Here's a little piece I like to call "The Joy of Wireless Internet" (or) "Why I Bring My Laptop Everywhere":
FieryGwenivere: sweetie?
FieryGwenivere: There is no toilet paper in here.
Cupcakes of Hell: ha ha
FieryGwenivere: I am stuck on the toilet.
FieryGwenivere: please help.
Cupcakes of Hell: hehehehe
And a happy ending ensued! Hooray!
Kinda reminds me of one of those OnStar commercials: "The following is an actual conversation between a WiFi user and her husband..."
In other news, Zack is currently watching an episode of the Justice League wherein Superman has grown out a super-beard after a few weeks stranded in a place without the proper facilities. This leaves me to wonder-- what kind of razor does he need for this job? I've heard of diamond-edged razors, but would that really do it? I think a Kryptonite-edged razor is probably the only suitable thing here-- and don't you know it, as soon as I post this Gillette will just jump right on top of the idea. Frankly, I think the shaving wars have gone a little too far now, with the release of the new Schick Quatra. (yes, quatra, as in four blades. In case you were unaware. And the commercial for this abomination tries to make you feel like they've given you something that was previously too much too hope for: "Are you too much of a man for three puny blades?" "Yes, oh yes! I really, truly am! Ah, but woe is me, there could never be a razor ridiculous enough to meet the needs of a man's man like yours truly!" "Well, now there's a manly, four-bladed razor that can shave smooth even a disgusting sasquatch-looking motherfucker such as yourself!" "Four blades? Holy James T. Kirk, I'm saved!") I know the whole idea behind capitalism is that competition is good for consumers, but I'm beginning to think that the system is failing us. Or, well, begining to really think it. A lot. Like more than usual. You know.
On with it.
Thursday, February 05, 2004
The thing I admire about Mr. Leighton is that he takes writing seriously. He talked about somebody-- Sherwood Anderson, I believe-- who wolk up an hour before he had anything else to do in the morning and would write. He talked about how he wanted to do it, and I'm under the impression that he may now. Even if he doesn't, he writes. He gets inspired by everything and he changes these ideas into stories, real, functioning stories. I don't think there's any fantastic talent involved, but his blog is almost always exactly what I feel like reading when I navigate over there, even if I'm not aware of it until after.
I think out of all my writer friends, Jeff is the most talented. Spoiled silly in so many aspects of life, he attributes his talent, largely, to yet another purely fortunate blessing, a creative burst he calls "the Zone". Apparently, he will start writing on his own and then the zone will overtake him, and, if I remember correctly, it's rather like he's channeling the writing. From something inside of him to the screen with little or no consultation on his part. This makes me unabashedly jealous, as I have never experienced such an accidental talent in any of the many things I'd like to excel at (writing and, lately, drawing being at the top of my list), but then, I suppose I wouldn't trade his situation for mine. What we gain too cheaply we esteem too lightly or some other drivel. Uncharacteristic as it seems, I've always sort of felt that way: When I was young, and hell, even moderately old, I spent hours pondering what I'd ask for if someone were to offer me wishes. At first I thought the thing that would make me happiest would be a book deal or something similar, but then I got to thinking that if I didn't win it by my own merits, it wouldn't be satisfying at all. I managed to apply that same idea to almost anything I could wish for, eventually, so I guess that makes money to old stand-by...though, depending on the power of the wish-giver, I suppose it would be far superior to wish for the end of this system that makes us so dependent on money in the first place. We're born and after a small grace period, we're made to work harder than we'd want to at school so that some day we might get into a good, expensive college where we'll work harder than we'd like to so that some day we can get a job which we'll grow to hate because we *have* to do it or else we'll lose everything, and finally, at the end of 65 years of almost total monetary misery, we get rest in our old age in the nest we've built ourselves, which is never enough to do the things we'd want to do that might justify a wasted lifetime. And the crazy thing is, no one can come up with a better alternative!
But that's old news.
My point was that the toiling over every word, the stopping and asking people to help me find the right one and the being driven crazy over it...the process, that's what makes writing worthwhile for me. At least, mostly. The idea that one day my talent may be my ticket out of the Rat Race, that doesn't hurt either. But despite all this, I don't have the discipline or the drive that Mr. Leighton does. I don't churn out things at the same rate, and when I come close, it's this stuff. Nothing that will ever get me there, even if it did work out for Wil Wheaton.
I was going to get into this whole spiel about how I don't think marriage is conducive to being a prolific or successful writer, but that kind of thing probably isn't worth the keystrokes, at least for the moment. Anyways, the L-man, also known as JohnnyLib, churned out a nice little story he calls "Balconies", and it's a nice feel-good thing, if a little hard for someone like me to follow. Check that out if you've got some time. There are worse things to do with it. Trust me, I know.
On with it.
I think out of all my writer friends, Jeff is the most talented. Spoiled silly in so many aspects of life, he attributes his talent, largely, to yet another purely fortunate blessing, a creative burst he calls "the Zone". Apparently, he will start writing on his own and then the zone will overtake him, and, if I remember correctly, it's rather like he's channeling the writing. From something inside of him to the screen with little or no consultation on his part. This makes me unabashedly jealous, as I have never experienced such an accidental talent in any of the many things I'd like to excel at (writing and, lately, drawing being at the top of my list), but then, I suppose I wouldn't trade his situation for mine. What we gain too cheaply we esteem too lightly or some other drivel. Uncharacteristic as it seems, I've always sort of felt that way: When I was young, and hell, even moderately old, I spent hours pondering what I'd ask for if someone were to offer me wishes. At first I thought the thing that would make me happiest would be a book deal or something similar, but then I got to thinking that if I didn't win it by my own merits, it wouldn't be satisfying at all. I managed to apply that same idea to almost anything I could wish for, eventually, so I guess that makes money to old stand-by...though, depending on the power of the wish-giver, I suppose it would be far superior to wish for the end of this system that makes us so dependent on money in the first place. We're born and after a small grace period, we're made to work harder than we'd want to at school so that some day we might get into a good, expensive college where we'll work harder than we'd like to so that some day we can get a job which we'll grow to hate because we *have* to do it or else we'll lose everything, and finally, at the end of 65 years of almost total monetary misery, we get rest in our old age in the nest we've built ourselves, which is never enough to do the things we'd want to do that might justify a wasted lifetime. And the crazy thing is, no one can come up with a better alternative!
But that's old news.
My point was that the toiling over every word, the stopping and asking people to help me find the right one and the being driven crazy over it...the process, that's what makes writing worthwhile for me. At least, mostly. The idea that one day my talent may be my ticket out of the Rat Race, that doesn't hurt either. But despite all this, I don't have the discipline or the drive that Mr. Leighton does. I don't churn out things at the same rate, and when I come close, it's this stuff. Nothing that will ever get me there, even if it did work out for Wil Wheaton.
I was going to get into this whole spiel about how I don't think marriage is conducive to being a prolific or successful writer, but that kind of thing probably isn't worth the keystrokes, at least for the moment. Anyways, the L-man, also known as JohnnyLib, churned out a nice little story he calls "Balconies", and it's a nice feel-good thing, if a little hard for someone like me to follow. Check that out if you've got some time. There are worse things to do with it. Trust me, I know.
On with it.
Wednesday, February 04, 2004
Posted a poem by my very own overseas Valentine in the Guest Writer's Section. Check that shit out. Gives a new bit of perspective on the Iraq situation, and it's a whole new reason to vote Democrat.
On with it.
On with it.
Tuesday, February 03, 2004
Fox's official Family Guy website has to be, excuse my intolerant use of language, the gayest site on the internet. I say this because not because I've finally given in to the ignorant social trend of saying something is "gay" when you mean that it is some mix of dumb and lame (another intolerant word, if you look closely at the roots of it), but because I actually found it's personal ad today while I was perusing the classifieds.
SGM Family Guy Website,
poorly designed by special
needs Fox Intern (who has
never actually seen show)
seeks marriage-ready GM
for intimate relationship.
Like walks on the beach,
movies, nature, kids. Call
555-SUCK, box no. 69
Okay, I know this was a pathetic attempt at wit on my part, but a website that bad doesn't deserve the thought it would take me to come up with an amusing insult. Don't believe me? Check out the "Family Guy Moments" or the "Tour of the Griffin House". And then issue a formal apology by way of giving my thousands of dollars. Because I was so right.
If, like me, you're longing for a Family Guy site that lives up to Seth MacFarlane's Masterpiece, I suggest The Family Guy Files. It's got a reference guide, a trivia quiz, and video clips that were/will be cut from the DVD's (for now, at least. The webmaster suspects that Fox may ask him/her to remove them, which is a good possibility, considering the way they ransacked sites that offered Simpson's sound files, so I would get their quickly if you'd like to download some of these gems.)
Speaking of gems, some jeweler I don't care to look up the name or location of is selling, for the 30th anniversary of Hello Kitty, platinum, diamond-encrusted Hello Kitty...dolls? Pendants? I don't know what the fuck they are, except ludicrous.
hello extravagance
The word "extravagance" there is the replacement for a much-sought after word I could not remember and brought many, many people into the search for. Thanks Kevin for the suggestion of "frivolity" and Casey for...oh, some damn hoighty-toighty word that no one would have ever understood. Profligacy. Exactly the right concept, but I never could have used it. Go there, now, learn the word so that next time this kind of diamond-encrusted bullshit comes up, I can use that word and you'll get it. (And, as much as I make fun of him, Casey is just about the hottest guy in the whole world for knowing what that means.)
FieryGwenivere: It is so hot that you know what that means
CLAB RACK: please, bitch. that's nothing.
Ah, gotta love him.
On with it.
SGM Family Guy Website,
poorly designed by special
needs Fox Intern (who has
never actually seen show)
seeks marriage-ready GM
for intimate relationship.
Like walks on the beach,
movies, nature, kids. Call
555-SUCK, box no. 69
Okay, I know this was a pathetic attempt at wit on my part, but a website that bad doesn't deserve the thought it would take me to come up with an amusing insult. Don't believe me? Check out the "Family Guy Moments" or the "Tour of the Griffin House". And then issue a formal apology by way of giving my thousands of dollars. Because I was so right.
If, like me, you're longing for a Family Guy site that lives up to Seth MacFarlane's Masterpiece, I suggest The Family Guy Files. It's got a reference guide, a trivia quiz, and video clips that were/will be cut from the DVD's (for now, at least. The webmaster suspects that Fox may ask him/her to remove them, which is a good possibility, considering the way they ransacked sites that offered Simpson's sound files, so I would get their quickly if you'd like to download some of these gems.)
Speaking of gems, some jeweler I don't care to look up the name or location of is selling, for the 30th anniversary of Hello Kitty, platinum, diamond-encrusted Hello Kitty...dolls? Pendants? I don't know what the fuck they are, except ludicrous.
The word "extravagance" there is the replacement for a much-sought after word I could not remember and brought many, many people into the search for. Thanks Kevin for the suggestion of "frivolity" and Casey for...oh, some damn hoighty-toighty word that no one would have ever understood. Profligacy. Exactly the right concept, but I never could have used it. Go there, now, learn the word so that next time this kind of diamond-encrusted bullshit comes up, I can use that word and you'll get it. (And, as much as I make fun of him, Casey is just about the hottest guy in the whole world for knowing what that means.)
FieryGwenivere: It is so hot that you know what that means
CLAB RACK: please, bitch. that's nothing.
Ah, gotta love him.
On with it.
I have added what I believe is Kacie's Site to the people list, even though I'm not positive it's her site, as it doesn't say that it is anywhere I've looked on it so far. But there's compelling evidence that it is, and that evidence is as such:
-The link was in her profile.
-Person on site mentions living in Maine but going to college elsewhere.
-Said person likes comparitively obscure musician Leonard Cohen, much as I do, and Kacie and I are always incidently agreeing on comparitively obscure musicians.
-Said person loves "High Fidelity" the movie whereas I love "High Fidelity", the book. That's the sort of thing Kacie and I would have kinda/sorta in common, as well.
So I believe it to be hers, and that means you should check it out, as everyone of our mutual acquaintances loves Kacie. Not to be confused with Casey, whom dislikes the homophone-ius-ness of the two names (because he's not a girl, even though he'd make a *hot* one) and who all our mutual acquaintances think is a dastardly hard-ass.
On with it.
-The link was in her profile.
-Person on site mentions living in Maine but going to college elsewhere.
-Said person likes comparitively obscure musician Leonard Cohen, much as I do, and Kacie and I are always incidently agreeing on comparitively obscure musicians.
-Said person loves "High Fidelity" the movie whereas I love "High Fidelity", the book. That's the sort of thing Kacie and I would have kinda/sorta in common, as well.
So I believe it to be hers, and that means you should check it out, as everyone of our mutual acquaintances loves Kacie. Not to be confused with Casey, whom dislikes the homophone-ius-ness of the two names (because he's not a girl, even though he'd make a *hot* one) and who all our mutual acquaintances think is a dastardly hard-ass.
On with it.
Monday, February 02, 2004
"When we met, light was shed."
Third Eye Blind's Deep Inside of You. Not a song I think a lot about, but when I select it as my MP3 of choice distractedly, it always sucks me in. It's gotta be in my top twenty songs of all time, if only for the four minutes and ten seconds it plays.
"When we met, light was shed."
For the moment, my favorite line of a lifetime. All that matters. Everything. Just until I'm done with this entry.
"When we met, light was shed."
I always was about the thrill of falling love with people. Over and over again. Meeting them and realizing, slowly, that they've become the person you talk about obsessively, the person you want to be online every time you get on, the person you wish you could call (but feel unentitled, more or less.) The first time you find out they're talking about you obsessively, too, on their side of the world. The first time you want to tell them you love them but can't. The first time they tell you.
"When we met, light was shed."
I'm not even talking about romantic love. I guess I'm not. With me, there's always a certain amount of attraction between me and my male friends, at least at some point. I don't know whether or not I wish there wasn't. Makes for that trippy elation, that "Boy make girl feel good" beauty. But, oh, love is love is love is love.
"When we met, light was shed."
I have this ability to devote myself entirely to the person I'm writing about at any one particular time, even if any other time in my life they're a detail, or someone I've given my every effort to devote myself to entirely, but couldn't. When I write, it's all one person, or else some fictional being made up of a collection of perfect moments with similar themes that I've shared with maybe a hundred people I've felt the same way about at one time or another. Sometimes it matters, sometimes it doesn't-- now, I don't think so. It's all about that feeling that you and someone are really making a connection, that incredible high that this is someone you're going to love your whole life long, whether or not it's pretty, whether or not it's hard, whether or not it's healthy or rational or worthwhile. Whether or not it's true.
"I never felt alone till I met you."
"And I don't want to call you, but then I want to call you
'Cause I don't want to crush you, but I feel like crushing you,
And it's true, I took for granted you were with me."
"Something's gone, you've withdrawn, I'm not strong like before
I was deep inside of you
I can go no where, I burn candles and stare at a ghost
Deep inside of you.
And some great need in me starts to bleed.
I've lost myself, there is nothing left,
It's all gone, deep inside of you."
God, I don't know what I'm going for anymore. I'm typing for the sake of typing, of losing control of the words and letting some element of truth come out that I can't even recognize but I'm sure must be in there somewhere.
"When we met, light was shed."
I love the way people you love can steal your faith back in a minute, in a second once you've lost it in them. All they have to do is say one thing to make you believe-- I want emphasis on that word, believe-- that they don't want you to walk away. All they have to do is tell you they love you just once, maybe not in so many words, maybe it's just a look, a sigh, a touch-- god, it's been a long time since I've been touched. (I'm devoting myself entirely, remember? Zack doesn't even exist, as far as this post is concerned. Just shadows of people all misintrepreted and glorified and made into one person that I miss so badly but have so closely at the same time.) One complement, one gift, one favor-- I love the way that suddenly I come crashing back into them whereas before I was running at my top speed in the other direction. I love the way it feels to suddenly love someone again.
"When we met, light was shed."
It's like you get to relive the beginning. You get to feel all the dizzying light again. You get the full effect of every
fantastic thing they said in the beginning to make you gradually know you wanted them to be next to you forever all at once.
"Boy make girl feel good."
I never felt alone, till I met you. I'm already on my own, the moment I left you. And I'd know what to do if I just knew what's coming.
I don't want to crush you, but I feel like crushing you.
We were broken, didn't know it.
Christ, is anyone following me anymore? Maybe the imaginary person I've devoted the post to. The person I'd work my whole life never to get over. The person I would never, ever want to disillusion me. The person I need as much as I need air, the person who quite possibly doesn't exist.
"I've lost myself, there is nothing left, it's all gone
Deep inside of you."
Till next time light is shed, my fantom. On with it.
Third Eye Blind's Deep Inside of You. Not a song I think a lot about, but when I select it as my MP3 of choice distractedly, it always sucks me in. It's gotta be in my top twenty songs of all time, if only for the four minutes and ten seconds it plays.
"When we met, light was shed."
For the moment, my favorite line of a lifetime. All that matters. Everything. Just until I'm done with this entry.
"When we met, light was shed."
I always was about the thrill of falling love with people. Over and over again. Meeting them and realizing, slowly, that they've become the person you talk about obsessively, the person you want to be online every time you get on, the person you wish you could call (but feel unentitled, more or less.) The first time you find out they're talking about you obsessively, too, on their side of the world. The first time you want to tell them you love them but can't. The first time they tell you.
"When we met, light was shed."
I'm not even talking about romantic love. I guess I'm not. With me, there's always a certain amount of attraction between me and my male friends, at least at some point. I don't know whether or not I wish there wasn't. Makes for that trippy elation, that "Boy make girl feel good" beauty. But, oh, love is love is love is love.
"When we met, light was shed."
I have this ability to devote myself entirely to the person I'm writing about at any one particular time, even if any other time in my life they're a detail, or someone I've given my every effort to devote myself to entirely, but couldn't. When I write, it's all one person, or else some fictional being made up of a collection of perfect moments with similar themes that I've shared with maybe a hundred people I've felt the same way about at one time or another. Sometimes it matters, sometimes it doesn't-- now, I don't think so. It's all about that feeling that you and someone are really making a connection, that incredible high that this is someone you're going to love your whole life long, whether or not it's pretty, whether or not it's hard, whether or not it's healthy or rational or worthwhile. Whether or not it's true.
"I never felt alone till I met you."
"And I don't want to call you, but then I want to call you
'Cause I don't want to crush you, but I feel like crushing you,
And it's true, I took for granted you were with me."
"Something's gone, you've withdrawn, I'm not strong like before
I was deep inside of you
I can go no where, I burn candles and stare at a ghost
Deep inside of you.
And some great need in me starts to bleed.
I've lost myself, there is nothing left,
It's all gone, deep inside of you."
God, I don't know what I'm going for anymore. I'm typing for the sake of typing, of losing control of the words and letting some element of truth come out that I can't even recognize but I'm sure must be in there somewhere.
"When we met, light was shed."
I love the way people you love can steal your faith back in a minute, in a second once you've lost it in them. All they have to do is say one thing to make you believe-- I want emphasis on that word, believe-- that they don't want you to walk away. All they have to do is tell you they love you just once, maybe not in so many words, maybe it's just a look, a sigh, a touch-- god, it's been a long time since I've been touched. (I'm devoting myself entirely, remember? Zack doesn't even exist, as far as this post is concerned. Just shadows of people all misintrepreted and glorified and made into one person that I miss so badly but have so closely at the same time.) One complement, one gift, one favor-- I love the way that suddenly I come crashing back into them whereas before I was running at my top speed in the other direction. I love the way it feels to suddenly love someone again.
"When we met, light was shed."
It's like you get to relive the beginning. You get to feel all the dizzying light again. You get the full effect of every
fantastic thing they said in the beginning to make you gradually know you wanted them to be next to you forever all at once.
"Boy make girl feel good."
I never felt alone, till I met you. I'm already on my own, the moment I left you. And I'd know what to do if I just knew what's coming.
I don't want to crush you, but I feel like crushing you.
We were broken, didn't know it.
Christ, is anyone following me anymore? Maybe the imaginary person I've devoted the post to. The person I'd work my whole life never to get over. The person I would never, ever want to disillusion me. The person I need as much as I need air, the person who quite possibly doesn't exist.
"I've lost myself, there is nothing left, it's all gone
Deep inside of you."
Till next time light is shed, my fantom. On with it.
Friday was a while ago, but this week's Friday five looked fun to answer. So I'll go for it.
Friday Five
You have just won one million dollars:
1. Who do you call first? At this point, Christ, probably no one. I just hate telling people any news that could be considered "big". I'll tell a few people-- Zack would obviously know, as he's with me all the time-- but not in any damn hurry. I think.
2. What is the first thing you buy for yourself? Well, treatment's not a "thing", and it's no fun anyway, so I guess I'd buy some land and have a house built. Nothing too flashy, Just nice. Maybe in the Ozarks. I've been thinking about having a house their one day for a long time. Oh, I'd buy off the rights to this house, too, so no one could ever cut down my apple tree.
3. What is the first thing you buy for someone else? Zack's BMW Z4 roadster. Or Casey's Wifi. And, hell, Casey can have a BMW, too, or whatever car he'd prefer. Since I'm already at the dealership.
4. Do you give any away? If yes, to whom? Originally I was gonna say I'd send a bunch of vag sufferers to the WTC, but there's a lot of people-- including me-- that resent the WTC for their extremely high prices. So I think instead I'd help to get started a rival Vaginismus treatment facility that costs thousands upon thousands less. And I'd make sure my sister's family all got great therapy-- not for vag, just for, well, being them.
5. Do you invest any? Sure, if there's anything less. If I have house, treatment, my apple tree, Zack and Casey are happy, and I know I've taken a stand against the fucking vag, well, the rest is just details.
On with it.
Friday Five
You have just won one million dollars:
1. Who do you call first? At this point, Christ, probably no one. I just hate telling people any news that could be considered "big". I'll tell a few people-- Zack would obviously know, as he's with me all the time-- but not in any damn hurry. I think.
2. What is the first thing you buy for yourself? Well, treatment's not a "thing", and it's no fun anyway, so I guess I'd buy some land and have a house built. Nothing too flashy, Just nice. Maybe in the Ozarks. I've been thinking about having a house their one day for a long time. Oh, I'd buy off the rights to this house, too, so no one could ever cut down my apple tree.
3. What is the first thing you buy for someone else? Zack's BMW Z4 roadster. Or Casey's Wifi. And, hell, Casey can have a BMW, too, or whatever car he'd prefer. Since I'm already at the dealership.
4. Do you give any away? If yes, to whom? Originally I was gonna say I'd send a bunch of vag sufferers to the WTC, but there's a lot of people-- including me-- that resent the WTC for their extremely high prices. So I think instead I'd help to get started a rival Vaginismus treatment facility that costs thousands upon thousands less. And I'd make sure my sister's family all got great therapy-- not for vag, just for, well, being them.
5. Do you invest any? Sure, if there's anything less. If I have house, treatment, my apple tree, Zack and Casey are happy, and I know I've taken a stand against the fucking vag, well, the rest is just details.
On with it.
Sunday, February 01, 2004
So, not a lot of opinion on the superbowl myself this year. Last time the pats went to the bowl, I had a great deal of commentary on it, so if you want my sentiments on any football-related subject, check there. I don't know why I went through all the trouble of finding that link just now, though, as absolutely no one, save my devout, obsessive, imaginary fans will click that.
So a little bit of history-- the second-to-last time the patriots went to the superbowl, my father and I got increasingly close throughout the season, watching the games together and bonding as our team won over and over again. It had been years since we had connected on anything, so it was a tremendous relief to have something in common again. Then the big day came and we were there together...then the Pats got wiped out by the motherfucking Packers. I left the room before the game even ended. We've never had as close since. Maybe if the pats had won that year, my father would have congratulated me on my graduation day. Maybe if they had won, he might have kissed my cheek at my wedding. Maybe if it weren't for Green Bay, things would have been different all these years.
As I end that paragraph he calls my name from downstairs-- we're back in real-time now, people-- and I have a surge of hope that he's calling me down to invite me to watch the game with him. Maybe it's our second chace-- I wasn't ready for it in 2002, as anyone who read the archives-- ha-- would know. I go to the top of the stairs to call down and ask what he wants me for.
"Dinner I guess," He says, agitated. "I don't know, your mother won't tell me, either."
"Yes, Dinner." She says.
Oh.
Still there's a victory to be had here-- Before I started writing this, it didn't even occur to me that the Patriot's AFC Championship was an all-too familiar anxiety for me. For the first time in years, I haven't fretted the season away hoping for some kind of cosmic rematch. I guess, this year, I already won.
Schmutzy stuff aside, I don't know anything about the Pats this year, or Carolina in any given year, so my superbowl predictions will be borrowed, word-for-word, from JohnnyLib, who I supsect is much better at this than I am (or have any interest in being).
"Who will win the Super Bowl? I won my brother's football pool for him, so I think I will take a stab at this. I hope it is a close game, since I hate it when the final game of the year is a total blowout. I hope New England wins, also, although Carolina probably deserves it more. I think it will be a 20-17 New England win, possibly a 28-17 win."
Uh, yeah. That sounds about right. Put my chips on that. Go Pats!
On with it.
So a little bit of history-- the second-to-last time the patriots went to the superbowl, my father and I got increasingly close throughout the season, watching the games together and bonding as our team won over and over again. It had been years since we had connected on anything, so it was a tremendous relief to have something in common again. Then the big day came and we were there together...then the Pats got wiped out by the motherfucking Packers. I left the room before the game even ended. We've never had as close since. Maybe if the pats had won that year, my father would have congratulated me on my graduation day. Maybe if they had won, he might have kissed my cheek at my wedding. Maybe if it weren't for Green Bay, things would have been different all these years.
As I end that paragraph he calls my name from downstairs-- we're back in real-time now, people-- and I have a surge of hope that he's calling me down to invite me to watch the game with him. Maybe it's our second chace-- I wasn't ready for it in 2002, as anyone who read the archives-- ha-- would know. I go to the top of the stairs to call down and ask what he wants me for.
"Dinner I guess," He says, agitated. "I don't know, your mother won't tell me, either."
"Yes, Dinner." She says.
Oh.
Still there's a victory to be had here-- Before I started writing this, it didn't even occur to me that the Patriot's AFC Championship was an all-too familiar anxiety for me. For the first time in years, I haven't fretted the season away hoping for some kind of cosmic rematch. I guess, this year, I already won.
Schmutzy stuff aside, I don't know anything about the Pats this year, or Carolina in any given year, so my superbowl predictions will be borrowed, word-for-word, from JohnnyLib, who I supsect is much better at this than I am (or have any interest in being).
"Who will win the Super Bowl? I won my brother's football pool for him, so I think I will take a stab at this. I hope it is a close game, since I hate it when the final game of the year is a total blowout. I hope New England wins, also, although Carolina probably deserves it more. I think it will be a 20-17 New England win, possibly a 28-17 win."
Uh, yeah. That sounds about right. Put my chips on that. Go Pats!
On with it.
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