Wednesday, January 31, 2007

One Year On The Wagon

I recently acknowledged to a friend that it has been a little over a year since last I had a drink. I quit the bottle, as my life was falling apart around me, cold turkey. Several people were telling me that I was an alcoholic, that I drank too much, that I had no self-control. So, I hung up my shot glasses and became (to the lament of the nice folks at Tito's Vodka, and Scotland) completely and totally teetotal.

Now, some people would say that if it was that easy, then I must not have been much of a drinker. But, keep in mind that I am the guy that took the slogan, "Drink Canada Dry" as a challenge, not an advertisement. I am the guy that sat down one night with a bottle of Talisker (a lovely single malt whisky) and polished it off, then woke up in the morning, hangover-free, and went on merrily with my life. I am the guy that adopted tactical vomiting (puke 'n' rally) as a way of life, the guy who has never been hung-over. (Not even that night that I drank 13 pints of Guinness in 3 hours.)

For me, drinking was a distraction, and I didn't need more of those in my life. The reaction of my friends has been across the range, from "great" to, "I can not trust a man who won't drink." For those souls who have had my fabulous martinis, I still make 'em. I know how to select a wine to serve with a meal, and I am happy to keep a well-stocked wine cellar for my friends. I just won't be joining you as you toast Groundhog Day, or Tuesday, or whatever.

So, here I am, one year later. My life is definitely less complicated; and, I haven't missed the booze a bit. Even when faced with stressful or painful situations. Situations where, in years past, I would have opened a bottle. I don't preach, and I don't give temperance lectures, I just go on with my life.

As one of my colleagues once said, "Keep your head down and do your job. Oh, and don't trust anyone. Including me."

Good advice.

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

No Jury Would Convict Me

I was leaving my house early one dark New England morning, and I nearly ran down a jogger. A jogger that ran across the intersection, without regard to the headlights of my Volvo XC-90.

The jogger, who was black, was fashionably attired in black sweats, with no reflectors or flashing lights, and a black watch cap. The jogger came down a dark street, with no streetlights, and glared at me when I slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting him/her.

It begs the question: Why bother to try to stay in shape when you are not smart enough to know that being visible to the drivers with whom you share the road can save your life.

This is, in my opinion, the biggest problem with Boston. Pedestrians, by law, have the right of way in an intersection. As a consequence, they have no fear of being hit because they believe that the laws of the Commonwealth supersede the Law of Gross Tonnage.

I think, for just a week, cars should get a free shot at one pedestrian. Just one. Maybe two.

The crosswalk carnage might make a few of these idiots get religion about safety when they cross a street.

Sunday, January 28, 2007

Notes From NPR

I was listening to NPR yesterday, and I heard a discussion on whether a man named Barack Hussein Obama (D-IL) could win the presidency of the United States of America. The question has arisen because CNN (and Senator Edward M. Kennedy) have referred to him as "Osama"; and, because his middle name, Hussein, is the same as the surname of dead dictator, Saddam Hussein.

In order to punctuate the point, a man called Charles Himmler called in and related the difficulties that he had sharing the surname of Heinrich Himmler, the head of the German Schutzstaffel (SS). He said that only once had his name been an issue, and he urged Obama to run for president.

This reminded me of a story told to me by an uncle, who grew up in the midwest. It seems that there was a man named Adolf Hitler, which might have been problematic in 1940s America. Under intense pressure, the man changed his name, to John. John Hitler.

Which reminded me of the excellent series, Hill Street Blues, and a storyline involving a struggling comedian that Detective J.D. LaRue managed. Vic Hitler.

That is all.

Thursday, January 25, 2007

Safest I Have Ever Felt On A Plane

On Tuesday morning, I was flying through Atlanta, and I had inquired about a pending upgrade.

The gate agent said, "Oh, I am sorry. First Class is blocked."

Then, I looked out the plate glass window overlooking the tarmac, and I saw an unmarked cruiser disgorging Atlanta police and an array of plainclothesmen. The boarded the plane, causing me to think that I was traveling with some convict. I began watching for the prisoner, but my zone was called, and I boarded the Delta 757, bound for Boston.

As I was settling into my seat, I saw a well-dressed gent putting a case into the overhead bin, and I noticed the unmistakable bulge...0f a shootin' iron. He turned, and I saw the lapel pin, identifying him as secret service.

Then, former President James Earl Carter stood, began doing a "grip and grin" on the plane. Walking down the aisle, shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries, selling copies of his book. Okay, he wasn't selling copies of his book, but it would have been pretty damned funny if he had been. C'mon, admit it. It would have been funny. He even shook the hands of those sitting The funny thing is that by my count, there were more people on the plane than voted for him in 1980; but, undeterred, he greeted everyone.

Upon his arrival in Boston, there was a huge crowd...of eleven...cheering him, praising his good works on destroying the United States of America, along with Israel. There was only one news camera--no network coverage for Jimmah--and no screaming throngs, the kind that greet him when he visits murderous dictators like Fidel Castro, Hugo Chavez, and Robert Mugabe.

An interesting note, Castro, Chavez and Mugabe get all of the votes when they run for re-election. For this reason, Carter wants to be the new Maximum Leader of Cuba. (His slogan,
"Carter: Same number of letters as Castro, same fucked up policies, same economic ruin." It sounds better in Spanish, trust me.)

Even in a liberal backwater such as Massachusetts, Carter only got a smattering of supporters at the airport. You'd think that, in the bluest of blue states, the Democrat party could turn out a few people to hold signs. Maybe have Governor Patrick carry his bags, sell a few books, shine his shoes. Wait, that sounded really racist. But, that is not my problem, it is yours.

By the way:

Q: What do you call a black man who flies airplanes?

A: A pilot, you racist motherfucker.

But, I digress.

I was horrified that a man, who has done so much to run down the greatest nation on earth, would get the time of day, let alone kudos and adoration.

But, I digress again. The point is that I didn't get my upgrade because of President Carter.

And, I was about the only person in my 4th grade class that voted for him in the mock election. The first, and last time that I have ever voted for a Democrat in a presidential election (unless you count my vote for Jesse Jackson in the 1984 South Carolina Presidential Primary).

Monday, January 22, 2007


I am not a Patriots fan. Never have been, never will be. I just didn't think that it was cricket to hop on the bandwagon when they got good. Likewise, it didn't seem right to bail on my beloved Dolphins when they went to shit.

So, the Patriots blew an 18 point lead, losing to the Indianapolis Colts. The media spin this as a Colts comeback. I say that it is a choke-job, plain and simple.

The Colts obviously came to play. The Patriots...well...they expected that the Colts (and Peyton Manning) would not be able to win the big game. They never had been able to follow through, and it seemed that a repeat was in the offing.

But, like the OSU Buckeyes, the Patriots read the clippings, thought that the Colts would just roll over and die. Instead, the Colts just kept on charging, never giving a loss a second thought.

So, the Colts versus Da Bears in the Super Bowl.

The pick, right here, right now: Colts win, 31-30.

And somewhere, for Peyton Manning, someone will be playing Rocky Top.

I hate that fucking song.

Sunday, January 21, 2007

Things I Hate About Air Travel

I was advised, as I sat comfortably in my seat, iPod on, that all electronic devices "...must be in the off position."

What the hell is the off position?

Do you, perhaps, mean to say that all electronic devices "...must be off."

Putting the word "position" after "off" sounds just plain stupid. Ignorant, even.

Everything on a fucking airplane has a position. Tray tables must be locked in position. Seatbacks have to be locked in the upright position. It is like the Kama Sutra for an industry, except the positions have nothing to do with sexual activity.

Just once, I want a flight attendant to say "off", "upright" or "locked".

And what the hell is "pre-boarding"? Instead, just say the flight is "...ready for boarding."

"Deplaning"? Is that like detoxing? I'll tell you the truth, I have never debussed, and I have never deboated; but, by God, I have deplaned.

Fat people on planes piss me off, too. If you have to shoehorn your Size 24 ass into a seat, you probably need two seats (or the Atkins Diet).

Just last summer, I was flying and I was forced to sit next to a woman who, with the armrest folded in the up position, filled both seats. When I went to sit, she pissed and moaned about having to fold the armrest into the down position. I went to rest my arm, and placed it firmly on her right tit. There were no other seats, so I was forced to spend the next 90 minutes risking death, or serious injury, from the (very) heavy beverage cart that was being pushed up and down the aisle.

Oh, and the snacks. Give me peanuts, or pretzels, not crappy cookies.

Is it any wonder that I prefer first class, where the passengers can do, pretty much, anything that they want.

Saturday, January 20, 2007

What's In A Name Redux

I was traveling on family business and I, in a relatively short span of time, came upon three people with unbelievably bad names. Names that you would write home about (or, at least, mention in a post on this blawg).

The first, Beijing (according to her name plate), was a pleasant, non-Asian woman, who was manning the cash register at Burger King in the Atlanta Airport.

Me: "Hey, that would be a good name for a city."

Beijing: "It is."

What, in the name of all that is holy, is someone thinking of when they name their child Beijing? Really, that is a name of a person that is doomed to work, for eternity, at the Atlanta Airport Terminal D Burger King. And, did I mention, she wasn't Asian. Perhaps her sister, Shanghai could shed some light on why she was stuck with this awful name.

The second, Shaquina, was emptying trash barrels. What the hell is a Shaquina? What about Anne, or Lisa? I have to think that a lot of controlled substances must be ingested to even get to the point that you put that name on a birth certificate. Again, this is an absolute guarantee that the person will never be judged on anything other than her name.

I realise that creativity is to be applauded; but, when a child gets such a ridiculous name, they are surely going to be the subject of unlimited amounts of scorn and ridicule.

Finally, I ran into a woman named Elizabeth. What kind of a normal name is that? It is plain vanilla, not creative at all. What was going through her parents' mind?

Mom: I think Savannah is a good name.

Dad: I love her movies. She is amazing. I once saw her at Scores. Or, maybe Shayna?

Mom: No, Shayna is not good. Maybe Cinnamon? Then, she won't have to change her name when she goes to work at the age of 18. Or Tiffani. She could put hearts, or smiley faces over the is.

Dad: No daughter of mine is going to work the pole.

Mom: Well, I can't think of anything else.

Dad: Okay, well, maybe Elizabeth?

Mom: That is so boring, but I guess we are out of options.

Oh, how I miss normal, uncreative names.

Monday, January 15, 2007

Ban The Burqa...
(Or, Invade Their Countries, Kill Their Leaders, And Convert Them To Christianity)

The cowardly lion now wears a burqa.

One of the July 21 Bombers, who was responsible for the deaths of many innocents, tried to escape London, dressed as a woman.

Proving once more that we are fighting an enemy that follows a religion that demands the death (or forced conversion) of non-Muslims, that treats women as second-class citizens, and whose adherehents haven't the balls to fight like men. Instead, they hide among civilians, dress like women, and generally speaking, are cowards.

Yet another reason that head scarves and burqas should be banned. Muslims ruined it for themselves by living up to the stereotype that not all Muslims are terrorists; but, all terrorists are Muslims.

Sunday, January 14, 2007

Ol' Lemonface Dishes The Dirt...

on her split with country singer, Kenny Chesney. The marriage, which ended in a fraud-based annulment after a mere four months, soon became grist for the rumour mill.

I suspect that it might have had something to do with one of the following reasons:

1) He was prettier than she was;
2) He got tired of waking up next to a woman who looked as though she had sucked a lemon;
3) He was gay;
4) He could not take her speaking in the Bridget Jones voice;
5) He looked better in her knickers and other frilly things than did she; or,
6) All of the above.

I mean really, an annulment based upon fraud? That is pretty hard to get, unless one of the parties was front about the reasons for the marriage. You know, like someone didn't say he needed a beard.

When I was studying for the bar exam, I remembered that fraud, along with three other bases for an annulment, were available. The rule for the other three was NIB (Nonage, Incest, Bigamy), and in a pinch, all you had to remember was Jerry Lee Lewis (or, "Great Balls of Fire"), who hit the annulment trifecta by marrying his a) underage b) cousin while c) legally married to another woman. Needless to say, this is not recommended.

In fact, some would say that to hit the AT, one needs to be bugfuck crazy.

In any event, we know that Lemonface and Chesney weren't related, and were both legally free to marry. So, we are left with fraud, which can mean several things, including that Kenny Chesney was not really interested in consummating this relationship.

More fodder for the tabloids....

Thursday, January 11, 2007

Today Is National Breakup Day

I will bet that Hallmark doesn't have a card for that. But, I would like to see Breakup Cards--maybe something with Snoopy and Charlie Brown telling Lucy to go play in traffic--or Peppermint Patty and her little lesbian friend, Marcie telling little Sally Brown that she's too much of a lipstick lesbian for their tastes.

Maybe some sappy poetry:

Roses are red,
Violets are dead,
You ruined my life
You fucking bitch.


Now that you are out of the house,
You cheating louse,
The poolboy and I laugh,
Because your dick is as small as a mouse.

Maya Angelou could write some pedantic shit about how your boyfriend was a lying, cheating douchebag. Oprah and Dr. Phil could have the "Throw 'da bum out" series, free with the purchase of O Magazine. Rosie O'Donnell and Donald Trump could use the transcripts of their public feud as the grist for the breakup-card mill.

And, Hate Stamps from the United States Post Office. That would complete the package.

Beautiful. Fucking beautiful.

Monday, January 08, 2007

34-14 At The End Of The First Half?

The University of Florida Gators are kicking the ever-loving crap out of a highly over-rated OSU squad. Sweet.

I note that on, the highly unscientific poll showed something like 66% of some 725,000 answering the survey thought that OSU would win. I, on the other hand, am a contrarian.

I noted that OSU never really stopped U of M, they just scored more points against an equally porous defence.

I also noted that you can not spell "Ohio State Sucks" without OSU. And while the denizens of Columbus may wipe their asses with wolverine fur, the Gators are showing the world why they are the team most deserving of a shot at a shared national championship (with undefeated Boise State).

Go Gators!
7-7 With Almost An Entire Game To Go...

First, OSU returns a kickoff 93 yards for a shocker of a TD. Somewhere, Brent Musberger was having an orgasm as a consequence of this display of special teams prowess and his love of Jim Tressel and OSU. And, before the dust had settled, with UF being written off, the Gators drive for an equally impressive touchdown.

7-7, just like that.

Florida stops OSU on their first real possession, sacking Troy Smith (who won a Heisman Trophy) in the process.

Now, the Gators are on the march again, helped by a foolish penalty by OSU (a late hit, delivered well after the whistle).

I guess Coach Tressel hit Troy Smith a little harder than we thought.
In anticipation of the BCS Championship Game...

Jim Tressel, the head coach of the Ohio State Buckeyes called his team together for one of those inspirational speeches, the kind that Knute Rockne or Ara Parseghian might give. He spoke, he called upon God, and he brought his team to their feet, screaming, chanting, "Beat the Gators!"

Then, as he reached his peroration, he whipped out his wang, and pulled a five foot long alligator out of a gunny sack. He allowed the reptile to clamp down on his johnson, then smacked the gator on the head with such force, it dropped to the ground, obviously writing in pain.

Tressel exclaimed, "Which one of you is man enough to do that?"

Then, silence.

Tressel shouted, "Are you pussies, or are you men?"

Finally, Heisman Trophy winner, Troy Smith raised his hand.

"Yes?" Tressel said.

"I'll try, but you have to promise not to hit me so hard."

Go, Gators!

Sunday, January 07, 2007

What Were They Thinking?

I was at the Northeastern v. Boston University hockey game last night, and BU Senior Defenseman, Tom Morrow was on the ice. Tom Morrow. What were his folks thinking when they gave him that name? Was he born a day early? ("Damnit, Eileen, he was supposed to be born tomorrow.")

I then started thinking about my friend, CK, who has a Book of Names, where he saves correspondence from folks like Richard Head (Dick Head) and Richard Liss (Dick Liss). Then, there is Dick Johnson, Dick Hartigan, Dick Wood, and Richard Bigger. (Interstingly, Attorney Bigger--Attorney Dick Bigger--is a Junior, meaning that there is a first generation Dick Bigger.)

This gave way to other bad names, like DeShaun (DeShaun Foster, RB, Carolina Panthers), Deval (His Excellency Deval Patrick, Governor of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts), LeShaun (LeShaun Williams, rapper), NuShaun (NuShaun Williams (no relation to LeShaun), who intentionally infected dozens of women with HIV) and Keyshawn (Keyshawn Johnson, WR). I could also list some ethnic names, such as Barack (Senator Barack Hussein Obama, D-IL), Niger (Niger Innis, National Spokesman for CORE (Congress of Racial Equality)), and Muhammed (Muhammed Ali, the greatest boxer of all time). Then, I could list, for shits and giggles, the stupid-ass names that Hollywood-types have given their kids (though none of them are old enough to have made a mark on the world), such as Rumor (Dummy Moore and Bruce Willis's daughter), Apple (Gwynneth Paltrow's daughter) and Moon Unit (Frank Zappa's daughter).

This led me to conclude two things:

First, when parents name their children, they are generally not thinking clearly (as evidenced, for example, by two sets of parents who named their twins, respectively, Flubrette and Flubrina, and Lemonjello and Orangejello (pronounced Lemongelo and Orangelo)); and, second, the old adage, "What's in a name?" is quite accurate.

Saturday, January 06, 2007

I Hate The Mall...

because it is a proving ground for pre-pubescent girls to show off their overly made-up faces (as an aside, if we ever invent a car that can run on make-up, all we need for energy independence is a trip to the mall on a Friday night) and horned-up high schoolers looking to score with the former. In fact, I counted no fewer than five badly-dressed, backward-hat-wearing, pimply-faced, cell- phone-using, hormone-spewing dipshits French-kissing young girls.

Chris Hansen sets up internet stings on Dateline: NBC; but, there is no sting at the mall. Troubling, since there is probably more sex at the mall than parents want to admit. After all, there is the car park, the dark corners, the complete and utter lack of parental (or other adult) supervision.

Indeed, I would wager that the parents of little Suzy would go absolutely bugfuck crazy if they knew that their little 13 year old (who is made up to look 18) was kissing (and being pawed) by Deshon (or one of his budding-felon friends). I mean, it was 65 degrees yesterday. Far too warm for the down-filled Rocawear parka, the baggy-ass Diesel jeans, and the $300.00 Nike Air Force Ones.

So, as I am standing there in the mall, watching the trainwreck, a sobbing little boy walked up to me and said that he had lost his grandpa.

I felt bad for him, and I wanted to help this forlorn little child out of his troubles.

I got down on one knee, looked the little man in the eyes, and said, "What's he like?"

The little boy said, "Jack Daniels and women with big tits."

Thursday, January 04, 2007


I went to the market and bought five items. The total was $6.63. I paid with a ten-spot. The pimply-faced Goth at the register had to call her manager to ask what the correct change should be.

First, it's simple math. You are 17, do it in your head. (Or did that last piercing affect your brain?)

Second, the fucking cash register tells you the correct change.

Third, I would wager that if you asked me really nicely, I might just tell you how much money you are supposed to return to me. For the love of Pete, I am a high school drop out and I know what the correct change should be.

All of this reminds me of a question on the GED:

You and three friends go out for pizza and sodas. The total bill is $22.00. How much does each person have to pay to divide the bill evenly?

A. $3.75

B. $5.50

C. $7.00

D. $8.15

All I know is that I wanted to go out to dinner with the people who checked C or D. I figure that way, I could eat for free, and make a few bucks in the process.

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

More Football Talk...

As I sit and contemplate the Allstate Sugar Bowl, I am reminded of three things: First, I really can not stand LSU (even moreso now that former LSU coach, Nick Saban, left the Dolphins in the lurch today); second, this used to be called the Nokia Sugar Bowl; and, third, Terry Bradshaw's dulcet tones make me absolutely insane.

Bradshaw was a great quarterback, and he deserves to be in the Hall of Fame; but, Thomas "Hollywood" Henderson (of the Dallas Cowboys) was right: "He couldn't spell 'cat' if you spotted him the 'c' and the 't'."

Not only do I have to deal with the Wake loss to Louisville (after Wake played three strong quarters--sadly, a football game is four quarters), I have to deal with Terry Bradshaw.

Screw it, I am going to bed.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

10-10 With 4:51 Remaining In The Third Quarter

The Demon Deacons are on the move, just sliding into Sam Swank FG range...until the fumble.

3-3 With 8:30 Remaining In The Second Quarter

Brent Musberger is apparently writing the copy for the people in the booth, who are apparently trying to get into Louisville Coach, Bobby Petrino's pants. I know this to be true because they are saying the same things about Petrino that Musberger said about SC's Pete Carroll. (Have I mentioned that they hate to be called "SC"?)

"This isn't the way we thought that this game was going to go down."

No shit, fuckwit. You thought it was going to be 21-zip about now, with all of you idiots ranting that Wake didn't deserve to play in the Orange Bowl. The so-called experts were picking Wake to finish last in the ACC.

So, as Wake moves the ball, after a fashion, and keeps it close, we at least acquit ourselves well.

Oh, and Go Deacs!
NEWS FLASH! Hitler Was A Jew

Just when you thought that Iranian President, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad couldn't get anymore bugfuck crazy, he comes up with yet another gem.,7340,L-3347309,00.html

Essentially, Hitler was so averse to Judaism because his Jewish mother was a woman of easy virtue.

That sounds like a reasonable justification for the systematic murder of six million or so Jews.

[Hitler, laying on Dr. Freud's couch.]

Hitler: "My mother was Jewish."

Dr. Freud: "How did that make you feel?"

Hitler: "Like I wanted to establish a homeland for the Jews. You know, create a nation for all Jews, from around the world, to go and live in peace and harmony with their fellow co-religionists. I would like it very much if my mother could live there, too."

Dr. Freud: "So, what did you do about your desire to establish a Jewish nation?"

Hitler: "Well, I came up with a plan. Josef Stalin and I signed a non-aggression pact, and we set about creating a homeland for the Jews. Neville Chamberlain and Franklin Delano Roosevelt were on board, too. I knew that I could effect my plan. I was willing to take Germany to war because I loved the Jews so much."

Dr. Freud: "And what happened next, Adolf?"

Hitler: "I called the plan the 'Final Solution' and I was going to make my dreams a reality. It was going to be a Yom Kippur surprise for all of the Jews of Germany. They were going to love me."

Dr. Freud: "And..."

Hitler: "Some putz found out about my surprise, so I revoked the citizenship of all Jews, rounded them up, loaded them in cattle cars, and shipped them to concentration camps, where I killed them. You know, so they wouldn't ruin the surprise. But, I had the last laugh, because now there is a nation called...Israel. And that I was the 'Father of Israel' is the biggest surprise since I saw Dick Clark hosting the New Year's Eve Special with Times Square. What's up with that mensch?"

Dr. Freud: "Huh?"

Hitler: "And look how I am treated. They never even said thanks for all that I did for them. I mean, you'd think that the Jews would treat me more reverentially. But no...not a word of thanks. Not a bit of thanks. And me, all alone in my bunker. Not one lousy phone call. Not one card. It's just too much for me to take, Dr. Freud."

Dr. Freud: "Oy! Even I feel guilty. Well, Adolf, our time is up, and Saddam, a new patient of mine just arrived. Gotta go."

And Ahmadinejad is the guy that we should be dealing with to ensure peace in the Middle East? The only deal we should make with Mahmoud is that we will have James Baker, Lee Hamilton, and Katie Couric meet him at the lobby bar of the Tehran Hilton...then deliver a couple of JDAMs, you know, as a peace offering.

Where's Osama?
CNN mistakenly promoted their special on the search for Osama bin Laden with the chiron, "Where's Obama?"
I don't know what the big deal is, since our Senior Senator, Edward Kennedy, called him "Osama Obama."
An Obama spokesman said that he didn't think that there was any "...truly malicious intent." It's CNN, for Chrissakes.
If I were a conspiracy theory type, I would start looking to Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton (D-NY) for answers.
Brent and Petey,
sitting in a tree,

I watched SC dismantle U of M in the Rose Bowl, and I took away two things. First, SC hates to be called SC. Therefore, I am going to call SC, SC. Second, Brent Musberger is in love with SC coach, Pete Carroll. He wants to marry Pete Carroll, he wants to have Pete Carroll's baby. He wants to loudly proclaim how much he loves Pete Carroll. Wait, he already did that, on national television.

It was so bad that I went searching for the U of M broadcast team, on the internet. Instead, I got ESPN Radio, and more Brent Musberger.

Then, in the Tostitos Fiesta Bowl, I watched (and listened) to the broadcast team professing their love for OU. I was sickened, especially as Boise State looked to pull off one of the greatest chokes in sporting history, at the OU love-fest. (Though I had to laugh when, at one point, the announcer said that "[Barry] Alvarez and [Charles] Davis were banging in the booth.")

But, Boise State pulled off the upset, scoring the game-tying touchdown with 7 seconds remaining, after an amazing 4th and 18 play that saw a quick reception and lateral to complete the score. Then, Boise State went for the two-point conversion, in OT, to win the contest.

13-0 Boise State, winner of the WAC (a non-BCS conference), and the only other major undefeated team, now waits for the Florida v. Ohio State game. If Florida pulls off the upset, then Boise State, at 13-0, should be the National Champion. If Ohio State wins, then Boise State should share in the title.

Of course, this won't happen, and Boise State is destined for the asterisk, like BYU, in 1984.

A final note about this topic. Tonight, Wake Forest takes on Louisville in the Orange Bowl; and, according to the chattering skulls, they will get embarrassed.

First, they are in the Orange Bowl because they won the ACC Championship, by beating a tough Georgia Tech team in a defensive battle. At the very least, the same defense will show up tonight. Second, they didn't get to the Orange Bowl because someone felt bad for Wake Forest, the third smallest Division I football school. They got there because they played well all season, playing tough teams that went to bowl games. Finally, in this age of "Any Given Saturday," they are at least equal to Louisville (just as Boise State was up to the challenge of beating OU).

So, tonight, I will be pulling for the Deacs. Don't bother me.

Monday, January 01, 2007


I started 2007 with a list of eleven resolutions that would, most certainly, make me a better person.

At 1225 Zulu (GMT), I broke resolve number three: "Stop saying "fuck" and any of its variants."

The new year is off to an inauspicious beginning, especially since I was still in bed at the time that number three collapsed.

Me: [snoring so loudly I woke myself from a deep slumber] "Aw, fuck!"

I guess the upside is that I wasn't angry at anyone (other than myself) and I was not directing this at anyone in particular. I just can not believe how quickly my resolutions can be shattered as a consequence of old habits.

So, I started thinking about the other ten resolutions for 2007, and how long these will survive. With some exceptions, my resolutions are laid out below for all to see.

1) Stop procrastinating.
2) Be on time. (This is the one that I thought would be first to go since I am always tardy, thanks in part to my years in Miami, living on Caribbean Standard Time.)
3) Stop saying fuck, or any of its variants.
4) Be more patient.
5) Exercise for at least thirty (30) minutes a day (unless I am sick).
6) Eat more sensibly. (Cut down on my intake of red meat, eat more vegetables and fruits.)
7) Communicate more openly and honestly with my friends and loved ones.
8) Write for at least thirty minutes a day (including posts on "Lifeguard of the Jury Pool").
9) Write more letters. Rely less on the impersonal e-mail method of communicating.
10) Stop complaining.
11) Read at least one book a week.

Okay, they are kind of lame, and for the most part, I do many of these things, but I want to have a written guide for the coming year.

From the Jury Pool, I wish you all a very happy, healthy and prosperous new year.