My Addled Brain

Happy 27th to MCG. Good choice of movie to go see (Yes! A review! Below! I love sugar!), and I hope you enjoy the gift I got you, as soon as I get around to giving it to you.

Since we’re all in a talkative mood about football (seems I can’t get you hosers to talk about anything else willingly), I’ll give you a topic. Keyshawn Johnson: petulant baby or mortally wronged NFL superstar? Discuss. And speaking of #19, sorry about your luck, Erky, guess you’re gonna need a new jersey. I hear there’s a sale on #99 these days…

Hooray for poetry! Elf:

I have decided
to name my first girl Zooey.
Bob Newhart is God.

Some thoughts on my beloved, beleagured Bucs.

1. Cut Yatta. Don’t bench him, don’t discipline him, cut him. I’m tired of his attitude and his inability to realize that his penalties are costing the Bucs drives and points.
2. Since when can the Bucs not make freaking tackles? Our defense was ricocheting off of Davenport and Green like they were made of Flubber - when they could get a hold of them, that is. Our defensive line got pwned this week.
3. Quit being so damned conservative. The only time our offense does anything worthwhile is when we’re doing no-huddle. Trust Brad, Gruden.

It’s all just so completely frustrating. MCG is frustrated with them, I’m frustrated with them, Emily’s mom is frustrated with them, hell, I’m pretty sure Emily is frustrated with them. Or maybe she was just hungry.

When Andy starts spamming the comments and Jefe references The Kentucky Fried Movie, you know I’m way past due for an update. Part of the updating lethargy can be contributed to my recent new role at work - data entry. When I’m not in the field solving problems, I’m stuck in a closet entering work orders into the database, which as you might imagine, is nearly as much fun as gouging myself with a box of toothpicks. This, in turn, saps my desire to do any cognitave thinking, so as a result, you get slack. As always, my best advice is to deal with it.

A belated happy birthday to Erky, who doesn’t answer his cell phone after 8pm CST, it seems. Oh well. I’ve put in an additional order for a power chair to be delivered to you, so we can drag race down that hill near KU next time I visit.

Many of you might know of my undying love for all things retro. This is even more true when it comes to my utter fascination with the atomic culture of the 50’s and early 60’s - the whole “Duck and Cover” thing is so intriguing to me. Well, for those of you who have never heard or seen this gem, I present to you Propaganda Critic, which has the original Duck and Cover instructional movie in it’s entirety. Watch it, and shake your head in wonder.

You have to admire people who can stand up to a terrorist. Even if that terrorist will be served up to someone with cranberries and mashed potatoes by the end of the month.

So, yesterday I headed over to Shoddy Loddy’s house to attend the birthday party for my little second cousin Samuel, who turns 3 or 4 next week - I’m not really sure, since the second cousin count is up to 361 these days, and it’s hard to keep track of all the birthdays and ages anymore. I was a bit reluctant to go. I mean, I don’t have any kids - and even if it’s a family birthday party, what’s so fun about having a bunch of screaming little kids everywhere? Still, this would be a good chance for Carolina to meet the Madre’s extended family.

So I walk into Shoddy’s house, and as I round the entrance to the living room…”SURPRISE!” Yeah, no kidding surprise. There was no party for Samuel - it was a surprise party for me. I was blindsided. Hoodwinked. Hornswaggled. And Carolina was the catalyst for the whole thing. With help from Jamie, Shoddy, the Madre, and several others, they got in contact with my friends, most of which I don’t call because I suck, yet they somehow worked up the gumption to attend anyway. I got lots of cool gifts, and ate my cake on Spider-Man plates.

In short, my 30th birthday was MUCH cooler than yours. So nyaaah.

Thanks to everyone who attended, those who helped out, my friends whom I am sure I do not deserve, except that no-account Biggart fella, whom I hear looks sharp in bells but didn’t actually get a chance to see him in them, and of course to Carolina; I love you more than I think I have words for, baby.

A bunch of people took pictures, and might get posted should I ever get a hold of them, or not, depending on how fat they make me look.

Of my twenties. Funny, I don’t feel a day over 29. I’ll be celebrating today with some family and friends at a children’s birthday party at Shoddy Loddy’s house, followed up with dinner…somewhere. See? I’m always prepared. More when the arthritis allows me to type again.