6.9 Non Sequiturs
Six All-Star nods
Five podcasts for listening
Four posts zman meant to write but never did
Three French Hens
Two in-state rivalries
And a dork with a split personal-ity
Non Sequitur #1: I hate that Christmas is so close to the day with the least amount of sun (December 21). Hate it. Walking outside in the dark at 5 PM sucks. I may move to Ecuador (which I didn't realize until a month ago was Spanish for equator).
Non Sequitur #2: While some already know I consider myself a sexy beast, Yahoo! considers my new vehicle a beast. I haven't shared this here before, but like Tony Starke, I dabble in robotics and vehicle design when I'm not doing my day job. So let me know if you want a ride in the vee-hicle I have designed. My company can be found here. Or maybe not. If link doesn't work, go to www.rezvanimotors.com. And tell 'em TR sent ya.
Non Sequitur #3: Boz Scaggs came up a few months ago in the comments section. Turns out he is actually really funky! Before he tried to bed my female former boss in the late 90's, he was making some sweet-ass music that married the pop sensibilities of the late 70's with some genuine funk. I mean, listen to Lowdown below. I was not familiar with it and love it. I have made sweet love to far worse tunes than this.
Or Lido Shuffle, which you may recognize from the chorus:
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Now the Scaggs train went off the rails a bit in the 1980's and he was never as famous as he was for a bit in the 70's, but at least he had his moment.
Non Sequitur #4: I have a newly disgusting toe nail these days on what I now call Zombie Toe. A random side effect of my return to jogging recently (in the phat kicks Danimal recommended) is that one toenail rebelled against this whole exercise thing and promptly tried to commit suicide. It has not fallen off yet and continues to grow, so maybe it's just in a coma. Zombie toe looked pretty sweet when I was sporting flip-flops last weekend in the warm weather.
Non Sequitur #5: I want to start an Instagram account about lunatic youth wrestling dads and coaches. In fact, I think I will, so don't usurp my brilliance, any of you. It could double as an homage to bad tattoos and likely child abusers. I was at a youth wrestling tournament for novice kids aged 4-10 last weekend. Novice is defined as their first or second year wrestling, but there were clearly ringers in there. My kids each won once with a pin and lost once, so it went okay. I made a bet with my wife on the number of kids we'd see crying. I set the over/under at 12 and it came in at 10. Lots of sadness to be found. But with that said, watching your kid shoot in on another kid, take him down, get on his back, throw him in a half nelson, turn him over and pin him (all in less than ten seconds) is pretty sweat. I got so excited I started showing my kids old WWE footage. They love the British Bulldogs. I don't have the heart to tell them yet that their acrobatic feats were all steroid-inspired and that they're dead now.
Non Sequitur #6: The saying "not four years but a lifetime" is familiar to some, but not all of you, as a phrase thrown around by our old fratres from college. While not all of us are as prolific travelers as Whitney, who seems to have a perpetual tour of old/new friends going on, some of us do make the effort to get together and see each other, navigating through work, spousal and children's obligations. And it's almost always a great time. I am lucky enough to live in a town with several college buddies, including the esteemed Zman. As a result, we get frequent inbound visits from old friends on a quasi-regular basis. Gathering and retelling stories that now seem ancient is always fun, especially when there are drinks involved, and I hope we can all have more of that in 2016.
Non Sequitur #6.9: Long-snapper Jesse Anderson was my favorite Tribe football player this year. I don't have to tell you why. Seeing him on the field gave me flashbacks to the time when some friends of G:TB were employed by the football team in the equipment area. For a couple years, our buddy Slick from Chi-town always made sure that jersey 69 was worn, giving it to walk-ons who had no say in the matter and had to be happy they just got to wear a uniform.
Happy holidays, fockers.
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