Done!

The NFL regular season is over. Thank goodness. I know this is a time of mourning for many football fans, but yesterday was a time of celebration for me. No more long Sundays in the office, eating crappy food, festering under the heat of 10 televisions, complaining with co-workers, etc. Oh, it wasn't all bad, but I'd rather watch football with friends or solo on my couch.

I'm not much of a dancer, so I'm letting Mr. Edwards celebrate for me. At least I think he's dancing. He seems happy anyway.

For those interested, here's how my various fantasy football seasons fared (listed in terms of importance/money invested):

League 1) Made it to the playoffs, lost, won, lost...which equals sixth place. Probably won't play in this league next year. Braylon Edwards did his best to carry my team. Larry Johnson did not.

League 2) Didn't make the playoffs, won, won, won in the toilet bowl...which means I get the number one pick in 2008. Sweet. Hello, Mr. Tomlinson. Thank you to Mr. Westbrook and Mr. Owens for their contributions.

League 3) Made it to the playoffs, won, lost in semifinals. It was a free league, and I was not eligible for a prize...so who cares? Won't be in that league next year.

There you have it. Not a terribly successful campaign, but I don't really care right now. It's time to soak in the NFL playoffs, find a new job, and then get ready for fantasy baseball. Care to know about my keeper list?

Dammit

My lame-duck job offers very few perks these days. Let me see if I can count all of them. One, they still pay me. Two, free coffee. Three, heated garage. Four, I can play Guitar Hero during works hours because nobody cares.

Well, you can cross one thing off the list. Although we have more than a month left in this office, the powers that be called down and had our coffee maker and water cooler taken away today. No more liquids for this crew. I can only imagine how difficult it would have been for someone to flip that switch 30-some days from now.

Damn them. If it wasn't for my stuffy head and sore throat, I might be able to generate some more vicious bile over this move.

Sorry...

...but my niece is just so cute.

Humbug

Merry X-Mas Eve, Everyone.

I'm sitting at my desk, drinking a beer, and slowly realizing that my sister and mother have no intention of calling me when they are done shopping. So much for meeting up with family today.Oh well.

Instead, I'm praying (is that a joke?) that The Bulldog is open so that I can get a beer, wolf down some tater tots, read a book, and wallow in own thoughts. I can be an awfully dangerous thinker when bored. I think it's an inherited trait. Tonight seems like a good time to cook up an unfounded conspiracy. Wish me luck.


Update: Just got the call. Darn. So much for the alone time.

Hoops night

"You have been weighed, you have been measured, and you have been found wanting."

-A so-so bad guy quote from a terrible movie I've seen too many times on USA/TBS/TNT. Look it up if you really want to know.

It was a rough night on the court for Ziggy's Zappers, which is the name of my men's rec league club. We ran into the second-best squad (The Dirty 13th) and left the court with a little less dignity than we had prior to tip-off. I won't go into details about that, though.

I'm more interested in the drive home, when I was thinking about the contest. The Dirty 13th are a fast, physical club. They run, they play defense, they frustrate their opponents. As I was driving home, I began making vows. To join the gym. To run. To lift weights. To work on my jump shot. To be better at basketball for future clashes with The Dirty 13th. My competitive fire flared.

Then, I remembered that I'm 30. It's not very important to be good at basketball at this point in my life. Rather than dedicate extra hours to working on such a skill, I should work towards being a better friend, uncle, boyfriend, writer, bad movie buff, Scrabble player, etc.

I know that I sound like a stereotypical, whiny "guy," but sometimes it's tough to turn off the deep-seeded drive tied to athletics. The one that causes me to swear at soccer refs and still dream of being a major league pitcher or an NFL wide receiver.

Anyway, I won't be headed to the Y at 6:30 tomorrow morning.

**Photo found on myspaceantics.com

Hey Ya!

If you're in a bad mood, maybe this will help. The beginning and the section from about 2:20-3:00 are the best.

Oh, and watch the dark-haired girl in green and the spiky-haired guy in gold dance. Brilliant.

All hail!

I love it when two headlines like this pop up next to each other:

"Bush says economy is safe and sound."
"Stocks dip on economic worries."

Ah, the influence of the president.

Old men

On Saturday, five buddies and I played some hoops at our old high school. We felt a little old for the obvious reasons - young kids roaming the halls, letter jackets with "11" on them, tiring out early, etc. But that's not the amusing part of this tale. Following our three-on-three session, five of us went out for lunch.

We're only 30 years old (one of us is 31 or "nearly 35," as the waitress said), but our lunch chat included (1) shake-your-head discussion of kids these days and (2) a comparison of physical ailments and talk about cancer. It felt like we suddenly jumped from 25 to 70 years old. Depressing.

W00t!

Tonight is our annual first holiday office party since 2002. It will also be our last office party, since we're packing our grocery bags and losing our gigs on January 31. Thus, I expect it to be quite the shindig, despite the fact that my boss is foregoing the event. That's probably for the better because many of us are very bitter towards him for various reasons.

Meat will be consumed.
Drinks will be drunk.
Guitar Hero will be strummed.
Poker will be played.
Alliances will be forged.

All in all, it will likely be a disappointment.

Horton Hears...

Merriam-Webster unveiled their Word of the Year, and it is "w00t." Yep. W00t. A word with two numbers in it. I'd call it a quixotic choice. I know of and have likely used the "word" because I used to play Everquest, but my online adventuring days are four or five years in the past. Thus, this choice doesn't exactly seem timely to me, but...whatever. Who am I to question the integrity (2005 WOY) of such a paragon of language?

Moon River

Since my job (and therefore insurance) will cease on January 31, I've been taking advantage of the medical coverage. This morning's adventure was the Full Physical Examination. I added the "Full" because they specifically asked me when I made the appointment.

"Would you like the full physical?" (her emphasis)

"Yes. Yes, I would."

Along with the 12-hour fast (drink plenty of water!), I spent the last day or two mentally preparing myself to receive the full extent of the "full" physical. It's all in the name of science and my own health, right? If the doc needs to stick a finger or three up my ass...well, I guess it's for my own benefit.

Let's get straight to the point: no prostate exam. Also no peeing in a cup, no reflex test (although the little hammer was on the desk), no describing my drinking habits...

"Do you use alcohol?"

"Yes."

That was it. No follow-up questions. Apparently it doesn't matter if I imbibe a bottle of tequila per day or just have two wine coolers on the weekend.

Go ahead and read that last sentence again. That's how long it took the doctor to check both my ears, my eyes, and my moles. Excuse me, sir, did I get the express physical? I'm pretty sure I asked for the "full" business. We even covered my family history: grandpa (prostate cancer), grandma (breast cancer, diabetes), grandpa (prostate), grandma (lung), father (lung)...

"Well, I don't see anything in the family history to worry about."

Really? I'm obviously not a doctor or even qualified to use WebMD, but...really?

I'm pleased to be a healthy, strapping 30-year-old man and happy to not have a hand stuck up my butt, but I can't help but feel like my physical revealed very little about me besides my height and weight.

question

If gloves (such as mine) can fit on either hand, can they be called ambidextrous?