The sounding bored

A night to remember

2006-10-27T22:19:00.000-07:00

ST. LOUIS – It's after midnight and the streets are still ringing with the joyful noise of thousands of car horns, air horns, shrieks, shouts and sirens. The Cardinals clinched their first World Series title since 1982, and Raymond and I were in Busch Stadium for the final out.

You can see the press boxes and a good portion of the stands from our hotel room at the Adam's Mark on Laclede's Landing. A few thousand Red Bird faithful are still milling around the insides of the stadium.

Ray and I were packing our gear up for the short trek to Busch after the Cards went into the eighth inning with a two-run lead over Detroit. As we headed to the stadium, a crowd was already gathering, growing delirious by the smell of blood, imminent victory. I spotted a crowd of people rushing for the gates near right field, and Ray and I gave chase. Unencumbered, we reached the middle of center field, botom of the ninth, two outs , and Adam Wainwright walked Placido Polanco. Two outs, two on and Brandon Inge is up.

Strike one!

"Two more baby!" shouted some drunk teen behind us.

Strike two!

Victory is palpable... and just like that...

Strike three!

Fireworks, confetti, a mob on the mound, and a roar that was 26 years in the making. An older Cards fan tapped Ray on the shoulder and asked him
"Do you think Wainwright will be the Series MVP?"

Ray smiled and shook his head.
"I don't know."

I turned quickly to aid him, before things turned ugly.

"Maybe Weaver will get it, I mean, he pitched one hell of a game."

Satisfied, the old man returned to his beer/celebration, and pulled Raymond to one side.
"Whatever anybody says to you in the stadium, you just agree with them..." I said. "And you be sure to add, 'Yes sir, and I think he's a damn fine American, too!'"

After about 5 minutes, we made our way down to the lower level, eventually reaching the St. Louis dugout,

I snapped a photo of some Cardinal (identity to be determined) jubilantly carrying the World Series trophy into the locker room. I also got some pics of Albert Pujols and his family...
It's absolutely incredible. Fans were scooping up piles of infield dirt...

GG

so little time, so much work to shirk...

2006-10-24T22:40:00.000-07:00

Gadzooks, it's been too long blog... I figure I'll update the hell out of you now, one last hurrah before St. Louis, and business (and busy-ness) take over... I think I'll borrow a page from my "favorite" publication the Pittsburg Morning Sun, which I no longer read online because the new website SUCKS! For those that don't know, this is a little something called "Thumbs Up/Thumbs Down," that the Sun likes to rock on their editorial page...

Without further ado...

Thumbs up to good friends. They're the kind of people who would do anything for you, like say, loan you $500 so you can go on a trip...

Thumbs down to losing your keys/wallet. This kind of stress is bullshit...

Thumbs up to St. Louis. This trip should be fucking awesome!

Thumbs down to bad weather. It's supposed to rain/be cold... bleh.

A 'reverse-Jesus' administration

2006-10-16T21:17:00.000-07:00

First of all, let me say that I fully expect the Chiefs to conclude the season at 12-4 and AFC West Champs. We got a wake-up call in Steel City, and if Herm Edwards is the kind of coach I think he is, there's absolutely no way he'll let this team get it's pants pulled down and it's ass blistered like that again. On the other hand, if he were the kind of coach I thought he was to begin with, he'd have never let us get our asses blistered like that in the first place... Hmm...

Went to the Alternative Energy forum sponsored by Campus Dems/Green Gorillas. Interesting, informative, and partisan as all get-out. But a refreshing change from the drudgery of Sam Brownback rotarian lunches...

Pitt State's own Dr. Mark Peterson, in the kind of top-form he usually reserves for his monthly in-class diatribe on the minimum wage, admonished the current American regime for tax cuts favoring the wealthy, especially at the expense of the poor...

"They passed tax cuts that did not benefit anyone under $200k. In other words, they took the people that Jesus said should be giving, and gave them huge amounts of money. This is the reverse Jesus administration."

Another gem quote from the forum:

Charles Benjamin, lobbyist for the Sierra Club, on global warming and it's effect on Kansas.

"What you're seeing is more and more armadillos migrating from Texas throughout Kansas. And what concerns me is that they will bring with them their natural predators... Texans."

Nancy Boyda, candidate for U.S. House of Representatives:

"Billion-dollar lobbyists don't influence Congress anymore, they own it."

In the interest of Fair Comment, I also spoke with representatives of the Campus Republicans, who attend the event in protest...

"I think they just tried to pump people full of fear..." - A young Republican said.

When I'm on the job, I try very hard to keep my personal politics out of these things. I didn't scoff at the pagans when they talked of raising demons - hell, I broke bread with those people (FYI- I went to Joplin-Pittsburg's Pagan Pride Day, which was interesting, but a little bit anti-climactic). But I really wanted to just shake this young fop and say, "Listen kid, I was at a Rotary lunch with Brownback, and he spoke for 20 minutes, ENTIRELY on the subject of the war on terror. His thesis: We will never be safe..." He is a FEARMONGER, and you are drinking his Kool-Aid...

ping pong is my pleasure

2006-10-13T15:13:00.000-07:00

So I have this friend, let's call him... John Johnson. From the moment his tiny head burst forth from his mother's swollen womb, he was groomed and guided towards a singular purpose. To be a great tennis player. Not just a good one, but somebody along the lines of Borg, Sampras, Connors, etc. A handsome McEnroe if you will... Dad pretty much made him sleep with a racket in his hands, ok?
So John turns pro, gets injured, and comes back to Pittsburg. He's got a sweet bachelor pad, complete with poker room, and ping-pong garage. It is as close to heaven on earth as you can get, without being between a woman's thighs.
But I digress.
I am not an athlete. Never have been, although I was a "Math"-lete in middle school and was in Science Olympiads for a semester in high school. But that shit was nerdy as hell.
The only team sport I ever excelled at was Scholar Bowl, where you have to fast on the buzzer and quick with an answer.
We played a couple of games of ping pong last week, and brother, it wasn't pretty...
So my tennis-pro buddy blasts me off the table, so much so that we're not even keeping score, and I know he's winning. Our match deteriorated into an informal lesson in form at the ping-pong table.
He just kept launching "moon shots" - high arching blasts that always landed at the edge of the table, until I could consistently return them to him. Then we worked on my back hand.
It was a two-hour lesson, but it paid instant dividends the next time I took the table against a lesser foe.
My friends and I are all pretty competitve. Whether it's bocce, frisbee, ping-pong or some good ole SNES NBA Hangtime, we all play to win, and win big.
Everytime my friend Daniel and I play ping pong, he always used to tell me he was gonna kick my ass, then put it on page one of the Collegio, "above the crease, with a picture."
I say "used to," because he pulled that shit last night, and I beat him like a red-headed mule on his home court. Victory has never tasted so sweet.

Speaking of victory, I've been saying it for weeks on facebook, but now I'm going to committ it to the blog as a matter of record. The Chiefs will win at least 10 games this year, and will reach the playoffs. I don't think the coaching staff (particularly Herm and newbie OC Mike Solari) have what it takes to gameplan a Super Bowl team, but I still think we'll get our first playoff win of the new millenium. 'Bout fucking time...

You may say I'm just a homer, but let's look at the Chiefs schedule for the rest of the season.
At Pittsburgh
SD
Seattle
At STL
At Miami
Oakland
Denver
At Cleveland
Baltimore
At SD
At Oakland
Jacksonville

I'll break these down real quick for you. (Note* - These predictions pre-suppose we don't have any more devastating injuries to star players and/or offensive linemen.)

At Pittsburgh - Steelers are a-shambles following back-to back-to back losses. Roethlisberger looks like he may have eaten some of that e.coli infected lettuce or something, and their two best defenders from last year, Polamalu and Porter, are shells of their former selfs. Porter won't even play Sunday, so "Blitzburgh" will be without it's defensive leader.
Advantage: Chiefs.

SD at home: The Bolts look sharp, but against who? They've feasted on mediocre teams to start the season (Oakland, Pittsburgh, Tennessee and I'm throwing the Ravens into that group too, since they're only "good" on one side of the ball...)
They're going to get exposed at Arrowhead, but I expect they'll return the favor when we go to SD in December.
Advantage: Chiefs

Seattle at home: Not only are the battling the dual demons of the Madden Jinx/Superbowl loser curse, the Seahawks have to come to Arrowhead, probably without Shaun Alexander.
Advantage: Chiefs

At St. Louis: Bill Simmons is picking the Rams as his sleeper team to reach the playoffs. Right now, they're playing like it. Tough to see the Chiefs getting a win at the Dome. STL gets payback for the last two Governor's Cups they've lost to KC.
Advantage: St. Louis

At Miami: The Dolphins are putrid. So much so that they're starting Joey Harrington INSTEAD of Daunte Culpepper. Oh, and they're line couldn't block Pop Warner...
Advantage: Chiefs

Oakland: They're worse than the Dolphins, and they're probably going to trade either Randy Moss or Jerry Porter before this game.
Advantage: Chiefs

Denver: Payback for the OT loss in week 3. We usually split the season series anyway. Dante Hall is the X-Factor.
Advantage: Chiefs

At Cleveland: Could be a trap game for the Chiefs, but it could also be an opportunity for Herm Edwards to grab one of those road wins he's always preaching about.
Advantage: Chiefs

Baltimore: Chiefs are 18-0 at Arrowhead in December. Ravens offense sucks, Steve McNair will probably be dead by Week 10, so I'm looking for the Chiefs D to show us again they're the reason KC will back in the playoffs.

At SD: Tough loss for the Chiefs, although it's tough to imagine us sweeping the season series...
Advantage: SD

At Oakland: No way we lose this game. Raiders are historically bad this year.

Jacksonville: Again, this is December, and we're not losing at home.
Advantage: KC

Add it up, and the Chiefs are sitting pretty at 12-4, AFC West Champions.

Denver likely will lose once to us, to Cincinnati, Indianapolis, and SD at least once, for a final record of 11-5.

SD also has a rough road to hoe, paying a visit to Seattle, so I see them as no better than 11-5, assuming they also split their season series with Denver.

GG

experiences of a tangenital nature...

2006-10-05T20:51:00.000-07:00

Yes, tangenital is not a word, but don't you think it should be? Say it aloud... Tan-gen-it-al... Yes, sounds good, don't it?

St. Louis trip coming up, and Bec and I are shuffling through our clips. She's a little worked up about getting a job, doesn't know if she's good enough, etc. Honestly though, if anybody's got a shot at getting a job in STL, I think it's her, degree be damned!
She can write, illustrate, and design. She's super-creative, and she even cleans up real purdy. Yup, she's a cinch.

I don't know what I'm trying to say with my portfolio. I have a small forest of clips that I've been sifting through, and they pretty much run the gamut - news, features, events, meetings, arrests, columns, issues - I feel like my portfolio should say that I'm versatile, but does it really say that I'm indecisive? Are we in an age of specialization?

I think we (the Collegio staff) will have a good showing at the interviews, but I'm probably just biased. I have no idea what to expect, but in the limited experience I've had with professional journalism (my bosses at the Globe and Bec's dad) I feel like I've got what it takes to get a job at a daily, and not just the Possum Snatch Gazette or the Junction City Whatever-the-fuck...

On a tangenital note... (see, how I snuck that in?)

Youtube makes me glad I don't have tv, because I get to watch the parts of the shows that are funny/interesting without the bullshit commercials. All hail - YOUTUBE!

i can't think of anything to say...

2006-09-30T18:19:00.000-07:00

Pretty self-explanitory. I think it's Bec's damn Fiona Apple cd... It's driving me batshit. Almost as bad as Thursday's issue of the Pittsburg Morning Sun. Even if you don't give a damn about journalism, this is still one of the most revolting things I've ever seen.

On the front page of the paper, they ran an article about the 1000th PSU-themed license plate sold by the Alumni Center... I'm not sure if it was the 1000th ever, or if it was just the 1000th this year, because the reporter didn't bother to clarify that. I suppose realistically you could infer that it's the 1000th ever, but then again, when she starts waxing nostalgic about the pride of Pitt State Alums, it makes you feel like anything's possible. I mean, gosh, people LOVE that split-face gorilla.
At least she interviewed the person who purchased the milestone plate...

I keep trying to find an appropriate analogy to describe how horribly wrong and repugnant this whole thing is, because most people I explain this to (who aren't journalists) don't get why my face turns purple every time I talk about it.

It's kind of like watching somebody stuff a Thanksgiving turkey with vomit and soiled baby diapers.

Here's a link to the online version, which is inexplicably missing the photo (which also ran on page 1, in color) of said reporter affixing her precious license plate to the back of her car. GOOOO-RILLAS!
http://www.morningsun.net/stories/092806/loc_20060928005.shtml

Ok, had to get that off my chest.

In other business:

Homecoming Tab is due next monday, and I have no stories, ads, or content for it. FAHQ!!!!!

Hope the LSAT didn't kick your ass Mindy!

For her birthday/anniversary, I got Rebecca:

1.) One plastic elephant, with the trunk pointed up (a symbol of good luck in Vietnamese culture, or so I'm told.)

2.) A statue of a nude man throwing a discus. I thought she could practice drawing form/musculature...

3.) An "I'm for Nixon" button, circa 1968.

She looked so pained when she opened her presents on Tuesday, I'm amazed we're still dating... So much for "inexpensive and heart felt."

somber

2006-09-24T18:55:00.000-07:00

I just read an AP report about Clinton's interview on FAUX news with Chris Wallace. First of all, I didn't see the interview as it happened, since I try to steer clear of FAUX (and network news in general). But something struck me about the quotes from Clinton re: his efforts to kill bin Laden.
"We contracted with people to kill him. I got closer to killing him than anybody's gotten since."

I don't believe that I'm naive about the way our government "protects us." National security is as important a job as it is a dirty job, it would seem.
But goddamnit, that just breaks my heart when I read about our president saying "We paid somebody to kill that a-hole, and they just didn't quite get the job done..."

Think about it like this. Our president, ADMITTED to ordering a hit, like some Mafioso. Like he's goddamn Tony Soprano.

Aren't we supposed to be above this type of thing? That doesn't exactly make you want to stand up and scream, "Land of the free and home of the brave!"

Maybe I'm just disappointed that we didn't use our own Green Berets to do the job, or some of those multi-million dollar guided missles.

A supreme work of fiction

2006-09-23T23:09:00.000-07:00

My thanks to you who took time out to read my short story "A Kansas City Funeral." I used to be really into writing fiction, and I had an original play performed at my high school sophomore year, but it's been a while since I'd done any short story fiction writing. The journalism stuff has left an imprint, since I went and dipped into the trusty "well of life experience" for that one...

I miss KC, but then again, I don't. I miss care-free car rides to the liquor store, but I don't miss picking up Jim Bob, the old souse who used to buy us alcohol on Friday nights (the fall of Jim Bob should make for it's own post someday, a tragic tale of drunken depravity). I miss the delicious irresponsibility of it all, I guess. My friend Justin is trying to get out now too, although I'm not sure how serious he is... I think getting out would be good for him. He's too damn smart for that town.

Bec and I have an anniversary on Tuesday, which is also her birthday. I'm now soliciting ideas for a combo birthday/anniversary gift. Must be inexpensive and "heartfelt." Feel free to leave a comment on this post with your suggestions. The clock is ticking people!

A Kansas City Funeral: The Conclusion

2006-09-19T22:52:00.000-07:00

So that's more or less how I found myself in Brian's living room that morning, surrounded by porn and beer and shouldered with the responsibility of getting my buddy to his dad's funeral at 11 a.m.
I walked back out to my car and grabbed Brian's clothes. His house sits on one of the prime lots in a secluded lake community, an heirloom passed on to him when his grandfather died several years before. Though undoubtedly once a stately and well-kept home, the place looked at fucked as Brian got last night. A perfect mirror to the decay and suffering inside.
I walked back in and handed Brian his shirt.
"You want to take a shower?" I asked.
"In a little bit... Dude, will you wake me up in like, forty-five minutes? I need to get some sleep."
With a heave, he rolled over, leaving me alone with the cats and the dirty movies. While I thought about protesting, I knew it was useless. It had been a typical night in Westport for Brian, Jimmy and our mutual friend D.W., Ryan's roommate, who had passed out in his bedroom before I got there. I later found out they'd scored an 8-ball and had watched "about 12 hours worth of porn" since they got home from America's Pub.
I first tried to roust him up at 9:45, but he gave little indication he was alive, let alone about to get up. A splash of cold water only elicited a muttered "Goddamn!" and a plaintive plea for 30 more minutes of sleep.
Frustrated, I bailed for Lee's to get reinforcements, and to pick him up to accompany us to the cemetary.
We got back to Brian's around 10:15, and it took another 15 minutes to get him, Jimmy and D.W. on their feet and dressed. While Brian washed his face, Jimmy and D.W. each did another line in the bedroom, then jumped in D.W.'s pickup to follow me, Brian and Lee to the cemetary.
I've driven faster in my life, but never with more of a sense of urgency. We were supposed to BE at the funeral home at least a half-hour before the services started. Now, we'd be lucky just to make it on time.
At 11:01, we pulled up to the funeral home and raced inside.
Empty.
"Uh, hello?" Brian hollered into the quiet parlor... Lee and I stared at each other and shook our heads.
"No fucking way..." Lee muttered.
Just then, the funeral director, a well-dressed lady in her forties strolled out of one of the offices.
"Can I help you gentlemen?" she asked.
"We're here for the Barnes funeral, Kirk Barnes," Brian said.
"Certainly, we've been expecting you," she said without a hint of irony or bitterness. "You'll need to head back out the road you came, take a left and follow the driveway until you see the tent."
Ryan's uncle and two aunts were already there. Another friend Matt showed up a few minutes after we arrived, and one of Kirk's drinking buddies, Max, a veteran who rode up on a chopped up Harley rounded out the graveside attendees.
The tent soon filled up with cigarette smoke, and the pastor kept the sermon brief. Ashes and dust and what-not.
No one spoke afterward, but for some reason, Brian's aunt Opal kept posing us boys for pictures, snapping away on her digital camera as we surrounded Brian, smiling awkwardly, and laughing at the cokish outbursts of Jimmy and D.W.
"Hell, I don't care if they let women in the military," Jimmy cried out unexpectedly. "They better take my wife because I sure as hell ain't going to Iraq!"
After another half-dozen pictures of the casket, Aunt Opal and company hugged us all, and left.Brian said he was up for anything, but Matt, Lee and I couldn't kick it. I had to get back to Pittsburg, and they both had to get ready to go to work. We stayed with Brian as long as he needed us, but talk soon turned to what the rest of the day would entail.
"Let's get drunk on whiskey and go to the public pool," D.W. suggested.
"Hells yeah, we can chase that 14 year-old ass around," Jimmy hooted.

Ugh...

2006-09-16T13:34:00.000-07:00

My punctuation/grammer on this blog are really lacking.

Stay tuned for the thrilling (ok, disturbing, er... weird) conclusion of A Kansas City Funeral, which given the lack of comments posted, has left audiences aghast, or maybe they all just skipped it...

A Kansas City Funeral

2006-09-14T22:41:00.000-07:00

Skip this is portion of the blog if you're easily bored, or if you haven't made comments on previous posts. Ok, thanks to those of you who have dutifully left comments and lifted my spirits. I appreciate the hell out of it.

To the meat: Ray says my blog is boring. I'm not disagreeing, however I offer the following story in an effort to liven up the content of this page. If you are easily offended by swear words or other explicit language, skip this post and read the ones about recess or Bambi.

* Author's note: The following tale is based on true events. Not the sort of "true events" they base 9/11 movies on... rather, events that actually happened, for the most part. Names may have been changed to protect the drunk and irresponsible. - GG

I can't say I was surprised when I walked into the living room and saw a woman being gagged with an 8-ball as two men ejaculated onto her face. Sure, it was just an old porno tape, and not the sort of thing you'd expect to find somebody watching approximately two hours before his dad's funeral, but I was back in Kansas City, and I more or less suspend my expectations when I come home.
My friend Brian was on the couch to my left, and though a sheet was tucked up almost under his chin, I knew he hadn't been to sleep yet. He stared at the TV contemplatively, with his arms folded behind his head. My friend Jimmy was passed out in a chair to Brian's left, still wearing the nice clothes he wore to the wake last night. Four kittens and three cats darted in and out of the corners, behind the furniture, under the table.
"'What's up, man?" Brian asked me, making no move to pause the show, or turn the volume down for that matter.
I shrugged.
"Nothing, just wanted to make sure you were up and dressed. I've got your shirt and coat out in my car."
We had attended the wake for Brian's dad a little more than 12 hours ago. His father, Kirk, had killed himself early Monday morning, when he accidently smashed into a guard rail on the highway. Police said he was on his way home from the bar, driving too fast, too drunk, etc.
To say Kirk had a drinking problem would be like telling a six year-old that the universe is "really big." A child's mind is grossly unequipped for handling the comparative distances, in much the same way a person who's never witnessed true alcoholism can't fully grasp the breadth and depth a to which a person in it throes can sink to.
Kirk was a blackhole, capable of engulfing all forms of booze. The true tragedy of it all was that, in his day, he had been among the best and the brightest, a decorated veteran of Vietnam, well-read, kind.
Although I hadn't known him too well – in the four years I'd been friends with Brian, Kirk was only out of jail for maybe five months, and spent the rest of that time locked up for DUIs – it was obvious the disease took an incredible toll on him.
He'd only been out for about six months before he careened into that guard rail and got ejected from his pickup.
I read about the accident on the Kansas City Star's web page. I called my friend Lee to make sure it was true.
"Yup," he told me, as he and other members of our old clique sat trying to console Brian. "Things are fucked up here."
Things were fucked up when I got to the wake too, but in a strange and familiar sort of way.
We'd spent a good portion of our high school days drinking and raising hell together, and though it's been almost five years since the last of us graduated, things haven't changed as much as you'd think they would have.
While I moved away to college, my friends seem stuck in a perpetual three-day bender, an unbroken string of 30-packs of Natty Light, whiskey rages, which usually broke into pointless violence and weirdness.
The wake was no different.
By the end of the two-hour visitation, we'd all taken turns escorting Brian to Kirk's casket in packs, shielding him from the other elderly visitors, who were too polite to protest as he fitted his father with his favorite hat, his aviator sunglasses. He tucked in a fifth of Jim Bean, a pack of smokes, a lighter, some pot, and a Stephen King paperback.
When somebody pointed out that we'd left nothing for Kirk to smoke out of, Jimmy did his best to reassure us all that another trip to the gas station wouldn't be necessary.
"Don't sweat it man," he said earnestly. "God will have some papers."
We left the funeral home and headed for the pool hall. The pounding of beers and the crack of tightly racked 9-ball game provided comfort and stability after those awkward hours in the chapel.
We split into groups, and I elected to go back to Lee's place, rather than follow Brian, Jimmy and the others to Westport and the bars. Lee screamed at some girls walking into the poolhall as we drove out of the parking lot, howling about the "lemony-freshness" of white people in general. I could only shake my head and laugh. Typical Kansas City.
I promised to pick him up in the morning, and to keep his shirt and jacket clean, unwrinkled.
I got a phone call at 8 a.m. from Brian. I could tell by his voice he was strung out on something.
"Hey man, come by at 9 a.m. and make sure I'm up."
No problem.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Missing recess

2006-09-12T22:57:00.000-07:00

This editor thing is kicking my ass. Other than this one time in high school, when the lovely Brodie Larson asked me to be her escort at her friend's quincinera (damn anglicanized keyboards...) and I found out that I would have to, * gulp * dance a formal routine, I never felt this in-over-my-head. I am entirely too chaotic to be as responsible as is necessary for this job, and my, shall we say, "gusto" for all things Collegio finds me with my dirty little fingers in every one of the papers proverbial pies...
Writing, design, circulation, advertising, sports, photography, logistics... Santa Maria.
I am now accepting applications for a managing editor. Must be organized, effecient, task-oriented, and willing to committ your every breath to making the Collegio great.
But what the hell am I complaining about, anyway. I love my job. I love this paper. And goddamn it, if I can end up waltzing with a tux in front of about 150 latinos without botching it up and looking like a gringo... well, hell, I can probably do this editor thing...

Right?

lies, damn lies, and innuendo

2006-09-11T18:57:00.000-07:00

Rebecca and I have agreed to stop posting rants about each other on our blogs. So those of you hoping for more dirty relationship laundry will just have to catch us duking it out in person, at the office. In front of our uncomfortable coworkers.

Raymond says "Bambi" is a conspiracy movie. If, by conspiracy, he's referring to Disney's unfliching quest to homogenize our culture and vivisect what traditionally have been the moral tales and lessons passed down thru generations, replacing the lessons with bullshit happy endings and white people, then yes, Senor Hillegas, you are correct.

Enough about conspiracies, this blog is getting to be one-note.

Watch the "Boondocks". Great, great show on Cartoon Network, or you can download whole episodes on youtube.

I love youtube. I have a whole folder of favorite videos dedicated to Mike Tyson. Tyson's an interesting study. Supremely talented as an athlete, he came from abject poverty to become heavyweight champion of the world. His subsequent exploitation by smarter people with a vested corporate interest and his publicized outbursts of violence and vulgarity in no way diminishes the all-Americanness of his legacy. In my opinion, it only serves to underscore it.

Jesus, I read some of this shit after I write it... maybe I should watch more Disney movies and cheer the hell up.

Hope you're doing well.

GG

Fouling things up.

2006-09-09T23:02:00.000-07:00

My fucking allergies are killing me. Damn Kansas ragweed. I feel as though I'm about to suffocate from all the mucus. I think I've figured out this whole "vow of silence" thing, as Rebecca sees it, anyway (if you don't know the ground rules you can brush up on them and read about our struggles to communicate at muteforamonth.blogspot.com). It isn't really a vow of silence, at least not with me.
Since she technically can't speak unless spoken to (unless to ask a question), she's not going to start up a conversation, rather, I'm *supposed* to give her permission to speak by asking questions and generally just filling the silence with my innane (sic?) chatter.
This is fucking ridiculous, and she wonders why I don't like it.
I don't like it that she feels like she has to go and take a vow of silence for a month to prove something to herself as a person. Yes, she talks a lot, and some self-control on her part would benefit her immensely. But everybody puts the proverbial foot in the mouth once in a while, and even though she increases her opportunities with her vociferous-ness, she's not any worse than anybody else. But whatever, she wants to do this vow of silence, she should treat it like a vow and stick to it. Nobody is putting a gun to her head to make her do this but her, and goddamnit, she should keep the promises she makes to her self (there will be an extensive post later on why I shouldn't be allowed to chastise ANYBODY, except for politicians, since I am, after all a journalist, about keeping promises, but that's a story for another time...)
So the way I see it, is being with me is supposed to be her free pass to be her normal, inquisitive self, and that's perfect since we spend the majority of our time together anyway... so it's technically not cheating if she's just talking with me, cooing supportively about how hard my day was, or such-and-such professor is an asshole, etc... Problem is, I don't feel like aiding and abetting her in this teensy, tiny loophole. Am I being a paranoid jerk? Maybe.

I hate the fact that she's so unhappy with herself she has to go to drastic extremes to try to "improve." I try and be supportive but Jesus Christ, this is ridiculous. YOU'RE OK REBECCA! Maybe everybody won't love you all the time, but I love you all the time, even when I'm being an asshole, I still love you. I'm just a jerk sometimes, independent of your actions (usually).

Yes, I understand that my behavior occasionally reinforces Rebecca's negative self image. I don't know what to do about that (and if you're screaming "Well, CHANGE" at your monitor, or thinking it in your head, it's not that simple). I've changed/grown up a lot since we started dating.

On a lighter note: The government has recently announced it keeps secret CIA prisons around the world (in blatant violation of the Constitution, among other laws) and that there was absolutely no connection between Saddam and Al Qaeda, which was the original "justification" for invading Iraq.

Since they already trotted out the JonBenet Ramsey quack to divert attention from their abysmal failures to aid Katrina victims one year after the disaster, my guess as to which famous unsolved mystery will finally be unraveled is... drumrolllllllll....

The Black Dahlia.

Think about it, there's a new movie about the same subject that comes out in a few weeks and it stars ScoJo (aka Scarlett Johannsen). If that's not a PR person's wet dream...

Ok, seriously though. In the unlikely event that this draws more than a minor whimper from the Left, or if the public somehow miraculously jolts awake, I predict we'll see those stories blown off the pages by some sort of space shuttle snafu. Anybody wanna place a wager on this? On second thought, maybe I've been reading too many of Stan's emails. To be continued.

Rent the movie "Brick" if you haven't yet, and if you want to read somebody who has a far more entertaining style than I do, check out Bill Simmons, The Sports Guy, at ESPN.com's page 2.