Yes, I'm Still Alive (For Now)

The issue with not doing stupid things with my life and making bad decisions is that I don't feel the need to do frequent blog updates. There's just not much drama to talk about. In addition, I'm able to get the everyday mundane things out of my system by having a great girlfriend who actually listens to me. Not all of my past posts were reports on the latest crazy escapade I got tied up in. Some were just regular old gripes about the shit that all of us go through, and I am able to vent that out every other night on the phone now. In other words, there's really nothing to talk about on this post either. I just hadn't been here in almost a month, and I wanted to write something.

I did watch WrestleMania a few weeks ago at my uncle's house, and it was very interesting because the older I get, the more in-depth I get into the politics of pro wrestling and who gets pushed to the front of the line and why. So I really watched this event with an eye towards what the future is supposed to look like in wrestling and what was going to happen at WrestleMania to advance in that direction. As a result, nothing that happened surprised me very much, except maybe the older ECW guys winning their match with the "New Breed" of stars (I just knew they would bury the older guys once and for all, but then they would have to find a new direction for the New Breed during the weekly TV shows, and it's easier to keep them fighting with the old guys). There was a lot of publicity about the match in which WWE Chairman Vince McMahon put a guy against the chosen guy of mogul Donald Trump, with the losing "billionaire" getting his head shaved. I even heard some folks convinced that Trump would be the loser because McMahon had too big of an ego to let his head get shaved. Well, what kind of ego do you think Trump had? And how could anyone with half a brain think that Trump would ever get involved in this whole scenario unless he was going to come out on top? When you see a huge celebrity involved in pro wrestling who you never would think would be involved, 99% of the time that celebrity will come out looking like a Mensa member because that's how you convince them to get involved--by promising them that they will come out looking smarter and sharper than the "rasslers." Plus, as much as I hate McMahon and what he's done to wrestling, I had no doubt from the beginning that he would let his head get shaved for the good of the business and to deliver the payoff for those who specifically paid the $50 to order WrestleMania to see McMahon or Trump get their head shaved as promised. To deliver a screwjob ending where neither got shaved would have been a horrible business decision and would have alienated any number of customers, so someone was going to have to deliver that payoff, and McMahon was the logical choice. On top of everything else, he was the bad guy, and traditionally the Big Match in wrestling scripts where things will be settled Once And For All goes to the good guy.

My job continues to create new guidelines and rules daily in an attempt to royally piss me off. The latest is to make us take our morning break and lunch separately because some people were abusing the ability to combine them and taking off an hour before quitting time. Well, the nature of our job makes it very hard to get up and take a break early in the morning because most of our work comes via FedEx and DHL and UPS early in the morning, and it doesn't slow down until maybe 12:30 or 1:00P. I mean, you can leave, but that's always made the people working with you look at you askew because they are working as hard as they can to get the mail processed in a timely manner, and there you are walking away. That's what made me combine my break and lunch, because it's been implied since I've started working there that to leave before your morning assignments are done is disrespectful to your colleagues. We all get yelled at if we have accounts that sent mail to us overnight and paid extra for it and the mail doesn't get done before that account's cut-off time. In addition, it's very hard to find something to eat in a half-hour in downtown Chicago unless you like swallowing food whole without chewing. We can't even bring lunch back to our desks because some fool got jelly or some substance like jelly on a piece of mail and when the image lab tried to make copies of that mail, the image machine got gummed up. So it's beneficial to everyone if we're able to combine our breaks and lunches. I actually haven't split mine up yet, even though it's been a couple of weeks since the mandate came down. I'm waiting for someone to have a problem with what time I take my lunch so that I can ask them why it's an issue. But our area is a bit of a mess right now, because our usual team leader is on maternity leave, and often we either have a team lead for the day who isn't very experienced and doesn't have time to worry about what time people are taking lunch, or don't have a team lead at all. This is an example of why it's so funny that for the last six months, I've been a member of the Q-Board Team, a group that gathers the production and error numbers and holds a monthly meeting with the entire floor talking about those numbers and what we can do to improve. Imagine, crazy, nutjob me, a responsible member of a J.P. Morgan Chase committee. If only they read this blog...but anyhow, I've still got some wild hairs, and if something happens or is mandated that I don't agree with, I have a hard time going along with the company line. In some worlds, the word for that is "asshole." But I'm sorry, if you're going to give me an instruction that doesn't make sense to me, and you don't give a good reason, I'm going to challenge it. That's not the way to go about moving up the corporate ladder, but I have a feeling that my attitude will be very important in other areas of life, and that's worth more to me. I'm smart enough to give the impression to those that matter that I'm going along with the plan. But sometimes taking my own path is the only option, such as a couple of months ago, when I had to be the watchdog who questioned a new method introduced that was incorrect. If there aren't assholes around like me to question things, we all could be doing our jobs wrong.

My health has been a bit of a problem lately. A few weeks ago, I woke up one morning and there was a sharp pain in my right knee, right on the top of my kneecap, like someone snuck in overnight and whacked it with a steel pipe. This coincided with a bad snap of weather, complete with rain, snow, and temperatures in the 30s and 40s. It got worse and worse, almost made me miss work, then went away after maybe a week and a half. I was supposed to go bowling with my family a couple of weekends ago, but at the beginning of the week, I woke up with a sharp pain in my left knee, at the top of the kneecap, like someone snuck in overnight and whacked it with a steel pipe. "Jacob" was in town for the Geek Convention, er, I mean our annual baseball fantasy draft, so this happened after three nights of dinner with Jacob and his friend, and I wondered if I had just been a little too active and twisted something. The weather was getting worse again as well. Also, the night before, I had a 1-lb. burger at Bennigan's, so perhaps it was a gout attack in my knee joint triggered by the mountain of undercooked ground beef. In any event, despite consuming several Aleve Gelcaps in the days leading up to the bowling outing, I decided to do the smart thing and not bowl, which saddened me because I bowl so wildly and out of control that some folks were really looking forward to seeing me. I hated to disappoint those who had not seen someone lift the ball higher than their head on his backswing before. I still attended and had a great time, though. But the thing with my knees was very strange. I don't want to go to a doctor now to find out what the deal was, because the pain is gone and the doc may not have any idea either. I have it narrowed down to accidental twisting that didn't affect me until the knee stiffened up overnight; changes in the weather affecting my joints; gout attack from something I ate; or someone came in during the night and whacked me.

Of course, the whacking thing is not viable, but perhaps someone out there (besides my exes) really does want to hurt me. Last Wednesday, I got a phone call on my home phone, from a name I didn't recognize, so I let my answering machine take it. My outgoing message doesn't say my name, and the message didn't refer to me by name. The message said, verbatim: "Told you nigger. I'm a chop your head off. Punk." No one has threatened me in any way before, so I'm 99% sure it's a case of mistaken identity and this guy would like to chop some other nigger's head off. Nonetheless, I've had my head on a swivel the last week. Hopefully, it won't be on a stick soon. The sad part is, my girlfriend pointed out, some dude out there is about to get his head cut off and doesn't know it. I'm just amazed that this shithead wasn't bright enough to block his phone number from popping up on caller ID before he started calling wrong phone numbers throwing out threats. Since my loved ones received the same e-mail of this moron's name and phone number, if I come up missing, the police will know where to start immediately. And that's no one's fault but his. If you're going to be a criminal, you really should have a criminal mind.

The Threatening Beggar

The heat sometimes brings out the crazies in a big city like Chicago, and Monday was a record-high 77 degrees, a great day especially considering the record-low February we just endured. So people were walking around everywhere in light clothing feeling really good and enjoying themselves. Some of us had the misfortune of being around the unwashed, thawed-out homeless folks, however, and they can make the most beautiful day seem awful. As I left my workplace around 1:30 to go to lunch, there was an angry man with grays in his hair and beard and no shirt on holding his hand out and walking right up on people as if he was going to do bodily harm to them if they didn't give him something, money, weed, I don't know exactly what. Since I don't know what's in the head of people like that, I avoided him and started walking across the street. The guy decided to make me his new friend for the next half-block or so. "What you say to me? I'll kick your ass too!" he mumbled just low enough so that I may not have caught it. I did have my headphones on, but my radio was off, so I could hear him just fine. "What you say? Come on Biggie Smalls, I ain't scared of you!" I didn't respond to him at all, didn't even look in his direction. He did come rather close to me at one point, maybe five feet away, but I sped up my walk and ducked into a restaurant figuring he wouldn't follow me into a somewhat classy-looking public place. He didn't. I only stayed for maybe a minute, and when I left, he had completely vanished.

I really don't like the idea of having to take someone on for no reason than the guy wants some action on this particular day. If I piss someone off with my diarrhea of the mouth, that's one thing. But this fucker was just following folks around looking for a confrontation, starting arguments in his head. There's absolutely no telling if the guy is insane and is looking to start something so he has an excuse to whip out a weapon from his pants pocket. Just because he had no sleeves to hide a knife doesn't mean he didn't have a shank stuck in his waistband. Because I don't know where his mind is, if he had gotten within arm's length, I would have dropped him where he stood with one punch. I have no desire to wait until he does something to defend myself. I'm sure a lot of people would have a problem with my approach because I'd be committing an assault on someone with little or no provocation, but the way I see it, it's either him or me. I haven't been in a fight since grade school, and that's part of the reason why I would knock him out first--because I don't have any practice at defending myself in a one-on-one situation, so "sucker punch" is option #1 on my list. It may not be the politically correct course of action, but it's the one that will keep me from getting attacked by a random nutcase.

Submission

I've been running on fumes the last few weeks. Cleaning my apartment for my girlfriend's visit last weekend was a larger task than I expected, and I've felt wiped out ever since. The visit was nice, though. It may have lasted only one day, but it was a very nice day. We did nothing but sit around and watch college hoops all day, and my play aunt made lasagna for us. Holding my girlfriend's body in my bed for the first time was something that felt very natural. Every night since, I've imagined that feeling, and I'm looking forward to many, many more nights in that position, among others. Working one day of overtime a month ago has also contributed to my weariness. I almost feel like I've never recovered from that. And work itself has been nuts because absolutely no one is on the same page there. Two women who are "coaches" led groups of us associates into a conference room Saturday and had four separate meetings informing us of a new method we were to start using immediately. But when I pulled aside the general manager Monday to ask a question about this new method, she expressed surprise and claimed she didn't know anything about it. It drives me crazy that I had to be the one who asked about this because I don't get paid nearly enough to be the watchdog in the office. I can't be the only person there who gives a fuck, but it sure seems that way sometimes.

Something that has been on my mind a lot is the subject of religion. My girlfriend and I discuss it sometimes because she's devout and I'm not. She tries to convey the message that it's OK, but I get the feeling that it's something she worries about. The last time we had a long talk about it, I told her that one of the reasons I'm having trouble getting closer to my God is because it takes a tremendous amount of submission for a man (or woman) to live life in a way that pleases God. Believing that those who wrong you will be punished and judged by Him instead of getting your own revenge, being grateful of your blessings instead of envious of others...it's not something I'm good at wrapping my little brain around. I've been trying, and I've made progress over the last couple of years, but I still feel a little lightheaded and weak when I think of living what I think would be a life that God would approve of. I guess that's the symptoms I should feel when I entertain the idea of submitting myself. I'm not sure how others do it. Giving tithe, attending church devoutly--I feel like my time and money and lifestyle are things I've always had total control over, and surrendering any or all of that control is scary. Then there's people like the slut in Wisconsin, who talked about church and even said she went on vacations with her parents and their church. She and many others are trying to walk some kind of line where they live like demons and then turn over their sins and ask for forgiveness with no remorse. I can't do that either. I would feel like a hypocrite, even more than the hypocrite I've been at times in my life. I don't know who I'm supposed to talk to about this either. There are so many churches and clergypersons, I couldn't possibly pick one to counsel with. I really am grateful for every day I get. But there's this nagging sensation that to submit to a fully appreciative way of living would somehow rob me of happiness or joy. And that can't be true. There has to be a way for me to live in a way that pleases God and myself, and where I'm not a lying hypocrite. I continue to work on finding that way.

A Little Progress

OK, I'm still a pig of a man when it comes to keeping up my home, but it's not quite as bad as it used to be. My girlfriend is visiting for one day and two nights this coming weekend, and I've known about it for a month, but I'm just now starting to clean up my place and attempt to make it look like a human lives here and not a feral animal. However, when I think about all the women who visited my place when I had a Lake View apartment between 2002 and 2005, I realize that I've come a long way. "Shelley" tore a hole in her jeans when she walked too close to a broken chair that had a metal piece sticking out that I had neglected to throw away even though I broke it more than a year before Shelley came. In fact, each woman who came there either noticed the chair and was careful to avoid it while cursing me out or never noticed the chair, and instead of just throwing it away, I would just cringe every time one of them walked past the chair hoping they wouldn't slice themselves open. It's funny that Shelley was the one person who damaged her clothing, because she went on to make thousands of dollars by conning me into co-signing her student loan. Guess I paid for the jeans, and then some. "Karen" visited for an hour on Christmas morning 2003 before we spent the day with my family, and she was supposed to be my future housemate and potential wife and all that jazz, yet I still had to kick old newspapers underneath the chair she sat in. And this was three days after "Sarah" spent some time with me for my birthday, so it would have been worse had she not helped me clean up a little. In fact, the first time Sarah came to see me, she spontaneously plopped on the floor and started picking up my junk mail and other garbage and filled a few garbage bags for me. That was her maternal instinct. My apartment was always a little better off after Sarah left, not to mention my cock.

So my place now isn't nearly that bad. There are no broken chairs, and if there was, I'd just take it out because I honestly don't know why I would hang on to a broken chair. There's still some old newspapers lying around because that's my weakness; I hate grabbing a paper and not reading the whole thing, so instead of throwing out the part I've read I'll hold on to all of it and vow to read it when I have time. There's some dust bunnies making families in various corners as I type this, but I'll be zapping the little buggers today and tomorrow. The mop and Pine-Sol is ready and waiting for me to attack the kitchen floor and bathroom. The house won't be spotless for my girlfriend when she arrives this weekend, but it won't skeeze her out either. And most importantly, I'm actually going to make the effort to clean the place instead of kicking some garbage around and trying to hide it, and that's a reflection on how I feel about myself. A few years ago, I felt like a dirty, lazy piece of shit, so that's how I treated my apartment and my relationships. I'm not where I want to be yet, but I'm certainly making some progress taking better care of myself and the things I care about.

The NBA's New Slogan: Ride Or Die

Just a tremendous column by AOL's Jason Whitlock today concerning the thug element in Las Vegas this past weekend at the NBA All-Star festivities. I don't have much to add myself. Vegas from what I understand is lawless anyway, especially the Strip, and tossing the hundreds of sycophants and groupies that always hover around the NBA into the mix made for what I'm sure was a truly frightening weekend. I can only imagine what that town smelled like Monday morning. I actually don't blame the stars for having thick entourages surrounding them at all times--the more bodies between them and potential bullets, the better.

It Starts

Yes folks, you know spring training has finally begun when Kerry Wood finds a way to injure himself. Again. It's a rite of spring, as consistent as a sunrise.

God, I've missed baseball.

Maturation

Today is the one-year anniversary of me being an associate at J.P. Morgan Chase. Only nine more years before they can kick me out on my ass like CBOE did. But seriously, I have been taking steps to distinguish myself at this gig, like volunteering for the quality team, which makes a presentation once a month talking about productivity numbers and error rates and what we can do to improve our performance and stop pissing off our customers. The first time I spoke at a Q-board meeting was the end of December, and although I was nervous and monotone because of my lack of public speaking skillz, I could feel a sense of newfound respect from my co-workers, like they saw me in a whole new light. And I saw myself differently as well. I only volunteered for the team because my old supervisor told me that it should push me into the highest level as far as my reviews go when combined with my nearly flawless productivity numbers. But now that I've been doing it for three months, I feel more responsible, more in-the-loop with those in charge, and more of a leader when I'm doing my job because people who have questions see me as a go-to guy after hearing me preach about asking more questions and reducing errors. Last month, that's what I spoke about, customer service and paying attention to the critical care list, which contains accounts that have complained about various mistakes we've made. My old supervisor told me about a conference call headed up by the C.E.O. of Chase, Jamie Dimon, who said that other banks can get the ear of customers on our list and tell them to take their business away from us. Those banks can say, "We won't make those mistakes," whether that's true or not. I relayed that story during my speech, and the floor went silent, so at least my co-workers were listening for a second. I was told later that some higher-ups heard the part about Jamie Dimon's remarks and said, "Yeah! That's what we need! Someone to talk about those kind of things!" So I'm starting to make some kind of impression. I've stopped coming in late, I stay until all of my work is done, and I even take out the garbage at the end of the day because my team lead is preggers. (No, I didn't do it.) Somewhere in the last calendar year, I've matured a lot. I'm not totally sure why. I think it's some combination of my personal life becoming much calmer and more peaceful, my living arrangements becoming settled, and my being scared shitless by not finding a full-time job for thirteen months. Whatever happens with this gig, I'm not going down without making as hard an effort as possible to step up in the food chain and distinguish myself. This job is something I have been able to sink my teeth into because there are a ton of standard operating procedures to follow, and being an asshole perfectionist, I get off on coming up with the right procedure when everyone else is scratching their heads. In other words, I'm starting to like it here.

Well, That Was Uglier Than A Bowling Shoe

Super Bowl XLI was not actually a bad game, just not very pretty. The Colts took what the Bears offered them, in the above pic's case Rex Grossman's ass, but most of the time it was well-timed running plays and swing passes to running backs. And when the Bears had the momentum in the 1st quarter and were about to sack Peyton Manning, he took what was offered at that point, which was a completely wide-open Reggie Wayne 52 yards away. The Bears were still within a touchdown of winning in the 4th quarter, but when your QB can't hold on to the fucking football, whether it's fumbling the snap or the patented Grossman Close-Your-Eyes-And-Throw-A-Wobbling-Duck move, it's a lost cause. So congrats to the much better team, the Colts. And as for the Bears, it seems like they have made the mistake of getting married to one of their players, which happens when an organization develops an attachment to someone and ignores all of their flaws and shortcomings. The Bears will not give up on Rex Grossman because they feel like they've stuck with him for so long that they're now obligated to hang on and give him every chance to succeed until he leaves the team on his own volition. It is clear to me and others that Grossman is too immature to be a great or even good quarterback right now. Will he ever be successful? Maybe. But there are a lot of veterans on that Bears team who won't be playing football anymore by the time Grossman figures it out, and I guarantee you, they are some angry men right now because there are veterans on other teams, and in the case of Brian Griese, maybe a vet on their own team, who would have discovered that secret of holding on to the damn ball that Peyton Manning discovered and would have given them at least a chance to win the Super Bowl. That's a chance the Bears had not received in 21 years, and it may be another 21 before they receive it again. Hopefully they won't be married to an erratic QB by then.

Super Bowl Fever

Or perhaps this is pneumonia I am feeling, since it has been 15 degrees or less every day this week. Anyway, some final thoughts the morning before Le Grande Game:

• This town has lost all reasoning when it comes to breaking down the actual game and how it's going to go. Because every single soul on ESPN and most of the "experts" in the local papers picked the Saints to beat the Bears in the NFC title game, basically everyone is overcompensating now and calling a Bears victory in a game in which they're a touchdown underdog. That's ridiculous for the entire sports community in Chicago to seriously believe that. Some people, yeah, but not virtually all. The national sports talk shows that were stationed in Miami this week, the host city of the Super Bowl, were reporting that you could hardly find anyone picking the Bears. So how do all of our guys figure that the Bears are gonna wipe the Colts out? It's like Da Superfans have all infiltrated the spirits of our normally (somewhat) civil-minded people. Honestly, it seems like every caller to the local sports talk shows were trying to look at the game rationally before their minds warped and spit out the party line. "Well, the Bears can rush the QB and have a chance that way, but Peyton Manning usually gets rid of the ball quickly, so it might be up to the offense to score a lot in order for us to have a chance...uh...but we all know what's gonna happen, Grossman will trow 5 TDs, and we're gonna pound Manning into da ground. Bears 43, Colts 6...DAAAA BEARRRSSS!" I haven't seen overcompensation like this since--nah, I won't say it. I'm trying to be nice.

• As one of the local afternoon sports talk shows signed off Friday, one of the co-hosts said, "And if the Bears win, please people--riot safely." The response from the producer, who is black, was one of the funniest things I ever heard on the radio, and it will probably get him fined, if not fired. He says, "And don't destroy your own communities in celebration." The white co-hosts agree on that point. Then the producer says, "Go destroy the white folks' communities. Do something different this time." The co-hosts go virtually silent, then one of them chuckles nervously and says, "I can't believe you said that!" before they go off the air.

• I'm very excited about the quality of the game because of how the past week unfolded. There wasn't any bulletin board material, except for Bears QB Rex Grossman, he of the 20 interceptions this season, telling some members of the media that they were ignorant and didn't know what kind of offense the Bears were trying to run. What, the close-your-eyes-and-throw-the-fucking-ball-to-the-other-team offense? I didn't know teams actually called plays for that. But I was impressed by the poise and calm both teams showed, at least externally. The Bears played that "No one respects us" role even though they were favored in nearly every game this year. That's fine, and it even works sometimes. But the Colts were so relaxed, it seemed like nothing could faze them. Their QB, Peyton Manning, who in the past has always let pressure consume him and make him curl up in the fetal position, was cool, calm, humorous, breezy, and really seemed like nothing affected him. He mentioned that he hasn't felt this nervous since performing the tango on stage in high school, then mentioned that no one should try to look for the tape of that because it was "deep in the Manning vault." The next day, said tape was all over SportsCenter. I bet that tape wasn't deep in the vault at all, and I bet Manning mentioned it because he knew people would run and find that tape and give him and his teammates something else to laugh at him about besides the bulge of commercials he's filmed. And he did it because it's something to focus on besides the actual game. The Bears are going to come on the field fired up and spitting about no one giving them a chance because of their bad QB and their status as champs of a shit conference, the NFC. This would theoretically put the pressure on the Colts, since they're supposed to take this group of Bears and handle them. It would be a beautiful thing if Manning led the team on the field and all of them were doing the tango. But even if they're not, I guarantee they have all screened the tape of the tango within the last 32 hours and belly-laughed until they were nauseous, and the effect that has of bringing a team together in a way that takes their minds off the game is huge. The Colts should win, but if they don't, it won't be because they were too nervous in the big moment. All indications are that they are not feeling the pressure at all. If they lose, it will be because the Bears flat-out beat them. Either way, I'm getting a feeling that this game will be one of the best of all time. I cannot wait.

You Mean, Some People Still Value Their Parents??

Me: "I wouldn't just want you to move up here to Chicago for the closeness. I could use a roommate to split these bills with too. I'm holding out hope that I can possibly talk you into moving in with me in the future."

My 40-year-old girlfriend: "My mom would absolutely kill me!"

She is just too precious.

Nothing More To Add To This

I Might Actually Have Made A Correct Prediction

That was some ugly-ass football played at Soldier Field on Sunday, and I didn't even see it happen. I was working, and my Walkman wasn't getting good AM reception where I was stationed, so I had to listen to the first half on the FM feed--in Spanish. But even then, I could tell that the Saints-Bears NFC title game was fugly because there was a steady rhythm of crowd cheering, crowd deflating from a bad Rex Grossman throw or a run play that didn't work, followed by the polite clapping after another Robbie Gould field goal. And the Saints managed to rack up almost 400 yards of offense by the 3rd quarter but couldn't put more than 14 points on the board. That's actually hard to do. I was at home watching the Seahawks-Bears game the week before, and I spontaneously yelled out at least 5 times during that game, "This conference sucks!", because the Seahawks should have lost to the Cowboys if not for Tony Romo getting Carrie Underwood's pussy juice on his fingers and letting the ball slip through at the last second, and now they were going toe to toe with the NFC's "best," Da Bears. And I'm sure I would have yelled something about the NFC sucking another 12 times if I had to watch that game Sunday. How Rex Grossman managed to not throw the ball to the other team 8 times like he had done in half the games in the regular season is beyond me. But they did it, and now the town is in a holding pattern for the next two weeks until the big game in Miami on February 4. I already have the day off.

This is actually bringing back fun memories of the Super Bowl Shuffle Bears from 22 years ago, when I was 9 years old. It's not exactly the same because this team has so many holes, it's very hard to imagine them going all the way. I would have never picked this team to make it this far, so this isn't quite as joyous, but it's still cool to live through. Back then, in 1986, we all expected the Super Bowl to be the coronation of one of the great teams ever, yet there was still a bit of nervousness because, being Chicago, we were used to coming close and falling short--the White Sox in '83, the Cubs in '84, and the Bulls were nothing at the time. It made the win over New England so much sweeter because the Bears were holding up Chicago where the other teams had failed. I was trying to save my bag of Soft Batch chocolate chip cookies and 2-liter of Pepsi for the game itself, but they were consumed before the kickoff, if I recall correctly. I fought off the nausea from being nervous and swallowing that much sugar to cheer like crazy throughout the whole slaughter. And I still have the Super Bowl Shuffle on vinyl.

This will be a different story. The Indianapolis Colts are not those New England Patriots, who were lucky to make the Super Bowl. Peyton Manning is not Steve Grogan, nor is he Tony Eason. And most importantly, these Bears are not almost perfect killing machines like those monsters in '86. There's no Fencik in our secondary to make receivers pay for going over the middle. There's no McMahon under center to coolly perform under pressure. And there's no overmatched team on the other side of the field. The Colts, unfortunately, can play. I picked the Colts to win it all before the playoffs began, and I'm sticking to my guns. I'm calling Colts 38, Bears 13.

And I'm guaranteeing that the Bears will fuck me over and win because I'm putting money on the Colts. I'll be watching the whole way with my Soft Batch cookies and Pepsi. Go Bears!

Another Wrestler Gone In A Flash

Completely unprovoked, I watched a Bam Bam Bigelow pro wrestling match I have on tape against Taz Wednesday just because it's one of my favorite matches. I missed watching Bigelow wrestle, because he was a good 350 or 360 pounds but moved around the ring with freakish agility while still fighting a stiff style that made every move seem like it hurt like hell, which it probably did. Bigelow was found dead in his home this morning in Florida at the age of 45. The medical reports are not available yet, but it almost doesn't matter. An enormous number of pro wrestlers, by nature of their occupation, feel the need to take enough painkillers to make every horse in the Kentucky Derby drop dead. With no evidence whatsoever, I assume Bigelow was no different. It catches up to you eventually. Maybe not after a year, maybe not after a few years, but eventually your body adds up all the things wrong with it that you don't know about because pain, which warns your body that something is wrong, is not being felt due to the numbing medicine you're piling into your system. The funny thing is, if Bigelow had died ten years ago, before literally dozens of wrestlers started dying suddenly at very young ages, some folks could have looked at his size and tossed off some aside about trying to be an athlete at his weight catching up to him. Believe me, it wasn't his fucking weight that killed him. It wasn't weight that killed the 210-lb. Eddie Guerrero in his early 40s, the 235-lb. Curt Hennig in his early 40s, the 280-lb. (mostly muscle) Mike Hegstrand (Road Warrior Hawk) in his early 40s, the 230-lb. Chris Candido in his 30s...I could go on forever. But it's easy for me to rail against painkillers because I never had the balls to go for the brass ring and pursue a career as a wrestler. If I had, who knows what measures I would go through to maintain my "spot" and keep living my dream. But I have a feeling that if those in charge of wrestling would have a heart and provide health care for their employees instead of calling them "independent contractors" and turning their backs on them, better alternatives could be provided than 20 soma pills and a bottle of vodka.

Very Loose Change

As we pause and observe my fellow Capricorn homie Dr. King's birthday, here's a short little reminder that black folks are still viewed as potential marks that can be taken advantage of by some people. My purchase at the convenience store on the first floor of my work building last Friday morning came out to $1.60. After I hand him two dollars, the young clerk, who along with the two or three other older men who have worked the register in the past appears to be of Arab heritage, loudly yells out "FORTY!" as he hands me a quarter and a nickel. I actually had to take a minute to decide whether I wanted to fight over the fucking dime, long enough for him to ring up another customer. But when I finally protested, he was ready. I didn't get the words "Uh, this isn't forty" out of my mouth before he says "SORRY" and hands me the dime, never mind that I never even told him how much I was missing. Dating back to when new ownership took over the local grocery store when I was growing up, this now makes a good seven or eight times that Arab store clerks have shortchanged me. It's really funny how every time they get my change wrong, it's always an error that results in me getting less money back than I should. Some people look at a big black guy with headphones and a baseball cap and assume that he can be taken advantage of. This is one of the reasons why I have always worn that same outfit. I like when folks discover that I'm not a chump and that I have a brain of my own. Dr. King's dream was for people not to be judged by the color of their skin. I'm a natural pessimist, so I say, not in this lifetime. But I still hope that I'm proven wrong someday.

Why Is It All About The Big O?

Look, I'm not trying to deny my manhood and my nature, but my most recent trip to visit my girlfriend on New Year's ended with me begging her for a hand job and her obliging, and I've been battling the feeling ever since that I'm a pig for asking a virgin who's waiting to have sex until she's married to get me off. And it's got me wondering, why am I built that way where she and I can't have a petting and kissing session in her bed without me begging her to get me off? I feel like I should have been happy making out with my girl without having to have an orgasm. After all, she didn't ask me to get her off. She waited until after I left town. I feel like I should have had the decency to do the same.

Now, she didn't seem to be against the idea, I just don't think it was good judgment on my part. See, we had not been past first base before this trip. The last time I saw her in September, we kissed for the first time, and I couldn't resist tasting her neck, but that was it. And we had not discussed doing anything further this time. But because we wanted each other and missed each other badly, one thing led to another, and on the second day of my three-day visit we found ourselves topless on her couch utilizing her jar of honey. Then, an hour before she was going to take me to the airport so I could go home, she asked me to lay in her bed with her just to feel what it would be like. Eventually, we couldn't resist the urge to start dry-humping like teenagers. This got me so aroused that I asked her to touch my penis because I wanted to take the feeling of her hand home with me. Well, she rubbed it through my jogging pants, but I don't believe she ever intended to actually touch it. I was driven so crazy by her rubbing that I pulled my pants down so that she could touch it skin to skin. She didn't refuse, and not long after that, I came in her hand.

My problem is that I feel like an animal for pulling my pants down. I really don't think she expected to give me a hand job this soon in our relationship. I mean, waiting until marriage to have sex means another two or three years minimum, and I don't think she had plans to play with a man's penis before then. Like I said, she didn't disapprove, and she's been very supportive, saying that she wanted everything that happened to happen or else she would have stopped it. But I can't imagine after rubbing my penis and seeing how excited she was making me that she could have possibly turned me down once I whipped it out. I just feel that, knowing she has no sexual experience, I should have been more mature and waited until she expressed a desire to see or feel my dick. But no, my train of thought as a man was: "Ugh, I have hard-on, I gotta cum now, ugh..." I have had sex in situations where I didn't cum because I was so focused on satisfying my partner, so it's not like every time I make out with a woman, she's gotta get me off. But this one time, I feel like I was weak and didn't have any willpower. Well, at least I gained some more insight into why I have never made the first move in the past--I have always waited for the woman to take command and show me exactly what she wants in order to avoid this feeling that I'm a big fat ogre with no self-control.

I'm Picking The Colts To Win The Super Bowl Because...

...there is no New England-like defensive juggernaut to intimidate the Colts into shitting the field and playing like scared little girls. It was clear the last few years that Patriots coach Bill Belichick and his defensive schemes were in Colts QB Peyton Manning's head, as witnessed by Manning's horrific performances in playoff games against NE. But a defensive scheme is only as good as the athletes trying to execute it, and New England no longer has the horses to execute Belichick's plans. This ain't the same New England squad, not by a long shot. Baltimore seems to have rediscovered its magic on defense, but they're old, and I'm not convinced that they can shut down the Colts at this point in their careers. The Colts have rung up disappointment after disappointment in the playoffs, mostly because Manning and coach Tony Dungy are two of the legendary chokers in the game. But last year took the cake--damn near perfect regular season only to lose at home to Pittsburgh in their first playoff game. I really think they're going to come out in this year's playoffs pissed off and poised to redeem themselves. And one more point: Everybody knows that the Colts have the worst run defense, like, in history. But NFL coaches aren't bright enough to take advantage. There was a game recently where the Carolina Panthers had to start their backup QB, Chris Weinke, whose NFL record at the time was an atrocious 1-17. So since he obviously sucked, they decided to minimize his involvement in the game, and he only threw 7 passes, unheard of for a starting NFL QB. This should be the game plan for any coach facing the Colts--run, run, run, and don't even think about passing unless you feel you have no choice. But since the other QBs in the AFC are either average or above average, no other coach is going to go to such a strategy, and as a result, they will all be looking up at the scoreboard at the end of the game, wondering, "How did we lose that game??" It's finally time for Manning and the rest of the Colts to start playing football in the postseason as flawlessly as they play it in the regular season. I'm calling Colts over Cowboys in the Super Bowl.

Of course, before the season I called Panthers over Jaguars, and neither team even made the playoffs, so clearly, I'm really stupid. Keep that in mind when I feel the need to make predictions.

I'm Not A Smart Man...

I really didn't do any research when I requested an iPod for my Christmas present from my folks. I just knew that I had been downloading songs from any and all sources for years, and I wanted a place to put these songs besides my hard drive. Now, I once had about 200 songs on my hard drive thanks to Napster and Kazaa and a few other file-swapping sites, but my computer completely crashed a couple of summers ago and I had to get rid of all that. At the moment I only have eight songs in my collection from Limewire, but I thought once I plugged my iPod into my computer that I could place those songs right in there. Then, in the future, I could download a song, put it in my iPod, and delete the song so as not to wear out my computer again. iPod had a different idea. On my computer screen, the iPod front page separates my Limewire files, allows me to play them on my computer like before, but refuses to send them to my iPod because they "cannot swap unregistered files," or something like that. I assumed that the Limewire files are on my hard drive, therefore they should swap over no problem. I assumed wrong. So the only things that transferred to my iPod are a file someone sent me seven years ago that has some white guy doing an Ebonics-style commercial for Delta ("We loves us some flyin'...and it be showin' like a motherfucker!") and all of my dirty pics, which I probably will delete because I have no reason to take those out in public unless I'm looking to get arrested. Unless someone with some computer savvy informs me of another way, I may have to succumb to the iTunes store and pay 99 cents per download for my songs, whether those songs are the versions I'm looking for or not. Otherwise, my Christmas present would be expensive and totally useless, and that reminds me too much of my ex-girlfriends.

(Update at 1:24P--Eureka! I seemed to have burned all of my songs from Limewire to my iPod. Everyone at once: Awwwww, shit!!)

I Finished My Christmas Shopping

And with a whole day to spare! God, I'm such a man...

31 Years Of Learning

"I can't imagine not wanting some recognition on your birthday," said my girlfriend when I told her that no one at work knew today was my birthday and I planned to keep it that way. Yet when I attended a meeting in which a proposal to announce recent birthdays was shot down because no one knew a way to legally find out whose birthday has recently occurred, I chimed in, "Well, today's my birthday, so I guess you can start with me." Later, I told my module's team lead as well. Thus, a perfect ending to a year in which I learned that I will never stop learning, whether I'm attending school or not. Today I learned to never assume that I can reject a chance at grabbing some recognition. I believe that I tried to downplay my birthday every other year as well, and wound up telling everyone so that they would wish me well. This year I learned so much about myself, from January, finally pulling off a one-night stand without falling hopelessly in love, to February, dealing with losing my apartment and living in a basement while piecing together a good enough interview to land my current job, to delicately putting together a long-distance relationship built on common ground and respect and not lust, to patiently building a new life with a new outlook and a new apartment. And the learning can only stop if I want to close my mind and stop it, and that's not something I'm interested in. I want to take every lesson that's coming to me, whether it's painful, enlightening, or whatever.

My most recent lesson before today was very painful--don't hold on to plastic bags too long. I was caught in a long line Wednesday at Walgreens behind those proverbial little old ladies from Pasadena, and I had four plastic bags of Christmas presents in my left hand. I absentmindedly let all of those bags dangle from my left ring finger, thinking that I'm going to put everything down on the counter once I got there. But getting to the counter took forever, because the ladies took forever. I felt the blood get cut off on my finger, but I didn't put the bags down because I would have had to pick everything up off the floor once it was my turn in line, and I was anticipating my turn coming any second now. My finger went numb. I didn't really think anything of it, because I've been caught in line before with bags that cut off the circulation in my hand, and it came back once I was able to get my bags together and arrange them in a way that wouldn't hurt nearly as much. Well, it's Friday, and my finger is still numb. It's just the tip, but it's still scary. At least the nurse at my job didn't think it was a very big deal. She says that it seems to be a very bad bruise and that if the feeling isn't back by Monday, then I should find a doctor. The side of my finger underneath got the feeling back this morning, but the rest of it is still dead. So the lesson: Don't ignore a limb going numb, dumbfuck, drop the bags already!

I have gifts for my girlfriend in Memphis, but instead of paying for postage and sending them down there, I figure I might as well accompany them. So next Sunday night after work I will fly down south for not my wildest New Year's ever, but my most meaningful. I had a feeling that next year would be a big year for me even before I met my girlfriend, and I can't think of a better way to start that year than with her. She has supported me fully ever since we got together, and sometimes I still can't believe I'm with her. I can't wait.

Happy holidays to all!

Wasted Potential

I just watched Michael Vick during the Falcons-Cowboys game roll one way and try to force a bad pass to a receiver unsuccessfully, while completely missing a receiver on the other side of the field who had absolutely nobody covering him. After about six years of waiting for Vick to mature, read the field, make good decisions, and become an all-around quarterback and not just a fast runner with a strong arm, I realized tonight that this will never happen. Vick has gone through several coaching changes in all his years in Atlanta, and several philosophies as well. But truly, if he was open to learning and able to adjust, he would be decent by now at being an NFL quarterback. But he's not. What he is is one of the most talented athletes in the history of the league, by yardage the best single-season rushing QB ever, but still not a good decision-maker or accurate passer. He completed one of his passes tonight by simply launching the football in the air as far as he could and hoping that a receiver would run underneath the ball and catch it. He did that again later, and his receiver was interfered with by the defender, so they got the ball at the spot of the foul. It doesn't take a great or even good quarterback to launch the ball far and hope you get a catch or pass interference (see Rex Grossman, Bears). And that's all Vick seems capable of doing, even after all these years. Vick will never be a good NFL quarterback. I don't know what he will be doing in a few years, but it's clear that the Falcons won't be using him at QB. He may be a running back or even a wide receiver, although I don't know how good he can catch the ball, or he may be given the quarterback position by a different franchise. But his time in Atlanta behind center has had its chance, and it has failed. There is no future there. I'm very afraid at this point that Vick's full athletic potential will never be fulfilled, and that saddens me because the man is pure electric in the open field. But when any team with a decent pass rush can disrupt your passing game so consistently, it's time to look at the offense and/or the personnel running the offense, and since they've used just about every offense known to man during Vick's tenure, I believe it lies on the personnel, meaning Vick and his core of receivers. But when your quarterback can't put any touch on his throws, it doesn't matter who his receivers are. They're never going to see the ball anyway.