Yes, Reinvented was my first.

Yes, Reinvented was my first. Peter was the first who posted in his blogroll a link to this monster. While appreciating the nod, I do think Peter, as far as his blogroll is concerned, is something of a suave ladies man (if blogs were ladies, that is). His blogroll is like his little black book; the links are phone numbers to all the ladies he meets, whether he's dated them or not. It's his security blanket. He doesn't want a Friday night go by, and him without a date, so he's got his ever-growing roll of names, you know, just in case some bird leaves him in the lurch. Peter is such a great guy, though, that us girls don't really mind being lumped all together. And besides, since breaking my cherry, Peter's even called me a few times and given me compliments.

There are other sites I visit, blogs I'm interested in, and I occasionally check out their 'friends list' to see if I've been added. And even though their lists are smaller and presumably more selective, you know, it still hurts a little bit when I see a blog I like - I mean LIKE like - and it doesn't even seem to know that I exist. I mean, what's wrong with my blog? I know sometimes my posts are fat, but I can't help it. It's glandular (or is it glanular?). I have a lot to say, sometimes. Besides, my friends all say my blog has a great personality, and lots to offer the right blog reader. I don't need those other blogs' links. Any blog that doesn't link to me just doesn't know me. It's their loss, not mine!

But, Oh! Joy of joys. About a week ago, I noticed that one blog I visit daily finally added me to his roll. And then tonight, I noticed another did too. Like Sally Field, you really like me!

Now, though, I'm wondering if my address is written on some online washroom wall? Do these people think I'm easy? I'm loose with my words. Is that what you're thinking?!

Well, I'm not. Although I am partial to daquiri's and download sites. But I'm not implying that offering a few of either of those to me will get you anything.

I have a reputation to build and maintain, you know.

Here is an experiment. As

Here is an experiment.

As my wife and son can attest, I am a huge NFL football fan, and even bigger Miami Dolphins fan. I start thinking about next week’s game around Tuesday. I keep tabs on all the teams, but not in any statistically anal way. I generally know which teams seem to be doing better than, or worse than, expected but don’t bother with things like how injuries will affect teams (other than the Dolphins and who they’re playing each week), or how team A’s offense stacks up against Team B’s defense.

I tell you this, only so you get an idea as to my general knowledge of football and how that relates to this experiment, which is: I am going to post my predictions as to who will win each game this weekend. I will also post the prediction of a coin-flip. The experiment is to see how much better I do than a seemingly random guess.

On each line below are the matchups, visitor first, home team second. After that will be my expert pick (MP:), followed by the toin-coss pick (TC:).

I’ll inform you of the results next Tuesday, as if you give a shit.

San Diego @ Chicago - MP: San Diego TC: Chicago

NY Giants @ NY Jets - MP: NY Jets TC: NY Jets

New Orleans @ Tampa Bay - MP: Tampa Bay TC: Tampa Bay

Jacksonville @ Baltimore - MP: Baltimore TC: Jacksonville

Indinapolis @ Miami - MP: Miami (of course) TC: Miami

Oakland @ Detroit - MP: Oakland TC: Detroit

Carolina @ Houston - MP: Carolina TC: Houston

Cincinatti @ Arizona - MP: Cincinatti TC: Arizona

Pittsburgh @ Seattle - MP: Seattle TC: Pittsburgh

Philadelphia @ Atlanta - MP: Philadelphia TC: Philadelphia

St.Louis @ San Fransisco - MP: St. Louis TC: St.Louis

Washington @ Dallas - MP: Washington TC: Dallas

Green Bay @ Minnesota - MP: Minnesota TC: Minnesota

New England @ Denver - MP: New England TC: New England

I'm not what you would

I'm not what you would call political in a social sense. I'm not the type that typically joins things, groups, organisations, etc. I'm like Squiggy's pal Lenny: I'm a Lone Wolf.

I'm not one to protest, either.



Yet, driving home from work last night, listening to Mainstreet and the coverage of the Souris blockade of the seiners, I had a momentary compulsion to go and join the Souris fisherman. Granted, I don't know the complexities of the situation, but on the surface it sure seems like what the seiners do is bad for local fisherman. And right or wrong, it can't be denied that the fisherman feel strongly enough about the state of affairs to risk going to jail.

That got me wondering what is important enough in my life to risk going to jail for. I can come up with plenty of if/then scenarios where I'd do whatever I had to do in order to try and right something I thought was wrong. Things like if my son was molested by someone and that someone was being protected from prosecution for whatever reason, then I'd willingly risk anything to try and get justice. All the scenarios I come up with, though, have personal or selfish motivations to them. Yet, nothing in my life currently is in such a sorry state of affairs where I feel compelled to rectify it through protest or other drastic measures. I guess for that I should be thankful. Or else I should be shown my blindness to the injustices around me.

What about the people who travel to protest G7 and World Trade meetings? Do they protest from a specific personal need to do so, or is it a general sense of social outrage, or are their motivations something else altogether? I suppose for some, trade summits are akin to seiners. If I feel a momentary compulsion to stand with the Souris fishermen, I suppose that I can imagine myself, in an alternate world, feeling compelled to go to BC and stand with the G7 protestors too. In my current world, though, things like mortgages and living paycheque to paycheque tend to temper any simmering social activism in me.

Locally, I see people who protest Social Injustices. It's usually the same group of people at each event. It almost seems not to matter to them the specifics of what they're protesting, just that they're protesting. Whatever the protest, they sure sounds like it's important to them. I suppose it is, otherwise they wouldn't bother? However, when you're protesting legalised abortions on Wednesday and protesting dog leashes on Thursday, it seems to me that you end up devaluing both.

So, I guess I'm keeping quiet until compelled to stand up against whatever it is that ends up pissing me off enough.

I think all people who

I think all people who wear prescription glasses would agree. We hate it when other people ask to try on our glasses. We hate those few times when we cave in and let them try them on. We hate the inevitable reaction of 'Whoa!' or 'Holy shit, these are strong!'. We hate our apologetic feelings of inadequacy that accompany such outbursts; the implied superiority inherent in the 'Whoa'; the squinting fish-out-of-water feeling we have during those brief unfocused moments.

Or maybe it's just me.

Never one to indulge, overly,

Never one to indulge, overly, in self-promotion (this flaw, by the way, is the only reason [so I keep telling myself] I've never become as famous as I'd have liked), I nonetheless feel compelled to tell the world about a couple of things I've been involved in that will be presented at the upcoming Reel Island Film Festival, November 12-16 in Charlottetown.

The first is the 22 minute film Florid. It's a black comedy about 4 bums ("We're bums, not assholes!") who, in the dead-cold of a Charlottetown winter, get the idea to move to Florida and bum in warmer climes. The movie records their endeavours to raise the capital necessary for the move. I play one of the bums. I also co-wrote (along with good pal, Dave Stewart, who directed). This project took far too long (over 3 years, I believe) to complete and has some rather significant plot holes. Yet, beyond all that, it's a pretty funny, warped movie.

The other involvement is in the showing of the pilot for a TV series called Cinemaniax created and produced by good pal Dave Moses. The format has, I believe, changed somewhat since this pilot production, but the concept was: 3 teams of 2 film-makers are given an idea for a film, some actors and some equipment. They then have 2 days to write, film and edit their short movie, afterwhich the 3 films are presented to an audience which votes for their favourite. Good ole Dave Stewart and I were one team for the pilot, Team Smithee. I believe the 3 short movies created for the pilot are still available for viewing at the Cinemaniax website. The Team Smithee entry is called 'With This Job'. We didn't win.

The recent renewed interest in

The recent renewed interest in drug-enhanced athletes has me wondering whether drug-testing of athletes should just be dropped altogether. Afterall, the cheaters will always be ahead of testers, always using the newest and so-far-undetected drugs to enhance their performances. With the recent investigaions, it's now to the point where practically any athlete who excels, whether professional or amateur, is assumed to be cheating, even if tests imply innocence. The sad thinking now is that that individual just didn't get caught.

Obviously, athletes can't be allowed to use performance enhancing drugs carte blanche. "Have at it, girls, whatever it takes to be the fastest, strongest" would eventually turn into nothing more than a Hulking freak show. Not to mention the miriade of side effects such embibing would cause.

I wonder if artificial performance enhancing would eventually level out, though? Would there be a line in free-for-all open-knowledge drug-enhancement that athletes wouldn't be willing to cross? "I want to win, but I don't want seven toes". Of course, there'll always be someone else who will be willing to go that extra step to gain the slightest advantage. And if that person goes that far, then others will have to follow suit, repurcussions be damned, otherwise, they'll be left in the dust.

I think we all (even athletes) would like a sports world where athletes test the *natural limits* of the human body and mind. I don't think there's any way we can have that world. Drug-enhanced athletes are here to stay. So, what do we do?

If we allow athletes to use steroids and other enhancements, ask them to declare what they're on, without fear of reprisals or sanctions, how far would they take that freedom? How far would we, as spectators, allow athletes to take it before we say 'this is foolish' and stop caring? The problem is, once we reach that plateau, athletes will stop declaring the 'too foolish' enhancements, yet still take them, and then we're back to exactly the place we are now: a sports world where we're all suspicious of any feat of strength or speed or grace.

She just makes me mad.

She just makes me mad.

I am witnessing an odd

I am witnessing an odd event happening outside my window.

The street in front of our house has the slightest decline. The hill is not so steep that you couldn't push a car-that-does-not-start up it. Believe me, I know.

There are currently 5 girls, about 12-14 years old, taking turns pushing each other, in a little red plastic wagon, down this slight hill. Two or three will run and push the rider and wagon afterwhich they go maybe 30 yards on their own. Then they pull the rider and wagon back up the hill for another girl to take her turn. Another indicator of just how slight the hill is: a girl pulling the wagon back 'up' can pull the wagon and two riders as well. This is not steep.

Now, what is unusual to me about this event is that it's 5 girls. Five boys doing this wouldn't seem odd. Even if, say, 2 of the 5 were girls, it wouldn't seem that odd. But it's five girls. I think this is great. What also strikes me as odd is that they chose this part of this street. About a minute away there is a street that has a slightly steeper hill.

Somewhere, I'm sure, there are 5 newly-teenaged boys Easy-Baking.

I am picky about the

I am picky about the (so-called) reality shows I watch. I refuse to watch any that attempt to match two people in some false true-love ending (even though I've only spent 31 days with you, and in those 31 days, I've also spent time making out with 11 other women, I really do love you, contestant number 3. Will you marry me and share in the million dollar prize?). There is something dirty and whore-ish about those. I also don't watch the ones where the object is to dupe the contestants (what Gwendolyn doesn't know is that her 12 potential male suitors are in fact transvestites!!!... go ahead tv-hollywood, take that idea). And the contests of foolishness and fear are also shows I'll not watch (tonight's fifty thousand dollar winner will be the contestant who is brave enough to shove razor blades and spiders up their butt!!!)

I do like a few reality shows however. The Amazing Race is my favourite, followed closely by Survivor. This current edition of Survivor is quite good. The producers and editors do a great job of focusing each episode towards its conclusion, maximizing suspense. Last night, going to Tribal Council, I was sure that Rupert had convinced the others, specifically Sean, to vote out Trish. Yet, when Sean went to write his choice for eviction, he said something "You thought this was your game. Well, now you're gone, and the game is mine."

I'm thinking: "Why are you saying that? You'd never say that about Trish. The game was never hers. You can only be talking about Rupert!" So, I thought he had double-double crossed Rupert and Rupert'd be gone. Of course, they did vote to evict Trish, and now blonde-haired John (who was in cahoots with Trish) is in deep shit.

This is why I like Survivor. They do a great job of manipulating the audience, without making the audience feel like they're being cheated.

As we were watching Survivor last night, CB says "I don't like that guy with the underwear." Which guy? "The bald guy" On which tribe? "The guy that doesn't do anything. The lazy one." Who's the lazy one? "The guy who's scared of animals."

I knew who he was talking about (Osten), but I wanted to see how long it'd take him to define Osten by his skin colour. He never did. I think that's pretty neat.

I don't like the word

I don't like the word 'blog'. Having been in this blog-world for a month or two now, there are acquaintances I now meet who will say something like "I like your blog." or "I read your blog everyday".

While I appreciate the compliments, and am somewhat thrilled that anybody at all bothers to read the nothingness I write, I nonetheless feel slightly embarrassed when I hear the word 'blog' in association to me. I think part of my dislike of it is that I've never been one who willingly participates in fad-ish things, and 'having a blog' is currently such a huge fad.

So, when I hear "I like your blog", in a way I'm hearing "You're a good Texas two-stepper", or "That ChiaPet of yours is getting nice and hairy".

Elliot Smith has died, of

Elliot Smith has died, of apparent suicide. I didn't even know he was sick.

For those who don't know who he was, he was a singer/songwriter who, I think, had more potential than he had success. Reading a few tributes/memoriums to/of him, apparently, he also had depression and trouble with alcohol and drugs.

His music was featured prominently in the movie Good Will Hunting.

I became a fan of his soft-sung music about a year ago. Apparently, he self-produced and pretty much played all the instruments (of which there aren't many, admittedly) on his albums.

Two of my favourite songs of his are "Say Yes" and "Somebody That I Used To Know". You could do worse than to download those two songs.

How close does this top

How close does this top ten list of scary movie moments compare to your own? What's the scariest movie moment according to you?

Me? I think the linked-to list favours a few too many recent movies. And while there are many movies that have given me longer-duration scares, I'd have to say that the biggest scare I got from a movie was the ending of Carrie.

Also, for me, Halloween (the original) is pretty much 90 minutes of tension and nerves.

In the last week, I

In the last week, I have taken to distrusting our sump pump. It seems to take longer to pump the water out of our sump-pump basin. There is also a curious gurgling sound that accompanies the sumping and/or pumping. A couple of times, it's taken an interminable amount of time to run through its process. I believe the problem is that one of the stoppers (the one that is set to turn the pump off) keeps sliding up the metal pole. I believe I have fixed this problem with the sump pump.

In my attempted manipulations of the sump pump during this last week, I have learned to appreciate the brilliant simplicity of this machine. I suspect that the people who have invented and perfected the sump pump will most likely not be reading this post, however I feel I must offer a shout out to them: Well done, sump pump people. Well done.

We've all probably heard the

We've all probably heard the saying "a million monkeys at a million typewriters" and how it'd take a million years for them to reproduce one of Shakespeare's plays.

Well, someone created a Monkey Shakespeare Simulator (Java enables) to test the theory. You go to the page, and the program starts up, recording a simulation of the daily activity of thousands of monkeys randomly tapping at keyboards.

What it is checking against is the first page of each of Shakespeare's works. So, if 'Gloucester' was the first word of one of the plays (not counting title, written by, etc.), the simulator would only acknowledge a match from a monkey that typed 'glou' as part of its random typing. In this instance, a result of 4 letters matched would be recorded.

Currently, the record is 8 letters matched. Or in other words, some simulated monkey managed to randomly type the first 8 letters to one of Shakespeare's works. Not a great record.

Last night, I let the simulator run all night long. When I got up this morning, my simulated monkeys had been typing for over 30,000 days and had managed to tie the current record, as one of them had randomly typed the first 8 letters to "The Merry Wives Of Windsor". As I write this post, I've had the simulator running, and its 50 million monkeys (and population growing) have, in 2000 simulated days, managed several instances of matching the first 7 letters from several of Shakespeare's works.

Co-incidentally, over the night last night, the monkeys were successful in reproducing the complete text to Nils Ling's "The Truth About Daughters".

Go to the Box Office

Go to the Box Office Oracle and fill in your own blanks to have the oracle tell you how much money your movie willl make. Since Hollywood is all about dollars, see if you can beat me. I grossed (domestically) 14-24 million dollars.

Here's what I did with a movie called "The Annekenstein Monster" (due to a problem with my browser, I couldn't use the 'choose other' option. If I could, I'd have made totally different picks):

The Annekenstein Monster (PG-13)

(Revenge Fantasy/Talking Animal)

Starring Ewan McGregor and Rosario Dawson

Also Featuring Orlando Bloom, Viggo Mortensen, and Maggie Gyllenhaal

Directed by John Woo

Screenplay by Stephen Gaghan

Projected Budget Range: $70-79 Million

Planned Release Date: November

Projected Box Office Receipts:

$16.63 million (Opening Weekend)

$94.86 million (Total Domestic Gross)

Chance of getting Oscar Nomination: 9%

Chance of winning at least one Oscar: 2%

Critic Most Likely to Praise: Ron Wells, Film Threat

Critic Most Likely to Skewer: Michael O'Sullivan, Washington Post

I guess some topics are

I guess some topics are just guaranteed blog-worthy. The aim, I also guess, is to be the first in your incestuous circle of bloggers to publish a post on those items. Because once posted by another, nobody wants to be a copycat.

So, I'll not post about the Habs third jerseys.

Perhaps Peter's 'post outside the box' reply to this is the bee's knees when it comes to contemplating new posts.

When watching professional baseball, moreso

When watching professional baseball, moreso than in any other sport, you can still see the little kid in the athlete.

Football (American) players are too hidden by the equipment. Hockey players too. Golfers look too much like dads. Football (the rest of the world) players aren't hidden by equipment, yet, for some reason, don't imply the little kid that they once were.

I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that baseball players spend a lot of time standing around, waiting. In all other sports, the athletes are active, and in that activity we see the professional. When ball players stand around, waiting, we can glimpse the Little Leaguer who stood around. They kick the dirt, bite the strings on their gloves, chew gum, young and old alike.

Just an observation.

I swear, I had this

I swear, I had this movie pitch written up weeks ago.

So, here's the movie:

Well-off, successful, happy businessman Ben Oldfield (Tom Hanks) is a huge Cubs fan. Trying to catch a foul ball, he may have caused the then-leading Cubs to lose Game 6 of the NLCS. Ben has to be escorted away by park security. Cubs lose game, and all hell breaks loose for Ben and his family. Cubs lose game 7 and it gets much worse for Ben.

The rest of the movie is how Ben and his family (wife: Diane Lane, kids: whoever) cope, suffer and strive to regain the normalcy of their lives amid the insane and fanatic hatred and anger they receive from many of the people of the city in which they live. It's all about fate and the delicate thread upon which we live our lives.

I swear I had this pitch written weeks ago.

MetaFilter today has a post

MetaFilter today has a post linking to a site where people can post their confessions, big or small (an internet rip-off of my Canadian Confessions idea). This got me thinking about what I might confess, and that drummed up this repressed memory:

When I was 18 and in my first year at UPEI, I shoplifted a pair of black fake-leather pants from Zellers. I did this because I planned to go the The Barn’s Halloween party dressed as Billy Idol, and I needed those pants. I couldn’t afford, nor bring myself to purchase, a pair of awful nogahyde pants that I’d only wear once. So, I went to Zellers with every intention of stealing them. And I did. It was easy. I felt exhileratingly guilty about it. I think it was the only time I ever shoplifted.

The night of the dance came and I prepared the rest of my costume. I already sported the blond spiked hair, and could manage the Idol snarl whenever I needed it. I also had the punk-inspired gloves, all I needed was a black vest, black studded wrist bands and some cool footwear. I had none of that. So, I went to the kitchen and got a black garbage bag, cut out a vest to wear over my shirtless torso. Then I cut out a couple of black garbage bag wrist bands and painted some white liquid-eraser studs on them. Only the footwear left, and all I could find that were black were my father’s black rubber overshoes. Well, what’s an Idol to do, so I wore them, too many sizes too small, to boot.

Out into the frozen night I went, dressed in garbage bag and stolen pants.

At the dance, “Rebel Yell” inevitably played, and I, at this point needing little coaxing, went out on the floor by myself and slam-danced the hell out of that song.

Surprise of surprises, I won the costume contest, too. I didn’t even know I was entered. I won a 50 dollar bar-tab and shared it with all my friends that night, new-found and old.

So, take that, Crime Doesn't Pay.

However, as an offer of humility, and to show the error of my ways, I offer up this photo as a sort of penance. You have to imagine the sneer.

In the movies, here are

In the movies, here are three moments that are guaranteed to make at least one tear fall from my right eye (I find that my left eye is more tolerant of emotional drama).

In It's A Wonderful Life, George Bailey forego's his honeymoon and heads back to the Savings and Loan to try and hold off a bank run. He uses his honeymoon money to keep his customers satisfied until the uncertainty ends, and goes about asking each of them how much they need to get by. When the old lady asks for 53 dollars (or whatever the small amount is) and George hugs her, I'm teared up fine. There are a few moments in that movie that consistently get to me, but that one is a sure bet.

In Lonesome Dove, after they've reached their destination in Montana, and Cap'm Call is about to take off back to Texas to bury his friend; just as he's about to depart, he leaves Newt in charge. He desperately wants to tell the kid that Newt is his son; and Newt desperately wants to hear what he already knows, but all Captain Call can muster is to give Newt his best horse. That's a for-sure tear-up moment among many more tear up moments in that excellent movie mini-series.

In Rudy, at the end of the movie, and Rudy finally gets to dress for the final Notre Dame home game. With only a few seconds remaining in the game, ND sure of victory, his team-mates start chanting 'Ruuudy, Ruuudy' attempting to get him in the game. The crowd joins in, and sure enough, Rudy gets in for play and manages a sack on his only play. He gets carried off the field, triumphantly, and my right eye drips.

Want to know your true

Want to know your true Pirate Name? Head to this site and fill out the 20 questions.

Turns out I'm a scoundrel called Captain Roger Vane. This is how I'm described: Even though there's no legal rank on a pirate ship, everyone recognizes you're the one in charge. You tend to blend into the background occaisionally, but that's okay, because it's much easier to sneak up on people and disembowel them that way. Arr!

Get ready to be boarded!!!

I'm pretty sure we all

I'm pretty sure we all know the commercial from which this quote is taken. When it first came out in the 1980's (and for years afterward), it was parodied quite a bit and became something of a catchphrase (during a time when everything was a catchphrase).

I hadn't heard, or thought of, the phrase for a long, long time. I heard it today on the radio on my way to work. It was played, sort of as an "aren't we a cool station for playing this clip" clip that gets played during the lead in to a song. I was taken aback at how I reacted to it.

A couple of weeks ago, my mother, who is getting up there in age, fell while trying to keep her great-grandson from running out onto the road. She hit her head, which resulted in a huge lump over her deeply-blackened eye. She also hurt her knee and hip, which were already delicate and achy. She was shaken up rather badly, but is recovering okay, I guess.

Because of her fall, when I heard the phrase, I imagined my mother falling, her momentary helplessness, and it kind of hit me.

I pulled the car over, and I wept.

No, not really, but I was surprised at how the phrase that I had heard thousands of times without really hearing, suddenly seemed so relevant.

Now, it's got me wondering what circumstances will occur that will cause me the same types of feelings when I hear "Where's the beef?"

This idea is free for

This idea is free for the taking by any entrepreneurially-adept, forward-thinking producer; or by Craig Mackie.

A nationally-aired weekly, one-hour radio program called “Canadian Confessional”. It’s a phone-in program where Catholics can call in and anonymously make their weekly confessions of sin. A priest is on hand to offer the necessary penances from damnation. Perhaps there could be weekly guest priests. Maybe the week's best confession could win a prize, like a Mainstreet license plate, or a CD of Stuart MacLean's latest stories. Rex Murphy would not be involved.

Any other ideas to make this radio program a sure-fire hit?

Watching baseball yesterday and this

Watching baseball yesterday and this thought hit me:

Why does the crowd have to be quiet when golfers golf? I mean, is the golf swing that much more difficult than the pitcher's pitch that everyone in the vicinity of it must hold their breath? Same goes for tennis, too.

I say it's time the crowds stopped pussy-footing around these athletes and started getting vocal. Get a wave going all around him as Tiger tees off on number 9. Get into a Williams' head as she's serving: "Veeeeee-Nuuuuuusssssss. Veeeeeee-Nuuuuusssssss."

I used to love baseball

I used to love baseball and I used to love the Expos. I remember, as a teenager, meticulously going up and down the radio dial some nights trying to find a broadcast of the games, and watching any game that was on TV. Then, maybe 15 years ago, for some reason I don't know why, I couldn't watch baseball anymore. I just found it incredibly boring. I didn't watch, and didn't get caught up in it, when the BlueJays won it all, and probably haven't watched more than a couple of innings total in the past 10 years.

Until this year. I didn't watch a single game all year, never kept up with the statistics at all, except with a rough gauge as to where the Expos were in the standings. But I find myself, inexplicably, watching this year's playoffs. I don't know why. But I'm kind of enjoying baseball again.

Watching baseball yesterday reminded me of my greatest moment as an Expos fan. It was 1983, and I and my friend Rob Kelly went to Montreal to watch a few games in person. At one game, the old veteran Woody Fryman was pitching for the Expos. I think, that year, Woody Fryman, who was 43, had pitched only a handful of innings and his ERA was something like 20. Not good. Anyway, he was out there, late in the game, for a rare appearance. I don't remember the details of this particular game; who was winning and stuff. But the crowd was quiet. My friend and I, who'd both been enjoying the liquid concessions during the game, decided to start a rally cry for the Woodman. So we stood up and started chanting "Let's go Woody, let's go." Nobody joined us, but we were persistent. Slowly, we began to hear the chant coming from other areas of the Big O. Eventually, most of the crowd was chanting with us. It was a pretty cool feeling knowing we started it. I don't know if it helped Woody or not. That, quite possibly, may have been the last inning he ever pitched.

That was my greatest moment as a baseball fan. Maybe that's why I gave up on baseball.

I went into Burger King

I went into Burger King to buy CB some hashbrowns, because today's his birthday and that's what he wanted..

While waiting for them to heat up, I make eye contact with the guy sweeping up behind the counter. I nod, he smiles, seemingly, with recognition of me. Now, I am terrible with remembering people, both names and faces. Since he recognizes me, I assume I should know him, but I don't. Perhaps he saw me in a show, I think.

"You know what I always think about when I see you?" he says as he continues sweeping. Somewhere in the back of my brain I imagine that it's something from Annekenstein or 4Play, or something likewise pleasant. But in the front of my brain, I know exactly to what he's referring.

"It must've been about 10 years ago, now," he adds. Yeah, I know exactly what it is. Here it comes.

"The Peter Pan."

Sigh.

"Yeah, that's one I can't escape," I say.

"Huh?"

"I took a lot of ribbing for doing that."

"What is it you said? 'Peter Pan, Peter Pan, Peter Pan!', and the high voice."

"That's it, pretty much."

"That was a good one."

"Memorable, anyway."

Off he goes to sweep in back. Leaving me with the young girl who was bagging the hash browns, who obviously had no idea what we were talking about.

Someday, people like her will be all that remain. I look forward to that day.

Just on the (not so)

Just on the (not so) off chance that somebody reading this doesn't know about Loudon Wainwright III, and on the further off chance (or would that be "offer chance") that reading this would cause somebody who was previously unfamiliar with LWIII to discover him and enjoy his music even a tenth the amount that I do, I'm gonna post this request...

Check out some Loudon Wainwright III songs. The excellent live album "Career Moves" would be a good start.

I was informed that someone

I was informed that someone was having difficulty reading some of the older posts further down the page, that the first couple of posts were okay but the rest of the page was all 'orange gibberish'.

Is anyone else having this problem viewing the page? If so, please let me know by posting a comment, or emailing me at sendit2me@myway.com (link to the left)

I realise much of my stuff is nothing more than gibberish to begin with, but I won't tolerate it being orange gibberish. I just won't!

Well, every Island blog I

Well, every Island blog I go to seems to have Juan post after another talking about the storm and the damage it's done.

I feel inadequate because I have no stories. No toppled trees on my land. No disappeared deck chairs. No shorn shingles.

Just a loss of power and telephone for a day or two.

Who's blowin' down the streets of the city, smilin' at everybody she sees; uprooting trees and knockin' down light poles; everyone knows - it's Juan-dy.

I had vowed that for

I had vowed that for September, no fast food would be brought into our house. We failed twice in the month, two times bringing home KFC. Both of these days were irregular in that our mealtime schedule went wonky. Also, K never ate the KFC we brought home, since it was her wonky schedule (which included her eating out) that caused our wonky schedule (causing us to bring home the KFC). So, congrats to K for holding out for the month. And congrats to CB and me for cutting way down on our fast food consumption.

The battle continues into October.