THE LAST FIVE ...

Closing up shop
- Wednesday, Aug. 02, 2006

It may be time for a change
- Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Entry in the air
- Friday, April 21, 2006

Still here
- Thursday, April 20, 2006

Music of the moment
- Wednesday, March 1, 2006

Or ... BE RANDOM!


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101 in 1001
American Road Trip, 1998


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Kitty Sandwich
Mister Zero
Sideways Rain
Ultratart
Velcrometer


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Wednesday, Jan. 1, 2003 - 11:04 p.m.

Everyday is like Sunday.

Le sigh.

Everyday is like Sunday.

At least today it is. It must be the barren holiday streets, the endless football (since 11 a.m. ? even better than Sunday!) on TV, the slow, walk-around-in-a-haze pace of this first day of the year. Several times today, Casey and I have either aloud or quietly reminded ourselves and one another that today is, in fact, Wednesday. There are several good and bad aspects to this lapse in calendar management:

GOOD � Tomorrow's Thursday: There are only two days until the weekend.

BAD � There is no Alias tonight, as we both independently tricked ourselves into believing earlier.

GOOD � As worn out and tired as I feel, I know I only have to suck it up for two days before I'll have some time to rest.

BAD ? It is nine days until we get paid again, not five as I had thought when writing out my rent check.

GOOD � The holidays are over. Life can move back toward "normal" on the dial. (I realize that this is not so much a Wednesday/Sunday thing, but shut up.)

BAD � Not only is this a Wednesday, but it's the Wednesday. No happy nude year tonight. But that's just as well. I'm, all of a sudden, tired.

When Casey and I got home from Little Silver around 6 p.m., we immediately unloaded the car and put everything away, including some of the Christmas presents from her father and sister that we hadn't gotten to yet. Soon it was closing in on 8 p.m. as I sat down to read in the living room with the Rose Bowl on TV. Then it was the Sugar Bowl, and soon Casey joined me. All of a sudden, I look up and it's 9:30. We snack on peanuts and crackers and cheese and move into the bedroom (she) and the study (me) and Casey asks, "When did it get to be 10:30?"

So that's where we are.

Stupid injuries and lame-ass pansy players these days. Notre Dame struggled early in the Gator Bowl against North Carolina State, and then when perhaps maybe they could've gotten something going, Carlyle Holiday gets tackled and hurt and doesn't come back in the game. Pat Dillingham finishes up at QB and they lose 28-6. At least it wasn't as bad as the Fiesta Bowl, but a six-game bowl losing streak pisses me off. Holiday ran into the locker room on his own (it was an injured left ? non-throwing ? shoulder) and returned to the field, still in uniform. But then it was announced he was done. I mean, come on � if you're standing on the sidelines, still in uniform, you should be in the damn game. If you're hurt, take off the pads and look hurt. This is a freakin' bowl game. NC State's running back had a similar injury � a strained shoulder, they said � and he at least tried to come back in (he dropped a pass on one play, and then later was tackled � sandwiched � on a run and left in so much more obvious pain). So his day ended there, but at least he gave it a go. Holiday did nothing of the sort, and the ND offense never got on track. There's no way Carlyle would've made it on Tough Enough, as Casey noted.

Having a quiet New Year's Eve with Casey, Dave and Matt up from D.C. was different. Almost surreal in that, at times, it didn't feel like New Year's Eve. I don't mind that at all; I had fun nonetheless. Casey cooked up a storm (penne vodka, chicken nugget fingers, salad, dessert cakes), we drank much (many beers, a bottle of champagne for Casey, another we all shared), and enjoyed being together watching TV.

Which brings us to Dick Clark. The "guy" (robot? computer-generated host? half-man, half-alien?) hosted much of his "Rockin'" eve from the comforts of ABC's Times Square studios. Um, Dick, it was 50 degrees in Manhattan last night. I've seen you outside is much worse. It kind of diminished the cheesy spectacle that the "Rockin'" eve has become. He was more the host of "TV's Bloopers and Practical Jokes" than of the most familiar New Year's Eve show ever. His banter with the on-the-street hosts (Mario Lopez and some other guy) was strained and things just didn't seem the same. The show still featured varied musical acts in order to draw a diverse audience. After all, where else will you see Alabama, Missy Elliot and Rod Stewart on the same program? But it takes the "Rockin'" eve and makes it more Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin', Hip-Hoppin', Country-Boppin', Adult-Contemporary-poppin' Eve.

And what, exactly, was with Mario Lopez? The guy, I swear, got more gay with each segment. His voice went an octave higher each time and by the time that ball dropped (insert joke here), you could clearly make out all the hats and coats around him as he opened that closet door further and let in more light. In one classic segment, Mario asked a group of women if they were single ("Eeeeeee!" they screamed.) "OK," he said, "now over here we have a group of New York's Finest." He walked over to three NYC policemen.

"Are you single?" he asked the first.

"No, I'm not," was the reply.

"Oh, too bad," Mario answered, a look of dejection on his face. "How about you, Sir, are you single?"

The second cop grinned and nodded sheepishly.

"We have a winner!" Mario beamed and quickly grabbed Single Cop's hand from his jacket pocket and raised it in triumph.

After Mario threw the show back to Dick, I ad-libbed his thoughts: "And I'll be waiting for you later, Dick!"

"Eww," Casey said, "I don't want to think of Dick getting anything from anyone."

Then Matt, to Mario: "You need to join my girlfriend in Rehoboth [Delaware] with all the gay guys."

(Though alcohol has taken from me the circumstances of any later wisecracks, Casey did toss out an "Absa-robot-lutely!" in reference to Dick Clark and his age-defying magic. She also shot out a "We love Dick! Clark!" in response to a sign in the crowd in Times Square that used the same words, without the exclamation point after "Dick.")

Dick definitely doesn't have it anymore, though. His chemical shell is starting to crack, I fear. Although his helmet � er, hair � remains perfectly intact and his face looks a youthful if unnatural 42, I watched his hands and his posture. There's a definitely old-man stance going on there. His shoulders slouch, and when he turned to the side, you could see the hunched-over profile of a 70-something grandpa. He also seemed to have a bit of the hand-shake you see when your grandfather hands you money upon seeing you. Or when Ozzy Osbourne holds up cheese for the fish.

Over on MTV's Pajama Party, Carson Daly didn't hide his drinking, showing up on camera with Rolling Rock in hand. Brittany Murphy and Ashton Kutcher annoyed the hell out of everyone with their idiotic drunken talk and relentless "I love you baby" remarks in each segment. Casey, Matt and I spent most of the time debating whether or not Ashton is the smartest of the bunch � it's really not much of a question, really. (The funniest moment came when Ashton went into the confessional MTV had set up and babbled on, saying at one point, "I have to confess: I don't know where my car is.") And, from the looks of it, Brittany and Ashton are still playing that stupid game of "House" because both appeared to have rings on their left hands. Groan.

Dave Grohl and the Foo Fighters and Avril Levigne put on good performances, but the Foos' cover of "Back In Black" with Jack Black singing lead was the spot of the night. JB even wore a black velour jumpsuit with "2003" across the front.

We stayed up until 2 a.m. watching reruns of The Osbournes ("McRib is back!") and crashed hard after that. It made for a relatively easy wakeup this morning, I must say. But the rest of the day was spent on our asses watching TV and eating more junk food.

Resolutions � not that I've made any � aren't meant to be started on the 1st of January anyway. I've still got another day.

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