Friday, December 11, 2009

The Twelve Days of Gheorghe-mas, Day Four

On the fourth day of Gheorghemas, Big Gheorghe gave to me...

Four-gone Conclusions

Three Saluki Tallies
Two Recurring Features
And a Doofus Dancing (hee, hee)
(It didn't really flow or rhyme without that hee, hee part.)

Good intentions. They pave the road to Hell, so people say.

The long and winding road that is my life to date is littered with broken-down clunkers that are my well-intended, abandoned vehicles. I know we’re all subject to grand plans that never got off the ground, or even great beginnings that were aborted mid-flight, but I feel like I may have undertaken more than my fair share of half-baked endeavors that never saw fruition.

And there have been some great ones over the years. Some were sound business plans left on the table due to lack of capital, confidence, or any clue how to execute them. From the cliché-but-cool ideas for a new bar to the specific IT business strategies that someone else since figured out and got rich with, they all woulda coulda shoulda worked. But none were employed.

Others were artistic enterprises deserted in embryonic stages. Gheorghe: the Internet Magazine comes to mind. We had another website called Sportive where we waxed haughty about sports issues. (We later saw that same M.O. put to greater use at Jerry’s Wheelhouse.) There was a collaborative novel between Dave, Rob, and myself that got about three chapters in before indifference took over. Even an online crime story whose chapters were written in round-robin manner by an array of self-professed pseudo-literati . . . that vanished just as it was getting good.

The screenplays Dave and I co-wrote also fell victim to the same lack of follow-through. From 1998-2000, we did manage to crank out three semi-complete scripts, with one of them even making it into a Hollywood studio, so there’s at least a sense of accomplishment. That sense is heightened all the more by my checkered history of never making it that far down the road on so many other projects, but another feeling – what more we could have done – creeps in from time to time as well. Our first script got reviewed by the studio people, with enough complimentary feedback to spur us on; then bad luck eliminated that connection, and we really never pursued it the way successful writers do. Our final collaboration made it into Project Greenlight’s Top 250, pared down from five or six thousand entries. And what did I do? I failed to submit the follow-up paperwork to keep us in the mix. (I only confessed this fact to Dave a few years ago.)

I loved that last screenplay, too. I wince every time a preview for a film about the Outer Banks appears on my television, assuming someday someone will swipe our idea and run with it to big success instead of us. Fortunately, works like Nights in Rodanthe have little to do with our plot, but someday, it’s gonna burn me up.

Some of my good intentions haven’t been moneymaking plots, they’ve just been ideas for fun. Party themes long forgotten, my 1991 home brewery in Coby’s basement (“W.C. Beer -- canned beer taste in a bottle”), and the road trips. Ah, the road trips.

For spring break in 1990 I had mapped out the “Bad Brewery Tour,” a massive road trip to the Midwest in our fratre’s Camaro that would hit the Schlitz, Pabst, Shaefer, and other low-prestige breweries. We were very excited. Then I went to Jamaica because my girlfriend’s parents were paying for it. No complaints, obviously, but another planned-out, memorable would-be adventure aborted.

In the spring of 1993, after I’d finished up my studies the previous December, I had big plans to drive across the country with W&M friends Flynn & Erney. On motorcycles. We had the hogs already. Our route was calculated, and our lodging – relying mostly on friends & family couch space – was all figured out. All that was left was mending fences with a few ex-girlfriends in key locations so that we could maximize our limited budget. And then I didn’t graduate in December. And then Ern got a job. And that was that. I never did call my old love in New Mexico, the linchpin to the west.

Now, let’s be honest – the motorcycle trip would have surely killed us. Three drunks in their early twenties on Harleys (actually, the cycle I was borrowing from my dad was a Honda, always cool) riding from bar to bar all across the USA . . . yeah. No chance we make it back. I guess the laws that save lives can sometimes also include the law of inertia.

Somehow, going against the grain of this lifelong pattern, I have been a part of Gheorghe: The Blog, which hasn’t derailed . . . yet. Slow, inauspicious origins have begat some serious momentum in recent years, relatively speaking. The odds that we would be laughingly reminiscing about this silly blog idea by now were very strong.

We’ve even managed to maintain a few recurring features along the way. Our collective ADHD killed enough of them to make the label “yet another recurring feature destined to stop recurring” warranted on most every new idea. As evidenced by Rob’s Day Two post, however – hell, even by virtue of last year’s 12 Days of Gheorghe-mas segment and its resurrection thus far this year – it seems like we can actually follow through on some of our plans. It’s not a success story deserving of an NPR segment or anything, but hey – those who know us wouldn’t have expected even this.

Which is why I must now mimic Dave and Rob’s college exploits and plunge one final harpoon into my own great white whale. (Doubly punny, nice.) There was one recurring feature this year that I helped engineer and propel forward toward completion. And there was one recurring feature that I let go dormant right before its finale. An indefensible backslide toward my storied bad habits, the fact that this feature has sat there one post away from its conclusion for eight months is just preposterous. I am sorry.

We all realize by now how much the 12 Days of Gheorghe-mas resemble Alcoholics Anonymous’s 12 Steps to Recovery – and how much G:TB resembles AA. (“AARP,” Mark cracks wise.) Well, one of the 12 steps involves making amends, and I am here today, soberly and somberly (both of those are fleeting descriptors), to make amends.

Yep. I’m finishing the Cauc Hop.

Remember the Cauc Hop? Take a few minutes to jog your memory if need be. But it’s time, people. Game on . . .

The Cauc Hop: The Final

3rd Bass (4) vs. Beastie Boys (2)

So, back in the semifinals . . . yes, back when the other March Madness was coming to a close . . . the Beasties took care of the upstart 14-seed Slug while 3rd Bass shocked Cauc Hoppers all over by knocking Eminem off his pedestal. It set up a final showdown that’s taken months of preparation and promotion to finally bring about. Here we go.

* * *

You didn’t think Serch and Pete Nice were going to take this lying down, did you? The familiar opening sample of Blood, Sweat & Tears’s “Spinning Wheel” comes blaring on the speakers, and the crowd gives a look like, “Oh, man – the gloves are off already.” It’s “Sons of 3rd Bass,” their lyrical beat-down of the three bad brothers you know so well that led off The Cactus Album. It’s on.

As Dan Dierdorf would say (all blowhardy), “These two teams simply do not like each other.” Well, at the very least 3rd Bass doesn’t dig on the Beasties. The B-Boys made no secret of the fact that MC Serch had tried in vain to make himself one of their crew. Add to that the Beasties’ bail-out from DefJam Records, which was 3B’s label at the time, and there was certainly enough fodder for these neigh-borough rapsters to get on the mic and take some shots. And let’s face it – time’s been a lot kinder to Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego than to Serch, Richie Rich, and especially the Prime Minister P-Nice, aka Peter Nash. Gotta be something of a chip on their shoulders.

Soon enough the derelicts of dialect are laying down lyrics with typical hip-hop bravado:
Swarm to the lyrics cause Serch is your father
Screaming "Hey Ladies," why bother?
Broke out ‘cause the swindler took your ducat
No talent on the tune, you might as well SUCK IT
…and standard 3rd Bass disapproval at commercialism (often reserved for Hammer or Vanilla):
Taste the flav' of the original
Orphaned trio, abandoned by lyrical

Through us, the echelon exposed with the roll with no soul
Counterfeit style, born sworn and sold

Out with high voice distorted
If a Beast' to wish play fetus, I'd have him ABORTED

Ludicrous whining, meaning when the others
Stand by ‘em, while they take the fall

The Beast' now lives in the Capitol
And so 3rd Bass draws first blood.

Adam Yauch, Adam Horovitz, and Clarence sit back and shrug it off. Time has indeed been kind to this trio, giving them wisdom and comfort instead of hard luck and failed ambitions. Of course, they’ve cashed in and rested on laurels like nobody else in the business. That extreme youthful exuberance and visionary jackassery on display in their first few albums have, for better or for worse, given way to a mellow cool, but also works of little risk and, in turn, little reward. Their post-1990 street cred has gone relatively unchallenged . . . until right now, when another wallop-packing hip-hop trio from the five boroughs – who hasn’t graduated to rap royalty over the years – takes the barbs of their 1989 song and applies them exactly 20 years later.

Pete Nice won’t leave well enough alone.
A record label, a King to 4th letter
Passin’ phases, non-legitimate trendsetters

Pop figures, who figured they'd get paid
Exploitin’ art the black man made
Starting to ruffle some feathers. 3rd Bass made its bones taking an old school slant, acknowledging elders, having a multiracial roster, and busting other acts’ chops for selling out and “turning hip-hop into hit-pop.” It’s always been a little difficult to fully reconcile that in some small way they were doing the very things they mocked, but they got away with it. Taking on by-now institutions like the Beastie Boys, however, might be pulling the mask off the ol’ Lone Ranger.

For now, though, Mike and the Adams and are kicking around with a funky instrumental. They’re taking the Buddhist high road and not engaging their feisty adversaries. Apparently they don’t understand how the Cauc Hop and rap battles work.

Pete Nice swings his cane for the fences . . . hitting a ball signed by Ducky Medwick after the ’34 Fall Classic . . . and it caroms off Yauch’s noggin. Nothin’. The Prime Minister chews on his cigar and spews the “Sons of 3rd Bass” end-lyric bitterness:
You know about that silver spoon havin’, buckshot acne showin’, L.A. weak-ass sellout, non-legitimate, tip-doggin’, Jethro pseudo intellectual, dust-smokin’, pretty boy playwright posin’, folks wiggin’, whinin’ annoyin’ Def Jam reject devil, white bread no money havin’ slum village people cloning step children!
Okay. Ad Rock’s getting pissed. Suckers they be saying they can take out Adam Horovitz. People have been naysaying the Beastie Boys since they were churning out worthless hardcore noise. They were frat boy idiots stealing from Zeppelin. Then goofballs swiping from Sly Stone. Then retreads ripping themselves off. They were Russell Simmons’ and Rick Rubin’s puppets. Then they owed it all to the Dust Brothers. Then Mix Master Mike. They were a flash in the pan. Then experimental idiots. Then washed-up and out of ideas. Enough, already.
You say fuck that, yo holmes, fuck this
I’m the King Ad Whammy and you’re Dick Butkus
Mike D, back from the dead, takes control:
Now Ad-Rock, and M.C.A.
Let's rock this joint in the old school way

Well I'm on, 'til the crack of dawn
Mowing down M.C.'s like I'm mowing a lawn

But I can stand my ground, and I am down
To wax an M.C. who acts like a clown

But for now, I'd like to ask you how
You like the feel of the bass in your face in the crowd
DJ Richie Rich sends up some furious cuts to take back the momentum. It’s go-time for Serch & the Prime Minister of Sinister to win it, and so as with an atomic elbow, they let one drop. The piano loop starts . . .
Kick ‘em in the grill, Pete!

Mike D . . . gets the Gas Face
MCA . . . also gets the Gas Face
Ad Rock . . . shut up, stop whinin’, you get the Gas Face!
Oh, lord. Did they just give the B-Boys the Gas Face?? 3rd Bass is just about to pull off this stunning Cauc Hop upset, but the Beasties seem like they’re sleepwalking. They’re just too far removed from their heyday, and too well off to care. Or maybe they know something?
I said where'd you get your information from, huh?
You think that you can front when revelation comes

Yeah . . . You can't front on that
But Richie signals to Serch and goes for the death blow, as we hear the jack-in-the-box kiddie intro. Yep . . . it’s . . . “Pop Goes the Weasel.” The insinuation that the Beasties are on par with Vanilla Ice is too much.
Stop vexin on the skills, ya ain't originate
The thin ice you skate upon will break and set ya straight

Ate up on the plate, now who's diesel

Not the weasel

Not the weasel

Pop goes the weasel
Then it goes quiet. The crowd’s not sure what just happened. The B-Boys just got sent packing. Or . . .

Look . . . lookin' . . . look-look-look-look-lookin' at my Gucci, it's about that time.
What’s the time?

* * *

You see, I spent much of my sophomore year in college doing just what I was talking about earlier – making plans I’d never fulfill, and it wasn’t just limited to enrolling in classes I’d never attend. On more than one occasion I’d have long conversations about doing constructive things, going to faraway places and achieving something meaningful. Or just trying to get out of the fraternity house that day. Always, though, life got in the way. It’s like John Lennon (who didn’t live long enough to see hip-hop flourish, but who would have loved it) told us: “Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans.”

And as I recall two decades later, life that year primarily consisted of tearing my fingers to shreds on Mickey’s Big Mouth pull-tops with Rob & Dave and listening to Paul’s Boutique on repeat. Repeatedly on repeat. We thought it was the best thing we’d heard. Tattooing those sounds onto my brain, so that now I can’t possibly hear David Bromberg’s “Sharon” or Sly & the Family Stone’s “Loose Booty” (check ‘em out) normally. Listening until certain words inevitably trigger Pavlovian responses. When my daughters have to learn about Ponce de Leon, they’re going to wonder why the hell “constantly on, the fountain of youth, not Robotron” follows every mention of him. “I’ve got money” evokes “like Charles Dickens,” which in turn evokes much puzzlement. And so on. There’s no cleansing my brain at this point.

Licensed to Ill, same deal. I still hope the beginning of every playing of “When the Levee Breaks” is actually “Rhymin’ and Stealin’.” It never is. The other night a few friends were at my place having a few drinks around the coffee table in very grown-up fashion. Somewhere in the mix I threw LTI on the hi-fi. A girl just a few years younger than I got up and did an unprovoked, emphatic, and lyrically complete run-through of “Paul Revere” that drowned out the Beasties. Ridiculous, and it’s likely bound for YouTube, but she didn’t care.

Then there’s “Sabotage.” For a rare change, enough said. And it goes on. “Intergalactic,” “Sure Shot,” “So What’cha Want,” and dozens more. The wasted days in Rob & Dave’s room drinking malt liquor and trying to contemplate the Beasties’ unnatural obsession with eggs and fish – as well as deep ponderings like whether the girl who sings on “Shadrach” was Caucasian or African-American . . . well, we never followed through on any grand plan we concocted that year, ever, at all; but looking back, if we were actually on the road to hell, it certainly wasn’t because of our good intentions.

* * *

Don't touch the mic, baby, don't come near it. The Boys launch into “Looking Down the Barrel of a Gun,” a masterpiece if only for pairing Mountain’s and Pink Floyd’s guitar work. MCA’s gruff holler, unaffected by the salivary gland cancer, shakes the stage, Mike D is needling the 3rd Bassmen, and Ad Rock’s in a full-out howl.
I am like Clockwork Orange going off on the town
I've got homeboys bonanza to beat your ass down
Well I'm mad at my desk and I'll be writing all curse words
Expressing my aggressions through my schizophrenic verse words
You're a headless chicken chasin' a sucker freebasin’
Looking for a fist to put your face in
Knockout punch. As Serch shuffles off the stage, he turns back to hear “...the best in men's clothing. Call Paul's Boutique, ask for Janice and the number is (718) 498-1043. That's Paul's Boutique and they're in Brooklyn.”

Make no mistake, MC Serch, the Prime Minister Pete Nice, and DJ Richie Rich gave it a valiant run. They’re white boy rappers who have always garnered respect instead of ridicule, and for a few short years they were tip-top in hip-hop. But these were the Beastie Boys, not Cheech and Chong.

Later that night, the Boys called P-Nice on his graveyard shift at Carvel and played Cooky Puss for him.
Your 2009 Cauc Hop Champions: Beastie Boys

You can sleep again, fair friends.


Anonymous said...

forgive others but not yourself........................................

TJ said...

Settle down &^$*%#*$^

And Whit, that was, well, that was a lot of words.

TJ said...

Be proud fellas - we are #3 on's search engine for this term:
"costner screws ripken's wife"

TR said...

I bet Tiger nailed Ripken's wife. And his brother Billy. And Brady Anderson.

TR said...

Can somebody in the media please show some outrage at Brian Kelly bailing on his undefeated Cincy squad to run to South Bend? This is unbelievably asshole-ish behavior, yet seems to be the norm in big-time college programs. His program is on the cusp of a historic season, but he as to leave immediately to go recruting. Bullshit. Makes me hate Notre Dame that much more. And it almost makes me feel bad for the U of Cincy. Almost.

mayhugh said...

TR - agree with you for the mostpart. If you want to spin it a certain way, perhaps he thinks he's giving his guys the best chance in the bowl game. He's not there to be a tangible distraction, and he's given the Bearcats extra motivation to say "Eff Coach, we'll show him."

The expectations of the new job combined with the timing of commitments makes it preferable Kelly get on the job as soon as possible. Notre Dame or any team, being able to hire during the bowl prep period, puts coaches like Kelly in a no-win situation to some extent.

Mark said...

All good point Mayhugh, but you don't HAVE to bail on your team in order to make it work and start your recruiting. Urban Meyer didn't in 2004 and it worked out just fine for him.

mayhugh said...

Agreed on that, for sure. I don't remember the particulars around Meyer;s departure, but I think Kelly put himself in a tough, almost Sabanesque position in the last couple of weeks. He made some pretty concrete statements about staying in Cincinatti and not being interested in Notre Dame. Because of how things unfolded, I wouldn't be surprised if Kelly decided to bail just because the alternative would make him feel really awkward. Not a great reason, but a reason.

TR said...

And a hearty congrats to Whit, who has provided me with the most unique toilet reading material I've had in quite a while. Congrats for joining the pantheon of my work poop authors, joining Peter King and Bill Simmons.

zoltan said...

I stood at my desk and applauded after I finished reading this. Then my boss came by, spit a bunch of dipspit on me, and yelled "get an effing chair." 3rd Bass is greatly under-appreciated. Nice job.

rob said...

i find myself reading tr's rant against brian kelly and responding with a mighty 'meh'.

cincinnati's game against florida means exactly dick. it's an exhibition. if it were the ncaa tournament quarterfinals, i'd have a much bigger issue with kelly's departure. but it's not.

TR said...

I see your point Rob, but an undefeated season hangs in the balance. I bet that means something to all the kids playing for Cincy, kids that Kelly recruited himself.

rob said...

sure it does, no question. but as mayhugh notes, the way the system is currently configured almost requires the kellys of the world to leave immediately. i don't know that it's assholish, even though it sucks for the kids.

Geoff said...

Is it clear if Kelly made the decision to not coach the final game? Or did the power that be at Cincy tell him that since he was leaving his services are no longer needed effective immediately? To me, that makes a difference. If it was his call, he's kind of a dick (though I understand the once in a lifetime nature of the opportunity and the need to lock it down). But if he wanted to coach the final game and the school said "no thanks" then I don't fault Kelly at all.

cgormley said...

Wow my eyes are tired but nice smack down, Whit.

The football thing: who cares it's college football. All the coaches pull this crap. There really is no penalty to coaches that do this 'pull out' but if a player tries to switch schools they have to sit a year. Complete BS. NCAA, I'm looking at you!

Jerry said...

Kelly never denied talking with Notre Dame. He even Tweeted about it. This is just the reality of the schedule. Coaches change jobs and this is the time to do it.

mayhugh said...

To TR's 9:48 comment, I would have had to contract dissentary to read all of Whit's post in one sitting. But yes, very enjoyable.

It's being presented by the media as if it was Kelly's call not to coach the game (believe the decision traditionally rests with the coach). He hasn't made public comment yet but I doubt for several reasons that he would come out and say it wasn't his call.

Clearly, it sucks for the players and has to take away some of the mental edge knowing one of the pieces that got you to this point won't be around to close it out on the biggest stage of the season. But if it was his decision, he's clearly not the first to choose his own interests above those of his soon-to-be former players.

Whitney said...

TR, thanks, I'm honored. And slightly disgusted.

Dave said...

wow! quite a walk down memory lane for me, whit. i can't remember the last time i put on paul's boutique-- but i still remember every word. i believe fitz was a fan as well. the rest of the house must have thought we were autistic, we played it so many times.

and i'd prefer if you never remind me again about how you didn't send our screenplay to project greenlight. in some alternate universe, where you DID send it-- we're sitting around a pool in Beverly Hills, surrounded by silicone starlets, determining who should star in our next blockbuster. instead i'm going to go back to grading essays.

mayhugh said...

Here's the timeline, from my understanding: Kelly went on Cincinatti radio and emphatically stated he had no interest in Notre Dame or any other coaching vacancy and that his home was Cinci. Probably 72 hours after that, there were indications from him that he would hear ND out. Days later he was hired.

It's possible they threw him an offer he couldn't refuse, and the guy always has the right to change his mind. But you probably shouldn't use a public forum to draw a line in the sand even if there's only a .01% chance things go the other way. Humans are terrible predictors of the future.

While I do believe Kelly was pretty transparent as things built up (it wasn't like he was hiding anything, so I'll withdraw the Saban comparison), I also think the fans and players would be justified in believing they received at the least a mixed message.

rob said...

i think you should write a screenplay about the time when you forgot to do the paperwork about your screenplay. it'd be a 'kiss of the spider woman'/'stranger than fiction' mindfuck. audiences would flock.

zoltan said...

If you're in Boston this weekend or next, there's a burlesque version of the Nutcracker at the Somerville Theatre. Check it:

TJ said...

It took a legit 10 seconds to scroll through this entire post on a blackberry.

TJ said...

The Slutcracker? Those creative geniuses.

Greasetruck said...

that's a good idea, rob. and the plot could center around me killing whitney for not turning in the paperwork, but, of course, we'd be WRITING a screenplay about me killing whitney, but eventually the screenplay we were writing and the movie would become blurred, sort of like "adaptation" and our relationship would sour once i killed him in the script, so maybe he would kill me in reality. and then, like "eternal sunshine of the spotless mind," we'd erase our brains of the whole thing, but instead of using that helmet thingy, we'd use grain alcohol.

Greg said...

I like how it was posted at 6:09

Shlara said...

I can't believe you are talking about Cincy & football when we should be talking about the Tribe's big game tonight.

It's supposed to be 27 degrees at kickoff. Glad I'll be watching inside.

And, my sister is a Villanova grad, so there is likely going to be a sibling brawl tonight.

Good times.

Shlara said...

I meant to say "Cincy & ND football"

My mind moves faster than I can type.

Marlin said...

Zoltan works for Reynolds?

TJ said...

Greg, your attention to details is what sets you above the rest.

And frankly, if you'd ever shown that small level of effort when you were invited to join the G:TB staff you'd be writing opii (opus' plural?) like this.

zoltan said...

Yes. I sell insurance to skydivers.

zoltan said...

Tiger also nailed the space between Charlie Weis' left breast and belly. While Charlie ate a chafing dish of lasagna. Brian Kelly has a sext/photo from Tiger to prove it.

TR said...

Reynolds is to Pig Vomit what Z-Man and the Teej are to Howard Stern and Robin Quivers.

TR said...

Shlara is right about the game tonight, and it's worthy of a post, but I don't want to bump Whit's virtual tome.

TR said...

A co-worker of mine is from Philly and wants to bet on the game. Anybody know where there's a line? If there is none, I think it's reasonable for the Tribe to get 4.5 points. Sound right to people? We're playing at Nova, they have a better record against similar opponents and they beat us handily. None of this straight-up nonsense.

TR said...

I meant to say the person wants to bet me. I wasn't soliciting bookies who traffic in I-AA games.

zoltan said...

I would demand 6.9 points. But that's just the type of guy I am.

Jerry said...

It's Tribe +3. has 1-aa lines, but you have to open an account to see them. But you don't have to put any money in it.

Jerry said...

Now it's 3.5. Action on Nova during the week apparently.

TJ said...

My radio partner is the best (ngs).

TR said... says Tribe getting 3.5. Thank you to the temp who left his desk and let me check gambling lines from his PC.

rob said...

tr - tribe game deserves a post. bump away. whit will understand.

zoltan said...

If rob knows anything about Whit, it's that Whit understands bumping.

zoltan said...

And half points in spreads are stupid. It should always be sixty-nine (or seventy-one) hundredths of a point. Unless you want something between 6 and 7 (or 7 and 8) in which case the spread should always be 6.9 (or 7.1).

Dennis said...

I do 1-AA lines for free as well....TR - you would know this if you didn't blow the end of the college pick em season...I can see you too, Whit.

Whitney said...

Ah, yes, Dennis, but wouldn't you say my football picks performance this year -- when I was among the overall leaders for most of the season, then forgot to get my picks in one week and ended up bailing on the whole thing -- is a perfect encapsulation of my not-seeing-things-through post?

Whitney said...

And TR, if you bump my post, I will fucking kill you in the precise manner in which I die in Dave's and my screenplay.

rob said...

tr, caveat to whit's fearsome rage: he's a pacifist. except for that one 'helicopter of fists' incident.

TJ said...

Butcher of Bakersfield?
/someone pls get that ref

Whitney said...

There was also the "please hold my shoes and hat while I hit this guy" incident at your bachelor weekend. Something about being in the fraternity complex that brings out my inner brawler. (And idiot.)

The good thing is, I can't imagine it hurts very much when I hit anyone.

TJ said...

I'd like Otis and DCD3 to get involved in this conversation...

Marlin said...

Only in a rerun, Teej.

rob said...

we need no intellectual domination in this space. i don't want to have to clean up the aftermath.

TR said...

All due respect Whit, I blew the pool as much as anybody who didn't win. Going into the last weekend, I was 15 games behind the leader, despite whiffing on two straight weeks of picks b/c I was being hazed at work. If I had gotten half of those picks right, I would've been in the lead.

It's sadly emblamatic of my college academic career - do enough to put yourself in a position to do well, then spontaneously abort in a fit of booze and ennui.

zoltan said...

Like the time TR stopped eating red meat for 6 months, then fell off the wagon and ate a pound of ground chuck from Foodtown.

Whitney said...

Greg, there is a decent chance I will have access to tickets and backstage meet-and-greet with Michael McDonald next Thursday. I may have to decline if only because I would laugh very hard when I met him. But his music is so smooth...