I've outdone myself

 When I go out on the town late night, I don't try to pick up girls.  It's not my style. I've never gone home with a girl, and I've never had one come home with me.  I never will, either.  "Hook-ups" are for the birds.  I prefer the circa 1950s model.  Dating.  If you enjoy the dates, hell, you can "go steady."  Anyway, when I'm out and about, I'll talk to everyone in an attempt to either entertain them or entertain myself.  Now, this is not to make an excuse for my awful way with words when it comes to girls.  Rarely, I'll actually meet someone I'd like to get to know better.  When I'm actually serious about trying to get to know someone, I make the same terrible comments, but it's not quiet as entertaining.  I digress.  Let's move on.

My friends have long been entertained by my conversations with the ladies.  At first, I was annoyed because I couldn't talk to any gal without having my friends listen in and giggle like school girls when I unknowingly dropped odd/horrible lines or offended someone without even trying.  One good "friend" said, "watching you talk to girls is one of the most entertaining things I've seen."  This was not a compliment.  He went on, "It's like a train wreck.  Absolutely horrible, but I can't stop watching, and I enjoy it."

I've got good friends.

After a while, I embraced it...maybe a little too much.  I wish I could apologize to some of the girls I used as guinea pigs just to get laughs from friends.  It always started the same way.  I'd spot one, tap my friends on the shoulder or get their attention and say, "watch this."  Then I was off.

Anyway, most of the time, I wasn't consciously trying to get laughs or offend anyone with my comments, but I did.  Here's the short list of lines that didn't come out or work out the way I planned.  I would like to forget them, but my good friends make sure I don't.

-"Hey, you're feet are bigger than mine!  That's interesting."  Reaction:  offended

-"You look really tired. What in the world have you been doing?"  Reaction:  offended

-"Do you like to party?"  Reaction:  frightened

-"Do you speak Spanish?"  Reaction:  speechless

-"I can't dance.  Not at all. If I could, I would ask you to dance.  I can snap my fingers...What's up?"  Reaction:  amused-not in a good way

-"Dannnnng!  Yo, what up?"  Reaction: she said, "Have you ever had a drink poured on your head?"  Reaction to the reaction:  I said "No, but I've been slapped at least 4 or 5 times."  Reaction to the reaction-reaction:  Rolled eyes, walked away (a victory in my opinion).

-And the personal favorite of a couple of my friends:  I was watching "Coneheads" with a girl, and it got to the part where Chris Farley took the conehead girl to the dance or prom or whatever the heck it was.  Then Chris Farley and the conhead started kissing.  So I turned to that poor girl and said, "So--uhh.  You wanna try that?"  Reaction:  Confused-very confused...but we kissed, suckers.  Damn, I'm good. 

-And today, I may have outdone myself.  I was at the gym.  I wasn't even interested in this girl, mind you.  She was at least a half a head taller than me and skinnier than Skeletor.  When I'm at the gym, I rarely talk to anyone because it's the one place where I'm all business.  I want to get in and get out in 50 minutes; casual conversation does not fit in.  But today, I had nowhere to be so I was taking my time.  I was on the stretching mats, which at the gym at Alabama are on the second floor down a long hallway that leads to an emergency exit.  It's adjacent to an indoor track where creeper dudes stare at girls doing ab workouts and stretching.  The girls are justifiably on guard when they're on the mats and I don't blame them.  Now.  I knew this, but for some reason, it didn't strike me that the following comment could have been taken the wrong way.  I was stretching right beside this girl, and all I did was make an observation.  It was not meant to be dirty or sexual, and I wasn't trying to hit on her.  Honest.  I said, "You are really flexible!  That's cool."  Reaction:  she said, "Wow." and got up and walked away.  Skank.

Plants and Pickle-sicles

So here are pictures of the houseplant that refuses to quit.  You know, they actually say that talking to plants helps them grow better.  I heard that nearly everyday when I was landscaping, and there's actually literature to back it up...But, I don't know how true it is when I'm looking at it every morning saying, "Why don't you just hurry up and die so I can add you to the compost pile out back."  Here's a shot of it:

Not too bad from that angle...But:

Tough son of a gun.  I'll give it that.  Oh, and check this out.  I left a pickle from McAlister's Deli in my refrigerator for a couple of weeks.  This is what happened.  OMG, right?  Right? Nobody?  No?

Right after I discovered this petrified pickle, I immediately walked it over to the houseplant and told it, "you're next."

!Choco-Milk Price Alert!

This mainly concerns Tuscaloosa residents; others are encouraged to keep reading for poops and giggles.

I wanted to give a brief report on current choc-milk market prices in Tuscaloosa.  I've been getting shafted until today.  Here's a short list of prices for 1-pint Dairy Fresh Chocolate Milks in the University area (taxes included).

• University dining/library cafes & bistros:   $1.84-absolute travesty, and sometimes they don't have any 
• Exon (or is it Mobil or something else?) on University Blvd. close to gym: $1.54-still too pricey, and they also experience horrid stock-outs occasionally
• Kangaroo on University Blvd. close to gym:  $1.41-getting better, but not even close to the Tuscaloosa Choco-milk Price Champion
• Shell on corner of Hackberry Lane and Black Bear's Way:  $1.08-Woooooo!  Son.  Jackpot. Choco-milk party in T-Town.
• Publix on the strip:  $1.06-Important to note this is the price of Publix's own brand of chocolate milk.  It's not bad.  I put it right up there with Dairy Fresh.  The problem with Publix is that getting in and out of that parking lot makes me want to choke-slam people.

Here's to you, Old Man Winter

With all due respect, and I am saying with all due respect--If you're reading this Old Man Winter, I'd like to pass along a message: go to hell.

This Old House [Plant]

--Shortly after I moved to Alabama last year, a female friend told me something insightful.  She said my apartment looked like a 12-year old boy lived in it because of the sports collectibles and the assortment of toys I keep on hand (they're awesome toys in my opinion).
--But, she was right.  I needed a re-modeling of sorts.  So I added curtains, a couple of delightful lamps, and last but not least, a house plant.  It was real nice-I got it at Wal-mart.  A half gallon bucket within a tiny, hand-painted globe, and a plant that looks something like miniature liriope (aka monkey grass). 
--After about 2 years of landscaping a groundskeeping, a houseplant seemed like an easy task.  The little plastic information thingy sticking out of the soil suggested the same thing:  "Needs some sunlight, temperatures between 45 and 105, occasional watering based on look and touch."  Aight.
--Well, about a year later, I have neglected the house plant and it looks terrible.  If it were a human, it would be in the hospital, and they would have called in the family.  I haven't watered it in about 3 and a half weeks, and honestly I've just been hoping it will die soon.  But it hasn't died.  I think it's staying alive just to spite me.  Seriously, I walk into the kitchen every morning, and it's just staring at me.  Some mornings I think I actually hear it saying, "Look at what you've done to me. Kill me.  Douse me in gasoline or put a black sheet over me."
--I'll post a picture shortly, but let me try to describe it via the use of literary symbols first.  It's once "kelly green glow" is now more or of a "vomit green."  It's once perky leaves now sag terribly and most are wilting with brown tips.  Most hideous of all is a strange fungus or ooze that has developed right on the top of it.  It looks like someone hocked a loogie on my dang plant.  I shouldn't be mad though; it's my fault it looks like absolute crap.
--Anyway, judging from my plant care, I guess it's a good thing I didn't get a dog instead. 

Love at First Stride

"My momma always said you can tell a lot about a person by their shoes, where they go, where they've been. I've worn lots of shoes, I bet if I think about it real hard I can remember my first pair of shoes." -Forrest Gump

When running shoes wear out, it's a quick and ugly process.  The first sign that they're coming apart is also usually one of the last.  Soon after you notice a problem, they're done for.  That's why I'm already beginning to dread the loss of my favorite pair of running shoes to date--these New Balance 719's:
 

I got them in August of 2008, and somehow they're still holding on.  I did some quick math.  Say, I average 10 miles a week...that's 104 weeks from when I bought them to August 2010.  Then, add another 12 or so to get us where we're at now.  So, 116 weeks at an average of 10 miles = 1,160 miles on these guys.  They have absolutely molded to my feet; they're like socks with soles on them.

I'm not partial to many physical objects.  I use to love all of my baseball cards, autographed baseballs, and collectibles, but none of that really means much to me any more.  I also use to love some of my old t-shirts because they reminded me of specific times in my life, but that wore off too.  I'm blessed to have received a different perspective on material things.  This life is a mist; storing up things down here is as silly as roller skating in a buffalo herd.  That's very clear to me these days, and I'm thankful that Jesus has hammered that home to me.

But.  If there is one physical item that gets to me, it's this pair of shoes.  Running is like therapy.  I think about everything when I run:  life in general, my finances, school, the job market when I get out of school, my family, my friends, relationships, my biggest fears, my biggest disappointments, my greatest joys...everything.  I also pray a ton when I run.

They're just shoes, but I feel like they know more about me than anybody else...except God.  Seriously, there are things I think about when I run that I don't tell anybody else.  Maybe I should, but I'm thinking everybody has some things that they like to keep to themselves...not bad things, just things they aren't comfortable talking about with other people.  Or things they're embarrassed to admit to other people, or things that are too sad to get out when talking to other people.  Whatever it may be, I hope I'm not alone here...

Anyway, they're just objects, but I feel like they're the best listeners I've ever had for sure.  I run when I get stressed, upset, mad, or sad.  It's an awesome release.  Eventually, I get to the point where I can't run any more, and then I just walk.  When I get done running, it's like my shoes are asking me, "you feel better?"  And then, I'm like, "yeah, New Balances, I do.  Thanks for asking.  Now get off me, and get back in the closet. We'll see ya' in a couple of days."  .....Maybe a little bit strange or creepy, but that's how it goes down.  Deal with it.

I'm going to miss these guys.  I can see the soles starting to peel off towards the side.  It'll be a long time before I find a pair this awesome.

Out of Context

Today, my Stats class was great. Our professor had some awesome one-liners and he didn't event know it. You see, I pay attention about 67.87% of the time, but the other part of the time, I blackout. So today, during the "blackouts," our professor caught my attention with some seemingly inappropriate comments.
The first one that caused me to take notice was this:

"You know what?  I just hate relationships that aren't straight.  They make me sick." 

Now, originally I thought this was some deep South rhetoric against homosexuals.  But upon asking my classmates for clarification, he was just talking about scatter plots that had curved distributions. He wanted them straight so he could set a model for them.  I'll take their word it.

Next, I heard this gem:

"You just throw some stuff in the front, then do some work, and blow it out the other end."

I really wish he meant exactly what I thought he meant, because I would vote him professor of the century.  Anyway, if you don't think that quote's funny, then 1 of 2 things are happening.  1.  You are more mature than me (highly, HIGHLY likely) or 2.  You have a "crappy" sense of humor...

Rolling With the Tide: How we wound up in Columbia, SC. Quite an Unlikely Party

Guess what? I don't wait for parties to show up.  I make parties happen.  If you remember one thing, remember that.

I didn't think it was possible to go two days without sleep.  Honestly didn't.  But I just did it this weekend.  Never want to do it again.  Never, ever. BUT, it was well worth it this time.

People say stuff about having no sleep all the time: "I haven't slept all week!"  "I didn't sleep at all last night!" etc.  Most of the time, these people have had at least minimal shut-eye.  They're engaging in hyperbole, if you will.

On Friday night though, me and my friend, Frank started what would be the most intense, party packed, college-football infused, sleepless weekend bashes imaginable.

On most Fridays, I start getting Eric Church songs stuck in my head, and I have to get to a bar for at least one or two "cold, cold beers."  As the former manager of the Burlington Indians, Kevin Higgins often told me, "it's nice to break down the week or break down a day over a beer."  True dat.

 This Friday was no different.  Met up with Frank and another friend, Ryan at the Houndstooth for a couple rounds to celebrate the end of another good week.

At this point, it's necessary to explain the fact that I get these "ideas" all the time that are a little bit out there.  Like Butch from the movie "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid," I'm thinking all the time.  That's what I'm good at.  Thinking.  Doing? Not as often.  But man, I've got these ideas.  I'd love to tell you some of them.  Just ask me for one.  Seriously.  Set aside 5-minutes, though

Anyway, I heard tell of a good friend in Columbia, SC that was having a bachelor party this weekend...The Tide just happened to be playing South Carolina the same weekend, so I thought it might be nice to shout at them real quick and catch the game.  Either way, it just made me start thinking about the feasibility of getting to and from Columbia and back.  Generally you want to plan these things in advance, and generally you would have wanted to head to Columbia earlier in the day. But, I threw the idea out to Ryan and Frank, and all three of us laughed it off.  At first. 

At about midnight, I threw it out there again.  I wasn't standing for another weekend of marginal fun.  Didn't want to sit around waiting for something awesome to happen.  This time, I could see it in both of their eyes.  We were on to something.  Phone calls and texts started to be made.  We began to get preliminary market value figures on tickets, and the next thing you know at 12:30 am on Friday night, we're talking about how soon we can leave.  Frank said, "I'm going home to pack.  We can't waist any more time.  If we're going, we need to get on it.  If not, I'll just go to bed."  Ryan and his gal, Kelsey understandably opted out.  I went back home and was about to get in bed.  Then I thought about how awesome spontaneous things are.  You really nail it if you do something you didn't even expect.  You know how some girls talk about liking dudes that are "spontaneous"?  Those girls better watch their mouths around me, because I will blow their freaking minds. I don't even know what I'm going to do most of the time.  Just imagine how in the dark everyone else is.  Anyway, I called Frank and said, "let's do this."  He said, "O.K. let's go.  Are you serious?"  "Yeah, I'm dead serious.  I'm serious if you are."  Frank then responded, "I'm packed. I've been serious."

The rest is history.  We left Tuscaloosa at 1:30 am CT, and arrived in Columbia around 9:30 am ET.  Tailgated all day with some awesome Alabama randos, and went to the game at 3:30 ET.  Got back to Tuscaloosa at 1:30 am this morning.  Hadn't had sleep since Thursday night.  Stupid?  Yeah.  Poorly planned?  Absolutely.  Worst idea we've ever had?  Close.  Simultaneously the best idea we've ever had?  Yeah, I think so.  And yes, Alabama lost and South Carolina won.  But guess who else won? We did.  Suckers.

So long, summer. I love you. More than you'll ever know

It's finally over. Summer has come and gone. We'll occasionally get the day in the upper 80s, maybe 90s...In October, we'll probably get an "Indian Summer" where it's hot for a whole week.  But, for all intensive purposes, it's gone.  This is always the saddest part of the year for me because I love Spring and Summer so much.  For the last time this year, I would like to share my favorite movie clip of all time:



To see the pools closing and the grass turning brown just kills me.  And the temperatures...What can I say? I get cold easily.  I'm just a wittle guy.  My entire family is small.  Maybe we're descendants of South American rain forest tree house dwellers. Alabama was suppose to solve the cold weather dilemma for me, but I think I'll have to keep moving south.  Jackets don't belong in my wardrobe.  Neither do scarfs, winter hats, or mittens. Either way, I've got my eyes on some warmer locals...Looking at you, New Zealand.

Having fewer hours of daylight stinks.  Having to bundle up in 5 layers (Charlie Jones can attest to this) stinks. Being an even pastier white dude with the lack of sufficient sun rays, stinks.

Yeah, the Holidays are alright.  College football is cool.  But i prefer swimming pools, road trips, baseball games, tank tops, and sunglasses.

I'll get over this.  I always do.  But it will take time.  About 6 months to be exact.   

The day I met Dick Vitale

 
You know how lots of people love to say, "I don't really get star struck."  I'm not going to blatantly lie to your face and say that.  Famous people occasionally give me pause.

When I was reporting on the UNC basketball team 2 years ago, I ran into lots of sports celebs, and if I would have had a camera phone at the time, I would have clicked some pics.  Among others, I met:  Roy Williams, all the UNC basketball players, Phil Ford, Coach K (loser), Gary Williams (Maryland), Andy Katz (ESPN), Seth Davis (CBS), and Erin Andrews.  These were brief encounters.  Don't get me wrong; I wasn't partying with these people.  Actually, I was...They just didn't know it.

Anyway, I also met Dick Vitale.  This was not a brief encounter.  I feel like I know him very well now...Too well, maybe.  He came to broadcast a couple of games in Chapel Hill in 2008-2009, and I had seen him already, but on the night Clemson came to town, I got to meet the man, the myth, the legend.

Aight, so it was halftime, and I needed to use the restroom, so I made my way into the UNC media room bathroom.  It is not an adequate facility.  2 stalls for about 50 users.  I go in there and hear what sounds like a man in serious pain.  It sounded like a dude was A) constipated B) giving birth C) doing an intense workout in the stall or D) dying.  All I heard was "ohhhhhaahhhhwhoaaa!!!  Oh!  OOOOOOOO!"  Needless to say, I was confused.


So, like any good man...I ignored it, and acted like nothing was happening.  I do my thing, and get ready to wash my hands.  Next thing I know, I hear "Woo!" and out of door number 2 walks Dick Vitale.  Awesome.
It was just me and him.  Mano y mano.  He exclaimed with excitement:  "I BEEN HOLDING IT ALL DAY, BABY!!!!"  Incredible.  I laughed loudly.  Mind you, Dick Vitale doesn't know me from Adam.  Then--without washing his hands--he puts his right hand on my back, gives me 2 pats and 2 shoulder squeezes.  Awesome.  Gross. But awesome.  I'm now drying my hands, and I left the water running because I thought to myself, "Dick Vitale will wash his hands now, so I will leave this faucet running to impress and befriend him."

Instead of immediately jumping to the sink, he just stands there and says, "how's it going?"  I said, "just hanging out at the Dean Dome and getting paid for it.  Another day at the office.  You?"  His face lit up.  And then, just like he was reading from his own quote book, he said, "Oh, what an office!  What an office!  How lucky are we?  We get paid for this?  Are you serious? ARE YOU SERIOUS?  Incredible!"  I immediately thought, "you get paid a lot more than me, but I'll buy that."  This was an unbelievable conversation, and I wasn't taking it for granted, but I was still thinking that any second, Dick Vitale is going to wash his hands.  I mean, the faucet was still running... 

At this point, I'm completely done but I'm just standing there.  With my hands in my pockets.  In the bathroom.  Talking to Dick Vitale.  NBD. 

Finally, he steps up to the sink.  He puts both hands in the running water.  Clearly I'm thinking, "there it is!  It's hand-washing time for Dickey V!!!"  Instead of reaching for the soap, he wets his hands and puts them on top of his bald head...."IT'S HOT IN HERE!  GOTTA COOL OFF!  LITTLE SPLASH WILL FIX IT.  THIS BALD HEAD GETS HOT!  YOU GOT HAIR.  HOW HOT ARE YOU?"

I didn't know what to say.  So, I didn't say anything.  I gave him a confirmatory nod with my lower lip protruding.

He then wiped his unclean hands on his pants.  "Nice talking with you.  Enjoy the office!" he said.  Then, he walked out.  If this story were a western, he would have rode off into the sunset.  I never saw him again.  So long Dick Vitale.  So long. 

Wash your hands. 

Save the Date

I've got a "Save the Date" more important than any magnetic wedding announcement on your fridge...

July 4, 2076.  The frickin' tricentennial, baby.  Simple math tells us that most of us probably won't make it to the tricentennial.  Dates of birth, life styles and life choices make the likelihood for some much less than for others.  For me, it's the only thing that would be cool about being 91years old.  I give myself a near 0 % chance of making it that far, but if I do, I'm going to set off enough fireworks to singe everyone's eyebrows within a 2-mile radius.  

As a fan of America, the reasons for getting pumped about this date should go without saying.  But aside from celebrating 300 years of independence from those pricks on the other side of the pond, I'm curious to see what fantastic coinage the US mint thinks up to celebrate the event.  Of course, the United States may not exist in 2076, but if it does, you can guarantee the mint is going to be busy. 

In 1975, the US mint had three separate $5,000 prizes up for grabs for whoever could come up with the best designs for the bicentennial quarter, half dollar, and silver dollar.  Jack L. Ahr submitted the design of the colonial drummer for the bicentennial quarter.  Fantastic.  Maybe I'll submit an idea for the tricentennial quarter design way ahead of time in hopes of winning a prize for that contest.  You know, something classy and American like Dale Earnhardt Sr. driving the number 3 Goodwrench car with an outstretched hand and a middle finger directed at an etching of Great Britain.  Who knows?  I'll keep working on it.   

Kitty Cat Nightmare

Last night I had a nightmare about cats.  I woke up, and after I had time to calm down from a feline frenzy, I laughed it off thinking, "this is going to seem so silly and funny later on." 

Well, right now I'm still thinking that dream was flipping scary.  In the dream, I was just hanging out in some old house, and three gangly cats came in looking for trouble.  I was like, "oh, look, little kitties.  N.B.D."  But then they started attacking me.  One bit my ankle, one bit me on my thigh, and one bit my arm.  None of them would let go, and then they started scratching me.  Awful.  Just awful.  Finally I shook them off, and they ran away, but then an animal control dude came out of nowhere and was like, "Yeah, you've got rabies now.  We're going to have to take you in".....

And then I woke up. 

The only reason I can think of for having a bad dream about cats is that 3 out of the last 4 mornings that I ran, black cats ran out in front of me.  I'm not superstitious, but still, it was odd and mildly creepy. 

Welp, that's all I've got.  If you didn't think I was weird before, you probably do now.  You know what?  Everybody's weird.  C-ya later

Nothing beats an entertaining lunatic

99.99 % of the time, pop up advertisements are a waist of my time and anything but entertaining.  But sometimes, advertising agencies with deep pockets convince lunatics with histories of brain damage and drug use to do a commercial for an online marketing blitz.  The result is a masterpiece by Vitamin Water starring Gary Busey.  The easiest way for someone to act convincingly like a wild psycho is to actually be one.  Bravo, Gary Busey.  This is Oscar-worthy stuff:



This is quickly becoming my favorite commercial of all time.  Homeboy makes a donkey noise at the :58 second mark.  Gary Busey reminds us all to never ride motorcycles too fast or without helmets, and to never try crack.  Thank you, Gary Busey.  And thank you Vitamin Water.

Found it

The navy Duckhead shirt was resting comfortably beneath my navy suit jacket.  Sometimes, my favorite shirt plays games with me like this.  Oh, navy Duckhead, how I love you.  Playing hide and go seek and what not, just because you think it's funny when I get worked up. 

While my shirt is safe and sound, I would like my previous post to serve as a warning.  To summarize quickly:

~If you tread on my navy Duckhead,  remember what I said, 'cause you'll end up dead.~

 In other news, there is a dude in the library right now 5 computers down who is eating a muffin of some sort, and he keeps looking at me like I'm an FBI agent out to get him or something.  He's about 5'3" and probably ways 120 pounds dripping wet.  He has bug-eyes and thick glasses.  Apparently, my presence makes him uncomfortable which in turn makes me uncomfortable which in turn makes this whole dang thing uncomfortable. 

Code Red on my Navy Duckhead

My favorite shirt is missing.  It's a navy Duckhead, short sleeved, polo, circa 2002.  It's been through a lot with me.  I wore it to special events, to work, to class, and obviously I wore it when I partied.  I wore it so often that one mouthy female friend once said, "do you have any other shirts?"  The answer was yes, but I didn't have any other shirts that mattered.

Now, it is likely the case that I misplaced the shirt somewhere in my closets...But if for some terrible reason, someone out there has taken it, I would like to show that person that I mean business.  I am going to provide a quote from the movie "Taken," and I would like everyone to consider these words as my own:

"I don't know who you are. I don't know what you want. If you are looking for ransom, I can tell you I don't have money. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills; skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. If you let my [navy Duckhead shirt] go now, that'll be the end of it. I will not look for you, I will not pursue you. But if you don't, I will look for you, I will find you, and I will kill you."

Happy Monday, everybody!!!  Obviously, I'm j/k-ing about killing someone for taking my shirt.  I would slit tires and set cars on fire before I did something crazy like that.

Inbox: Patrick from Asheville, NC wants to know...

Patrick Spence, a man among men in the mountains of North Carolina has taken time out of his ridiculously busy schedule as a minor league baseball Box Office Manager to check in and push some great "thinking" issues to the forefront of our agenda.  He was especially busy this past weekend partying in Bristol, TN for the NASCAR race...'J' to the 'Ealous.'  Wish I would have been there.

My favorite question from Spence was, "Why don't they turn right instead of left in NASCAR?  It's counter-clockwise.  Wouldn't it make better sense to go the other way?" 

In short, yes.  Absolutely. In long--Think about it.  We're a right hand-dominate country, people.  You lefties out there are put here to make us laugh.  Like when one of you is sitting there at dinner using your fork with your left hand!  OMG!  Classic!  That's the wrong hand, you morons!  J/K!  Of course.  Or am I?  LOL! BTW, computer talk is more addictive than crack.  I've never done crack, but I bet it wouldn't be as hard to pass up for me as saying "BRB" when I leave a room to get a drink of water.  I will never pass that up.  

Anyway, left is second best and right is...right.  Next, I think it's pretty daggum ironic and hilarious that they turn left when the political atmosphere in the garage and in the stands is far right. 

Also, as Patrick pointed out, wouldn't it be more kosher if they went clockwise?  So that got me thinking about why they go counter clockwise, and I think I figured out.  In fact, I'm sure I figured it out:  As some of you inbred, one-toothed, hicks out there (AKA my best of friends) would know, the idea of NASCAR was thought of by bootleggers and moonshiners.  They had to out-run the revenewers and cops, so they got the fastest, most souped up hot rods around.  Next thing you know, one dude says, "hey ya'll let's race each other and get people to pay to watch."  Bingo.  NASCAR.  Well, I'm certain that same dude was drunk, and he had to go pee.  When he flushed the toilet (or emptied the outhouse) he noticed that the water was spinning counter-clockwise as it sped off into oblivion.  So, he said "I think the cars should go that way too."  Boom.  Cars turning left.  Science.  Northern Hemisphere Science. 

Lastly, spanks a million to Audrey and Patrick for the suggestions recently.  If there's something you can't stop thinking about, holler at me. 

"Testing to e-mail dad in germany"

That was the subject of an e-mail I just received...from my mother!  Quick background:  My dad's going to Germany with my brother in September for an economics presentation.  Mom needed a way to stay connected.

She has never used the world wide web or e-mail until now, and today I'm thinking about how proud I am of her.   It's a miracle.  I never thought the day would come when she utilized Al Gore's internet, much less e-mail.  Kudos to you Mom, and in case I don't tell you enough over the phone, I love you.  And in case you didn't know, you are really speaking my love language when you use e-mail.  Made my day.

Inbox: Audrey from Chapel Hill wants to know... Honey Badger vs. Shark

Audrey wanted to know, "why doesn't Discovery Channel have a week dedicated to honey badgers?"

I'm glad you asked, Audrey.  Shark Week is extremely popular amongst the 18-35 demographic. Frankly, I've become nauseous from all the high praise Shark Week has been receiving amongst my friends and Facebook family.  I honestly did not want to get into this, because I know how much some people love Shark Week, but your question gives me an excuse.

First of all, Honey Badgers are not attention whores like sharks.  Sharks are always looking for cameras so they can show off and make an appearance on "Shark Week."  It's embarrassing.  Honey Badgers are extremely elusive and private creatures; they would never be out in the open showing off enough to fill up a week's worth of programming.  The male honey badger has a territory ranging up to 273 square miles; Discovery Channel would not be able to keep up. 

Second, the shark lives in a more aesthetically pleasing location.  Any camera shot of a shark is going to be great, because every dang shot is of a beautiful, blue ocean scene.  The honey badger however does not spend it's life lounging in an ocean resort.  The honey badger is blue collar and lives in the desert and African/Pakistani Plains.  I'll admit, shark week is visually stunning, but that's no thanks to the shark itself.

Third, there is a greater risk in filming honey badgers.  Yeah, sharks can kill people, but people can also film them without setting foot in the water with their special motorized cameras.  To film a honey badger, you must be on foot, because it will go places that no machine can go:  up a tree, down a tree (backwards), in a mole hole, in a hornet's nest (regularly), in a snake pit, in a lion's den, etc.  Not to mention honey badgers hate it when ALL animals invade their territory.  Sharks actually retreat many times when humans are around (Shark Week said so, suckers).  A honey badger will never retreat, meaning that an unsuspecting camera guy or girl would never be safe.  And guess what:  Honey badgers are only the 2nd animal along with monkeys that have been regularly documented utilizing tools...That is bad news for the Discovery Channel peeps if they want to stay alive.

Finally I would like us to quickly look at what Sharks do.  They kill fish, mostly.  Fish.  Defenseless fish.  Oh yeah, and occasionally seals.  Man, seals are rough customers.  What else?  Let's see, they are attracted to the smell of blood which means they like to hunt things that are already bleeding.  Guess what, a honey badger isn't going to wait for you to get hurt, son.  And a honey badger doesn't fight defenseless creatures.  Try the puff adder; one of Africa's most deadly snakes.  Honey badgers dominate them all the time.  LIONS; yeah honey badgers will attack them and kill them.  Hornets; let's see a shark get stung upwards of 100 times in 2 minutes and continue to have a honey-eating party.

Sharks are awesome.  Don't get me wrong.  But they have nothing on honey badgers.  Nothing.

Yahoo! Goober

Each day I log into my yahoo account to check my electronic mail and to take care of my fantasy baseball and fantasy NASCAR teams...Do not judge, lest ye be judged.

Anyway, a lot of times when I log in, I see this dude:

Right after I gave a mini-lecture on not judging, I'd like to say that this guy looks like a goober.  I think he means well, and I bet he's a great guy.  But he looks like he's either A:  constipated or B: about to poop himself.  That's a forced smile if I've ever seen one.  You're on the front page of Yahoo!, dude.  Show some teeth at least.  And who buys this guy's ties?  --I will not eat green eggs and ham--  But seriously, does this guy get advice from Roy Williams?

Ta-ta for now, suckers.

Sly Toddler Grabs Boob in Gas Station

Sometimes I'm just in an awesome place at an awesome time.

This morning, I was in an Arkansas gas station waiting in line when a little rug rat made my day.  His mom was carrying him, and she had sweet tattoos on her neck and arms, and she was sporting a stylish and functional black tank top with acid-washed jeans.  She bounced the boy slowly while waiting for the line to move.  Little homeboy was wearing a shirt with a dinosaur on it, blue shorts, and a Kool-Aid mustache.  He looked to be a little under 2 years old, and he was pumped to be in Exxon. 

I guess he got bored, but he started looking at his mom's bosom, and I could see in his eyes that something was about to go down.  He swept in with his right hand as if the ta-ta's were about to run away.  The mom let out a squeal, and then a laugh and then she said,

"Hold on now little buddy.  That is something you do to someone you ain't kin to, and something you do when you're older.  You crazy little booger!"

I loved this.  It was said as if to suggest..."Now we can bend those 2 rules here in Arkansas if we have a really good reason."