It sounds a lot better when you sing it. To drop some Melissa Etheridge debut (her finest) disc on y'all, Like The Way I Do.
To all of you in the fabled Red Sox Nation, I believe the venerable Bob Barker summed it up best in the immortal classic (as far as Adam Sandler vehicles go) Happy Gilmore:
The (David) Price is WRONG, Bitch!
To paraphrase. See above. Nice at bat against J.D. Drew, though. Remember when the latter was relevant?
Actually, I ain't hating, merely trying to score me some badly needed hate mail on this one.
Whither art thou, Troy Percival?
Actually, I'm of the agony and the ecstasy on this one. I was flipping back and forth between watching my beloved Seattle Seahawks get smoked by the TBay Bucs (um, god (or whoever), only ONE TBay squad needed to win Sunday...just saying) and the ALCS, and while I was crying in my coffee (I don't drink anymore, long story, as most of mine are) watching Jeff Garcia (former local boy, now married to a Playmate, and here we always thought he was gay) pick Lofa and the boys apart; I was also happy for the Rays, even if they did exorcise their own personal Devil.
As someone who still has the occasional Mexican Standoff with his own demons, I kinda envy that.
I was happy and relieved to see this a.m. that Bucs WR Ike Hilliard's injury wasn't serious or long term.
AND I also got to catch a rerun of Two and a Half Men that I hadn't seen before, so it was a good night.
I am, however, kinda torn with regard to the World Series, not that I'll be able to watch any of the games or anything, unless there's one on Saturday or Sunday night. 25 years ago, when Joe Morgan, Mike Schmidt, Pete Rose (you'll always be in MY HOF, Pete, he said in a completely hetero way) and the boys were taking on the Baltimore Orioles in the 'Series, I was a total mark for the Phillies. In fact, if memory serves (instead of, as usual, being my master), I wore a burgundy Phillies cap most of that year.
I kinda miss that hat.
Anyway, years have passed (as they do), and passed me by (see previous), and I haven't really been a fan. Of baseball in general. Although I do still recall the sheer joy I felt when I first dropped $10 on Baseball Mogul 2004 for this fucking thing, popped it in, and proceeded to trade every overpriced member of the Devil Rays expansion roster for prospects, until only the aforementioned porn star monickered Mr. Baldelli remained. Good Times. I must've played that silly game for hours daily for about 6 months. Built me a decent squad, too. In fact, I may fire it up again later.
Why, yes, I totally AM an unrepentant geek. But unlike most, I do, in fact, have a GF. So, in the words of the Bard, fucking blow me.
Some completely random:
Is it a tribute, a sign, or a Cry for help when you have a near wet dream experience in your GF's bed? I am, of course, asking for a friend of mine. Who tells me that her Aunt Flo was visiting at the time (sound it out, it'll come to you; I might, too), and the dream was about 3 orally inclined shapely young adorables simultaneously.
I like Christian Slater's TV series My Own Worst Enemy. Hell, I'd like it even if Saffron Burrows and Madchen Amick weren't in it.
I'm happy I didn't draft Baron Davis or Deron Williams. I did, however, take Tracy McGrady again. Repeatedly. However, in my own defence, I got him at less than market value.
The happiest of belated birthday wishes to Denise and Dugmain, who have the misfortune of knowing me back in the world. To drop some Every Vietnam Movie Ever Made on y'all. What can I say? I'm kinda all over the fucking place.
It troubles me greatly that I couldn't remember the name Friedrich Nietzsche for like 3 days last week. Nietzsche! It's not like it was fucking Smith or Wong or some such. Of course, now, I can't get the name out of my pretty little head.
Speaking of which, I again find myself needing to get out of my head. And into YOURS. Wait for it, it'll come.
Imagine the possibilities of a Tina Fey/Sarah Palin sandwich. I know, I know, I'm not supposed to talk politics.
I can't shake the feeling that a couple of friends live, like, a BLOCK away from the GF. It's hard to say, though, as I've only been to their crib a couple of times, and haven't had contact with any of that crew in probably a year. So, Tamara, if you happen by hereabouts, what's your address? So I can, you know, sleep again and shit.
And yes, I really am hating on Jeff Garcia this dark and dreary a.m. But it'll pass. I don't like to put that kind of negative Karma out into the ether for too long.
I really like the 70's tune We Gotta Get Right Back to Where We Started From. Nope, NO idea who sings it or what it's really called, but I'm gonna have to go out and purchase me another timeless classic, Slap Shot (R.I.P. Paul Newman), just because of it. Every time I hear it on the Muzak at work in the wee smalls, I usually dance around to it, singing along. Loudly and off-key. See above.
And god (or whoever) have mercy on the souls and eyes of whoever witnesses said little spectacle.
And yes, it's Our Song, as far as I and the geophysicist go.
I know, Awwwwww. Or is it Gaaaaaa? Whatever. And ever, Amen.
Somebody was foolish enough to trade me Steven Jackson and Aaron Rodgers and somebody else in one of my 2 FFB pools. For essentially chump change. And yes, I did actually have SJax dressed yesterday. Yay, me!
If you haven't read Matthew Berry's TRUM and/or Fantasy Sports chats at least oncet in your life, we're totally Broken up. I want my DVD's back. You can keep the cat, I always hated that fucking cat, anyway.
And yes, the TMR is totally right about Anne Hathaway. And not just because he shares my love for all things 90210, either. Although that don't hurt.
It troubles me that I no longer have time to perpetrate one or more of these little crimes against humanity daily. I miss those halcyon (or was it Halcion? you decide) days of yore. I also miss having time to read actual, you know, books and shit. Instead of pro sports previews, work related materials (although I do earn roughly $5 for every online course I complete), Pick Up newsletters and materials and the occasional E-mail. And, of course, all things fantasy sports.
And I used to read a lot. Damn near everything.
I found myself watching Van Wilder 2: The Rise of Taj, like twice yesterday. I'd been meaning to for a while, and then, since my pops was out visiting, we ended up checking it out early yesterday. And then, I was so smitten with the rack of Sadie (and whoever was playing her) that I caught some of it again later in the day.
Damn. I repeat, Damn.
If it comes on again today, I may watch it again. And I need to revisit the first, also.
And whatever became of Tara Reid, anyway?
To revisit a theme, hopefully 9 or 10 guys at once.
And on that cheerful note, mostly because I'm tired of beating this dead horse...until wheneverish.