Another day gone by, another week spent in the quaint town of Franklin, TX.  I might as well take out a 2nd mortgage for my (ostensibly) 2nd home here.  Although, there is a faint, meagerly discernible splinter of daylight fracturing through the ominous stratus clouds.   My time here will progressively (hopefully?) diminish with each coming visit over the course of the next few months.  Like all business trips, I’ve gone through my Ike and Tina love/hate relationship with this assignment.  I’ve gone from feeling loathsome to growing acclimated to my surroundings out here.  Would I rather be in Atlanta?  “Hellz yeah” would be a massive understatement.  But, rather than canoodling the negative, I’ve chosen to fondle the positive.  The main positive being that this is a fairly important project of a larger scale – and I’m the lead engineer on it.  So, the better the project goes, the better it makes me look as an engineer.  So, I’m willing to be out here as long as they (reasonably) need me to be.

Kobe Hatin’.  It’s been all the rage ever since the fugly splitup between Shaq-Kobe-Phil took place years ago.  Once again, after Kobe having reached the NBA Finals for the 2nd consecutive year SS (Sans Shaq), the Kobe haters have resurfaced.  Anyone who knows me knows how much of a staunch fan and supporter I am of Kobe.  He is the most lethal asassin in the NBA.  No one matches his competitive drive.  Is he arrogant?  Yes.  At times selfish?  Yes.  Too predictable?  Yes.  Too corporate?  Yes.  Lacking in street cred?  Yes, yes, and yes.  But…so what?  These are the SAME adjectives that were sometime used to (quietly) describe Michael “His Airness” Jordan.  Yet, NBA fans globally were (and to an extent still are) enamored with him.  How folks LOVED Jordan, but hate Kobe is beyond me.  They are practically the same player.  Both have gone through controversial episodes in their lives (Kobe with the Colorado case and Jordan with the gambling and infidelity).  Both possess unmatched competitive drive that exemplifies their attitude toward opponents and, to a greater extent, what they expect out of their teammates.  People chastise Kobe for the way he berates teammates demanding perfection out of them.  Jordan was exactly the same way, if not more demanding of his teammates.  Jordan was the most arrogant (and obnoxious) player I have ever seen – but I was a big fan of Jordan, just as I am of Kobe.  Do not allow your rational opinion of Kobe to be diluted by his arrogant attitude,  competitive demeanor, and unrelenting insistence (and expectation) of perfection from his teammates.  Maybe folks feel the same way about Kobe that I do about Ryan Reynolds:  there’s something indescribably repugnant about him that I don’t like.  Or…they may feel the same contemptuous and venomous hate for Kobe that I do for Dane Cook.  Then again, even I’m capable of rescinding a marginal fraction of hate for Dane Cook if I was actually shown something where his performance DIDN’T defecate on the overall quality of the involved production.  So, maybe Kobe does have some hope after all.

T-Minus 2 1/2 weeks ’til I get my joint redecorated (phalanges intertwined).  I’ve grown slightly fatigued of inhabiting a joint with a dearth of furniture and an excess of echo.

Oddly enough, I had an odd sequence of dreams last night.  In short, during the course of my shut-eye solitude last night, Kobe failed to reach the first game of the NBA Finals, my green walls looked completely tan with reflected light, and my significant squeeze stood me up on a date (cold feet, maybe?).  As if it wasn’t enough to get anally raped in reality, I get chopped and screwed in my dreams too?  Oy vey.  Ay yi yi.  No worries, since I’m scrapin’ crust out of my eyes at around 5:30 every morning out here in Texas, these dreams are rather terse and lack any consequential longevity.  Regardless, an odd set of REM thoughts.  My eyes must’ve been horizontally gliding in opposing directions; intermittently darting back and forth under my eyelids.

I am a valence electron on the perimeter of the atom of cultural relevance.  Society and pop culture is gradually passing me by.  I don’t seem to keep on keepin’ on with nobody nor nothing.  I just heard about this whole Air France deal a few days ago – and still don’t know all the associated details.  The only reason I even knew about this was because a co-worker brought it up at the plant yesterday.  Then again, I’m the same cat who didn’t know that Lindsay Lohan was switch hittin’ until after she went back to tappin’ her cleats on only one side of the batter’s box.  I am definitely living OTP when it comes to having any knowledge of what’s happenin’ in the world of entertainment and pop-culture.

I just glanced over at the clock and realized that it’s 11 O’ Clock (Central Standard Time).  What exactly does that mean?  Bed time.  Time to enumerate Z’s.  A sign of the current times (no pun intended) and circumstances, I suppose.  I never thought I’d be consistently suckin’ face with my pillow at such a deliberately premature bedtime.  Then again, life on the road doesn’t exactly lend itself to a productively nocturnal lifestyle either.

Buenas noches.  ‘Sta luego.

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.

Here’s the nitty gritty, the grimy…the gutter. I am back on my engineering grind, living the glamourless life in Hearne, TX. As has become expected of me the last few months, I’ve been a bit AWOL from this site. I’m sure you folks out there have become accustomed to it. Like I always vow and promise, I’ll try to be more consistent and frequent with posts, but I’ve largely disappointed before, so whose to say I won’t again?

Double Coronary Bypass Burger. Side of taters. Approximately 8 1/2 minutes. That’s how long it took me to get my beast on and devour that. A few friends and I had been engaging in back and forth competitive banter berating one another’s appetite. We were hellbent on emasculating one another by exhibiting unparalleled gastronomical prowess. So, this past weekend, we finally sat down at The Vortex in Little 5, tossed aside nutritional common sense, and decided to settle who was the “really man”. The time had come to shut our faces and torture our tummies. For a little culinary background information, the Double Coronary Bypass Burger is a 1/2 lb beef patty served on 2 grilled cheese sandwiches (used as the buns) with 5 slices of bacon and 2 fried eggs (along with 4 slices of cheese). For flips and wiggles, they throw in some green leaf lettuce. Since I’m a vegetarian, I passed on the bacon and substituted 2 veggie patties for 1 beef patty. It was not nearly as intimidating as expected. I thought that I’d be grasping my colon and massaging my foodbox as soon as I took a few bites, but such was not the case. All three of us downed our burgers and taters in less than 10 minutes – and I felt fine afterwards. I wasn’t exactly sent sprinting to the bathroom to administer a porcelain lap dance. Admittedly, I was slightly disappointed. I thought it would be more of a challenge. Maybe we just underestimated our gluttonous appetites?

The Vortex Throwdown was a perfectly appropriate way to segue into my trip to Texas this week. I swear to you, everything is fried in this state. And what about vegetarian options, you soy swashbucklin’, tofu fightin’ green cats ask? Excruciatingly scarce. I’ve been to two burger joints in the past couple of weeks and the only vegetarian option that either had was a grilled cheese sandwich. Don’t get me wrong, grilled cheese has more cache than the suspenders I’m gonna bring back in style, but c’mon, a little variety wouldn’t hurt. In addition, the concept of healthy food is endangered, if not extinct, here. I’m queasy and exhausted by the lack of nutritionally conscious food they have out here. But…as always, it is what it always has been.

So…I got suckered, bamboozled…sweet-talked into attending an Art of Living (breathing techniques/yoga type stuff) course a few weeks back. Contrary to presumptive opinion, I found it beneficial and informational. I’m largely skeptical on how much of these techniques I will incorporate into my daily routine, but regardless, it was a great experience. I may further explore this avenue in the future.

Franklin, TX. Pop. 1470.

Here I am writing to you cats from the city of College Station, TX (home to Texas A&M University). Every morning and afternoon, I drive an hour to and from my Homehood Suites in College Station to the power plant in Franklin, TX. Word on the street was that I was supposed to have done left already from here yesterday…but…flip happens – as it always does on these startups. These startups rarely go according to plan. So, I fully expected to have my rectum poked, prodded, and expanded beyond comprehensible measurement before I headed out here last Monday. And…as expected, such has been the case.

In all seriousness though, This startup has went relatively smooth. We’ve been fortunate in the fact that we haven’t encountered too many cumbersome issues. This just seems to be a matter-of-time type startup. I can live with those. Anyways, it looks as if I will be able to fly back in town sometime later this week (probably Thursday or Friday). So, for now, I’m stuck here perusing the mean streets of Franklin, TX in search of vegetarian friendly food. I have been annihilating Jason’s Deli while here. It ain’t exactly my idea of a perfect, savory meal – but it’s healthy and vegetarian friendly. I stumbled across a Pita Pit the other day on the Texas A&M Campus and grabbed me a Falafel Pita. It’s been years since I’ve eaten at Pita Pit. My pita was on point. I am definitely going to be returning there sometime this week. As far as Franklin, TX goes, there are literally only a peace sign worth of options: Subway and Ama’s Mexican Restaurant. I have designated both as “wiggity wiggity wack”. But, they’ve sufficed decently enough for the past week (I’ve already hit up both 2 or 3 times). The major pain is that they are about 20 miles from the plant. There isn’t anything closer than that. It’s odd how I’ve become accustomed to the bumblefuck life. Anytime I’m sent out on the road for work, it is almost always somewhere in the boondocks. So, glamour life this definitely isn’t. Such is the grind of a controls engineer. But, believe you me, I got shit and squadoosh to complain about. There are field engineers whose job is to exclusively be on the road. We are talking 90% travel. For example, the construction team we are working with on-site have engineers who have been on-site for 6+ months. All they do is go from place to place assisting on different sites. Like I mentioned previously in a post, I don’t know how they do it. I could not. I love my life in The A. Sometimes, I can grow bored of it, but these prolonged site visits reinforce how much I enjoy my life back in the dirty dirty.

A few weeks or so ago, I went about the process of hiring an interior decorator to redecorate my condo. So, technically, we were supposed to have been done with everything this coming week, but this site visit has engineered a significant delay in those plans. Now, because of my hectic travel schedule and my decorator’s busy work schedule, we may not be able to complete the redecoration until sometime in June. I had everything planned to be completed this week, but my redecoration completion date has been postponed since my time here has been extended. But, we did get my condo painted last week, so at least that is one item on the list that has been crossed out. But, now I’m stuck having to stare at painted walls with no accompanying decor or furniture for a month. I can already envision myself second guessing the paint selection over and over and over. I wish we could get all of this done as soon as possible so I can see the finished product and how everything coordinates with one another (paint with furniture, rug, tables, etc.). But, I’ve waited this long, so what’s another month or so, right? Like I always say though, perspective, perspective, perspective. A lot of folks have it much worse.

Business travel always seem to come at the wrong time. Last year, when I started traveling extensively, I had just moved into my new apartment. So, for the first 4 or 5 months, I was on the road half of the time. Now, in the midst of my redecoration project, I am stuck out here in Texas wondering how much longer I will have to postpone my “Wine and Grilled Cheese” housewarming party.

Anyways, time to enumerate z’s.

So, I’m gonna shoot you cats a heads up on my imminent (but temporary) absence from blogging on this site. I’m gonna try to teach myself enough about web design as I can for the next two weeks or so. Hopefully, after I’m done stumbling around intoxicated with a haphazard knowledge of CSS, PHP, and HTML, I can re-design this veggielovin’ site and put my own personal toush on it.

I may or may not see this through. I have enough of a working knowledge about these things to not be completely out of my element, but we’ll see, no?

It doesn’t seem too difficult, but then again, that whole PVR fiasco took a bit longer than expected, so who I am foolin’? Why must I be so GT? Why? Why couldn’t I just be like all the other skanks out there and brandish a bill or so to purchase a legitimate premium WordPress theme? Ay yi yi, the things we do to bust a hyperlinked programming nut…

Who knows, maybe if I’m successful in my attempts, then I could even design a header logo for The Hamster (spitefulcynic.com). Apparently, he got banned from Craigslist because he offered $35 to anyone who could design a website logo for him. Geeks across The A united against him and bombarded him with hate mail proclaiming how asinine it was to “only” pay $35 for an hour’s (maybe less) worth of work. Shit, maybe he should re-post? After all, it is officially a recession now; IT folks may have become as desperate for work as the rest of us.

However…If I’m successful in my WordPress endeavor, I will lowball the hell out of their pocket-protector rockin’ asses. Shit, how does FREE sound, Hamster? Hellz yeah. Now, if The Hamster voluntarily chooses to compensate me, I cannot say that I’d be the bigger man and refuse his monetary indulgence.

But, anyways, if you want to keep yourself updated with this site to know when I post next, just subscribe to the RSS feed.

I may or may not post a few items while I’m gettin’ my geek on. Hell yeah I grunt when I get my GT on…WHAT!!!

There are a few of you cats out there who already have WordPress based sites, so if all things go rather swimmingly, I’ll share my experiences in a post so you cats can have an informational reference on this matter.

By the way, you have got to corazon the iPhone (that would be a great t-shirt idea, “I CORAZON the iPHONE” – it even rhymes). I just blogged this entire post perched atop my porcelain BFF. Has your foot ever fallen asleep because you’ve been on the can too long? This seems happens to me at least once a week or so (more often than not at work). But this time, both of my feet have hit the snooze as I finish this blog in the water closet at my job.

I guess it’s the price you gotta pay for havin’ the iPhone.

Por fin.  I am tantalizingly close to finishing up my PVR (Personal Video Recorder) project.  It’s taken two fortnights to get to this point (3 weeks longer than expected), but I am nearly done.  All that’s left to be done are a few minor tweaks.  I will post an informational write-up sometime in the next week or so detailing the process (and the many issues I struggled with).

By the way, I think I’m going to revamp/retool/renovate this website of mine in the near future.  Something slightly more professional and organized.   Stay tuned for that.

Anyways, on to a few random thoughts that have been ricocheting around in my scatterbrained mind.

Nick & Norah’s Infinite Playlist.  The classic example of wanting something to be better than it is – and nearly being able to coerce yourself into believing that.  Similar to dining at a high-end establishment.   Impeccable decor and intriguing ambiance can easily bamboozle you into forming a biased opinion of an establishment’s culinary offerings.  Sometimes, you have to strip down a product to its core and ignore the extraneous accompaniments and decorations.  Only then can you make an honest and fair judgment.  This is how I felt about Nick & Norah’s.  It was a good movie that I wanted to be great.  I wanted it to be better than it was.  I’m not claiming culpability for classifying this movie as a disappointing flop, because I am not doing that at all.  I actually liked this movie…just not as much as I think I wanted to.  I just wasn’t feeling the chemistry between Nick (Michael Cera) and Norah (Kat Dennings).  Plus, I found certain parts of the movie slightly cliche and borderline cheesy.  But, it was a good flick; just not up to par with what I expected.  In my opinion, the best thing about this movie was that it offered a more pedestrian cinematic visualization of New York City.  Man oh man do I have a crush on the Big Apple.   It’s like the girl that got away.

Anyways, I’ve begun to feel increasingly stagnant over the past month or so.  I haven’t been to the airport in 5 months.  That is a lifetime for me.  I gotta take a mini-break or something in the next month or so.  Get away for a weekend.

I’ve thought long and hard (well, more like infrequently and lackadaisically) about the state of my life and my current approach towards it.  I don’t know exactly know if I’m more indifferent or ambivalent about the state of affairs in my life.  I’m leaning toward the latter.  For example:  dating.  In a cashew shell, to oversimplify the matter, if I ain’t interested, I’m disinterested.  I believe that dating has only reinforced this.  I have no need to keep someone around because of a fear of being lonely.  So, unless it “feels right”, I am inclined to stay single.  I’ve dated more in the past 6 months than I probably had in the previous year or so, so at the least, I have a better sample size to use as a premise for a more accurate assessment of my negligent attitude towards dating.  Over under on me getting married by the age of 30?  I’m hedging my bet on the over.  It’s odd how a large majority of my friends find themselves in the same predicament.  I sometimes wonder why so many of us are still unattached with no imminent prospect of marriage in the near future.  Conceivably, we could all be in our 30′s and still single.  Who would’ve saw that coming?  Definitely not our ‘rents, I’ll tell you that.  They must be scratching their heads contemplating our sexual orientation at this point.

I’m still holding out hope that it’ll feel right when it does; that what is meant to be will be.  If not, then I’m already calling shotgun on being that creepy 35-year old, receding hairline “geriatric fuck” trying to mack jailbait hotties into making a mistake all the while impressively seducing with my salsero prowess.  True story:  there is actually a guy like this.  I’ve seen him on multiple occasions at Opera and Cosmo/Lava spitting mad game to women half his age.  And, for whatever reason, he is ALWAYS doing salsa.  Definitely a cheeseball that I have designated as my role model. I’m already losing touch with pop culture, so whose to say I won’t be “that guy” even sooner than that?  Let all of us pray that it doesn’t ever get to that point.  I’d rather fling singles at a professional shoe model I have a squadoosh chance of copping a legitimate feel (“Chicka, Chicka yeah“) than to be “that guy” at the club.

But, surely…that won’t be me.  Right?  Right?  You’d be a fool to think so…but you’re not a fool….are you?

Swatchmen

Alimony is a bitch!  I’m like a deadbeat daddy infrequently visiting his offspring.  This site has become my bastard child.  I’m increasingly neglecting this bad boy each passing month.

I’m raising my hand and accepting full responsibility for my negligence.  To be frank and honest, another “project” has swallowed up my free time.  That project, that never-ending frustrating project would be my quest to build a faux-Tivo (a PVR), but I will get to that in a later post.  I’ve been too damn scatterbrained these past few months – too easily distracted and deterred.  Let’s hope that I can somehow change that in the coming months.

I’m toggling through frequencies channeling my inner Jake Delhomme, licking my fingers repeatedly in anticipation.  I’ve been AWOL for a minute and some change, so please believe I got a few thoughts I need to electronically scribble down.

First things first, I would be doing an enormous disservice to moviegoers if I didn’t share my hate…err…opinion about the latest graphic novel/superhero flick “(S)Watchmen”.   The fact that this movie received an overall rating of 65% on Rotten Tomatoes (which is actually pretty decent) solidifies the fact that 65% of this great nation of ours…is on crystal meth…or blind.  This was an ATROCIOUS piece of cinematic gaah-bage.  The kind of crap that can only get pushed out of one’s intestines.  And nearly 3 hours long?  “Watchmen” was supposedly an accurate depiction of the graphic novel.  If that is the case, then how the hell is this the most popular graphic novel of all-time?  Three words can sum up my opinion about this movie:  Wiggity.  Wiggity.  Wack.  That’s all that’s needed to be said…but…I (obviously) will expound a little more on my most regrettably spent $10 of 2009 (and I’ve been to the strip club!).   First off, a superhero movie without action is about as appealing as a porno without sex.  Jenna Jameson is shaking her head right now.  So, not only did “Swatchmen” have limited, pedestrian action, but the acting was horrible.  The only character (and acting performance) that saved this movie from being thrown into the 300 “Pit of Death” with “Good Luck Suck” and “Miami Vice” was that turned in by Rorschach (the cat with the inkblot mask on his face).

The love scenes were uncomfortable enough to make an adolescent teen cringe and a Cambodian tranny whore consider a vow of celibacy.  Think I’m embellishing a bit?  Then download the torrent (please DO NOT…I emphatically reiterate, DO NOT throw down cash for a movie ticket).  If you somehow support this movie financially, then I will hunt you down and Jack Bauer-interrogate your ass.  Waterboarding will feel like a handjob in comparison to what I’ll do to you.

Another thing.  When exactly did “Swatchmen” become “10th and Piedmont”?   Sky blue genitalia was dangling on-screen seemingly every other shot.  I mean…cmon Dr. Manhattan…put on some draws!  Hey, don’t get me wrong, I ain’t adverse to spotting a man’s junk on camera, but repeatedly?   We kind-of-sort-of got the point the first time we saw him clone himself into a menage-a-trois machine.   As if that wasn’t awkward enough, Dr. Manhattan goes into a 15+ minute monologue (on Mars – yes, the planet Mars) detailing how he became who he is.  Hands down the most boring 15 minutes of cinema I’ve seen in quite some time.

This movie was disappointing on every level.  I wasn’t even impressed with the cinematography of the movie (like I was with Sin City and 300).  The best part of the movie was the opening credits.  From that point on, the movie quickly accelerated (more like nose-dived) downhill.  The comic book/graphic novel geeks must have hatched a conspiracy to ensure this movie’s success.  Positive reviews from “legitimate” critics?  A big opening weekend?   How did any of that even happen?  Who in their right mind could enjoy this movie?  The highlight of the evening was that the movie ended in enough time for me and my crew of cool cats to grab a slice of pie from Fellini’s before they closed at midnight.  Thank God we caught the 8:30 show.  Thank God.

Months and months ago, I wrote an inflammatory post insulting Dane Cook (among others) and implored him to cease making movies.  I received a ton of comments on that post – mostly defending Dane Cook.  So, I’m pretty sure that there will be a myriad of comments defending this indefensibly disappointing movie.

I was going to write about a few other things, but I guess that my Swatchmen angst hijacked this post.

It’s fiddeen after 12.  I’m ’bout to catch up on some SportsCenter highlights and hit the hay.

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.

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?

What a chill ass weekend I’ve had. It’s funny how a weekend of monotony and inactivity can rejuvenate you.  Laziness was feeding me grapes in a bikini while I relaxed on my couch noshing on faux-beef fajitas and sippin’ on soda pop.  After catching an episode of Entourage on HBO this past Friday, I figured that I’d download the latest season (Season 5) and watch it. I must admit…the praise that this show has received is well deserved. I wasn’t exactly chugging the bottle of hype that’s been circulated around the past 5 years or so about this show…but I am now.  It tickled enough of my viewing fancy for me to also download seasons 1-4.  I finished season 5 yesterday and decided to start from the beginning today.   About an hour or so ago, I got done with Season 1 and am gonna work my way back up to Season 5. Mad props to Wahlberg and the crew for having the genius to bring this show to the Home Box Office.

I went to a vegan/veggie friendly joint called Ria’s Bluebird in East Atlanta on Memorial Drive this past weekend. Nice joint to get brunch/breakfast at. I ordered two eggs scrambled with Soysage and skillet potatoes on the side.  Everything on my plate was on point.  Definitely a place worth returning to (which I will).  I would say that it’s comparable to the Thumbs Up Diner on Edgewood – but I like Ria’s better.  I find it amazing that the same stretch of Memorial Drive that folks wouldn’t even considering traversing through years ago is now a hip hotbed for young, urban professionals in the city. I’ve said this many times before, but it’s very Brooklyn-ish – and I friggin’ love Brooklyn, so I’m glad that we have an area in the city like this. It’s a good escape from the cosmopolitan atmosphere of Midtown. Although…where would a rave be without a rant? I think that the revitalization of an urban area is a great thing, but why must all the hip and chic new restaurants be so overpriced? One day, it’s a lower income neighborhood and a few years later, it’s a hipster hangout that charges 5 bucks a beer and $10 for a burger. Really? I thought the whole idea of the hipster and indie movement was to wrestle away from the commercial and corporate? But…we starve for anything that resembles a departure from the normal…so…we pay, shut our mouths, and enjoy the ambiance.

I saw Gran Torino last week. Another solid movie put out by Clint Eastwood. This man is money. Might as well change his film name to Federal Express…because that man delivers. Was it as good as Million Dollar Baby? No. But…that is the sign of a great director. When you’ve made so many great movies that everyone expects the next to be better than the previous. In Gran Torino, Eastwood plays Walt Kowalski, a Korean War vet who moves back to his old neighborhood following his wife’s funeral. Much to his chagrin, his neighbors are Asians. Their kindness gradually weathers away Walt’s bigoted mindset and he grows fond of the neighbor’s children. Because of his unexpected and newfound relationship with his neighbors, Walt finds himself immersed in the conflictual relationship between the neighborhood and the local Asian gang. That is the basic premise of the movie. It’s pretty interesting how Walt’s neighbors are unaffected by Walt’s perpetually narrow-minded and prejudiced epithets. They look beyond his disparaging remarks and ignorant perspective and see a misunderstood man that’s capable of good. Plus, like I said previously, any movie about a flagrant racist makes for interesting theater – and that it did…that it did. If anything, this movie may serve as a renaissance for the revival of forgotten slurs.  Zipperheads? Gooks? Spooks? Like Randal says in Clerks II, maybe Eastwood’s “bringing it back“.