You get your balls to the wall, man

It is late. I have just returned from Tibetan food and a viewing of The Wrestler with Mara. Originally, it was going to be dinner and then up to Nashua to visit friends I've gone too long without seeing. Then it was going to be Nashua after the movie. Ended up I needed to talk with Mara for a bit after the movie about things left unresolved at dinner. Sacrificed Nashua, but I intend to get my pure heart up there sometime soon.

The Wrestler was such a good movie, I want to watch it again right now. Mickey Rourke hit just the right beat as the broken down, put-to-pasture wrestler. A veritable tour de force. I got to hear Accept's Balls To The Wall in a packed movie theater. I resisted the urge to stand up and head bang like I used to do at school dances in Junior High, but I did head nod, which is head banging for the refined or self conscious.

Tomorrow, ah tomorrow. It's to Spira's for brunch and then moving furniture in the U Haul she rented. I will miss the Celtics game, which kind of stinks. Since I lost cable in my room, I haven't watched many games. And what about the Super Bowl? Will I miss that? Fuck the Super Bowl. My interest in it and the sport of football wanes each and every year. I view this as a good thing, a leap in consciousness.

Going to see if I can finish Blood Meridian before sleepy time. What? You're thinking I need to attend to something else, something carnal and better left unspoken? You dirty, wretched hog! Why can't a fella carry on in the confines of his bedroom without going to town on his peter? I'll have you know that I plan only to read and then, before I get under the covers, kneel by my bed and wish all sorts of wonderful things upon my friends and family. When I wake up in the morning, that is when I'll release the hounds on my dick, and when you can scold me for giving in to my baser instincts.

Off to readin' and prayin', bitches.

That cat's something I can't explain

No work today. I called Marcy this morning for a status report and she said everyone else had called out already. "What does that mean for me, woman?", I shrieked into the phone. Nah, I didn't do that. Instead, I tried to match Marcy's bummed-out tone and told her I'd make the best of the day off.

After the call, I crawled into bed with a cup of coffee and finished Comanche Moon. Bittersweet, that. Then, I picked up Blood Meridian and read from it for a while, not able to put it down easily. At various points throughout the day, I picked the book up and I'm about to again before bed. The violence is nonstop and often horrific. There is a brutal scene wherein a Delaware Indian disposes of two infants as if they were freshly-caught fish. And I thought McMurtry had a cruel streak!

I watched a couple of MadMen episodes -- love this show -- and later shoveled the driveway of heavy, slushy snow. Good thing I stretched out my back earlier in the day with some yoga. Steve was out and about the entire day, switching between snow blower and shovel, the sound of which I heard scraping the driveway not more than three hours ago. So, for what amounted to be about four inches of slushy, rapidly-melting snow, Steve spent the entire day and part of the evening disposing of it. I nurtured the fantasy in which Steve was in Antartica with his trusty snow blower, mindlessly plowing snow into the white horizon, never to be seen again. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if Steve shared the same fantasy.

After tending to the driveway, I took Baby Boy Z for a walk. Though I think he needed it, after a few minutes in the cold rain, I believe he wished he had not expressed his enthusiasm for a walk so fervently. I didn't blame him; the walk was a real downer.

It's time to end this so I can partake in another activity, which may be watching the rest of La Dolce Vita or another eppy of MadMen. Or back to Blood Meridian, and it's pressing, Old Testament-like incantation. Maybe work on some songs. Hmm.... Anyway, I'm out this piece, son.

Accidents will happen, we only hit and run, I don't want to hear it, becuase I know what I've done

I find myself a little blue, but not out of sorts. I suppose I could be, if I let my thoughts roam certain paths, but I won't. Not tonight. So, as it happens, a cloud hovers over me, but offers only drizzle. Certainly manageable.

My philosophy of late has been to ride the back of darker moods until lighter ones appear on the horizon. They always do, inevitably, no matter how much, while in a funk, I try to convince myself otherwise. Many times I've planned a full retreat from the disappointments and frustrations of social life, only to renege. Always I renege. Guess that's what having a pure heart is all about. And mine, dear readers, is as pure as the driven snow.
--

It was pretty much established, because of the pending storm, we wouldn't be going in to work tomorrow. From all accounts, the storm was going to brutal, peaking right around the morning commute and into the afternoon. Marcy advised us to call her in the morning and we'd go from there. In other words, it was unlikely our cars would be leaving their driveways. Now, though, having heard at least two reports, the severity of the storm may have been exaggerated, or at least misdiagnosed. What does this mean for me? Quite possibly a white knuckle drive through snow and sleet to Andover, but because my mood is already salted with apathy, I'm not too worried about it, as Craig is wont to say. Whatever happens, happens (also a line from Craig, though it's origins lie elsewhere).
--

Finished Altered Carbon the other day. I read it over a couple of months at work during break. Sci Fi fans love this book, but, though I found it to be well-written and inspired, it ultimately didn't gel with me very much. I wasn't that interested in the characters, even though they were more or less compelling. Maybe it was the genre itself I couldn't get past. Oh, well, can't love 'em all. Anyway, I can scratch one more of my "Books To Complete" list.

Next up for lunch reading is 1984. I'm already about halfway through it and liking it just fine. Should finish it in a week or two.

I've got a couple of Elmore Leonard westerns coming in the mail and I'm hoping I'll be done with Comanche Moon and one more book before they arrive. I'll probably finish Comanche Moon tonight or tomorrow. Don't know what the second book will be. Possibly Ben Franklin's autobiography or John Green's Sasquatch: The Apes Among Us.
--

Netflix sent back the disc of Herzog shorts I rented, claiming it was my own personal disc. I called customer service last night and explained that, while I appreciated the sentiment, the disc was not mine. And further, because of their mistake, I was deprived of a week's rental. I asked Chris, the monotoned, disillusioned, customer service rep, if they'd compensate me. He said he would, in his lifeless fashion, so I'll be getting three rentals this week. Tomorrow, I should be getting a disc from the first season of MadMen and Fellini's Juliet of the Spirits. And by Friday Ozu's Tokyo Story, if things go according to schedule.
--

I love sitting by the riverside, watching the water go flowing by

I just came from Facebook and I am up to date with every morsel of minutia that many feel the need to share. I really can't sort out the way I feel about this, except to say that it mostly baffles and annoys me. Let's explore why, shall we.? Let's pontificate, let's mull, let's get to the bottom of this so, when we rise to the top, we will be enlightened, better people.

First, for the benefit of those unfamiliar with Facebook, I'll explain what I'm talking about here. Very briefly, though, because I assume most of you are already well versed in Facebook, probably more than me, and I'm eager to get on with things.

So Facebook is like Myspace, except you don't need to travel to see what your friends are up to; they come to you. The only expended effort involves logging in and clicking Home. Once there, you'll, if you've accumulated a fair number of friends, view a page full of their activities, great and small. Mostly small.

There are two popular methods in which people share their information. One is to offer a headline; this is usually less open to discussion then the updates, which I'll cover in a minute, and is more a general statement. This statement appears prominently next to your profile picture on your home page. Here are a few examples:

"Joe is NOT looking forward to going back to work tomorrow"

"Kelly is all about Obama"

"Guillermo would rather everyone call him Mo"

The updates are, with many people, frequent, and encourage comments. They are the same as headlines, except that they're up to date, hence the reason I call them updates. And they are the principal source of my annoyance and bafflement.

Relevance varies, but as far as I'm concerned a good lot of it is irrelevant. But that is just me talking and, who knows, by the end of this post, I may have swung the other way. That's why I'm writing this, people: I'm trying to get a better understanding of this process. I don't just say I hate something without giving it some serious thought. That is why I have a pure heart.

So hare are some categorized examples of updates:

Irrelevant and boring

Kenny Whitmore just pulled a piece of lint of his sweater

Jenny McShane took a swig of orange juice

Miguel Burgenshordironvaille just raised his index finger a quarter of an inch

What amazes me is that these types of updates engender responses from people. Miguel's may get some like these:

Lilly Forg : "Wow, that's so weird -- I just moved my finger, too. We have so much in common; let's be a couple"

Desmond Rittle: "Maybe we should have a threesome, cuz I'm like the same way!!!!!!"

Lilly Forg: " OMG, you too?!?? What the F? We totally need to hang out."

Miguel Burgenshordironvaille: " Des and Lilly -- my place at eight? LOL"


Irrelevant but fairly interesting

Jack Riley just saw a monkey slap another monkey at the zoo. (Actually, that's pretty damn relevant and interesting, but I have a feeling you disagree, so I'll leave it)

Luke Warm just ate french fries with my landlord.

Skar Watanabe thinks ER is funnier than Scrubs

Now, I guess the problem I have with the aforementioned updates, particularly the boring ones, is that they scream "Hey, look at me! I need constant attention. Love me, hold me". The worst offenders are the ones who give updates every few minutes, which makes me wonder how they go about it. Are they in the middle of something, like shampooing their child's hair, and then feel compelled to rush over to their computer with wet, sudsy, hands and announce the act on Facebook? I don't know. I just don't know.

The relevant:

Luke Warm just shot a load all over his computer monitor. (This is not irrelevant and boring because of the bravery it took to share this unflattering and messy information)

Archie Saddlebottom is about to put a pistol in his mouth and blow his fucking brains out because this life made him weary and bitter. (This is relevant not because of what he's about to do but why he's about to do it. Know what I mean?)

Wanda Pittsnoggle thinks Seven Samurai and Heart of Glass are brilliant movies. (Rock on, Wanda. You are sooo right!)

Fith McGarson just found out he's going to be a father

Jed Havenmireshire is looking to have sex tonight with absolutely anyone. Who's interested?

These updates, in my professional opinion, are worthy of response. Why? Because I say so, that's why. Do you see how combative you can be?

Okay, now that I've enraged a bunch of you, let me say a few things before I end this that will hopefully assuage you. First, all of the comments, relevant or otherwise, are better, in the long run, than nothing at all. And what else is Facebook for, if not a source of communication? These people are using it the way it should be used. Just because I'm not inclined to share every aspect of my life (I would never dare do such a thing, that's why I blog), doesn't mean others aren't. And what's the harm? As ornery as some of these updates can make me, in the end, I don't mind them so much. Feel better now, ya big baby? You can go Facebook (when it becomes a verb, that's when you know it's taken hold of you) to your heart's content, friends, without further criticism from me, the big softie. I'm serious, go on now -- tell everyone about the dead ant you saw on the ground; your peeps need to know.

An old whore's diet, gets me going in the morning

Just had an invigorating, zen-like, session of yoga, after which I made a tasty salad. In it were black beans, avocado, swiss cheese, cured black olives, grape tomatoes, onion, orange pepper, hamburger, spinach, and a little olive oil. Next time I won't be so stingy with the ingredients.

Watched Lost over Mara's last night. Some observations:

-- Sawyer is so going to hook up with Juliette this season.

-- As the time travel theme developed, I believed more than ever that most or all of the characters that have been killed off will be back. I don't necessarily think it's a bad idea -- it would be cool seeing Mr. Echo and Charlie again, among others -- but if death is too easily cheated, then the sense of risk and danger has less weight. For example, if Jack gets skinned alive and then decapitated, the viewer won't be so bummed out because they'll think, "Oh, he'll be back. They just need to turn that wheel and -- presto, change-o! -- Jack's back, head intact and fully fleshed." I'm confident, though, that whatever happens, it will be presented well.

-- Who is after Claire's son? Sun told Kate that "they're after him". She ruled out that bald British guy, whose name I've forgotten, and Ben wouldn't have sent lawyers over to Kate's house. So is it the island itself that wants the boy? He was, after all, born on it. Hmm, I wonder.

-- I can't wait to see how Locke dies in order to get his friends back to the island.

-- The Hurly/Sahid (forgive my spelling if it's incorrect) storyline was great comic relief. Mara thought Hurly's madre was lying when she said she believed his story about his time on the island. I disagreed -- a mother knows when her son is lying. A few years back, when I told my mother it was me and not Luke Warm who sold her china on E-bay in order to buy some new outfits, she knew I was lying.

-- Speaking of Sahid, I wondered, as I watched him dispose of his enemies as if he was Batman, whether he acquired these elite skills in the Iraqi National Guard or through some Bruce Wayne-like hardcore training in the Far East that he didn't tell anyone about. I mean, he went from being an above average soldier at best to Batman. Whatever, my blood lust rose every time he appeared on the screen. Each blow he struck, each bullet he fired, delivered me to orgasmic heights. I wanted him to kill every single person in his path, be they young, old, male, female, healthy, or infirm. What can I say--I fucking love violence!

--Desmond's girlfriend has a strange face. It looks stretched out, as if it met the business end of a rolling pin. Not that there's anything wrong with a flat face. I'm just saying.

Ok, enough until next week, when I'll be discussing the lack of screen time for Walt's dog. What gives?

And had you gone you knew in time we'd meet again for I had told you

On the phone with the Post Office for the second time in two weeks. The issue of our mail carrier refusing to take our out-going mail was never resolved, despite being assured during my initial conversation with the P.O. that it would be. Despite this, I was fairly certain that I would be placing another call down the road.

Again I was assured that this unfortunate matter would be attended to and I shouldn't have to worry about my mail hereafter. I was told our carrier would be spoken to --- by a manager this time --- and, if they had to, they would have him followed on his route in order to keep him honest. Despite this, I am fairly certain that I'll be placing another call down the road.

I learned that a neighbor of ours has also called to complain about this guy. The person I was speaking with this morning --- let's call him Billy --- told me our carrier --- let's call him Midnight Arrowhead ---said this woman had been mean to him in the past. I deduced, employing my stunning talent of deduction, that perhaps this was the reason Midnight Arrowhead no longer picked up her mail. And, who else might have been mean to him, I wonder? Who might have brought Midnight Arrowhead to take these low measures? Could it have been Rich with his hostile notes? Why, golly --- it just may have. I seem to recall voicing my concerns to Craig about this very scenario occurring when this whole mess began. What's that you say? Maybe Rich should have been the one calling the P.O., since his nasty, barely concealed temper brought this whole mess on? Why, golly --- I think that perhaps you may be right.

I'm burnt out with this whole thing. I really am. I think I need a vacation away from this house.

Three to five days should do it.
--
I went into the room where Ann works this afternoon and caught her rummaging through the cabinet beside Therese's desk. She looked surprised and said "Don't tell Therese. I'm taking some of her candy--- I'm starving."

Therese brings so much candy to work that Ann could have taken three pounds of it and she wouldn't have noticed. I found it amusing that Ann, who is such a generous person, felt guilty over taken a few gumdrops. I didn't tell her that I saw Therese going through Ann's desk a couple of weeks ago looking for the candied walnuts Ellen made. Instead, I replied, "Well, there's one sure way you can keep me quiet about this." I nodded to the bag of candy. She promptly handed me the bag. "This way", I added, "I'm just as guilty as you".

A minute or so later, as I was going through some files near Ann's desk, I said to her, "Seeing you take candy from Therese makes me feel much better about taking money out of her purse all those times."

She laughed. There are times, maybe few, when I'll rebound from bouts of awkwardness with a good line, delivered well. High five!

Years away, finds me here today, on my own and always on my way

Because, through a series of misfortunes, I was late for work yesterday, I was determined not to leave anything to chance and left the house several minutes earlier than usual this morning. I ended up arriving at work even later than I did yesterday. Here's how it happened.

As I said, I left the house earlier than usual. I had enough time to stop off at a gas station and purchase some windshield washer fluid and mints while an attendant put gas in my tank. I decided to go to Mr C's on Mystic Ave because they're the only place that seems to carry the mints I like. This meant I would have to travel my older, slightly longer, route. I looked at the clock; I had plenty of time.

When I hit Mystic Ave, it was backed up with traffic up by Mr. C's. No good, I thought. I made a u-turn and backtracked until I connected with my current route. I still had time to stop off at a gas station. About a minute later, I ended up behind a funeral procession. One of the hazards of this route is passing the funeral home; much like Mr. Gump's box of chocolates, you never know what you're gonna get.

The procession was long and I threw my hands up in resignation, knowing I was now going to be late to work again. And I no longer had time to stop at a gas station. I felt like the universe was being a big ol' bully and picking on me.I probably should have used the occasion of the funeral procession to put things into perspective, but I didn't, even though I felt like I should have. I'm doing it now, though, but the thing about lessons of perspective is you have to strike while the iron is hot.

I hauled some ass on 93, but I was still about fifteen minutes late to work. I apologized to Marcy and explained why I was late. She wasn't the least bit angry and shared a couple of her own misadventures with me.

We watched Obama's inauguration on one of the computer monitors. We had no sound, so I synced up NPR's broadcast with the internet feed. I should clarify: I attempted to sync up audio and video but there was a time delay with the feed --- it was about twenty seconds behind --- so the whole event had a weird vibe to it. Everyone was very pro Obama and booed every time Bush the younger was shown. I'm not sure about Obama yet, but I was all for the booing.

After work, I did some yoga and went for an abbreviated run. Tomorrow is the season premiere of Lost, an event some would say shares at least the same amount of importance as the inauguration. All I know is that I'm finally up to speed with the show and will no longer have to block my ears when people gossip about the show in my proximity. I have regained my sense of belonging. Thanks, Lost!

And goodnight, bitches.

There were chills up my spine, and some thrills I can't define

Been a few days, so a quick recap to get all y'all motherfuckers up to speed.

Went over to Mara's place on Friday night. She was sick and didn't hesitate to inform me that she was all better, that it had been a week already and she was just experiencing residual effects from her cold. I didn't argue with her -- it wasn't for me to interfere with her mind over matter approach -- but she sure seemed sick to me. Every time I asked if she was going to get me sick she would reply "How can I get you sick if I'm not sick?"

We watched Mad Men, a show I had heard about but not seen, and was hooked after the first episode. We watched another and, if Mara wasn't so ill and me tired, I would have lobbied to go one more round. Maybe, if she still has the dvd, I'll watch some more with her before we watch Lost on Wednesday.

Had a little dinner party Saturday night. Spira brought over Brad, a guy she just started seeing, some salad fixin's, and Trivial Pursuit. Janelle made Lentil burgers and her delicious Sangria. It was a fun night, my poor showing at TP notwithstanding.

Last night, Janelle and I watched the dvd of Herzog shorts, which were cool, and tonight we watched his Wild Blue Yonder, which was really cool. Herzog speaks to us on deeper levels than we're accustomed to. That is why we need him in our lives. Go rent some Herzog if you want something to stick some smelling salts up your dreary life's nose and remind you of your glory.

Yeah, the snow. I'm coping in the confines of winter's barren, frigid, wasteland pretty well by doing a lot of running and a lot of yoga. The running is especially beneficial: I'm not cooped up in the house all the time and consequently don't feel so claustrophobic. It ain't so bad, winter, but it is the only season I'd agree to abolish without a seconds thought.

Ok, I'm about to be as busy as a ball in a room full of puppies, so I'm out this piece, bitches.

A cold wind blows back into the coast of me

Despite the brutal cold, I went for a run after work. My resolve to do so didn't waiver all day, even after hearing coworkers gossip about how severe and deadly the weather was. I went out to my car at lunch to drop off a book and determined that it was cold, very cold, actually, but not cold enough to keep me from running.

After work, I spoke with Mara and told her my plans for the evening. "You're going running? Are you crazy?", she said.

The resolve I had maintained all day shrunk a little. "C'mon, it's not that bad", I replied.

"It's not good to run in the cold. You'll probably choke to death or something."

I hadn't heard that before. Mara is generally a reliable source of information; this bit about the choking gave me pause. "Are you serious? About the choking, I mean."

"I was half-kidding, but I do know it can't be good running in this weather. You should just stay in. Do some yoga. Why risk it?"

I told her I'd think about it. I guess I could do yoga, I thought, but I was really looking forward to running. I decided to get some cold weather running advise from my bff, the internet, and after I did, I decided to go for a run. Nowhere did I read about choking to death or anything else life threatening. Sure, running in this weather could adversely affect your heart, if you have heart trouble, and aggravate your asthma, if you have asthma, but my heart is pure and the only inhaler I've ever been seen with is Luke Warm, who can really inhale those goldfish crackers (it's true that he's a big fan; ask him if you don't believe me). I bundled up and hit the pavement-- because I'm a fucking WARRIOR, damn it!--and took a big dump on caution.

The first mile or so was the most difficult. When my body temperature rose to a comfortable level, the rest of the run was a breeze. I'm glad I went. If it was ten degrees colder, though, I probably would have stayed in.
--
Spira came by to do some laundry last night and, along with Janelle, the three of us hung out and watched some Curb Your Enthusiasm. It was good seeing Spira. Hadn't seen her in a while.

Watched Tropic Thunder the other night ---stop me if I've mentioned this before --- and enjoyed it. Robert Downey Jr. stole the show. Without his presence, the film would have been average at best. I shouldn't say that, especially considering all the FUCKING AWFUL so-called comedies Hollywood ejaculates all over the world's belly. Let's leave it at the movie would have been slightly above average without Robert Downey Jr. Happy now?

Going to be a Herzog weekend. I've got a collection of shorts he did and The Wild Blue Yonder coming tomorrow. Provided, that is, my mail carrier (like how I didn't write mail man? I'm not sexist like you) doesn't fuck with our mail. I doubt he will, but I did call the post office and rat him out for not taking our mail, a consequence I had feared when Rich was leaving nasty notes in the foyer for the mail man to PLEASE SHUT DOOR TIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm confident our mail will not be tampered with, but if it is, I will have to confront our mail carrier and throw Rich right under the bus about the notes. Then, only his mail will be effed with.

I love Herzog films -- they're the best-- and I can't wait to watch a bunch over the coming days. And I love Comanche Moon, which has been giving me much joy over the last couple of weeks. Oh, man, what am I going to do when I finish the book? No more Gus & Call, no more Buffalo Hump, no more Pea Eye, no more Innish Scull. Guess there will be nothing for it but to start reading Gossip Girls, which is now a popular television series, by the way.

Now I must go and do other stuff. Oh, and in case you're wondering, I closed out the Jazz in six. I schooled them in the last game, beating them by almost thirty points. Now, it's the Spurs, who are tough in the paint. They've got Big Ben and Jermaine O'neal, but I still beat 'em in game one. Let's see how I fare in game two. Stay tuned.

I still think he's better than Sammy

Well, it's all right, love is what you want, flying saucer take me away, give me your daughter

My neighbor, Steve, must read this blog. Around six thirty this morning I was extracted from a pleasant dream I was having by the sound of Steve's shovel colliding with his driveway. I jumped out of bed and looked out the window. How could this be? Didn't he already go to town and then some on his driveway yesterday? Yes, he did, which was why it looked like he was trying to shovel through the pavement. Fortunately, he gave up after a couple of minutes and I was able to fall back asleep. If he wasn't a nice guy -- and, really, he is for the most part -- I do believe I would have, despite my pure heart, yelled some not so nice things at him and perhaps given him the finger.

I opted not to turn on the radio at my desk this morning. I've had my fill of the River for a while. Yes, it is one of the more well-rounded stations in the area-- not often you'll hear XTC, Lou Reed, Bonnie Raitt, and The Smiths back to back anywhere else --but sometimes you're not in the moon for Counting Crows or Snow Patrol, ya dig? And besides, I had Everly Brothers songs running through my head all day, which was better than any radio station.

Steve Nash and his Jazz are making it a series. I took the first two at home and they took the next two to even the series. Both losses came down to the last few seconds. I won the next game and tonight I will try to close out the series in enemy territory. If I don't, it's game seven at home. Last game Chauncy Billups came alive for me and so did Andre Igoduala and James Posey. Who will be the heroes tonight? Do you still not care about this subject? Didn't think so, but I suspect somewhere deep within your frosty heart resides a deep, abiding, interest in it and will show itself in due time.

Watched A Woman Under The Influence with Janelle last night. What a film! Gena Rowlands blew our minds and Peter Faulk was no slouch, either. The scene where he got his kids drunk was disturbing.This is my first Cassavetes film, which I find surprising; thought I would have gotten to him much sooner.

Tonight, I may try to watch Tropic Thunder, though Comanche Moon has been so all around awesome that I may just read most of the night. Ok, it's time for game six. Wish me luck, bitches.

She got her TV eye on me

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It bites and it bleeds, and this desert turns to ocean over me

Haven't been inspired to write much lately. That's ok, these things happen. Well, I'm back at it now, which I guess means all is well in the universe. It will be a short post, however, but fret not: I plan on posting again tomorrow.

Janelle and I just shared a pizza from Pini's and watched a couple of episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm. Speaking of which, I hope there will be another season. I miss the Blacks.

Baby Boy Z has truly brought the ruckus to this house. We've shared playful moments, tender moments, humorous moments. The only issue I have with him is when he licks my hands and face after he's been getting sloppy with his balls and anus. It's a messy affair. Other than that, though, he's been a joy.

It was game one of the second round of the playoffs. My Grizzlies had just swept Baron Davis and his Nuggets and were now facing Steve Nash and his Jazz. I had come into the series with a cocky disposition after making quick work of the Nuggets. Right off the bat, I was beset with fouls, and the beneficiary was most always Steve Nash, who sunk all his shots. Before the end of the 1st, almost my entire team was in foul trouble. By the half, the Jazz were up by ten and I was barely keeping up with their ability to score at will. Between that and all the fouls, I was beleaguered and had practically given up hope heading into the 3rd. Help had arrived, though, in the form of Leandro Barbosa, who was filling in for a poor-playing Chauncey Billups. He lit it up! He took over the game and led the team to victory. He ended up with 28 points and like Baby Boy Z, he brought the ruckus. I did not see that coming. A game like that is why I own a Playstation. Ah, you don't care. Well, whatever, I was only writing this for Luke Warm's benefit, anyhow. He'll understand what I was talking about.

I watched Unforgiven this afternoon after getting a run and some cleaning out of the way. Tonight, I may watch A Woman Under The Influence or Tropic Thunder. Or, I may just cozy up with Comanche Moon on the couch as the snow outside once again ruins everybody's good time. Every one but me, that is. I plan on having a good time no matter what.

Jesus Christ was an only child, he went to the river and he drank and he smiled

At one point today, just to keep myself amused, I pictured friends of mine wearing the same outfit that Ricky Gervais is wearing in the video. Everyone looked ridiculous. I laughed and laughed. You will, too, if you try it. I was on my way to the rest room when I thought of it and when I came back to the office, I heard the song from the video on the radio. To borrow from Arsenio (you have been missed), it was something that made me go hmm.

Janelle and Zico, or Baby Boy Z, as I have decided to call him, rock the house. The house is beginning to look better than ever -- Janelle has the decorating touch -- and there is a nice, warm vibe throughout. I'm glad they're here.

We took Baby Boy Z to the dog park the other day and watched him play with the other dogs. We all had fun. It was particularly fun watching Janelle attempt to help Baby Boy Z extract a dingleberry from his caboose. I'm not sure she'd agree with me, however.

Had a dream in which I was in my parents basement by myself. I went over to the bar (my parents have a bar in their cellar. For all the times I pretended to be a bartender when I was growing up, I'm surprised I never became one) and behind it I saw a shimmering image appear. Slowly, it took on the shape of an old man. I was spooked. He started talking to me in a pretty calm voice, but I wasn't hearing any of it. I backed away as he approached me. He then morphed into a dwarf that resembled Weng Weng. I freaked out and ran upstairs.

High strangeness.

What makes the dream particularly strange to me is that when the old man appeared, it was as if he wasn't a part of the dream, and that was the central reason why I was so freaked out. If he had showed up at my door, I would not have felt threatened by him. Why would I? He was an old man who spoke calmly. Anyway, I wonder if some dream walker out there crashed mine.

Rude.

Had a great run tonight. Managed about three and a half miles.I wore my new running tights for the first time. Spira cringes every time I refer to them as tights, but I say it because that's what they were called on the order form. It's really annoying when she does it. Why can't she be like the rest of the ladies and moan like she's on the verge of an orgasm when I talk about my tights? Ah, she must be gay. There's no other explanation.

Next post I'll present my anything-goes bucket list. It's going to be brutal.

Well, I'm standing with my head bowed down, that aint right, that aint wrong

I had a talk with Rich tonight about his outburst. It went well. I was able to make the points I wanted to make as reasonably as I could have hoped for and without him becoming defensive. Turns out he was pissed the other night, but not so much at me. He felt the heat was cycling too much to begin with, which he didn't like because it indicated a drafty house, and when I came along and turned the heat up, it only compounded his aggravation. That's his story, at least, which, for the sake of maintaining peace in the realm, I'm inclined to accept.

Janelle will be spending her first night here tonight. She is over worked and aching. She should sleep well, provided the screaming leads from my guitar don't wake her up. No amp should be played below ten. Not in this man's army.

Maureen told me she'd rather be home reading. We were standing at the copier and my interest was immediately aroused. I quickly made mental guesses at which book she was reading. Maureen is sweet and grandmotherly; I pegged her for either Austen or someone hand-picked by Oprah. The latter guess was correct, but in the best way possible. She was reading Cormac McCarthy's The Road, a book I loved, even though it reached Grisham status and ran the risk of being played out before it's time. We discussed his writing style -- she kind of liked the lack of quotations -- and I told her I'm currently reading Blood Meridian, a more challenging work than The Road, but equally rewarding.

She was loving The Road and asked if she should take a swipe at Blood Meridian. I thought of all the violence in the book, the horrible murders, all the scalping. "The violence is brutal and frequent, but it's a great read", I said.

"Oh, I don't mind that. I like that kind of stuff."

Wow. Hmm, let's see if she's the real deal. "Ever read McMurtry?", I asked.

She lit up. "Oh, I love Lonesome Dove! I read it once a year. I loved all the books in the series."

"Me too!", I burst out in glee. "I'm reading Comanche Moon and once I'm through I'll be done with the series. I'll be wearing mourning-black for a month."

I wanted to split work and take Maureen out for some coffee and talk books. I never would have thought this sweet woman, "Nana Moe", as her grand kids call her, would have the same taste in literature. If she tells me she's a fan of Herzog, loves Poland Springs mandarin sparkling water, and thinks Luke Warm is a dummy for slagging Adaptation, I will marry her and make love to her every day and every night, even though I am not even close to being attracted to her. And if she hates Crocs, those ridiculous shoes, then I'll get a tattoo of her face on my face. And at the bottom of my neck, I'll have "We are twin souls" with an arrow pointing up to my face(s) also tattooed. Top that, big shot!

Speaking of Crocs, Maureen told me that some schools were banning them for some reason. I told her that was the best news I'd heard in the last three months.

Ok, off to finish watching the amazing documentary Paradise Lost. It's almost as long as Seven Samurai, and almost as riveting.

Your daddy works in porno, now that mommy's not around, she used to love her heroin, but now she's underground

New Year. Yeah, so? Is it going to put food on my plate, comfort me when I need comforting, pay for my baby's diapers? I didn't think so. So why all the celebrating?

Forgive me for being a downer, I'm sleepy. I think I only got an hour or two of sleep last night, which in no way reflects the evening I had. I just couldn't sleep. First time in a long time. I tried taking a nap today but when I lay back in bed and shut my eyes, Steve started shoveling noisily outside my window. Somehow he knows to start making a racket at the most inopportune times. He's got the shine.

I got out of bed and peaked out the window. His driveway had been thoroughly cleared last night, so much so that in most areas the driveway itself was visible. This, however, did not prevent Steve from having a go at it. I watched him apply his shovel to the few areas where the snow lay. He moved a couple of trash barrels away from the side of his house so he could shovel away the snow that collected there. He kept it up for about an hour. I gave up on napping. Chalk up another victory for Steve. Best of luck with the OCD, my friend.

Speaking of OCD, Rich threw a little tantrum last night about the heat. Getting tired of reading about our heating issues yet? It's beginning to be a daily issue with this clown. Winter Rich is a son of a bitch. Hey, that rhymed! That will be the mantra until spring: Winter Rich is a son of a bitch. Love it!

Anyhow, around midnight last night, I was sitting in bed and noticed that the house had become noticeably cooler. I was about to go pick up Mara, so I figured I'd turn up the heat a bit, so that the house would be at a comfortable temperature by the time we got back. The thermostat read 62 degrees before I turned it up to 65. No wonder I was freezing.

I went upstairs and put my jacket on. I didn't bother closing my door. I knew, based on previous experience, that Rich would be coming out of his room to see what I did to the thermostat. Sure enough, he did that very thing about a minute after I changed the temp. He didn't realize that I could see him from my vantage point at the top of the stairs and that's when he threw his little tantrum.

"You've got to be kidding me!" he said in absolute disbelief. "Jesus fucking Christ! What the fuck!"

As he was spitting out that last bit, I made my way down the stairs. He was walking back to his room and looked surprised to see me. I asked him if he had anything to say to me. He answered by not saying anything at all and retreating back to his room.

I know a lot of people who are energy-conscious that keep the heat, especially when it's frigid like it was last night, higher than I had it. Rich acted as if I turned the heat up to 80. My father, a man who will go to practically any lengths to save on utility bills, laughed when I told him what Rich did. "Even I keep the heat higher than what you had it at", he said.

My position regarding the heat has always leaned towards conservation while being comfortable. Rich patrols the apartment like a power-mad hall monitor when it comes to the heat and I'm just about sick of it.

My first instinct was to give him an ultimatum: Layoff on the heat or find a new place to live. I still feel that way more or less, but after talking with Janelle about it earlier this evening, I'm confident this matter can be dealt with diplomatically. I'm trying to keep in mind that Rich has other issues that are contributing to his behavior regarding the heat and that I should at least try to be sympathetic. That only goes so far, though.

Back to work tomorrow. I really, really, hope it doesn't snow. I'm already well past being sick of it.