I'm Having A Better Day Than Tiger Woods

Today was a complete failure from an exercise stand point. I ate clean but there were way too many built in excuses for me to avoid this morning. I had some stuff I needed to do at work. My iPod is dead and MJ took hers with her to work. The gym and I getting together today just wasn’t going to happen. I could have done my pool session but I can’t run on the dreadmill without my iPod. If I was going to run outside after swimming I would have needed a lot more equipment, so I lied to myself and decided I would get to the gym this afternoon – wasn’t gonna happen. After I got to work and quit on my pool plans, I decided to ride my bike for a couple of hours but the day got away from me. By the time I got home I was hungry and tired. I ate lunch, Facebooked, and checked to see if Tiger Woods admitted that his wife, Elin, hit him in the face with a golf club. Side Note:

That’s totally what happened. He cheated on her with that party skank. Elin lost it, and for good reason. She’s much better looking than the party skank and they’re both blondes, so there’s no variety excuse for Tiger. I thought she was just a vapid Swedish model, but her violent streak bumps her hotness way up.

End of side note. Then the baby girl woke up, but instead of asking Grammy to come watch her while I exercised, I did the big-hearted thing and skipped my workout. I’m a mensch. Today was a textbook example of my planning to fail by failing to plan. I have to get MJ to leave me her iPod, even if I bring it to her at school after I’m done. I have to get all of my gear ready tonight before I go to bed along with my workout nutrition. Breakfast is easy but the transitional stuff for during my workout is going to take some prep work. Today didn’t work out but tomorrow will. I’ll be in the pool first thing in the morning.

Gearing Up For Meatballs

The holiday is over and it’s back to the real world tomorrow. I hate these Sunday nights. I hate being reminded how much I hate work. They’re not as bad as the Sunday nights were when I was in school, but those had one hundred percent to do with undone homework. I gained five pounds over the weekend so the first order of business tomorrow is getting my fat ass in the pool. I’m not making meatballs until the weekend of the twelfth so that gives me two full weeks to get back to where I started at the very least. I’m also blowing off work parties this year. There’s no need. I’ll make a point of spending some time with everyone I like, and everyone else will get “postponed”. This has been a rough year and I don’t have the energy to pretend to be interested in stuff I’m not interested in or make trips across the river to see people whose names I can’t remember. I think I was talking about exercise before I got bitter. Anyway, I’m in the pool and on the dreadmill tomorrow. I don’t know if I’m going to add a session on the elliptical to jump start some weight loss. I doubt it. Like I said, I have two full weeks of exercise and a clean diet before the next gravy tournament. The meatballs on the twelfth are a dry run for the Christmas meatballs. I haven’t made them in almost a year and I want to make sure everything goes smoothly. There are a couple of exotic spices that go into them and I need to know if a trip to the apothecary is necessary. The dry run is also a good time to experiment. I’m thinking of tweaking the meats (it’s natural everybody does it). The recipe calls for a 3 to 1 ratio of beef to pork, but MJ got health conscious a while back and we started substituting a portion of turkey for a portion of beef. The taste difference was negligible. I’m in an authentic mood so if I can find some reindeer meat in Jacksonville it’s going into the mix – just for the dry run. The mix for Christmas is carved in stone and gilded. Yeah, I’m excited about the meatballs. The elliptical session has to get added.

I'm Not Angry. I'm Numb

Another year, another brutalizing by the Florida Gators. The last time the Seminoles beat the Gators was 2003 and that game was decided by a questionable call. The two programs couldn’t be more different. They’re teams playing in different eras. The Gators are the epitome of 21st century college football. The Seminoles are stuck in 1993. It’s like the Gators are running Mac OS X and the Seminoles are running Windows 2. The Gators run their organization like the Marines. The Seminoles run their organization like an episode of Real Housewives of Leon County. What the hell is a coach in waiting? Every time this has been tried in the British royal family it’s ended in bloodshed, usually the guy’s in waiting. This whole transition has been handled as poorly as possible. If the university wanted Bobby Bowden gone then they should have fired him. If they wanted him to stay then they never should have told Jimbo Fisher he was the coach in waiting. Jimbo Fisher is nobody. Florida State didn’t owe him anything, but it’s not his fault that the program is where it is. He’s just a guy trying to do a job. Bobby Bowden is a guy who doesn’t realize he’s past his prime. I feel bad for him because he’s trying as hard as he can, but that’s not very hard because he’s 80 years old. 80 year olds can’t compete with 45 year olds. It’s nature. He’s surrounded himself with yes men from his glory days, failed head coaches with no where else to go. He begged Mickey Andrews to postpone his retirement a year to take one last crack at fixing this mess. Andrews’s heart wasn’t in it. He’s 68 years old. He’s still mourning the loss of his son, and the result was the worst Seminole defense since Gerald Ford was president. I remember hating Thad Busby in ’96 and ‘97. His record as a starter was 22-2, although the two losses were HUGE. Now I’m excited because the ‘Noles squeaked out a sixth win making them bowl eligible and extending Coach Bowden’s consecutive bowl streak to 27. I hope next year is his last. This is getting ugly. Just think about how much worse Old Yeller would have been if Travis hadn’t shot Old Yeller at the end, and the story went on for another 150 pages of a once great dog in agony. That’s what I’m dealing with as a Seminole fan.

Bromide Tablet Anyone?

There was no reason for me to eat as much as I ate today. It was worse than yesterday. I have no willpower when it comes to things slathered in gravy. I ate too much dressing, too much turkey, and too much mashed potatoes. I didn’t do anything else today but eat, sleep, drink beer, and watch television. The only constructive activity I was involved in was putting a new turkey breast into the oven. As bloated as I feel at 8:30, the chances of the remnants of the apple pie making it to tomorrow morning are not very good. I even skipped out on going to get the Christmas tree. I used the cooking turkey as an excuse. Publix didn’t have any fresh ones so MJ got a frozen one, and I had to stay home to re-season it as it cooked. It wound up being pretty good, not as good as last night’s full bird, but not bad either. I think I’m going to start calling turkeys colonels and turkey breasts lieutenant colonels. Anyway, this was the first year since 2000 that I didn’t go get the tree. I don’t have my truck anymore so MJ was able to take the van and have the dude put the tree on the top. It’s eliminated a yearly brawl. Every year we would get a tree on Black Friday and MJ would blame me for messing it up or not helping the guy put it in my truck. Not only was I supposed to do all the work, I was supposed to be happy about it. It’s no longer a problem now that my dad took the truck off my hands. Now I can watch a turkey cook, drink beer, and watch football the way the founding fathers would want me to. Maybe I should have gone on the tree trip. It probably would have saved me 3500 calories. I’m going to have to run to Orlando and back just to get back to even. Gravy season is in full swing.

No! You're The Abomination

It’s Thanksgiving, which is obvious today, but when I’m rereading this it’s only going to read November 26, 2009, and I’m writing about things I’m thankful for. I’m not going to write about being thankful for family, friends, health, and other assorted clichés that while absolutely true are also absolutely boring. I understand that I’m dining with three cancer survivors, and thinking of a brain hernia survivor, but those aren’t good dinner table topics – not until the third bottle of wine anyway. I’m thankful for the perfect – P-E-R-F-E-C-T – weather for running today. I ran three and a half miles at a leisurely pace. I’m not sure if “running” is even an appropriate term for what I did. I think sauntered might be better. My heart rate didn’t get above 130. There were more people out than I expected, but what else are they doing at noon on Thanksgiving. Football wasn’t on yet, and there’s only so much “You’re doing it wrong!!!” someone can take. Or is that unique to CJ and me? I’m thankful for the lady on the Today show this morning that let me know abortion isn’t a good topic for conversation with people I don’t know at the dinner table. She also said that Thanksgiving dinner isn’t the best time to come out of the closet. At first I thought “Duhh-eee”, but then I got sad. I’m sad because my parents aren’t bigots and a lot of these awkward conversations would never be awkward because they’re accepting loving people. What’s up with that? I never had my dad ask me what the hell I was doing bringing a White girl into his house. My sister brought home a member of the Tribe, and there was nary an uncomfortable moment. If a member of my family was gay and decided to come out at Thanksgiving there would be two responses. “No shit, pass the gravy” and “So, pass the gravy”. I’m thankful this lady inspired my new idea for a television show. It’s about a conservative (little C) Jewish family whose son comes out of the closet by bringing his anti-Semitic boyfriend home for the holidays. The dad and the boyfriend get into a screaming match over who’s the abomination before God. Hilarity ensues. Finally, I’m thankful that Thanksgiving went off without a hitch. We cooked. We cleaned. Everyone overate and had a good time, and we’ve got turkey and pumpernickel for the Panini tomorrow. I think we can call this a good day.

Just Keep The Tiger Fed

Today was an inauspicious beginning to the holiday weekend. I didn’t sleep in but I didn’t get up early. I was off schedule for nothing before the sun was up. I had a little bit to do in my office today and it was hard getting out the door. I got home and MJ had to grade, CJ was trying to make a last trip to Publix, and I was on LMJ duty. The weather was crap today, which means we were stuck inside with no way to burn off some energy. Reading and Play-Doh don’t burn calories. I was hoping to get LMJ to take a mid-afternoon nap. She wasn’t and she didn’t. I had a plan of what I wanted to get accomplished today and her nap skipping threw a wrench into those works. I also forgot to eat, which lead to a melt down. I hate having my plans messed up, especially when they involve stuff that has to get done as opposed to stuff that doesn’t matter. I ran through the normal gamut of emotions that all tired hungry parents run through when things don’t go our way. I wished I had never been born. I wished she had never been born. I wished I had some gasoline and chain link so I could lock the doors and set the house on fire. Maybe dying in a torrent of fire would teach people not to mess with my laundry and baking time. MJ calls these “overreactions”. Whatever. I still think it’s all a master plan to drive me insane. Just because LMJ is two doesn’t mean she can’t scheme and plot. She does this stuff on purpose. She knows how much her nap skipping drives me up the wall. I’m not saying she’s trying to kill me but if you find my body don’t believe the suicide note. Strangely, I had a snack and I felt better. We had a family baking afternoon and made banana bread. LMJ was a huge help and we had a lot of fun. I’m like a diabetic with rabies, and I don’t think counseling can fix it.

More, More, More

I had my best day swimming so far. I can now comfortably swim 100 yards without having to call upon my will to live. I’m taking my mother’s advice and trusting the water. I swam slowly with a lot of control (for me) and I didn’t sink to the bottom. I’m getting more comfortable in the pool every session. I didn’t have a very good day on the dreadmill. I’m sure it has something to do with me adding 50 yards a day in the pool and a tenth of a mile to my running pace every day as well. It all looks good on paper. A tenth of a mile is 176 yards. I wouldn’t think that little distance spread over an hour would be a big deal, and I would be wrong. I also added pushups, chin ups, and sit ups. I’ll be doing one more of those each day as well. That may have factored into my running difficulties, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t really care about the running right now. I’m excited about my swimming progress and seeing what my calisthenics limits are – if there are any. Will I bang out 381 chin ups a year from now? Why not? Will I be able to keep up with the old woman two lanes over who is swimming steadily before I get there and still swimming steadily after I shower and leave? Why not? Those are sort of long term goals, but not really. I just want to improve every day. I’m trying to have a “take care of the pennies and the pounds will take care of themselves” attitude. I struggled through my session on the dreadmill, but I was smart about it and slowed down for about fifteen minutes, picking the pace back up for the last fifteen. I didn’t do as well as I wanted but I did better than last Thursday, and there’s no such thing as bad profit. I’m also not dead tired like I was last week. Things are rounding out nicely.

Cooking On Thanksgiving

MJ mentioned that we should do Thanksgiving ourselves and give CG a day off. I didn’t think she was serious until she mentioned it to her mom, and her mom thought it was a good idea. Now I have to stay reasonably sober until dinner on Thursday. I had planned on drinking beer all day, just like the pilgrims at the first Thanksgiving. I’m worried about a couple of things since we’re rookies. I’m worried about the dressing because that’s my favorite part of the meal and it’s also one of the duties I pulled. I’m worried about the gravy that goes on my dressing, and everything else on my plate, because MJ’s never made a vat of it and is slightly fat phobic. I’m encouraged because we’re making a list segregating duties, MJ has Wednesday off, and since it’s not being sprung on me Thursday morning I’m dialed in. As a matter of fact, I’m getting a little cocky. The idea of renting a fryer and doing Thanksgiving like a good American is bouncing around in my head. We bought a fresh – not frozen – turkey so the chances of thermonuclear destruction are reduced. I would fry it outside. I don’t know if I would do it in the front yard or the back yard. The only reasons I can think of to do it in the back yard are to avoid embarrassment if I messed it up and to hide the amount of alcohol I consumed. If I did it in the front yard I would claim my rightful spot as king of the neighborhood – assuming anyone other than ourselves stays in town. I would survey my kingdom and look upon the other “men” who were not frying turkeys on their front lawns with scorn. People would address me as “Your Majesty”, but in old school Hannibal, Charles Martel, Rurik the Rus kind of way. Not in a Queen Elizabeth doesn’t really fry turkeys on her front lawn kind of way. I doubt turkey frying happens this Thanksgiving but it will happen soon.

It's More Neoclassical Than Modern

The painting continued today, but this time I got involved. CJ and MJ did the edges and I filled in the middle. LMJ gave a lesson on the difference between loud and quiet. I painted today because I paint faster than anyone else in the house and I wanted to be able to sit on the sofa and comfortably watch some football. Whenever I paint I always try to slather it on as thick as possible so I don’t have to paint a second coat. It never works. The walls are painted – we did a good job too – but there are little patches of white where the porous walls didn’t want to absorb the paint. We’re going to have to throw on a second coat. CJ and MJ are pretty happy with the color they chose. It’s called Waves Of Grain. It’s not the color of grain. It’s tan with hints of green, as opposed to our old color, which was tan with hints of pink. I think the new color is more Florida, more Art Deco. It’s not really Art Deco. My use of Art Deco is an inside joke going back to the summer of 1990. I was working for my buddy Charlie’s dad. The crew was me, Charlie, my buddy Paul, and Charlie’s step brother Michael. Charlie’s dad had a bunch of storage lockers filled with old files and miscellaneous crap that he was paying us to empty. In one of the lockers was a bunch of crappy metal furniture that was all pastel sea foam green. Charlie, Paul, and I were commenting on how crappy the metal furniture was when Michael scoffed and said, “It’s Art Deco” in a James Spader, late ‘80’s, Less Than Zero kind of way. Looking back on it, we should have beaten Michael to death with a meat tenderizer and left him in the locker. Instead, Paul – top 5 coolest people I’ve ever known – just made fun of Michael for the rest of the afternoon. Anything we came across that was vaguely pastel, Paul would ask Michael if it was Art Deco. I don’t know if Michael ever caught on that Paul was messing with him. Since then I’ve been running the same joke with a twist on MJ. I’ll randomly say something is Art Deco and she’ll freak out telling me it’s not. It never gets old because she still bites twenty years later. Good Times.

I Like Beer

Today started out poorly. I was woken up before the sun came up by a little girl. I made eggs that I didn’t want, and went to the Riverside Arts Market to see some kids play some music. It was the Lavilla band/orchestra/symphony, which ever one means playing violins and cellos. They’re just incredibly talented. The classical stuff they did was fantastic. They tried to mix in some modern soft rock but it didn’t work. I learned that LMJ is going to be a conductor. She was conducting along with the teacher/maestro, using a piece of mulch in lieu of a baton. My day wasn’t made any better by the painting. The house isn’t going to be comfortable until it’s finished. I think painting inside is like making a bed; it’s just a huge waste of time, but others really enjoy the newness and I’m not being asked to do anything so I don’t have a whole bunch to complain about. On the plus side for the day, the Seminoles won. Now they’re bowl eligible, extending the longest consecutive bowl appearance streak in college football. I used to make fun of teams that got excited about becoming bowl eligible in November. FSU used to become bowl eligible in mid October. I’m happy for Bobby Bowden. At least something didn’t completely suck this year for him. Now he can look forward to going to the Nova Scotia Bowl or the Rush Limbaugh Bowl after he’s sodomized for the fifth year in a row by Florida. If the Gators don’t hang 60 on the Noles there needs to be a point shaving investigation. The day ended on a good note. We went to Moon River Pizza. They messed up our order but made it right with free beer. Free beer is the purest form of win in the known universe. I was grumpy all day. I hope I feel better tomorrow.

Monkey Business

I haven’t started playing with it yet, but I’m going to move to Wordpress. They seem a lot more laid back and a lot cooler than Google, and I’ll be able to pick up all my posts and move them as a whole.


Today was LMJ Friday, which is always a great way to start the weekend. We went to the zoo, just the two of us, for the first time. We arrived right as the siamangs were starting their morning song, which is just wild. Wild is a bit “on the nose” as a description since we’re talking about monkeys, but I can’t think of a better adjective. I opened the van door and LMJ said, “The siamangs are laughing, Daddy”, and then she started fake laughing. It was barely ten in the morning and it was already a great day. We almost didn’t go. I got everything ready and asked the baby girl if she wanted to go, and she said no. She said she wanted to go to the park. I figured alright. It’s your day, but we had to deposit a check for Mommy first. LMJ wasn’t really with that plan, but she went along because she was strapped in her car seat. We handled our business at the bank, and as I was putting the van in drive she told me that she did want to go to the zoo. Perfect, we were half way there already. All 7 billion people in the world were at the Jacksonville Zoological Gardens this morning. It was the first time that I’ve ever seen the parking lot full. That’s not counting the 9000 school buses dropping off kids. We fastpassed the lines with my membership card and spent a grand total of zero minutes waiting. The whole point of going to the zoo was to wear the baby girl out so she would take an early nap. We got through the turnstiles and she went full speed non-stop for an hour. We went through Africa and South America and were about to head to the Great Apes, when she said, “Pick me up, Daddy”. We had just finished looking at the jaguar exhibit, which is physically as far from the main gate as possible. I saw this coming, but damn is that little girl heavy. I carried her all the way up to the front of the zoo when she asked me to put her down so we could go through the gift shop. She is such a girl. If it was up to her she would have been asleep before we cleared the property, but thanks to my timely distribution of fruit and drinks, she stayed awake until we got home. I broke a few traffic laws and pedestrian bones on the way, but there was no way in hell I was dealing with a short-napped baby two weeks in a row.

Worn Out With My Gym Still Left

I really overdid it at the gym this morning. I skipped yesterday so I suppose I tried to make up for it today. I’m adding fifty yards to my swim every day. That’s how I’m going to get in swimming shape. I rest when I need to, but I swim the way I swim. If it’s fast then it’s fast. I felt great getting out of the pool, which I’m learning means nothing. Actually, I was a little tired; more tired than I have been during my pool initiation. I spent some time doing nothing in the pool, just sort of bouncing in the water, and a couple minutes under a cold shower to cool off before my run. I also rinsed off because I think the chlorine is dulling my afro, and that’s at the tippy top of things that ain’t gonna happen. For the first time in about four years I’m thinking about shaving my head. For the first time ever I’m thinking about getting a racing suit. I figure it’s going to make a difference once I start competing. There’s might be a time in the not too distant future where standing booty naked covered in Nair is going to be part of my routine. It’s not because I’m becoming a fanatic – well, not only – but because it’s simple and practical. My laziness usually trumps my vanity. Anyway, I got changed into my running gear and headed to the dreadmills. Running at a predetermined constant pace was the only way I was going to get an hour out of myself, that and I didn’t bring my watch. Everything was going fine until I had 5 minutes and 43 seconds left when my iPod died. That last five minutes turned into a thousand years. My iPod battery has been dying for a while, but today was the first day that I couldn’t get an hour out of it. The decision to buy a Nano or stop doing cardio inside is being forced on me. I can’t be on a machine without tunes, but I can get lost in thought and scenery running outside. The downside to running every day is that it will tear up my legs. This is quite the conundrum for me.

$41 Is A Bottle Of Good Rum

Google fired me for invalid clicks. They didn’t go into a whole bunch of detail, but they felt they needed to protect their advertisers from me and my sinister forces.

Hello,

While going through our records recently, we found that your AdSense
account has posed a significant risk to our AdWords advertisers. Since
keeping your account in our publisher network may financially damage our
advertisers in the future, we've decided to disable your account.

Please understand that we consider this a necessary step to protect the
interests of both our advertisers and our other AdSense publishers. We
realize the inconvenience this may cause you, and we thank you in advance
for your understanding and cooperation.

If you have any questions about your account or the actions we've taken,
please do not reply to this email. You can find more information by
visiting
https://www.google.com/adsense/support/bin/answer.py?answer=57153.

Sincerely,

The Google AdSense Team

They put ads on my site. People clicked them. They got pissed. There were – if I remember, since they’re gone now – about nine different advertisers on a single page. Just for math simplicity, let’s say those nine were the only advertisers, knowing they weren’t. We, my faithful minions, were able to cheat the Man out of $41 over the last two weeks. Split nine ways, and assuming a 60/40 split between Google and me in Google’s favor, those nine companies would be out $11 a piece. And I’m not getting my $41. I think this bought a little bit more than $11 worth of badwill for the companies involved. How is this not factored into the cost of doing business? It’s the internet. It can’t honestly be their expectation that only “interested buyers” will click on website ads. They’re glorified, slightly toned down spam, at best. They’re a way around pop-up blockers. The sites that were popping up were for washer/dryers, pools, and some other big ticket items. I’m willing to bet that fewer than two pools have been internet impulse buys in the last 9000 years. Guess who’s going to be badmouthing Google and AdSense for the rest of eternity. When Armageddon happens I’m going to make a point of finding the guy on the pale horse and sending him towards Google headquarters. If I see these people in Heaven I will push them of their clouds. I wouldn’t be upset if I was running a scam, if I had some kind of robot clicker racking up hundreds of thousands of clicks. Getting caught would just be part of the game, but I was getting thirty clicks a day. What the hell kind of red flags did that trigger? I’m guessing none. I’m guessing some asshole in some asshole center, making more than $41 every two weeks, that reviews new accounts, decided my readers were clicking on too many ads. I wish to convey negative sentiments towards you. I would be more descriptive but that would upset my wife. Hot chainsaw sodomy, that’s all I’m going to say. It’s also going to be easy to boycott the companies' ads that were on my site, because I was pimping stuff that I liked. Guess who’s an Asics fan now?

Back Into The Pool

I pretended swimming wasn’t difficult this morning and added an hour on the elliptical after 800 yards in the pool. I’m figuring out that swimming is something that just has to be done and that’s the only way to get better at it. Since it’s still anaerobic for me at this point I decided to do something aerobic so I hopped on the elliptical. After I shorted out the third machine a very nice trainer suggested that I change out of my swim trunks or at least dry off. That was a good tip. I did my diva thing and changed clothes and hopped back on the elliptical. I was stoked because ESPN was showing a college basketball marathon and I got into the game – Niagara was playing Drexel. I was dying. The swimming kicked my behind. I have certain benchmarks for my time on the elliptical, which 99 times out of 100 comes right after what I have been assuming is an intense weight workout. Obviously it isn’t because half an hour in the pool exhausted me a lot more than an hour of weights. I guess that’s why there are successful fat weight lifters but no successful fat swimmers. I think I’m really going to enjoy my time in the pool because it’s an intense workout but there’s zero pain. I’m also getting a sense of what a sprint distance triathlon is going to be like. I think I’ll be ready to do one next spring. That was the secondary reason for hopping on the elliptical; to get a gauge of what a second leg of exercise would feel like immediately after getting out of the pool. The primary reason, of course, was gravy. My stroke still needs a bunch of work. I can only breathe to my left. When I try to breathe to my right I do the NASCAR thing and get confused (see they only make left turns in NASCAR). I’m going to do the same routine tomorrow and then run on Thursday. I may try to get a bike ride in over the weekend.

Beth wrote this in a post and I’m thinking of having it tattooed backwards on my forehead so when I look in the mirror I’ll be able to read it. When you can't do it all, you do what you can and keep your eyes on the prize.

Gravy Season Is Serious Bidness

Gravy season is less than two weeks away, and I’m trying to do a kind of reverse pre-hibernation thing. I want to be as light as I possibly can be so I can go gangsta on some gravy. I got up early today and ran with this goal in mind. I ran long and easy. I wasn’t trying to get better. I was trying to keep my heart rate up and burn as many calories as possible. It was a beautiful morning, but I ran in to some typical running issues, at least typical for me. When I stepped out my back door it was forty-seven degrees. I ran for about an hour and a half. When I got back it was sixty-seven degrees. My oven doesn’t heat up that fast. This was one of the things that made the run out easier than the run back. Now I know how a frog feels when he’s getting cooked. I ran the boring and ugly Avondale and Ortega route, which took me over the Ortega Bridge, like I said, I was burning calories. The other thing that bugged me about today’s run – and every run I’ve ever gone on – is that I lost about two hundred yards on the way back. I don’t understand how the trip back is always shorter than the trip out. I ran the exact same route – the exact same route – out and back. I crossed the streets at the same places and everything. Yet somewhere in the mix I came out about a tenth of a mile short. Why does my Garmin always rob me? I honestly can’t remember a single time where I ended my run thinking, “Wow that was farther than I thought!” I just want that to happen once. I want to run four miles out and run four point two back following the same route. I don’t think it would bother me so much if it wasn’t a ridiculous amount like a tenth of a mile, and it’s not just the display because my watch displays hundredths of a mile. I also love how I’ll be thirty feet above where I started. The run wasn’t all bad. My feet held up. I cruised and I burned almost 1600 calories. That’s an extra couple of pounds of stuffing ten days from now. That’s what I’m thankful for.

Approaching Exasperation

It’s been a frustrating morning. Nothing works. A whole bunch of money was spent to make our home more efficient this summer. All we did was trade old problems for new ones. We “upgraded” our washer and dryer from old school, environmentally unfriendly, but got the clothes clean to new school, high efficiency, clothes go in dirty come out not quite as dirty. High efficiency is a lie. This was MJ’s project from the beginning, and if she’s anything she’s duly diligent. I know she read at least a billion reviews and comments about these things. Are people pretending to like these machines just so others will make the same mistake in a misery loves company kind of way, like getting married and having kids? The reason I’m upset is because the HE washer fails the common sense test. One of the stories I remember hearing growing up had to do with an aunt, AS, who got in trouble every night when she was growing up because she tried to wash the nightly dishes in a tablespoon of cold water – HE principles. She wasn’t fifty years ahead of her time, if she was, her mother wouldn’t have still been giving her crap twenty years after the fact – okay, bad example considering my grandmother, but my point is still valid. Washing involves water and suds. It just does. If scientists had really come up with a way to reduce soap and water without reducing cleaning, they would have won a Nobel Prize in chemistry. I don’t remember hearing about some Proctor and Gamble chemists winning anything, and it’s not like they would keep that quiet. It doesn’t matter how much water we save per load if our loads more than double (Loads (giggle,giggle) might want to lay off the taco bell then, amirite?) and our clothes still aren’t clean. We’re also not saving any money. We changed from electricity to gas, but we wash everything on cold so that’s irrelevant, and we’re using more water so we may be using less electricity but that savings is more than offset by the increased use of water. The money we wasted trying to do the right thing makes me want to buy a Styrofoam cooler, fill it with gasoline and Aqua Net hairspray, set it all on fire and throw it at a manatee.

Fernandina And Back

It’s Saturday. I’m sitting in Starbucks enjoying a pumpkin spice Americano, writing this post, and enjoying a pretty good day. The Seminoles won, I got to watch a couple of hours of The Ultimate Fighter while my girls took an afternoon nap. The most interesting part of my day was my run on the beach. I don’t think I had run on the beach since the first leg of the 2008 Tour du Pain. I didn’t pick a specific distance today. Instead I ran for a half an hour north and turned around. Whenever I do this the goal is always to get back in less time than it took to get out. I rarely get that done. I have trouble with pacing, so usually I’m half dead by the time I reach the turn around point. Not today, today I got back in 28 minutes and change. LMJ met me about ten meters from the camp and I carried her across my artificial finish line, so I’m giving myself extra points for that. I had forgotten a couple of things about running on the beach. The beach slopes, which I didn’t think about until I was half way to Fernandina. It’s very easy to lose myself in thought running on the beach. The white noise of the ocean combined with the pleasantly, not quite monotonous scenery is hypnotizing. The sand is a lot easier on my feet and knees. I was bouncing along at a pretty good clip and wasn’t feeling the pounding that I feel when I run on asphalt and concrete. The sand is a lot harder on my quads. I ran less than six miles, but five minutes after I finished I noticed my legs stiffening up. That hasn’t happened to me since the River Run, but I didn’t run over a giant bridge today. It was another five minutes before I figured out that sand is what killed my legs. The smartest thing I did all day was to head north on my way out into the wind. I think it made a big difference running back with a tail wind. I felt good cardiovascularly the whole time. My heart rate only spiked over 165 when I sprinted to LMJ and picked her up. I really enjoyed my run.

Best. Sentence. Ever.
Know being superseded through the hall smoothly, not having to waste your breath dictating apologizes for your morbidly obese bag bumping into everyone, would be a much safer, and quicker way to flow through the halls. Truth.

I'll Sleep When I'm Dead - LMJ 2009

LMJ decided to skip her nap today. I think she’s making another run at kicking that pesky sleep habit. I cannot explain how much that messes up the flow of the day. It would be one thing if she never took a nap, but when I’m expecting her to, when I’m planning my whole day around it, and she skips it, the day switches from a good day to an excruciating day. It’s like planning to run a 5k and when you see the finish line it’s a mirage. It’s not until your watch tells you that you’ve run way past five kilometers that it starts to dawn on you that this isn’t going to end well. 3pm today was when I saw the Hart Bridge. I didn’t train for the River Run. I trained for the “You’re Out Of Bed And You Got A T-Shirt Quit Whining Memorial 5k Fun Run/Walk”, and I was on pace for a personal best. Maybe she was thrown off schedule because we started the day with a bath. Normally we end the day with a bath, but last night after My Gym we skipped the bath. It was late. We were tired, and MJ had to get to the dog track to make some bets. LMJ was not happy about the morning bath. Unfortunately for her, I found her rage cute. She was screaming, “I DON’T WANT TO TAKE A BATH!!! Help me off with my shirt. I DON’T WANT TO TAKE A BATH!!! I need help with my slippers.” It was funny. What wasn’t funny was the nap skipping. She just wasn’t tired. We soothed. We read. We shot tequila (that new Cuervo 1800 is good stuff). Nothing settled her down. I was getting frustrated because I was looking forward to my nap. I made all kinds of proclamations and decrees that no matter what time she went to sleep I was waking her up no later than three thirty, assuming that she’d fall asleep at some point before then. I gave up around 3pm and we went outside to play. She never got fussy. We were having a snack around 4pm when MJ called to say she was on her way home, and while we were talking the poor baby girl laid her head down on the table and went to sleep. I looked at her and all I could think was F**K THAT! She’s not taking a nap now. She’s not waking up fresh and ready to go at 6:30. We’d be watching reruns of the original Battlestar Galactica at 3 in the morning. I’d rather her have a three hour tantrum and go to bed at 7pm than have her up all night and ruin the whole weekend. She fussed a little bit, but no melt down. She’s such a good little girl. Then Grammy saved the day when she showed up with pot roast and gravy. It’s 7:30 and the baby girl is in bed and asleep. Everybody wins.

Oh The Weather Outside Is Frightful

I’m writing early today. The temperature was below seventy this morning. Hell, it was below sixty. I’ve been begging for this. I could do without the overcast and drizzle, but I’m happy that I’m not working up a sweat by standing still. It’s cool and even with the wind blowing “cold” is not a word I would use. I’m in a very small minority in Jacksonville. People here seem to think it’s either the beginning of a new ice age or the end of days. I pass a Catholic church on the way to my office, and I saw people lighting candles and weeping to the priest about the sun going out – in Latin. It happens every year and it always shocks me how badly people freak out the first time it’s too cold to wear flip-flops. It’s fifty-five degrees outside, and I swear to sweet wounded Jesus himself that I saw people – meaning more than one person – in overcoats, gloves, boots, and scarves. I saw a woman with her scarf pulled over her face like Luke Skywalker in the beginning of the Empire Strikes Back right after he escapes from the wampa. I was walking down the street in my shirtsleeves. Maybe I’m not quite a full-blooded Floridian even though I’ve been here for twenty-eight years. My wife and mother-in-law are full-blooded Floridians. CJG told me I needed to put on a coat on my way out the door, and I’m sure that MJ will be looking to set something on fire as soon as she gets home. I think it’s funny that I act big and bad with the weather in the fifties, ten degrees colder and I’ll be the first in line at The Church of the Immaculate Conception.

Pater noster qui es in coelis,
sanctificetur nomen tuum;
adveniat regnum tuum,
fiat voluntas tua,
sicut in coelo et in terra.
Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie,
et dimitte nobis debita nostra,
sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris.
et ne nos inducas in tentationem
sed libera nos a malo.
Amen.


Ave, Maria, gratia plena,
Dominus tecum.
Benedícta tu in mulieribus,
et benedíctus fructus ventris tui,
Iesus.
Sancta María, Mater Dei,
ora pro nobis peccatoribus,
nunc et in hora mortis nostræ.
Amen.

You can never be too ready. If it drops below forty I’m breaking out the Hebrew and the Aramaic.

Your Move AdSense

I had very little to get done today, so I got very little done. I don’t know if I like holidays in the middle of the week. They throw me off schedule. I should have made it to the gym but didn’t. The only things I accomplished today were having lunch with my parents and buying some fruit at Publix. The most intriguing moment of my day was watching Oprah interrogate that woman that got FUBAR by a chimp. This woman says that she doesn’t remember anything about the attack, most likely because an ape mauled her and ate her face. I feel comfortable putting that in the psychologically disturbing category, and I would have tried not to bring it up. Oprah was grilling her like a US Attorney General cross examining Barry Bonds about his steroid use. “You don’t remember anything about it?” This lady said she had always been afraid of the chimp, but her boss was out of town and it fell to her to feed the beast. I would have said no. If I was going to feed the chimp, he would need to be in a cage, or I would need a tranquilizer gun rifle. If these weren’t possible then Bobo would go hungry. I’m going to be out of town for the next ten days. Do you mind flossing my cobra’s fangs once a day? Flossing is actually more important than brushing. When did wild animals stop being wild? I’ve mentioned this before. All anyone has to do is search “chimps hunting” on YouTube. I don’t recommend the DailyMotion or Metacafe videos unless you’re a combat veteran. This stuff can’t be unseen once it’s been watched. Any of these videos will show the proper way to handle and care for chimpanzees.

Step 1. Leave the things the f**k alone.
Step 2. Live happily ever after with a face and fingers.

I promise I will get to the gym tomorrow so I can write about swimming instead of chimpnihilation.

I Got Wet Today and Semper Fidelis

I made it into the pool today, which was good. I swam, which was bad. Swimming isn’t like anything else I’ve ever done. I tried to swim “lazy” like the triathlete people tell me to, but it didn’t make any difference. I’m good for about fifty meters no matter how I swim. I’m fatigued like I ran ten miles, but none of my muscles feel stressed. I did ten laps total in one lap sets. I was in the pool for maybe a half an hour. I was self conscious the whole time because there because there was some seventy year old woman in the lane next to me swimming like a damned mermaid. We were the only two people in the pool and I felt like the lifeguards were laughing at me under their breaths and were going to make fun of me at the next lifeguard party (one of the lifeguards on duty was Cory). It’s funny how uncomfortable new situations are. It’s my goal to let go of my pride and not be afraid to look stupid. I’d give myself a B+ on my effort today. I get marks for sliding my fat ass into a swimming pool and trying to get better. I worked on my form and tried to better understand exactly what goes on during a swim stroke. I get points off for worrying about what Dara Torres’s mom was doing in the lane next to me and for being arrogant enough to think the lifeguards were paying attention to me. Both of them were under twenty-three. They were worried about five o’clock getting here so they could start killing brain cells and swapping bodily fluids with strangers. I was surprised that I was sweating on the drive home. I knew that I had just finished some intensive exercise but I figured the pool would keep me cool. Wrong, I was as thirsty after today’s swim as I was after yesterday’s run. I hope I can keep this up.

The United States Marine Corps was founded on this day is 1775.

Running Fast Is Fun

I just can’t get the scheduling to go swimming. I’m getting everything I need ready now for tomorrow morning: my swimsuit, my goggles, my flippy-floppies (I’m in the pool. You at Kinkos straight making copies). Even though I couldn’t get to the pool today I didn’t waste it. I gained thirty-seven pounds over the weekend, so I had to do something. It was one of those days where anything I did was going to be bonus because I was not motivated. The Swine flu really got me off schedule and lazy. I had plans to run long today, because of the weight gain, but by the time I got dressed and downstairs I knew that wasn’t going to happen. I compromised with myself, which is totally natural. Everybody does it. I decided to run 5k, but to run it hard. It wasn’t too hot and it was overcast, so the weather was tailor made for speed. I am so old. I struggled for the first two miles and I was only running three. It took me almost twenty minutes to warm up. I was hobbling around corners because my ankles are getting more arthritic every day. I was on my way back before I finally started to get comfortable and into a groove. My last mile was my fastest by about twenty seconds. I sprinted up hill the last two tenths of a mile, which may or may not have been a good idea. Is 202 beats per minute still in my fat burning zone? After I finished and got my heart rate below squirrel on meth, I felt great. I’m glad I got out and ran. I’m back in my exercise groove. I always forget how much I like the endorphins that are released when I exercise. I need to put posters or something up to remind me. Today was fun but tomorrow it’s the pool.

It's Coming

I’m finding it hard not to give in to the holiday spirit already. It would be even harder if the temperature stayed below 80 degrees for more than ten minutes. I love the last six weeks of the year. I don’t know why I won’t give in and let the holidays become the last eight weeks of the year. It’s all about early nights, Burl Ives, and butter. It’s mostly the butter for me – and Paula Deen. I think I’m at my absolutely happiest when my family is together and I’m cooking. I’m sitting here getting excited about cooking Swedish meatballs. I can imagine the smells of the butter and onions mixed with the remnants of a scented candle that we thought would be festive to light, but it quickly bothers everyone’s allergies, and the smell of the Christmas tree. One of our iHomes is set on a random Christmas loop. I sing and cook. It doesn’t have to be Swedish meatballs. It can be some kind of baked good. I’m a good baker because I can unwaveringly follow directions. I’m not a good singer. Mariah Carey is said to have a five octave range. I might have a five semitone range, but I am looking forward to singing to LMJ this year. She doesn’t know what to do when I sing songs she doesn’t know. She holds up her hand and tells me to stop like a traffic cop, but I can tell she likes it because she smiles. I’m looking forward to singing to her this year because Nat King Cole, Frank Sinatra, and Bing Crosby weren’t castratos and sang like they had a pair so I don’t have to try to sing like a eunuch. I’m also looking forward to this Christmas because LMJ is still changing so rapidly. Two years ago she was just a blob in a chair. Last year she was mobile, but this year she’s also going to be agile and hostile. She’s going to tell me how to help me make cookies and banana bread. She’s going to have an opinion on stuff. I’m just praying that the weather cooperates.

Traditions

Before I start this post I want to let everyone know that I’m taking requests. If you’re interested in something let me know and I’ll drop it in. With any luck an ad will pop up and offer a coupon for whatever it is any of you want. I may just start a whole new page for pimping ads.

We went to Panera for breakfast this morning, which we hadn’t done in a while. We went hog wild and got almost everything on the menu. I had forgotten how much fun we have when we go and sit down. It’s a nice family outing and it feels like fall. We started doing this at least a year ago. If I had written about it I would remember exactly, but it looks like I didn’t. (I swear I did but the search function on blogger sucks). It was one of the first things that really made me realize that we’re a family. It was a pretty good feeling. As I think back on it, LMJ has grown so much since the Saturday trip was added to the routine. I don’t know if she could walk yet, and if she could she couldn’t walk very well. I remember having to pack a whole bunch of stuff to keep her entertained so we could have fifteen minutes to cram our breakfasts into our mouths. Now she’s not only part of the conversation, generally, she’s leading it. The Panera trip had been reduced to a truck stop on the way to the beach. I hope with December and the end of summer approaching we can start the tradition again.

We went out to ME’s condo at the beach today and watched the air show. I think this is another tradition in the making. Her place is on the tenth floor so a lot of the stunts the Blue Angels were doing were at eye level. LMJ didn’t enjoy the show this year as much as she did last year. This year she found a box of toys much more interesting. This year she barely noticed the jets, other than to comment that they were loud, which if you’ve never seen fighter planes do their thing, is about as deadpan an understatement as can be made. They rattled the windows more than once. MJ tried to get LMJ into the show, if only for the photo op, but LMJ couldn’t have been bothered. She had a condo to explore. It always amazes me how unafraid of loud noises she is. I’d worry that she was deaf if it wasn’t for her world class eavesdropping displays.

It was a very nice day looking back on it. I’m a little bit disappointed because I didn’t get a good night’s sleep last night so I didn’t enjoy it as much as I could have.

Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse. Nike. Apple Computers. Petite St. Vincent. Disneyworld. Butterball Turkey. Springer Mountain Farms

I'm A Whore

I’m wondering how adsense works so everyone is going to have to bear with me while I load this post with obvious keywords. There’s nothing I can do. It’s all part of my obsessive compulsive disorder. I have to know what conjures what. It’s like I’m in a master’s class at Hogwarts. Is Emma Watson or Daniel Radcliffe a keyword? I remember her being excited about the third movie because she was able to wear jeans. They wore sneakers in that movie too, but in England they call them trainers. I’m a bit of an athletic shoe fan, but I wasn’t familiar with any of the shoes they wore in Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban. They definitely weren’t Nikes, Adidas, Pumas, New Balances, or Reeboks. The jeans weren’t Levis, Calvin Kleins, or Polos. Is it strange that Ralph Lauren gave his brands their own names: Polo and Chaps. Most designers put their names on their products, Tommy Hilfiger, Calvin Klein, Pierre Cardin, and Coco Chanel for example. Speaking of names we had Stouffer’s macaroni and cheese for lunch today. Is there or was there a Chef Stouffer, and did he or she sell out like Rachel Ray or Tyler Florence? We also enjoyed some Rachel’s Yogurt and some Fuji apples that we got at Publix. While I’m trying to lose weight I’ve been skipping the alcohol. Everyone knows that I’m a Heineken fan, but I’m also a fan of Jameson’s Irish whiskey, as well as Pyrat Rum and Cruzan Rum. I discovered Cruzan on my honeymoon where the hotel, Caneel Bay, leaves a bottle in the room. I’ve stopped mixing my drinks. I now savor the flavors over ice, although there are a lot of people who like to mix their rum with Coke. What’s funny is that I’ve heard of a rum and Coke and a rum and cola, but I’ve never heard of a rum and Pepsi. MJ loves Coke but doesn’t like Pepsi at all, which I find strange. I understand preferring one over the other, but loving one and disliking the other doesn’t make sense to me. Moon River Pizza.

She Bop

I’m going to monetize this thing, throw some ads up and see if I can get paid. I’m more than a little nervous about it. I think when I do; it will make things different. This is my little creative outlet, my little way to stay sane a little bit longer. When I start making money from it, however much that is, I’m going to want to make more money, which means opening this up to a wider audience. Will my style change? Will I censor myself more? Will I back off my honesty? Or will I have the courage to say “F**k it!” and do my thing letting the chips fall where they may. I’ve written stuff on here that would hurt some people’s feelings because they don’t know they suck, and they’re Facebook friends. One of them I would probably apologize to if he told me he was upset. The other one I probably wouldn’t, and if she pushed it I would get nasty. That’s part of my problem; I don’t do middle ground. I’m either Barney or I’m Slayer. There’s nothing in between. That’s not right. Actually there is a third area that covers 99% of everything in the world: complete indifference. I really don’t care about very much stuff, especially if I don’t have any control over it, but the one percent that’s left is the stuff that I write about. I don’t mean the day-to-day LMJ is cute and I love her stuff or my exercise stuff. I mean when I have an opinion and write about it. I’m worried because there are maybe five people – two not related by blood – that I’ve encountered in my life that think remotely like I do. Jason Whitlock is the only one that writes. He’s an extremely successful writer, but he’s also extremely controversial. He garners a bunch of attention from his columns, but almost all of it is from stupid people. Do I have the courage to deal with that? Oh well, fortune favors the bold. F**k it!

College Football Takes.

Brandon Spikes tried to gouge Washaun Ealey’s eyes during a pile up in the Florida-Georgia game. The video wound up on YouTube, and everybody and his brother is now pretending to be butthurt about it.

Gator fans are whining about not condoning the Ric Flair move, but that it was in retaliation for earlier dirty play by the Bulldogs. Bulldog fans are whining about Spikes being a thug and Gators head coach Urban Meyer being a hypocrite.

I don’t know if the Gator fans are right about the retaliation. I do know the Bulldog fans are right about Spikes being a thug and Meyer being a hypocrite. Spikes is a very good linebacker, and there has never been a good linebacker – especially a middle linebacker – who wasn’t a thug.

Dick Butkus is about to turn 67 years old, has really bad knees, and spends most of his time doing philanthropic work for his foundation. I’d put the over/under on how many times someone could poke him in his chest before it was “go time” at one half? Butkus is a middle linebacker

Tom McManus was the middle linebacker for the Jacksonville Jaguars in the early glory days. He was a journeyman who enjoyed his time in the NFL, but more importantly he respected it. He’s written a poignant book about his relationship with his dad. He started a radio show here a few years ago with former Jaguar center Dave Widell. One day they were ripping Jaguars guard Brad Meester for his poor play. Meester called the show and let the hosts know he wasn’t thrilled with their assessment. Words were exchanged and McManus challenged Meester to a fight – anytime, anywhere. McManus is a linebacker.

The only former player that’s thrown a hissy fit is Mike Golic, and I’m not buying his faux outrage. He can’t talk ad nauseum about how much fun it was to play for Buddy Ryan and with Andre Waters and then get outraged about Spikes trying – unsuccessfully – to poke someone in the eye.

If Brandon Spikes had been seen by a referee and ejected, I would have been fine with that, but I have a problem with people pretending to be surprised and outraged that a linebacker was violent. Don’t blame a compass for pointing north.

Not A Good Day As A Dad

I don’t know why but the fall back has messed up my internal clock just as bad as the spring forward does. I haven’t been able to sleep late and it’s made the days super long. I’m getting out the door early but I’m hitting the wall at about one in the afternoon. I’m writing this at about 6pm but it feels like it should be 8. I’m definitely blaming the time change for the crappy day I had. I got some work done before I hit the wall and came home. LMJ was nice enough to wake up at the same time. We read and played, and then we had some apple sauce, and then she bounced her face off the table. Awww, baby’s first shiner. She’s a little kid so five minutes later she was fine. I’m going to need therapy for post traumatic stress disorder. I don’t deal well with her getting banged up. At all. I’ve been in a funk ever since. All I can think about is her little black eye. It’s not even black yet. It’s still pink, but the only thing in my mind is her falling and me not being able to anything about it. Gravity is a harsh mistress. We did whatever the hell she wanted to do for the rest of the afternoon. We went to Target and spent a half an hour playing in the toy department. She still hasn’t put together that we can pull stuff off the shelf, buy it, and take it home. I don’t know how Target feels about our “browsing” and I don’t really care. I’m also glad no one called HRS because of the mouse under her eye. She was getting a little bit drowsy on the way home. My first thought was that she had a concussion and was slipping into a coma. The fact that she had very short nap didn’t enter my mind. I spent the ride home screaming questions at her. We got home and Grammy was fixing dinner. LMJ wanted some applesauce because according to her clock it was six instead of five. She finished her applesauce and as she was getting out of her chair she bounced her face off the table again. It’s been nice knowing all of you, but I’m going to go hang myself.

Get In The Pool, Bitch.

I was back in the saddle this afternoon. I had planned on swimming but wimped out. I went as far as getting my swimsuit out, but just holding it in the 65 degree weather was enough to discourage me. Instead I rode my bike, which I always enjoy. There’s a weird balance that has to be struck when riding in the cool weather between clothing choices and speed. I have to dress cool enough so I don’t get overheated during the ride, but I also have to ride fast enough to keep myself warm, but I have to keep my heart rate under control or the cool air will start to irritate my throat and lungs. I did a pretty good job of threading that needle today. I rode about twenty miles in just under an hour and twenty minutes. I rode through old Ortega and back along Roosevelt Blvd. I forgot about the Ortega River Bridge until I saw it – dumbass. I then rode back through Avondale and Riverside on my normal route down to the landing. It’s much easier to appreciate the beauty of Jacksonville on a bike than it is running or driving. I tried to keep everything under control but I think I over did it a bit. I’m still a little bit run down from the cold/flu from last week. My watch says I burned 2200 calories, which is something, I guess. I’m chalking today up to anything is better than nothing. I’m a little disappointed that I took the chickensh*t way out. Riding is the easiest part of my training because of starts and stops dictated by traffic. I wish that I had run six or seven miles or gone to the gym and lifted, which I haven’t done in a couple of weeks. Ideally, I should have manned up and gone swimming. It’s where I’m weakest and that’s why it’s so easy for me to find excuses not to get wet. I may have to hire a coach or find a partner. The swimming has to get done.

Lazy Post

I’m sitting in Starbucks writing this post like a yuppie, drinking my gay drink – decaf raspberry café Americano with a double shot of gay. MJ is working on stuff for school and interrupting my genius to tell me about her stupid students. They’re critiquing some interview Bill Gates did for the New Yorker in the early nineties. I guess it was the early nineties because the writer talks about wasting his money by sending an e-mail to Gates. The kids are stupid because Gates makes some pretty obvious jokes and they go right over MJ’s retards’ heads. I didn’t plan on writing about the future convicts she deals with every day. I came with her because I had to get away from football. I can only be emotionally invested in so many games before I start to lose it. I get like Mike Ditka on some bad PCP. It wasn’t as bad ten years ago when the Seminoles were cruising to a national championship and the Jaguars were having their best year. Now they both suck, but neither of them suck bad enough to just get blown out every game so there are no expectations. The Florida-Georgia game is what pushed me over the edge. The Gators had some problems on offense, and if the Bulldogs could manage not to do a bunch of stupid stuff they might have had a chance. Unfortunately, they’re as dumb as the Seminoles and much dumber than MJ’s students. Their epic display of fail yesterday made the Jaguars intolerable for me today. Sweet wounded Jesus! Could somebody, please, just for fun, try to help Maurice Jones-Drew, for a change, for once. I could feel some heart palpitations coming on, which is why I decided to go with MJ. Who picks the music for Starbucks? I don’t mind the jazz – because I’m queer – but I’m not sure I’ve ever heard anything played that I would have picked. I’m not really feeling any better, but I got a coffee out of the deal.