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Dilapidated Zones on the Perimeter

Dilapidated Zones on the Perimeter

The cobwebs cluttered between fingers unattended to during my literary sabbatical have proven burdensome to eradicate.  I’m not exactly sure what has kept me from jamming inconsequential thoughts onto this blog for nearly a year and half.  Sure, the typical excuses exist and are more prevalent and present than a hobo at a liquor store.  Life been busy.  Marriage been busy.  Work done been busy.  Yap, yap, yap…like a broken record.  Truth be told, inspiration seems to have consummated its scandalous relationship with the seductive succubus of ambivalence.  And…well…let’s just say that inspiration has long since abdicated the right to rock the denim in its courtship.  

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Fabricated Wins from the Cloth of Despair

Fabricated Wins from the Cloth of Despair

As spare time becomes sparse and complacency teeters on the edge of becoming commonplace, very infrequently do I find myself inspired to blog.  Truth be told, the indiscriminate culprit is probably more a haphazard concoction of apathy and ambivalence than anything else.

Like I said, recently, I’ve needed great inspiration to fuel any ambition of mine to blog.  That inspiration would be the Dallas Mavericks winning the NBA title…and, more importantly, Dirk Nowitzki finally validating himself as one of the great power forwards of all time.  Back in 2006, when the Dallas Mavericks gakked up a title that they appeared destined to win, I was out of the country and wasn’t able to catch up with the NBA Finals until weeks later.  I was pulling heavily for Nowitzki and his Mavs in 2006.  Ironically enough, I saw the Dallas Mavericks finally extinguish those irrepressibly dark memories of 2006…outside of the country. 

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Fate Excused my Lackadaisical Approach

Fate Excused my Lackadaisical Approach

You didn’t actually think that I’d accurately predict the outcomes of both conference championship games last weekend…did you?  Being average seems to be the hoodie that fits best over my unintelligible skull.  However…Cutler being knocked out of the game after the 1st series in the 3rd quarter may have had something to do with the outcome in the Bears-Packers game.  Shit…you know damn well that I’ll ride that scapegoat to a photo-finish.

However…truth be told, I wouldn’t bet a nickel on 100-1 odds on Jay Cutler in big moments – so maybe it wouldn’t have made nary a difference if he had finished. 

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Knee-Jerk Hyperbole and Effusive Superlatives

Knee-Jerk Hyperbole and Effusive Superlatives

In my opinion, this is the last weekend of legitimate football this NFL season. Championship Weekend. You’d think that Super Bowl weekend holds more significance to me…but it doesn’t.  To me, Super Bowl Sunday is an overhyped concoction of exaggerated media coverage and belabored storylines. I am not a big fan of the two week break between Championship Weekend and Super Bowl Sunday. I can take only so much analysis. More often than not, Super Bowls have failed to live up to the hype (the two most recent Super Bowls notwithstanding).

Anyways, in light of my pleasantly mediocre results from last week’s picks for the Divisional Playoffs, I’m going to make picks for this weekend’s pair of championship games as well.

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Smoochin’ the Lips of Mediocrity

Smoochin’ the Lips of Mediocrity

Smoochin’ the lips of mediocrity, in my composition book, should be received with an ear deafening crescendo of applause.  I went 2-2 in my NFL Divisional Playoff picks.  Unfortunately, as I alluded to in my last post, I feared that picking the Falcons to win would foreshadow a Packers upset.  An infallible prognosticator I certainly am not.  Heartbreaking as that loss was, consolation was warmly received in a Jets upset of the New England Patties.  As I explained in brief detail previously, Boston fans…are…well…just downright indecent.  A few friends of mine are hardcore Boston fans.  They’re alarmingly infatuated with all things Boston sports.  Anyhoot, rather than diluting their tears in an unsavory mound of humble pie, they’ve taken the defensive route of teetering on the seesaw of denial.  I understand the recent hatred between the New York Jets and the Patriots…but…

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Undeterred by an Impotence of Intelligence and Significant Lack of Foresight

Undeterred by an Impotence of Intelligence and Significant Lack of Foresight

I’m going to do something I’ve only attempted a few times on this blog:  predict the outcome of a sports event.  The last time I did this, I tried to predict the top 10 picks of the 2006 NFL Draft.  How brilliant were my predictions?  Ummm….what had happened was…I mean…ya never know…umm…flip happens…ya know?  My predictions didn’t exactly lather themselves up with the soap of profound accuracy.  I only predicted 2 out of the top 10 picks correctly.  I had Matt Leinart going to the Tennessee Titans (mostly because of the Norm Chow-USC connection) and I had Jay Cutler being drafted by the Arizona Cardinals (among a slew of other asinine conjectures).

Nevertheless, undeterred by an impotence of intelligence and significant lack of foresight, I set my sights on the the 2011 NFL Divisional Playoffs.  At least I ain’t nearly as inept a soothsayer as my friend The Hamster who predicted that the Seattle Seahawks would get anally raped by at least 2 touchdowns last week against the Saints.  Now…everyone and their 3rd cousin’s sister were predicting similar outcomes for that game, so I’ll dice that man some slack.  However…

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Pilfer Second Like the “Man of Steal”

Pilfer Second Like the “Man of Steal”

4:35 AM.  10:40 AM.  Went to sleep.  Woke up.

Am I a minority in only being able to sleep well on weekdays?  What is it about the work week that makes me want to call in sick every day so I can squeeze in a few more hours of sleep?  I was rubbing my hands together yesterday, salivating at the prospect of a full 8 hours of sleep.   I’ve been averaging a fistful of hours of shut-eye the past month or so, so last night was supposed to be my recuperative snoozefest. Clearly, that diabolical plan of mine didn’t exactly come to fruition. I just can’t seem to sleep in on weekends well.  Aw well…another therapeutic opportunity squandered.  No worries.  I elbowed sleep in the mouth years ago out of disrespect, so why should I humble myself and admit that I’m secretly yearning for it now?   Never.  “Sleep is the interruption of life.”   So, I begrudgingly trudge on, imperceptibly fatigued and weary.

Anyways, enough about my slumber trials and nocturnal tribulations.

Kobe vs. LeBron.   It’s THE ubiquitous and unavoidable argument that’s been taking place on every sports media outlet in this country over the past month of the NBA playoffs.  There seems to have been a recent massive shift towards the acceptance (promotion?) of LeBron “King” James as the league’s best player.   Many a pundit and prognosticator now feel that King James has grappled away the throne from Kobe “Jellybean” Bryant.  Do I believe that The King has surpassed The Black Mamba as the preeminent player in the league? Probably.  Statistics don’t lie – and LeBron James owns an advantage in nearly every one over Kobe.  Plus, LeBron james is UNQUESTIONABLY the better all-around player.  Even the argument that Kobe is the greater clutch performer is starting to diminish a little.  Has Kobe’s ruthlessness in the clutch faded?  No.  It’s just that LeBron’s ability to make big shots in the most important moments has so vastly accelerated in such a short time that you have to put him in the same conversation with Kobe as one of the game’s elite closers.   It wasn’t long ago when critics doubted LeBron’s ability to perform most exceptionally when stakes were the highest.  Somebody ought to scrub those scrutinizers’ mouths clean with a bar of antibiotic soap for uttering such blasphemy.  Anyone who’s been watching the playoffs this year should have enough common sense to see that.

Believe you me though, The Black Mamba will not be filing any resignation papers or submitting his two weeks notice anytime soon.  He will not let King James surreptitiously wrestle away his crown without putting up a fight.  A Coup de LeBron will have to take place.  LeBron will have to go to war, head-to-head, with Kobe to ascend to the throne he’s been destined to assume ever since he was labeled “The Chosen One” on the cover of Sports Illustrated.   If these playoffs have been any indication so far, Kobe is unwilling to step aside and allow LeBron’s ascension to being the league’s best player.  Fist tap and a head nod to Kobe for propelling his team to consecutive NBA Finals.   Is there a doubt in anyone’s mind about how excruciatingly intent Kobe is in winning a fourth championship?  He may not admit it, but he intensely wants to shed away the label that he “can’t win one without Shaq”.

It would be a damn shame if we didn’t get to see Kobe vs. LeBron in the Finals.  Let them two bloody each other up and settle the debate themselves.   Couldn’t you see these two bruising one another up MMA style until the other figuratively taps out?

Spike Lee might as well have re-shot and renamed his cinematic hoops joint to “LeBron Doin’ Work” – because that’s an understatement of exactly what LeBron’s going to have to do to meet Kobe in the Finals at this point.   If any singular player in the league is capable of strapping his team to his back to scale the seemingly insurmountable 3-1 mountain of the NBA playoffs, it is The King.   If the Cleveland LeBrons can somehow manage to win Game 6, is there any doubt in anyone’s mind that The Chosen One will unmercifully refrain from applying the heimlich to a choking Orlando?

From the digression, I digress.  So…someone legitimate has introduced themselves into my life.  Hence, the ensuing cakin’ that’s postmarked with shipment.   I’ve come to realize that cakin’ can be quite the timesuck. Would I have it any other way?  Those that know me know that I’m violently shaking my head “no”.  Cakin’. It’s…what…I…do.  So, balancing the time between travelin’ (for work mostly) and cakin’ hasn’t left a lot of time for the blogging of random thoughts and sporadic ruminations.   I haven’t exactly been spooning the wonderful nakedness of inspiration lately.  But…I’ll make the same half-assed, unfulfilled promise I’ve made over the past few months of being more dedicated to this site.

By the way, I’ve finally got around to joining Twitter.  I was hesitant at first, but when a cousin of mine who posses a clusterfuck of tech savvy joined, I knew it was my time.   I’ve only been a member of the Twitter cult…err…community for a few days, but my initial thoughts are rather positive.  I’m feelin’ this Twitter thing.  If the last few days (of my initial exposure to Twitter) have been a first date, I’m tonguing it down outside it’s door after having wined and dined it and walked it home.  Who knows…I might even cop a subtle feel and pilfer second like Ricky “The Man of Steal” Henderson.

At it’s core, Twitter is a relatively simple and straightforward concept.   For those that are uninformed (and anciently out of touch as me), Twitter is essentially a status update.  That’s it.  It’s you paraphrasing your current activities in less than 200 characters.  Others can choose to “follow” you – which is essentially them keeping up with your status updates.  What has been revolutionary in some ways is the transparent sharing of information that Twitter fosters with it’s simple concept.  Things like word of mouth about speakeasies can be shared through Twitter.   For those that are interested (and those that ain’t got a damn thing better to do then to keep hittin’ refresh on TMZ.com), you can even keep up with celebrities and follow what they are doing – if that floats your boat or helps you find your lost remote.  I know that Twitter has been around for a little while, but it’s seems as though it’s just recently exploded onto the mainstream and inundated the masses.   I think the fact that certain celebrities and sports figures have become addicted to it only accelerates and perpetuates its appeal among the commonfolk.  An example of it’s celebrity appeal is the fact that Shaq has even tweeted (on multiple occasions) during the course of a game when on the bench.  Everyone and their preggers babymama seem to be on this thing.  I’m still a newbie tinkering around with Twitter trying to figure out all it’s intricacies.  I’m going to give Twitter a test run over the course of the next few weeks before I can officially stamp it as fa shizzle legit.  Maybe feelin’ it up outside it’s doorstep (“…in front of all these people?!?!”) was a premature move?

Avert your eyes and smother your ears, a geek alert is clearing way and making room in the nerd aisle.

For whatever reason, sometimes the spacing in my posts gets formatted after publishing.  So, for those that aren’t too cool for school, I am a HUGE proponent of placing two spaces after each period.  That’s just how I roll.  Right after publishing this post, I realized that that had been automatically modified and formatted to one space.  So, what did my suspenders wearing, pocket protector rockin’ ass do?  I went back on this post and added an extra space after each period.   Hey…I know…I know…I agree with you…it is beyond me how I wasn’t selected as “Most Likely to Succeed” in high school.

Sipping that Annabolic Codeine and Primobolan Syrup

Sipping that Annabolic Codeine and Primobolan Syrup

A-Fraud

3 words. Ay. Yi. Yi.

A-Rod…A-Fraud…(shaking my head)…A-Roid…

What in the Blue Moon were you thinking? The Juice Bar (aka Major League Baseball) unfortunately failed to disappoint…again. So, the one hope we had of a “clean” player that “did things right” erasing Barry Bonds hold on the all-time home-run record is grimy too? Cheating like a petrified male afraid of commitment…

And…somehow…I’m supposed to believe that he hasn’t been sipping that anabolic codeine and Primobolan syrup since 2004? Yo…on the real A-Rod…really? I never understood this about MLB players: instead of coming out clean completely, they manipulate the truth and look for contrition saying that they’ve learned their lesson and that “it’s in the past”. And, as if that carriage of elephant feces wasn’t enough, they claim that they “didn’t know” what they were ingesting into their bodies. I mean… it ain’t exactly counting calories…but…C’mon Sam!

Supposedly, A-Rod, in his own words, said he didn’t even know he failed a drug test until a week ago. So…even though he was annihilating the statistical record book, he suddenly decided to quit using because he suddenly felt morally incapable of poppin’ ‘roids? This cat was smashing his way to becoming the greatest player of all time – and he suddenly developed a conscience? Cmon man. Come clean – legitimately clean.

Don’t get it mangled though – I’m not solely lambasting A-Rod’s tail and holding him hostage for all illegal acts committed by other miscreants – I’m just saying that his apology didn’t exactly seem wholly contrite and sincere. Plus, anything from A-Rod’s mouth seems a bit contrived. Let me say, for the record, that I am…well…was…an A-Rod fan. I took up for him whenever anyone slammed him, but now? I got nada. Zip. Zilch. SQUADOOSH. Feel free to verbally bludgeon him like a pin-striped pinata.

The best thing that he had going for him was his supposedly legitimate professional prowess. Let’s not overlook the significance of this. If he remains healthy, A-Rod will break the All-Time Home-run record and he will end up with more than 3,000 hits. If he had remained clean throughout his entire career, there would be a serious argument made about him being the GREATEST player of all time. But now? I’m not so sure if that argument will…or even should be made.

I’ve grown to become as cynical and skeptical as any other baseball fan, but I’ve maintained faith in the fact that there are legitimate great players who have never used any performance enhancing drugs to ascend to the top of the game – and A-Rod was my prime example of that. But now that I’ve found out that he cheated, I may just assume that they’re all dirty. Pujols? Guilty. Chipper Jones? Guilty. Hanley Ramirez? Guilty. Ryan Howard? Guilty. Innocent until proven guilty? Shit…not in the court of public opinion. Throw the book at ’em all. The minute…the millisecond we start to believe in the redemption of baseball, we’re bamboozled again with our undergarments around our ankles.

Before I get too adamant in expressing my opinion, I will say that I do understand where these illegitimate stars are coming from. During the mid 90’s to the early years of this past decade, steroids was prevalent throughout. I’m not excusing it in the least, but I can understand why so many players took it. No one was getting caught and so many folks were doing it. Plus, so many of the substances that are banned now weren’t then. Again, that doesn’t make it right. But if everyone around you was furthering their career implementing some legal, albeit unsavory, and illegal methods, then whose to say that you wouldn’t have at least been tempted? I know I would have. But…at the end of the day, you have to be able to discern between right and wrong. So, A-Rod is just another case of another guy who cut corners he shouldn’t have.

My main beef with him is that I don’t believe he’s come all the way clean. I’m done faulting players for partaking in a prevalent problem that baseball conveniently chose to ignore. Please believe, I am NOT absolving anyone of any responsibility, but I’m pretty much done with all this steroid talk. Alls I’m asking for is complete honesty from these players. Don’t jerk us around. Don’t ask for forgiveness by manipulating us with disjointed truth and fabricated explanations.

This was a colossal disaster for The Juice Bar. Over the past decade, the MLB’s been juicin’ more than Sunny D. Seriously, is it just coincidence that two MLB stadiums are sponsored by and named after JUICE companies (Tropicana Field and Minute Maid Park)? Hey, I just plot the dots – I leave it up to you to connect ’em.

Just when baseball thought it was starting to see a faint glimmer of daylight over the horizon, they get hit with this – and deservedly so.

Sunk the Battleship of Another Fan Base

Sunk the Battleship of Another Fan Base

Now that I’ve had a week to reflect on the Super Bowl and the euphoric aftermath, I’ve been able to gain legitimately relevant perspective on it’s place in history. The greatest Super Bowl? That is a tough sell, mon frere. It is still too early to say that. But…what I can say…is that it was one of the Top 3 Super Bowls I’ve seen in my 26 years of old man existence. Was it better than the St. Louis – Tennessee Super Bowl that ended with a game-saving tackle at the 1-yard line? I don’t know…but that 4th Quarter last week was downright scintillating. Hope of a competitive Super Bowl seemed lost heading into the 4th quarter, but somehow, Larry Fitzgerald didn’t receive that text message, fax, voicemail, email, or memo. He went Bathing Apeshit in the 4th quarter. So…it came down to Big Ben having to make spectacular play after breathtaking scramble after improvisational escape to lead his team to its 6th Super Bowl Championship – and he did just that. Fist tap to Santonio Holmes for making arguably the greatest TD catch in Super Bowl history. How did Big Ben squeeze that in over 3 defenders? How did Holmes catch that AND tap his feet in the end zone? And…how the hell this was all accomplished in the last 2 minutes of the most important game in these players’ lives is beyond me. Once again though, my fanatical jinx sunk the battleship of another fan base. I, unfortunately for Arizona Cardinals fans, was rooting heavily for the Cardinals to pull off the upset. So…when they scored with a little over 2 minutes left to supposedly complete their monumental 4th quarter comeback, why did I have a suspicious feeling that I had wet my pants a tad early? Maybe…because…I knew deep down that the curse of my fanaticism was going to bear its ugly fruit once again – and boy did it. At least it’s good to know that some things will NEVER change. Send a memo out to your favorite teams to be as unappealing to me as possible, so I can root against them. Laugh if you want…but you will be crying if you choose to ignore my advice. Ridicule me at your own peril.

On that note, I will transition to the Australian Open final between Roger Federer vs. Rafael Nadal. Take a wild, conspicuous guess as to who I was rooting for? I was pulling for the Big Swiss Cheese Federer. But..I knew deep down that he didn’t really stand a chance. I’m sad to say that it’s over. I don’t see how Roger Federer will ever be No. 1 in the world again. Is he finished as a competitive player? No. Will he still be able to break Pete Sampras’ record of 14 Grand Slam titles? Probably. Maybe. But, his reign as the world’s most dominant tennis player and possibly overall athlete is over. In tennis, there is Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer – and that is it. The rest of the competition isn’t even close. It’s like comparing Big K to Coke and Pepsi. To see Roger Federer break down at the podium was a conclusive sign that Nadal has broken Federer’s psyche – and that Federer knows that his best days are behind him. After having watched Nadal – Federer twice in the past year (the Wimbledon Final and the Australian Open Final), I’ve come to fully appreciate how great of a player Rafa is. He just doesn’t make many mistakes. Normally, Federer will outplay opponents by winning long rallies and relying on the opponent to make a mistake. That does not work with Nadal. He can hit baseline-to-baseline with Federer the entire match if needed. It’s not exactly a fair comparison, but…the Nadal vs. Federer debate slightly resembles the Lebron vs. Kobe debate. To me, Nadal is the more physically talented and stronger player, whereas Federer is the grizzled veteran who mixes intelligent shot-making with finesse. A similar argument can be made about Kobe and Lebron. Lebron is the brute force who can out-muscle opponents while Kobe is the skilled shot-maker who weave his way into the lane and finish. Lebron forces his way into the lane and dunks on folks while Kobe shakes defenders and drains fade away jumpers on them.

Which…appropriately enough, brings me to Kobe “Bean” Bryant and Lebron “King” James. “Super Bowl Who?” is what comes to mind after watching them annihilate the New York Knickerbockers this past week. Kobe went…well…Kobe on the Knicks on the Monday immediately following the Super Bowl. This cat dropped a MSG record 61 points on the Knicks…in New York…and went 20 for 20 from the free throw line! Am I surprised? To be honest…not so much. He is after all, the unquestioned scoring connoisseur in the NBA – and this is inarguable. Nobody puts that sphere through that cylinder as frequently as KB24. Don’t for once think that Lebron didn’t pay any mind to Kobe’s historic feat. Lebron downplayed the performance, saying that he wouldn’t attempt to match it. This man is made for NYC in 2010 – he lies so damn well! A low blow…I know…but I had to take it. Anyways, Lebron nearly put up a triple double (52 pts, 11dimes, 9 boards). His alleged triple double was nullified this past Friday when the league ruled that one of his rebounds should’ve been ruled to Ben Wallace. First off, it was questionable whether that rebound should’ve been counted towards Ben Wallace, and second of all, really? You’re going to pilfer a historic triple double away from one of the Top 2 players in the league because of a questionable statistical correction? Not well played David Stern…not well played at all.

So…who had the better performance? I don’t know, to be honest. I saw both live on the telly and can’t say that I can make that call one way or another. What I will say though is that Kobe’s performances are always more aesthetically appealing, because of his style of play. Lebron’s performances are more Michael Turner as compared to Kobe’s Adrian Peterson. But, both are exceptionally efficient. Can I settle this argument? I don’t think so…but maybe they can. They play against one another tomorrow afternoon. The Lakers are looking to end the Cavaliers’ unbeaten home winning record. I can only pray that Kobe and Lebron match up against each other for at least half of their touches. A hoops fan can only salivate, huh?

WunderRadio and the High-Five of Death

WunderRadio and the High-Five of Death

For the time being, I’ve retired the title “The Beast” and have officially dubbed Adam Richman of the Travel Channel’s gluttonous show “Man v. Food” as “The Beast”.  They should rename the show to The BEAST v. Food – because that is exactly what it is.

The show is about a normal guy who travels around the country in search of the most obscure and gluttonous gastronomical challenges.  Just right now, I got finished watching an episode where he finished a plate of the country’s spiciest curry.  The owner of the restaurant said that only 100 people had ever finished the curry.  Mr. Richman was 101.  The way they made this curry was ridiculous.  The chef who cooked the curry has to wear a gas mask when cooking it because of it’s incendiary and suffocating aromatic spices.  But, The Beast Richman finished it.  He struggled midway through it, but finished it like a true beast.  This guy is the truth.  If I had a culinary draft, I’d trade up to draft this guy.  Herschel Walker ain’t got a damn thing on this cat!  Now…I have a new role model.  This guy sits at a table stuffing his face for a living…and he still gets women!  Women come up to him and give him kisses on the cheek and seductively encourage him to finish his challenges.  Is this man not the luckiest curmudgeon on the face of this earth?  You are my HERO (cue the Enrique Iglesias).

Although…as I write this, I’ve seen another episode where he fails to complete a breakfast taco challenge.  His challenge was to eat 8 breakfast tacos – and he only got through 4.5.  Maybe his greatness was a tad bit exaggerated.  I guess…he wasn’t “who I thought he was….and I refuse to “let him off the hook“.  But…still…fist tap, dueces, and mad kudos to him.   His appetite makes mine look like that of a bulimic ballerina.

I’ve recently come across another way to bootleg the iPhone and download paid apps…for FREE.  Subsequently, I perused through the thousands of applications and came across one called “WunderRadio”.  “WunderRadio” streams radio stations (regular radio stations and internet radio stations) from all over the world.  From Q100 to ESPN Radio to NPR – it pretty much encompasses the full gambit of stations worldwide.  A pretty versatile radio application – the best that I’ve tested out so far.  You can listen to stations from Tokyo to Mumbai to Singapore.  And if you feel like gettin’ your Republican on and stay the conservative course, then you can even listen to local radio stations like Q100 and V103.  Definitely doper than the trap.  Now, I can jam to some Bollywood tunes as I dilly daddle through PLC code and OPC Server tags.  This app is DEFINITELY a keeper.

So…there is this veggie joint in the city called “Dynamic Dish” that the viral world is raving about.  It’s in East Atlanta and is tucked away at the intersection of Edgewood and Boulevard.  I’ve heard about this place for years, but have never gotten around to actually frequenting the joint.  But…that will change.  I have made it a mission of mine to grab some herbivore grub from this place within a month.  I’ve recently been engaging in increased shenanigans in the East Atlanta area, so an entire colony of new and eclectic restaurants have sprung up on my radar.  Plus, a friend of mine recommended a website called www.restaurant.com where you can buy $25 gift certificates for $10 to various restaurants in the city.  But here is the delightfully pleasant catch:  there is a deal going on right now where you can get $25 certificates for $3 – all you have to do is simply type in the promo code “SAVE” at the time of checkout.  My Asian persuasion told me that she used one yesterday and that it is completely legit.  I just bought 3 of them (there is no service charge).  This idea is too damn genius for all you degenerates out there to not take advantage of.

I don’t know if it’s the holiday hangover or what, but I’ve been volleying around the idea that this current job may be my last engineering job.  I’m not so sure about that…but I just got this feeling that in a few years, I may cast away the engineering profession and pursue something that tickles my intellectual fancy a little more.  What that is?  I’m not so sure…but I just got this nagging feeling that I won’t always be able to neatly tuck away in the crevices of my mind.  Eventually, I’m gonna have to scratch that itch.  Soon…but not yet….not yet.  Then again, these palpable emotions are often sporadic and indiscriminate.  They rarely are sustained…so…I very well could be speaking out of my brown ass….but…like I said…we’ll see.

The Arizona Cardinals and The Pittsburgh Steelers are playing in the Super Bowl in a week and a half.   That’s right – the ARIZONA CAAHDINALS.  The same Cardinals who repeatedly got bent over and throttled by the NFL’s elite throughout the season…yet…at 9-7…they are in the Super Bowl.

Arizona fans…forgive me, for I am about to sin…

I am rooting for the Arizona Cardinals to win the Super Bowl.  A simple proclamation, no?  Wrong.  DEAD wrong.  I haven’t correctly rooted for a championship team in years.  In nearly every single championship in every sport over the past half decade, I’ve rooted for a team (or player) that went on to lose.  You don’t believe me?  Here’s my belligerent and shameful resume:

Here are the teams I’ve rooted for in championship series or matches recently:

Oklahoma over Florida (2009 BCS Championship)

Tampa Bay Devil Rays over Philadelphia Phillies (2008 World Series)

Lakers over Celtics (NBA Championship)

Patriots over Giants (2008 Super Bowl)

Federer over Nadal (2008 Wimbledon Final)

Memphis over Kansas (2008 NCAA Basketball Championship)

Ohio State over LSU (2008 BCS Championship)

Chicago Bears over Indianapolis Colts (2007 Super Bowl)

USC over Texas (2006 Rose Bowl)

Notice anything in particular about any of those matchups?  Hmmmm….simmer on it for a second; marinate on it for a minute…

Hmmmm….

That’s right ladies and gentleman….From blowouts to heartbreaking defeats – the common thread in the cheap fabric of my fanaticism is that every team I rooted for…LOST.

The list goes on…and on…and on (believe you me).  So…all you Arizona fans, cash your chips in while you’re still ahead – after all, who are you fooling? Even you know that you’re gambling with house money right now. I have officially slapped you the high-five of death.

If it’s any solace, there is a slight possibility that I could change my allegiance at the last minute.  Ya never know….