A Quick Shout Out

...has to go to my dear Aunt Janice, who once again proved her mettle this evening in the area of being awesome. I've been battling a cold for five days now, and I had almost surrendered to my congestion in exhaustion (granted, the war metaphor is a bit of a stretch, but give me a break here; I'm sick). Just when it seemed that no hope was left, Aunt Janice, that saint of soothingness, that practitioner of palliatives, sent down some Zycom Intense Sinus Relief. Once again, I am at peace...at least for 10-12 hours. Aunt Janice, I should like to kiss you but I think I'm still contagious so this post will have to do. Madam, your services are always valued.

Bom Bom Bom Part II

A while back I dedicated a post to the super-catchy song that plays in the background of the Jarhead trailor. By chance I finally stumbled across the song. It's called Jesus Walks, and it's by Kanye "George Bush does not care about black people" West. Aho, I can't believe you never pointed that out to me.
I downloaded the song (relax, I payed for it) and it's just as catchy over the course of three minutes as it was for thirty seconds. The language is a bit coarse, so perhaps mother should avoid it. For the rest of you, enjoy.

The Wide World of Idiots

If you look in the top right corner of this window you'll see a few little buttons. One of them says "flag", which you should never, ever press on this page. If you do I shall be forced to be cross with you. A button you may feel free to press is the "next blog" button, located just to the right of the flag. It will take you to some random blog on blogspot's server. The results of blog surfing can be quite hilarious.
I must warn you that there's no telling what you'll find on these random pages. In my surfing tonight I ran across a page completely loaded with obscenities. Next came a page about kittens and funny news stories. This was followed by some stock broker's financial analysis. Next was a guy trying to learn to speak english. All very humerous.
At the end of my blog surfing this evening came this blog, which scared the crap outta me. I don't even understand it, but I know it's a little weird. See for yourself.

Worth the trouble

As many of you know, I am the manliest being to ever roam the face of the earth. As Ray Stevens once sang, I'm a logger, up from Oregon, quite possibly the toughest man in the entire world. It is because I am comfortable with my overwhelming masculinity (and because I see Jennie was not penalized in her interview for saying she likes to read Nicholas Sparks books because they make her cry) that I feel free to tell you this.
I dern near cried today for the first time since sixth grade. I finished the novel The Kite Runner I had been reading for my AP English class and the blasted thing was just so emotional. And I was at school, in the middle of the computer lab of all places. No womanly weeping actually occured, but it was real close.
I don't know if any of you are familiar with The Kite Runner, but you certainly should be.
The Kite Runner is about a young boy growin up in Afghanistan shortly before the Russians invaded, but don't be scared off by the setting; this isn't a war novel, at least not for the first two hundred pages or so. The writing is nothing spectacular, but Khaled Hosseini makes up for this by delivering a really good story. That last line wasn't exactly elegant, but I think that's the beauty of the novel; there's no need to analyze or think too hard about The Kite Runner, it's just a good read.
I mentioned earlier that the last time I cried was in sixth grade. That outburst came at the conclusion of another novel, Where the Red Fern Grows. It has come to my attention that some people (specifically Matt Welker and Alexander Merritt) were not moved to tears at the end of this classic and even defied logic by finding humor in the tragic passing of Old Dan and Little Ann. These people are souless. That book is a masterpiece.
I know people like my sister generally avoid books that aren't about ill-fated romances or quirky modern working girls, but I hope their literary lethargy will not prevent them from enjoying what is, in my opinion, a novel well worth the trouble of reading.

You'll know to shoot me if

I ever, and I mean ever decide to don something like this anywhere, much less at a tennis match. I have no fashion sense whatsoever, but I mean really, come on. The good people at the Lotto company have convinced Dominik Hrbaty that this outfit is attractive and not a disgrace to humanity. Tennis players are known for thier physical skill; fashion sense is not a prerequisite.
I would not, however, mind if Crystal decided to wear this sucker for her tennis class this spring. It would be embarrasing, but well worth the laugh.

I am Pimp

Just in case you doubted my true status, take a look at this entry in the good ole Urban Dictionary. I swear I did not do this myself.
Click here for proof of my awesomeness

Hope

The Indianapolis Colts lost a heartbreaker to the Steelers today, ending their season and adding yet another first-round playoff loss to Peyton Manning's resume. Two months ago they were 13-0, had wrapped up the NFL's best record, and were looking to be the first undefeated team since 1972. Then they lost to San Diego, then they lost again, and now their season is over. I commiserate, Colts fans. I totally get it.
I've had my share of athletic disappointment and heartbreak. For a Wake Forest fan, it just comes with the territory. While Duke and Carolina make perennial runs to the Final Four, my Deacs have strong regular seasons followed by second-round losses. In ten years Wake has been ranked number 1 twice, won a coupla ACC regular season titles, and had several first round NBA draft picks. This has yielded a grand total of one tournament victory: the NIT.
Then there's professional sports. My Atlanta Braves have won fourteen straight divisional titles. Fourteen. I'm eighteen years old; I do not remember the Braves not being in the playoffs. Yet every year, some punk Florida team (or worse, the Yankees) gets on a run after winning 85 games in the regular season and puts my team out. In five games.
The Panthers followed a 1-15 season with a trip to the Super Bowl, only to fall in the final seconds to the team I loathe more than any other (except, of course, for Carolina). The next season they missed the playoffs, only to get back in this year (only by the skin of their teeth). Anyone wanna take a guess as to how this season is going to end?
Sports divides the world into winners and losers, and I understand that for every champion there must be dozens of vanquished foes lying in the dirt. I tell myself that things could be worse: I could be a Clippers fan, or a Lions fan, or perhaps an alumnus of Rutgers. But every time I try to convince myself that obscurity is preferable to disappointment I remember how West Virginia caught fire in last year's NCAA tournament. And inside, a little part of me dies.
So maybe that was a bit melodramatic, but I can't help but feel that way sometimes. What I've learned from eighteen years of fanhood is that expectation is the greatest enemy. High rankings, promising starts, credit from the media: all of them can only mean bad endings. I develop low expectations as a defense mechanism. I cringed when the Panthers were Sports Illustrated's Preseason Super Bowl pick. Wake's preseason ranking was a curse because, of course, there was no way it would ever hold up. Not for me; it never does.
Why do sports fans do this to themselves? Most fans spend their lives coping with letdown, and unless you're a Yankees, Carolina, Duke, or Patriots fan, they worry even more during good seasons (fans of the aforementioned teams have other complexes, but I won't go into them right now). I remember how Red Sox fans would bicker every October during the Curse, how they'd argue with each other about how their beloved Sox were going to blow it this year. And the thing is, I do the same thing. When I turned on the Panthers game tonight and found my team up 13-0, I almost turned the TV off. I couldn't stand it; I didn't wanna go through losing a double digit lead.
Every time it happens I make a resolution. This is the last time I'm getting burned, no more obsession, no more personal connection with my team. I really mean it, I'm not doing this to myself anymore. But I just can't tear myself away, no matter how hard I try. It's like I'm programmed to care. All I can do is just brace myself for the worst.
And then the Panthers hold on to a small lead late in the game to beat the Bears. Wake Forest is playing Maryland right now, and though they trail by eight points, I can't help but glance at the TV and hope Justin Gray will hit a few three pointers. You just never know.
Andy Dufraine said in the Shawshank Redemption, "Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things." I don't know if that's true or not, but I do know that hope is the only thing that keeps neurotic fans like me going. Maybe that's why I keep watching, keep risking disappointment in the quest for jubilation. Because I just can't help but hope that maybe this time (or maybe the time after that) it'll be different.

Death of a Toad

I have to analyze a poem for AP English called "Death of a Toad" by Richard Wilbur, U.S. Poet Laureate. I've been having fits with this sucker, and so I googled it in an attempt to get some guidance (also, I was bored).
I came across this site and I think it's pretty funny. If you have way too much time on your hands, you may feel free to take a look at it. Wilbur's poem is at the bottom of the page for reference.

Vengeful Rodents

The Mount Airy News changed its front page format recently, removing my favorite part of the paper. No longer on front page is a small box at the bottom containing a funny or bizarre story from somewhere in the world. Maybe they ran out of interesting things to run. Just in case they're building up a collection of them, this story should do nicely.
I think I treat rodents, insects, and other pests well, so I have no sympathy for the guy who did this. Well, maybe a little. Still, I'm proud of the little rascal; he shows no sign of the turmoil he went through. Maybe he found a nice plastic surgeon.

10/01/06

My mom is having surgery (nothing major, I'm told) this tuesday. Please keep her in your prayers if you're the praying type. Thanks.

A Good Long One

Jennie says I don't do "good long ones" anymore. Of course, Jennie also sees zebras where they don't exist....
But she's right on this one. I don't write very much anymore, and I think it's because I just don't have that much time. "What else do you have to do?" you may ask. Well...
Not all that much, really.
So sorry for my negligence.
But I'm still not gonna write that much here.
I gotta go do...something.

Zebras

We totally have them in Surry County. In fact, we have them in Toast. I'd show you a picture of one to prove it, but I don't have one. And besides, it's better to take my word for it. You need to believe people most of the time.
Unless, of course, that person is my sister. If she tells you she saw a zebra, just ignore her. We were in California, the sun must've have been playing tricks with her already feeble mind. She really saw a donkey, and no matter how hard she tries to convince other people (and herself) that she saw one, she didn't/
It WAS a zebra, really! You believe me, right? Why does no one believe me?!!
Because it was a freaking donkey. I'm sorry, Jennie. Three pairs of eyes saw it, and only one thought it was a zebra. Get over it.

Back from California

I just spent a week (well, six days) on the west coast in the great state of California. I didn't see Alcatraz, the Full House house, Lombard Street, the otters and sealions, or the Governator, buy hey, there's always next year.
I have several hundred stories I could share and I may very well fill up several posts with my California Adventure (oops, sorry Disney), but I'm tired right now and, frankly, most of the jokes and anecdotes would only be funny if you were on the trip.
Which, in case you weren't aware, you you were not.
So instead of wasting your time I'll just leave you with this picture.
I took this shot on the Pacific Coast Highway. This two-lane road runs all along the coastline, which features mountains plunging several thousand feet into the water below. This shot was taken about 1200 feet above the water, and I mean right above it. Sufferers of vertigo need not drive this road.