Sunday, December 30, 2007

The Rain In Sevierville Falls Gently on the ...

My dog woke me up early this morning. Well, early for a Sunday anyway. We went out for our constitutional and it was pissing down rain, cold, and dreary. My feet got wet, my newspaper got wet, and the dog got wet. If you know your Jimmy Buffett, you could say my fin was sinking low big time. When we got back in, I asked myself 'what can I do now to increase the depths of my misery?'

And the answer: watch pissy Englishter Premier League soccer. Specifically, Derby versus Blackburn. The first half was scoreless and boring. I had hopes of seeing Benny Feilhaber (a/k/a Little Mostest, who bears a pronounced likeness to Brad Pitt circa Thelma and Louise). He didn't play. In fact, of the eleven men Derby had out there, Eddie Lewis appeared to be the only one actually playing the game. The rest of the team was out there making Fulham look good.

The second half started and in comes Benito. Derby score! A lead! Derby has a lead for the first time since like ... ever. Then they get the benefit of a pk call! They could double their lead!

Brad Friedel once was a goalkeeping god. Today he was not. He got lucky. Twice. Saved the pk, but didn't hang on to it. Derby stood there disbelieving, and instead of attacking the freaking ball that was bouncing away from Brad, they allowed him to crab crawl over to get it. Not long after, Blackburn scored. And then they scored again.

Benny had some good touches. And a lot of bad ones, like everybody else in a Derby shirt. More playing time, I think he'll be aight.

Friday, December 28, 2007

At Least I Didn't Have to Watch It

Fulham 1, Spurs ... 5.


Mr. Clinton Dempsey provides the Whites (who are, in a testament to pissy Englishterness , in red) the lone goal.

Here's hoping the new boss can keep them off Relegation Row.

Or that The Mostest From Nacogdoches finds a new team.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Informed, Organized and Catalogued.

That's how I like my Year Ends.

Second best part of this holiday season? The lists. The Best-ofs, the Top Tens, the Year-ins. I like to see what I missed, I like to see what I was cool enough to be in on. Cool, of course, being a relative term. As is "in on" - I think in most cases, with me, it's more like "happened by the most impossible set of circumstances to find quite blindly." But the lists, they are succinct and tidy; thus, by association, am I.

So, I found one or two here at Time's 2007 Pop Culture compendium. They also have lists in News, Arts & Entertainment, Science and Business. Like Lay's potato chips, I bet you can't read just one. The 10 Buzzwords gave me a name and a mission: freegan. I will never be a vegan, and I'll never dumpster dive for food, but I will do my best to shun mainstream consumerism. I like stuff, but it's taking over my life, the acquiring, the tending and the throwing away. The water cycle of material goods, if you will. It's food for thought. And that - the year ahead - is where my thoughts are at when they're not seized with sweaty-palmed panic over Christmas and all the doings. I want next year to be a great one, so maybe, just maybe if I plan a little, plot an outline - even if it's just in pencil, not stone - I can help that happen.

Food for thought.

And with that, I am outta here until after Christmas.

Happy Holidays, peeps!

Friday, December 14, 2007

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Filling The Void

with more bs.

I have nothing to write about. Not one iota of inspiration. Not one scrap of an idea. Not one morsel of information with which to litter the cyber-verse. MLS is dormant. Fulham, even with Mostest, is just not that fun to watch. There's not a whole lot of music happenings during the Christmas season other than caroling, and that's not going to feed my entertainment jones. My kids aren't doing anything cute. Well, "cute" in the adorable sense, not in the smart-assed teenage antics sense. Antic-ing may very well be taking place. I don't want to know.

But just when things seem dreariest, just when I think it can't get any darker and there is no light at the end of the long tunnel of same-ness and quasi-winter I have fallen into, along comes a little Christmas miracle.

Bless you, Giorgio Armani.