ARE YOU READY FOR SOME SOCCER?!?!

Me too. Here's our 2010 World Cup team with Presidents Obama and Clinton. 16 days to go. Surprises for me on this team: Edson Buddle, Johnathan Bornstein, Clarence Goodson. Can't Believe I Forgot About Him Award to Benny Feilhaber. Really! I forgot about him! All I ask is that we get out of our group.

And we kick some Englishter ass.




We have the most Bad Ass Goalkeepers on the planet!

Rust Never Sleeps

But it does take significant time off from its blog from time to time.


Between actual puppy care, learning about puppy care (which has gotten a whole lot more complicated since my last pup!), going to puppy school and yes, work, soccer and a growing addiction to Farmville, I haven't had time to read the paper let alone grace the internet with my prose.

I'll work on that. Longer days ought to help me out. And a housetrained pup. Seriously, I think they are spaying too early and it interferes with their sense of urgency. I will not be getting another pup anytime soon to test this theory, but do invite you to do so. I am happy to report that I think we are on the downhill side of that learning curve. Looking for a big bell to hang on the door for her to ring when she needs curb service. Thanking my lucky stars that my carpet was pretty crapped out anyway and that she has preferred linoleum in general.

She *is* the cutest thing ever, don't you think?

Meet Virginia

well, not that Virginia. And actually her name is Lucinda, but of course we are calling her Luci. She is 10 weeks old in that photo and I, remembering how few good pictures I took of Pawli Paws, have determined to take her picture every single day. I won't bore cyberville with them except possibly on a weekly basis. I am not known for my follow-thru blogging. See the Ponch post down the page - I think 4 or 5 Wednesdays have passed since then.

Anyway, this is Luci and she is very very sweet and very very dirty. She's just been spayed - good lord, they're doing them at birth now (practically) - and she can't have a bath for a few more days. She also came with a bladder infection, so housetraining has been Keystone Kop-ish. She's had her vet visit and should be on the road to recovery rapidly. The shelter described her as a shepherd cross, but her mom was a hound and daddy unknown, but he had some Chow in him. How do I know this? Black spots on her tongue. Same as my sister. By which I mean my mom and dad's puppy, har har har. The vet also thinks she might have some Rottweiler in her, which I have to admit, made my hair stand on end. I'm cool with it now, but she is probably going to be 20 pounds bigger than my ideal size dog. We will learn to cope. (I wrote 'dope' there first - tee hee hee). She's a funny little thing right now. She sits and watches more than any puppy I've ever seen. Not like she's sick, or tired or bored, but like she's studying it all and will put the lesson to use in global domination or something. I have read that Chows are almost cat-like in their aloofness and Rotties are "reserved."

It will be fun to find out who she's gonna be. Besides my beautiful smelly girl, I mean.


p.s. this is her "Pick Me! Pick Me!" photo

Ponch is Stalking Me.

For real. Well, not real real stalking, but the random cyber-media popping up sort that's just a bit uncanny.

It started last week when I trolled thru a Google image search for pics of Tim Armstrong and/or the band Rancid. Found this one showing the band and some guests at a benefit for Tony Hawk's Ride foundation. Note Erik Estrada on the right.

In a little frenzy of Butthole Surfers mania, I found this video for Pepper.


Guess who, again.


So, in the spirit of keeping the dream alive, I've decided to dedicate Wednesdays to random Erik Estrada sightings. We'll call them the Wednesday Weird until we can think of something more clever.



I don't mind the sun sometimes, the images it shows
I can taste you on my lips and smell you on my clothes
cinnamon and sugary and softly spoken lies
you'll never know just how you look thru other people's eyes...


as always, comments welcomed.

A Boy and His Wheels

Pro: I can resume my own life, since I won't be driving him hither and yon.

Con: He'll be driving. Without me and all my passenger seat expertise.

Pro: A tank of gas might last me longer than 3 days.

Con: I'll be loaning him money to put gas in his.

Pro: He can do some of my carpooling chores.

Con: see above.





World, you've been warned.

When Worlds Collide...

Lars Frederiksen and Branden Steineckert of Rancid, combining two of my favorite things: soccer & awesome hair. Now if they can just grab Tim. And maybe disrobe a little.

Stolen from Branden's facebook.

Fear, Loathing and a Whole Lotta Cat Hair

How do cats do that anyway? Just eject hair at will?

Speck, seen here in the classic meatloaf pose, had to pay a visit to our friendly neighborhood vet after coming down with a smelly ear that somehow morphed into one ginormous abcess behind his ear.

$300 later, he will be fine. Flealess, vaccinated, drained and antibioticated, he will be good as new.

LD to Everton?

SBI sez it's so. But I'd feel a lot better about it if someone besides "source" said it. But, anyway, good for Mr. Donovan, who grows in my estimation just about every single day. Whatever happens, 50% of internet pundits will say he failed. 50% will say he was God-like in his magnificence. None of them will be 100% correct. Let's hope Kickette takes note.

Best of luck, LD. Go kick some Englishter ass.



*Kickette noticed.

Run Run Run, Run Awaaaaayyyyyy

Eddie Johnson's days at Fulham are numbered.


Told ya so. Not braggin', just sayin'.


Not that that's anything to brag about, but I *desperately* need to be right about something today.

Breaking News: Socceristas Swarm Seattle

Ok, it probably should be futbolistas, but it just didn't have the same alliterative flair.

Everybody's going. Juan Pablo Angel and Kevin Goldthwaite from RBNY. Presumably not together. Brendan Steineckert and Lars Friedriksen from Rancid. Most definitely together.

The morning shows were scarfed., but not impressively, because, duuuhhhhhh, everybody is out there in Seattle.


Except me.

(big brave sigh)

One day.

Real Salt Lake Attempts to Sway

my MLS cup loyalty by doing cool shit like making t-shirts with this picture



and having Nick Rimando on hand to hand them out.


Way cool, Mormon Nation.

Just Because

Rancid - "Up To No Good" from Tony Hawk

Goodbye, Columbus.

Short personal anecdote: my oldest child, when he was tiny, 4ish perhaps, saw his dad and myself in our wedding photos. Where am I? he asked. Well, you weren't born yet, we said. His eyes popped in disbelief and gradually his mouth formed an "o" of understanding. And that was an important life lesson for him: the world existed before he was born, and would likely continue after he was gone.

And so it was for the Columbus Crew Thursday. The MLS Cup, and the quest thereof, was there before them and will be there after.

Long after, unfortunately. Watching it, I felt like a lot of goals were gonna get scored. Schelotto's two in the first half were lucky and wonderful, respectively. A third would surely come. Yes, but to the wrong team. And then another. And one more. Real Salt Lake 3, Columbus 2. Tortured segues and all.

The bad part is, I wanted them - nay, counted on them - to reach the final, so it would be Crew-Gals.

The good part is, I can now unashamedly out myself as pro-Gals. With the exception of Beckham, who should stay the heck out of MLS and devote himself entirely to underwear modeling.

The Sun'll Come Up...

Trout Fishing In America

It was a beautiful day. After Steven's graduation, we all adjourned to his apartment for a fiesta. Fajitas, black bean salad, Dos Equis to spare. The sun was shining, the sky was blue - sapphire, in fact. I drove the young ones back to our house and returned to Knoxville to watch the movie making. Trout Fishing In America was being filmed in the downtown area, and onlookers were encouraged to attend. Some years later, I sat in a downtown radio station office watching the finished movie on cable, pointing out which parts were Knoxville to anyone who would listen, remembering that wonderful day.


Memories. They're such warm and lovely things.


Only, this never happened. Well, to be specific, the graduation happened and the fiesta happened, but all the movie-making, movie-watching most definitely did not.

It was all a dream.


And yet so very, very real. These fake memories felt so treasured and worn. The act of remembering felt honest, the feelings evoked felt true.


But still, it was all a dream.


Freaky, man, freaky. Like, I-could-believe-I-have-a-parallel-existence freaky.

Gonna have to go find that book now.

These are a few of my favorite things...

Rancid and soccer. Teh awesome.


thanks to valerie z at rancid fans.

Thoughts at 80 mph on I-40

What's scarier?

An angry confrontation with a major whack job who shalt remain nameless...


or....


the realization that, IF the tire on that 18-wheeler beside me blows, it will cause the van to roll over and not only will I die, but pieces of me will be strewn all over the interstate.


I gave it 54 miles of thought and could not find the answer. Or the difference.


Color me chickenshit.

Morning Glory Redux

they're just so darn pretty.

Art.

I does it.

A self-portrait (dancing, or doing something unmentionable) I added to my work mug to keep the thieves away.

Mornin', Glory!

Found by my parking space yesterday.


Happy Beatles Day, everyone.


Happy birthday to me. How'd I get so freakin' old?


Also, birthday greetings to, in no particular order: Brad Guzan, Hugh Grant, Michael Keaton, Sacha Kljestan, Adam Sandler, and Goran Višnjić.