Shoes and Socks

The Little Poser and I agree on many things. We are of one mind on the following topics, just a small sampling of our overall agreement:

-- That a rock band is only as good as its drummer
-- Related, Animal is the coolest Muppet. I'm more of a Statler and Waldorf guy, but I admit they are not very cool
-- Ice cream is delicious
-- The Posette is the coolest
-- Puppies exist to be petted often
-- If at first you don;t succeed, just hit the thing harder... it'll start working

But above all, we share a hatred of shoes and socks. Look, I get it. You need to have shoes when you are walking on a city street because, well, ew. There's lots of gross stuff out there, and I don't want it on my feet. But you know what? I own soap. Its not a deal killer here.

Beer and Bouncy Castles

Yeesh. I start this thing back up and I immediately drop the ball twice. I'm like the Charlie Brown of bloggers. Really, the problem is that this is a busy time of the year over at ATVS because of the NCAA baseball tournament. I have to write a lot of previews of a lot of games, so I end up writing thousands of words without really saying anything other than "hey, this team is pretty good".

I mean, I like writing for the blog, but really game previews are a waste of everyone's time. It's just a way for the fans to congregate and beat their chest before the game about how awesome they are. But I actually have to put effort into writing these things, and usually throw enough jokes in there to keep myself interested. Not an excuse for the lack of activity here, just an explanation. I'm exhausted by all of the writing.

I'm also physically exhausted because we went down to Austin to visit the Official Sister of the Posette for her 30th birthday party. Molly celebrated this round number the way everyone should, by renting a combination bouncy castle and water slide.

Now, you might be wondering... how did the LP enjoy the bouncy castle and water slide combination? And that would be a good question, but we don't know the answer because we did not bring her. That's right. When faced with a giant entertainment designed for children, we left our child with grandma, grabbed a beer, and went bouncing ourselves. This is because we are horrible people.

Unfortunately, video exists of me trying to climb the ladder to the water slide. I'm not sure where, as I've scoured youtube for it so I can flag it right away so none of y'all ever see it. Let's just say the ladder rungs are not designed for big people feet, and I have especially large feet. Adding to the degree of difficulty was the fact we hadn't figured out the setup yet and we ended up spraying the ladder with water, giving it the friction of Bambi on ice.

But I made it up the ladder, after a few beers. And I slid the slide and splashed like a little kid. Now, three days later, my bionically repaired back is still absolutely killing me. Let's be honest, bouncy castles and surgically repaired spinal cords are not a good combination. Don't do this at home kids, I'm a paid professional.

As I settled into a lawn chair to argue about movies for the next five hours, some actual kids showed up. They avoided the ladder, too. They just ran up the slide. Their physical abilities and general enthusiasm reflects poorly on my general sloth.

I'm okay with that. Beer is delicious.

Disney Princesses and Politics

Parenting is a minefield. Everything you do is open to criticism from the peanut gallery, and every decision, no matter inconsequential to you, is some sort of political statement. You thought you were just buying a fruit pouch because your kid likes them and you can stuff it in a diaper bag without it going bad in the Texas heat.* But no, you are actually rejecting the home food music and you should be blending fresh fruit in a processor at home, you monster.

*The fruit pouch, not the baby. Babies will spoil if left in a diaper bag in the Texas heat. 

One of the ways to navigate this minefield, or at least the one that works for me, is to not give a shit. If you think I’m a bad parent for giving my kid gluten, well, there’s really not a whole lot you can do about it. I will note your disapproval in my diary. But the big thing here is to follow that old cliché and not sweat the small stuff. The key is figuring out what is the small stuff.

This week’s tempest in a teapot is Merida being named a Disney princess. Now, I rather enjoyed the film, but I can’t say I’m much emotionally invested in the Disney marketing team’s official princess designations. I thought she was already a Disney princess by A) appearing in a Disney film and B) being a princess. The thought she might have to later be inducted into the Disney Princess Hall of Fame or something never really occurred to me. Then again, you don’t see many Princess Eilonwy toys despite The Black Cauldron being awesome.

Caring About Sports is Stupid... Especially If You're a Caps Fan

See, I start up the old blog again, and immediately fall off the wagon. That's how unreliable I am. I cannot be trusted.

Really, it's just been a busy week. The Posette and I are buying a house and while I won't bore you with the details, needless to say, there are a lot of friggin' details. Those details take time and generally get me aggravated. So I've been cranky.

I tried to relax with some playoff hockey, which is like trying to save money by going to Vegas. If everything goes perfect, it works out wonderfully, but the odds are staked against you. Instead of watching my Caps win and putting a smile on my face, I instead watched them drop to 3-9 all time in a Game 7 while I invented new curse words.

At least I didn't break anything, which I think is a sign of personal growth. I yelled a little bit, but mainly I just slumped in my chair and wondered why on earth I was so emotionally invested in guys I've never met playing a game. Sure, it's silly, but everything is silly when you break it down to its component parts. We care about things because we choose to care about them. That's enough.

But I've never known anyone to break a chair over Happy Endings getting cancelled. And no one ever acts like you are a failure as person if a movie you like bombed at the box office. It's only sports in which a bad outcome literally changes my mood. Sad things happen in a movie, I cry, and then I move on. Bad things happen to the Caps, I contemplate the sheer pointlessness of existence, and lapse into an existential crisis.

I'd probably still be cranky had the Caps won. It's not like the house buying stress would've suddenly gone away and the furniture would've moved itself without me paying some borderline criminal fee which makes me feel like I'm buying my possessions back. Not a thing in my life would have actually and honestly changed.

But I still would have felt a bit better than I do right now. Stupid Caps.

The Floor/Ceiling Dilemma

First, let me state for the record that I do know that the attic floor cannot support my weight. I knew that two weeks ago, I knew that yesterday, and I certainly know it today. Nothing like a little bit of empirical evidence to confirm what you already knew.

OK, that disclosure out of the way, this bit of knowledge did not stop me from putting my foot through the attic floor of the house we are thinking about buying. It was during the home inspection, and the very friendly inspector took me up into the attic to look at all of those ducts and units that I pretend I understand. The planks of wood, surprisingly, were not perfectly even, which caused my brain to flip out. So, one turned ankle later, I was sticking my other leg out to support myself and.... well, you see where this is going.

My first thought was that I could just play this off. Hey, no one is going to notice that my entire leg is sticking through the 2nd floor ceiling of the house. And it's not like I'm up to my waist in insulation or anything.

My second thought was actually a good one. Lay down, don't move, and let's assess the situation. It is this moment I would like to share. My personal self-assessment of the moment my leg was sticking through the ceiling:

The Get Out of Jail Free Card

The Posette had some sort of band concert this evening which means I was solely responsible for the LP's well-being and survival this evening. This, of course, makes everybody a little bit nervous as most people who know me are fairly surprised I haven't accidentally killed myself over the course of the last few decades. Adding the degree of difficulty of another human life just seems like a bit much.

But honestly, I like the Daddy/Daughter days, as it gives us an important opportunity to bond and form a strong, lasing relationship that will last us for the rest of our --- no, just kidding. I couldn't even type that without gut laughing. No, the best part about this is that I can use my child as an excuse to get out of things I do not want to do.

Look, I know the Posette and her fellow band directors work real hard. I know about their long hours and their commitment to their kids. It's inspiring. But I'm staring at an entire lifetime of middle school band concerts... A LIFETIME, people. Most people only have to endure middle school band concerts for a few years, and then their own children graduate. And here's the thing, your kids will get better, and you will notice. You can see the progression in their play as they advance through their education, as the result of their commitment and hard work. It's rewarding as a parent to see this progress. As the spouse of the band director, it is an endless repeat of the same damn thing, year in and year out.

Heck, I've only been doing it or a few years, and I would rather itemize the contents of my closet than attend another middle school concert. Especially one taught by her colleagues and not her. I can't even take pride in her accomplishments. Now, I will go. Without complaint, even. I am here to support, and I am nothing if not supportive. But now? Sorry. Baby.

It's like passing Go and collecting $200.

Do you know what you get to do when you pick up your kid from day care and it's just you two? Like, I'm the authority figure? Exactly. We get to play. OK, there's some dinner and some diaper changes in the middle of that, but mainly, it's playing with Captain Calamari or her Disney Princess castle.*

*I think mommy and daddy like the castle more than she does. To her, it's another toy, albeit a really cool one that plays music and has fascinating moving parts. Mommy likes it because she never had a dollhouse and Daddy likes it because there was "some assembly required" and he assembled it without major incident, much to everyone's surprise.

We get to play make-believe, watch some hockey, and dance to the Pixies. Then, her batteries run low and I have to get her ready for bed. Then it is my job -- my duty as a parent -- to read her a Dr. Seuss story and put her to bed. I mean, how cool is that?

Being the only responsible adult in the house, once she fell asleep, I did what any authority figure with no check on his power would do. I ate cookies, drank a beer, and watched playoff hockey. I looked at the clock and smiled.... the concert hadn't even started yet.

Testing... testing....

OK, it's been a long time since I posted anything here, but I'm going to step back into the cockpit and fire this old blog back up. Why? Well, because I like having an outlet in which I can rant incoherently about such important topics as cake, baseball, or my exceedingly cute baby. A lot of people have told me they enjoy my facebook status updates, which is a bizarrely specific compliment. I'm going to try to take my updates and make them longform. We'll see how long this project lasts. Maybe just this one post, I'm notoriously unreliable.

Anyway, instead of catching y'all up on the last four or five years since I last put up a post, I will instead just introduce you to the cast of characters here at Poseur HQ. That should get us back up to speed and update you on my life. think of this as the longest, most self-indulgent Facebook status update in human history.

Poseur: Me. Your carefree guide and master of this blog. It's not much, but I call it home. Still lawyering in Dallas and even getting paid for it, too. I also write for SB Nation's LSU site, And the Valley Shook! This means you won't get much LSU ranting here, as I already have an outlet for that. My primary role there is to antagonize Alabama fans, who really do have no sense of humor because sports are very serious, indeed.

This and That

Boy, this job thing really gets in the way of goofing off. I keep having bloggy ideas, only to get caught up in work, come home, make dinner, and then fall right asleep. Just not a lot of time to make fun of anonymous people on the internet. So, here are abbreviated versions of all of the posts you missed out on. Only 50% less funny. And 75% less interesting.

CONVENTIONS
I am proud that I made it through both political conventions without watching a single second of either. Look, I don't go out of my way to watch a commercials. And that's what a convention is. It's insulting that it is covered as a news event. Nothing newsworthy has happened at a convention in my lifetime. It is meaningless political theatre. However, it did lead to one brilliant moment, Jon Stewart's takedown of political bloviating in the wake of Palin's nomination.

The GOP doesn't hold a monopoly on blatant lying. Pretty much every political shill who shows up on TV is nothing more than a hack who is selling us a product. Do not believe them. And they deserve to be mocked and then shunned from civilized society.

MUDHONEY
Saw Mudhoney at the Grenada this weekend. Let's be honest, I freaking love Mudhoney. When I was 16, I was perhaps a bigger fan of Mudhoney than I have ever been of anything in my life. Seeing them old and gray I thought would be somewhat depressing, but they still rocked pretty hard. And it was kind of reassuring.

See, while all of the counterculture bands of the 1960s were selling toothpaste and cars within a decade. The counterculture bands of my youth are still, well, counterculture. Mudhoney is still cool. They aren't selling cars, they are still making very loud, very dirty, and frankly, very funny songs. Who cares if they are pushing 50?

DRIVING
I was on Haskell, a one way street, when there was a car headed straight towards me. Which is odd. But at no point did it strike me as odd until after the car passed me. I merely pulled into the center land and let him pass on the left, or his right, or whatever. The point is, I didn't even slow down. It didn't register that this guy might kill me until after the moment has passed.

Which means I totally suck at self-preservation.

Hip Hop Punks

Emily brought me along to see Nas and Talib Kwali on Tuesday. Now, I'm not a big fan of hip hop, not because I think it stinks, but because it simply doesn't speak to me. Hey, I'm not the audience for Yo Gabba Gabba either, but I'm not really the guy to cast value judgments over its quality.

Now, the show had everything you could want, even ending in a fight that only failed to be a knife fight because the guy dropped his knife.

Though it wasn't my scene, I had a great time, got into the show, and a thought occurred to me as the night rolled along: this show was more punk rock than most punk shows I've been to. While punk has become more and more commercial and punk-by-numbers, it's become infinitely less interesting. It's safe and stale and it's just the same thing over and over again.

And maybe this was the same thing over and over again for hip hop fans. But I doubt it. Not many shows have the live microphone tossed into the crowd so anyone there could rap along. And that's just fun. But it also had a sense of anarchy, of spontaneity, of actually being dangerous... and I find that irresistible.

PC Cometh

I noticed from Osler's blog that PC has started. I would like to give all of the new PC students some words of advice as someone who survived the experience.

But I'm too busy gut laughing since I never, ever, ever have to do that again. So sorry kids, you're on your own.

Captains of Industry or Robber Barons

I’ve just finished reading Meet You In Hell, a biography of Andrew Carnegie and Henry Clay Frick. It’s a great book, and I recommend it to anyone with a passing interest in the history of the Gilded Age.

Most of the book is dedicated to the Battle of Homestead, which is perhaps the bloodiest episode in American labor history. And it’s a great read full of drama, rich characters, and well, a boatload of violence. It’s amazing this sort of thing doesn’t happen anymore. Not because I think labor conditions are so bad, but because we live in a violent culture, yet we don’t have these sort of armed confrontations between labor and capital anymore.

But what fascinated me about the book was the study of its too central protagonists: Frick and Carnegie. Both were ruthless and not more than a little bit greedy. They were also both brilliant and driven men, who really were self-made men.

Carnegie tried to rationalize his darker side away. Everything he did was for the benefit of others, who he claimed to love so much. And then he felt so guilty of the millions he made, that he spent the last years of his life giving his fortune away, the standard of philanthropy which stands today. The Homestead workers probably would rather have gotten a higher wage than get the library, but whatever.

Frick, on the other hand, almost reveled in his dark side. He made no excuses. He was a ruthless man and he didn’t lose any sleep over the dozens of strikers who died by his orders. Which is remarkable in its own way, but in the end, I end up admiring Frick more for his unflinching honesty. He had no illusions that he was a ruthless, greedy man and he would crush anyone who cost him so much as a nickel.

Which is why, nearing death, when Carnegie tried to reconcile with his former partner and now bitter enemy, Frick refused to meet with Carnegie and make things right. He told the messenger:

“I’ll meet Carnegie in hell, where surely we both are going.”

They just don’t make them like that anymore.

Losing

I’m an Olympics junkie. I love the whole thing, mainly because, as many of you know, I am the King of Obscure Sports. I’m not a big track and field guy, but once every four years, I can certainly tune in and get caught up in the biggest Sporting Event in the World.

And the reason I love the Olympics can be explained by two people: Usain Bolt and Lolo Jones.

Bolt became the first guy to break the 100 and 200 meter world records in the same Olympics. Take that, Michael Phelps. And his 100 meter run was nothing short of spectacular. Not only did he pull up in the last 20 meters, he ran with one shoe untied, and his prerace meal was Chicken McNuggets.*

*Editor’s note: Not made up. I’m dead serious. He ate McDonald’s before the biggest race of his life. How can you not love this guy?

But the greatness of Bolt’s achievements don’t resonate with me like the failure of Lolo Jones. Jones is the greatest hurdler in the world. She dominates the race and she’s the World Champion. And this was her chance to win a gold medal. And, just two hurdles away from her being introduced for the rest of her life as “Olympic gold medalist Lolo Jones”, she hit the hurdle and stumbled her way to seventh place.

Jones crumbled to the track and just cried. She’s 27, and track is not exactly a sport that is forgiving on an athlete as they age. She may not even qualify for the next Olympics, and if she does, she likely won’t be the favorite she was this time around. This was, essentially, her whole career in one race. And it went up in smoke. And she knew it.

Bolt is great. He’s a lot of fun. I’ll remember him when I think back as one of the all-time great Olympians. But, to be honest, I’ll treasure Lolo Jones more. Sometimes failure is just as noble as victory. I will never run as fast as Usain bolt, but I can relate to Lolo Jones. She came so close to her dream, only to have it snatched away. And for that, she is my favorite Olympian in these Games.

LSU Football and Memories

Cross posted on And The Valley Shook!, an LSU blog on which I am a contributor

I have an LSU class ring which I don’t ever wear. I’m not much one for jewelry, but I always put it on for my birthday, which is in a few hours. It used to my dad’s class ring, and he gave it to me for my birthday back when I was a student at LSU. The ring even came with a convenient story, as the ring was sold to my dad my none other than NFL Hall of Famer, LSU great, and well, the greatest fullback of all time, Jim Taylor.

Apparently, my dad and Taylor were casual friends since they played all sorts of sports against one another in high school. According to my mom, Taylor also had a college job selling class rings, and he sold my dad his. So I always called it my Jim Taylor ring.

It’s easy to get caught up in the big business of college football and get lost in it. The coaches are mercenary. The players are only in it for themselves. The boosters are corrupt. Recruiting is sort of creepy. Television has ruined everything. Pick your complaint.

But it’s also a game that passed on through family bonds. I grew up in Maryland, which meant I didn’t grow up going to games in Death Valley. In fact, college football barely made a dent in the sports landscape when I was a kid. But my parents were LSU fans, and they would go to almost any length to catch a game. We didn’t have a cable, so we were always going over to some neighbor who had ESPN so we could catch the occasional Saturday night game. But back then, most games weren’t on TV. So my dad would fiddle with the dials on the old Panasonic radio, trying to catch the broadcast on an AM band that managed to crackle through from Louisiana. Sometimes this meant crawling on to the roof to listen to a game. We’d huddle around the tiny radio on a cold November night, trying to catch the action through waves of static.

I still have the radio. I don’t ever use it, as every LSU game is now on TV on one of the million cable channels out there. There’s no need for me to crawl onto my roof to try and catch a clear channel signal. Hell, I don’t even know if clear channels exist anymore. But I can’t bring myself to throw it out.

I remember those games and the sound of my dad’s voice cheering on the Tigers. I remember him teaching me to sing “Hey! Fightin’ Tigers!” I remember him teaching me about all of those past greats. I remember him describing Pregame, though I wouldn’t ever see it until I finally came to LSU as a student myself. By then, the torch of fanaticism had passed. I remember it all like it was yesterday.

Ten years ago, LSU hadn’t won a national title since 1958. They hadn’t won an SEC title since 1986. And of the last ten years, seven of them had been losing seasons. It was the nadir of LSU football. The next ten years, of course, have been maybe the ten most successful years in the program’s history. My dad would have enjoyed that. But he missed out on it because he died ten years ago. We buried him on my birthday. Of all things he missed out on, I doubt LSU football ranks really high. Then again, some of my fondest memories involving him also involve the Tigers. If I close my eyes, I’m still on that roof, listening to that radio, clutching that hot cocoa for its warmth. Listening to the game. Listening to those cheers.

Since it’s my birthday, I’m wearing my class ring. But it’s not a Jim Taylor ring. It’s an Oran R. Baker ring.

Olympic Objectivity

Michael Phelps won 8 gold medals as NBC set an Olympic record for Most times Camera Cut to An Athlete’s Mom. We get it. Mom’s proud of her son, the Olympic champion. In other news, the water in the pool is wet.

OK, I have legitimately enjoyed Phelps’ dominance, and him staking a claim for Greatest Olympian Ever*. But that has not been the reason to watch the Olympics. No, the real reason has been to catch a glimpse of the barely intelligible rantings of Bela Karolyi.

*The Unofficial Rankings:
1. Carl Lewis – gold medals in four consecutive Olympics
2. Jesse Owens – made Hitler look dumber than usual
3. Bjorn Daehlie – cross country skier with 8 golds, 12 total medals, and his name is Bjorn.
4. Ray Ewry – 10 events, 10 golds. Suck on that. And his Olympic record for standing broad jump still stands, maybe because the event was discontinued in 1930.
5. Larissa Latynina – 18 medals, 9 of them gold. The Soviets could do some gymnastics

Anyway, some people have criticized Bela for, how shall we put this, openly rooting for the US team. It’s not so much commentary as some crazy guy cheering. He’s like an out of control Little League parent, only on the Olympic level.

What’s great about this is that it exposes the central lie in all sports broadcasting and most news broadcasting: the myth of objectivity. OF COURSE the NBC announcers are rooting for the Americans. We’re American and our rooting interest is in our fellow countrymen. Why else would they show us the US men’s solo all-around in gymnastics when they never even cracked the top 10? Any semblance of objectivity would have cut the Americans so fast it would make your head spin. But NBC stuck with them, not because they are evil or bad, but because, get this, Americans like watching Americans.

OK, I did watch the Italy-Netherlands water polo match this morning, but I’m a freak. Most people don’t care.

It’s the same with local sports. That old adage “There’s no cheering in the press box” is simply ridiculous. The only reason the Dallas Morning News reporter is in the box is to cover the Cowboys. And get this, he’s a fan of the Cowboys and wants them to do well. Why pretend that he’s not? It’s silly. And it means it’s all based on a lie. If a guy can’t even be honest enough to say he’s a Cowboys fan, why should I trust him at all?

News reporting is the same thing. We know the reporters have their own opinion. We know some of them prefer one candidate over another. And for a reporter to come out and claim they are 100% objective is insulting to all of our intelligence. Of course they have bias. Everyone has bias. But the way to deal with this bias is not to pretend it doesn’t exist, but to admit it and confront it.

There’s a reason FOX News is popular. It’s because they are so ridiculously biased and so refreshingly honest about it, that it seems much more honest. I think they take the model too far and allow themselves to simply mouth talking points, but nobody’s perfect. Being honest about your bias doesn’t mean you also have to give up critical thinking.

The news media wonders why we don’t trust them. It’s hard to trust someone whose entire business model is based on a lie. And not even a good one.

So you go, Bela. Root your ass off. Who would have thought it? You’re the most honest guy on TV.

A Slight Return

Apparently, I have a fanbase. Not much of one, but enough people have been checking this space and getting irritate by the sheer lack of updates. Because no one can bring the funny like law school funny.

So, after an extended vacation in which I droned on for a long time about the Tour de France on another blog And LSU for yet another blog (that’s right, my dork powers are slowly spreading across the interwebs, eventually I’ll be showing up doing guest columns on music blogs on why your favorite band sucks), I am back. I’m doing some housecleaning around here, cleaning out cobwebs, and I’m certainly disinfecting some of blogger which has gone unused for awhile. The mold in here is sort of scary.

Which begs the question: why no updates? Does Poseur think he’s too good for you? Has he been too busy? Has he found other interests? And why is he referring to himself in third person? Doesn’t he realize he sounds like a pompous ass at best and an absolute moron at worst when he does that?*

*The answers: I’ve been trying to adjust to working life. No. Yes. No, unless tennis counts. Because it’s Poseur’s blog and Poseur makes his own rules. Absolutely.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go back to watch an obscene amount of Olympic coverage. Did you know you could watch team handball online? And that the brackets for table tennis are absolutely incomprehensible? Or that judo’s scoring system is almost impossible to explain? Yeah. Me neither. Of course I wouldn’t watch obscure sports on the internet. What kind of no-life loser do you think I am?

Oh. Right. Nevermind then. Ooo! Fencing! Gotta go.

Goonies Are Good Enough

I've had The Goonies DVD sitting on top of my TV for about a month and I've never found the time to watch it. So last night, while trying to unwind from a particuarly stressful day at work (in which no one threatened to gut me like a fish - in fact, everyone was quite nice), I popped it in.

Then I watched it again with the Commentary Track on. While Sean Astin looks a lot different and I can't believe Corey Feldman was ever that young... Josh Brolin looks exactly the same. Does he sleep in some sort of oxygen tent? Does he hang out with Dick Clark? Because he looks exactly like he did twenty years ago, only now with facial hair.

The movie? Still awesome.

Carlin Dead at 71.

I’ve been busy with this whole work thing so I’ve been unable to really keep y’all up to your eyebrows in goofing-off-at-work content. For this, I am sorry. But I’d rather not get fired since I sort of like my job. Actually, I really like my job. And I especially like getting paid and my nice Uptown apartment. So drafting that will comes before drafting a blog post.

Though I do appreciate when y’all ask if I’m dead or not. While I am not dead, George Carlin is.

I take my stand-up comedy very seriously, and George Carlin is one of the undeniable greats. He had an impeccable understanding of language and fought his entire life against euphemisms, as they are an assault on truth and honesty. His bit on how the term “shell-shock” became “Post Traumatic Stress Disorder” isn’t one of his most famous, but it is one of my favorites. He hated how we stripped the words of all of their meaning to make ourselves more comfortable. PTSD sounds like another BS disorder a shrink has invented to justify their rates. Shell shock sounds exactly like what it is.

His greatness didn’t just lie in funny observations, but he attached meaning to those observations. David Cross has a comment in which he dismissed most comedians as “funny in a who gives a shit kind of way.” Carlin’s comedy meant something. He used it to barely mask his outrage at the way those in power brazenly lie to us through the manipulation of language. It was a losing battle, but most fights worth having are.

First Time In Court

I'm scheduled for my first hearing this Friday. It's not on my case, it is on Lindsay's case. So, she has offered me some words of encouragement along the lines of "If you screw this up, I will gut you like a fish."

I'm feeling pretty good about this. What could go wrong?

Hey Hon

Jim turned to me today and told me that we've been friends for 21 years. So our friendship is now legally allowed to drink.

I'm in Maryland for his wedding right now, which means I've eaten about three crabcakes in a 48 hour period. Got to get while the getting is good. We went to downtown Baltimore today and some of the same stuff is there, and in other ways it's a completely different city. You can't go home again and all that.

I was driving through the valley between Howard and Baltimore County, and my radio (as always) went out because the stone blocks the radio signal. It's the same thing that happened every time I've driven through that valley over the past 15 years. And it felt, albeit briefly, just like home.

Soccer. Yeah, Soccer.

I love the Olympics. I really do. Who am I kidding? I love almost all sporting events. But here's what I don't love about the Olympics: all of that brotherhood crap. I hate soft focus profiles. I hate that it's supposed to be about something other than winning. Which to me, as a sports fan, is kind of insulting. What makes the Olympics great is the best athletes in the world competing on the biggest stage. It's about winning.

During the Olympics, my favorite events tend to be the "smaller" events. Becuase the networks just throw, say, team handball on at 1:20 AM with an announcing duo consisting of some novice too nervous to blow this gig to have some annoying schtick and one former player or coach to explain the game. And it's great. Because for that one and half hours or whatever, there's nothing bigger than the team handball game between Ukraine and Austria. It's great.

Which brings me to my love of international soccer. Sure, there's a little bit of that sportsmanship and bringing the world together crap for the advertisers, but mainly it's just about the game. Even better, some of the teams (countries) absolutely hate each other. Seriously, ask an Englishman sometime about their nation's proud soccer history against Spain.

Don't forget to duck. And then bring up Argentina.

Or enjoy the Swiss and the Turks getting into a fight after their game today. that's right, Euro 2008 has managed to get the SWISS riled up.



So I've been watching lots of Euro 2008. And it is a lot of fun. If nothing else, it's great to watch teams struggle against their own identity to lose in almost the same way every time.

Then again, every so often, a team like Greece wins the thing. And no one sees it coming. Or the Netherlands comes in and beats the ever-livin' snot out of Italy. And you start to believe maybe this is the time they finally will put it all together.

Or maybe it's just Lucy setting up the football for Charlie Brown one more time.