' right, Dawn?"
Me: "Hmm. Duh see gehda had a oywhen den too?"
Heath: "I reckon if she wants one."
Me: {shrugs} "Oh ay den."
Bonita: "I saw that on TV too! There was this show, and this couple and they had another girl living with them in the house. Just as happy. I hollered for David to come in and see it. I said, 'Would you look at this trash.'"
Heath: "Two women in the house? I can't stand one most of the time."
Bonita: "Oh he liked it, the husband did. She did too 'cause her door swung both ways."
Heath: "Oh she liked the girl too, huh? Well that's good then. I guess we oughta be glad they're happy. Bite down. That feel ok?"
Me: "Eh."
Bonita: "What? It's the same thing as...well, maybe it's not. I don't even know what you call that."
Me: (Thinking, "It's called polyamory, but there is not a chance in hell i can say that.")
Heath: "I call it none of my business. We're done. I want Chinese for lunch."

Living Purple

2009-11-14T12:57:00.001-06:00

I bought purple sheets this week. Usually I go for the highest thread count cotton sheets I can afford, but this time I went unconventional. I found a sale on sheets made of stretch jersey knit. T-shirt material. There was heather gray, beige, brown, white, sage green...and purple. I found it hard to look at the other colors with the purple beckoning. It was an obvious choice.

As fate would have it, someone pointed out a well-known poem to me that also has a purple theme.

Warning
by Jenny Joseph
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

That is a great poem. Don't you love old people whose ties to convention break? You know that switch that says, "stop that," or that filter that says, "don't say that." When they've reached a certain age with certain life experience and just say, "Fuck it." You wish you could be like them and not care what the neighbors think. You wish you didn't have to create some acceptable facade for work or for church or for the PTA. But alas, you're tied to convention because you have to raise good kids and have a good job and be respectable and have some sort of status in your social group. The smart people disable that switch and throw out that filter before they get old. They already wear purple.They go to Paris with money they should invest in stock. The live freely and think freely.

I don't suggest that convention doesn't have its place. Manners are important. Following the rules is usually a good idea. Obeying the law ensures rights and safety. I just suggest that worrying over whether or not the neighbors will like your pink yard flamingos is less important than nearly anything. And let them gossip about why you weren't in church or why you don't sell the school fundraiser junk.

I talk big, but I'm afraid I actually still care a bit too much. Tonight though, on my purple sheets and with my bedside table adorned with roses I bought for myself, I will think about how I can let it go and get free. I'm almost 40. The time has come.

We Interrupt This Blog With A Call From My Son

2009-10-17T14:24:00.002-05:00

I have custom ringtones for a few people in my mobile phone. Scooter's ringtone is the Transformers theme. He's into Transformers, big time. If I get a call from my son it is usually about one of three things: He saw a really cool Transformer, he wants to to to Walmart to get a Transformer, he wants to know what is for supper.

Today he's out with my father for their Saturday Go-to-Breakfast/Go-to-Walmart excursion. Sometimes they go to a movie. They do this every Saturday. This means every Saturday I get calls from Scooter.

[Ringtone blares: "Transformers! More than meets the eye! Transformers! Robots in disguise!"]
"Hello?"
"Hey, Mother?"
"Yes?"
"I just saw a Cliff Jumper! You know what it is? It's red! It's a repaint of Bumblebee. It's usually just a repaint of Bumblebee, but it's a Cliff Jumper! It's freakin' awesome!"
"That's great, Son."
"I love you, Mother."
[click]

I know a lot about Transformers these days. More than I want to know. But he likes them, and there are certainly worse things he could be enthusiastic about. Like girls. I'll take a 12-year-old toy geek over a 12-year-old horndog any day.

["Transformers! More than meets the eye! Transfor–"]
"Hello?"
"Hey, Mother?"
"Yes?"
"I talked to Jenny. She didn't get me that Scorponok. She wasn't shopping for Christmas. She just found it in the socks at T.J.Maxx and wanted to know if I had one."
"OK."
"That means I can get the cool red and black repaint Scorponok! Hurrah!"
"If that's what you like, Son."
"Hey, Mother? Thank you for getting me Swerve."
"You're welcome."
"I love you, Mother."
[click]

Arguably, he's spoiled. Between me and my parents, he gets most of what he wants in terms of Transformers. But in his defense, he doesn't ask for much else. He isn't into brand clothing (yet), he isn't constantly asking for a PS3 or a Wii or some hundred-dollar new video game. He's never once suggested that what we really need is a 15-foot plasma screen TV. And admittedly, I love to get him the damn things. He gets so excited! It doesn't matter if I like them or not. My pleasure is hearing him talk about them. I do worry about myself though. I've lately started to think Optimus Prime is kinda hot. You know, for a giant alien robot.

["Transformers! More than meets–"]
"Hello?"
"Hey, Mother?"
"Yes?"
"Do you have stuff to make spaghetti for supper?"
"Yep."
"Yes! I love you, Mother."
[click]

Love you too, Scooter.

Everything You Thought Is Wrong, But That's OK

2009-10-17T13:28:00.001-05:00

Who can be certain in this life? We get fed a bunch of nonsense as children and then slowly watch all those beliefs get torn down as the years go by. Ideas like lifelong friendship, blood being thicker than water, good triumphing over evil, true love never dying...horseshit. Sure, sometimes it works out like that, but the reality is that you get burned a lot by banking on those ideas. It's enough to make you cynical if you let it. You just need to develop a more pragmatic view of things. Don't expect so much of people. Don't expect too much of yourself. We humans may be the "paragon of animals," as Shakespeare suggested, but don't get caught up in the paragon part of that phrase and forget the animals part.

1. Friends come and go. Friends are transient. The likelihood of lifelong friendship between two people is rare. The likelihood of lifelong friendship between more than two people is nearly impossible. This is just my opinion, but it's an informed opinion. I've seen friendships destroyed over things like jobs or politics. I know that your best friend will screw your wife under the least bit of opportunity or provocation. I know that your best friend will abandon you for somebody "cooler," even when you're grown up and think you are beyond that kind of shallowness. Your friendship might even end due to something less traumatic, like a move that puts distance between you until the friendship becomes more like an acquaintanceship. It happens. I used to lament this kind of thing, not just if one of my friendships was broken, but even when I saw someone else's friendship suffer. Now I see it differently. Friendship is like your favorite television series. It may have a long run, but in time it will probably get canceled. If you're lucky you'll get repeats of the best episodes now and then, and you can always remember those episodes fondly. I'm not suggesting you shouldn't give friendship your all just because it might not last forever. Of course you should. Then if it breaks or fades you'll be in good practice to be somebody else's friend for a while.

2. There is a fine line between love and hate. This is what you get with families. You are born into a family and almost forced to develop love bonds with them due to blood. It's automatic. But the intense love and familiarity that comes with blood relationships breeds opportunity for enmity. The worst fights and most painful estrangements you will see are between siblings. Usually it's money. Property, inheritance. It brings out the worst in people. And because they know you so well, they know best how to hurt you. Maybe that's why the poorest families seem to be the closest. That is, until you have two brothers in love with the same woman. Your family is your family, but figure out that they are no better or worse than anyone else in the world just because they share your DNA.

3. True love is as fragile and breakable as a china cup. An interesting fact about a china cup is that you can turn it upside down on the floor, stand on the base of it and it will hold the weight of an average person without breaking. It's that strong and amazing. But you can tap it carelessly with a teaspoon and break it into a million pieces. It's that tender. And that's how love is. Usually it will endure the heaviest burdens with ease. I think this is because we have a plan for those things. We realize those huge burdens are often beyond our control, and even imagine ahead of time what to do if one of these burdens falls upon us. But it's those everyday knocks that do us in. That little chip. That hairline crack that goes unrepaired. The careless misuse of love until it is barely holding together is its undoing. One day, it will no longer hold the tea and it will shatter. Yes, yes, some people enjoy a lifetime of use from their china cup, and that's great and beautiful. But most people are careless with their teaspoons. The good thing is, you only have to break one to learn your lesson most of the time.

4. The ultimate myth common to all these situations and relationship is the idea that good triumphs over evil. It does sometimes, but you can't count on it. Good gets screwed a lot. I think I have figured out why. The assholes of the world spend a lifetime working the system to their own advantage. They bend the rules until they nearly break, they subvert the system, they burn both ends of the candle, they leave somebody else holding the bag. They get very skilled at it. It's a constant mental exercise. Meanwhile, those of us who try to do good are usually doing what seems most natural. We don't think about it. So the evil people of the world run on cleverness and the good people of the world run on instinct and emotion. Clever usually wins. If you want to even the odds you have to get smart, and the other side is already smarter than you are. They've had more practice. But it's OK. You know you're right to do the right things. Just heal up and move on. And get smarter.

God

2009-10-14T02:41:00.004-05:00

I'm an Agnostic. I think. What I mean is, I don't believe in God the way most people do. I just never bought the all-knowing creator image. It never made sense to me, and still doesn't. And I'm educated and intelligent enough to know that evolution is real. That doesn't mean a God can't also exist, but it doesn't exist the way they taught me at Sunday School.

Growing up in the South, believe me, I had plenty of religious education. As an adult, I have found it illuminating to learn about the belief systems of others around the world, from various Christian denominations, to Buddists and Hindus, or Muslims and Jews. I find religion to be a fascinating subject and I'm not against it at all.

I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure nobody has it quite right. Not 100 percent. But I appreciate that we seem to be trying to get it right. No, not "organized religion" so much. Organized religion just wants converts and needs to be "right" all the time. I mean individuals. Whether or not God is real is beside the point. Mankind has created religion as a means to transcend. It gives us something to aspire to, guidelines for good living. Who can dispute the wisdom of The Golden Rule or the Four Nobel Truths? It gives me great hope that we humble humans have devised such guidelines and attempt to follow them, however poorly we may do so at times.

The Hindus have a greeting, "Namaste." Roughly translated, it means "The god in me honors the god in you." I have come to embrace this idea as the single tenet in my own personal religion. God does exist in every one of us. You see it in those people who give and love without asking for anything in return. You see it in human creativity, in literature and art and music. You feel when it is near you, and you feel its absence. We have the Devil in us too, and it's easy to spot when it rears its ugly head. The trick is cultivating god and choking down the devil. The choices we make and with whom we associate determine our success in that endeavor.

So no, I don't believe in a God that has the magic powers to bestow happiness and prosperity upon us nor take it away. I believe we have that power in us. So go be God today. Namaste.

None of Your Business: The Path to Happiness

2009-10-14T01:40:00.003-05:00

There are things about which a person should care. Their job, their family, their health, their home. The essentials. In fact, we should care deeply about those things at the expense of everything else. Regrettably, we spend too much time giving a damn about stupid things at the expense of the essentials.

I blame my favorite thing in the world, the internet. Every day we are bombarded with things to care about that we would otherwise never even know if not for the world wide web. Oh sure, TV can bear some blame too, but the inundation of "news" and other minutia we get from the internet may be the single largest source of distress the world has witnessed since the Black Plague. We simply know too much and most if it is worthless. And "social networking" in the form of Facebook and internet forums is yet another flea on a dog's ass that keeps us scratching ourselves raw. We give a damn about stuff that is not important at all, like Some Fool's post or any number of things are None of Our Business.

So let's clear the slate a bit, shall we?

1. Obama's Nobel Peace Prize
Why do you care? Some Scandinavian committee arbitrarily gives out awards every year which do nothing to create peace nor destroy it. This award is no more significant to the lives of you and me than an Academy Award or the Piquipsy Rotary Club Man of the Year. I suppose unless you are from Piquipsy. Also, it's their committee. They get to pick. Therefore, it is None of Your Business. Stop caring.

2. The News
Don't watch it. I gave up watching the daily news a few years ago, to my great happiness. Sure, I still hear about things. Random stories of interest will appear on my home page, or Some Fool will post a link to something he gives a great big damn about, and I'll know it then. Not that it's any of my business to know it. And I promise you, if something really big happens, like a terrorist attack or a dramatic change in hemlines in the spring fashion forecast, you'll know it. So stop watching the news. Go have sex or watch a ball game. You'll be much happier.

3. Some Fool
I used to be like you and care very deeply about what Some Fool thinks of me on the internet or down the street. I have a long-standing and deeply-seated need to be accepted and loved. This has not served me well and I am trying to overcome it. I have figured out that what Some Fool thinks of me privately, or even says about me among his or her friends is actually None of My Damn Business. People are free to think whatever they like about me or you, and rarely will anything they say about us have any real affect on our lives. You know why? Nobody gives a damn about it except you and me. So why should we?

4. World Peace
Are you crazy? It's not gonna happen. Ever. You can fret and care and worry yourself sick about what the French think of Americans or what the Israelis and Palestinians think of each other or if the Italians elected another porn star to Parliament, but it isn't anything you can control. I understand that you worry you won't have as good a time on your trip to Paris if the French hate the U.S., or that the price of oil may rise if there is trouble in the Middle East. But it is still None of Your Business. We have the mistaken impression that the world is small, and it is not. It is big and full of all kinds of people. They are not under your control. Do you want them minding Your Business? Quid pro quo. They stay out of Yours. You stay out of Theirs.

You know that cliché Serenity Prayer? The one where you pray for the wisdom to know the difference about things you can control and things you can't? A cliché may be annoying, but that doesn't mean it isn't true. Figure out for yourself what things you can actually control. Those are the things you care about. The rest is None of Your Business. Don't worry about it.

Zero Tolerance for Lazy Thinking

2009-10-13T23:34:00.006-05:00

In the past week or so we've seen a Cub Scout and an Eagle Scout suspended from school for carrying knives. Poor little Zachary Christie, 6, faces 45 days in alternative school for bringing his eating utensil to campus. It was one of those spoon/fork/knife combos. He wanted to eat his lunch with it. And now Matthew Whalen, 17, is being suspended for 20 days for having a 2-inch knife inside a survival kit in his car at school. You see, these boys are clearly terrorists in the Zero Tolerance world of today's schools. Never mind that Zachary is an A student who wears a shirt and tie voluntarily, and never mind that Matthew is an honored senior who is already a soldier in the United States Army with aspirations of going to West Point. These children are a menace.

Zero Tolerance policies do not get the results they aim to get. They do nothing to prevent a violent attack on a fellow student. Those still happen every day. They do nothing to stop a person from committing an act of assault or murder if that is truly their intent. People with criminal minds do not follow laws, so your Zero Tolerance policy means nothing to them. So what are they for in the first place?

The real reason for ZT policies is to spare administrators and teachers the job of using their brains and assessing each situation on its own merits. It's the same sort of one size fits all justice that created the "three strikes" laws that removed judicial discretion from the hands of judges and placed it in the hands of bureaucrats. It's lazy thinking, and simply a way to disown any responsibility of leadership. It fails to prevent anything bad and punishes children who are no more a terrorist than I am.

Wait...I do carry a pocket knife.

UnaMUSEd

2009-10-13T23:09:00.002-05:00

Yeah, yeah. It's been ever since I wrote anything. But since I'm experiencing yet another ban from a sports forum, I'll try to get back into the habit. I mean, I can't let down all seven of my followers.

Over here to your left is Calliope, the muse of epic poetry. She's not much help. I've never been much of a poet, though I think every writer wishes to be such. Perhaps Clio, the muse of history, would be a better choice. I suppose blogging is a sort of record of history in a way, though not likely a history many people are very interested in learning.

But I will endeavor to persevere with or without the help of a muse to inspire me. Sometimes you just have to be your own muse.

Part of the Problem

2009-04-02T16:10:00.003-05:00

It used to be that friends and family only harassed you by telephone or with unannounced visits. My own family tends to just walk in because I almost never lock my door. Then I get greeted with statements like, "You're not dressed!" That's right. I might have been had you rang first, but you didn't. Now when I remember to lock the door they still arrive unannounced and pound until I let them in. The question then is, invariably, "Why is your door locked?" To keep you out.

But thanks to the wonder of technology, you can and will be harassed through email, text and instant message. Chronic harassers prefer these methods because they can't be rejected. You'll never actually block your dear friends' or your mother's emails, so they have a clear shot at you. Chain emails are my favorite, by which I mean they are the things that make me want to spill blood. Not mine either.

Guardian Angels, Friendship Roses and Good Luck Prayers clutter my inbox daily, all of them urging me to forward them on to at least 10 other unsuspecting schmucks, all of whom have probably already received this same email from somebody else. A few of them even urge me to forward the thing back to the person who sent it to me! I can't imagine such an idea. I didn't want the first one, so why in the hell would I send it on to 10 other people with the hope that all 10 of them will send the same damn thing back to me again?

It's not that I don't appreciate the thought that I'm included in someone's "forward to" list. Some of the emails are even cute, but most of them are stupid and none of them will I forward on to another individual. I will not do it because I have enough people and situations in my life that force my hand, and I will not be ordered around by an email. Threaten me with disaster and financial ruin if you must, but it's getting deleted. The other day I got one that said, "If you don't forward this message you are part of the problem." Good! Delete.

I've called my T-shirt guy and he's screening me a shirt that reads "I Am Part of the Problem." I'll take a picture of it and send it to all my friends and family with the plea that they forward it along to everyone in their address folder. If they refuse to do it, well, they're just part of the solution.

Left Out

2009-02-17T08:30:00.008-06:00

I don't drink coffee. More than just not liking it, I am put off by it. Years ago I could at least say that I liked the aroma of coffee if not the taste, but when I was pregnant 13 years ago my sense of smell was heightened to such an extreme that even scents I liked before became noxious. Coffee was one of those, and I have never recovered from it.

The problem this poses for me is that I am totally left out of the Great Coffee Social that seems to thrill the rest of the world. All the time people are "going for coffee," or chatting it up on their coffee break or talking about how you "just don't want to see me before I've had my coffee," and it makes me feel like a loser. I think, "Wow...I wish people were scared to see me before I had coffee! That must kick ass." Hell, "Coffee" is the first entry on one of my favorite blogs ever, Stuff White People Like. See how important it is?

I've tried coffee every conceivable way, and it just doesn't work for me, so there I am, the one non-coffee drinker of the bunch. Oh, I've tried to fake it. I've done the hot chocolate instead. I've even gone exotic with a vanilla soy steamer or something equally ridiculous, but it's like I'm the one guy drinking a Fuzzy Navel when everybody else is doing Jåger Bombs. It's just pussy. You don't do it.

But the worst are the incredulous looks I get when I say I don't drink coffee. It's not astonishment even. It's more like horror. "You don't drink coffee? Are you kidding me?" No. Not. I'm just a vanilla soy drinking loser. Sorry to offend.

This is a manageable malady though. In time people come to accept my deficiency and some even find it charming in that "isn't she weird?" kind of way. I can live with it. I just have to remind myself never to mention that I also don't like Led Zeppelin. That would really mark me as a total freak, and I just don't know if I can deal.

Sexy Weather

2009-01-14T12:53:00.003-06:00

Don't let the map of Ohio fool you. It was just too good not to use, but rest assured nobody has sexier weather than Alabama and no people get a bigger boner for the weather than people in the South.

I know what you're saying. We don't get blizzards down here and we rarely suffer major floods. It's true, our weather is fairly temperate. What that means is any weather incident is newsworthy and likely to cause great excitement and widespread panic. For example:

Heat and Drought
Amazingly enough, Alabama can go eight weeks straight with no rainfall and yet maintain a humidity level of 100 percent. This is typically accompanied by dramatic reminisces of the "Drought of '64" in which the earth was so parched and cracked you could stare straight down into the yawning mouth of Hell itself. It is also marked by comments on how dead the grass is, water use restrictions and fantastic weather graphics on the nightly news indicating the Deadly Heat Index. Eventually, it will rain, and this is always celebrated with a rash of car accidents as soon as the first drops of moisture hit the asphalt.

Tornados
It is hard to get sexier than a 250-mph funnel of doom. This typically causes a frenzied circle jerk among the weather persons in the state. All regular television programming is suspended on a night in which tornadoes are forecast so each station can run competing maps of their Mega-Doppler 3000 Accu-Cast. There is exciting talk of "hook echoes" and discussions of "straight-line winds" and "super-cells." Midway through the night, the weathermen will remove their sport coats, loosen their neckties and roll up their sleeves to better indicate their tireless efforts to bring us the news that "no tornadoes have yet been spotted on the ground, but folks we've got a long night ahead of us." My feeling is that these guys are all reciting voodoo incantations in front of their radar, praying for the worst to happen.

Snow and Ice
As exciting as a tornado is, nothing quite gets the juices flowing for an Alabamian like the threat of winter precipitation. This is of course because we rarely get any significant snow or ice and even the smallest amount will close schools and interstates and any state office, because God knows a bureaucrat will look for any excuse not to work. The most interesting thing that happens is the Bread and Milk Run on the local grocery stores where old ladies will tussel like mud wrestlers over a loaf of rye that they would never normally ingest. For some reason, people in the South feel that any winter storm can be weathered as long as one has enough bread and milk. I've always thought that if one is to be snowed in for a week and possibly frozen to death it would be more enjoyable to have lots of soft drinks, snack cakes and bacon. You know, something worth having for a last meal. Whole wheat and 2-percent just doesn't fire me up.

I don't watch the weather. I don't have to. I can walk outside to see if it is hot, my mother will call me at 2 a.m. if there is the possibilty of tornadoes, and if I walk into the Piggly Wiggly to find all the bread is gone I know that somebody mentioned snow. So I buy Twinkies.

Birthday

2009-01-03T11:26:00.003-06:00

In a little over a month, provided I live that long, I'll be 39. I'm not particularly looking forward to it, though I'm not really dreading it either.

What is a birthday? I was excited to turn 16, but it was because that was the age for a drivers license. I was excited to be 18 because that meant I could vote. Typically, I was excited to be 21 because that meant I could legally buy alcohol. Beyond reaching those landmark years of increased privilege, birthdays don't really count for anything significant other than the passage of time.

This doesn't mean you don't notice them. When I turned 36 I fell into a significant depression due to a number of things, but as the year progressed I realized that a big part of it was that I dreaded my 37th birthday. I wondered why. Even turning "the big 3-0" hadn't bothered me at all. Perhaps it was because, at 36, you can still claim to be in your mid-30s, but at 37 you have moved into the late 30s area. And then there was that damned Marianne Faithful song, The Ballad of Lucy Jordan: "At the age of 37, she realized she'd never drive through Paris in a sports car with the warm wind in her hair..." Lucy ended up in the nuthouse, which is probably where I need to be half the time, but the good news is that once I actually turned 37 I was over it. As it turned out, it wasn't such a big deal after all, Paris notwithstanding.

So now here comes 39. People seem to put a lot of stock in this one. I have an aunt who used to tell people for years that she was 39, even when she was 60. "Thirty-nine and holding," she'd say. I think I may take the opposite approach and tell people that I'm FORTY-nine, so they'll be compelled to say, "My God, you look so fantastic!" and I can reply, "Thank you, yes I do."

Orange and Blue (Really, Really Blue)

2008-12-17T10:00:00.005-06:00

While there is still hope for my Browns to find a decent new coach in the off season, all hope is lost for my Auburn Tigers. Talk about a blue Christmas for us.

Our esteemed athletic director Jay Jacobs (the man who built the Olympic-size swimming pool a foot too short so Auburn can't host any events in the sport in which we hold the most national titles) and our dear old meddlesome asshole booster Bobby Lowder have given us a new coach. Gene Chizik, a man who managed to make Iowa State worse in his two years there, ending with a 5-19 record as a head coach.

Now, in fairness, Chizik was Auburn's defensive coordinator during the 2004 undefeated season. But he was also the defensive coordinator in the previous 3-9 season. He left Auburn and went to Texas where he also was defensive coordinator on an undefeated regular season. I don't discount his knowledge of defense. However, both Auburn and Texas continued to thrive after Chizik's departures, while Iowa State got worse the second he arrived. It begs the question: how much of the success at Auburn and Texas should Chizik be credited with? Or should most of the credit go to the head coach and the rest of the coaching staff as well as Chizik? And does being pretty good on the defensive side of things make you a head coach? Ask Romeo Crennel.

The most disturbing and disappointing thing about our coaching search is that our leaders passed over Turner Gil, for whom the Auburn Family was salivating. The rumor is that it was partially because Gil, a black man, is married to a white woman. If there is any truth to that rumor--and many sources close to Jacobs and the Board of Trustees believe there is--then how can one in good conscience continue to support the program? Even if Jacobs worried that some backward members of the fanbase might not like it, a university is supposed to be above such things. It is supposed to bring enlightenment and broaden the culture. It is supposed to be a community leader. And from my view, in reading fan forums and listening to sports radio, the majority of the fanbase was screaming for Gil, didn't care about his or his wife's race, and never even mentioned Chizik. I'll withhold judgment because there is yet no proof, but should anyone reveal that racial issues were part of the reasoning behind this ridiculous hire, I will turn Tide faster than you can say "Hail Saban."

And speaking of Saban, his arrival in this state caused an immediate and catastrophic change in the demeanor of Auburn. Here we were, having beaten Bama five straight and on the way to the sixth, and having an undefeated season under our belts with a real argument for a national championship, and yet our leaders panicked. How else can you explain the ousting of a coach who averaged 9 wins a year during his tenure at Auburn and the hiring of a man who has to this point been a failure as a head coach? Jacobs will insist that Tommy Tuberville resigned, but then explain why Tommy got a $5.1 million payoff? Jacobs is either a liar or an idiot. Neither is good.

I'll be blunt. I don't like Gene Chizik. I listened to his press conference Monday when he was introduced as coach, hoping that my initial reaction of shock and dispair would be changed to one of hope and happiness. It did not happen. I have never heard such rambling arrogance from a coach before, not to mention that he used the phrase, "at the end of the day," about a dozen times. Well, Gene, at the end of the damn day that kind of swagger is best worn by people who have proven they can do the job of head coach. You haven't.

I predict that Gene Chizik will last no longer than two years at Auburn. My Tigers will be playing musical coaches for the next decade, and there will not be a Saban to pull us up and turn us a around. Thank you Jay Jacobs and Bobby Lowder. Your influences on the Auburn program can not end soon enough.

Being Brown

2008-12-12T22:38:00.005-06:00

I couldn't have picked a better two years to become a Browns fan. I've learned so much, not just about the team's history and the NFL in general, but I've actually scraped the tip of the iceberg on what it's like to be a fan of this team.

2007 was my first season as a fan. It was great! We were 10-6 when nobody thought we'd win more than four. Young players had breakout years. Old players showed they still had the goods to compete. I followed every play as best I could, which is pretty hard in Alabama where the Browns were almost never shown in my television market. I relied on horrible bootleg video streams and the NFL Gamecenter graphics on NFL.com. When I was lucky, a game would be replayed on NFL Network and I'd get to see it after the fact. But it was all good. It filled me with hope for this season.

Longtime fans told me not to get excited, but I did anyway. They warned me I was destined for a fall, but I didn't listen. They knew, but I'm new. So I got more and more excited as the 2008 season approached.

But I wasn't the only one. The NFL was hopeful too. I was overjoyed when it was announced that the Browns would have FIVE nationally-televised, prime time games this season, including three regular season games on Monday Night Football. This was going to be a great year. We could win the AFC North. Everyone said it was possible and a few brave souls even predicted it outright. And we'd definitely make the playoffs.

With only three games left this year, playoff hopes long dead, and the organization in a dramatic shambles from top to bottom, we'll be lucky for real this time to win more than four. Our coach and maybe even our GM will be fired when the season mercifully comes to an end. Players who thrilled me last year and disappointed me this year may be traded, making way for new guys who may or may not produce. There is an awful lot of uncertainty in the air in Cleveland, and the sign on the door is about to say, "closed until next year."

It leaves me asking, "WTF happened? How did I get involved in this?" Well, that's neither here nor there. I am involved now. I've caught the Next Year Virus, a highly communicable disease spread by other fans who have been sticking it out with this team for decades. But it's OK. There are worse things to be sick with, and the treatment for this illness is actually pretty sweet. You get a dose of Free Agency, followed by seven rounds of Draft, a little physical therapy in the spring, and then you'll be fully renewed come August.

So I'm closing the door on this season. Not all the way. I'll peek through the crack to see if we pull out a win over Cinci, and peek again at the inevitable train wreck that will be the season finale in Pittsburgh. Oh, who am I kidding? I'll watch every second of this week's Monday night game and hope for an improbable victory. I'm fully contaminated at this point, readying myself for years and years of manic-depressive fandom. Others have survived it, and I can too.

Speaking of Connected

2008-12-11T02:30:00.004-06:00

Not to diminish tangible, physical things, I had an interesting experience the other day resulting from an eBay transaction.

I ordered a pashmina shawl. Silk and wool blend in the loveliest shades of pink and lavender, it was a great deal for about $18 including shipping. It came from India, naturally. Just to make note, it was far better than the pictures suggested, with scattered beading and tiny jingling bells on the fringe. And so soft! But that wasn't the cool part.

The mail carrier brought my package to the door because I had to sign for it. It was in a large, white envelope which looked slightly unusual and when I touched it I knew why. It was linen. The envelope itself was linen. Upon close examination, it had been stitched together by hand, and the corners tacked with wax for extra durability. If you click the picture you can see it in more detail.

I sat on the sofa looking at it, and just became amazed. Someone I don't even know took time to create it so meticulously. My little purchase of less than $20 warranted this care. I felt a strange connection to this unknown person because I was holding in my hands something that had been created just for me by their hands.

Practically speaking, I know that it was a business transaction and the envelope was merely the way that seller packages his goods. It probably didn't give them a second thought. But for me, that extra work and care made an otherwise ordinary purchase into something more like a gift. It was a very interesting surprise.

Connected

2008-12-11T02:00:00.008-06:00

We aren't connected to people the way we once were. Electronic communication via email, cell phones, text messages and the like keep us seconds away from contact with each other, yet often over vast distances. It also opens us to the possibility of new friends we would never have met otherwise.

Some people haven't yet embraced this phenomenon. They think it's downright weird to have friends you have never met person-to-person. They distinguish between "internet friends" and "real friends." I have come to make no distinction in value. Just this week an "internet friend" helped me begin solving a problem that not a single one of my "real friends" had the experience or empathy to address. If I didn't value that connection I would have missed out on his gift, and I am very grateful that I did not.

It's actually very old fashioned. In the days before planes, trains and automobiles, many a great and enduring friendship was conducted primarily through letters. Couples would court, fall in love, become betrothed, often before ever laying eyes on each other. It wasn't considered strange then because there wasn't a more efficient option. Just because there are options now does not diminish the power of written words to forge true connections with others. To limit the value of a friend merely due to lack of a physical presence is to limit the capacity of the heart and mind. If what we think and how we feel are the true essence of who we are as people, and those things can be experienced by whatever means available, the ability to split a plate of nachos becomes entirely inconsequential.

My White Christmas

2008-12-11T01:41:00.005-06:00

About a year ago the day after Christmas my mother rang the house and said, "Your father is at Lowe's and he's found a sale. He wants to know if you would like a white Christmas tree."

She had to ask? I'm the person with pink flamingos in the yard and season-appropriate window clings on the car. I am the Queen of Tacky. Of course I wanted a white Christmas tree. Maybe she was asking rhetorically. In any event, the tree was purchased. Regular price was $48, and I think he gave six bucks for it. A true bargain.

The fact is, I like unorthodox Christmas decorations. The orange and black of my beloved pagan Halloween is being manhandled by red and green in the stores by mid-October these days. Enough!

Before anyone gasps, I did put up a perfectly ordinary green Christmas tree too, but it is hardly worth mentioning compared to the gloriousness of my white tree! Just look at it, shimmering in blue ornaments! I may forsake green trees altogether.

If only they made pink plastic Christmas trees. Then I'd really be in business.

Following...what?

2008-12-11T01:28:00.005-06:00

Lo and behold, I click onto my blog and discover that I have followers. Three of 'em! That's one follower for every week that has passed since I last wrote anything.

I am shamed. The very idea, that there are people kind enough to declare themselves a follower, which is a very thoughtful affirmation for me, and yet I give them nothing.

This will not stand. I promise no brilliance, as I have been experiencing a distinct lack of inspiration and some writer's block, but I will forge ahead bravely. We'll see how it turns out.

Scooter and Mommy Watch Football (And Do Homework)

2008-11-20T00:21:00.004-06:00

My son doesn't care for sports. I don't usually inflict it on him, but since the television has been on the blink in my room, sometimes he has to suffer. And since his mother chose to be fan of a football team that is not in the local television market and can only been seen by purchasing NFL Sunday Ticket (not gonna happen) or when they appear in a nationally-televised prime time game, he has no choice but to suffer on those nights. Such was the case this week when the Browns took on the Bills on Monday Night Football.

There was compromise, of course. I cooked his favorite supper in advance, and endured a screening of Kung Fu Panda, all with the understanding that when the game started Scooter would do his homework while Mommy watched ball. Win/win all around. The game plan was simple: Between snaps, I'd help with the homework. So wearing my jersey and football in hand, we began watching the Browns while working on our pronouns and antecedents and then math.

Those who saw the game know how it went. The Browns were up early, and then sat on the verge of blowing a 13-point lead in the fourth quarter for the third straight game, an NFL record for suckage. The evening went something like this:

"Tackle somebody you worthless idiot! Arrgh!" (Deep breath.) "OK, where are we? To whom does 'he' refer? Raul or Tomas? It isn't clear."

"So it's A."

"Correct." (Looking at TV...) "DO ANY OF YOU KNOW HOW TO TACKLE?!? And will you just shut up, Kornheiser!"

"We're still winning, Mommy."

"I know, baby, but this is the Browns. We will find a way to lose."

As the game progressed I gave up sitting altogether and stood in front of the television attempting to choke the life out of my Official PeeWee League NFL football. But I was still doing my duty as a parent.

"So what is the formula for the circumference of a circle?"

"Pi times the diameter?"

"Yes. No...no, no no!" and Buffalo took the lead. I sat down and closed my eyes. At this point, Scooter began to pray. I told him that God didn't concern Himself with such matters as football, but he insisted. Then we finished the last math problem and waited helplessly for the outcome. For the second week in a row, Phil Dawson kicked his career-long field goal (56 yards this time) to give the Browns the lead. I squealed. Scooter jumped up and gave me a hug. "We're gonna win!" he said.

Alas, I had to explain to him, that we had just completed a 28-yard drive in only about 45 seconds, passing into a constant blitz, instead of letting Jerome Harrison grind out a couple first downs for us and use up some clock. That meant the Bills had all day--1:44--to score, and probably would, because our defense sucks wind by half time, and they sure do in the fourth quarter. The game wasn't over yet. We had to wait for the Bills to go wide right on a 47-yard field goal attempt before we could finally rejoice.

And we did! We jumped up and down. We did the football bugaloo. We had a good night.

Cinematic Plagiarism!

2008-11-13T01:21:00.003-06:00

OK, I watched The Strangers a couple weeks ago, and tonight I watched Ils, a French film with the English title Them. The premise of both of these films, without getting into spoilers yet, is that a couple in an isolated home are terrorized by anonymous strangers. Although IMDB FAQs say that The Strangers (2008) was NOT a remake of Ils (2006) and was written two years before the release of Ils, I cannot buy this. They are the same film. WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD.

Most of the tension in both is created by sounds. The antagonists are masked in TS and hooded in Ils. In Ils, the TV keeps coming back on. In TS, it's the record player. And while TS is longer and has a bit more superflous plot to it, you have to account for the fact that it is an Amerian film with a well-known actress (Liv Tyler), and we demand a longer running time than the 77-minute French film. Both claim to be inspired by true events, but one rings more true than the other. The DVD of TS says that the true event which inspired the film is: "based on a real event that occured during director Brian Bertino's childhood in which a stranger came to his home in the middle of the night asking several times for a person who did not exist. The following day, his family was informed by police that several houses had been ransacked and burglarized the previous night by an unknown assailant." I can see that inspiring a creative mind to a scary story. What if you were mangled rather than burgled? The fabricated ending of Ils says the couple was murdered by young teenagers just having a game basically. A Variety review at the time of the film's release says the "true event" which inspired the film was the murder of an Austrian couple by young teenagers in their isolated vacation home, though it fails to cite a source. Still, Variety is a reputable publication. I would tend to think that statement was fact-checked. And even if it isn't true, so what? TS is still a ripoff IMHMFO.

Though skepticism or cynicism are not my natural tendencies, this really pisses me off. I had no idea that the plot of Ils was the same as TS by reading the DVD box, but it was evident it was the same story very quickly. If I believe the Bertino story of the stranger knocking, I still can't see how he could use that as inspiration and write the basically identical screenplay and claim it is original. And how would a couple of young screenwriters in France know of some young screenwriter in Texas's screenplay to rip it off in time to have a completed and released film two years in advance? And how can we even know if it was written two years before? Because he says so? It doesn't wash. Probability and common sense say it was the other way around. The people who made The Ring gave no pretense that it wasn't a remake of a popular Japanese film, and it was well received. I don't know why this one would pretend, and I just can't buy it. I do realize that very little in the horror genre hasn't been regurgitated a million times, but c'mon. It's the same fucking movie.

If you care to watch either of these films, I recommend them for people who like scary. Both do the job of creating tension very well. But if you only want to watch one, guess which one I suggest? Ils dispenses with the final minutes of gore that TS cheapens itself with just a bit. It's not a ripoff that claims it isn't. And foreign films with subtitles make you feel worldly and sophisticated.

Game Balls

2008-11-12T18:07:00.007-06:00

By my count, this photo contains 44 gigantic balls. That's enough for 11 offensive starters and 11 defensive starters. We actually have some spares, since guys like Jamal Lewis, Josh Cribbs, Brady Quinn and Shaun Rogers seem to have their sets intact. For the rest...grab a pair.

Lewis and Cribbs made public comments over the past week about the Browns' loss to Denver, in which a substantial lead was squandered in the fourth quarter for the second week in a row. They called out unnamed fellow players for ego, and said others simply quit. This was clearly a challenge to teammates to bring their best game for all four quarters, in spite of the rocky season, the quarterback change and the prospects of playoffs all but completely gone.

The first Brown to respond to those comments was Coach Romeo Crennel. RAC, clearly displaying the most glaring lack of a man-sack in the entire organization, said,

"It seems like the word 'quit' has taken a life of its own and grown a little bit bigger, and now the Browns are quitters and the coach has lost control of the team and there's division in the locker room, and that's not the case," Crennel said. "These guys are going to play and play together. Whether we play good enough remains to be seen."

Crennel also said that he talked to Lewis and Cribbs, and that they basically recanted their accusations. For his part, Lewis doesn't seem to be backing down at all.

"Everybody wondered, 'Who you talking about, who you talking about?' It doesn't matter. I will address it. I address everybody, that's just the type of person I am," Lewis said. "I don't bite my tongue and I just tell it like it is. At the same time, I talk to everybody and just try to keep everybody on the same page."

The collapse of the Browns this year can be put on lack of balls at every level, and Jamal is right. Phil Savage didn't have the balls to answer staph infection questions, so he let Kellen Winslow endure nasty rumors for 10 days about an "undisclosed illness." Neither Savage nor RAC had the balls to start Quinn sooner. Owner Randy Lerner didn't have the balls to take control of his foundering organization until Staphgate and yet another divisional loss. Braylon Edwards doesn't have the balls to confront the media and his own demons regarding his league-leading drops.

Grow a pair, gentlemen. This is professional football.

Pick-me-up

2008-11-11T13:51:00.008-06:00

I was feeling a little glum this week, so I got a new lipstick. It's pink. It made me smile.

A new lipstick is one of my stand-by items for a glum week. Cheap earrings are good too, and since I like to write, a new, really cool ink pen is also a winner. Sometimes it's serious enough that a haircut is in order.

It's pretty typical for women to do this sort of thing, and my choices are very typical too. You look a little different or you have a fresh notebook and good pen, so everything is new again. Perspective. It's a cheap psychological trick, but it's usually effective.

I wondered what men do, or if they do the same thing, so naturally I consulted a few men I know and the Browns forum. I asked, "What do you treat yourself to when you're feeling sad that always makes you feel better?" I got a half dozen responses that were either "hookers" or "beer" or both.

While beer is probably a legit answer for many, one good response was "something for my 1989 Bonneville." That makes sense. It's stereotypical but true that guys love their cars, and fresh Armor All on the tires is probably a guy's equivalent to fresh gloss on the lips.

Another great answer was playing a round of golf. "I like being able to distill all my problems into getting a ball into a hole in the most efficient way possible." This one makes a lot of sense. Golf requires focus and concentration, and in the end, provides a sense of accomplishment. Too bad I don't play. Seems like good therapy.

Change We Can Believe In?

2008-11-05T07:47:00.002-06:00

Yeah, yeah...we elected a president this week. But that is not the only momentous change of interest to me. The Cleveland Browns have benched starting quarterback Derek Anderson and Brady Quinn will start this week against Denver.

Now the stadium will echo with the cheers of "Bra-dy! Bra-dy!" for a new reason. They got their wish. Gunslinger out, matinee idol in. So now what? It's fine to be pretty, and God knows he is, but what can he really do as a starting quarterback? Just like with presidents, starting quarterbacks are subject to close scrutiny, blind support or utter hatred. The fact Quinn went to Notre Dame is enough reason for half the country to hate him. Oh well. He'll survive.

The change does come on a short week. After playing Sunday, the Browns turn around quickly to play Denver on Thursday. This gives Quinn essentially one full day of practice and one walk-through day to prepare with the rest of the offense. Some have criticized making this big change on a short week, but receiver Braylon Edwards made a good observation. The timing doesn't really allow the team to waste energy on the whys and wherefores of the change. There's a game Thursday and that's that. I'm very excited to see what happens!

Full of faith as ever, I anticipate a good game from all. Browns 34, Broncos 13.

Yes We Can?

2008-11-05T07:03:00.005-06:00

So it will be President Barack Obama.

Although the landslide victory was predicted and expected, it still seems fantastic. My country elected a black man as president. I knew that would happen one day, but the suddenness of Obama's acceptance as a candidate and now as a president-elect is stunning to me. It gives me a good feeling that the fact of his race was rendered to interesting rather than impeding.

So now what? Can he deliver on the Hope he so eloquently promised during his campaign? He should have no obstacles for a considerable length of time. His party also owns the House and Senate, so the Obama agenda should begin being ushered in quickly, and we will see if it bears fruit.

Whether a person voted for Obama or not is now inconsequential. He will be the president. A good American must hope that he will actually be a good leader, and that the policies he drives and the bills he signs into law will be more good than bad and make our country stronger rather than weaker. The level of bile and hatred directed at George W. Bush should not remain the status quo, only now from the other side. People said Bush divided our country, but that isn't true. A president is only one man. We divided ourselves, and it isn't healthy.

So here we go. Let's see what happens.

Pull My Finger

2008-10-24T15:22:00.005-05:00

It is said that potty humor is the oldest form of humor because everyone does it. This is true. Unless you're female. We just don't talk about such things.

But we should! Men get to have all the fun. A guy can walk into a room and, with no preface or segue of any kind, announce something like, "I just dropped a deuce he size of a gopher."

His mates will then respond in many predictable ways. There will be congratulations, a polite golf clap, an empathetic "been there, done that." Someone will offer him a beer. And all will be well. No one will be offended. Men somehow fully grasp the idea that, yes, shit happens. And so do farts.

But let's say a woman walks into her Jane Austin Study Club meeting and, with no preface or segue of any kind, announces, "I just dropped a deuce he size of a gopher." Can you imagine the results? Gasps of horror. Chastisement. It's possible that an extremely elderly member of the group, whose "I shouldn't say that" switch has long been broken, might inquire about the consistency and recommend a good doctor. But our friend would not be invited back. Her children would be labeled "undesirable," and the JASC meeting will be mysteriously relocated to an undisclosed venue.

It's yet another thing that separates the sexes and yet another weakness of the female. It is great source of amusement to me that if any male, be he three years old or 73, can fart and trap you under the covers with it, that will be the funniest thing that happened today.

Riverboat Gambler

2008-10-24T09:22:00.004-05:00

That's how I feel, Tommy. I just fling out my arms and say, WTF? How is it that Auburn was undefeated in 2004 and now four years later, we suck like a crack ho during Fleet Week? Right now we should have a team full of quality juniors and seniors recruited off that undefeated season. Instead, we don't know who our quarterback is, our "championship-caliber" defense isn't so much, and our heralded Spread Offense is the biggest joke in the NCAA. We were a ranked team at the beginning of the season, and now 8 games in, we have fallen off the radar.

Tuberville's "Riverboat Gambler" nickname was established when he was at Mississippi, where he was known for aggressive play calling and taking chances. And he's managed to play strategy and luck very effectively while at Auburn. He survived JetGate in 2003, and turned the next season into a huge pot that bought him a new contract and new respect. And he keeps on beating Bama.

But he made a mistake. By hiring Tony Franklin and going to the Spread, he bought deeply into a pot but he wouldn't go all in. And now he's stuck. Half his stack is gone now, and he's on tilt. Auburn will not beat Alabama this year, and those sweet memories of 2004 and "The Thumb" will fade. Tommy is up the river.

BUT, he still has an ace in the hole. It's called a buyout clause and it's worth about $5 million. Tommy's recent protestations that he's been an Auburn man for 10 years and hopes to be an Auburn man for another 10 is just his way of saying, "If you want me gone you'll have to pay me."

I don't blame him. The atmosphere at Auburn must be toxic since the JetGate scandal, and I'm sure he feels under appreciated. However, you don't gamble the future of a program to play out a one-on-one with Bobby Lowder or the Board of Trustees. Sometimes the right thing to do is to fold. We'll have to see how this hand plays out.

FREE KELLEN!

2008-10-22T01:20:00.003-05:00

In Kellen's Corner

2008-10-21T20:50:00.005-05:00

As if the Browns weren't in enough trouble and weren't embarrassing enough already, now general manager Phil Savage has suspended tight end Kellen Winslow Jr. for a game. Why? Because Kellen said he wasn't treated with care during a recent illness. On first blush, that may seem a whiny little comment coming from a big ol' football player, but once the truth came out, it was clear to me that Kellen was not only not treated with care, but was used and exploited so the Browns front office could save face.

If you aren't aware, Kellen got sick a while back. So sick he had to miss practice and a game, and he had to stay in the hospital several days. When asked about his illness, the Browns organization said they would not disclose it because it was "personal." Personal? Whatever could that mean?

Profootballtalk.com writer Mike Florio reported that a "league source" said Kellen was suffering from swollen testicles. That was reported on Oct. 10. For the next nine days, rumors ran rampant. Swollen testicles? Wow, K2 must have an STD, been screwing around on his wife, etc. All the while, the Browns said nothing and neither did Kellen while the swollen testicles talk flourished. Finally, on Oct. 19, Kellen broke silence and revealed that he had been treated for a staph infection. Why the secrecy? Perhaps because so many Browns players have had seasons and careers cut short in recent years due to staph infections. The Browns would surely take heat over yet another of their star players being sidelined with staph AGAIN.

Kellen also complained that Savage never called him while in the hospital, and expressed feelings of ill treatment. So Savage suspended him for a game, saying the comments brought "unjustified negative attention" to the organization. Unjustified?

Phil Savage, who benefitted from Kellen's silence? Certainly not him, with all the nasty rumors flying. Who benefitted were Savage, Coach Romeo Crennel and owner Randy Lerner. Had Kellen kept his mouth shut, they would have been saved the embarrassment of having to discuss staph infections yet again, and who cares if Kellen had to endure wild gossip about infidelity and venereal disease?

Phil Savage should be ashamed of this suspension. I already thought the Browns were behaving gutlessly by allowing Romeo to coach us into the ground, but this is a far worse example of management and leadership. And crassness. And of exactly what Kellen said: treating somebody like a piece of meat. Shame, shame.

Romeo

2008-10-21T11:41:00.003-05:00

"If you have a team that needs to develop a winning attitude, then it's really important that you win. I'd say we're a young team. We're also young as far as winning goes because we haven't done a whole lot of it around here."

"The other thing is, I'd like for us to look decent. It seems that the consensus is that we were decent in the Jets game, even though we lost that one. I'd like to look decent against the Bears and go from there."

"I'm trying to figure that out myself."

"If I could figure that out I'd probably be a better coach."

Good Derek/Bad Derek

2008-10-21T11:17:00.004-05:00

It doesn't really matter at this point whether Brady Quinn is good or not; should he be tapped to lead the Browns next week or any week this season it is already too late. Even as optimistic as I can be I know that the season is lost. The Browns are 2-4 now, and will finish third at best in the AFC North. There will be no division title, as so many expected. There will be no wildcard shot at the playoffs. We're done.

Coach Romeo Crennel and general manager Phil Savage stuck with DA, who clearly earned his chance to be the starting quarterback last season. Or blew his chance, depending on what games you review. They stuck with him through three poor performances this season, and three quarters of another poor performance against Cincinnati before a flash of "decent" offense helped the Browns beat a horrible team who was without its starting quarterback. Hooray.

The Giants game, you ask? Yes. It was fantastic. It was the best and most complete game of football I have seen the Browns play since I have followed them. Everyone did well, including Derek. We took down the defending Super Bowl champs and dealt them their first loss of the year. And then we went to Washington and sucked it up again.

How can DA go 18-of-29 with a passer rating of 121 on Monday and then go 14-of-37 with a passer rating of 57.9 on Sunday? Many theories...

The "good" DA can be very good, but the "bad" DA is horrible and shows up too often. I'd take a mediocre DA who was neither great nor awful and could be counted on week to week. Or just sit him and put in "the other guy." At this point, what difference would it make?

Wyatt Graff

2008-10-08T09:59:00.007-05:00

So a bunch of us are posting in the Browns forum, lamenting the horrible state of our team, and landofcleve announces he's going to go paint. Paint what? I ask. One of these amazing things. Turns out landofcleve is Wyatt Graff, an artist now living in Savannah, and he creates these wonderful abstracts.

I find these pieces fascinating. You can see more by clicking the title of this entry. Wyatt creates them with a special enamel paint on multiple layers of Plexiglass, housed in a wood frame. You can reorder the layers, resulting in thousands of possible pictures. I'm stunned by the genius of it! It isn't just a painting; it's an interactive sculpture.

I told Wyatt that the paintings evoke many ideas: confetti, a garden in bloom, falling leaves, balloons, rain, and even crowds of people. Turns out I'm semi-brilliant too. He said crowds were his initial thought and inspiration for these unique designs. And it makes so much sense, given the shifting and changeability these pieces of art allow. The comings and goings. The distinct and the combined. The individual and the group.

Creating is good. I admire people who do it. I create a little. I write and sometimes I even paint very bad paintings. When you see the work of someone who really does it right, one can be tempted to envy, but I find more often that it inspires. And Wyatt has inspired me this week! It doesn't hurt that he's a nice guy in a forum populated by a lot of assholes. Smart guy too. He was an Academic All American in golf while at the Savannah College of Art and Design, and sported a 3.97 GPA. Pretty inspiring all around.

Wyatt is working on some new pieces for an upcoming show. I'll update when I learn more.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

2008-10-01T22:51:00.003-05:00

October is the best month. Autumn arrives and stirs a crispness into the air. Football is in full swing. Everywhere you turn there is a county fair or a traveling carnival. It's the first chance to wear that snuggly sweater I've been missing since March. And it means Halloween is near.

I realize that, in the eyes of many, saying Halloween is my favorite holiday (followed closely by St. Patrick's Day) is some sort of blasphemy. Everyone is supposed to love Christmas above all things. Well, too bad. I find Christmas to be entirely too stressful, filled with compulsory visits with relatives you barely know and like even less, or manic shopping trips for gifts that cost too much and are still not up to standard. Humbug.

Halloween is full of fun and magick and mischief. It's the one day when it's OK to be a witch or a little devilish. You can buy your costume or make it. Face paint is enough. All it takes to enjoy it is a bag of candy, a good imagination and the desire to be spooked. Haunted houses and haunted hayrides. Late-night scary movie marathons. Nothing is more fun than a fright.

Oh, and the full moon is on the 13th. Not as good as Halloween, but lucky still.

Found Happiness

2008-10-01T21:28:00.004-05:00

You know how you get your winter coat out of the closet for the first time of the season, and you reach into the pocket to find a crumpled five dollar bill? Isn't it wonderful? It's not the lottery or anything, but it's a surprise, an unexpected gift. Yes, it was always your money, but that isn't the point. You didn't know you had it, so it's...free.

I lost an earring this week. I was certain that I lost it at the carnival, and so it would be gone forever, having been trampled into powdered crystal and crumpled metal under the feet of carnies and frolicking teenagers. I was particularly disappointed, because it was from a pair I had bought to replace another pair which had been broken. And the crystals were orange, so they matched my Auburn gear and my Browns gear. I almost threw the other one into the trash out of disgust. But I didn't.

Happily, I found it today! It was being batted around the kitchen floor by a kitten. When I saw it, I was as elated as I have been about anything in weeks, and even more so that I hadn't disposed of its mate. It occurred to me later as I enjoyed the tickling on my earlobes that it can take little to make a day pleasant. Five dollars in your pocket. A five-dollar pair of earrings. Small things as these can make the mundanity bearable.

God, I Hate Bama

2008-09-27T15:31:00.005-05:00

I don't really hate them. I respect Alabama. Always have. They have one of the truly great traditions in college football, and it pleases me to see them rising after years of being down. But I confess that, as an Auburn fan, I'm bitter.

Due to the upset of USC by Oregon State, I have read a half dozen articles this week that say this game today between Bama and Georgia will decide who the chief candidate in the SEC is for National Champion. I'll remind The Bama Nation (with love) that the Tide was 7-6 last year, has struggled for at least six or seven years now, and barely made the top 25 in preseason rankings. In 2004, Auburn was ranked 17 in preseason and was following two years of 9-4 and 8-5 records. And in the end, we know how it turned out:

Scene: 2004. Office of the BCS Gods. Secretary enters.

Secretary: Your Eminences? There's a football team here to see you. The Auburn Tigers.

BCS God 1: Who? The Auburn Flyers? Never heard of them.

Secretary: No, Your Loftiness. The Tigers. T-I-G...

BCS God 2: You know, that other little college in Alabama. The one with the toilet paper. She's saying they've started a football program.

BCS God 1: Oh them! Yes, the Flyers. I thought they were in Georgia. Well, quite right. Congratulate them on their new endeavor.

Secretary: Well, it's the Tigers, Your Pompousness, and they're saying they are undefeated and are the SEC Champions. They're here to make a case for playing in the National Cham--

BCS God 1: Good on them. If they work hard they might play with the big boys one day, but really, tell them we're quite busy setting the Championship Game in place. Ask them to come back next week and we'll see what we can do for their little program.

Secretary: Yes, Your Fatuousness. (Exits)

BCS God 2: You know, I think you're right. I believe they are in Georgia.

But now, even though Alabama has done nothing significant in more than a decade, if they were in the same spot it would be more like this:

Secretary (whispering frantically): The Tide is here, Your Eminences!

BCS God 1: Holy Shyt!

BCS God 2: How does my hair look?

(Tide strolls in)

Tide: Hey guys. Just thought I'd check by and make sure you know we're playing in the National Championship game, aight?

BCS God 1: Well of course you are, Your Crimsonness! Do you think us madmen?

BCS God 2: Simply not worth calling it a National Championship if you weren't there, Your Brilliance.

Tide: Just makin' sure, you know. I mean, after what happened with Auburn and all that.

BCS God 1: Who, the Flyers? Pish-tosh, man. No one cares about that little Georgia school.

Tide: Aight, then. See ya at the game. (Exits)

BCS Gods: Roll Tide!

(There is brief silence, broken only by the relieved sighing of the gods.)

BCS God 2 (blushing coyly): I don't know about you, but I've got to change my panties.

It would never happen to Alabama like it happened to us. The fact Bama is even being mentioned in the same sentence with the words "BCS Championship Game" is proof. So you see this is why we Auburn fans don't tend to get too excited.

Ready For The Spotlight?

2008-09-22T11:34:00.002-05:00

There's nothing else to say about it. It's time to start Quinn. Derek Anderson has an overall passer rating of 43.5 over three games, and has two touchdowns and five interceptions to show for his effort. Yes, the whole offense is to blame. Yes, the coach needs to go. But they need the spark of hope. Quinn should start against the Bengals this Sunday. Then he'll have a whole week to prepare for his first appearance as a starting quarterback on Monday Night Football against the defending Super Bowl Champions. Let's get going.

Buzzwords

2008-09-19T15:28:00.005-05:00

Spot on.

That's my new least favorite word or phrase, dislodging "thinking outside the box," which has been a burr under my saddle for years.

We get these words and phrases periodically. Somehow, a technical term, a corporate buzzword, a foreign phrase or even a perfectly good but seldom used word will suddenly become vogue, and will then be used at every turn, wearing out its welcome. I think these things are called buzzwords rather appropriately, because they buzz in your ears like an annoying insect.

In the '80s anything known to be fact was "a given" and our dearest hope was that everyone would just be a "happy camper." In the '90s, everything made a "huge impact," or was "re-engineered," which was most definitely the result of someone "thinking outside the box."

I recall when George W. Bush first selected Dick Cheney as a running mate, and some educated person made the mistake of saying Cheney added "gravitas" to the ticket. Soon you couldn't get through a political talk show without someone tossing out "gravitas," while everyone else nodded seriously.

I'm not against vocabulary. I was an English major, after all. I used to enjoy reading the late William F. Buckley, because I knew I'd have to use the dictionary at least once. It was like a treasure hunt, finding that word that no ordinary person ever uses. But I'm sure it was my years in newspapers that makes me a firm believer that plain talk is the better way to communicate. It doesn't have to be cute or catchy to convey the message. And cute and catchy are usually annoying after the 100th time you hear it.

Everything does not have "synergy." That guy you met in philosophy class may well be smart and cool, but I guarantee he's not actually "amazing." You don't have to ask for a "paradigm shift" when you just want somebody to look at things in a new way. To be blunt, I never figured out what exactly "the box" was. All I know is that it was overused enough that Taco Bell was urging people to "think outside the bun," and when you're being parodied by a plate of Nachos Bell Grande you need to seriously rethink your approach to the language.

Trust me. I'm spot on with this assessment.

The Answer Is: Much Worse

2008-09-16T23:10:00.004-05:00

The Browns just can't get it together. When everyone in the sports-loving world thought the defense was the most suspect part of our game, it was our offense and coaching that led us to utter failure against our dreaded foes, the Pittsburgh Steelers.

The defense showed up. No, they were not perfect, but they did limit the Steelers to only 10 points. On a normal day, you should win a game when you limit your opponent to 10 points. Shaun Rogers was particularly impressive, sacking Ben Roethlisberger two of the three times he got pancaked. Good work! He gets my game ball.

So where was the offense? Braylon Edwards is dropping so many balls, I doubt he can find his own. Jamal Lewis can't get to the outside. And Derek Anderson...Derek came away from the game with a 44.5 percent passer rating and two interceptions. So far this season Derek has only one TD to go with the two INTs, and has amassed a total of 280 yards passing through two games. He's throwing short and making bad decisions just like he did the last half of the season in 2007.

But I'm not blaming it all on Derek. Obviously Braylon and Jamal need to pick up their games too. And the coaching has been horrific. Two weeks in a row we've gone for safe field goals rather than touchdowns. Two weeks in a row we've made stupid calls. Two weeks in a row we have shown abysmal clock management. Coach Romeo Crennel did manage to crack a facial expression this week, but that's the only sign of life he showed. Team discipline is lacking, and that goes directly to the head coach. Twelve penalties for nearly 100 yards on your home field is unacceptable.

So what now? The Browns, who were the hot pick for the playoffs coming into the season, are now a three-point dog to the Ravens this week. The Ravens, who we beat twice last year. If we lose a third straight, it's time to make some changes. It may be past time. Many sports experts have already hung the wreath on the door that says Cleveland.

But, as ever...Browns 28, Ravens 17

How Much Worse Can It Get?

2008-09-09T18:11:00.004-05:00

After four stellar weeks of preseason action and a magnificent home opener, my Browns will this week face off against our biggest and most hated rival, the Pittsburgh Steelers. Can we win? Ah, the audacity of hope!

It was clear against the Dallas Cowboys last week that Braylon Edwards was rusty. Three weeks of missing practices and preseason games showed in his four drops. Derek Anderson was rusty too, though for a guy who is typically about as mobile as a sequoia, he was remarkably agile. I have faith that both of them can come out better this week.

But our defense as a whole and our offensive line play have clearly deteriorated. I could have covered T.O. as well as our defensive backs, we're not blocking, we're making arm tackles, and we are flat-out beaten on speed. Our offensive line, which was our primary strength last season, seems to be asleep on the field. We sucked so bad, the Dallas cheerleaders could have scored on us. So now what?

Coach Romeo Crennel's assessment of our home opener opponent was that Dallas is "pretty good." This from the coach who simply wanted us to "look decent" in our last preseason game. Crennel seems to be the poster boy for understatements and low expectations. That attitude will get us killed for the 10th straight time by the Steelers. It could even be a worse shellacking than last year.

So, my prediction: Browns 28, Steelers 24. Ever faithful. We have nowhere to go but up.

Never Say Women Aren't Sexist

2008-09-09T17:48:00.004-05:00

So I'm reading this Yahoo! news article today and find something really disappointing. Women are sexist. I mean, I knew that already but when I find evidence of it, it never ceases to irritate. The sexist part is this:

"An ABC News-Washington Post survey found white women have moved from backing Obama by 8 points to supporting McCain by 12 points, with majorities viewing Palin favorably and saying she boosts their faith in McCain's decisions."

Now, hold on. You can like Sarah Palin or not like her; agree with her policies and views or disagree. I'm not here to sell you on that one way or another. But the fact is, she brings nothing new to the McCain ticket except a vah-jay-jay. And apparently, her lady parts merit a 20-point swing in support among white women.

Understand this, ladies: If you liked the Obama platform two weeks ago, you should still like it now. Nothing has changed. The fact you'd switch your vote because there is a woman on the ticket is just as sexist as a man NOT voting for McCain because there is a woman on the ticket. Way to become what you've always claimed to hate. Good work. This is exactly why men think we're stupid and should not be allowed to vote.

Cold, Hard Pasta Salad Facts

2008-09-09T15:28:00.006-05:00

I got an email this morning from my pal BomberDawg which asked, "this yew?" and enclosed a link to An Angry Chick Troll's Pasta Salad recipe on coldhardfootballfacts.com.

Yep. It's me.

The recipe is one I made via experimentation, but was inspired by a pasta salad my friend Sonya made for a party once. She got hers from Homemade Gourmet, and it was really good. I don't have one of those stores where I live, and ordering online for one item seemed excessive. So I decided to experiment, which can be dangerous given the fact that I'm not a good cook. After a few tries I got it how I liked it. I'm not sure how close it is at this point to the inspiration dish, but it's good. And it's different.

I'm particularly tickled that I got included on the CHFF tailgate section. It's my favorite football information website. The writing is sharp and funny. It makes me laugh every time I go there. Check it out.

At Last, Our Love Has Come Along

2008-09-01T13:02:00.004-05:00

I wanted to find a really good picture. One that truly captured the unyielding and unreasonable fanaticism of a football fan. This one seems to work. The jack-o-lanterns are a particularly nice addition. One might assume that this Minnesota Vikings fan was attending a game on or near Halloween when this photo was taken, but who knows? Might have been the opener.

It's here, guys. Finally. College football began over the weekend, and the NFL's regular season kicks off this week. Not spring games. Not preseason games. Real games. Games that mean something. For the rest of the year there will be football from Thursday to Monday, almost every week. The other three days a week, many of us will be busy tweaking our Fantasy Football rosters. It's the most wonderful time of the year.

I am aware that there are people who don't enjoy football. Foreigners, for example, who have lived lives deprived of the sport. Girls, who've been conditioned (brainwashed) to buy into the whole "it's a guy thing," notion. Those I can understand. I accept that there are men who don't like football too. I accept it and I don't think it makes them bad people. But I don't understand it.

Football taps into mankind's primitive, warrior instinct. It allows both combatant and spectator to unleash aggression that we must otherwise suppress. I'm fully convinced that, without football, we'd have more road rage and office massacres. When one expends a lot of energy hating that other team and the ref who called that horrible play, there isn't much room left for other petty grievances. Priorities.

But more than that, football--and other things like it--allow people a chance to bond with others of their own ilk. Strangers sharing an allegiance. And possibly a tube of face paint. It is a glorious spectacle. Thank God it's here again.

Behold!

2008-08-31T09:07:00.004-05:00

I love how people use the language, so in spite of the irritation that is spam email, I actually look forward to the penis enlargement variety.

They didn't used to be this good, but the latest ones that appear in my inbox are very clearly written by people who are not native English speakers. They use the most delightful mix of slang and grandiose verbiage. And for those inclined to obsess over such issues, these short emails are probably very effective. In a few lines they convey a sense of urgency, imply you've been looking for this information all your life, and that at last, by some miracle, now the solution is here. I couldn't make these up if I tried.

Give your girl the surprise you've been planning! Add inches to your penis with the latest cure. Go instantaneously to [insert website name here] and take a look at the groovy therapeutics at hand!

Increase your rocket with loads of inches utilizing the finest treatment! Pursue with haste to [insert website name here] and observe the meritorious cures available.

Don't be shy about your size. Add inches to your willy with this new remedy. Go without hesitation to [insert website name here] and behold the most magnificent therapy now within reach!

I hope nobody really buys this stuff, but I'm sure that millions do. It does no good that the Mayo Clinic, among other sources, assures men that the "average" penis size is 5 to 7 inches. It also does no good to tell men that these "meritorious cures" don't really work either. If they did, you'd find out on the front page of the New York Times, not the spam folder on your email account, and insurance companies would rush to cover it while still denying claims for birth control pills.

It will always be a matter of obsession I fear. But as long as it is an obsession I'll continue to receive these delightful spam emails. They're good for a giggle every day.

My Famous Friends

2008-08-30T17:38:00.005-05:00

This is the video of my poker pal Jim at the recent gig he had with Lanisa Keith. She's a Contemporary Christian singer from California. You may recall that Jim is one half of Jim & Jess, two of my favorite poker buddies. I don't know if I mentioned before that they play guitar, which is a thing I envy deeply. Anyhow, Jim got the job for this particular show. He's the one playing that nice Taylor cutaway acoustic in the black Fender T-shirt. The cameraman, or "trained camera monkey" as he put it, was Jess. I think Jim was pretty nervous about the whole thing, but it looks like everything went well. He's got a few more jobs coming up too.

It's nice to see people doing things they like love to do and enjoying it. It's good to have friends, too, who share those things with you. I'm glad I ran into them on the poker tables. I enjoy observing their friendship. It encourages me about people.

Katrina Revisited

2008-08-30T17:12:00.007-05:00

Three years ago today I was in New York City reading the front page stories in every newspaper and crying because the place my heart longs for most in the world was being sucked into the Gulf of Mexico and washed away by the Mississippi River and Lake Ponchartrain, and its people drowned like unwanted kittens or left to rot in the sun like discarded rubbish. Yes, I'm still bitter. Imagine if I actually lived there?

My ire was raised over the issue again today when I read this article from yahoo regarding the city's preparations for Gustav. It seems Ray Nagin thinks it's a good idea for persons without cars or other means to be transported to shelters in North Louisiana by bus. I suppose I don't need to remind you of these buses from three years ago.

I realize I should be happy that such preparations are now deemed a good idea, after all, it is good to learn from our mistakes, particularly when those mistakes are so monumentally stultifying. But I still stand in shocked wonder at how this idea was NOT considered important then. If I, as a mere tourist and general idiot, know that New Orleans is a largely poor city with a significant population living in government housing and without things we take for granted like so much as a Ford POS, then why didn't their mayor know this? Why didn't their governor? Did they just forget that NOLA is below sea level?

Before people jump on board and begin the W bashing, I'll do it for you. The cluster-fuck that was New Orleans after the levees failed was horrific, and I don't know that there was a way to handle the ensuing disaster more quickly than it was handled. I'm not an expert on disaster response and don't know anyone who is. But I feel confident, probably due to being a parent, that I would make a helluva preemtive striker. You picture the worst possible consequence and you take action to avoid it. When it became apparent that Mayor Nagin and Governor Blanco were willing to neglect their duties to care for their citizens, call for mandatory evacuations, provide for transport out of the the path of a CATEGORY 5 HURRICANE or call for the early aid of the National Guard, I would love to know why the hell he didn't just take over? I mean, he's The Decider. He doesn't operate on the whims of opinion polls. He doesn't worry whether people like him or not. So where was the cowboy then? Why not activate the Guard without request and evacuate the city merely because New Orleans is a strategic port of signficant national security interest? How 'bout that, Decider?

Whatever. What's done is done. Let's just not do it again.

Classic Example of a Woman Bitching About Something Stupid

2008-08-26T09:14:00.004-05:00

A friend pointed out this article about some woman in an airport complaining about the security check. In case you don't want to read it, I'll sum up: A large breasted woman set off the metal detector with her underwire bra. She protested the "pat-down," saying that it was "humiliating," even though they offered to do it in a private area away from other airport patrons. Her solution for this dilemma was to remove her bra completely and pass through the metal detector again. Airport security agreed, and there ya go.

See, there's where I get hung up. To be patted by a female security guard is more humiliating than prancing through the airport, tits-a-swinging? It's more humiliating than going to the newspaper with a story that draws attention, not only to your enormous boobies but also to the fact that you are a whining about something stupid?

You think I have no empathy? Oh, but I do!

I have had limited opportunities to travel by plane. In fact, the first time I did it was a mere three years ago. Due to a job in which I had to travel occasionally, I made a total of five trips by plane over three years. That's 10 flights (not counting connecting flights), and in 10 flights I had to go through the big security check six times. By that, I mean I had to go through not just the metal detector and bag x-ray that everyone does, but also the deal where they make you empty everything from your purse and carry-on bag, and then they swab it all down for chemical residue and all that. And yes! On one rare occasion when I didn't have the big security check, I set off the alarm with my underwire bra. How did I ever cope? I just raised my arms, let the lady pat me down, and went on about my business. Believe me, the traveling world is well aware of the fact that women have breasts. If crazy lady had just submitted to the pat-down, she would have been in and out of security in 30 seconds instead of 40 minutes, and she wouldn't have missed her flight.

Is the security process a bit heavy-handed? Probably. But it is what it is. Believe me, the bag search is far more intrusive than a pat-down. That's when all your oddities can be revealed. The inside purse pocked with the condoms and peppermints. The deck of tarot cards. Your child's Transformer head. Who cares? I figure they've seen worse than what I have. In fact, I take a certain amount of pleasure in the idea that some poor baggage handler has been able to fill out her Checked Baggage Search Bingo card upon discovering the elusive vibrator-and-teddy-bear combo in my suitcase, and won the betting pool for the day. Good for her.

If you don't like it, feel free to drive your ass across the country next time. Or don't wear the underwire.

My Favorite TV Show

2008-08-26T08:07:00.003-05:00

CSI: Miami is the best show on television. Don't shake your head and disagree. It's the most kick-ass show on TV, and I know this is true because I don't watch TV but I do watch CSI: Miami. Of all the shows available, it is the only one that has grabbed my attention. I suppose, though, that can be good or bad.

I've discussed my love of the show among friends. Our mothers LOVE the show because they LOVE David Caruso and they think it's cool. We love the show because we laugh our asses off from start to finish. It's a combination of soap drama and pure camp. And to the credit of those who make the show, I'm pretty sure they know this because it seems to be getting worse/better with every episode.

To start, the primary character is named Horatio. You can't beat that. You can only emulate. (Proof is the lead character named Jethro on NCIS, a similar program.) Horatio dresses in black from head to toe in the middle of the day in Miami. He can do this because he is that cool. He speaks in a series of one-liners, filled with pregnant pauses during which he can put on or remove his sunglasses. For instance, ehem, "The verdict is in Frank, [puts on shades] but the jury is out."

To make it even cooler, Horatio's first one-liner of the show is punctuated with with the voice of Roger Daltry screaming "YEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!" from The Who's song Won't Get Fooled Again. It's absolutely perfect.

And so is everyone on the show. These forensics people in Miami are HOT. They're all smart and beautiful and ethnically diverse. Their hair is perfect, their clothes are high style. Best of all, the forensics lab looks like a night club.

Luckily, I discovered the show once it was in syndication, so every few days I can catch a couple of back-to-back episodes on A&E. I love it more every time. I really hope that if I'm ever brutally murdered, it's in Miami.

Do You Believe In Magic?

2008-08-03T17:15:00.004-05:00

This little cutie has been associated with the Cleveland Browns since the founding of the team, and though he was notably pushed aside for a long period of time, he has seen a resurgence of late. Some of my fellow fans disapprove, saying the emblem is "silly," "wimpy," or "kid stuff." Know your mythology, boys. Brownies hold powerful magic and are known as the guardians of dragons. But that aside, even if you don't buy into the myth, any respectable sports fan should be slightly superstitious, and the long misery of the Cleveland Browns can be tied directly to the departure of the Brownie Elf. It's just like what Crash said: "If you believe you're playing well because you're getting laid, or because you're not getting laid, or because you wear women's underwear [or have an Elf logo], then you ARE! And you should know that!"

Making the Case for the Brownie Elf

The Browns were lovingly called The Brownies by fans almost from the beginning of the franchise in 1946. The Browns played in 10 consecutive league championship games in their first 10 years of existence, winning seven of those games. All the while, the little Brownie Elf was a popular logo.

Art "The Shart" Modell purchased the team in 1961. Though he fired Paul Brown in 1963, the Browns managed to win their eighth AND LAST league championship in 1964 under the guidance of Brown's longtime assistant coach Blanton Collier.

It was about this time that Modell eliminated the Brownie Elf from Cleveland iconography.

Since the elimination of the Brownie Elf, the Browns have won the Division only 10 times in 44 years and have made the playoffs only 14 times in that same period. Worse, the number of winning seasons versus losing seasons in that time period is 14-30.

It was not until 2004 that the Brownie Elf reappeared as a recognized team logo. Three seasons later, the Browns go 10-6, and this year, the Browns are poised for a playoff run and a Division Title.

COINCIDENCE? You make the call.

Adventures in School Supplies

2008-08-02T10:55:00.005-05:00

I confess, I have an office supplies fetish. It started with school supplies.

Never loved school so much, but loved buying school supplies. Fresh notebooks, pencils and pencil cases, folders with pockets...it was like an early Christmas except better. As thrifty as my mother always was, I could convince her to buy nearly any sort of school supply because it was for the advancement of my education. I got to pick the colors I liked best AND I'd get a new bag to put it all in, which now makes me think my bag fetish can be blamed on school supplies too.

So now I'm the mom and I take Scooter to shop for his supplies and it's fun, though he isn't nearly as jazzed about colored pencils as I am. But since the beginning of his school career the fun of shopping for school supplies has been steadily drained by the ever-complex and ridiculous supply list provided by the school. I wonder at the need for every child in a third grade class to bring a can of Lysol spray to school. I suspect that having every kindergartner bring a ream of paper might be overkill. Still, I buy it. The only thing I ever balked at on the supply list was red pens. A red pen is only used for grading papers. I buy supplies for my child, not the teacher.

Shopping for supplies can also be dangerous. Last year the store we chose was overrun with parents and kids looking for loose leaf paper and protractors, and I had managed to grab the last package of dry erase markers in the store. Out of the corner of my eye, while perusing the No. 2 pencil display, I saw a woman reach into my shopping buggy and grab my dry erase markers. For a second I was taken aback, but instinct seized me and I seized her arm. I said nothing. Just looked her in the eyes, and she dropped the markers. That was a good choice.

So today we're off to buy our bundle of goodies. Somehow I think an extra notepad will end up in the mix for mommy. Combat pay.

Lightning Bugs

2008-07-30T11:05:00.002-05:00

It's interesting, the things you take for granted, until you have to explain them to somebody else. It forces you to think about it and evaluate it and usually results in a new appreciation of something you may not pay much attention to otherwise.

I was playing poker online last night. It's fun, because you play with people from all over the world, and if they are friendly you can learn a lot of interesting things about where they live. Last night I was at a table with two Aussies, a German, a French Canadian, an Argentine and Jess, one of my regular poker buddies from California. (Note: Usually it isn't just Jess, it is Jess and Jim. They've been best friends for about 25 years and typically if I find one playing poker the other one is there, just left or will be there soon. You can tell they have been friends for a long time because of the way they unmercifully berate each other. It's fun. They both play guitar. Neat. Anyhow, Jim had abandoned us to watch a movie with his wife.)

So out of nowhere Jess says, "Kat, do you have fireflies?" I said sure we've got fireflies, but we call them lightning bugs. Then he says, "What do they look like?" I was baffled. What do they look like? They look like a lightning bug. I paused. Maybe this was the start of a joke. Then he says, "I never saw one." Now I was really baffled. I thought everybody had lightning bugs. Turns out, they pretty much don't exist west of Kansas in the U.S. Jess said they look cool in movies, but he's never seen one in the real world.

Jess is a smart fellow, so I knew there was no use telling him the nuts and bolts of what a lightning bug looks like. He can google for that. Instead I told him how we used to catch them every night when I was a kid, and fill up a Mason jar. We'd let them flash for a while and then turn them loose. The next night, we'd do it all over again. About this time one of the Aussies piped up. He didn't know what the hell we were talking about at all, so now I did have to figure a way to describe it. I settled on, "It's a flying insect with a bioluminescent bulb on its ass that flashes on and off to impress the lady lightning bugs." He said, "Ace!" His friend, the girl Aussie, left the table because she doesn't like bugs. Neither do I, but a lightning bug isn't an ordinary bug. It's a lightning bug.

Jess was pleased with the story and even more delighted when I told him we have glowworms at The Dismals, which is a natural attraction near where I live. It's one of the only places in the world outside of New Zealand where they exist. That's really cool! And I never even thought about it before.

SEC vs. Big 10

2008-07-26T14:54:00.005-05:00

I like this picture. I like it when it takes two of their guys to bring down one of my guys. Nice.

It's a stupid argument, really, about which is the better college football conference. Here in the South, we hold with our own, just like Yankees hold with their own. Fair enough. Still, the numbers are what they are. All time, the SEC is 65-46-2 against the Big 10 through the 2007 season, with a 0.584 winning percentage.

The primary argument presented by Big 10 fans is the "you guys don't have to play in the snow" thing.

No. We don't. It's true. We don't typically play in the snow. I think it's true that an SEC team playing a winter game in Ohio would be at a serious disadvantage. I agree. But the fact is, National Championship games are played in good weather. Are you telling me that Big 10 teams are incapable of winning football games in good weather? The argument doesn't wash. And when the game is played in the Super Dome in New Orleans, it's even worse. You have a climate-controlled, indoor facility with no wind and no glaring sun. You should be able to play your best game, period.

Add to this the fact that a school like Ohio State tends to recruit nationally, while SEC schools tend to recruit almost exclusively in the South, and you have an even weaker argument for why a team should lose. If your team is comprised with hardy fellows from Ohio, along with a compliment of players from other regions of the country, you should have a well-rounded team. And yet, we've seen the Buckeyes punked by SEC teams in the national championship game two years straight. In the past 20 years, the SEC has won the national championship six times. Twice by LSU and Florida, and once each by Alabama and Tennessee. The Big 10 has won two, once each by Michigan and OSU.

Another telling thing is that I keep mentioning (the) Ohio State Buckeyes. Why? The Big 10 isn't deep as far as contenders for the national championship. In any given year, it is OSU and Michigan. Sometimes Wisconsin is in the mix. Penn State has a respected history, but hasn't really been in the thick of things for a while. In the SEC, besides the six titles already won by four different schools in the past 20 years, you have Auburn and Georgia (who is the likely SEC school to be playing for the title this year), and even our "weak" schools like Kentucky and Vandy have made bowl games the past two years. The SEC went head-to-head with the Big 10 in three bowl games last year and won two of them.

The fact is, we're more scared of playing each other than we are of playing the Big 10. I'm sure they feel the same way. Or maybe not.

A Rose is a Rose is a Dead Rose

2008-07-26T13:24:00.008-05:00

"A profusion of pink roses bending ragged in the rain speaks to me of all gentleness and its enduring." ~ William Carlos Williams

I've had an inquiry about my roses, and I am sad to say that they are virtually lost. Some of it is due to yearly ravaging by Japanese Beetles which have left the plants weak and vulnerable to other tormentors like aphids and plant disease. Some of it has been dry summers for the past few years.

Most if it is because I'm not a gardener.

I started growing roses about seven years ago. One spring I just decided to have roses, so I purchased a half dozen rose bushes of various colors, planted them, and watched. Three of the original six did well and the other three died. I added three more the following year, and two of them lived, though they have not produced much. I have been unable to grow a single yellow rose, though I have tried and tried, and the exotic colors like lavender merely tease me, producing a single promising bud which never opens.

That rose you see here is one I managed to grow two summers ago. If memory serves, the name of this particular hybrid is "Luscious." That plant made about a dozen blooms, half of which were gorgeous like that one, and the others somewhat weaker. It is true the beetles and the dry, hot summers are part of the problem with my roses, but I'm sure it is mostly me. I'm just not garden savvy enough to figure out what continues to be the problem. It's not that caring for roses is hard; a healthy rose bush will produce and produce, and all you have to do is keep the spent blooms snipped off as they wither. That's it. It's the growing a healthy bush part that seems to be the trouble.

Oh well. I am nothing if not persistent. I shall try again next spring, with new bushes. I have a book on rose care and I'm not afraid to use it. I'll let you know how it goes.

Enough is Enough

2008-07-26T12:26:00.002-05:00

Sorry, Brett, but I'm gonna have to break up with you. I tried hard to be on your side in all this. I said the Packers should welcome you back with open arms. I believed you when you said you felt pushed to retire and then changed your mind. Your love for the game gives me goosebumps. I respect all your many records.

But really, you're calling other sweethearts on the phone issued to you by Green Bay? Now you've just been stupid. People can forgive mistakes in judgment made in the name of passion, but stupidity is harder to ignore. As is cheating on your team by making late-night whispered calls to Minnesota. Green Bay was going to retire your jersey this season, and now that will all be put on hold.

It's all too much drama now Brett. The Pack has the goods on your calls, which means you will not play for the Vikings and they will likely lose draft picks over a guy who will never take a snap for them. See what you did? And now if you're traded you might be stuck in Tampa Bay where you will have nearly no chance to do much good. What fun is that?

Just stay retired. Make a nice speech about how much you love the Packers fans too much to cause a quarterback controversy. Say how you love the game too much to go somewhere and be ineffective for a team that will have to pay you too much money. Say how you didn't think you could live without the game, so now you're gonna coach quarterbacks at your local high school as a volunteer. Just go home though. Even the people in your corner are getting sick of it.

Sell Me, Don't Berate Me

2008-07-16T16:04:00.004-05:00

I found this particular T-shirt on cafepress.com, and it reminds me of the thing I hate most about politics. Why is it that people can't sell me on their candidate rather than bashing the other guy?

I'm prepared for a particularly vicious presidential campaign this year, but I'm already sick of it. Politics is not a sport in which it is OK to hate your rival, because in this case your rival is an American citizen offering himself or herself for service, and by extension, your rival is anyone who supports that candidate. I frankly don't think it is healthy or productive to hate half the country.

This doesn't mean it isn't OK to be adamantly fanatic about your candidate, but show me somebody who is. What I see most of the time are people who are adamantly antagonistic to somebody else. If you really care, sell me on your guy. Don't just bash somebody else until I truly feel I'm left with the choice between a Giant Douche or a Turd Sandwich.

I'll be more specific: Don't scream at me how inexperienced Barack Obama is. Inexperience doesn't make him stupid or incapable. Tell me instead how John McCain's experience makes him the better choice. And don't just tell me that "McCain = McSame." Any fool can quote a catchy, smartass soundbite. Tell me instead how Obama's differences make him the superior pick. Sell me your guy, don't sell the other guy down the river. Because he might be your president, and I guarantee you live with or work with or associate with someone who supports him. And if your guy wins, don't you hope "the other side" can be swayed to see some value in him?

Or maybe you'd just rather fight.

New Blog

2008-07-16T15:00:00.003-05:00

Yes, I'm easily distracted. You should be able to recognize this from this blog. But now I have a new blog project which is a little more focused. It's all about travel. Problem is, I haven't done much of it. So, without further ado, I'm happy to announce the creation of The Virtual Vagabond. Come check it out if you feel like it here. Thanks!

Big Bag

2008-07-06T10:44:00.003-05:00

Moms can be full of shit and full of truth, sometimes at the same time. This means you don't have to do everything they say, but it doesn't hurt to listen well and sort. You'll get some good stuff if you do. My mother has said many true things over the years, but none more true than this: However large your purse is, that's how much junk you'll carry.

People who know me know that I have always had a handbag fetish. At present I have approximately 40 different purses and totes in a variety of sizes, shapes and configurations. Do I need this many bags? No. Did I almost buy a new bag just two nights ago? Yep. But I didn't!

Anyhow, back to the point. In my younger days I always carried the smallest bags. They were so small people wondered why I carried them at all. "What can you possibly fit in there?" they would ask, incredulous. (You'd be surprised. A woman's bag is like Snoopy's doghouse. It's a lot bigger inside than it looks from the outside. Even a small bag will hold a lot of junk.) Then things changed, and I started carrying larger and larger bags. Mom was right. Whichever bag I carry, it is full. Let's review the contents of the bag I'm using right now:

Wallet
Makeup bag
Jewelry pouch
iPod in its case w/USB connector
Digital camera
Body spray
Hand lotion
Cell phone
One pair of reading glasses (no longer needed)
Two pairs of sunglasses (no longer needed)
Eyeglass case with prescription sunglasses
One dozen pens and pencils (approx.)
Notepad
Bag of "good luck" stones and totems
Two sets of polyhedral dice
Palm Pilot
Two Tangle Jr. toys
Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman
Love Poems by Pablo Neruda
Gum
Keys
Digital recorder
Pill sorter full of vitamins

Whew. That is a lot of junk. There is no reason for me to have 90 percent of that stuff with me all the time. But I have room for it. And that isn't even my biggest bag.

Shit Or Get Off The Pot

2008-07-06T09:46:00.006-05:00

Don't just stand there with your hands on your hips, looking up, trying to figure it out. God isn't going to tell you what to do. You have to make the call. One way or the other, Brett. Shit or get off the pot. Fish or cut bait. Retire or play. Your team needs to know now.

It was only in March, four months ago, when you made your tearful retirement speech. I got a little misty. This earned me some scorn in the Browns forum, mainly because they knew you were likely full of it. Well, piss on them. I was still a Favre fan and more so because you knew when to hang up the cleats and go fishing. Besides that, you're a southern boy, and I am loyal to my own kind.

I hate to say it, Brett, but this is getting a little embarrassing now. Peyton Manning called it when he said he wasn't going to send his standard quarterback retirement letter to you because he didn't buy it. The forum guys were right. You never even cleaned out your locker. So quit messing around and make the decision. Go to camp or go ride your tractor. You can't do both.

My advice? Stay home. You've done enough. You're Hall of Fame. You own the most and best quarterback records in the NFL. You've been the MVP a million times. You're a multi-time Pro Bowler. You've won a Super Bowl. Not to mention that you'll be 39 years old in October, which is not too old for most uses but is plenty old enough to be smart. Go out with your fans begging you to stay. Don't stay until they beg you to go.

Or play. But we can't have a Brett Favre retirement at the end of every season. So if you do come back and play, play 'til you drop dead. That's what you want to do anyway, right?

Sucks to be you, Nick

2008-06-26T13:42:00.004-05:00

So, what about it, Nicky? This one was just the cherry on the sundae, wasn't it? How many is this now, nine? Nine players from your squad arrested on charges ranging from disorderly conduct to assault to cocaine distribution in a year's time. This is some pickle you're in, Nicky. Miami looking not-so-bad now?

It's bad enough to be you already. You have to live down the rep of being a liar or being disloyal because you took the Bama job in the first place. You have to justify your ridiculous salary. You have to resurrect a dying program and restore it to glory. You have to deal with what is arguably the most demanding, impatient and sometimes delusional fanbase in all of college sports. It can't be fun a lot of days. And now you have to explain how you said you were going to reinstate discipline to the team and yet nine of your guys now have mug shots on record in Tuscaloosa County. In a year's time.

But while I have no sympathy for Jimmy Johns, I do have sympathy for you, Nicky. I feel bad you're expected to create something magic and perfect from Mike Shula's mixed bag of recruits who were accustomed to ice cream cone discipline for four years. I feel bad that by the time you are actually able to field a team entirely of your own recruits and who have been guided by your standards of discipline from the start, your fans will probably be calling for your head based on the bad behavior of these other thugs. I feel bad that you're expected to make Bama perfect again overnight when that isn't possible.

But I feel better when I see you kick these guys off the team, suspend them for games and dish out other punishment. It tells me you might really care about how the program runs. So we'll see.

Sucks to be you, Jimmy

2008-06-26T13:22:00.004-05:00

He was Mr. Football in the state of Mississippi when the coaches came calling for him and Mike Shula pulled off an upset and recruited Jimmy Johns to Alabama. Now he'll go to prison for many years instead of going pro because he's a coke dealer. He even did a deal in the shadow of Bryant-Denny Stadium. That's enough to make even an Auburn fan cry blasphemy.

I don't get it. You're given free college, free food, free place to stay. You have access to an education that can take you anywhere you want to go, and you have a chance for a very lucrative career in the NFL. All you have to do is go to class, fulfill your obligation to the team and stay out of trouble. That's it. How many would give their proverbial left nut for that sort of deal? Four years, sometimes five, with very little responsibility and the world just waiting to open up for you. Now you're off the team, headed to prison and all that prospect is down the toilet. Way to go, dumbass. I have no sympathy.

Play Ball! (That Means Everybody)

2008-06-17T22:18:00.007-05:00

"I believe there should be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter." -- Crash Davis, Bull Durham

Crash is one of my movie heroes and it's because the man was simple and straightforward. He cut through the bullshit. He played ball, and he understood that everything else was good because he got to make a living playing ball. And stupid things that screwed that up--like "turf toe" and designated hitters--needed to be cast aside in honor of purity and bliss.

I'm guessing Hank Steinbrenner is not a Crash fan. This week Hank lost a pitcher to an injury sustained while (gasp!) running bases. See, the Yankees are an American League team which use a designated hitter, but they were playing an interleague game in a National League park where pitchers are expected to play a whole game like everyone else. Hank was pissed, and issued this pissy little statement:

“My only message is simple. The National League needs to join the 21st century. They need to grow up and join the 21st century. I’ve got my pitchers running the bases, and one of them gets hurt. He’s going to be out. I don’t like that, and it’s about time they address it. That was a rule from the 1800s.”

I hate to point out your stupidity, Hank, but what rule are you talking about? You mean the rule that authorized the use of a non-fielding player to do half the work of a non-batting pitcher? That rule was discussed since the early 1900s, sure, but didn't go into effect until 1973.

Yes, the DH is exciting. He swings a big bat. He makes a lot of home runs. Good for him. But what of the game? Essentially, you have two players who only work half the time. Two prima donnas who only do what they like best. Is that fair to the rest of the guys who play on both sides of the plate, running, batting, fielding? Why don't we really get into the 21st Century and carry this idea out to its natural conclusion. We can play 18 players a game with nine guys to do the fielding and nine big bats to do the hitting. Boy, wouldn't that be fun?

In baseball, everyone should play the whole game, and that means the pitcher too. Baseball is a team sport and everyone brings their particular skills to the field. Some are better batters, and some can break a batter's heart with an unhittable pitch or a diving, body-sacrificing catch. That's what makes it cool. I don't want baseball to be "in the 21st Century." I like the kind of baseball Babe Ruth played. The Babe was a first class pitcher and hitter. I have an idea he's smirking down on Hank about now.

Tiger

2008-06-17T10:53:00.005-05:00

Walt Whitman wrote in
I Sing The Body Electric,

"But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face,
It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists,
It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and knees, dress does not hide him,
The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth,
To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more,
You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side."

I'm not a big golf fan. I don't play it, and I have never understood the obsessive level of devotion to the game that so many men have. In fact, I got banned from the Browns forum this week for saying that golf was boring. How wrong was I? I was watching that incredible playoff round of the U.S. Open this week and, fan of the game or not, at some point you have to realize that you are witnessing greatness and appreciate it for what it is. It transcends sport; it is about being the best at what you do and how you got that way. It is amazing to watch people who are the best at what they do.

Preparing for a putt, Tiger made some small motion with his hand, and it was the elegance of his wrist that caught my eye and made me think of the Whitman. I began to notice the deliberateness of every motion. It was in his posture, his gait and stance. It was in his facial expression. And it isn't just that he is beautiful in a physical sense as an athlete. He is that, but all those things were the outward expression of a mental toughness and discipline that I so severely lack I cannot help but be drawn to it in fascination. The intensity. The concentration. The focus. It is one thing to be graced with great physical or intellectual ability. It is another thing to have the force of will and the discipline and drive to hone those gifts into perfection.

Tiger plays golf for a living. He might have been a surgeon or a musician or a painter or a poet, and he would have excelled at any of those things I feel certain. He's the expression of a well-made man. Dress does not hide people like that.

Cadillac Escalade

2008-06-08T12:13:00.002-05:00

Nothing pisses me off like a Cadillac Escalade. Especially the pearl white.

It's not that I can't afford to drive one. I admire and respect the success of people who have worked hard enough to afford luxury items. It's the whole concept of the Escalade that bothers me.

An Escalade is just another SUV. A sport-utility vehicle. SUVs were, in theory, designed to pull loads, carry cargo, accommodate multiple persons and go off road. Who goes off road in their Caddi? Anyone? I didn't think so. And I have rarely seen a woman driver of an Escalade who I believed would ever load cargo.

A while back we went to dinner and there was an Escalade parked right at the front door, using two spaces. The driver did it intentionally, as the vehicle was parked directly on top of the line between the spaces. It wouldn't get bumped by the door of somebody's old Ford POS that way. This is my proof that people who drive an Escalade do not drive it because it is a performance SUV that can endure the punishment of rugged treatment. They drive it because it is a big, giant Cadillac and it demonstrates their carefree attitude toward the price of gas. I have never wanted to key a car so badly in my life.

Simple Math

2008-05-29T10:58:00.002-05:00

Put it down. As much as I will defend guys at nearly every turn, this is a no-brainer. You put the seat down.

Look at it like this: Every person has two sorts of jobs to do in the toilet. For the sake of cuteness we'll call it the Little Job and the Big Job. Men do the Little Job standing up, though they could do it sitting if they wanted to do it that way. They do the Big Job sitting down.

Women do the Big Job sitting down, of course, but also have to do the Little Job sitting down. It would not be wise for a woman to attempt the Little Job standing up.

Now, in a two-person household that includes one man and one woman, that gives a three in four chance that whatever job is being done in the bathroom right now is a sit-down job. You can add additional males all you like and the math still comes out in favor of keeping the seat down. Male child joins the household? You still have a 4-to-2 ratio going that the job is a sitter. Two sons? 5-to-3. The math will always come out this way. And as superior as men are in math, with their bigger brain and all that, I would think this is pretty clear.

Dinner With The Boys

2008-05-29T09:19:00.003-05:00

No meal is so good as when a man cooks it. While I feel very secure in saying the lion's share of cooking in the world is done by women, the best and most memorable meals I have ever enjoyed were prepared by men. This is one reason why our weekly dinner with the boys is so nice.

Usually our friend Sam cooks. He was born in Naples, Italy, and cooks like his mother does, except better. Other friends inquire every Thursday morning about what we had for dinner at Sam's Five-Star Restaurant. But this week was unusual because Randy cooked for us at his hunting lodge. Going there is an interesting experience.

If I can every really forget that I'm usually the lone chick at these dinners, I could not forget it out there. First, Randy made it very plain that the lodge, which is called The Horny Doe, is a "guys" place. Few women have ever darkened the door. The furniture is all large and rustic, and the walls are covered in dead animals. By my count, there were nine deer, two turkeys, a pheasant, a bobcat, a javelina and an antelope, not to mention numerous large fish and other assorted antlery from a variety of large creatures. Dinner was wild turkey killed by Randy himself, the buckshot we occasionally found in our teeth clear proof of this. Afterward we enjoyed a beer on the back deck and watched some basketball.

Food and ambiance aside, the dinners are a nice treat each week. I feel kinda special because they don't treat me special. They don't curtail their cursing, they don't wait until I'm out of the room to tell an embarrassing story involving shit, they don't think twice about saying some woman on TV has a nice rack, and are not afraid to say, "Hell no, I'm not taking my wife to Vegas with me," because they know I won't go tell her. That's really cool.

Scrapper

2008-05-22T12:51:00.004-05:00

My son got into a fight at school this week. It isn't the first time. He has a quick temper, which frequently results in a minor shoving match or exchange of fierce words like, "you're stupid!" and the like. Although Scooter is a very good boy not to swear like his mother does, he reports that a couple other boys at school have called people "fuckers" and "fags." I remember when I was his age that calling someone an S.O.B.--and I mean just using the letters--was extreme.

Anyhow, my husband and I have been of two minds regarding fighting. I have said never to do it, under nearly any circumstance, because you will only get into trouble. My husband says, "get in the first lick if you know its coming and don't worry about the consequences." While I can see the benefit of this when it comes to winning a brawl, this still does not prevent the trip to the office that may result in far worse than mere name calling.

But it appears that this time, at least, I was wrong. Oh, he still got a paddling, but the punch was generally regarded by classmates (and even one anonymous teacher) as well done. Basically, I'm told, the kid was a bully who had it comin'. So while the raw and gritty me says, "Right on!" I'm still concerned that he will see the endorsement and praise of his friends as a license to scrap.

Boys fight. It's in the nature. I feel confident saying that any man who has gone his whole life without getting into a physical altercation is probably rare. And we females will often encourage it by liking the scrapper. A guy who fights is tough and strong and "don't take no shit," and all those other things that tap into the animal instinct we use when seeking good mates. But truthfully, anyone who has ever seen two grown men really go toe-to-toe knows that fighting isn't pretty or glamorous. It's unpleasant and scary. And if they really mean it, somebody is gonna get hurt.

I reckon I'm just buying trouble. The fact he's been in a couple shoving matches and thrown a punch does not mean that Scooter is destined to be a brawler who has to be bailed out of jail by his buddies on a regular basis. And I suppose a willingness to put it on the line is better than going through life scared and intimidated. It's a fine line with boys. Moms just have to figure it out as we go along.

Off Season Psychosis

2008-05-22T11:38:00.002-05:00

As I post this, there remain 77 days until the next Cleveland Browns football game, and even that one is a preseason game that "doesn't really count." This means there will be at least another 70 days of Off Season Psychosis in the Cleveland Browns Forum. I say 70 because surely to God the last week leading up to the game will actually bring back normal posting.

Right now, the primary symptom of OSP is the conspiracy theory. All forums have factions. The Browns Forum has official factions known as Bushwood, the BFFs, the Quinnbots, the Andersonbots and Tman, who is so generally irritating to everyone he counts as a faction by himself. Unofficial factions include "the chicks," of which I am a member. Possibly.

Oh, I'm still a chick. I may even be all three chicks who post there. Or, I might be a man. In fact, it has been declared that I am not only a man, but I am multiple men, some posing as women, some posing as Browns fans, some posing as trolls and ALL working as a moderator for the company which owns the forum. Whew! I'm a busy girl/guy!

I've always found fascinating the number of personalities in the forum. Some, I feel certain, are completely fictional. One thing about the internet is that you can pretend to be someone completely different if you want to. Who would know? And this is exactly why the conspiracy theories about forum posters abound. I mean, who hasn't been accused of being a mod at one time or another? On the other hand, if you are genuine and "be yourself," who would know that either? Nobody can prove a thing. So now, the "Kat Persona" has become one of the biggest mysteries and controversies of the off season in the Browns Forum.

Truthfully, I tried to hide my identity once and failed miserably. One of the regulars spotted me within 5 minutes. I guess I'm irrepressible.

Prevent Defense (And Other Mistakes)

2008-05-11T10:23:00.004-05:00

Some of the Browns guys were discussing the infamous (for Cleveland) 1987 AFC championship game played against the Denver Broncos. Long and short: John Elway leads the Broncos 98 yards to tie the game with 37 seconds left in regulation. Denver then went on to win the game in overtime on a field goal. For long-time Browns fans, this event is now simply known as The Drive. For new Browns fans, it is one of the first sad tales you must learn. Read about the tragic event here.

If you know even the littlest bit about football, you know from reading the play-by-play that the Browns were running what is called the Prevent Defense. In theory, you allow the opposing offense to get short plays in the middle of the field (and use clock), but you "prevent" the big play or long pass that can give them a score. The only problem with that is, it often doesn't work. If you give up four yards here and six yards there, you've given up a first down. This is why it is often said the Prevent Defense is so named because "it prevents you from winning."

If you think back to any other situation in your life, you will know that this is a flawed strategy. It's the whole "give them an inch and they will take a mile" thing:

"C'mon Mom, 30 more minutes?"

"You can cancel at any time."

"Just let me put the tip in."

How many of those have you been burned on before? That's because you were running the Prevent.

Boobies!

2008-05-11T01:04:00.006-05:00

While there are some men who take the "more than a mouthful is a waste" attitude toward breasts, most guys seem to stick with the "bigger is better" attitude. I humbly suggest they wouldn't feel this way if they were the ones who had to carry them around.

I just spent $75 on sports bras I had to order online. I had to order them because no stores around here carry a sports bra in my cup size. And forget about the pretty bras they sell at Victoria's Secret. They can't handle the payload. So you order them, hope they fit because you can't try them on ahead of time, and fork over the better part of a C-note. I should be used to it by now, but I never cease to be amazed. I suspect that when the credit card bill arrives is the only time a man questions the advantage of big boobies.

I have a husband who is as obsessed with boobies as the next man. Cleavage is a very big deal for him, and he likes to see it. He just doesn't want anybody else to see it. So when we go out, he spends his time alternately pulling my top down far enough to see the goodies and tugging it back up so nobody else will notice, which of course does nothing but draw attention. I would think after nearly 20 years he would remember what they look like long enough for us to have dinner, but who am I kidding? Looking at boobies is like having sex for most guys; if they haven't seen it/done it in the last five minutes they may as well have never seen it/done it.

It makes me wonder what men would do if they had their own boobies? Probably nothing but look at them all day long.

The 'Extras'

2008-05-10T15:17:00.003-05:00

To continue the discussion from below, there were a lot of options on that shopping spree link for "feel good" things like building homeless shelters or feeding and clothing the poor for a year and things like that. I'm all for charity. Sometimes circumstances result in people with needs they can't meet for themselves for a period of time. But I think it's a mistake to take somebody to raise. People must be able to provide their own basics. If you provide those for them all the time, they will never be independent.

If I were Powerball rich, I'd be more inclined to be charitable in ways that gave people those extras that are hard to afford even if you are covering the basics. Things like music lessons, trips abroad, or plays and concerts and exhibitions that are either too costly or too far away to see for a lot of people. Not everyone lives in the big city, and those life-enhancing and mind-expanding things can be hard to come by sometimes if you don't have surplus funds.

Utopia for me would be a world in which everyone's neighborhood was bursting with culture and art, and access to it was free to all. It's hard to be stressed when you are painting or writing or dancing, and hard to argue with your neighbor when you are listening to or playing music together.

What Would You Think About?

2008-05-10T14:32:00.003-05:00

A friend of mine posted a link for a $3 trillion shopping spree the other day. Be warned, the point of the website is to promote an anti-War and anti-Bush sentiment, but if you are a Bush supporter maybe you can put that aside and give it a try anyway. It is interesting to see how far money goes when it's that much money. Incidentally, I bought the Cleveland Browns. Picked up the Hope Diamond too. Maybe it won't jinx us.

I discussed this link with another friend of mine, who was inspired to pose this question: What would you think about if you didn't have to think about money?

Most of us have to think about money a lot. We have bills to pay, and unexpected expenses come up all the time. In the back of our minds we have to be thinking about our own retirement (ha!) sometime in the future, and the cost of an education for our children. It's a simply a fact that you have to have money. Next to water and air, it's the primary thing you need to ensure survival.

But if you were one of those people who were born into or stumbled into wealth, or if your career had been unexpectedly profitable and you never had to give a thought about a place to live or food or clothing or the like, what would you think about? Not having to think about money means there are dozens of other things you don't have to think about either, so what do you put your mind on when it is free?

I detect a lot of anti-wealth sentiment in this country sometimes because I think there is some deeply-held conviction that "the rich get richer" simply because they fix the system for their own benefit. I'm sure that happens. But I submit to you that the rich may get richer because they don't have to think about those ordinary things, and their minds are free to envision and create and start new things, and their existing wealth allows them to finance those ventures successfully.

So...what would you think about? Or do? It's hard to get started, isn't it?

It's a Man's World

2008-05-05T23:48:00.007-05:00

I like men. Always have. Since I was a baby, my mother says, I have always preferred to hang out with the guys. But this isn't without its pitfalls. No matter how much a woman likes to hang out with men, she isn't one. And no matter how much a guy thinks he's modern and in touch with his feminine side, he's still a guy and thinks like a guy. We're different animals, and there is nothing wrong with that.

I have often used this as my argument against women in combat in the military. It's not that I have doubts women are capable of doing their jobs. It's because men assume certain roles and develop certain agendas, and they can't help it. And when they do this it throws everyone off their game. Again, it doesn't make them bad. It just makes them men. Recently I have solidified this theory thanks to the football forum.

It's the same situation: you have an army, if you will, of fans, allied to a certain team. Ever vigilant, they patrol the posts for trolls and interlopers from other fanbases. Like different branches of the military, they break into their own little factions vying for importance and dominance, and sometimes engage in mock battle, like the Army-Navy game. It's all very primitive and exciting! Throw a woman into the mix, and all this standard Man Business gets disrupted.

In battle, as in sports forums, men will far outnumber women. For every one woman you may have a dozen or more men. Of this dozen men, they break down roughly into four categories: He-Man Woman Haters, Casanovas, Knights in Shining Armor, and Normal People.

Get this straight right away: In a dozen men there will be no more than two Normal People. Those are the guys who treat you as a peer and go on about business in an efficient way. Of the other 10 you will have three HMWHs who, as their description suggests, hate you for your female silliness and how you damper their willingness to post about bowel movements and naked chicks. You'll have four Casanovas who imagine that you are somehow desirable (based on little to no real knowledge), and spend the day trying to virtually seduce you. The remaining three are the KSAs who rise to your defense against the HMWHs, usually to their own detriment.

Based on my own experience, it makes it difficult to just be yourself as a woman. Should you be combative and take on your critics "like a man?" Should you return the playful innuendo or not? Should you be grateful to those big brother types who want to guard you, or tell them to mind their own shops? There is no right answer. And I dare suggest that if my theory held up in a military unit you'd find quite a few men getting gunned down in not-so-friendly fire by some overwhelmed lady soldier. I maybe wrong, but I can see it happening.

Scary Fun

2008-05-05T09:43:00.003-05:00

I was watching the remake of Dawn of the Dead again last night, and loving every second of it. I realize the zombie flick purists don't care for the remakes (and trust me, the remake of Day of the Dead is a steaming pile of feces), but I liked this one. The first time I watched it realized it was because these zombies can haul ass. They don't just wait for you to make an error in strategy and accidentally find yourself surrounded by slow and lumbering living dead; they will run you down to eat your brains. Fun stuff!

Don't get me wrong. I understand the symbolism of the slow and lumbering living dead. It suggests inescapable mortality and also the slow-but-steady decay of civilization. While I appreciate these things, that isn't why I go to a scary movie. I go to be scared. I want to be creeped out and go to bed with the lights on. I want to be afraid to walk out on the porch at night (just for a day or two). I want those feelings without having to put a lot of thought into it because a good scare makes you aware of your mortality in the best way: by taking you to the edge of it. If a movie is good enough to really put you in the moment, you will feel it. Nothing makes you feel more alive than being pushed to the edge of death. Anyone who has crawled out of a totalled car can tell you that.

And I confess the scary movie appeals to the more prurient interests as well. What is a vampire's bite if not illicit penetration with exchange of body fluid? It's bloody porno that keeps it PG-13 while still satisfying the carnal desire. At the heart of it, a good horror film should make girls squeal and jump and clutch their boyfriend's leg tightly while keeping the adrenaline pumping at a high enough rate that she will put out later. Smart boys have been taking girls to scary movies since they were invented.

RIP Eight Belles

2008-05-04T13:59:00.004-05:00

I always wanted a horse and never had one. Owning one is yet another item on the "Someday..." list. So until I have one, I indulge my equine imagination by watching the horse sale at the livestock barn or by watching horse racing. Naturally, I was watching yesterday when Eight Belles tried to become only the fourth filly to beat the boys in the Kentucky Derby.

I have been watching the Triple Crown, and primarily the Kentucky Derby, since I was a kid. I got interested by reading the Walter Farley series of Black Stallion books. On top of this, the Derby manages to combine three of my loves: sports, horses and chapeaux. And this year there was a little something extra, that being the fact that a girl was taking on the men and stood a chance to win it. I think the odds they posted at the track put Eight Belles at 12-1 just before the race, which was very respectable given that most of the field was going off at no better than 20-1 and some down in bottom-scraping 48-1 area. In the end, she placed, beating 18 of the boys and losing only to the horse that is this year's real Triple Crown threat. Good girl!

Sadly, of course, everyone now knows she broke both front legs shortly after the race was done, and was put down right there on the track. So now the questions come. Just two years after Barbaro broke a rear leg at the Preakness (and was euthanized 9 months later), people are going to start asking if horse racing is cruel. They are going to say the horse doesn't have a choice. They are going to question whether a breed of horse, with those slender and elegant legs, should be pushed to a 35 mph run carrying that much weight.

I will not fake the funk in this matter. I enjoy watching the races just like I enjoy watching football, but that doesn't mean I really know anything about it. I'll leave those questions to the experts, although I do suspect that if a half-ton animal doesn't want to race you ain't gonna make her.

The three girls who won the Derby in years past were Regret (1915), Genuine Risk (1980) and Winning Colors (1988). I expect the name Eight Belles will be just as famous in terms of fillies who ran the Derby, and famous among them all, colt or filly alike. In 134 years, she's the only horse the Derby ever lost.

Playoffs? Playoffs??!!?!?

2008-04-29T09:59:00.005-05:00

Don't bet on it, but I'd love to see it. This week the Bowl Championship Series committee is meeting and, allegedly, will discuss the possibility of a "Plus 1" championship game. This is being proposed by Southeastern Conference commissioner Mike Slive, who suggests a two-week playoff among the top four teams at the end of the regular season. Naturally this proposal would come from my conference, since we have the most recent credible team to go undefeated and get fucked out of a chance to play for the title. Oh well. I'm an Auburn fan, and as good as it has been recently, deep down we know we are born to suffer.

And suffer we will continue to do. The commissioners of the Pac-10 and Big 10 already say they will vote against any such playoffs plan, which kills the deal from the start. I sense sour grapes on the part of the Big 10, having lost two straight years in the BCS championship game to an SEC team. If they supported a playoff system, be it the Plus 1 or even my preferred Top 8 playoff, then the Buckeyes would not be able to whine that they had too long a layoff to be effective in the title game. God knows, we must preserve our excuses when possible.

So we'll be stuck with the Bull Chit Series for the foreseeable future and just hope another undefeated team isn't left to sop gravy. Maybe the Buckeyes will be happy.

It's Not Just About Ability

2008-04-29T09:42:00.005-05:00

For the first time in 38 years, Alabama did not have a single player selected in the NFL Draft. To be quite blunt about it, Bama just hasn't had the talent. Bama homers will always think their guys are the best--just like all fans think their guys are the best--but it wasn't the case this year.

But of all the guys eligible, people had high hopes that D.J. Hall, the wide receiver, would surely go in the fourth or fifth round. He's signed as an undrafted free agent with New York now, but why didn't he get drafted, and, as a result, get the big bucks?

Rumblings on sports radio this morning suggest it is "character issues." In fact, that has been the talk about several players, not just at Alabama, but all over the place. Kids get drafted lower than their ability would dictate because most of the big ball teams are not going to invest in a punk anymore. Darren McFadden was once the predicted No. 1 overall pick, but dropped to fourth, perhaps in honor of his four illegitimate children.

After all the Michael Vick and Pacman Jones drama, not to mention the personal baby-mama-drama that so many of these guys go through, NFL teams are not just going to take a chance on guys they don't think will be reliable. And if you add a questionable work ethic into the mix, your chances of a high draft get smaller and smaller. Add a mouth to your list of problems (T.O.? Chad?) and, rather than being seen as a potential asset to a team you'll instead be seen as a potential cancer in the lockerroom.

The lesson here is plain, kids. Keep your noses clean. Do your work. Stay out of jail. Show up for practice. Don't take plays off. Wear a condom, Darren McFadden! You're under the microscope now. The money is just too big and too important to waste on you.

Deep Fried Junk

2008-04-21T10:32:00.005-05:00

I admit to eating too much junk, but even I am mesmerized by the gastronomic horror show that is a convenience mart deli.

There is one next to my office, and sometimes if there is no time to drive into town I will go there for lunch. Luckily, they have sub sandwiches available, but the big sellers are in the fried food case, sweating under heat lamps, cooked to golden brown perfection. Egg rolls, something called taquitos, potatoes, corn dogs and so on, all deep fried and ready to go. Today I discovered they have macaroni-and-cheese nuggets. Seriously.

First you take macaroni-and-cheese, which is already one of the worst things you can possibly consume, and you roll it into balls, dip them in batter and deep fry the damn things. And then, supposedly, people eat them. Probably dipped in ranch dressing.

I'm sorry, are you feeling queasy? Me too, and believe me, I have eaten plenty of junk in my day. At this point I'm thinking that not even the fair can beat deep-fried macaroni-and-cheese nuggets in the Heart Attack Inducing Foods department. Well, unless they figure out a way to serve them on a stick.

I bought a bag of cashews and called it lunch.

Milestone

2008-04-21T08:47:00.006-05:00

Way to go, Browns fans, for reaching the milestone 500,000th post in the forum. Special props go to BigBrownNICE for hitting the mark perfectly. Additional kudos for including the name of a permanently banned, yet daily venerated, former forum regular. Nice work (NICE). It's a shame the post has already been deleted, though I have no doubt it was copied for future reference and study.

Just Enough To Be Dangerous

2008-04-17T12:48:00.005-05:00

OK, I admit it. I don't know nearly as much about football as I would like to think.

When it comes to my favorite sport, I know a lot more than some people and horrifyingly little compared to many others. Some of my friends say, using only rolled eyes and annoyed expressions, typically, "How do you know all this stuff? And more importantly, why?" Then I try to talk football with those who know their business and will often hear, "Are you an idiot? You need to LEAN football ASAHMFP." (Yes, I know it's misspelled. Long story.)

So I do try to learn more by reading and listening and watching, which is all great fun, but I'm still missing something and I've figured out what it is. I never played football, and that said, I don't think you can ever fully know and understand the game unless you have. It would be like reading a book on how some athlete trained for a marathon in comparison to actually training for one yourself. You can know a lot of facts but you can't really "feel" it.

I have seen in recent years that a growing number of girls are playing football. There are even womens flag football leagues in places around the country, and high school girls here and there will actually play on their school's team sometimes. But it's still extremely rare. So men, and more specifically, men who have played football, will always have the knowledge advantage here. It's OK. We who haven't been there just need to recognize this as fact and defer to the experts. Any dumbass can memorize and spout off a bunch of numbers, but if I want a true assessment of whether or not Jamal Lewis has "lost a step," I will ask someone who has made those kinds of steps themselves, and those are, by and large, men.

Of course, this also means that men need not offer their astute views on childbirth, menstruation or PMS. Fair is fair.

Hurry Up and Wait: How to Stay Busy During The Off Season

2008-04-13T19:30:00.005-05:00

I read once that, for some of us, there are only two seasons in the year: Football Season and Waiting For Football Season. I've just about reached my breaking point. It's been two months since the Super Bowl and it's still two weeks until the NFL Draft. And once that is done, it will be another four months until the pre-season games kick off.

Sure, we get thrown a bone here and there: Free agency has provided a lot of excitement for the Cleveland Browns this year and fueled speculation that Phil Savage (a good ol' Alabama boy) will pull some draft day magic and get us back into an early round. College teams have played their spring games, which is a nice treat during this Time of Famine.

But ultimately, it's a whole lot of nothing until you finally get to the something. How does a football fan stay sane?

1. Watch NFL Network.
Right now I'm getting my fix on the Browns/Miami game from last season. Whoo hoo! Bodden just intercepted! Braylon Edwards just scored! The best thing about the replays on NFL Network is that you know how it ends. If you prefer to watch the glorious victories, you got 'em. If you like to mash the bruise that is a defeat (Cinci! Arggggh!) you can do that too.

2. Argue with other fans.
Come on over to the Browns forum on cleveland.com and get into the fray. Pick a side. Waffle. Taunt your fellow fans on their choice of quarterback. Sign up for Stoolers Troll Sniper Duty. And when that gets old you can wile away the time with occasional sexual innuendo, Monty Python quotes and further battles over how your musical taste is far more refined than that of the average fan.

3. Review your fan gear.
Has the guy on your jersey been traded to another team? If you're a Bengals fan, has he been incarcerated? If you're a Miami fan...do they still play football there? How about your caps collection? Time to replace it if there are too many salsa stains or if that "one more beer" during the last home game resulted in fall-induced broken bill syndrome. The off-season is a good time to build your fan wardrobe. Get yourself a golf shirt with a tasteful logo, and get yourself a T-shirt with a less-than-tasteful message to Art Modell (or the scourge of your choice).

4. Proselytize.
We all know those people who understand that football exists but have no further grasp of its importance in our world. Teach them a few terms. Buy them a shirt if you have to, but spread the gospel. And gents, most of these unwashed are women. If it's true that there is no greater zealot than a convert, you may manage to create yourself the perfect girlfriend: one who knows that when the game is on, all else takes secondary status. (Note: You are probably not likely to reform a wife.)

5. Plan Ahead.
Once the final season schedules are released (hopefully soon), you can get a jump start on your watching/attending/tailgating plans for the season. Get a whiteboard and map it out. Get your newly converted girlfriend to plan menus. Give the gameday party room a fresh coat of paint.

Just stay busy. It will get here eventually. Please.

What's in your iPod?

2008-04-11T11:30:00.003-05:00

I was going through my iPod with my friend Steifon the other day. He's a DJ and has wildly eclectic taste in music. When you are African-American and DJ at a country station, your musical taste is broad to say the least. Many a time he's rolled up blaring Dixie Chicks on the stereo, only to follow it with P. Diddy or something equally incongruous.

So we were going through the Pod just to make sure I have a suitably good collection of music. I got points for all my Queen, Eric Clapton, Aretha Franklin, Hank Williams and Loretta Lynn, but I was deducted for style due to having too much Backstreet Boys, My Chemical Romance and Duran Duran. What can I say? While I certainly love the smoky and well-aged flavor of classic rock, I can still be enticed by the refined sugar that is pop.

In any case, I'm open to new sounds. I suppose the oddest thing in my collection is probably William Shatner's cover of the Pulp song "Common People," but I have lots of stuff, from tango and techno to Texas swing. I'm willing to add more stuff but not willing to take anything out. I feel about music the way I feel about movies and books: Yes, some things are vastly superior to others, but if you like it, enjoy it. And don't worry about it. I'm not sure this really is such a thing as good taste. There is such a thing as bad taste, for certain. If you like something, but know it is in bad taste (like a good poop joke), you may laugh but you know it's crass. Good taste is entirely a matter of opinion. I have friends who worship music all day long and think Dave Matthews is a musical god, and other friends who worship music all day long and think Dave Matthews is the anti-Christ. Who am I to say? I can't even play guitar. Still.

So what's in your iPod? I'm taking suggestions.

Hoops-A-Licious

2008-03-20T10:36:00.004-05:00

Basketball is not my favorite sport. Not even my second favorite. But like many, I tend to get caught up in the whole March Madness thing. Mostly, I like to beat people in insignificant contests, so I fill in a bracket and challenge my friends. I got second place last year, and I had no help at all.

But this year my competitive nature made me start to want more, and that made me start to over-analyze my bracket choices. I sought input from one of the football forums. You might imagine, sage advice was in short supply. Homers will scream out their favorite team's name in orgasmic ecstasy, even if they are a 16 seed. Some people will advise you to go with standard Final Four teams with no further thought. Others will start handing out NCAA tourney facts: four No. 1 seeds have never met in the Final Four, no 16 seed has ever beaten a 1 seed, etc. These are things I already know. Eventually, I remembered this was a football forum when I was told that, as a woman, I should just pick my teams based on colors and mascots. I realized then that at least half the fellas there didn't know any more than I did about college hoops.

So after careful analysis, I'm going with UCLA to win it all. This analysis consists mainly of reading the little postage stamp sized stat box on my Yahoo! pick'em bracket. I have North Carolina over Wisconsin and UCLA over Texas in the Final Four. Then I went with the Bruins due to their superior defensive efficiency stat. Defense wins games in football, so let's hope it holds true for hoops as well.

And if it doesn't, oh well. It's still three weeks of intense boys-playing-sports action! I can live with it.

$5500

2008-03-12T11:44:00.002-05:00

So ex-Gov. Eliot Spitzer has had to resign for diddling with hookers. Hey, we all like a little diddling, it's just that most of us aren't governor of a state or possibly spending other people's money on call girls. Some of us have the good sense to either get married, thus ensuring a relatively steady supply of nookie, or at the very least hook up with some guy/gal who works part-time at the Video Shack and thus "owes" us for rent.

Still, if a man wants to drop a little coin on some snatch, who am I to protest? Free country and all. Well, free if you don't count the $5500 an hour part.

It begs the question: What exactly does one get for $5500? An hour!

It can't possibly be something new. Anyone familiar with the internet must know by now that, whatever you like sexually, you ain't the first to like it, get it, sell it, steal it, film it nor write about it. It can be illegal, disgusting, painful, messy, patently immoral or bizarre in any number of ways, and it has still been around since civilzation arose and advanced humans first learned boredom. We can thank Ancient Rome for inventing most of the delightful perversions many of us enjoy (with the exception of that Grecian pass-time).

It can't possibly be because the ladies in question were that superior aesthetically to the average woman. Oh, I'm sure they are beautiful, but you can find a pretty girl nearly anywhere, even the Video Shack. And it can't be that they have vastly superior skills either. Plumbing is plumbing. There are only a few ways to join Tab A and Slot A, B or C.

So I think it must not be a question of what you get. It must just be, like so many things, "because it's there." Women have vaginas--and other orifices--and men like to stick things in them. Wealthy men simply have money to spend on it, and certain women are willing to set a steep price. It isn't that it's different. It's just that it exists.

And it all goes to prove that women, no matter how mercenary some may think us, are smarter than men. When I think $5500, I think of paying off my car or...Oh, God, yes!...a 60-inch plasma HDTV. I just know damn well I'd never drop $5500 on a spitzer.

Mean

2008-03-09T21:05:00.004-05:00

I've never been one for being mean. Not on purpose anyway. I realize and accept that I have, at times, been indifferent or thoughtless or inconsiderate. Usually I feel a guilt for this forever, once it is recognized or pointed out to me. But in all honesty, I can truly say I have never been intentionally mean to a person, unprovoked.

I had a friend in high school who was mean. She was the closest female friend I have ever had, and we were friends for years, but once in a while it comes back in my mind how she was mean when we were in school. There was a girl in our class who was in the "special education" classes. Your school might have called this the "learning disabled" or "special needs" classes, but basically it meant the girl was retarded. This girl was particularly obsessed with money and counting it, and to be mean to her, sometimes kids would toss pennies down the hallway. This girl would stop everything when she heard the sound of pennies on the floor, and she would dive for them and gather them up. Once she was on the floor, kids would continue tossing pennies and then just leave her there. Long after the bell, she would still be on her knees on the floor, gathering pennies.

Usually I would tell the other kids to stop it and usually they would. Once one "normal" kid vetoes your behavior it is usually enough to make you straighten up. Sometimes it wasn't enough and I would find myself on the floor helping the retarded girl pick up her pennies. She never was upset. She didn't realize it was a prank. That was good, because then I didn't have to explain that my friend was only joking and wasn't really a mean bitch. She was, though.

In my life I have come to realize that people don't usually change. Whatever you are, that's what you are. If you throw pennies at retarded girls, that's what you do and it is what you will do all your life. I'm not friends with my friend anymore. Things happened that ended our relationship. Whenever I feel bad about that, I remember how she threw pennies at a retarded girl, and I don't feel so badly anymore.

Caught Looking

2008-03-06T09:32:00.003-06:00

So I'm in Wal-Mart. I had to pick up something for my mother and then I wanted to see if my shade of lipstick was in stock, and that's it. I'm in a hurry to get home because we're going to dinner. I've been back to the crafts department to look for some stuff which they didn't have, and I was headed briskly to cosmetics.

As I approached the front of the store and hung a right toward my destination, in walks this guy. He's about 20 years old, 6'3", 195 or so, and he's wearing some royal blue basketball shorts and a white tank top like this one. It looks like it has been painted on his perfectly sculpted Abercrombie & Fitch-esque torso. His hair has been carefully highlighted to mimic the effects of a summer at the beach. In a split second I have gathered this much information. Having done so, my mind quickly said, "Hey, I need to look at that again." But how?

In a mere moment, I opted for a 360-degree turn; quick spin maneuver, get a fresh eyefull, and then back around to lipstick without ever breaking stride. And if my target continued on his present trajectory, I should be able to catch a nice look at his butt. Bonus! So...I executed.

Having just passed by one of those poles with a price scanner on it, I stepped slightly to my left and did my spin. Sure enough, he was right in sight, two long strides away from disappearing behind the candy aisle. I started at the shoulder, made my way down the bicep, stopping briefly at the trim waist, and then down to an absolutely squeezable ass. Then I backtracked, all the way back to the top, just in time for him to turn his head and look right at me.

Now, from the time I spotted him walk in the door to the moment he busted me, about four seconds have passed in the real world. But at that point, time froze. I thought, "Can I avert my eyes and appear to be looking elsewhere? Can I feign confusion as if I merely mistook him for my nephew or the neighbor's kid? DID HE JUST CATCH ME LOOKING AT HIS ASS?"

His response told me everything. Yeah. He caught me. His sexy little crooked grin seemed to say, "Go ahead. Everybody thinks I have a cute ass," and then he just kept on going toward his destination, probably sporting goods. I'm sure he needed another basketball or free weights or maybe some Stud Builder Protein Complex or something. For my part, I blushed like an 8th grader and stumbled my way onward to the lipstick where I found my shade not in stock. Or maybe it was. I was having a hard time concentrating.

Come On Home, Brett

2008-03-04T13:48:00.006-06:00

Brett Favre was my fantasy football quarterback last season and he served me well. What a great guy to watch play the game. I'm glad his last season was such a good one, complete with records, playoffs and a run for the Super Bowl.

You had the feeling he realized he was lucky that he could spend his life playing. Not that football isn't work. Of course it is, and the pain in his body and the stress in his mind, both of which doubtless contributed to his decision to retire, are testament to that. But it isn't the sort of stress we regular people have, and he seemed to realize that. So he had fun. I loved watching him tackle his own guys and tote them around the field when they scored. Forget running from the other team. Run from Brett. My secret wish is that he had played defensive end for just a snap or two. I have a feeling he would have loved putting a fellow quarterback on the ground just once.

I don't know how Favre will stack up against all the other all-time great quarterbacks. He's won a Super Bowl and been the League MVP thrice. He is the most winning quarterback in NFL history. His career passer rating is a modest 85.7, but he owns the record for most touchdown throws with 425 and is the League's all-time leader in completions and attempts. Oh, and interceptions too. Brett didn't guarantee perfection, just effort. I read an article about being successful which included advice from Favre. In a nutshell, he said to follow your dreams, be realistic, listen to your coach, get yourself a mentor and show up for the job every day. Hard to argue with that, particularly when that advice comes from a guy who had to show up to play football outside in the middle of December in Green Bay, Wisconsin, for 16 years, that first temperate year in Atlanta a long distant memory.

So come on back home, Southern Boy. Ride your tractor, do some hunting and watch out for the alligators. Maybe I can catch a glimpse of you the next time I pass through Mississippi if I can't see you on Sunday afternoons anymore. Have a great retirement. But I give it 50/50 you really stay home next season.

Bama Blues

2008-02-28T09:37:00.002-06:00

Nick is not happy down at the Capstone. Who can blame him? He's got kids making stupid choices, media scrutinizing every step, fans still demanding instant success. Whatever Bama has to pay a head coach, and Nick is the highest paid in the land, that coach deserves it. Being Bama's head coach, if you're successful, could be the closest to God you get treated on Earth, but if you're not (or just not successful fast enough to suit the fanbase), you are the devil himself. It would take somebody like Nick Saban to handle that sort of pressure. I think he does it pretty well. Still, it must weigh on him. Everyone is blaming him for all of it, but they are wrong. As with nearly every coaching problem Bama has ever seen since the departure of Bear, the Bama Fan is at the root of the issue.

Back when Mike Shula was fired, I got tangled up with some Bama fans in a sports forum. I was just trying to encourage them to keep their chins up, but they were full of gloom and despair. Then the Rich Rodriguez Incident occurred, and I thought they would all take turns jumping head first off the top of Denny Chimes. And then...Nick arrived.

There was speculation for a few weeks, but when the confirmation of Saban's hiring was announced officially, there was an immediate change in the attitude of the posters in the forum. Heads swelled. To a man, height increased by at least half a foot. And don't even get me started on how everyone suddenly sprouted a foot-long penis which they proudly swung at everyone, tauntingly, as if to say, "You'll feel it soon, loser!" You think the players don't feed off that attitude and feel that way too? Sure they do. And they're kids, which means they are full of stupidity.

Fans and boosters of every football program have long been accused of making excuses for and protecting players, even when they do wrong, encouraging them even, to feel they can get away with more because they are who they are. It's always wrong and it always will be wrong. If fans truly want to protect their players, they should stop them from getting into situations that will lead to trouble. If you see Rashad Johnson in a bar, don't buy him drinks until he's unable to make good choices. Fans should demand behavior that represents their program with pride and help their players stay out of trouble by not getting into trouble in the first place. Most do, but those few who want to swing it around will invariably lead players down the path to destruction, which may include jail, suspension from the team, NCAA sanctions, and the list goes on and on.

So Nick really does have his work cut out for him. He's gotten everyone so excited and full of themselves by taking the job, by getting this year's No. 1 recruiting class and by just being his lovable self, he now has to settle everyone down again. He will, eventually, if people will leave him alone enough to do it.

Obscene Display of Manflesh

2008-02-24T22:41:00.003-06:00

Ladies, it's not uncommon, as you know, for women to be displayed like so many pastries on the dessert cart. If you aren't the jealous type and get upset that some other pastries are considered more appetizing than yourself, and if you accept that men are rather simple creatures and find women nice to look at, this is not terribly surprising nor alarming. What IS alarming is that there are so few equivalent displays of men. That said, please allow me to direct your attention to the NFL Scouting Combine.

The Combine features college football players on the verge of being drafted into the NFL. It's a sort of competition that showcases athleticism. In short, the Combine asks big, strong, muscular, 22-year-old men to do tricks on command. Run fast! (Yay!) Lift this weight! (Wow!) Jump high and catch this pass! (OMG!) Hit me in the slot! (Yes!)

Ehem.

Where was I? Oh yes, the Combine. The fellas get pretty sweaty at times. Even been known to take off their shirts. Not that that they need to. Only an Abercrombie & Fitch T-shirt could fit quite so form-fittingly across a man's chest as the shirts they wear at the Combine. You should really check it out on NFL Network. It will be running through the 27th and highlights no doubt for some time after that.

"...we got running backs jumping when we come back..."

How delightful.

Top Ten Fantasy List--Oh, Baby!

2008-02-24T20:40:00.008-06:00

I was thinking today about those things that get the blood pumping and the heart racing and the skin tingling... sports, of course. In today's world, attending live sporting events simply costs more money than I have or with which I am willing to part. But this is fantasy, as I said, so if money were no object, here are my hardcore sports fantasy events:

1. The Iron Bowl.
The Auburn/Alabama game is my state's "big deal" rivalry. At birth, you are almost forced to pick a side. You're Crimson or Orange. You named your dog Shug or Bear. You're a Tiger or a whatever-they-call-themselves-at-Bama. (I call 'em Whooped Six Years in a Row.) But whomever you cheer for in the game, attending the Iron Bowl would have to be No. 1 on the list of "must see" sporting events for an Alabamian.

2. A Kentucky Wildcats home basketball game.
I have heard frequently that this is one of the most intense sporting events you can attend, bar none. Basketball is already a madhouse, because the venue is so intimate. To be someplace where the game matters so much--a real "basketball school"--would be an extreme thrill.

3. Naturally, a Browns game. Against Pittsburg.
Not only would this be a chance to pay a visit to a "big city," but going there AND seeing football? What could be better? I'd want to go all out, and get my seats in the Dawg Pound, drink beer, taunt Steelers, and cheer the Orange and Brown to an AFC North victory. Woof!

4. The Kentucky Derby.
I have multiple reasons for this one. First, I always wanted a horse. Second, I read all the Black Stallion books as a kid, so I learned all about thoroughbred racing. Third, the hat. A big, huge, gaudy, Southern lady hat. Like this one. It's a great event, full of tradition, and you get racing all day long in the beautiful Kentucky springtime. And while we're at it, let's just take in the whole Triple Crown.

5. A Major League Playoff Series in a City Where It Really Matters.
Boston, Chicago, New York. Doesn't matter. In the South we tend to cheer for the Braves, but my gut tells me it just isn't the same as cheering for the Red Sox. Another chance to visit a big city, and I'd take in the whole series from first pitch to last out, keep score and sing during 7th Inning Stretch. Good stuff.

6. The College Football National Champtionship Game (I refuse to call it that three-initial championship game).
Back to football. Doesn't matter who's playing (although I love a nice SEC vs Big 10 matchup), because there is nothing like college football. People care about it. For your school, for your conference, for mom and the high school sweetheart back home. College football is the ultimate ecstasy and agony sport, and it's ultimate game is surely a thing to behold.

7. Sugar Bowl.
Yes, I like football. A lot. And I like SEC football. So even in a year when the Sugar Bowl doesn't determine the national champion, it still has to be great. And on top if it, it's in New Orleans, my favorite place in this world. To be in my favorite city, watching my favorite sport, eating some shrimp creole and partying on Bourbon Street--Wow. It would be hard to top that. I might need to move this one higher up the list.

8. Heavyweight Championship, Vegas.
I'm no great fan of boxing. I tend to think it's probably fixed and I don't necessarily get shivery over the idea of men punching each other in the face for money. However, a big boxing match in Vegas has to be an incredible experience. Dress up, place a bet, crown a champ.

9. The Super Bowl.
Unless it's my team, I'm not going to get emotionally caught up, but we're talking about the most-watched sporting event in the world. And besides the game, you have some geriatric rock band performing at half time, a moving award ceremony at the end, and a city full of out-of-towners looking for a good time. I'm thinking this all amounts to one hell of a weekend.

10. A World Cup Match in Europe (preferably Italy).
Always wanted to go to Europe, so catching a significant sporting event could only enhance the experience. I admit, this is hard core stuff for an American. We don't give a shit about soccer over here, and Europeans will kill you for it. I'd have to toughen up, but it would be worth it.

And there it is. A sublime list, and I might say a MAN's list, apart from the hat.

Important (and True), Cuz I Said So

2008-02-11T20:23:00.002-06:00

I do believe that "truth" exists, depending on what we're talking about. And I do believe some things are more important than others. For example, what I say is important IS important and it is very hard for people to argue with me. And what I say is truth because it is in the newspaper. Dispute that!

I've been involved in a discussion this week that first started as a debate on whom to vote for in the upcoming presidential election, shifted to the "truth" about Iraq, and ended on the topic of whether or not you can trust "the news" and even if the media tells you what is important at all, much less the truth about it. It actually reminds me of an argument I had years ago, with one of the most pig-headed persons I have ever known, over whether or not there exists such a thing as an "unbiased" reporter. The answer to that is No. You can rely on that answer because I editorialized about it in the newspaper, and once printed it is true, unbiased fact. However, it didn't run on the front page, therefore it isn't an important fact so you don't really have to worry about it.

I have worked in the news media for almost all my adult life and part of my youth, and it doesn't matter if I work for The New York Times or The Podunk County News; what I say goes. I tell you what is important by putting it on the front page, under the flag, with a color photo and a 50-pt. headline. I tell you what isn't important by using it as "filler" on the classified page or not at all. And it's true because it's right there, in black and white, with quotes from important and reliable people. They must be, or why would I have quoted them?

The point I'm trying to make is that you can't just count on the media to give you the important stuff in a truthful way. While I believe that most people are mostly good and mostly honest most of the time, if for no other reason than to avoid trouble, what's true and important for them simply may not be for you. And if I'm not so honest, I can write a completely factual article or editorial that is absolutely false and misleading, depending on how I write it. You can use the newspaper and television and internet as sources of information, but eventually you have to rely on your gut. It's the most faithful thing you have, even when it's wrong.

Organized and Efficient

2008-02-10T17:43:00.001-06:00

I have always wanted to be organized and efficient. Unfortunately, you can't get that way just by wishing. You need a strategy. As yet I have not developed an organized and efficient strategy for getting there.

But I do find inspiration in lots of places. This weekend we had breakfast at Waffle House. I'm not particularly a fan of breakfast foods, and I nearly always regret eating breakfast out, but I'm glad I went. I was in the perfect position to watch the hashbrowns kid do his magic.

The place is packed with people waiting for tables. Waitresses are yelling out orders like a quarterback in the huddle:

"I got eggs and cheese, double hash, scattered, chunked and peppered on two!"

"On three, make it crispy! Smothered, diced and covered!"

In the meantime, this kid is doing hashbrowns, waffles and toast as fast as possible. He's got three batches of hashbrowns on the grill, six waffle irons going at once, and he butters, slices and plates two pieces of toast at a time in about three seconds. And he's doing this the whole time all the yelling, customer chatter and other cooking is going on around him. He does it with such an ease and such a rhythm and with the most calm and controlled expression on his face. He was in the zone. He was organized and efficient. I couldn't even eat my food because I was too busy watching the guy cook.

I suppose it all has to do with concentration, routine and good habits. In any case, I admire it. Perhaps I should go to work for Waffle House. Maybe I could learn a thing or two.

Where did I go wrong?

2008-02-09T13:18:00.001-06:00

My little girl is knocked up. You try to raise them right...

In my history of pet ownership, I have failed to get an animal properly spayed or neutered only once, and now it has come back to bite me in the ass. Here's how it happened:

1. I went to bed one night after noticing Persephone acting a little strangely. I thought absently, "She's beyond old enough to be spayed now. Better make an appointment."
2. The next morning I woke up to my husband saying, "This cat is crazy!" and to the sound of the cat singing like a rock star. I promptly said, "Oh shit. She's in heat. No wonder she was acting strangely last night."
3. My husband immediately opened the back door to smoke and released my horny girl into the wild. An hour later when I was finally able to get her called back into the house, a gentleman caller was hot on her tail. Having once tasted the forbidden fruit, she managed to escape twice more the next day. Of course by then it was too late.

So I guess I'll be a grandmother in about six weeks. Great! Maybe I can get her on welfare.

TMI

2008-02-01T17:02:00.001-06:00

It's funny how, even when you are grown, you are often no better at learning from other people's experiences than you were as a kid. Or maybe it's just me. I've always been a very open person. If you want to know something about me or how I feel about a subject, just ask. My friends all know this.

Knowing this, my friends (and husband and parents and even now strangers) have all advised me to basically STFU. I give out too much, they say. One day it will get me in trouble, they say. And even though I have worked in the news business for most of my adult life, and I have reported on various acts of violence, rapes, kidnapping and murders, my response to the fears of my friends has always been, "Why do you have to be so negative? Most people are good." First, they disagree with me that most people are good, and second they say it doesn't matter anyway. It isn't most people you need to worry about. It's just The One. And my answer back is always, "Yes, whatever."

So a week or so ago, I posted a clever little Photoshop® image I created on the Browns forum. The image was hosted from an account I had created. The account name included my last name, and one of the pictures was labeled with my first name. The next day, one of the regular posters there who also reads here contacted me. The email was called "Look what I know" and it contained my full name, my home address, my home phone number and my work address. He also reminded me that, sometime previously, I had made it known where I go walking at night alone. He said he would have included turn-by-turn directions to my house, but thought that might be overkill. I don't remember my exact response, but it was something like, "Holy shit!" He said I was not the first woman to whom he'd given such a lesson, and then said I might want to consider a firearm. To my great happiness he said he also thinks that most people are good, but you still have to be careful about The One. They don't generally advertise themselves.

So anyhow, thanks for the lesson B.D. I don't have a firearm yet, but when I go walking with my military grade teargas spray in one pocket and my big knife in the other, I think fondly of you.

I Don't Like Politics

2008-01-29T08:24:00.000-06:00

I just don't. I once thought politics was great fun to watch and fun to be involved in, but that was before my advanced age caught up with me and I realized life is too short to stir animosity over political policies that will A.) likely not be enacted as promised, and B.) will not significantly vary from one candidate or party to the other in the long run. Taunting and rivalries are fun in sports because that's an insignificant pass-time, but when it is your country and issues that affect the real lives of ordinary persons, there is no place for that sort of divisive and polarizing rhetoric. Because it's not a game; it's serious work.

That said, I have grown to despise the practice of parties nominating the guy (or gal) they think can beat the other side rather than nominating their best candidate. I lament to this day the fact the Democrats failed to nominate Lieberman the last time. We ought to hope they nominate their best, because if that person gets elected, whether we voted for them or not, we have to live with them for four years or more. And we will have to live with their policies even longer. (And those aren't actually even their policies, but are instead what policies get implemented based on compromise between them and Congress.) And the best candidate is not the person whose ideas are 180 degrees from the incumbent's ideas necessarily. Frankly, I don't care what their ideas are relative to the incumbent. I care about what they are relative to me. And I care about what they are relative to the idea of being a president for everyone and being able to work with a diverse group of representatives in Congress and governors in states.

I don't get a say in who runs for the Green Party or Libertarian Party, and the Republican I like best (McCain) will not need my help in Alabama. So, these things being how I feel, I will vote for Barack Obama next Tuesday. It's not just because I think Hillary Clinton is a living, breathing example of divisive rhetoric and politics as sport (just like George W. Bush is on the other side), but because I think he is simply better. I like his ideas better and I like his way of presenting his ideas better also. I like that he gets criticized for saying Reagan had a good way of communicating and rallying support from diverse groups. That attack is a classic example of what is wrong: You MUST ALWAYS demonize and vilify the other party, no matter what. I like that he calls bullshit on that approach, because if you want to hand out criticism as merited and have your criticism be heard and treated with respect, you must also be willing to hand out praise as merited. You don't have to hate the other side. You DO have to work with them.

Anyway, here is his rebuttal to the State of the Union Address last night. Never embedded a video before, so here is my virgin effort: