You ask, ‘How much more blog could this be?’ And the answer is, ‘None. None more blog.’
(Okay, at least one person has to get today’s tagline. Please tell me someone still remembers that movie.)
And now for a bit of shameless self-promotion, thinly disguised as a blog update:
The 100 Things About Me are coming along nicely, if I do say so myself.
(And I do. Well, obviously. I just did, didn’t I?)
Anyway, I’m hitting the home stretch now, and my goal to finish a post for each of the ‘things’ before I pen my hundredth post here is well within reach. This is post number 94 for the ‘main blog’, and I’m currently up to 81 ‘things’ posts. Only twenty more to write in the next six days or so. Hallelujah! Actually, I’m going to try to wrap it up over the weekend; frankly, I’m getting tired of talking about myself for hours at a time. (If only I were a teenaged girl!) And I don’t know what I’ll end up writing about after I’m done; with all that shit in the books, there’s won’t be much in my life that I haven’t discussed already. I may have to blog someone else’s life for a while.
In any case, I’ll soon have finished my goal of 100 Posts About Me. (Plus one to grow on.)
And that’ll feel good. So check them out — this is the last you’re gonna hear about them from me until the whole thing’s finished. You do want to get an early start on learning in minute detail all about me, don’t you? Well, don’t you?!
All right, let’s move on to a real topic…
Or maybe we won’t, goddamn it. I had this beautiful, eloquent, long (would you expect anything else from me?) post about football, and autumn, and the magic in the air… and stupid poopy Blogger killed it. Stupid, stupid, poopy, poopy. It’s hard enough to come up with this drivel the first time; don’t these goddamned people realize that?
Maybe I should have seen it coming. After all, the same thing happened earlier today. Of course, then I only lost a couple of paragraphs, but it should have put me on guard. You know, if I had a damned brain in my head. But no, I slung a couple of thousand words down, and without thinking about it clicked on ‘Post’. And whooooosh, there they went. Off my screen and into the virtual shitter. Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch.
Maybe it’s for the best. It was kind of an odd post. See, autumn’s my favorite time of year. I get all starry-eyed and grinny-faced in the fall. (And, back in the day, pokey-pantsed. Something about getting back to campus among all the skirts and dresses and jogging bras, I suspect.) So, not surprisingly, the post that got away was a bit wishy-washy. Bubbly, even. Maybe it’s for the best that no one’s going to see it. And now this techno-glitch has darkened my mood considerably. So I’m pretty much back to ‘normal’. Lucky you.
I can’t help myself when it comes to fall, though. Just about every good thing that’s ever happened to me occurred in the fall. I met my wife in the fall one year in college. By November, we were dating, and here we still are today. Come to think of it, I think I started going out with all of my girlfriends in the fall. (‘All’ three or so of them, that is. Yeah. I was a real live Casanova, I was.) And the sports! Oh, the sports! Football gears up in the fall. The World Series unfolds. And college basketball gets under way. What magical times these are. And hey, I was born in July. That’s not the fall, of course, but if you go back nine months, then it’s pretty clear that Ma and Pa were gettin’ jiggy smack dab in the middle of this most wondrous of seasons. Which is… um, yeah, actually something I don’t want to think about very hard at all. Ugh. Next topic.
So, anyway, fall’s pretty damned cool. I don’t have the energy to wax poetic about it the way I did in the other post, but trust me — it was good. I was all about ‘crisp heady breezes’ and ‘an air of possibility’ and all that shit. Really, you should have been there. Stupid Blogger.
Hey, speaking of football, I think I just found a kindred spirit. And a local one, too, presumably. The last visitor to this site got here by Googling:
I tried it myself, but didn’t find anything particularly useful. Dude, if you find anything good, let me know. The Pats open up the season on Sunday, and I’m looking for a place to watch it. Oh, and if you don’t find anything, you might want to try the Coolidge Corner Clubhouse over in Brookline. They’ve got four satellite feeds, and it’s always a good place to watch a game. A word to the wise, though — it’s pretty small, so you want to get there early to get a good spot at the bar before it fills up. Let’s see — for a Sunday afternoon game, I’d try and get there around… oh. Sorry, dude, you’re already late. Better luck next week.
I watched a few minutes of the game last night, but I’m sorry to admit that I couldn’t stay interested. For one thing, it was Washington and the Jets. As Ned Flanders might say, ‘Ho diddly. Hum diddly.‘ Neither team is all that exciting, and it was a low-scoring, high-snooze affair. I thought I might be able to turn to fantasy sports to get me more involved, so I checked out my matchup for this week. Nothing. Neither of us had any active players from either team, so I couldn’t even watch in hopes that ‘my’ running back would score, or ‘his’ QB would go down in a quivering, rubbery heap of hurtness. Bitches. If I’d known how boring the first game of the season was going to be, I’d have activated Laveranues Coles of the ‘skins, just to keep me watching.
(While I’m at it, how many rules of the English language are violated when the announcers call Laveranues Coles ‘La-VER-ne-us’? Look, maybe that’s how he wants people to say it. Maybe that’s even what his parents intended. But look at his name. Laveranues. Say it the way the Monday Night Football crew do, and you’re transposing two vowels and completely ignoring another. What is this, German? I think there’s something more complicated going on there, and someone’s given them license to simplify it, so they don’t come off looking like brainless boobs trying to wrap their meaty mouths around the real pronunciation.
Which is fine, I suppose. But look — if John Madden can figure out how to say ‘Kabeer Gbaja-Biamila’ correctly (half the time, anyway) instead of copping out with ‘KGB’, then you’d think he’d give Mr. Coles’ moniker the old college try. Depending on how many gin and tonics he’s up to at that point, anyway. Once he gets lubed up, it’s probably best that he just keeps his mouth shut.)
So, I didn’t watch much of the game. And, of course, since I didn’t play him, Coles had a great night, catching five passes and outgaining the entire Jets receiving corps combined. *sigh* At least he didn’t score a touchdown. But neither did anyone else, really.
(Unless you count LaMont Jordan and Damerian McCants, that is. Who the fuck are these people? Weren’t they in the ‘Pips’ way back when?)
I guess I’ll wait until Sunday to really kick in the football season, and sit on the couch in my undies with a bag of pork rinds and a jar of black bean dip. (Two great tastes that taste great togeher — yum!) And maybe the Monday night game this week will be better. Let’s see… Tampa Bay at Philly. Yeah, I can watch that. Donovan McNabb played for my favorite college team, so I’ll be interested to watch the ‘Iggles’ on offense, anyway. Now, if I can just pick up a Buccaneer for my fantasy team, I can watch the whole game. Otherwise, I’ll use the TB possessions to run to the bathroom, and to stock up on more dip. And yes, in that order. That’s not a process you want to do in reverse, folks. No telling what you’ll end up with on your pork rind. Oh my.Permalink | No Comments