Could this be the greatest movie of all time?

Ladies and gentlemen, I'd heard about this but hadn't seen any footage until this trailer. This is a real movie. I shouldn't have to say that, but I'll repeat it for good measure: this is a *real* movie.






Please, Jeebus, don't let it suck. And please let it actually play in a theater near me.



IMDB link: My Name Is Bruce

The ORBIT ARCHIVE is now open!

I'm very happy to announce that the Orbit Archive is now open!

There's still some fine-tuning to do, of course, and if I get new material, I'll keep posting it. As of right now, though, there are 10 performances available to listen to on the web and download for personal use.

Thanks to Paul Buckley for the giving me the official green light on this project!

Stairways to Heaven

I got a semi-frenzied call from my brother this past Friday night. The first thing out of his mouth:

"Hey Jim, get a pen and some paper - write this down!"

Uh, OK. At least I could tell everyone was fine. He doesn't call too often (our conversations normally result in me calling my mom and his happening to be at home and answering the phone), so when the number came up on my cell phone I was a little surprised and a little worried that someone was sick or worse.

"You have to find a copy of this. Rodrigo and Gabriela. You'll probably find it as Rodrigo y Gabriela."

He proceeded to tell me about who they were, how he found out about them, and how he actually found their CD at BestBuy, so I looked them up on YouTube and found a couple of videos.

I downloaded the album on eMusic, and while I'm maybe not as crazed about it as my brother (enough to call someone out of the blue just to recommend it, that is), I'm very, very impressed nonetheless. The album I downloaded is mostly full of original material, but they very impressively cover "Stairway to Heaven" and Metallica's "Orion".

Long story short, they're heavy metal fans from Mexico City who up and moved to Dublin, Ireland, though they spoke no English. They started performing on the streets, and ... well, let's just say it's unfair that Fall Out Boy is famous and I'd never heard of Rodrigo y Gabriela isn't.

Not yet, anyway.

After I got off the phone with my brother, Nicole heard music playing and asked what I was watching. I explained, and she said "Oh, yeah - they're really good. They used to play them on the radio all the time in Portland."

Really? It was a further confirmation that I am so out of touch with everything, music-wise. I enjoy listening to Sirius, as it's commercial-free, but sometimes I wonder if they're as adventurous as I'd like them to be, because I'd never heard of them. Anyway.

Here's a clip of their version of "Stairway to Heaven", which I post only because it reminded me of the next clip I'm posting, which is also "Stairway to Heaven". If you watch the two of them, you'll understand.

After watching this clip, I remembered a performance I'd seen many years ago on PBS. I remembered it so well because the guy played two different guitars at the same time - one with each hand. Rhythm guitar with the left, and lead with the right - it's all fingertapping, and it's enough to make me wonder if he's human or not. Thank goodness for YouTube - I found it immediately.

So please check this out, too: Stanley Jordan. (If you're impatient, skip to about 2:50 into the performance). I don't know how old this performance actually is, but judging by the shoulder pads he's got under that jacket of his, it's clearly been a while.

An embarrassment of riches

With about seven minutes left in the second quarter of last night's OUTSTANDING game 6 performance by the Celtics, two things happened:

1. James Posey hit a three-pointer from the corner, doubling the Celtics' lead from 3 to 6 points. This was the equivalent of an infected monkey breaking out of the lab. After that, it was just a bloodbath - a slaughter of epic proportions. It couldn't be stopped. Not by Kobe, not by Jack Nicholson, not by the National Guard, not by Big John Studd and King Kong Bundy. You could only sit back and watch the mayhem break loose.

2. My dog - possibly sensing the imminent disaster for Lakers fans (the same way animals are said to sense earthquakes before they occur), or possibly sensing that the moon was full (or looked it, to my amateur astronomer eyes) - started freaking out and demanded to go for a walk. If there was ever a chance that he would have stood on his hind legs, tapped me on the shoulder, and spoke in English to tell me he needed to go out NOW, this would have been the time.

I grabbed my kinda-broken Sirius Stiletto unit with hopes of listening to the game while I walked him, but it was all for naught. The battery pack wouldn't fasten to the unit securely, so it kept "resetting" (which takes about 90 seconds at a time).

And when it DID plug in correctly, I didn't get great reception (under the trees, blocked by buildings).

And when I DID get reception, only the left ear got sound - the right side of the stereo reception doesn't work.

The thing works like a charm when it's plugged into its dock, but try to walk around with it and it's a disaster. I have to get a new one, eventually.

To top it all off, crazy dog - who couldn't wait to get outside and run to every bush he could find - would, upon arrive to said bushes, take his sweet time and smell them all for what seemed like an eternity. I know that you're supposed to take time to stop and smell the roses, but not during what could be the concluding game of a championship series. Clearly, when we adopted Joey, we should have been told that he didn't understand the protocol of professional sports. It might have been a dealbreaker.

So anyway, when I left, the C's had a nine point lead. When I got back, halftime was ending and they were up by 23. Thank goodness for DVRs.

Random thoughts on the game:

It's been pointed out before, but judge for yourself - do a Google image search for "Sam Cassell". Your first page of results will show references to a generic alien, to E.T., and to Gollum. The dude's kinda weird looking. (Not that it matters, of course. I'm not going to win any beauty contests either.) Conversely, Ray Allen has the most perfectly shaped head I think I've ever seen. (When your team is up by 30+ points, you tend to notice unusual things.)

I dug David Stern and Stuart Scott getting booed by the Garden crowd at the end of the game. It just seems right. (Though in fairness, Scott's not a bad guy - his style is just grating, I suppose.) I can only imagine how loud it would have been if Stephen A. Smith had been introduced during the ceremony. It would have been the same sound you'd hear if Rush Limbaugh was asked to speak in front of the crowd in Denver the night Barack Obama (the next President of the United States, by the way) is officially nominated as the Democrats' candidate. (Again, I know it's just an issue of style and personal preference, but the guy's just unwatchable.)

I can't prove it, because I didn't post it two weeks ago, though I should have. But I swear to you - Nicole is my witness - I told her before the series started that the Celtics would specifically win the first two, the middle game in LA, and game 6. I *do* have written proof that I said C's in 6, however.

I knew it would never happen, but I thought it would have been great to have whoever plays the music over the PA at the Garden play Pavement's "Cut Your Hair" whenever Gasol or Vujacic was about to take free throws.

In the bigger picture, when we're all old, sitting in our rocking chairs and telling stories to our grandkids, THESE are the years we'll be talking about.

It's hard to have a proper perspective when you're still knee deep in everything. It's foolish to assume and anticipate anything in sport, championships especially, but at this point, it's almost equally foolish to assume that the ride is over, too.

The veterans, like Garnett, Pierce, Beckett, Ramirez, Brady and Moss still have plenty of good years left. The "kids", like Rondo, Big Baby Davis, Ellsbury, Lester, Masterson, et al. haven't even gotten started yet.

And whether Bill Belichick is wholly on the up-and-up or not, and whether Terry Francona makes bad decisions with his pitching staff sometimes or not, and whether Doc Rivers' success is a result of his own skills or simply of having "the Big Three", the reality is that they all have players who believe in them and are willing to play as hard as they can and do what they are told.

And believe me, I understand why people don't like Belichick - but the bottom line - the absolutely undeniable fact of the matter - is that his style of coaching completely changed the collective attitude of the Boston Sports Community (if not the National one, too).

Since 2001, the emphasis has been TEAM, TEAM, TEAM. And yes, this market can financially support filling rosters with players of this caliber, but getting those players to set aside their desire for individual statistics in return for championships is a remarkable feat.

I wonder if Deion Branch would go back in time and change things if he could. I wonder if Johnny Damon and Pedro would. I wonder if Asante Samuel will.

But anyway, none of that matters. As a fan, these are the good old days.

And I'm enjoying every single one of them.

A Very Brief History of Time (specifically, the last ten years or so)

A bunch of old college friends have resurfaced in my life lately, which is beyond fantastic. More specifically, I suppose I should say that I've resurfaced. From the looks of things, quite a few of them have kept in touch through the years, and I'm the one who disappeared.

With a lot of these people, it's been (at least) a decade since our last conversations. I suppose I should offer up a quick recap of my life since we all went our separate ways. Here's the nickel tour:

After graduation in '96, I lived in Allston for a couple of years with three roommates. Eventually one went to flight school, one went to grad school, and I moved to Central Square in Cambridge with Dave Ethredge. After two years or so, Dave decided that he was ready for an adventure teaching English in Japan, so he moved out and I got a new roommate, who by coincidence also happened to be a BU graduate, and who also ended up being a terrific match for me. (I have no idea where she is now, but if Folanyah (Fulgham) Bradley eventually looks herself up on Google and finds this link, send me an e-mail!)

In the fall of 2000, the alleged "election" of George W. Bush ... on second thought, nope. I don't want to ruin what should be a fun journal entry. Sorry about that. (OBAMA '08!)


In October 2001, being a giant nerd paid off. Remember how I kept pressing people to watch the Evil Dead movies? Remember how much I told people that Bruce Campbell was a great actor, and that people who didn't know who he was were missing out? Well, in support of his autobiography (If Chins Could Kill: Confessions of a B-Movie Actor), my man Bruce appeared at a book signing in Harvard Square. For once in my life, my timing was perfect, as I got in line next to this cute girl named Nicole, who I befriended and eventually married. Go figure. This kind of thing usually happens in books and movies, I think, but it actually happened in real life. To me. And if it can happen to me, it can happen to anyone.

It was also at about this point that I became really good friends with a bunch of guys who also happened to be my favorite band, an indie out of Boston who deserved to be a lot more famous and successful than they were - The Sheila Divine. I'm now the webmaster for their unofficial official website, The Sheila Divine Archive. They've since disbanded, but I'm trying to keep the flame alive, at least a little bit.

In the fall of 2003, Nicole got a job in Portland, Oregon. I followed.

In the fall of 2004, the Red Sox won the World Series. This was an extremely important time in my life and, in fact, the lives of all true Americans.

While in Portland, my good friend Bryan got me a part-time free-lance gig writing portions of THQ's "Smackdown vs. Raw 2008" video game. The coolest job I ever had, and the highlight of my otherwise unremarkable, underwhelming professional life. Not that I had bad jobs by a longshot, but I'm guessing compared to what most of you have done in the last ten years ... I just doubt it's very exciting. My time (and money) at BU clearly were not well spent. But I digress.

Nicole and I were married at the Worcester Art Museum in central Massachusetts on September 23, 2006. We have no children.

In the fall of 2007, Nicole got a great position as a product developer/food scientist with Kraft foods ... in Morristown, New Jersey. Me? Currently I'm mooching off of Nicole's good nature, playing a lot of Halo 3, searching for a job that pays well and won't bore me to tears.

I'm used to living in the city. Boston, Portland. Everything within walking distance, tons of amazing things to do on a whim. No offense is intended to Morristown, of course, but it's the 'burbs. I'm not used to life in the suburbs, where you need a car to do pretty much anything.

The point being, I really miss Portland. For that matter, I still miss Boston (just not the cost of living there).

On the plus side, we adopted a seven-year-old half-Husky/half-something-else named Joey from a rescue shelter. He's such a really gentle and loving guy, and we're so happy to share our apartment with him.

Nicole and I look forward to moving back to the Pacific Northwest eventually, a few years down the line. That's the plan as of right now, at least, but certainly that's subject to change.

Then, in the last couple of weeks, I joined Facebook and here we are again, reconnecting after what's been far, far too long. I've missed you guys. I hope life's been kind to you, and I look forward to hearing about what you've been up to all this time, if you care to share.

Seven to list seven

You know, I was thinking of a couple different ideas for my next blog entry, because I haven't written anything in a while. And since it's so freakin' hot outside, I was going to sit down and do it now.

I could write about old stuff (Atlantic City, Baseball Hall of Fame, the film festival) - all of which I'll get to (eventually). I could write about the Red Sox and Celtics. I could write more about politics (and bore people, because I think the political breakdown of my friends is roughly a ration of 1:everyone else, in conservative:liberal terms).

But Bryan saved me the trouble with the following:

List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre,
whether they have words, or even if they're not any good, but they must
be songs you're really enjoying now, shaping your spring. Post these
instructions in your blog along with your 7 songs. Then tag 7 other
people to see what they're listening to.

The seven people I'd love to hear lists from include:
1. Bill
2. Alan
3. J.D.
4. Shilo
5. James
6. Ryan
7. Dorian

So in no particular order, I offer these:

1. "Medicine" by Orbit:

Knowing I was going to miss the latest Orbit reunion show this past weekend in Boston, I started listening to the Orbit catalog over the past few weeks. And I realize that for those who know Orbit well, this song is the "easiest" one to pick - it was a moderate hit in the early '90s and landed them on Lollapalooza. However, it's so ridiculously catchy and upbeat, and it's got that great 90's production that I miss so much - a great, buzzing wall of sound, with a bouncy bassline and those awesome fuzzy guitars.

More than the song itself, I think, are the memories that come back when I hear Orbit (this song particularly). Jeff Robbins standing atop Paul Buckley's drum set. Bill, Dan, and Al presumably at arm's length away. The Sheila Divine up next. Long nights out watching bands with my friends.

This song is like "Star Wars", in a way. Ask me at any given time on any given day what my favorite movies are, and "Star Wars" will always be one of them. Ask me about songs that are getting me through the days, and "Medicine" always seems to be on the list.

2. "The Perfect Crime" by Faith No More:

Thanks, iTunes! I had this song on an old cassette of the soundtrack to "Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey", and though it resurfaced on FNM's "This Is It (Best of)" disc, I wasn't going to buy it, because I had all the albums otherwise. Buying the single was a great decision.

If I remember correctly, "The Perfect Crime" was FNM's first studio production with Mike Patton part of the writing process ("The Real Thing" was recorded instrumentally before Patton joined the band, and he wrote his own vocals after the fact).

It was also the first step from moving away from the awful "funk metal" label they were burdened with, instead inching toward a more progressive, less "radio-friendly" sound. The lyrics are incredibly anti-social, while the song itself sounds remarkably upbeat. Quite an accomplishment.

BONUS:
I found this on YouTube while searching for a video for the song.

3. "Tattooed Millionaire" by Bruce Dickinson:

(I can't embed this one for some reason, but here it is at YouTube)

My brother - I don't give him enough credit sometimes. I still think a lot of the music he listens to is a little too "out there" for my own tastes, but he does have a proven record of liking stuff way before I do and making me regret not jumping on board earlier. He is a lifelong Iron Maiden fan. It took me a long, long time to "get it", I guess. I only really started to appreciate them a couple of years ago, in the early 2000's. He was listening to them a lot back in High School, in the late 80s/very early 90s.

Anyway, Bruce Dickinson put out a bunch of very different sounding solo records when Maiden was on a bit of a hiatus. I remembered his cover of Mott the Hoople's "All the Young Dudes", but had completely forgotten about the title track to this album. I stumbled upon a discography of Bruce's when I was looking up information about his previous (pre-Maiden) band, Samson, it rang a bell. "Tattooed Millionaire" ... hmm, I thought I remembered something about it, but wasn't sure. So I downloaded the song.

Yup. Love it! Pure pop-metal, completely un-Maiden. But that voice, and that ridiculous melody! Who could resist it?

Also, and I don't know if this is true or not, but Wikipedia mentions it, so it must be true (uh, yeah): "Tattooed Millionaire" is allegedly about the Mötley Crüe bassist,
Nikki Sixx, after he was found having an affair with Bruce Dickinson's
wife.

If the song is, indeed, a "fuck you" of sorts to Nikki Sixx, then the song is even better, because Motley Crue sucks and needs to be destroyed.

4. "Walk, Don't Run" by the Ventures:

Again, I have to kind of thank my brother, in a roundabout way. He introduced me to bands like Man or Astroman? and Los Straightjackets the better part of 12-13 years ago, I guess it would be. These bands are essentially updates of the surf-music genre. Usually when I start listening to something, I'll work my way backwards if I find enough reason. When you work backwards in the world of twangy surf guitars, you will run into a giant mountain of awesomeness called the Ventures. Everyone's heard of the Ventures (and Dick Dale, etc.), sure, but does anyone our age actually buy their records anymore?

I know that Nicole's father is a big fan, too. I'm sure that he wouldn't find much interest in most of the music I listen to, but at least we have this.

And I guarantee that you know this song, even if you don't recognize the title.

5. "The Step and the Walk" by The Duke Spirit:

I heard this one of Sirius' "Left of Center" station. Nicole says they play it all the time, but it's new to me. I'm sure all the hipster kids have already moved on to something else and I'm late to the party, but that's fine by me. I swear I recognize the melody from something else, but I can't place my finger on it. It's sort of equal parts late 60s pop/soul, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, and The Sounds. I'm probably talking out of my ass, but that's what I get out of it. I don't know. I dig the song, so I guess it doesn't matter.

6. "Agaetis Byrjun" by Sigur Ros

I have absolutely no idea what the words are, what it means, or anything else. I just find it hauntingly beautiful.

Several months ago, I heard an "acoustic" version (similar to the one above) on Sirius radio (the Chill station) and had no idea where it came from. And wouldn't you know, wrapped up under the Christmas tree last December was a gift from Nicole, Sigur Ros' two disc "Hvarf Heim" album. And there it was.

It still sends chills down my spine, and the emotion transcends the language (until I find out that it's about a lawnmower running over a Smurf or something).

7. "Babe, I'm on Fire" by Nick Cave and Bad Seeds:

I can only promise you I'm not trying to gain indie points by listing this. A couple of years ago I ripped a couple of Nick Cave CDs from a friend, and a few months ago I put a couple of them on my iPod because I needed something new to listen to.

So one day I'm out walking the dog and what comes on? "Babe, I'm on Fire". It kicked my ass. In fact, I think I'm still sore. I had no idea it was going to be so long, and not once did I get sick of it.

Again, I'm totally late to the party on Nick Cave. He's another guy I've known about for years, but never got around to actually checking out. I beg forgiveness from anyone and everyone who'll accept it from me. The dude's unreal.

And if I ever find a place that makes the mistake of putting this on their Karaoke playlist, I'm going to clear the room. It's going to be awesome.

I love Bill Moyers

Yeah, it's politics, so this won't be of interest to those who aren't familiar with the players.

Over on Crooks and Liars, there's a post called "Fox News Producer Ambushes Bill Moyers; Gets Taste of His Own Medicine", and I urge you to check it out.

In a nutshell, douchebag Bill O'Reilly sends one of his goons out to get an "ambush interview" with Bill Moyers. Moyers, in video game parlance, absolutely pwns the guy ... but it gets even better, because once Moyers is done with him, other reporters start to tail this clown, ambushing him with his own techniques. And he doesn't like it.

It's wonderful.

Pie charts

more graph humor and song chart memes


more graph humor and song chart memes


more graph humor and song chart memes


more graph humor and song chart memes

Doggie baths and back pain; or, I should just give up now and call it a day.

Hey! New music! (If you're reading this on sonicplague.com, that is.)

First of all, this wonderful dog of ours.

He started to get a little funky smelling, so we decided to give him a bath this weekend. The plan was about as well executed as it could have been. When we get head out of town, we bring Joey to a kennel where there's an option for them to wash him for us. It didn't go well the first time, apparently, so we figured he might handle it better if we do it ourselves, because he trusts us and he'd be comfortable (or "comfortable", at least) at home.

The first step was to give him his Clomacalm after I took him out for his walk (at 5:30 a.m., more on that below), a dog medication he's been prescribed to deal with his separation anxiety. Basically, it's a tranquilizer, and it really sucks the energy out of him. We filled the tub with warm water, put the leash on him so he couldn't get too far if he escaped our control, and literally dragged him to the bathroom. It's was like how animals know an earthquake is going to hit before it actually does and they freak out. Joey seemed to know something was up, and he fought it every inch of the way.

So I grabbed him and picked him up the way I did a couple of weeks ago (read the "There Will Be Blood" post), and gently lowered him into the water, keeping a firm grasp on his collar with my left hand. Let's just say he didn't like it. I followed, climbing into the tub wearing just my boxers. It was quite the scene - very funny, and worthy of being committed to photos (except that nobody - including me - wants to see me in such a state of undress. I'm did a favor for everyone by not taking any, trust me. Our camera is broken anyway, thank goodness, but that's another story.)

Once he realized his fate, he was actually pretty cool about his predicament, and he calmed down enough for us to lather him up with mango-scented doggie shampoo and rinse him off. In all, it took us about 10 minutes to clean him up. Toweling him off ... not so successful. He didn't like it and had had enough by that point, so he shook himself off twice in the bathroom, giving the walls a nice spatter of dog hair and water, and we took the leash and collar off and just let him go. He went into our bedroom, found a corner, and curled up into a wet little ball for a couple of hours.

Two problems:
1. A wet dog, even if he's just been shampooed, still smells like a wet dog. Now, he was making sure our carpet smelled like wet dog, too.

2. Curled up the way he was, only one side of him was going to get the air he needed to dry off, resulting several hours later in some sort of Two-Face wet/dry dog, depending on the side you touched. (Speaking of, have you seen the pictures online of Aaron Eckhart as Harvey Dent/Two-Face in "The Dark Knight"? AWESOME. If it's real, that is. Big-time spoiler there, if so, so beware.)

Also, ten minutes to wash him ... an hour to clean up. Given that the floor was dirty and gritty, and the walls were all wet, we figured we'd clean the bathroom and get it over with. Scrubbing Bubbles, SoftScrub, the whole deal.

This was my Saturday morning. It's a glamorous life, I know.

I love Joey to death, really I do, but he has returned to his old habit of waking up at 5 a.m. wanting to go out. Long story short, we decided not to let him sleep on his own in the living room because he got nosey in the trash (and kitchen sink, pulling out whatever he could grab, including a knife one time) in the dark of night while we slept with our bedroom door closed and would start whining outside our door when the sun started to come up, so we put his bed in our bedroom, where he seems to sleep soundly and can't be destructive. He'd sleep - or at least let us sleep - until the alarm clock went off at about 6:00; Nicole would jump in the shower, and I'd throw on my sweatpants and take him for his morning walk (still too early for my lazy ass, for the record - if he could wait until 7:30, that would be fantastic).

The last week or two, though ... I don't know if it's the warm weather or what, but he's been waking up earlier and earlier, and he's shot out of a cannon. He starts his dancing around as soon as he sees me grab my shoes, and by the time I'm at the door with the leash in my hand he's ready to run headfirst through the wall to get outside.

I walk him in a loop around the neighborhood, I'd assume probably 3/4 of a mile long. On this route, he sniffs around so many trees and bushes and, for whatever reason, insists on stopping to pee a little bit on at least 12-15 of them per trip, rather than just unloading on one and getting it over with. The point being, I'm out the door at 5:30 in the morning, poorly rested, and Joey takes twice as long as he should need to to do his business, walking around on the morning-dew wet lawns. When we get back to the apartment, he's got his blood flowing and is ready to play (or go for another walk), but I'm exhausted and my shoes are soaking wet.

Usually, Nicole heads off to work shortly thereafter, and I fall asleep for another hour or two on the couch listening to Howard Stern streaming through the computer after checking the previous day's Fantasy Baseball stats.

And I wonder why my back hurts and how I pulled my hamstring (I think).

I don't think I mentioned my back pain here on the blog yet. Another indignity of becoming an old man. Not only am I losing any sense of coolness (if I ever had any to begin with), I'm failing physically now, too. I used to have long hair (but nature's ruined that for me), I didn't used to know what "too loud" was (my ears have found out what "sensitive" means), I have to wear glasses now to combat eye fatigue, I used to have my finger on the pulse of pop culture (when I see the magazines at the checkout counter at the supermarket, I don't know who most of the people on the covers are - though, frankly, I'm a little proud of myself for this), and I used to be able to stay up until all hours (well ... OK, I can still do that one, but it's because I'm up playing Halo 3, not out at shows watching headliners take the stage after midnight).

On January 13, 2008 (I remember it well, because it was the day the Chargers upset the Colts in the playoffs), while at the supermarket with Nicole, I experienced what - to me - was extreme lower back pain, like someone jabbing a light saber into my spine.

At the supermarket. Just standing there.

When we got home, I could barely walk up the stairs to the apartment. For weeks, I had to take daily soaking baths to "loosen up". I had to re-learn how to sleep (on my side with a pillow between my knees) because I was used to sleeping pretty much face-down on my pillow. If I sneezed, the resulting physical shake/kickback would send my lower back into fits.

At my last job, I worked with a lot of medical records and had to read a lot of reports, some of which dealt with back pain. I know from those that pain is rated on a scale of 1-10, and that reporting of that pain is subjective. If I had to rate my own pain, I'd say it was at least an 8, and I couldn't shake it for a few weeks.

I took Doan's back pills and tried ice treatment and Icy/Hot ointment, but of course I refused to go see a doctor, though I realize in retrospect I should have and certainly will if it ever happens again. That or I jump off a building. One or the other.

My back is better now and slightly aches only occasionally, but I think I somehow pulled a hamstring two weeks ago, too.

Me: "I have a pain in my butt."
Nicole: "You have a pain in your butt?"
Me: "Well, not in my butt, like in my butt. Not the gross way."
Nicole: "What are you talking about?"
Me: "It's like my butt muscle on the left side. It feels like it runs down almost to my behind my knee."

So I looked "hamstring" up on Wikipedia (good enough for me) and decided that's what it was.

Anyway, I'm falling apart and I'm tired again. That's the point. It's Monday morning at 9 a.m., I've already been up for almost four hours, and I've told two shitty stories about my dog and my back pain.

I'm so far behind on the blog. I have to write about trips to Atlantic City and the Baseball Hall of Fame, and make note about my recent introduction to the world of Facebook. So maybe there'll be more later today, after I take a nap.

Back pain and naps.

Like I said, it's a glamorous life.