Lucky 14

Okey dokey, then. I gotta say, at the beginning of the season, I didn't know if we would pull it off. We were plagued with injuries and Raoul Mondesi (for the life of me I don't know if I spelled that right--what kind of fan am I?). We had no run support. Our pitchers were a little lack-luster (anyone else remember Smoltz's first start this season?). So the 14th Division Title in a row is fantastic news. Bobby Cox rules. As much as I question some of his decision-making, it turns out that the majority of the time he knows what he's doing. I have had some hard times this season. There was the aforementioned Smoltz start. There was Orr. Ryan Langerhans got engaged. But there were bright points too. Andruw started holding the bat lower, resulting in an impressive number of homeruns. The Golden Boy stayed Golden and was a great asset to the team (Francoeur to the uninitiated). I got a ball signed by Julio Franco who is My Favorite Brave. I'm pumped for the post-season, though I wonder what's going to happen without a left-handed pitcher in the rotation. And what of Smoltz? Will his shoulder play nice and allow for quality pitching? I know that some friends of mine are doing their part to ensure the World Series. They call it the Hot Water Challenge and basically it entails not coming into contact with hot liquid until the Braves bring it home. Well, it got 'em a division I guess. Why not the Series? God I love baseball. GO BRAVES!

Can You See the Drummer?

Argh. I have tried roughly one million times to upload a picture of Sufjan Stevens, but, alas, Al Gore in his infinite wisdom did not make the internet user-friendly by someone of average intelligence. So you'll have to make do with my witty and evocative description of him. Tall. Hair the color of Ravens Voyant. A smile to break your heart. Voice reminiscent of molasses on a hot biscuit. Ah, Sufjan. I went to his show at the 40 Watt on Saturday with Christian, KQ, and Mark. The show was muggy and overpopulated, but extremely enjoyable. I distinctly heard a bespectacled Indie Boy say, "This is a fucked up crowd." Which I took to mean that he was surprised to see representatives from such diverse groups as frat boys, punks, and freshmen. I was not surpised, however. If your music is a melting pot, so will be your fans. I have it on more-good-than-bad authority that the employees of the 40 Watt found the show to be "gay." But, see, I poo-poo on this opinion because I happen to know that these same employees attend Flaming Lips shows on a regular basis. And if a grown man in a pink bunny suit ain't gay then, a fortiori, a Michigan lad kicking it with his friends dressed as cheerleaders from the late 70s ain't gay either. The only negative that I can put my finger on from the show (aside from the aforementioned mugginess) is the girl of midget proportions with the puffy hair that talked practically the whole way through a rather moving cover of R.E.M.'s "This One Goes Out to the One I Love." She was standing thisclose to me and would not stop talking to the skinny pierced boy next to her (who may or may not have been a willing accomplice). Finally her friends told her to be quiet and she stomped off in a rather convincing huff, bless her. Apart from that, enjoyable experience through and through. Tight orchestration, flawless singing, a squeaky Superman. Brilliant.

In other news, I have joined the World of Cool (not to be confused with the World of Coke) and am now a proud member of Friendster. Please, if you also are a member, make me your friend. It's humiliating only having one.

My trip to the Braves game on Sunday was an exercise in Frustration of Monolithic Proportions (as compared with the midget proportions of puffy hair girl, supra). Due to traffic, both on I-75/85 and at the hot dog stand, I did not sit down to watch until the 6th inning! I missed the Giles homerun, which was pivotal and which would have been a first for me. I was angry, cranky, and unhappy with the lack of mustard at the Ted. But the Braves won, which is, of course, a plus. Two more and it's the division. Huzzah! Drat people and their cars and Atlanta's appalling lack of mass transportation. Hypocracy aside (she said, knowing that the car she was in contributed to the problem), I hate everyone.

Okay. Moral of the Blog: buy Sufjan, join Friendster, go Braves.

Tales from the "Liberry"

Tales from the "Liberry"

Hot Librarian

I had big plans to blog all about how cool librarians are because one day I think I'll likely be one. Instead. I'm going to blog a blog, which is close to the silliest thing I've ever heard of, but I think this thing really speaks for itself. So see above. Go to link. Enjoy. And in about five years, think of me, stalking the stacks in my librarian-wear, horned-rims and all. Then take a cold shower.

Game Day

Uga VI for President. Seriously. Think about it. He can't be worse than what we've got now. He makes the public happy. He likes to taste babies. He licks ice. All the heads of state of all the other countries would just look at our president and say "Aww. Wook at his widdle face!" instead of saying "JIHAD!!" (unless they were cat people I guess). I mean, which is preferable, if one wanted to be honest with one's self? We could be squandering a golden P.R. opportunity here. Granted, drooling on the desk in the Oval Office won't really accomplish much in the way of "helping the Katrina victims" or "protecting the rights of Americans to marry whomever they wish" or "getting us out of the Iraq quagmire"--I mean obviously it hasn't worked for Dubya yet. But America's cuddly president--representing the best of the American football tradition--could take us far in the eyes of those who view us as cowboys and whatnot. Uga VI will not unilaterally attack anything (unless it's Florida; I hear Uga doesn't like Florida: but really, unilaterally attacking Florida will likely not result in quite the catastrophe we have in Iraq since octogenarian New Jersey transplants and vacationing families will probably not be able to mobilize in time to fight back), or read children's books while his countrymen are dying in hellish fires brought in the name of Allah (he's can't read, see), or garble his speeches to the chagrin of Americans who give a crap about how the world sees us (he really only has one word at his immediate disposal and that one, "Woof!" being neither noun nor verb, and quite effective at invigorating the morale of the Georgia football team and its fans), or alienate factions of the populace (he's rather universally appealing). There is the pesky question of whether this would be inviting the monarchy scheme of government back into the mix. Uga's title passes down by bloodline and appearance. But is that really different from what we've got going on now? I mean, show Americans a legacy and they'll practically pee themselves in excitement. So no problems there. We'll have "elections" so that we maintain the air of democracy, but it'll be no secret who'll win--the cutest little Commander in Chief ever!

Sorry about the diatribe. Today I am angry at our government. Go Dawgs!

Porn Forever

To Nutmeg: (vb. trans.) Denotes an action in ball sports wherein a player causes the ball to pass between the legs of another player, preferably not resulting in a turnover of possession to the opponent.

So, Sectionals has come and gone. Internet Porn dominated--Second Place, baby! Second only to Johnny on the Spot (now taking nominations for the most derogatory play on this name that anyone can come up with --please keep it relatively family friendly) from Tennessee, which ain't too bad. We played JOTS only once during the weekend, due to the wicked-bad brackets that the TD came up with. They defeated us 13-9 in a game that I think we could have won if not for the most horrendous calls I have ever had the misfortune of being privy to. I do not like them, Sam I Am. In any event, the highlight of the weekend was undoubtedly defeating Shotgun (or "Gaygun" or "Snotgun" or whatever else you would like to call them) in the game for second/third. The glory of this victory is best conveyed through a monologue from the perennial-favorite sports movie, Hoosiers. But since I don't know what that monologue would sound like, suffice it to say that we lost our game to them on Sunday morning 15-11 after taking half 8-3. I was not a happy camper. The phrase "spitting nails" comes to mind. I was envisioning the horrible, wet things I would like to do to them for the rest of the day. And then we got our chance to show 'em what for. Granted they had just played a ridiculously difficult game against JOTS and we had had a relatively easy game against Soul Patrol (which it also felt darn good to win). But I choose to think that we would have beat them anyway, having had plenty of practice knowing how crappy it felt to lose to them. So there you have it. Second in the section. On to Regionals, which will be very challenging, to say the least. Silver lining: perhaps my Uncle Frank will be able to come and watch. Lovely. Okay, without further ado, the highlights:

--My first ever nutmeg: there I was being trapped on the line by JOTS's fierce zone defense, the count was getting up and I was beginning to panic; I start to fake 'em off me, trying desperately to pass to Wilbur who was anxiously trying to hear if I was being stalled; I saw my opportunity and almost simultaneously tried the stupidest move ever--I broke my mark and sent it through the legs of the middle of the cup. Wilbur caught it grinning. It was silly, ridiculous, gutsy, and dumb--and the most exhilerating feeling EVER.

--Don's footblock and subsequent score during the JOTS game: you don't know what a thing of beauty it is to see someone get a footblock while flatmarking until you've experienced it.

--Stephen's Triple Threat Point: he layout D's, skies a dude on the pass, and throws a beautiful score pass to someone cutting almost 180 degrees away from him. It's practically indescribable (though he was responsible for taking out Gazelle's elbow).

--Russell (he also wins props for being the only thing to be included on the highlight list and the lowlight list).

--Not getting sunburned.

--C & S

--Spooning with both Russell and Wilbur (though the happiness of that was somewhat marred by the fact that I had one of the worst night's sleep I've ever had--Russell totally throws 'bows in his sleep).

--The Pickle

Man, I cannot wait for Regionals. To do before the big weekend arrives: improve my defense, get my handling skills up to par again, make friends with He Who Will Remain Nameless. Oh, and for the record our jerseys will read: "Click Click...18 to Enter" which is beautiful in that it simultaneously pokes fun at Gaygun's favorite cheer "Click click Boom" and references the "double click" that must take place to view, ahem, pictures on the internet. Lovely. And family-friendly.

I.P. I love you.

I.P.

Labor Day weekend was spent in sunny Chattanooga at the Shawn Adams Memorial Tournament dominating with Internet Porn, my fantastic co-ed ultimate team. We went 5-2 for the weekend, which is a winning record and therefore rather satisfying. However, we lost our two important games--one against Shotgun in pool play and then the quarterfinals game against Soul Patrol. These are disturbing losses because both teams are in our section and we will have to face them again this weekend at sectionals and beat them to secure a bid to regionals. But, I think that having seen them once, I.P. will be better prepared to face them this weekend. It's frustrating to lose games that you know your team could win. I mean, if we had gotten blown out of the water or something, that would be one thing. But we lost our game to Shotgun by three and our game to Soul Patrol by five. It's not like we got creamed. Anyway, while the outcome of the weekend may have been frustrating, there were some high points too:

--Watching the Margarita Race between Russell and Nash because brain freeze is funny when it's not happening to you.
--Creating the perfect man out of various players at the tournament with Dino and Sandra and Corr. So far we have the following:
Billy's Hair
Sample's Eyes
Nash's Brain
Stephen's Sense of Humor
Mike's Legs (and I'm angling for his dimples too)
Rick's Demeanor
Acuff's Torso (tho his pecs are mildly intimidating)
Russell's Teeth
Daag's Lips
Noticeable missing, of course, are arms, hands, feet, ears, and butt. If anyone out there has any suggestions, I'm all ears.
--Wilbur's lay out D and subsequent long shot to the end zone for a very timely pump up point during the Soul Patrol game.
--Dino's first ever huck for a score.
--The Football Play during the Chumpionship Finals (which we won, thankyouverymuch). I never knew I could play wide receiver.
--The Georgia Football Game (David who?).

Now it's back to the real world for a few days. Lame. Because the real world is really really sad right now.