Riding The Crest

My day, in no particular order:

Ran four quarter-miles. For the first time. Ever.

Was told I was expecting another grandpit, my eighth.

Studied hard for Opening Day of fantasy baseball season, and discovered, to my joy, that it will consume a lot more time and brainpower than I initially thought. I will be co-managing the team with my older younger brother. We anticipate being unstoppable.

Figured out how to pay off the last of our startup debt, which will remove approximately 98% of the strain from my life.

Ate several Thin Mint Girl Scout cookies.

Had lunch with the Underground. Discovered I rather like Jimmy John’s.

Had cocktails with the Heartless CEO. Discovered I rather like the Snakebite.

Went apartment hunting. In Chicago. One year later than we planned, we’re putting the band back together.

Today was a good day.

Always. Be. Closing.

I have a theory about the dating service It’s Just Lunch:

Given the vagueness of the radio spots, the target demographic I can infer from the other spots among which I have heard it deployed, and (especially) the content and delivery of the radio spots, I believe that this dating service is, like those “Drop Your Business Card HERE To Win A Free Lunch!” fishbowls, a front to collect leads for new potential clients. New potential clients for It’s Just Lunch’s real business, an escort service.

And that is such an unbelievably fantastic business model, if they’re not doing it that way, I might have to. My God, that’s a license to freakin’ PRINT money.

Dripping Pussy

Anaranjado Grande returned home from Cat Camp with a terrible cold. A couple of days ago, he was giving me the standard morning feed-me closeup staredown, and he sneezed. Juicily. (Incidentally, this was unkindly thought hilarious by another person in my house, who pleasingly had to retract her giggling a day later, when the Cat Snot Cannon was turned on her.)

The good part of this, however, is that it reminded me that I’d been meaning to recount

Reason #3,187 Why I Love Sports Talk Radio

Mike & Mike in the Morning, via ESPNRadio.com:

Mike Greenberg: Did I ever tell you about the worst thing I ever saw on Opening Day at Wrigley? It was years ago, when I was just a radio reporter for a local station in Chicago. We were outside the park, and the show was broadcasting live, and there was a policeman on horseback, doing crowd control. And the horse must have had a cold, and the hosts were in break, and one of them was walking past and the horse sneezed, and, there is no nice way to say this, the horse schnotted all over Dan Jiggetts.

Mike Golic: Oh, Jiggs! Great guy. How’d he take it?

Greenberg: He was fine. He kinda laughed, and wiped himself off.

Golic: What would you have done if it was you?

Greenberg: I carry a cyanide pill at all times…there are, frankly, some things you just do not want to survive.

Season's Greetings

Bracket time again, kiddies, when hearts are filled with cheer, wallets are emptied with childlike wonder and optimism, and my father drives to another state and checks into a hotel under an assumed name so as to watch the first weekend undisturbed.

To play:

Go to http://system.mayhem.sportsline.com/e and register. The group password is “control”. (Minus the quotes.) If you played last year, you should be able to just go to http://system.mayhem.sportsline.com/ and log in. Comment below if you have questions.

Points are awarded as follows:

Correct first round games: 1 point
Correct second round games: 2 points
Correct third round games: 4 points
Correct fourth-round games: 7 points
Correct semifinal games: 10 points
Correct champion: 15 points

Once you register, comment, or shoot me an e-mail, and we’ll work out how to get me a check. Buy-in’s $20.

Prize distribution:
First prize: 75% of the pot.
Second prize: 25% of the pot.
Last place: You will have your $20 publically returned to you accompanied by a sneering recommendation to use it to buy some advice next year.

Too Good To Be Plausible

I generally avoid McDonald’s. I have no objection to their supersizing or nonsustainability or globalization of taste or whatever’s currently in vogue to rip them for. I just don’t eat there, if I can avoid it, because the food stinks. I found myself, a week ago, with no other choices. Which was good, because I had this exchange:

Me: “A number six, please. Hold the tomatoes.”

McPloyee: (turns and looks up at board, I assume to discern what a “number six” is) “And what to drink?”

Me: “Diet Coke, please.”

McPloyee: “Okay, a number six with a Diet Coke.”

Me: “Hold the tomatoes.”

McPloyee: “You want tomatoes?”

Me: “No. No tomatoes.”

McPloyee:(confused by my foolishness) “That sandwich doesn’t have tomatoes.”

Me: (pointing with my chin) “It does in the picture.”

McPloyee: (Turns and looks up at board, then, sneering, turns back to me, then does world-class vaudevillian double-take. Sneer evaporates.) “Huh. Okay. Number six, Diet Coke, no tomatoes.”