My Addled Brain

This has been a high that hasn’t passed quickly. Part of me is still in shock over Sunday. And yes, I could comment on how bitter everyone in Oakland is taking their loss, especially that rocket scientist Jerry Porter, but that’s all sour grapes from a crew that refuses to believe that they could be beat by anyone but themselves. All I will say is - if our secondary is so bad, what does that say about you and your other receivers, Jerry-Dexter-Jackson-picked-me-off-and-I’m-a-big-baby-Porter?

I attended the big parade on Tuesday. It was unreal - most of the city had to be downtown for this thing. Unfortunately, our vantage point wasn’t so good - I got some pictures, but most of them involve the teeming masses in front of me, blocking my view of the action, so don’t expect a big picture update. However, MCG got some good film of everyone as they exited their vehicles and wave/slapped hands with the crowd as they made their way to the stage. Good thing too - the city of Tampa apparently had some budget cuts in their A/V department, and only had two tiny speakers hooked up. Seriously, I think my elementary school had a better sound system in our Multipurpose Room, and that was over twenty years ago. Not that I’m dating myself here or anything.

So, that bit was disappointing. We left while it was still going on (no audio = no fun), and it still took us a good half-hour to get out of the parking garage, much less out of downtown. Ate dinner with MKAW (as MCG had to go back to work - SUCKER!) at Tia’s. Tia’s has always been, in my mind, passable at best. Of course, part of me is still bitter that my old restaurant alma matter Rio Bravo went from great to awful in such a short period of time.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention this. Yes, I know it’s been done to death. But the fact that it’s done with the greatest comic ever makes it worth mentioning. And little Suzie certainly makes a great evil emperor.

And finally - a get well soon message to the Brat. I’ve never had Mono, but I understand that it sucks. But if there’s a lesson to be learned, it’s never make out with someone who is not your boyfriend.

I mean, what can I say that hasn’t already been echoed by every media pundit, sports genius, telecaster, bar hack, or homeless man in the greater Tampa Bay area?

Oh wait, I know!

Super! Like a bowl of Dean’s Dip!

Remember, we can’t beat that Raider offense - they have far too many weapons.

I just saw that some geniuses in Oakland have set cars on fire. Normally, that’s the job of the Superbowl winners. However, since the fine people of Tampa seem to have more class than that, I’ll be more than happy to cede that portion of the celebration to the fine ladies and gentlemen of Oakland.

I’d also like to thank Joy for wearing her underwear tonight. More when I can form more coherent sentences.

Say the words: Super. Bowl. Now, together: Super Bowl. Now, use this in a sentence.

“We’re going to the Super Bowl.”

Hmm. Needs emphasis.

Oh my God, we’re going to the SUPERBOWL!

Much better.

And now, an open letter to PhillyFan:

I would have an open letter to the general sports media, all of whom thought we had a snowball’s chance in San Diego of winning - but they already know how I feel about them. All I will say is that it’s the day after the game, and all anyone can talk about is how Philidelphia lost the game to us, because there’s still no way in hell we could beat them on our own merits - it was 27 degrees in Veterans Stadium, after all, and those were the cold, hard facts.

In other weekend news, Saturday night was the bachelor party for Ubergeek. Myself, MCG, the Uber one, and the Canadian ate dinner at Dish, then had a lovely evening making pottery and macrame while drinking chamomile tea at our favorite crafts shoppe.

I know I keep screwing around with the look of the site. I promise I’ll cut it out one day, when I’m finally satisfied with it - expect that day to come sometime after hell freezes over.

Got fitted for a tux this evening for the upcoming nuptuals with Jamie and Ubergeek. “You’re a 50 regular!” said the man with the nametag and the odd smirk as he retrieved the jacket from me. Well, aren’t I special. Actually, I’m not, I’m just happy that one other person on this great planet has noticed the size of my stomach.

I know I lead you down the wrong path with that other clip, so I guess when I say you’ll just have to trust me…you’ll just have to trust me. But this is worth it. (Requires Quicktime)

More fun for your nizzle - check out Tha Shizzolator. Actual shizzolated quote from my last post:

At any rate, that shiznit’s done, ‘n I just had tell everyone, ‘n make ‘em jealous that I’m no longer making a hooptie payment, know what I’m sayin’?

Entertainment for days. CNN makes for good reading as well through this, know what I’m sayin’?

5 years. 60 months. 1826 days. 43824 hours. 2629440 minutes. I’d break it down further, but I’m already at the point of silliness. More importantly: 101436 miles. 3 states of residence. 1 major car accident.

Get to the point, your’re all saying.

At 2:30 yesterday afternoon, I made the last payment on my 1997 Saturn SL1. It’s mine, lock, stock, and barrel. Saying that feels good - like I’ve accomplished a goal - but that goal is nothing more than doing what I’m supposed to do on a monthly basis.

Well, I’d like to say it’s all mine, but due to the help of my overly generous parents, who saved my bacon about four years ago when all hope seemed lost, I’d have to say they own a piece of it too.

At any rate, it’s done, and I just had to tell everyone, and make them jealous that I’m no longer making a car payment.

And I know it’s a bit late, but I have to mention that this story is 100% true. It must be, I read it on the Internet.

Ooga chaka ooga ooga ooga chaka ooga ooga ooga chaka ooga ooga ooga chaka.

The world must see this. It’s vital for our future, and our children’s future.

I was speaking with a friend a couple weeks ago, and she said she was feeling awful, and would I please remove her head and dispose of it, thank you. This is sort of how I’ve felt all week. The good news is, my sinuses have cleared up. Sort of. This has been replaced with a raw throat and small bouts of coughing. Win some, lose some.

I’ve been looking up items for Emily’s upcoming baby shower. I’ve got them one thing, and I’ll be getting at least one other thing - I just haven’t decided on what it will be yet. I have to say, I had no idea that John Lennon was so involved in the creation of baby products. Sheets, pillows, throw rugs, hell, he’s got freaking high chairs. Then again, I suppose his “art” could be described as kids drawings. Never in my life have I seen so much made of something that deserved, at best, to be hung on the refrigerator with a magnet that has the phone number for Domino’s on it. Yes, the man wrote some great music - that doesn’t make him Michelangelo.

So for those of you who choose not to participate in the madness that is the AddledBrain Commenting Service, you’re missing out on some of the most inane dialogue this side of The Duck Factory. And now you’re missing out on certain people who shall not be mentioned posting pictures of ridiculously overweight women in inappropriate clothing. All this because I thought it would be a good idea to allow posting of images in comments. And since I’m mentioning this now, I expect the floodgates will open and my comments pages will be littered with all kinds of wonderful images that I’ll soon regret. Just remember kids, what the Brain giveth, the Brain can taketh away.

In this case, the aforementioned bad man would be the jackass that put the medicine ball in my sinuses. I can’t breathe, I can’t think, and I can’t get any work done. So, I do an update. It may not accomplish much, but at least I can vent on all of you. Just remember - zinc is our friend.

John and Sara (without an “h”) had a great wedding. They picked a gorgeous location, the ceremony was the perfect length, and they had an open bar so we could all get schnockered. I even got some pics, which I’ll post when I get enough sense back to be able to work the camera. And with that the season of weddings takes a month to kick back and reflect on all the havoc it has caused, before the final showdown in February for Jamie and Uber.

Speaking of Jamie - I saw her and Shotty Lotty on Saturday. I think the idea was to grab a bite to eat and get a couple quick errands done for the wedding. So much for ideas - spent about three hours alone in Burdines scanning stuff for wedding gifts - tack on other mall shopping and a trip to the crafts store and you have a full day where I got to say things like “yes”, “no”, and my personal favorite: “that looks nice”. I swear to (insert your diety here), if I ever get married, I’m going to refrain from asking for gifts - cash only, and only if you really want to. I don’t need fine china, I don’t need crystal, I don’t need that double-plated gravy ladle with the gold trim. Cash is accepted everywhere, last time I checked - so it’s certainly accepted here. As a matter of fact, cash is accepted here anytime you damn well please, so feel free to send me lots of it whenever the mood strikes you.

Oddly enough, my sinuses seem to be clearing. *hugs his box of losenges* Back to work with me.

And happy new year to you, too.

I’m not one to toot my own horn - those of you that know me can pretty much attest to this. Hell, I often sell myself short when it comes giving myself credit. So having said that, I think it’s safe to say that my New Year’s Eve was much better than yours. I’m not giving out the grueling details, as those involved probably don’t want to learn that their night’s debauchery has been published on the Internet. But the pics speak for themselves. The ones I was willing to post.

Just remember: There ain’t no party like a Ron Dean party - ’cause a Ron Dean party don’t stop.

Of course, we can also trace back the best part of the party to Sunday - I went out on Uncle Ron’s lovely 38′ Wellcraft Excalibur - which does not suck, by the way - to Shell Island. Absolutely gorgeous day - not a cloud in the sky, about 70 degrees outside. Had some delicious carbonated beverages, those ridiculous Publix subs, and great company. In addition to Uncle Ron and his spitfire of a wife Leslie, they had their kids, Leslie’s sister and her husband, and her friend Michele.

Expect to hear that last name here again. All I have to say is, for now, any woman with a light drawl and a slightly evil sense of humor is most likely going to get a bit of my attention.

Continuing our backwards spiral through time, Saturday night I had the pleasure of The Madre’s company. We did a bit of grocery shopping, and stopped to eat some dessert, before coming back and watching The Man Who Wasn’t There (obligatory review to follow). I’ve had this movie on my shelf for a while now, but haven’t watched it before the other night. I really couldn’t tell you why - I love the Coen brothers - but I guess I never really got around to it. Or maybe my Spider Sense™ was telling me not to watch it.

Perhaps they should call
it “The Movie Where Nothing
Happens”. Good noir, tho.