...what's the street value...

...of a 2,000 yard season?

I can't believe I've forgotten twice now to comment on Jamal Lewis, who not only torched the Browns for 500 or so yards rushing in two games this year, but also apparently makes a pretty nice middleman between Baltimore and Colombia. The NFL makes it a practice to not disclose why players violated the league's drug policies, but Jamal is on the list. Now he gets brought up on FEDERAL charges of brokering a coke deal for a friend, and we're supposed to think its a misunderstanding? Teammate Ray Lewis has already beaten a murder rap in his career, it will be interesting to see what comes of Jamal (no relation) and this latest bout with the feds. It is my hope and prayer that not only is he found guilty and brought down hard, but that the "friend" he was buying the blow for was a member of the Modell family.

So Dennis Northcutt was a free agent. Or should be a free agent. I want to think that I knew this, but I don't think I did. Reading the story that he filed incomplete paperwork and is sticking with the Browns is both a surprise and a relief. Now that Kevin Johnson is gone, Northcutt is one of the best receivers Tim Couch has to underthrow on 3rd and 6.

I gave in this morning and did the Chad Allen search on IMDB.com. It was Webster that he was on. I knew that, why didn't I say that? He was also on Punky Brewster (but then again, who hasn't!?!? *insert rimshot here*) and, get this, "My Two Dads". This site just comes full circle. Its like the 6 degrees of Greg Evigan. Scary.

I'm thinking its almost time for another re-indexing of my blog links. I know I've only got 8 or so, but there are only 4, maybe 5 strong swimmers in the bunch, the others are updated about as often as I clean my bathroom (which isn't a good rate, by the way). My only problem is that if I clean some out, I have to have replacements, suggestions are welcome.

...for the low, low price of $50!!!

You too can get a postage stamp of a sticker to put on your license plate!

I hate the BMV. I hate the people that work at the BMV. I hate the other people that are at the BMV when I'm at the BMV.

Actually, not all of that is true. The other drivers that are there are, for the most part, good, normal people just like me. Except for the woman with the blown-out hair that couldn't understand why she couldn't get a title if her name and social security number was different on two pieces of "identification". Thankfully "Adam", our beloved supervisor slicked back his unwashed hair, summoned the creatures of his goatee to the rescue, and diffused the situation. Seriously, with the glasses this guy was wearing, he probably has to be careful about looking into the sun. That's how ants die. In fact, I bet every person who comes through his little eye test with 20/20 vision gets a special mark on their permanent record. After probably 35 minutes, an averted computer disaster, and a little harmless, stinky old lady cutting in front of me in line (seriously, I was standing back a little bit so people could get in and out of the door. She walks in and stands in front of me, not even acknowledging that I might be in line. As if she even deserves a drivers license!) but I survived. Aside from the $50.50 ding to my checking account, I made it out of there all right, once my number was called. I think I'm going to write the BMV and complain that I don't like the color of the stickers this year, either.

So Chad Allen, the blond kid on "Dr. Quinn: Medicine Woman", and some other show I can't quite place, yet my dignity keeps me from checking IMDB.com, was on Larry King the other night as a "gay activist". I called that one 15 years ago, thankyouverymuch.

I've come to the conclusion that SUV's now serve two purposes. Tailgating and we need something to completely obliterate those dinky little "Mini Cooper" cars and the smarmy bastards that drive them.

Apparently the Saturday half of my birthday celebration went over well, or at least well enough that the bartender at Gibby's shared the story with her coworkers. Funny thing is, I don't *remember* dancing on any barstools...

Even though its a round in, they're currently under the Red Sea, and virtually no one cares, I'm making the call right now that Mike Weir is going to win the World Match Play golf championship this weekend. Actually, I have full brackets filled out, but it would take WAY too much effort to get it on here. I could scan it in, but no one would ever read my chicken scratch. I'll just share that my final four is Padraig Harrington, Kenny Perry, Davis Love III and Weir. Go watch some golf, be impressed.

...have you met greg?

no, the subject for this isn't another pimp job for my brother's site, rather it has to do with the answer to yesterdays question clipped out of the Dispatch. (For the record, of the ONE person that responded, everyone got it right. I'm so proud.)


The funny part of this goes back to the original days of the "have you met tony?" game that led to the creation of this website. Pete and I were sitting at our usual finishing spot, along with all the wait staffers from area restaurants, and this one girl is a dead ringer for Stacey Keanan. So, instead of breaking out "hey, you look like that girl from 'My Two Dads'", Pete goes with, "Excuse me, do you know Greg Evigan?"

Classic.

...it must be the cook

The folks got me an "official" omelet pan for my birthday. If the first trial run is any indication, I think I'm just a shitty omelet maker. Of course, if you mess up an omelet, you still get scrambled eggs, which is a good thing. For me at least.

The birthday weekend ended up to be pretty good. The Friday story will live to be told for many generations to come, I'm sure. Either that or the pictures are going to come back to haunt me for a long, long time. Speaking of, here are two that I promised the other day:





Give me a jockey's cap and a curb to stand by and I'm set! The other one is good too, though I get to be "the guy" with the closed eyes. Oh well. There's another one out there that I think is funnier, a more random "hey, go sneak in behind him and when I wave, smile and I'll take the picture" one, I'll have to see about getting that. And the more I look at that one, the more I think it would have been funny, almost album-coverish if Pete and Nate would have looked off in random directions, but I think thats only because my eyes are closed.

The next project for me, aside from FINALLY getting a photo gallery up and running (I think its coming soon, later today even?) is to arrange all of my "collectibles" from the weekend. I still impress myself that I followed through on the "I need something from every place we go" promise.

While I'm at it, there's no way I could let a post go by without bringing up this nugget of information I found in the TV listings section of Sunday's paper:

The relevance of this question to this site is amazing. "Vic in Columbus" has OBVIOUSLY never met Tony.

Answer tomorrow.

...making the turn

The first half of the birthday "Cannonball Run" is in the books and can be considered quite a success. This is the part where parental types may want to stop reading, though I can promise the only revealed skin in the story was that of the girl at the end of the night who hemmed her mumu a little too high.

Since details are a little sketchy, and visual proof is forthcoming, I guess the easiest way to do this is to make a timeline:

2am-noon: Worked.
12:15pm: Threw together a suitcase (of course with 2 days worth of clothes that I used exactly a half days worth) and hopped in Pete's car headed north for Cleveland. After a very satisfying Double with cheese combo, biggie sized, Sprite no ice from Wendy's outside of Delaware, Ohio, we were on our way. The drive was pretty uneventful, aside from good stories, and a highway shooter scare that turned out to be a light on top of a cell tower.
2:30pm: Rolled into the BW3 in Strongsville, Ohio. Met Scott, which might have been by accident, but I'm not sure. Fired a beautiful -22 on the brand spanking new 2005 Golden Tee golf, put the clubs away and spent the next 3+ hours playing video crack and drinking Bud Lights (with a warm Three Olives cherry vodka/7UP concotion that tasted like cough medicine). Learned that "oxo" is a word. Who knew?
5:45pm: Left b-dubs and hit Scott and Joel's place, somewhere away from Strongsville, I think, but all I knew at that point was that I was in Ohio, most likely still in the Cleveland suburbs. Another beer, a shower and two cherry bombs later (with Red Bull instead of the 7UP, and proper use of ice and refrigeration was executed this time), and we hit the road for Nate's.
7:30pm (maybe?): Get to Nate and Elaine's in Lakewood, which I've been to before and KNOW is in Ohio. Find out that somehow Elaine and I might be related, or at least both have bloodlines through a Caruso family. Small world, eh? A Labatt Blue or two here and we are introduced to "the napkin game". I've heard stories, but this was the first time I took part. For those not familiar, everyone wads up a napkin (or money, in our case), and tosses it at the liquor stash. Bottles are removed as they are hit, and a shot of each is mixed and divvied up equally. Fortunately, we were wise enough to take the Courvoisier (spelling thanks to Google!) out, and were left with the Captain, Canadian Club, straight vodka, something else, and the godsend of all napkin games... Bailey's Irish Creme. So hell in a rocks glass turns into spiked chocolate milk and we move on. A few rousing choruses of the email cult hit "We like the moon" (turn your speakers down.. or up, if you're into it) and a picture that will be released at a later date, and we hit the road for The Winchester.
10pm-ish: Hit The Winchester in Lakewood to see Colin Hay, former lead singer of "Men at Work", in concert. Though we just missed the opening act, Connor O'Brien, we talked to him for awhile, bought a couple CD's, had them autographed (for the day Connor becomes the next Michael Damian), and got ready for Hay. I wasn't all that familiar with anything he did outside of Men at Work, but it wasn't a bad show. A very "different" crowd, but one that's to be expected in Lakewood.
11:55pm: Shows over, Pete is yanked from sneaking in backstage to offer his appreciation and favors to Hay, and we make our way out. Two more people meet Tony, old high school friends of Pete's, apparently, and we then wait in line for them to get Hay to sign their CD's (again, pictures forthcoming). In the process, I "officially" turn 30, and don't feel a day over 23. Of course, as the night wore on, I didn't feel a day under 73, but you'll have that. So Men at Work's Colin Hay has met Tony. So he's got that going for him, which is nice.
12:30am: My day enters its 23rd hour and we stop at another bar, something like the Lakewood Village Bar or something like that, and the napkin game once again rears its ugly head. What you're about to see looks nasty, but it ended up tasting so good that we are hereby claiming it, naming it and patenting it as "the Aunt Jemima".



Thanks to the bartender for remembering and listing the ingredients for us. The first thought I had was that the Jack was going to kill me, and I could feel it all the way down to the bottom of my stomach. However, the second that almost settled, I tasted, nay, CRAVED French Toast. It was just that good.
1:30am: Having made it to the 24 hour mark, we hit breakfast at Dianna's in Lakewood. A total dive of a diner, almost like Cracker Barrel meets Mel's Diner, but it was here that I ate french toast and bacon for the second time that day. And it was delicious. After successfully turning down a bet from Nate to eat a large spoonful of butter for $1.65, we called it a night and made it back to Nate and Elaine's, where a "10 minute rest period" turned into a much needed four hour crash session, sprawled diagonally across a queen sized bed.
6:30am: Pete's ready to go, and we drive back to Joel's in a building snow squall.
8:00am: We're on the road back to Columbus, in pain, and fighting a nasty crosswind and bad drivers (Pete was, at least), no highway shooter scares, and we return safely at 10am. Just in time to start round two.

I have no business remembering most of this, but I'm very glad I did.

...mission accomplished

there is so much that went through my head today to write here, but I think I'll let this sum it up:



By the way, I shot a 34 (+4). Not too bad for the first time out, playing with old folks and on half-swamp, half-tundra!

...go shorty, its your birthday

I didn't get out to get my little brother a card for his birthday, and I pretty much have until he comes down here in two and a half weeks to find a present, and I was too lazy/uninspired to jazz up his site at all, so I figure the least I could do is retell a story to go with the following picture of the two of us:

This was from the last season of Ned Skeldon Stadium, home of the world famous Toledo Mud Hens, August 2001, I believe. After a dinner that included a couple of cold ones, we roll out to the game and meet our friend Rod, who has a backpack full of MGD, I think maybe 6 or 7 16oz. bottles? We finish those, then a draft or two from the concession stand and end up behind the left field fence watching the last few innings (it was cool, you're allowed back there, and the left fielder loved us). We even had a chance to get a ball out of the deal, but some weasely kid ducked in front of us and bogarted it. Actually, I think we helped him get it over the fence and gave it to him. So anyway, what better way to end a night at the ball park than sit in the stadium bar and have a couple more pints? I forget the exact conversation that went on in there, but that was where Greg continued his rant about why Steve Lombardozzi should be in the Hall of Fame. (After all, he *did* hit .412 in the 1987 World Series for the Twins!) The best part of that story is that he started the campaign by bothering people as they left the stadium, carried it into the souvenir shop, and took a great picture with a random family of four (which I know I have around here somewhere, and it used to be right next to my computer before I moved, but alas, its gone). After the stadium bar, we proceeded to tell some drunk to go to a completely different bar than the one we went to, and contemplated snatching an official "Toledo Mud Hens" trash barrel to take home. I'm sure there's more, but that's the down and dirty details. I would share the stories of his bachelor party, but there were no pictures that night, and I think that story is illegal in 47 states and 6 provinces anyway.

...why come everybody ain't dancin?

What a day for television! Yet another reason why every day should be a holiday. Aside from the Law & Order marathon on TNT, helping to feed my latest televised addiction, we get the HBO documentary on the 1980 US Olympic hockey team (an EXCELLENT program, by the way), and Brewsters Millions and White Men Can't Jump on Comedy Central. I'm not even that big on White Men Can't Jump anymore, but it can't be left out of that lineup. And while I was watching all of this, not only did I pick up on Det. Briscoe and the manager of the Hackensack Bulls being the same guy, but I also picked out Scarface from "Half Baked" as a perp on one of the Law & Order episodes. I felt so accomplished!

The A-Rod to Hell trade was finalized today... I know I hashed, rehashed and overhashed it the other day, but this email to my friend James about the trade sums it up even more, I think:

Its going to suck to have that consistent of a bat and glove out of the mix, but Soriano has shown some pop, though I haven't paid all that close attention to him lately. I just hate hate hate that ARod went to the Yankees. I hated the talk about him going to Boston, but this is just silly. I know it was all the Rangers doing in the first place jacking the salary up, but if they didn't do it, SOME team was going to. Now the Yankees will have what, 4 or 5 players making more than the PAYROLLS of 2/3 of the teams? Baseball is so out of control it isn't funny. Even Texas trying to build a team with ARod's sick paycheck, and giving Chan Ho "Out of the" Park more yen than he can shake a chopstick at (that was REALLY an unnecessary use of Asian sterotypes, wasn't it?) is ridiculous. And it will continue to get worse, and then when the next CBA is up, the players will complain that they can't support their families, and their drug habits, and they're not getting enough from their shoe deals, and the game will take another huge step back.

Of course, bottom line for 2004 is now that the Rangers have waited until 5 days before Spring Training to free up salary space for DESPERATELY needed pitching, who can they get? Hell, even Ricky Bottalico's gone!

Blue Jackets-Predators round two is tonight. Its actually about round 20, but this will be the first time they meet since things got REALLY ugly a couple weeks ago. Should be fun, hide the children.

...breakfast with no hog

Off the top, I'd like to admit that I BLATANTLY stole the title for the post from Angry Pete. There, I said it, now let me explain.

A) I've had that lyric in my head ever since I read it on his site.
B) It really is a damn fine lyric.
C) I have it on CD somewhere around here, but having the rest of the lyrics in my head can only be a dangerous thing.
D) I really wish I had some form of pork product to go with my omelet-turned-scrambled eggs.
E) Funny thing is, I really wasn't missing the pork until I turned my omelet into scrambled eggs. Now I need ham, bacon or sausage, and have none. (Unlike my brother, who makes sure to get his sausage EVERY morning, but that's another, much more disturbing topic.)

Two revelations have come from my omelet experiences of late. Check that, three revelations.

The first is that I did WAY too good the first time I ever made an omelet to expect to make another one even close to as good as it again. It was folded perfectly, full of goodness, and everything that is right about an omelet. Ironically, I made that omelet while the Hurricanes were playing for the Stanley Cup 2 years ago. Their play on the ice has been about as sparkling as my work in the omelet pan ever since.

Second, I need a new omelet pan. I've got some that work fine, and probably are intended to be able to cook omelets, but I think I'd feel better if I had a pan that was made EXCLUSIVELY for omelets. Even if just the first one was good, I could justify the whole deal. In addition to the pan, I just need to stop trying to fit 3 eggs into a 2 egg omelet. It doesn't work. I don't think it ever has. All I end up with is gooey egg stuff on top, and burned egg on the bottom. I'll never learn.

...I'm a jinx

A day where I was perfectly content to sleep for 25 of 24 hours, I wake up to the following male-voice-on-a-female-body from ESPN. "Reports out of NY say that Texas and the Yankees have a deal to send Alex Rodriguez to the Yankees...(blah blah blah)...and mid-major top 10 Kent State is in some big trouble at home." My first thought, after dismissing the A-Rod talk as a dream, I mean after all, the Rangers debunked all those theories a couple weeks ago, kissed, made up and named A-Rod captain, right? Instead, they're on the verge of trading him to all that is evil with the world, the one team outside their own division that trade talks should NEVER EVER EVER come up with, much less over your star, your captain, and likely the best player IN THE GAME. If this goes down, I will almost make myself sick with how much I'd wish to see Manny Ramirez in the Rangers outfield. Don't get me wrong, Alfonso Soriano is a stud infielder, but him and a minor leaguer for A-Rod!?!?! Trust me, I've seen the Yankees minor league system from up close (and not necessarily sober), and I don't know what they've got to come close to completing this deal. Its obviously a salary dump, but right before spring training? Less than a week before pitchers and catchers report and you're dealing the core of your team to Satan? This can't happen.

Anyway, the next thought I had was, "Good, Kent State's losing. I hate Kent State. With a passion. HEY! Kent State is playing BG, and its on ESPN2!" So I hop up out of bed, check the score, and Kent had just made a basket to cut the lead to 17-6 or something obscene like that. BG goes INTO that hole and is up 11 before Dan Dakich has a chance to fix his hair?!?! Amazing! What occurred over the next 12 and a half minutes wasn't nearly as fun as that first minute awake. Kent pulled within 4 at the half, even taking a couple of leads, I think, and after BG finished the fizzle over the last 7 minutes of the game, all was lost, and another chapter of unachievement "what if-ness" was added to the 2003-04 BG hoops almanac.

Ah, and the Hurricanes lost to the Dev-holes 4-1, and Michigan hoops lost as well. What a more fitting day to feel like a loser than Feb. 14. At least it was all in the sporting arena, and the box scores in the paper tomorrow can find the trash easy enough tomorrow morning.

Its good to see little brother posting more often, though I don't think his latest sausage attacks are necessary, whatever it takes to make him feel big is all right by me. Oh yeah, and he's got a birthday next week, too. The 18th, I think its Wednesday. I think its only fair that he posts a list of celebrities/famous people he likes, and warns them not to leave the house on his birthday. On his 20th bday, Harry Caray died (don't forget to tip a Budweiser at 7:30 next Wednesday!). Three years later, Dale Earnhardt turned right when everyone else turned left and died. It's now been three more years, who knows who's next. Consider yourself warned.

...Tale of two commentaries

I love "Swingers". I love "Oceans Eleven". I have seen each at least a few dozen times, and still don't get tired of them. So, this "weekend", I thought I'd watch them with the actors commentaries on the DVD. Swingers was sweet. Vince Vaughn and Jon Favreau are funny. They tell the story, and get "Hollywood geeky", but are funny while they do it. On the other hand, I'm hoping someone hits Brad Pitt and Matt Damon with a brick.

I don't know if he was feeling lonely after Ben Affleck ran off with J-Lo or what, but if Damon could have gotten his lips off of Steven Soderbergh for just two seconds, it would have made the whole thing more enjoyable. I don't know enough about the ins and outs of film making to know or care about what Soderbergh does or doesn't do, and I'll admit that this film rocks in many aspects, but every other word out of Damon's mouth is "Steven said this..." or "I love how Steven does that..." Equally annoying was the no fewer than 15 references to Brad Pitt's wife. Thanks for enlightening me, I must have missed the wedding.

I don't think I have anywhere else to go with this, but I highly recommend Swingers with commentary, but if there were a way to scratch the Oceans Eleven commentary off the disc, I'd buy stock in sandpaper.

I think there was so much else to share here, from the bar tab the length of my forearm or the haircut wounds (did I say "wounds"? I mean "gashes") across the back of my neck. Thank God it cost me 3 bucks, and once they heal, I'll be sexy again. Don't you worry about that.

Oh, and since little brother has a bad case of "link envy", go visit him. He's the "little link on the sidebar thing that no one reads", and now that he's posted twice in a week, he might be worth a visit. That and he backs up the theory that the "stick of butter" kid on Sesame Street was a boy. Not just a boy, but he reminded us that the kid had a "sort of a halfro". Now THAT'S a word I haven't heard in awhile.

...1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12

This post started off as a trip down memory lane.
Then it became a question.
Then a bit of an obsession.
Now I'm just wondering what important information is lost in my brain to make room for '70s TV memories.

I'm talking about that old Sesame Street cartoon where the lady has her kid go to the store, and the kid spends the whole time repeating "a loaf of bread, a container of milk and a stick of butter". First off, it seems to me that there was either more to the list, or more to the kid's rhyme. But those three have been validated through Google, so I'll believe it. (I forgot that it was a "container" of milk, though thats understandable, since I don't think I've referred to it as a "container" of milk ever. And I had thought there were eggs involved. Oh well.)

Here comes the first question. About half the websites (mostly blog entries) I found referred to it as a boy, the other half as a little girl. I distinctly remember it as being a boy. An inner city black (as African-Americans were called in the '70s) kid dodging all kinds of distractions to get his bread, milk and butter. Maybe this would be better served as a poll question, but which was it? A boy or a girl?

Next question. Pete and I agreed to remember that one of the distractions on the street was a pimp. I'm sticking to that memory, but reading my research, I'm wondering if I might have my Sesame Street sketches confused. That and a little Simpsons thrown in. We ALL remember young Homer being chased through the streets of NYC by a pimp, and I know that it happened in Sesame Street, too, but one post I read (which I was either too dense or too ignorant to copy the link) flashed back to the boy's dream where he gets lost and meets a man that morphs into all kinds of things to help him get back home. THAT, I believe, was a pimp. Now I'm even more lost.

So now I'm figuring out my next step. I really wish it was as easy as getting a movie clip of the "stick of butter" sketch, though that might not answer my pimp question, so I'd need the morphing sketch too. Ah, maybe I'll just dig out that Simpsons episode and forget all about it.

It IS, after all, the weekend!

ADDED: I can't believe I forgot this link! Seems this chick remembers the "stick of butter" sketch, which is cool. But she's of the "it was a girl" memory. Not cool. Anyway, what got MY attention is the post about her "sex with David Spade" dreams. I think it was this line:

"I don't like the annoying needy, nerdy, whiny qualities of his character on Just Shoot Me."

...or those EXACT SAME qualities in EVERY OTHER character he's ever done.

There. Now its the weekend.

...you want a birthday list?

I'll give you a birthday list.

I really just want about a trillion dollar gift certificate to Best Buy. Probably not really, but it seems like in the past month, so many Best Buy-able things have come to mind that I don't think I'm allowed within a thousand feet of the store. I'm still waffling on the surround sound stereo deal until taxes get done doing their thing to me, but I know exactly what I want when I get there. And I made the discovery today that not only does Outkast have a DVD of their videos out (actually, I didn't find that out alone, and dammit, Nelly still needs to come out with one, if only so I can freeze frame a clear picture of the "Air Force Ones" video to prove to any doubters that I'm in there! Oh, and to prove to Lyndi that the back of her head really *did* make the final cut. I swear!), but anyway, on this Outkast DVD, the videos for Hey Ya and The Way You Move are really one long video. 12 minutes of Southernplayalisticcadillacfunky-goodness. Of course, with the rest of my trillion dollar gift certificate, I'd pillage the DVD aisle, but about 12,000GB of RAM for this computer, and then... hell, buy one of everything, I guess. I'll figure out where to put it later.

For those of you that don't have a trillion dollars to throw around, best wishes and good company the weekend of the 21st is always welcome (but try to get the cash, first. OK?)

Oh, for anyone that cares about what I do for a living, and promises not to stalk me at work, I got some props last week on the noon newscast. I figure this is just as easy as sending an email out to everyone, even though probably 80% of the people I know either don't know about this site, or have already seen the video. But for those of you that care, here's my Super Bowl montage (sans boobies).

Enjoy! I'm off to hunt beer and chicken.

...the helmet is for safety!

Okay, first, I think I should start this off with a disclaimer. "Pete" and "Angry Pete" are two different people. Though the name "Pete" may be thrown around all random and crazylike, both have a screw or six loose, and hail from the same part of the country, they are different people. This Pete is one of my best friends in Columbus (hell, probably anywhere, now that I think of it), and I have shared many drunken evenings with, as well as various other entertaining (and not always non-felonious) activities with. And to avoid any confusion, his fiancee never volunteered her rack for the haveyoumettony.com world tour. Then again, not many of you did. Any-hoo, THIS Pete is a social deviant that I have never met, but he does some damn fine template design and is really damn funny with a majority of his postings. And his aunt has fake boobies. So there you have it, I promise to keep these two straight from here on out. And if not "straight", at least separate from each other. Of course, if non-angry Pete would just start posting on his page on this site, you could all tell the difference.

Okay, now onto the day's news. With the melodious tones of Pete's Outkast remix in my head (the lyrics to which are postable, but for once, good taste prevents me from posting them...yet), I'm watching Law and Order today, and they have a line up of mentally challenged kids (from here on referred to as SPED's), walking into a school. One of them had a hockey helmet on. I know this really happens in life, and I've witnessed it in the grocery store, but in my sick little world, I'd like to think that everytime the writer or technical director in charge of that scene pees himself with laughter everytime he sees that scene. God that was good.

Now onto the "Law and Order" issues I've been having. I think its great that I've never really watched it before, and now that TNT/USA have it on in syndication like 25 times a day, I can watch without the worry of repeats. But for one, when are they going to have someone smack Angie Harmon in the back with a 2 x 4 and knock whatever that is in her throat out so she sounds normal? No one that hot should sound like a dude. Ever. Almost makes me wonder what kind of sick fantasy Jason Sehorn has going on between the sheets. Secondly, I don't think I've quite come to appreciate the endings yet. I'm used to the "hey, we solved the crime the bad guy/girl is/isn't behind bars, lets shake hands and share a joke over a cup of coffee in the office" endings from most cop dramas, but they never seem to end like that. Hell, half the time, it seems like I'm left wondering what happened. Its almost like they wrote an hour worth of material, and forgot that they take time out for commercials. Oh well, its good stuff AND it revives the bad ass career of Ice-T in ways we haven't seen since New Jack City.

Laundry calls. Screw Flanders.

...senseless Flash violence

the folks sent me this one, rivaling the elves throwing Santa, but I think I maxed that one out. So far, the top score on this one is 319.3 feet.

In fact, I think I'm going to drop this one in the top 5 time wasting games going... the other four? (high scores in parentheses)

Addiction Solitaire (431)
Polar Bowler (364)
Candystand Bowling(237)
Candystand MiniGolf (???)

Don't say I never gave you anything!

...now THAT is an official fully, man!

okay, that's the last Janet reference I make today. I promise. (I just REALLY have been itching to use that line all day.)

Not only that, but with everyone and their sister apparently rating the commercials from last night on their sites, I'm going to hold back to just a few comments on the night in general:

1) I'm itching to comment on the Muhammed Ali ad, but Pete called dibbs.
2) The 30 or so second Simpsons Mastercard commercial might very well have been funnier than the entire 11th and 12 season of The Simpsons COMBINED.
3) Monkeys = comedy
4) Thankfully for the fourth time in the last five years (I believe), the game made the commercials inconsequential. Too many blowouts in the 90's led to the "I just watch for the ads." theory. Yeah, and I drink beer just for the taste.
5) Justin Timberlake needs to go away, and whichever director they hired for that thing at halftime needs to go back at least a couple years and start buying CDs again.
6) Outkast REALLY needed to play the Super Bowl. By themselves.

That feels like all for now. All told, it was a really good night. I think I'm going to miss a few rent payments, just to see if Pete will let me sleep in his basement. (Shhhh! Don't tell him that, it'll be our secret.) Although I've learned again that a night of work, plus four disjointed hours of sleep, plus way too much random food, followed by a 10 hour workday will make you NOT feel good for most of said work day. This weekend can't come fast enough!

Ah yes, as for my predictions from the other night. I had one of the goal scorers right for Columbus, and they DID win. And for a moment, I thought Carolina would flip my prediction on me. Then someone remembered that Detroit was playing, and that game had to be tightened up in a hurry. Oh well, you'll have that. Hopefully the Canes can use the point to turn things around and find their way into the playoffs.

I think I might do some cleaning of my measly little Blogrolling list. At one point, I was all about getting links, and reading stuff that was even occasionally semi-remotely close to interesting to me. But I just don't feel right linking to a site with so many God references. (Believe what you will, and the blog looks great, but the big JC just doesn't do it for me like that!) Also, even while I denounce people that rate the Super Bowl ads, I'm willing to let a couple opinions slide. But anyone that axes the Pepsi diner spot from last night without recognizing the musical genius that is the diabolical Biz Markie needs to go. Not naming names, but my list is shorter by two. Applications currently being accepted, haveyoumettony.com is an equal opportunity blogroller, ya just gotsta be funny!