Dammit, I'm reviewing "War of the Worlds" at 2am.

I promise you people too much and then go eat wings and drink beer instead of doing what I promise. What's wrong with me? Anyway, here's the review.

Y'know, I thought I hated Tom Cruise.

At least, I hate him nowadays. The media can make you hate someone so easily, can't they? Just throw them on repeat with whatever stupid crap they might happen to say and we're all riled up and marching on their house with torches and pitchforks. I'm a part of that club now, keep in mind. But what boggled me is that I own eight DVDs in which Tom Cruise appears. EIGHT! The law of averages would tell me it will end up this way, what with me owning over 600 DVDs and all, but I'm realizing now that it's not Tom Cruise the actor I hate, but Tom Cruise the persona. Even I can admit that the dude owned in Collateral and that I love Rain Man. But damn if his persona outside of movies is just an egotistical prick. At least he's an egotistical prick who seems to pick the right projects.

With that said, if you can't even accept Tom Cruise as an actor, you probably shouldn't go see War of the Worlds. Not just because he's in it, but because he's in literally every scene. And somehow, that ends up being the strength of the movie. We are there with him and his two kids through what amounts to a bloody worldwide apocalypse. It's not just that he's the typical Steven Spielberg absentee father. It's that he becomes the cipher for the audience as humanity is literally destroyed before our eyes. Short of opening and closing montages, we never see anything that isn't through his eyes. We learn to care about his kids as he does. We somehow get put in Tom Cruise's shoes.. And we don't mind. That's damn good film making. And that's what we really haven't received from Spielberg since those opening 25 minutes of Saving Private Ryan back in 1998.

In a lot of ways, this movie is more like Saving Private Ryan than Close Encounters of the Third Kind or E.T. Don't let the ads fool you. This is not some fun sci-fi adventure movie. This is not Independence Day with Tom Cruise and Steven Spielberg making it. This is a goddamn war movie. This family, along with humanity in general, gets absolutely put through the wringer. As one of my friends put it, "at times, I felt like I was in Warsaw when the Nazis came through." It really does have the feel of a war movie filmed from the point of view of defenseless civilians. Except all of humanity is presented as defenseless civilians. We never get a larger world view of what's going on. We hear rumors of how the Japanese were able to fight back... We hear how Europe was wiped out. We hear how Europe were the only ones left untouched. We hear what we'd hear if suddenly our modern television and phones and internet were suddenly rendered completely worthless. All news is reduced to unconfirmed rumor. This movie plays everything as realistically as possible. Riots break out. People literally kill each other for a working car. Nowhere is safe. The movie fosters this paranoid, claustrophobic, defenseless feeling for a solid 100 minutes. And for 100 minutes, it's absolutely a top-of-the-line, best-thing-I've seen all-year 4-star movie.

And then they go and blow it by rushing the last 15. God, how I hate when this happens. The whole movie is like a top that's spinning perfectly, longer than any top you've ever spun. But in the back of your mind, you know it's going to have to end. And the only way it can end is to come crashing down. And that's pretty much what happens in this movie. We spend so long building up this feeling of no way out, only to thwart it with a cop-out which is made even worse by the fact that the humans actually learn to fight back only moments before. Then to not be able to use this knowledge in the end? It feels like a ripoff, and it is. Those who have read the book will know how the aliens are defeated. From what I've been told, it's as abrupt in the book as it is on screen. That's a damn shame.

The good? The acting is phenomenal (Dakota Fanning in particular), as are the effects. I'm somewhat surprised at the PG-13 rating, considering the carnage that is unleashed on a global scale. Let there be no doubt, though, this carnage comes on a very personal level, very quickly. The aliens appear not even 15 minutes into the movie, so rest assured that they have plenty of time to keep themselves busy. There's one shot in particular that still amazes me -- it involves a speeding minivan and some camera work that weaves in and out of the vehicle, circling the van and then going back inside. It's an amazing shot, just as impressive as the giant tripod walkers that emerge from underground and unleash chaos on a global scale. The sound work for them is phenomenal as well. Every cent of that monstrous budget is up on screen, and it shows.

The bad? Well, that last 15 minutes. Not that it's THAT bad. This isn't Signs, thankfully. It's just that it's rushed to a point of frustration, with some key dialogue inaudible, unfortunately. I didn't mind the last 5 minutes as much as some did. Having seen enough Spielberg films, I saw it coming. And to be totally honest, after what we'd been through, I was kind of glad that it did end that way. I can understand why this ending will drive some people absolutely bonkers, though. Can't say I blame them. One other small nitpick I have is that when we see the aliens, they look far too similar to the ones from Independence Day. They had a chance to do something unique with them and didn't. At least the way they move is unique, but in a movie with such a similar theme, you'd think they'd go a different direction.

The rating? 3.5 out of 4 stars. Everything that comes before is so good that I can only take a half-star off for the rushed ending. This is the type of film that needs to be seen on a big screen to be enjoyed, Tom Cruise be damned...

Proof that a god exists.

And he hates rich people that fly planes.

It's probably because they have no soul.

War of the Worlds review later tonight.

A change of plans for a Monday.

I'm going to the War of the Worlds preview screening tonight. It helps to have friends in different media outets.

Fingers crossed that Tom Cruise dies in it.

Painfully.

I helped my community yesterday.

My workplace asked me to participate in a United Way event at a local elementary school. The theme was "Survivor" and it meant our team would be competing against teams from other companies in tests of smarts and athletics. Unfortunately, it was more smarts than athletics, but that was okay. It was like 120 degrees and humid outside, so smarts were fine. We were all paired up with a child from the elementary school where the event would be held.

Before I begin, a little bit about the school first. It's located in the northwest corner of Jacksonville. Anyone that knows anything about the northwest corner of Jacksonville knows that you don't willingly go there. Ever. All you'll find are pawn shops, gun shops and the occasional Hardee's. Along with lots and lots of low-income housing and industrial districts. It's not the nice part of town, by any stretch. Yet here in this area of town is a beautiful little elementary school. It's an "A" school on Florida's odd grading scale thing they do. It has good kids, which is even cooler, considering the backgrounds and neighborhoods they come from are not particularly conducive to good kid behavior.

Our group had six kids, three boys and three girls. This worked out well, since we had six men and six women from our company. The kids were happy to be paired up with us, since our group's oldest member was in his early-30's. Every other team was full of 40-50 year olds, so they felt a little better when we actually knew some of the TV shows and music they were talking about. Of course, we adults lamented the fact that we all knew the words to Technotronic's "Pump Up The Jam" which was released three or four years before any of these kids were born (it was one of the "Jock Jams" type songs they were playing on the PA during lunch). Why our brains have the capacity to remember the words to that song and not a thousand other much better songs is beyond me. The kids also loved our team because of Patrick. Patrick is awesome. He has gold teeth (some diamond-studded), braided Allen Iverson-type hair and never took his sunglasses off the entire time we were there, indoors or not. The kids could not get enough of him. While the other teams were making up cheers (one of the required activities) we were making up dumb nicknames for all the other teams. It was great. Let it be said that I never had any school spirit... And still don't, obviously.

We went outside to start our events. The first involved us picking ten letters and then using those letters to make as many words as possible. Ten of us wore letters, the other two were supposed to arrange us however we needed to be to form words. Needless to say, it didn't work out that way. It pretty much became everyone shouting words and running around in circles with Patrick screaming loudest, unintentionally trying to get us to misspell everything. We came in 4th out of eight teams. That wasn't gonna cut it.

The next event was a race, where we were supposed to use two boards with four bungee cords on them with a team of four using the boards like skis to move forward. That looked way too hard and required way too much coordination, so we decided to lay the first board straight, walked across it and then just tossed the one in the back to the front, kind of doing the boards leapfrog style. We beat every other team by at least a minute, some almost five minutes. Smarter, faster. Our kids liked it because it gave them more time to talk trash at the other teams who were struggling big time. Needless to say, we had to reign them in a bit. Even if they were showing some competitive spirit there.

After that was a "brainy" event. It was a list of 20 word puzzles. You know, the kind where they have something like "you/just/me" and it means "just between you and me" or "GESG" means "scrambled eggs." I kind of took over on this event, I've gotta admit. I tried to give the kids a chance to get some right, but they just weren't getting anywhere with it. Patrick was no help, shockingly. Everybody wanted to win and something had to be done. I got down to it and rattled off twelve of them in a row, kind of taking everyone by surprise. The kids must think I'm an athletic, non-paralyzed, non robot-voiced Stephen Hawking now. If they knew who Stephen Hawking was, that is. We ended up with 15 out of 20, because some of them were pretty dumb. "HO" was "half-hour." We were too busy snickering at "ho" being on there. Sorry. I also missed "PAS" meaning "incomplete pass." I'll be ready for next time, though. We ended up tied for first in that event. Rock.

The next event involved putting together a giant puzzle, with around 30 pieces. The pieces were about two feet wide or so, and we had 5 minutes to keep putting it together as many times as we could. Whoever had the fastest single time after 5 minutes was the winner. We put it together in about 65 seconds the first time. We eventually got our time down to 45 seconds, which was pretty awesome because we heard one team cheering at about the four minute mark after finally getting it put together for their first time. Clearly, we were dealing with amateurs. 45 seconds earned us 1st place in yet another event.

The final event involved the cheers we came up with earlier (or hadn't bothered to do, as was our case). We had to go give our team chant in front of three judges. We really hoped our victories in 3 of the previous 4 events would be enough to carry us to the title, because we were pretty much screwed in this one, especially compared to the other, much more enthusiastic and much dorkier teams. What we ended up with involved the three boys (who had all seen Drumline way, way too many times) doing a dance routine and the rest of us in the back clapping and then doing some chant about the east, south, north, west and our team being the best or something. We were not the best at that event, sorry to say. School spirit was again the loser on this day. We came in 7th.

Was it enough? What do you think? Would I have written a post this long if not? After the coordinator told us how, "everybody was a winner," and how it was great that we, "were all such good sports," (despite my team being horrible sports, to be bluntly honest -- I mean, the only chant we were good at was when we told the other team to "FALL!" during the event with the boards) our team was awarded first place. One of the dorky teams we had made fun of earlier even made a chant up for us. Needless to say, it was better than our chant. The kids were absolutely thrilled at winning, which made all of the, "You better not touch that puzzle piece or I WILL hurt you, Deronte..."s worth it. Actually, no, I never said that. Somebody else did. Honest. We all gave the kids bags full of goodies like bobbleheads and t-shirts and other stuff, which was loads of fun. The kids thanked us for being the cool team and winning, which really did feel good.

If your office ever asks you to do something like this, you should consider it. It certainly beat a Friday afternoon in the office stuck in a cubicle staring at a computer screen. Besides, I got a cool medal that looks like this:



Pretty cool, even if Patrick said it needed more "bling." I disagreed, its blatant copyright infringement seemed to do the job just fine. Anyway, you guys deserve at least one picture for reading this far and receiving so few jokes for it.

It's Mark's birthday today.

Go over and wish Mark a happy birthday.

Tell him how old he is and stuff.

Happy B-day, dude.

I paid my speeding ticket.

So, I decided not to fight the speeding ticket and went to the DMV on my lunch break. Luckily it's not too far from work and there weren't too many derelicts in line ahead of me. I'm waiting in line bored because there's no cute girls in line to have the, "so, what'd they catch you doing?" conversation. The only person I end up talking to is an old man in front of me in line who just can't tell stories as well as my neighbor Lillian used to. I mean, both of his stories SUCKED. The cop did tag him for the lamest ticket ever, though. Something about improperly pulling over. What kind of dick cop gives an old man a ticket for actually pulling over, just in the wrong place? Weak. The cop probably gave him a ticket for telling a lame story. I could see that.

Anyway, I get through the line and approach my teller drone girl to pay my fine and tell her I'm going to traffic school. As I'm swearing that I haven't been in the last 12 months and more than five times in my life, my attention is drawn to the front door. There's this guy just outside and he is absolutely FREAKING OUT. He's just knocked over the table of the lady who's taking names for some lame petition about voter representation or something like that. He's screaming, but what he's screaming doesn't seem to make any sense. He bolts off, screaming more. Everybody inside is like, "what the hell just happened?" The lady outside is pissed. She's yelling at crazy guy when this other dude comes around the corner. This guy's t-shirt is absolutely coated in blood. I'm thinking, "holy shit, this dude is coated in blood," and suddenly he just attacks the petition lady. I mean he's gotta be high on something because he's just clawing at her with his bare hands and biting her. She is, understandably, screaming and freaking out worse than the first dude. By now the cop that was inside making his way out is all over this, trying to pry the guy off the lady, and all three are quickly coated in blood. The cop isn't having any luck restraining the guy, because he's flailing about wildly, biting at the air. Backup isn't showing up quick enough, and the cop didn't look to be in the best shape, physically. It looked like the crazy dude was getting the upper hand in the wrestling match going on.

And then it happens.

Crazy bloody dude flings himself around and both he and the cop come crashing through the front window of the DMV.

HOLY SHIT.

Now the cop and the crazy dude are sliced up and even bloodier, laying underneath the now-shattered window pane. The lady outside is getting up, bloody and frazzled. Her neck is bleeding pretty bad; the guy must've bitten her deep. She's crawling through the glass of the window, obviously in shock. Old Man With Crappy Stories (who was making his way out when everything went down) is asking the cop if he's okay. To Old Man and everybody else's surprise, both the cop and crazy dude get up. They decide to stop fighting each other and grab the old man. They toss him down to the floor and suddenly petition lady joins in too, clawing and biting at this guy. They make quick work of him, literally tearing him to shreds. Then they start walking slowly towards the rest of us inside, moaning "brainssssssssss....."

It's then that I snap out of it, pay my fine and leave.

What did you expect? Nothing of note happened at the DMV. I ate a turkey, ham & bacon melt at Subway afterwards. I actually made it back in time to save myself 15 minutes on my timecard. Thrilling, I know.

Weird dreams return.

It's been quite a while since I last posted about my dreams. This is because I really haven't had any since then, since my sleep pattern has been especially shot to hell lately. Jet lag and daylight savings really gave me the old one-two punch there. I'm finally back to a somewhat normal schedule now. And it only took two months! What does a regular sleep schedule mean? Dream time! Even better, it means crappy dream time!

My dream consisted of me losing my teeth. Not just waking up with them gone, but them falling out while trying to talk to people. And not just spitting chiclets into my hand or anything, but dark, crimson, bloody rotten teeth falling out of my mouth. It was kind of nasty. It was made even more frustrating by the fact that my ability to speak got worse with every tooth lost, and nobody was even noticing that they were falling out. They just thought I was retarded or something and couldn't speak properly. I'm sitting there going, "hello! teeth falling out here!" But it was coming out to them sounding like "merrow, feeh furrmgh ow here," so it's not wonder they were ignoring me. The way my dreams typically go, even if they did understand me, they'd be telling me that I should've brushed my teeth more often and then walked away.

OK peeps, give me the analysis on this one. Fear of growing older? Dementia? Early stages of syphilis? Fear of my dentist and/or my toothbrush? Let's hear it.

Gotta bump the picture quota back up.

I realized my blog had become almost all text, and nobody wants to sit through that. In order to combat this, I present completely random photos taken during my trip to England in April (yes, the one I didn't bother to finish recapping). Anonymous Midwest Girl will appreciate the first one. Hold your mouse over the photos for extra fun!



I love how the name of the restaurant is a call to action. You know what you do here. There's no discussion. Now I need to open a bar simply called DRINK. Don't even bother trying to beat me to that one by the way, I already copyrighted it. Suckas.



Speaking of drinking, this was the single sweetest drink I have ever had. Imagine a blend of Yoo Hoo, chocolate milk made from whole milk and caramel mixed into one bottle in equal proportions. I went outside and picked up a car after drinking this. Granted, it was one of those microscopic little Ford Ka's that so popular over there, but still.



You will see this on almost every crosswalk in London. It just seems like the perfect bit of advice. It can apply to crossing the street, or going to a job interview, or preparing for that big date. So many possibilities, and they make sure you remember it by posting it on the ground every 20 yards or so.



This is more good advice. They even sell underwear with this written on it. If any future girlfriend of mine is wearing a pair of those whenever I'm lucky enough to watch her get undressed for me, I may ask her to marry me right then and there for being so awesome. I'm not even joking. I know, I know, I'm a total romantic.



It's not just fried chicken... It's American Fried Chicken. They love their fried chicken over there in London. I swear to you, fried chicken stands are more popular in London than Dunkin Donuts shops in New England. There was a KFC the size of 3 football fields there. I'm not even exaggerating. Well, maybe a little. Anyway, it was PACKED. Go figure.



These little things were the best buy in Oslo. They were little lemon cookies and they only cost 10 kroners (about $1.50). This was all my sister and I ate pretty much the entire weekend we were in Oslo, because we could barely afford anything else. We did save money for beer, though. Gotta have priorities.

Just because I put these up, don't expect me to post the rest of my trip recap. I forgot all of it anyway. Sorry.

I learned to drive a manual transmission vehicle!

A friend from work taught me today. I learned how to do it in the parking lot of a long-abandoned Miami Subs. I know, it's taken me way, way too long to learn, but at least I know pretty well how to do it now. I figure it will come in handy if I'm ever a contestant on The Amazing Race. Do not think this gives you license to make me designated driver any time soon, though.

I also just noticed today how similar urine and Red Bull look. I'm too used to drinking Red Bull straight out of the can or being already plastered by the time the drink is ordered at the bar. I just poured one out this evening so I could prepare myself a Red Bull and vodka and it's kind of grody looking. I have also realized that Red Bull is one of the few beverages that actually tastes better with alcohol added to it. I guess it's the Stoli I added in, which is described on the neck of the bottle as "Genuine Russian Flavored Vodka." I have never dated a Russian girl before, but I'll let you know if she tastes like Stoli Vodka when the time comes. No, I am not a cannibal.

Nobody ever says "grody" anymore. I kind of miss that word. It's a fun word. Grody to the max is even more fun to say. I am sure VH1 just jotted that down for a new show concept.

Enjoy your Saturday, people.

It really is a shame.

Y'know, it's a low down dirty shame that nobody takes pictures at funerals, 'cause y'know what? I was lookin' goooooooooood. Well, that is, until I went outside in the 96 degree heat with a 104 degree heat index due to god-fearing humidity and was pretty much instantly soaked since my very stylish black pants, blue long-sleeved-shirt, very sharp-but-properly-subdued tie and badass sports jacket ensemble were a little too much for that type of weather. It's not like I had a choice, though. Oh yeah, and all that crap you hear about your head being cooler after you shave it?

THAT'S A GODDAMN LIE.

All shaving your head does is open it up to getting sunburned, along with the sweat more readily running into your eyes since you don't have hair to catch any of it. Unless you've got like a giant cro-magnon monkey unibrow, but even then I'm betting you're still gonna get sweat in your eyes. I actually had to take a shower and change before going back to work for the afternoon. Damn those Nordic genes of mine. And my lack of sweat-deflecting monkey unibrow.

Anyway, the funeral service was very nice. The pastor said lots of nice things and referenced many scriptures that I have already forgotten, except for the one that sounded like that Byrds song that talked about a time to live and a time to die and a time to do acid and a time to go to narcotics anonymous meetings and a time for everything under the sun and all that. And yeah, I know the bible came before the Byrds song, so they probably copied it. I just don't want anybody getting all snarky in the comments on me thinking I don't know my shit. But yeah, the funeral was nice because our society tends to lionize people once they've died, but everything that was said today rung true to me. She really was a good human being who deserved all of the kind words that were said about her.

Yes, I was gonna put up an entire post about how nice the funeral was and all of that, but I'm back to being shallow and self-centered so a paragraph of that and the other stuff about unibrows and what I was wearing gets the other 2/3rds. Sorry, only a couple sentences of genuine is all you get. I have a blog, after all, and must do my part to maintain the shallow self-centered attention-whore stereotype that we bloggers share.

A question of etiquette.

Alright, so I went to the wake for my neighbor tonight. As anyone who has been to a funeral home can tell you, there's always a second wake going on whenever you're there. This wake will almost always have more people there because, well, you don't hang out with people cool enough to have a gigantic funeral. Or you hang out with people who are much more selective about their friends and thus, much cooler. Your choice of how you want to look at it. Anyway, my mom is in town with me and I'm heading to the wake for my neighbor. We get to the funeral home, tell the doorperson which wake we're attending and proceed past the packed wake in the front room. As we're going by to our smaller wake room, there's a girl walking out of the other wake, presumably to use the restroom or something.

This girl is way, way hot.

She's one of those little petite blonde girls that just drives me crazy. Well, little petite brunette girls drive me crazy too, but this one in particular was blonde. So, we walk by her, I give her a little smile since I can't give too big a smile since I'm going to a wake and all. It's the smile that says, "hey, it's good to see you, though I wish it was under better circumstances." It was perfect for the occasion. She gives the same little smile right back and then disappears down a side hallway. I proceed into the wake for my neighbor. I am, of course, consolatory and understanding towards all, telling nice, occasionally funny stories about my neighbor to members of her family that I've never met before and will never see again after tomorrow's funeral. All the time I'm doing this, my mind is racing; plotting; calculating. I'm trying to figure out a way to disengage myself from this wake to get to the other wake to find this little petite knockout. Of course, I would have to ditch my mom for long enough to get the girl's number while simultaneously not letting any of the other wake attendees spot me long enough to recognize what I'm doing. Even if I could successfully pull that off, there's the matter of finding the girl and getting her number while we're both attending a wake for the recently deceased. Tricky situation.

If this were the movies, I'd be able to sweep my way in, charming all attendees of the wake despite not even remotely knowing the deceased. I'd find my little blonde and sing something like Bobby Darin's "Beyond The Sea" while a big band suddenly appears out of nowhere and everyone joins in on a fantastic dance number, turning a somber event into a joyous celebration of life and love with balloons and confetti and a little platform in the middle of the room that would rise up with the two of us on it, culminating in a kiss while the music reaches a big crescendo and all is right with the world and nobody is sad anymore and I get her phone number.

In the real world, the encounter would go something like this...

I kind of work my way around the side of the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of this girl. I spot her and eventually find a moment where she's not talking to anyone and make my move. Tenatively approaching her, the conversation begins.

Me: "Hi, I'm Maki. I usually have much more tact than this, but..."
Her: "Um, hi?"
Me: "Um, yeah, hi, um, yeah, I passed by you on my way in and I was, um, realizing that I'm really not likely to ever see you again, so I'm just going to come out and ask if you'd like to meet for a cup of coffee later."
Her: "I'm at my boyfriend's funeral and you're asking me out for coffee later? Are you even human? I HOPE YOU DIE OF GONORRHEA MOTHERFUCKER."
Me: "Um, yeah, I'm gonna take that as a no. Sorry for your loss."

At this point I am told by my neighbor's family that it would be appreciated if I didn't attend the funeral tomorrow. My mom shakes her head and once again laments the fact that I'm never going to give her any grandchildren. Maki goes home, tries to play Halo 2 on Xbox Live, gets called a racial epithet over the internet by a 10-year-old and then goes to bed alone.

So yeah, maybe trying to pick up a girl at the funeral home is a bad idea. Just a little FYI for you guys.

Dumb stuff returns (briefly)!

I am such a Star Wars dork and I don't care.

It took him 25 to get DVD. He lies in the beginning...

I have nothing pointless and dumb to say today.

I learned today that my next door neighbor died on Monday morning. This did not come as a shock. She was 84 years old and her health was deteriorating rapidly. She told me as much. When the ambulances arrived Sunday night, I figured things were bad. When I heard the knock on the door as soon as I got home and her son was outside, I knew the news was coming. It's times like this that your mind rationalizes things and you try to focus on the positives. "At least her mind was still sharp." "At least she wasn't hooked up to all sorts of machines. She would have hated that." You think stuff like that to feel better about the fact that someone has passed away. It's weird, but I guess a natural part of that process.

What I didn't expect was when her son asked me to be a pallbearer at her funeral. It's a weird thing to deal with, because in a certain way, it's an honor to be one of those who is a part of the final witness to someone's life. On the other hand, it's not a responsibility you necessarily want. Sure, if a direct family member or one of my best friends were to pass away, I'd certainly expect it. But when it's someone else that you knew and were friendly with, but weren't exactly family and you didn't talk to every day or even every week... Well, you figure there's someone who was a better friend, someone more worthy of being there than you. But then again, maybe I'm just doubting myself and my value to her. Maybe our conversations meant enough to her and her family to ask me to be there. Maybe me watching her cat while she went on a cruise and her taking care of my two cats on some of my many vacations meant more to a little old lady than I thought. I certainly hope that's the case. I know I'm still sure my cats liked her a lot better than they do me.

You learn a lot about someone, living next door to them for four years. For better or worse, if there's one thing she could do, it was talk and talk and talk. I can remember when we were introduced, how she told me she was "seventy-nine-and-a-half." My mom always loved that. Nobody ever counts those half-years anymore, do they? She did, and took pride in that extra half-year. She told me about how she'd been parasailing in Mexico a couple months before (and had the pictures to prove it). She would tell me about her two sons -- one an FSU graduate, the other a UF graduate -- and their yearly bet and yearly phone call once the big football game was over. She'd tell me about how the neighborhood had changed in the time she'd been there. She'd certainly know, considering she'd lived in that house since it's construction in 1948. I remember my friend Amy spending my entire housewarming party talking to her. I think they both had the best time of anybody at that party (well, anybody that wasn't drunk). She drove a little convertible Mazda Miata. She mowed her own lawn (and would accept no help) until a few months ago. She really was the coolest little old lady. I'm gonna miss her.

I promise I'll post dumb funny stuff again. Just not today. I'm feeling too sentimental, as you can tell.

Who's up for another NBA Finals defensive BATTLE?

84-69, Spurs.

NBA action is FANTASTIC!

I tried to play some Halo 2 again.

Yup, I still suck. What makes it worse is that there's 10-year-olds telling me I suck while constantly using racial epithets. If only they realized that in the real world where you interact with other human beings face-to-face even a little white 10-year-old will get the shit kicked out of him for calling someone a "nigger." Hell, I'm white and I'd kick the shit out of him without hesitation. And not just because he trashed me in Halo.

I weep for the youth. Really, I do.

A good drive spoiled.

Ever have one of those days where the sun is shining, the breeze is nice, the tunes on the stereo are good and the road is wide open? Ever have a cop suddenly standing in the middle of that wide-open road waving at you to pull over? Ever been confused because you thought there was an accident up ahead or something until you're suddenly being asked for your license, registration and proof of insurance?

Crap. Crap. Mega crap. Yeah, there's nothing that'll take the fun out of driving on a beautiful day more than a cop nailing you for going 42 mph in a 30 mph zone. Even worse when it's only 3 blocks from your house. Speed traps are the work of the devil, I tell ya. I didn't even get a chance to argue or state my case once she pulled me over -- she had crime to fight, dammit! Wasn't no criminal gonna keep her from her county-appointed duties! People need to realize that the hill they're going down is FUCKING DANGEROUS. Every car that goes down that hill is a MENACE TO SOCIETY. It's a good thing I was shown the error of my ways. Along with pretty much every other car that happened to drive by while they weren't in the process of physically writing up a ticket.

God damn it all to hell.

This means I have to go to traffic school... AGAIN. This will be time number 4. I guess a couple years is pretty much how long it takes for me to forget all the safe things that traffic school teaches me. Like not to use drugs. And to wear my seat belt. And not to use drugs. And not to follow other cars too closely. And not to use drugs. And not to drink and drive. And not to use drugs.* Of course, I'm the guy who obeys traffic laws 98% of the time and doesn't do drugs, so naturally I keep ending up in this class because I do the wrong thing at the wrong time and some cop who was picked on when she was little and now has the power to get back at all those who once wronged her has caught me enjoying my day and pressing the gas pedal a little too hard going down a hill. Or maybe the county coffers are running a little dry and they need my $151. Who knows?

Things could always be worse, though. I could've gotten tasered.


* Yes, I stole this from Mark Michaels, who used this joke a few weeks ago already. It's funny because it's true.

Holy crap, somebody needs to give me an early birthday present...

Seriously.



The best album of the '90s (and my second favorite album of all time) now has a deluxe edition? One of those really sharp deluxe editions by Universal with an entire second disc of extras and one of those really snazzy booklets full of notes and factoids about the making of the album? HOLY FRIGGIN CRAP. If anybody out there loves me, you will buy this for me and get overnight delivery. I'm not even joking. I'm about to order it on Amazon so as not to take any chances. I wanted to give you guys an opportunity to prove your love to me, but I can't wait that long. Sorry. I need this like a meth addict needs junk. LIKE RIGHT NOW ISN'T SOON ENOUGH.

If you haven't ever heard this album before, shame on you. If you've heard it and don't own a copy, shame on you even more. E-mail me at (bigmaki at gmail dot com) and I will send you goodness. I love this album. Everybody needs to hear it at least once, even if they don't "get" it. Everybody except people who think "Hollaback Girl" is "SOOOOOOOOO GOOOOOD!!!!!" Those people need to kill themselves. Immediately. Thank you for your cooperation, shitty music lovers.

Wow, "The Dude Has Got No Mercy" t-shirts, Sopranos Season 5 and a deluxe 2-disc version of DJ Shadow's Endtroducing... are all available at the same time. Bless the baby angel who is in charge of days like today.

Anyone who hasn't seen Episode 3 and doesn't believe me...

Go here now!

This is my new favorite site. It cracks me up every time I go. I'll also point out that the sound isn't altered in any way. It really does sound that retarded. Have fun.

Just noticed: It doesn't seem to work in Firefox, only Internet Explorer. Go figure.

Also, new links added on the right. Enjoy.

For those of you keeping score...

... I've got an extended sports analogy for you! We guys can equate anything to a sports analogy. It's what we do instead of talking about feelings and what diet we're on and Oprah and crap. I have no Oprah analogies for you, at least not today. Sorry. Anyway, few of you will get what I'm talking about or who I'm referring to, but that's 90% of my blog, now that I think about it. Thanks for still reading! You'll find my analogy at the end there. I know, that means you've gotta read the whole thing to get to the weak sports analogy. Too bad. Life is hard, and this blog is just another reminder. Wuss.

OK, back to regularly scheduled programming. I was in Orlando this weekend. I realized why I like Jacksonville better, though all rational reasoning should tell me otherwise. The problem with Orlando is that when you go to a bar or club or anything of that nature, image is everything. It's all superficial down there. It's good for people-watching and all, but apparently you need to be wearing at least $500 worth of clothes on your person before you're allowed to talk to anyone else. If you're wearing jeans you may as well be taking everybody's drink orders and asking if they want to start a tab. Seriously. Even worse if you're wearing sandals or something. It gets old incredibly fast. Were I in Jacksonville, however, I would have been the best-dressed guy in town. Around here, getting dressed up involves wearing something other than a t-shirt. Shoes? Optional. Laid-back attitude? Required. Much better than Orlando where snootiness rules the roost and everything (including the ladies) has a Disney plastic sheen. How did I manage to have fun this weekend, again? Oh yeah, that's right! Copious amounts of alcohol. Quality.

I was down there to see my sister, who was in town for her one weekend this summer at home. I'm starting to like her friends from high school more than my friends from high school. I certainly have more fun doing stuff with them... Kinda makes me wonder if I was born a few years too early or something. But then I think about the fact that I was born in the year of the dragon, and I'd really rather not trade that in. Because being a DRAGON means that I can kick people's asses like Bruce Lee. Karma owes me that much these days.

As for my much-hyped analogy? Also one of the reasons I was in Orlando? Well, strike #1 was picked up last weekend, as some of you know. Strike #2 was picked up late Friday night at the Ale House (or not, as the case ended up being.) I was ready to call strike #3 this afternoon until the phone rang. Let's just say she bunted and got on base. It wasn't a grand slam to get her back into the game in spectacular fashion or anything. It just kept her from striking out. Still, it's like the 8th inning now and it doesn't look like the tide is turning, I've gotta admit. I will not be putting forth nearly as much effort as I was. I find this easier to explain here than explaining it to you guys individually. Sorry. I'm passive-aggressive like that. I did find out that her roommate is nuclear-reactor-about-to-meltdown hot. Must look into proving Seinfeld wrong and pulling the switch. I'm shallow like that.

I'm sorry for this post being so random and sucking so bad. I've only had about 9 hours of sleep this weekend. That's no excuse, I know. But you guys care so much and I find it hard to let you down. Honest.