Fixing broken things, Part II

New music in the player to the left! (If you're reading on www.sonicplague.com.)

So many, many broken things ...

First, on a personal level:

1. According to the fine folks at Xbox.com, my unit is already on the way back to me. Quite the snappy turnaround! Less than a week? I really can't complain about the experience (if true), especially - as I'd written previously - since it resulted in me re-discovering God of War on my PS2. If I could only kill that Hades creature thing. Ugh.

2. Braces! They will be applied (installed?) on September 10, and will be the old-fashioned metal kind, which I've been told "are gonna hurt like hell" for a while. I don't know. I would imagine the technology has improved a great deal since my teen years, when I probably should have had them in the first place, so maybe it's not going to be as bad as people my age who've had them and are now slightly razzing me about them would have me believe.

I had my x-rays and dental molds taken last week. I know orthodontics is not an easy field of medicine and science, but $350 for literally twenty minutes worth of work? Seriously? But before anyone accuses me of being a raging anti-dentite, I have nothing but the greatest optimism that this is the right plan for me. It's just ... $350? And the foamy gel used to make my mold tasted NOTHING like the vanilla I was promised.

I'll post some "before" photos at some point, though we'll have to wait 12-18 months for the "after" ones.

3. The dogs. Remember when I wrote, regarding having two dogs in the apartment, "what could possibly go wrong?"

Ahh, ahem ...

In fairness to Joey, our crazy half-Husky/half-jackass, this wasn't his fault at all:

Rocky, my dog-in-law, had to have emergency surgery this past Friday morning.

Flashback to a early August: Nicole and I (and Joey) drove to Boston to celebrate my brother-in-law's 30th birthday at a cookout at her family's house. As the evening grew dark, we found a lump under Rocky's left eye that we thought was possibly swelling due to a bee sting. When we left the next day, the swelling hadn't gone down, but nobody thought much of it.

On August 17th, Nicole's folks drove Rocky to our apartment in New Jersey, so we could doggie-sit him while they enjoyed a vacation in Italy (lucky ducks!). His eye was still puffed up. It looked like he had a ping-pong ball trapped under his skin.

Last Wednesday (8/27), Nicole went to work and everything was fine, but by the time she got home, the swelling had grown even larger. With obvious concern, we got Rocky an emergency appointment at the Morristown Animal Hospital for that same afternoon. Rocky was given a physical examination, including having his temperature taken (the fun way!) and having blood drawn for lab work.

Long story short, Rocky had an abscess due to a problem with a tooth in his upper jaw. The big ball under his eye was mostly pus. Our vet suggested that Rocky should have surgery two days later (8/29) to fix it, otherwise the infection would just get worse and cause more problems. We brought home some antibiotics, and ... well, I can't say we "looked forward" to the surgery, but we were happy something was going to be done about it, let's put it that way. Oh yeah, and the price estimate was $800 - $1200. Nice.

But Rocky's a member of the family, and has been for 13 years. The cost was never an issue. I mention it only because when it rains, it pours ... just as we decided to get braces and have started paying for those, here comes emergency dog surgery.

Thursday morning, Nicole went to work, expecting that she might be let out early, since her company (very generously) gives the Friday before the Monday holiday off for Labor day, too. And if people have Friday off, they tend to start to bail halfway through the day before ...

It didn't really matter, though, because I had to call her to come home early anyway. About half an hour after taking Rocky for his after-lunch walk, I noticed a little spot of red on our floor and investigated. Sure enough, Rocky's swelling had started to come down, but there was a mess on his face, and he was bleeding. I don't know if he accidentally punctured himself with his paw, or if the tooth or something inside his mouth moved just the right way, or if the swelling literally got too big and "exploded" on him ... It was gross, though. He didn't seem to care, and it's not as if it was oozing out of him like a human with a bloody nose, but it was sufficiently upsetting for me to call the animal hospital for another emergency visit, with a follow-up to Nicole saying hey, get home ASAP, the dog's having a medical emergency.

The whole time, by the way, Joey was camping out in the bedroom, unaware of the drama unfolding. He just wanted to be left alone, and this ... this ... invading dog could just go to hell anyway.

Nicole got home, we went to the vet, and Rocky was taken to an examination room immediately. (For the record, I cannot say enough good things about the staff at the Morristown Animal Hospital - they were, and have continued to be - absolutely fantastic.) The abscess had ruptured, but Rocky was in no danger, and could wait until surgery the next morning. He (and we) would just have to survive overnight with a big, slightly moist wound under his eye.

I had been charged with the task of collecting a urine sample (from Rocky, not from me - though that would have been MUCH easier), on the day of the surgery. We grabbed a glass and a lid and headed outside. Lucky for me, I didn't get any splash-back until, at the completion of the act, Rocky kicked over the glass. Nice. Fortunately, he had a little left over and the mission, though messier than anticipated after a seemingly ideal beginning, was complete.

So, on Friday, the third consecutive day of going to the vet, we dropped Rocky off for his surgery. Nicole, having grown up for so many years with the dog, was incredibly nervous (and rightly so). They were going to put him under general anesthesia, which is always dicey under any circumstances, for animals or humans.

For good measure, since we didn't know how Rocky would react to his pain meds and everything else, we dropped Joey off at the kennel, or "Doggie Summer Camp" as we call it, just so they wouldn't tangle while Rocky healed. And, more importantly, so we could possibly enjoy part of our long weekend.

Gross side note: when the vet flushed out the abscess area, the water came out the wound under his eye. The dog had a damn hole in his face.

Rocky came home late the same day, with a big protective plastic cone strapped to his head. It was a long night. He didn't sleep well, and whined for most of it. I slept in the living room, so that he could find me if he was in severe distress, and in the hopes that he'd leave Nicole to get some rest.

In the end, Rocky's doing just fine, though I alternate between calling him Two Face and Scarface. The swelling he has now is from stitches, not the abscess. His face-hole is sealed up. He can't eat solid food for another week and a half or so. He's sleeping well every night, and his energy levels seem to be back up to pre-surgery expectations.

His owners, however, are still in Italy and don't know what their dog (or its babysitters) had to endure. If I knew where they'd be at any given point, I'd send a reverse-vacation postcard to THEM at their hotel from New Jersey, written in Rocky's voice. "Having a great time in Jersey! They took my blood, stuck something in my butt, and cut my face open. I'll have to tell you about my head-cone in person. But I'm on drugs, so everything's been a blast, really. Wish you were here! Love, Rocky."

He's happy and healthy, and in the end, that's all that matters.

We have pictures, of course, but (in keeping with the theme of this post) our digital camera is broken (and has been since our trip to the also-as-yet-unblogged trip to Cooperstown back in May). Nicole will drop off our disposable camera to be developed tomorrow. Fair warning on grossness will be posted before the pictures come up on your internets from out of nowhere.

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Item #4. The Republican VP candidate.

I just don't know what to make of this. On one hand, I think it's a gift from John McCain to the Democrats. On the other hand, this country is so fickle and backwards with politics sometimes that his overlords handlers advisers and PR people may be able to spin this and fool more people into voting for him.

I, like many of my friends, view Sarah Palin as a stunt candidate. Yes, in the short time she's been a public servant she's put together a pretty impressive resume for herself. I'll give her that. And her approval ratings in Alaska are apparently pretty high, and I've heard the stories about her standing up to her own party to try to eradicate corruption (something ALL parties should strive for). So there is some encouraging material there for which she deserves praise.

HOWEVER.

I think it's a pathetic attempt at pandering to the would-be Hillary vote. I (would like to) think that women voters who are disappointed that Clinton is not the Democratic candidate would realize that it's Clinton's stance on political issues that matter, not her genetic makeup. Palin is anti-choice, anti-stem cell research, anti-gay marriage rights, and pro-creationism. And that's just to start. Any one of those four would be a flag to me, but having all four at once is the kiss of death, as far as I'm concerned.

I'm loathe to tell anyone what to believe, but I can't imagine the set of circumstances I'd have to face for me to choose someone like Palin for ANY public office. And I don't say that because she's a woman. I say that because her political stances are so completely opposite my own that she horrifies me as a potential Vice President (and, as such, potential President, should something unfortunate happen to John McCain).

But I would absolutely hope that any woman voter who wanted to vote for Hillary Clinton wanted to do so because of her views, not her gender. Anyone who wanted to vote for Clinton simply because she's a woman needs to seriously re-evaluate their own political and personal beliefs. I don't know why anyone would sell out their own personal beliefs like that, but look where it got John McCain 2008 compared to John McCain 2000. It seemed to work for him.

So as a pro-oil, pro-drilling, pro-gun, bible-thumping evangelical, she'll probably make the hard-right base much happier than they were with just McCain at the top of the ticket. She seems to mean what she says and stand behind her words (at least, 72 hours after the announcement that she's the candidate), so she's already more conservative than McCain. I'm convinced that Mitt Romney is a fraud and would be a terrible candidate on any national level. Giuliani had nothing to offer outside of yelling "911!" all the time. So in the end she's a good pick in the sense of getting the conservative base to support its candidate, disappointed as they may be with him.

But the undecideds and independents? Anyone pro-oil, pro-drilling, pro-gun, anti-choice, anti-stem cell research, anti-evolution, anti-gay marriage wasn't going to vote for Barack Obama anyway.

So I don't know what McCain stands to gain here, unless that magical 30% of undecided would-be Hillary voters are, in fact, complete dolts. And even then, I don't know if it would be enough for McCain.

I'm not terribly concerned about the whole "lack of experience" argument thrown around by both sides regarding their respective opponents, either. Obama doesn't have the experience, the Republicans say, yet they have nominated the governor of a state with a population the size of Austin, Texas. But she's also a former mayor! Yeah ... of a city of less than 7,000 residents. That's JV stuff. But as governor and mayor, she has more "Executive" experience than Senators Biden and Obama, who've never held such an office! OK, but by that standard, she also has more experience than her running mate, John McCain.

Sounds pretty ridiculous, doesn't it?

Further, there's the whole pregnant daughter angle, which seems like a powder keg about to explode. Something about the story doesn't seem quite right, but I don't know exactly what. My spidey senses tell me there's more to this story that's going to come out in the next few days and weeks.

Then, there's ownthesidewalk.com, a blog by a resident of Anchorage, Alaska, that provides a first-hand (though admittedly biased) perspective of Palin as governor. A very good read, and one I'll be sure to keep up with as the campaign progresses.

It also seems that someone "scrubbed" Palin's Wikipedia entry just before the announcement of her candidacy. Seems a little ... odd.

I don't know what to think about this article, which discusses how Palin may have been chosen not by, but FOR, McCain. I don't know anything about the website or who runs it, and I've never heard of the Council for National Policy before. So maybe this is some crazy black helicopter conspiracy stuff that doesn't deserve anyone's attention. But, as a piece of a larger puzzle, I wonder if it fits, especially given this article from the much more reputable L.A. Times, which says that McCain and Palin are "practically strangers", and that "Palin said she had met McCain only once or twice".

Really? They don't know each other well?

Say what you will about Joe Biden (I've never been his biggest fan, particularly due to his smug demeanor - frankly, his selection as VP running mate was a bit of a disappointment to me, at least at first), but over the course of the last two years as fellow candidates, he and Obama have developed a strong relationship, and they both understand the other because they've been around each other for so long.

But McCain and Palin had only met "once or twice"? REALLY?

This is a huge statement, to me. McCain thinks she's the best available candidate, and he's only met her "once or twice"? REALLY?

And if he's making important decisions like this in this manner, is this what we can expect in the future? Is it worth the risk?

Kids, it's a stunt. He's pandering. It seems clear to me, but I'll admit I'm biased and have been an Obama supporter since the day he announced his candidacy. More importantly, I hope it's clear to others still in the decision-making process, and I hope those people aren't fooled by the usual righty suspects (Limbaugh, Hannity, etc.) into believing that the Republican ticket is something it's not.

Time for a change, everyone. Let's fix what's broken and elect Barack Obama in November.

Fixing broken things

So my X-Box is dead in the water. For real, this time. I think.

Last week, I played it for a little while one morning and everything was fine. Walked the dogs, had some lunch, fired it up to work on some new Forge maps for Halo 3 and ...

RED RING OF DEATH!

I unplugged everything, let it rest for a while, and tried twenty minutes or so later. Still got the ring. An hour later, still got the ring.

Finally, I tried it once again for the night - just in case - and it worked.

The next morning, pretty much the same thing. It worked, then I turned it off, and then it didn't work anymore for a few hours. Then it did.

Anyway, it finally pretty much stopped working altogether, so I put in a work order via Microsoft.com, and now I have to pack it up and ship it off to an exotic locale (Mesquite, TX!) for them to work their magic.

Tomorrow I send the machine out, and then wait probably three weeks to get it back. I'm sending them a black 360 Elite unit, so I better get the same back in return ... Urgh. Wish me luck.

As a result, I'm already lonely and starting to miss two of my best friends here in New Jersey - Nico Bellic and Master Chief. It's gonna be a long three weeks.

On the plus side, this should, in theory, help focus my energies towards finding a new job and going to the gym (both of which I do actively, but admittedly not as enthusiastically as I ought to). One less distraction is a good thing.

(Though come to think of it, I haven't played God of War in a while on my PS2 ... hmmm.)

The other major reconstruction project about to begin is in my mouth. Nicole and I decided that we're ready to get braces to straighten our teeth. Nicole had them many, many years ago, but there's still a lingering issue she'd like to take care of.

I've never had braces, but anyone who's ever met me knows about my imperfections (of which there are many, but I refer specifically to my choppers this time around). One thing I've always been very self-conscious about is my smile. I think it's pretty horrible. My teeth are actually very healthy, and I take care of them well (though I could be more consistent with my flossing), but I have "overcrowding" on the bottom row around one of my center teeth. Up top, I have gaps between my front six teeth (the cuspids, and the central and lateral incisors). In addition, my upper central incisors are elongated compared to the rest of the teeth (resulting in a bit of an overbite), and they bend somewhat inward, to the inside of my mouth (which, according to my orthodontist, causes the crowding on the bottom).

Do a Google image search on "teeth crowding", and you'll see some VERY hardcore examples of what I'm talking about. Sort of. Happily, my personal situation is nowhere near as severe as the examples in the first page of those photos.

By the sounds of things, I'm going to get the regular, old-school type metal braces and not the clear, modern ones. For my situation, the orthodontist feels they're a better bet. I don't care one way or another, as long as they work. They can put in neon green wires as far as I'm concerned. Unlike an awkward teen in high school, I really don't care how they're going to look on me.

The two parts of the deal I'm not so fond of are the cost (of course) and the length of time this is going to take. I've been told to expect the braces to come off in 12 to 18 months. I get my dental molds and pre-installation work done on Wednesday, and assume I'll actually get the actual appliance in early September.

So, if all goes to plan, in September '09 or possibly as late as March '10, I'll be hit in the face with a baseball and end up having to wear dentures anyway. Go figure.

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I still owe a post about a whole bunch of movies I've seen this summer, but here's a quick note about "The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor". Nicole loved the first one (and saw the second one, and walked out of "The Scorpion King"), and I love the Mummy-themed rollercoaster at Universal Studios, so we figured we'd go check it out last weekend. There were other movies we'd have rather seen, but since it wasn't likely to remain in our local theater too much longer, it was now (then?) or never.

I should mention that I've seen the first one in bits and pieces (but not all in one sitting), and hadn't seen any of the other related films at all. But Nicole wanted to go, so we did ...

... and I hate to admit, despite remaining awake for very large portions of the film, I really couldn't tell you anything that happened. I just don't remember, one week later.

There were a bunch of chases, and some snow, but otherwise it was just a big blur of nothingness to me. Utterly forgettable in every way, shape and form. The acting was bland, I didn't care about any of the interpersonal relationships (such as they were), I didn't think it was funny despite repeated attempts to play scenes for comedy, and the plot was threadbare at best. Some of the effects looked nice, but that's not enough to get a movie by anymore.

The worst thing a movie can do, I think, is not to make you hate it. It's to make you not even care. The fact that I'm even writing this is a miracle, because it doesn't deserve to take even more time from my life than actually watching the film.

Don't bother with it, is what I'm trying to say.

Go play GTA IV instead - the story, the action, and the acting are all much better.

It's advice I wish I could take myself, but I can't ... not for another three weeks.

Grr.

On becoming a grumpy old man

For the record, the following is being written while: 1> Nicole is out of town, so it's just me and my dog at home (and my boredom, which I think is taking tangible form); and 2> I haven't eaten anything for several hours, because I'm fasting prior to a physical that I have scheduled in the morning. They're taking blood, so I'm not allowed to eat. With the exception of a trip to urgent care to have an ear lavage, I have not seen a doctor - seriously - in at least 15 years. So that should be interesting.

Anyway, I want to think that eventually everything in New Jersey will even out, and I'll feel "at home" here, but it's not happening. Not yet.

I shouldn't complain too much, I suppose - when Aaron moved to Belgium, for instance. THAT's a move. Holy cow. New currency, crazy time zones, frites stands ... well, OK, he's got me on the frites stands. It's probably better off we don't have those here. But still, I can't imagine what that must be like. And to top it off, the poor guy doesn't get Sox games and didn't get to see the Celtics win the NBA Championship.

It's just frustrating knowing that, even though my friends are my friends and (with any luck) always will be, "giving them up" for any length of time never gets easier. I look at my "Friend Wheel" on Facebook and I'm overwhelmed at the quality of people on there, and it's neat to see how many different "circles" of friends I could claim to be a part of. But the thing I notice most of all is that, with one obvious major exception, none of them are in New Jersey.

I used to complain on my old Diaryland blog all those years ago about never feeling alone (given that I was always surrounded by my buddies), but of feeling lonely (in the sense that I was looking for that "special someone"). Now it's pretty much the exact opposite. I feel more and more alone out here.

And I know I haven't tried as hard as I have in the past to meet new people and get involved, but I always lived in the city, where there were events and activities. Not in the 'burbs. I always could find some little who-knows-what that I had in common to spark even the briefest of conversations in a coffee shop (of which there are two, usually filled with teenagers).

There's no such thing as a good "local band" here. The popular bars "downtown" seem to both be wanna-be Irish pubs (though I've never been to either, so that's perhaps unfair). There's one music shop, but the selection is limited at best (and the "sale" price is in the $14 range).

I feel like I'm surrounded by parents and their kids, assholes on bluetooth earpieces, and horrible/horribly aggressive drivers. I used to be surrounded by people my age who also loved the Red Sox, both in Boston (obviously) and in Portland. The things one takes for granted ...

It's funny, in a way. I was so sad to leave Boston, and I couldn't imagine Portland taking it's place, but I gave it a try and loved every second of it. Then I was sad to leave Portland, but I figured New Jersey would be another adventure, so why not try that out too. I'm sure my opinion will have changed by the time the next phase comes around, but for now, I can't imagine being sad to leave here. I know it's a short-term sacrifice for a long-term gain, but I'm really struggling with it these days. More than I expected I would.

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.

I asked William H. Macy a question

Edit: The movie name was "The Deal", not "The Plan".
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Just for the record, I realize the photos below might not match up with the specific text that they're supposed to. The formatting I used when composing this blog seems to get messy, photo-wise, given that the borders/margins are different in the editor than here on sonicplague.com or the blogspot site. Gotta work on that.

I still owe what will be another longish entry about the New York Film Critics movie series we've been attending for the past seven Wednesdays, but in the short term, a quick note about last night's events.

The film shown was "The Deal", starring William Macy and the carved remains of what used to be Meg Ryan. It's an indie, though a pretty big budget one, by the looks of it. Long story short, Macy's a suicidal filmmaker who sweet talks his way into making a $100 million film starring LL Cool J, an action hero who has recently turned to Judaism. Sure, why not.

Anyway, I'll give details of the actual film later on (it's probably not worth seeing). The special guest for the evening, though, was Mr. Macy himself, which was very exciting. He's a real deal movie star, and I've always appreciated his work, even if he himself is better than the majority of the movies he's in.

After the film, Peter Travers (the Rolling Stone film critic) opened the Q&A up to the audience and I was the first to raise my hand for a question. Thus, I was the first to get the microphone. I stood up and said (this is almost verbatim, because - believe me - I rehearsed it in my head several times before asking it aloud):

"First of all, I'd like to thank Mr. Macy for being here with us tonight."

(Appropriate audience applause. To this point, I'm KILLING!)

"Your performance in 'Fargo' is one of my personal all-time favorites, but what I really appreciate about your work is that you tend to take unusual roles, or roles that might be as obvious as others. That's why I got excited to see, when I looked on IMDB.com, and I hope this is true, that you're attached to appear in 'House of Re-Animator'. Is this true, and, if so, how did you get involved with it?"

That's right. Mr. Big-Shot movie star comes to New Jersey and what's he hit with in the very first question - his wife, a star of "Desperate Housewives"? His Academy Award nomination? The movie we just saw?

Nope. A question about a film that's not even being shot yet. The fourth sequel in a series based on an H.P. Lovecraft story about zombified re-animated corpses.

I think I threw him off a little bit. If you knew the audience at this film series - mostly older (Nicole and I are probably 20-30 years younger than 90% of the attendees), mostly affluent - you'd know that the question was even funnier, because NOBODY there knows what the "Re-Animator" is. And if they saw it, they'd be horrified.

Mr. Macy laughed and started talking a bit about his long-time friendship with director Stuart Gordon, who asked him if he'd be interested in playing the President of the United States (who dies and is brought back to life).

Peter Travers stepped in and sort of re-directed the question to something about David Mamet, trying to bring the audience back into things, but Mr. Macy was a trooper and told a couple of anecdotes, and then pretty much just re-iterated, to conclude my question, that he was doing it because he was friends with the director.

It wasn't a great answer, but then again, it wasn't exactly a great question, either.

But how often do you get to ask an Oscar nominee a question about being in a zombie movie?

I kick ass.

And so does William H. Macy, a genuinely cool guy.

Dig the new design?

I'm trying to learn how to use Adobe Dreamweaver to reconstruct the design on the Sonic Plague site (or make it an even bigger mess - with Flash applications!), but if you're reading this on the blogspot location, you won't notice any difference, because I'm too lazy to update that site too. I'm lucky to get just one done. Wish me luck. I like it so far, though. Music and some photos (Mick Foley!) on the right, some links on the left ... old blog nonsense in the middle that needs updating.

This old dog needs to learn some new tricks.

Speaking of dogs, there'll be a good entry upcoming regarding Joey's walk on Saturday night, and it will be entitled "There Will Be Blood". (Joey's fine, I promise.)

And I have to tell you all about the Chiller Theater convention last weekend. Completely surreal (and a little expensive).

But I'm going to update, I swear!

Don't vote for Obama?, Listen to the film critics?, Cancel the Simpsons?

Thanks to Bryan for pointing this out: Do We Really Want Another Black President ... ?"

Makes you think. I don't think I'm going to change my vote, but this could change my mind. Hmph.

****

Speaking of movies, Nicole and I splurged a bit in the hope of expanding our (non-existent) social circle, and we're going to attend the New York Film Critics Present Coming Attractions series at the Downtown (er, "Downtown" - if you've ever seen it, you know what I mean. And at that, it would be generous to assume that quotation marks would make a difference) movie theaters. It's an 8-week festival of sorts, hosted every Wednesday night by various film critics with special guest appearances by actors, directors, writers, and others who may have some insight into the films.

When we signed up for the Spring series, we were invited to check out the last week of the Winter series in Paramus (but we couldn't make it). The guy who runs it told me that the final film was "Wedding Life", and that the director and "one of the stars of the film" was going to be there. I looked it up on IMDB, and based on the listing for the movie there, I assume that Chris Cooper, Pierce Brosnan (rent "The Matador" - it's good), or Rachel McAdams was in attendance for a post-movie Q&A.

The films presented are shown prior to their official releases, so if I see anything amazing, I'll give spoiler-free reviews. If a movie sucks, I'll probably post something too. Why pay for it myself and then allow those whom I consider my friends to do it themselves also? This is a favor to you, loyal readers! I'm taking one for the team!

Actually, I'm just hoping we meet some interesting people our age and actually make some friends around here.

But, as far as the movies go, the official schedule hasn't been released yet. Are we going to see "The Dark Knight" early? Highly unlikely. The movies shown tend to be artsy/prestige pictures, or at the very least films that aren't likely to be blockbusters. They did show "Run Fatboy Run" starring Simon Pegg in the Winter series, though, which I'd love to have seen, and the next Coen Brothers movie ("Burn After Reading") is "under consideration" for the Morristown series, which would be sweet - even though I've been a complete and utter disappointment to myself, having not yet seen "No Country For Old Men." I should be ashamed of myself.

[From the website: BURN AFTER READING - CIA agent Osborne Cox decides to pen his memoirs and is fired from the agency. The disc containing the memoirs inadvertently gets left in a ladies locker room at a gym, where Linda and co-worker Chad, hatch a plan to sell its contents to the highest bidder.Distributors: Focus Features. Starring: George Clooney, Frances McDormand, Brad Pitt, John Malkovich, Lenny Venito. Directed by: Ethan Coen, Joel Coen. Produced by: Tim Bevan, Eric Fellner, Robert Graf]

****

So what exactly constitutes a "big night out" in Morristown? Perhaps a very special evening with ANNE MURRAY?

Ahh, Canadian soft rock. She was at the performing arts center "downtown" last night; fortunately, Nicole and I had plans to go out with her parents for dinner, surely the only thing that saved me from the heartbreak of not going to the show. Darn the luck. Woe is me.

****

Also, someone please remind me to stop watching "The Simpsons". It's been a horrible show for about five years now, and every week we tune in thinking that through some miracle of miracles it'll improve, but it never does, and it never will. They've already done every story those characters are capable of telling, usually more than once. Oh boy, Krusty might be fired from his show and Lisa and Bart have to save him! Moe can't find a woman! Flanders is on the verge of snapping, but no!

Add to that repeated drug references each of the last couple of weeks, and it's a real turn off. Not to sound like an old fart bemoaning network TV, but the Simpsons always had a sort of purity to it in its early seasons, and it's definitely missing now.

I never thought I'd say it, but it should probably be canceled.




****

I've been uploading a bunch of new stuff to the Sheila Divine Archive's video section. The version for video iPod should be uploaded soon, but in the meantime, here's a complete concert from an instore appearance at the Alewife Newbury Comics on 9/16/01, which, as you can tell by the date, was a bit of a somber time for everyone (5 days after 9/11 - wake up, people). That said, the guys were kind enough to go on with the show, which I really appreciated.

At that point, even though it had only been five days since the Towers fell, I think a lot of us needed a break, some kind of sunbeam to make us feel a little better even if only for a few minutes. As always, TSD delivered:

Chiller Theater, WWE Smackdown vs. Raw game

Quick update: Hello Dave E, who I just realized has been leaving comments for me here on the blog. I owe you a personal e-mail at some point, I know, on account of I'm a horrible friend. That said, everyone else can line up behind him, because I've been a horrible friend to everyone, frankly, as I move closer to being a complete shut-in.

As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted ... wait, ten days ago? Ten days? Seriously?

What a tailspin of nothingness I seem to be stuck in ... sheesh.

The sad thing is, for the most part, nothing of interest has really happened in the last ten days to write about ... well, almost nothing. What did happen is pretty cool, but more on that in a moment.

Anyway, as I was saying, we walked into the lobby of the hotel only to be surrounded by various social misfits and some of society's odds and ends (my kinda people, actually) who were shelling out probably hundreds of dollars each to meet (semi) celebrities and gather photos and autographs.

Unknowingly, as we did not book the hotel ourselves, we had a room reserved in the very same hotel playing host to Chiller Theater's "October Extravaganza".

The complete guest list is HERE, but some of the highlights of those in attendance:

• Val Kilmer (I thought he was still famous? Still, the star of "The Salton Sea", "Kiss Kiss Bang Bang", and the classic "Tombstone"? In person in Parsippany? What's going on here?)
• Henry Winkler
• Gary Coleman
• Elvira, Mistress of the Dark
• Linda Blair
• Chyna
• Frank Stallone (!)
• Gail Kim and Christy Hemme (if I were better looking and not married ... and taller. And famous. Oh, my, goodness ...)
• Tito Santana
• Ray Parker Jr.

It really was quite the scene. I took two pictures that came out horribly, because we were tired and thrown into this mayhem, and mostly because you couldn't see a thing with so many people crammed into the lobby of the hotel. Trust me, every shitty metal band you ever heard of was represented by someone's t-shirt.

The best part, of course, is that there's another one in May. This time, I'll be prepared! Perhaps I'll wear my 1991 "Clash of the Titans" tour t-shirt, just to make sure I fit in.

****

OK, so the neatest thing to happen since last I wrote was that two days ago this year's WWE video game, Smackdown vs. Raw 2008, came out. I've barely played it, because I'm fairly horrible at combat/fighting games, but I have a vested personal interest in getting into it some more.

Thanks to my good friend Bryan, who I thank at every turn (and will continue to do so, long after the game has faded from everyone's memory), I actually wrote some of the commentary and portions of the in-game WWE Magazine "articles" and GM "voice mails" that are used to propel the story lines along.

In fact, because the game expanded to three brands and the announce teams are different from last year, I supplied approximately 4000 lines of dialog that was to be included as "new" commentary. From what I've read on-line and been told from others in the know, unfortunately, THQ apparently had difficulties scheduling the WWE talent to do the recording sessions, so a lot of what I wrote wasn't included in the game. So far as I know, at least. Again, I haven't played through enough to know what was or wasn't used.

If you hear JBL referring to midgets flying with balloons (a Howard Stern reference, for those not in the know) or Watson and Crick (look them up - you should know that one), that was me.

In fact, I wrote a lot of really great stuff, to toot my own horn. Unfortunately, I have a confidentiality agreement with THQ that prevents me from posting all of my work, which I'd love to do because I'm really proud of it. If all goes well, maybe they'll use it in the 2009 version.

So I'm kinda bummed about that.

I'm also a bit disappointed that when I opened the game booklet to look for my name in the credits ... there are no credits!

All of the work, all of the late hours ... and my name's not in the booklet. Granted, nobody's names are in the booklet (not Bryan's, not the game developers', not the programmers'), so I shouldn't feel slighted. It's just kind of a let down, I suppose.

That said, working on the game was a great experience and one I hope to have again, if anyone will hire me as a free-lancer (hint! hint! Send me an e-mail! I'm yours, folks! Just let me know what you need!). I had a blast working on it. Plus, I made some extra cash on the deal, which never hurts, and I have the contract and the spreadsheets as proof that I actually did work on the game and am not spinning tales.

The other kick in the pants is that when you put the game in the console, you can't check the credits there, either. Apparently you have to play through and unlock them, which is really weird, but whatever. As soon as I can beat the game, perhaps my name will be in the scroll and then I can take a screen shot or something.

Anyway, there you go! In the big picture, I did a small fraction of the writing for the game, but it's my first official writing credit, and I'm super-proud of myself, I hafta say.

So check it out, if you're into that sort of thing.

***

Speaking of video games, the reasons I haven't played S vs R more yet are threefold:

Guitar Hero III - I'm on the last level on the "hard" setting, but the solo on "Number of the Beast" is killing me, the rhythm section on "Reign in Blood" is killing me, and the pure metalicious speed of "One" is killing me. Literally, my right wrist/forearm start to hurt when I try to get through the duh-duh-duh-duh-DUH duh-duh-duh-duh-DUH part about 75% of the way through the song. Surprisingly (?), I'm kicking ass on the "Cult of Personality" solo. Go me.

Madden 2008 - I'm pretty bad, apparently. I play online almost exclusively and usually get my butt handed to me, but I really don't care. The game is just so good. My record right now is approximately 38-80 or something along those lines, because I'll pick one of my favored teams (Jacksonville, Pittsburgh) and the knucklehead I'm playing against waits until the last second and changes his team to New England. Grr. Now, I love the Pats and always have (I lived through the two-win Scott Zolak years, so I've earned my stripes), but they're ridiculous in that game. It's like having a team full of Tecmo Bowl Bo Jacksons. You can't stop them unless your opponent doesn't know what he's doing - and as a result, if I earn a lead late into the first half, there's usually a great chance the dude I'm playing against will just quit out of frustration. Anyway, if you're a gamer, look me up online and beef up your record . I never quit, no matter how bad the beating is. I have a zero-percent quit rate. :)

Beautiful Katamari - awesome video game weirdness (at a low, low price!). The Katamari games are the first ones I'll recommend to non-gamers looking for a reason to pick up a controller or to parents who want to buy their kids non-violent games. Somewhere down the road I'll have to write an entire post about how great this game is, because it deserves it. It really does.

***

For whatever it's worth, the aftertaste of iced Dunkin Donuts Hazelnut coffee with cream and Splenda tastes a bit like soggy fake-buttered popcorn from a second-run movie theater. Maybe it's just me.

bored but lazy; day one, part one

For a guy who currently doesn't have a job, has no friends in the state, and can't reach many "fun" places without a car (when Nicole's off at work), I sure manage not to write a whole hell of a lot.

Sheesh. I'm losing it. Really. Any "edge" I may have had seems to be fading, I fear. I'm sure I can whip myself back into shape with a little effort, but honestly ... every day starts to blur at this point.

I shouldn't complain, of course, because I'm very lucky and I realize it. I managed to save enough money not to be destitute, and Nicole's been great about letting me have all the time and space I need to find a job I'm interested in, given that I've moved cross-country for her career twice now. Still, I need some structure. I need some routine. And man oh man, do I need to find a local gym. Even if I put on my best rock star attitude, jumping around playing Guitar Hero is a sad replacement for actual physical activity (regardless of how fun it actually is).

The thing we're noticing most - and the thing that bothers us most - is the ridiculous change in the cost of living that we're experiencing. Milk is $4.75 or so per gallon. You don't want to know about Orange Juice. And the electric company ...

See, New Jersey's electric system was apparently deregulated a few years ago, which in theory should provide customers with choices regarding who they want to use as their service. Except us, of course, because we live where only one company services our neighborhood. We got our first partial bill (two weeks plus the installation charge), and it was almost as much as our regular Portland bill for a month. The kilowatt hour charge is nearly twice as much, and then there are fees and all this other nonsense ... seriously, it'd be reason alone not to buy a house here.

The neighborhoods around Morristown seem really nice and quiet, and despite the overload of Yankees fan everyone seems incredibly nice, but I can't see why anyone would want to stick around these parts, based solely on the cost of everyday life.

Which, of course, only compounds my issue of needing employment, which I'm just not motivated enough to find just yet ... though I can tell the novelty of sitting around watching DVDs and listening to Howard Stern all day is wearing off.

***

A quick story about day one in New Jersey:

The flight from Portland (via Denver) arrived in Newark at about 5:00, roughly on time and just in time for rush hour traffic. Of course, we're fresh off the boat and don't know where we're going anyway, so slower traffic wasn't necessarily a bad thing at that point. We went to the rental agency office to pick up the car that had been reserved for us, but the guy at the desk couldn't locate the reservation in his computer, so Nicole grabbed her printout of the itinerary and rental info, and sure enough, she does have a reservation - in Denver. She didn't make these arrangements herself, of course, and whoever booked everything for her didn't notice, apparently, that we were actually not planning to drive to our final destination from Denver, as lovely a trip as that may have been.

Off to a great start.

Traffic, as expected, was backed up ... right at our exit. The other exits seemed OK, but ours was slooow. If we weren't noobs to the area, perhaps we'd have known alternate routes. We were at Googlemap's mercy, though, so by the time we finally got to the Parsippany Hilton to rest for the night, we were beyond thrilled to find that the parking lot was overfilled, the lobby was teeming with an unusual collection of humanity, and we could barely walk to the elevators with our bags.

You'll find out why in the next post.

the relocation, donuts, and the sox

What follows is my first real blog entry in probably four years, so I'm rusty and boring as shit. Be forewarned. It'll get better (because I doubt this can be worse, unless I post drunk, which I should do someday when I'm really, REALLY bored).

***

I am settling in, slowly but surely.

First of all, I miss Portland. Actually, first of all, I still miss Boston, but having finally gotten used to west coast life, I really miss Portland - especially its dramatically cheaper cost of living.

That said, my neighborhood is great - quiet townhouses surrounded by trees and lawns (except for my neighbor's front door, which apparently sticks, as it's slammed shut REPEATEDLY every night. Not that I notice.). There's gotta be some kind of Wisteria Lane-ish scandal around here somewhere. It's too quiet for there not to be. Or we're built on an Indian burial ground. Take your pick.

There's a Dunkin Donuts within walking distance - something sorely lacking in Portland. On the other hand, if you go in on the weekend, there's a line of 8-10 people, each yelling over the person in front of him trying to get out the door as quickly as possible. Mounds of sugar make people a bit more aggressive, I suppose. I'll take it, though, especially since it's open 24 hours and has Chocolate Cream donuts readily available. For those not in the know, Chocolate Cream donuts are like eating a sugar coated donut filled with pudding. They're horrible for you, and they sit in your stomach like a bowling ball, but for non-athletes like me, they go down nice and tasty, and with little regret.

There's also a Starbucks, but it's not a store, just one of the kind you find tucked inside the corner of a Supermarket. I've been hesitant to go there because I'm afraid this mutant offspring of a coffee stand will somehow not make the product right, but mostly because the novelty of Dunkin being available to me again hasn't worn off yet (and likely won't for some time to come). Back in Portland, Starbucks are literally found every other block in some areas (much in the same way that Dunkins is spaced out here in the northeast).

The biggest change so far, aside from being temporarily unemployed and not knowing a single person in this entire state other than Nicole, is that we're officially in the suburbs. I'm a city person. Always have been. When I lived in Boston, I walked everywhere. When I lived in Portland, I walked everywhere. I can walk here, too ... but there's really nowhere to go (aside from you know where, which could get dangerous). Given enough wandering time, I'm sure I'll find someplace good to explore. I hope.

On the plus side, as compared to Portland, I haven't run across a single panhandler or kid with magic marker designs on his (or her) face asking for change. Foot-for-foot, Portland is officially the beggingest city I've ever seen. It was always tough adjusting and dealing with that whole side of life: I'm far from rich, but I always have a couple of bucks in my pocket. While I want to be generous and try to help those who need help, there's a degree of frustration in knowing that many of these people refuse to help even themselves to get out of that lifestyle. Anyway, point being: I'm not harassed every 25 feet here like I was back in Pioneer Square.

***

We're still sort of living out of boxes. Lots of our stuff is unpacked, but we still have maybe 10 boxes of who knows what (DVDs and books, probably) that need homes. I really thought that I had weeded out the junk from my collection before packing, but I apparently just have too much stuff. I swear I'm not a pack rat - at least I like to think I'm not - but getting rid of books, for instance, seems so heartbreaking sometimes, even if they're getting sold back to a used store or being given to Goodwill. And the shelves full of books I've accumulated, some still unread, make me feel guilty too. So I can't win: if I keep them, I feel bad for hoarding them and then not using them, but if I give them away ... And then there are all of my t-shirts. I hold on to this stuff as if they're valuable, or could be someday, no matter how beaten up and ratty they may be, as if they'll be my version of all the baseball cards everyone's parents had but "wish they hadn't thrown out." Somehow I doubt my early 90s Urge Overkill t-shirt with the stretched out neck or the Replacements one that really highlights my manboobs will equate to a '65 Mantle card, but there's always the chance. Right? I'm not the crazy one here, right?

But the boxes, so full of ... who knows what. I'm afraid I tossed out stuff I wanted and kept embarrassing pieces of my life's former collections, because I keep coming across crazy crap I know I don't need. My Cactus Jack action figures are great (obviously!), but there's no need for me to have kept the Darren Drosdov one. I'm just saying.

So there's all of this crap lying around taking up space and will probably end up in storage, so I'll get to pay for the privilege of not using junk that I could probably get a whole three dollars for on eBay. This is why I likely won't retire a millionaire. (Specifically this, because otherwise, I'd have it made, I'm sure.)

***

Speaking of clutter and things I'll never use, thanks to Verizon FIOS, our new cable and internet company, I have a ridiculously fast internet connection, which makes collecting live recordings via BitTorrent so much easier. I have literally hundreds of DVDs worth of archived audio and video, and though I couldn't possibly take it all in, I keep adding to it. It's my addiction, I suppose. I don't do drugs or smoke, so it's collecting bootlegs and drinking coffee, I guess. Heaven forbid I miss some weird cover song by the Black Crowes.

***

My Red Sox. My sweet, sweet Red Sox.

There was a nice group of fellow Nation members back in Portland, but I find myself deep in the heart of Yankee country now. I wore my replica Mike Greenwell jersey to IKEA this weekend and could feel the heated, pointy glances of a hundred beady (and jealous) eyes as I strolled through aisles filled with the roughly 23,385 kinds of lamps they sell.

Watching the game last night, Nicole said she felt bad for the Indians. She could see the sadness on their faces. She's a good sport about my obsession, but since she's not as die-hard as I am, she doesn't quite understand that this game will leave every fan angry and bitter at some point. As rough as it is for Indians fans, they need to enjoy the fact that they got there. While the players and their fans might be disappointed to have lost, imaging being a Royals fan, or a Devil Rays fan (if there are any). All a fan can ask is that his or her team of choice is competitive and entertaining, and Cleveland was both this year (and will probably continue to be for years to come).

Don't feel bad for them, I told her, because they're suffering. We suffered too, for many, many years. I never asked anyone to feel sorry for me (pity me, maybe) for being a Red Sox fan, because I knew what I was getting into by embracing the team. And I know that, had the Indians won, nobody would be feeling bad for me, for Manny, for J.D. Drew, or for anyone else.

In the end, it's just a game. Someone wins, someone loses. I'm glad we're on the winning side, but after 2004, I don't think I'd have gotten sick over it had we not made it. "We", as if I had anything to do with it personally. That's a tough mentality to break: the whole "we" won when things go well, but "they" lost when things don't.

Anyway, though my optimism may sometimes waver, my faith never does. I mean, this team has a certifiable lunatic for a closer, a churchy grizzled righthander with a Frankenfoot, a firstbaseman with a giant head and a sweating problem, a left fielder who probably doesn't know what day it is, a 13-year-old tobacco-chewing second baseman, a shortstop with the physique of Oil Can Boyd, a centerfielder named after a cereal, a right fielder who nobody likes (except for one game) wearing the number of the last right-fielder (who everybody loved), two pitchers who don't speak a word of English, a manager who consistently leaves pitchers in one batter too long and STILL manages to lead his team to the best record in the majors, and a hitting coach whose 1987 rookie cards were supposed to be valuable when they were pulled out of wax packs 20 years ago (I can't believe it's been that long) but, as it turned out, he kinda sucked as a pro.

What's not to love about this team?

Sox in 6.

I actually think they'll win it in less, but I'm hoping it goes six so that they win it all at Fenway this year. But if they go up 3-0, squash the bug and get it over with, I guess.