08 is here. (OR: Rejoice, Ye Working Wounded)

As the ball dropped, I was holding a rack filled with dripping Movie Tavern cups, as two of my coworkers kissed a few feet away. Sure, I'd never rang in New Year's with two gay guys before, but I was on the clock and there was work to be done.

And so was this New Year's Eve.

It was an epic night at Movie Tavern, but not in the "oh my god, someone shit in one of the chairs!" way but rather in a way we will tell our grandchildren until they put us in a home.

See, Movie Tavern has 11 theaters (one was converted and is now the kitchen that is sucking away my soul). About four or five of them seat 150 and the rest seat seventy someodd. We sold them all out, minus some tickets for lack of space. Keep in mind we expected...well, no one. After all, there are parties and getting drunk to do!

Let me repeat this for emphasis: EVERY THEATER SOLD OUT.

We didn't seat the usual late set, and Adam and I (plus Eric) rolled out of the kitchen twenty minutes after the ball dropped.

Nancy and I left and welcomed the New Year around two o clock in Waffle House. The beautiful thing about Waffle House (side note: my typing is reminding me how poor I can be with my hands) is that no matter what, if you go there after dark you will see someone you feel superior to. Perhaps it will be your server. Perhaps the couple sitting at the table behind you. Perhaps the gentlemen with a tranny. Perhaps the drunks in the parking lot who pretend you hit them. (All real life Waffle House stories!)

It was an exhausting New Year, and yet I spent it with some of my favorite people.

Happy New Year to you all.

Also, a plug for Gill and her blog, Nothing But Song. She's put together some great pop songs for her end of the year list.

I Could Almost Write A Song (OR: A Movie Tavern Christmas)

I'm smiling.

Like, a real big smile, a natural, permagrin sort of smile. I think I wear it well, even if it struck with no one around to see it. It suits my fancy as I've managed to get back to really happy, in December no less.

I did miss A Charlie Brown Christmas, admittedly. However, I caught the best parts of How the Grinch Stole Christmas - the classic, animated version (all apologies to Jim Carrey, but his was just not as...jingly), which always makes my holiday.

But after spending most of my waking hours at work or with co-workers voluntarily, I'm actually enjoying myself.

Makes me almost not miss college. Almost.

Someone Call Relient K (OR: 4CHAN FTW)

I have been in one hell of a state recently. Really, two...bipolar, maybe?

I blame 4Chan (yes, I'm an occasional /b/tard) for making me incredibly slap happy on Wednesday and highly grumpy today. Yesterday?

What else but lazy?

Not Re-Finishing A Paper (OR: NARWHALS!)

So here I am, in Not Natural Science in not room 332 in Not Union Hall. I am very busy not doing a paper that I did not turn in over the weekend, when I was busy not cleaning the house. I'm probably...not, scratch that. I am an internet addict. Also, the guy across me here in the computer lab looks like some strange cross of Derek Zoolander and the monkey dude Chris Kattan never should have played on SNL. And the girl next to me sounds like Jillian from B-Dubs, whom I have not seen or heard form in a while. Triste.

Anyway, things are a little less sucky here, or at least I'm a little less crappy feeling. Hanna is at the house, probably sleeping and doing not homework (sorry). I will see her for all of a few minutes, after I get done not doing well on my oral exam for Spanish (look, it's just an awkward phrase, I stopped giggling at it a while ago. Grow up.). It's right back at work tonight for me - time to sully up my new kitchen coat, which I was oddly excited about getting. Don't ask me why, but I've been trying it on a few times since I got it Monday. I suppose that unlike a lot of people (guys especially), I actually enjoy dressing a part? Who knows. All I know is that it's spiffy and white and will soon be not spiffy and a pretty deep shade of Movie Tavern White. Heh.

I still don't think I blog enough. I don't even write a lot of real good stuff anyway. To be honest, I ramble and ramble and half of it is about how bad I blog...I'm blogging about blogging. That's gotta fall somewhere close to dividing by zero in cosmic conundrums. Oy. I will admit, I was pretty proud of getting on the front page of Drivl a few months back with that zoo thing, but I'm not there. I have been thinking of stuff for a redux of the list. After all, if I'm shameless enough to copy everyone else, why wouldn't I copy myself?

I need to figure out what computer I want. I'm thinking a white MacBook - a gig of memory and 120 megs o' hard drive, or maybe a similar PC for less. I can get down to $999 plus shipping with a student discount from Western, maybe Columbus State. The one I want is $1,199 - easily attainable by the end of winter if I cut out impulsive iTunes purchases. Damn you apple and your alluring purchase prices.

Random subtitle FTW.

Wallowing (OR: I'll Post Again, 'Cause I Can)

So I'm skipping English for the third time in two weeks, because there really isn't much of a point in me going. I can e-mail the assignment if I have the time. I just finished a pleading, albeit slightly snarky e-mail to my professor, in the thin hope I can get it in tomorrow morning.

I've got nearly an hour to kill before my 2:30, and I've had more time to kill today than I have classes - thus is Friday at Columbus State.

To be honest, I'e never had the particular feeling that an institution is below me. No, I went to schools with resources and faculty that enabled me to be challenged. There were easy classes at Darby, certainly - my Speech teacher, the ace Mr. Torrence, even dubbed me the King of BS - but there was enough meat that I could at least find some improvment.

No, here at Columbus State, we briefly touch on alchemy in Natural Science. Alchemy, for Christ sake. The curriculum, drawed up in earnest by CSCC themselves, is laughable, never touching on any subject long enough to make it matter to us. We went through the entire Biology chapter today, and all I can tell you from the textbook is that putting sweaty undergarments in a flask with wheat husks will not produce the spontaneus generation of rats. Seriously. This was apparently critical information. And I expect this shit to transfer?

I'm waiting, waiting, waiting. I miss last week, even, when I had something to look forward to, something to be excited about. Sure, it literally broke down an hour in, but I had something to motivate my being awake, really awake in the morning. Yeah, Hanna's supposed to come up next week, and I'll be delighted. But beyond that, what's there going to be? Christmas? Sure, but it really isn't what it used to be 'round the Lockman house, not with car repairs and insurance and whatnot. No, I fully expected less Christmas, even before any of these extras came along. I'm nineteen, I have no need to look to my parents for these things anymore. Not when I'm actually working full-time.

No, I'm just making it through a day, a week, maybe even a month at a time. I'm not even bothering to look ahead, because there's nothing even close on the horizon, not that I can see. Sure, the Playboy caravan might break down on Crestbury a little after New Year's, but I see no bus. No, minus any delightful surprises some higher power might have planned, it's more the same, I fear.

This isn't complaining, really. I've idled before and I'll idle again. It's a natural part of life, especially when nineteen and all that. This summer was pretty much the pits, and I found my way out of that, right?

Cold War Kids are playing Newport in a few weeks, that's gonna be pretty awesome. It's a great way to send out finals week. Without class, I can actually travel, or at least get out on the ton a little. Maybe this December won't suck. Maybe it'll be the worst yet.

Oh to be young, bored and vague.

EDIT: Jesus, I'm looking at my archives and realizing how pathetic my stats are. I'm averaging probably half a dozen posts a month. WTF?

United States v. Barry Lamar Bonds (OR: I Suppose One of My Occasional Sports-Themed Rants is in Order)

For those of you who are not interested in sports, baseball, and/or the US legal system, this is your chance to turn away. Also, this could easily turn into a pile of lousy, runny, ranty, gibberish-laden stool. So there's that warning.

On to business.

Few, if any, athletes today are as divisive as Barry Bonds. He's not merely an athlete in major legal trouble - no, for that, you can have Pacman Jones, Tank Johnson, or really, the majority of the Bengals roster. No, Bonds stands out for two major reasons: one, he is quite possibly, with all current issues aside, and looking from pure stats and awards and such, the greatest player to ever play. Two, he is one of, perhaps the central player in the latest and greatest epidemic to affect baseball and sports as a whole (I'm diggin' the add-on adjectives today!). Steroids have seeped into just about every sport at most known levels - yes, don't you shy away football fans, remember the incident involving the Carolina Panthers? No? No one does, but it happened. Replace offensive linemen with a few name running backs, and you've got Goodell in a pickle.

Anyway, back on topic: Bonds has now been named in an epic, sweeping, braznely broad and vague indictment, one that could theoretically land him in prison for up to 30 years - about the same time that this drama has been playing out, it feels. It's not been nearly as simple as the Marion Jones saga, which took far less time to play out, with a much broader scope of evidence to take in. Floyd Landis fell from grace in a measely three days, though the courts worked that one out only a few months ago (that's a bit of a sore subject for yours' truly, but that's a rant since passed. Sigh). No, Bonds' issues lay in a sport that didn't even ban, let alone test for steroids until just a few years ago. Even the IOC, the UN of sporting authorites, detailed their steroids policies back before I was eating paste. Instead, Bud Selig, a spineless jellyfish of a commish, waited until Congress - CONGRESS! - was on his ass, and he put flop sweat to paper in the most pathetic steroid policy any non-East-German sport body has ever produced. By the time anything was written, Bonds had done his thang, and began his ascent to the home-run list with new drugs.

Still, his supplier, BALCO was raided and cut down, unleashing a domino effect then unseen. This tiny little place - I like to think of BALCO as something like the lacrosse shop in those sprawling Sawmill strip malls, surrounded by countless empty storefronts, with more international reach and more horse testosterone - became the downfall of numerous star athletes, and probably more to come (Victor Conte has supposedly named 27 athletes). Victor Conte fell, then went Bonds' trainer, Greg Anderson. As ESPN so objectively pointed out in their three-hour long stretch of ten minutes of news last night, Bonds' new muscle showed up the spring after Bonds began training with Anderson. Bonds testify, got grilled, and ever since, the Justice Department has doggedly pursued Bonds, finally securing what they feel is suitable evidence to nail Bonds on perjury, as they can't really try him on douchebaggery. (On a side note, the statement Bonds' attorney issued yesterday is a pretty amusing read - he verbally attacked the Justice Department on the waterboarding issue - that's just a small, angry man being a small angry man, I suppose.)

Where does this put Bonds? Next year he's not going to play, I can pretty much guarantee that. He's an untouchable free agent. He's been shunted from San Fransisco; men who rape dogs don't necessarily feel out of place in San Fransisco. He may not play again, depending on how this process plays out (which will take approximately 34 years). And inevitably, the hall-of-fame debate comes up.

Opinion time! Simply put, Barry Bonds does not belong in the Hall of Fame. I can only think of two possible precedents set forth for Barry Bonds, both of which are theoretically still playing out. The more direct example is Mark McGwire's ongoing storming of the hall doors. His mere testimony in front of the House (a flop of Seligian proportions) seems suitable enough to keep him out, though I think people forget he didn't exactly piece together a Cooperstown career. If I could vote for a player from one year, 1998 McGwire would be unanimous, or at least close. But overall, he never really did a lot more than bash home runs, and even those didn't do that much good after 1990.

No, a better comparison is Pete Rose. Rose is an undeniable Hall-of-Fame player. All-tiem hits leader, World Series winner, one of the best players of his era, and of all-time. And yet, he now has no chance of getting in. There are numerous sins ballplayers can commit, but most of them are forgivable, especially in a city like Cincinnati where a beloved Red is more popular than any strip-club-banishing evangelist could ever hope to be. Why? He bet on the game. While not as murky and far-reaching as Bonds, his actions are part of a scandal that can immediately rock any game to its core - look at what Tim Donaghy is about to do to the NBA. It's not just a crime, not just a wrong, it's affecting the very way the game is played, and that is a cardinal sin. Unforgivable. The Hall of Fame rewards players who have propelled the game to new heights. And if Bonds is found guilty, essentially proving that he did use steroids, then that touches on the game itself, and there is absolutely no return from that.

My inner 10-year-old is weeping, Mister Bonds. What have you done?

The Seventy Three (OR: When It's Gone Away)

Well that was quick.

So about one hour, 75 miles, and twenty-some-odd songs in, my fuel pump decided to stop working. As in, my accelerator pumped, but it wuddint pumpin' nothin'. I coasted on up to the top of the exit ramp, flipped on the blinking lights, and proceeded to march on into despair.

There are only a surprisingly few moments in life when you feel more isolated than you do when sitting in your broken-down car in the middle of nowhere, waiting for a tow truck that feels like it'll never show.

After two hours of waiting on SR 73, and an hour-long ride in a tow truck up 71, I'm home. I'm not happy about it, but I'm home.

Bowling Green, I'll be home soon enough. Just a little later than any of us wanted.

The Sixty Five (OR: You Know November Has Come)

Only one test seperates me from the trip now, and I cannot state how excited I am. Though, honestly, I'm a bit subdued at the moment after a little less sleep than I'd have cared for. I'm also disgruntled that Firefox on the CSCC Comp. Lab doesn't include spellcheck - no, I shouldn't be so reliant upon it, but it's nice to catch those screw-ups, no?

Anyway, I'm merely two hours, one test and one skipped (well, to-be-skipped) class, off, and I'll hop on I-71. Y'know, we don't get the cool insterstate names here in the Midwest. In California, there's the I-5, that runs up the coast from San Diego on. The I-5. It sounds so cool, so breezy...two-seventy? That's just a bulky sense of blah (don't even get me started on Cincinnati...the 471?!)

So yeah, I'm gonna get off track a lot here.

My basic itinerary includes a stop in Louisville tonight and Monday, a party, a Homecoming game, and some good old fashioned spontaneity. I still don't know for sure where I'm sleeping Sunday night, and that's fine by me.

I'll update, possibly as we go along, most likely after the fact, when my bank account has been throttled and my wicked liver has been sedated with adult beverages (as the Movie Tavern menus are so fond of saying). It's gonna be a pretty neat-o weekend. I haven't been this giddy since Disneyland.

A Random Thought Kinda Day (OR: My brain is slower than a beached whale)

Every once in a while, I become tremendously addicted to a song, usually a sugary pop song that perhaps I should or should not like. This time around, it's "Pull Shapes" by The Pipettes. I've been singing it in the car all day. If I had the windows down, it'd be embarassing.

I saw one of the most beautiful things I can ever remember seeing. We had a really beautiful sunrise (see, I normally observe sunsets...such are my days of late) whilst I was driving to school. Columbus gets so-so sunrises and sunsets, at least in comparison with Bowling Green. But this one was amazing...the clouds were scattered just perfectly across the sky. Downtown was still lit up from the overnight, but offices were already lit up. The contrast of the bold, intimidating skyline and the glorious sky was just...beyond words. Marvelous, to say the least.

My brain has been noticeably slower than my body today. This may just be a lack of sleep coming back to haunt me.

I ran into a friend from high school today, Nadia. We didn't talk with each other so much, we happened to end up going to the Coldplay concert in Cleveland over Spring Break. That's about it. But Jenn and I had time, and we all sat down for a chat. She's far more interesting and articulate than I remember. She's a beautiful girl, her mother from Mexico, her father from Palestine. She's been around the world, to places yet untouched by our culture. Not backwards, but less...American. There's really no way for me to put it, not knowing how it feels there. I have a bad habit of trying to form the conversation, but I felt compelled to just stay quiet and listen, and I walked to Spanish with a lot more filling my mind than translations of colors and large numbers.

Yet another long weekend of working ahead, though I might actually sleep all three nights. Sleep is Job One tomorrow, and I think it can be arranged.

When you're Schreck's bitch...

According to my timeslip, I clocked out at 1:47 am. I shall most likely clock in again around 7:45 am or so.

Me > Sleep

Insert Title Here (OR: I've come to the realization that sometimes, my life is better in sporadic thoughts.)

This Ashley character is becoming the new Maddie. And Maddie is becoming...hell, I have no idea.

As I listen to the fuzzy sounds of "Faust" by Gorillaz, I find...DADGUMMIT SONOFABITCH THAT PART ALWAYS GETS ME. Now I feel like I should be tripping on something.

I had random bits of songs stuck in my head all day. The chorus from "The Drowning" by The Decemberists ("Go to sleep now, little ugly...) happened to pop up whilst I catnapped in Nestor Hall. Yeah, a part of a part of a song. Then I started singing "Kodachrome" on my way to Spanish. And washing dishes made me sing..."American Pie"? Welcome to the strange musical mind of Ray.

Work sucks. The people don't. I may be a worthless peon, but at least we're all peons united. Peons United...sounds like a lousy Scottish football club, doesn't it? I swear to god I just thought of that off the top of my head.

My computer will soon be replaced. I think it's catching wind of my intents, and is plotting against me. I maintain that I am in fact mentally stable.

Another example of the sometimes mundane existence of kitchen life: one of the best parts of tonight (aside from scoring the last 3:10 To Yuma poster in the joint) was finding a pair of dressing-holder dealies - the name eludes me. Anyway, I got to put my barbecue sauce and honey mustard in them at grill station, and it was deemed good.

Jake in Natural Science is now one of my favorite people. He's one of those unabashedly, knowingly stupid teenage guys, and I'm rooting for him on his quest to get with Red Headed Girl. We speak in codes and nicknames. It makes an otherwise lousy class an altogether attendance-worthy affair. That and our extra long breaks.

In that spirit, I felt the urge to be just a smidge immature after I got home:

KRSUTT18: why is ur name stoogeontheloose?
StoogeontheLoose: just kind of chose it one day
KRSUTT18: gotcha
StoogeontheLoose: it had assonance
StoogeontheLoose: hehe, i said ass

Me thinks it stems from Darby's 69-0 win.

So my life is crazy good. Mostly crazy. I actually fell asleep in public. That just don't happen. Though, giving credit where credit is due, those Nestor Hall couches are just so darned comfy.

I bought "Breakfast Machine" on iTunes. You know...the Pee Wee Herman song. Yeah. The one that drives everyone nuts.

My vision is deciding to stop focusing a few times. This is not so much an optical problem as one of (lack of) rest. But, mom, I'm only 20 minutes into The Crane Wife!

And so it continues...

¡Viva La Weekend! (OR: You Are Coming To A Sad Realization)

If you've noticed a trend of me not really posting at all lately, it's because I'm not on this computer long enough to blog.

Anyway, it's almost 1:30 in the morning.

I got home an hour or so ago after closing the kitchen for the third day in a row. I spent, all in all, over a day in that kitchen over three days.

I have class in less than seven hours. This means being awake at 6:30 to get stuff done, like eating. And beating traffic.

Naturally, I should be asleep. Instead, I'm on the computer, blogging, and listening to The Prodigy on my new ghetto blaster headphones. They're amazing.

I'm relatively sure that this is borderline insomnia. And yet here I am.

Alas.

Something Short of Sanctuary (OR: Free Yo Mind)

Another Friday, another dead afternoon at Columbus State. The air flirted with ninety degrees - again. For some reason, autumn has been ignoring us - tragic.

Still, my rather sad excuse for an English class let out early, again, and this gave me another hour to kill. The downside of my eight-hour block of class three days is all that free time. I really have no idea what to do with all of it. I've already found my favorite spots. I have a particular bench I sit on when I need to do any writing. It's a long, high-backed bench that runs in front of Columbus Hall - sure, it's concrete, but it does the trick.

Anyway, I wasn't feeling all that pensive, and I wasn't particularly hungry. So what am I to do with an hour to spare and ADHD running rampant? Settle my mind the hell down.

There's a little spot of grass - well there was grass there before. At this point, it's covered in tiny leaves and dirt. Shitloads of the stuff. And most afternoons, it's littered with students like me, just sitting around, wasting (biding?) time. But today, it was me, a kid fiddling with his iPod, and a girl on a cell phone. Positioning myself as far away from our second friend, I laid down - granted, my bookbag isn't quite comfortable, but I wasn't aiming for comfort. I managed to do something I didn't even realize I needed to do:

I shut down the clutter. I watched the leaves fall and float to the ground, and just lost myself in the foliage shade. It was beautiful.

A chill spot in the heart of Columbus State. Who'd have thought?

I swear, I'll work on this entry eventually, because I have some cool stuff to say. But basically, I saw my former favorite work buddy, got paid to fool around for 45 minutes, saw penguins poop twice, closed up the kitchen twice, watched the Browns and Buckeyes win, pinch hit for SA's and served the food I cooked, got outgunned by an old woman on Riverside drive, and thoroughly enjoyed pretty much every second of what has been a marvelous weekend.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to finish my homework, and get to bed. I've gotta be up at 6:30, people.

O, Fortune! (OR: OMG CONFIDENCE where have you been)

It'd been so long, I'd forgotten the feeling of being on top of the world. Things have at long last been falling into place a little. I'm far from where I wanted to be right now, but considering where I was, this works quite nicely.

To be honest, I'm adept at finding ways to make myself feel happy, to accept what I have as good, as perfectly fine. But to be honest, I couldn't really say that this summer. And I really had a hard time accepting it. I have this desire to be happy with whatever it is I'm doing, and there really was no way that I could do that. I was stuck in a dead end job that I really couldn't stand, a student without a school, and with no money. Some of my best friends were hundreds of miles away, and I realized I might not see most of them for months.

Dude. I knew it, but I denied it. I ignored it. I pretended it wasn't. But flat out, life sucked. Four months of the worst summer of my life. Not to be melodramatic or anything.

And to be honest, life isn't exactly ideal, anyway. I still have to pay off my books, and I'm probably facing a full year at CSCC instead of the quarter I was hoping for. I'm trying to claw my way back to Western, and there's more distance left than I thought. Though I have solidified my choice of a minor.

Still, I've actually managed to enjoy life at CSCC, even if it is just a glamorous version of the "single-serving friends" theory (I'm working on a separate entry for that, in fact, so stay tuned). I've got the glorious return coming in "a mere" month and a half. And I've totally got a hot date at the zoo with Maddie tomorrow. Heh.

So, here's to good times, and the hard stuff we had to fend off getting there. Here's a toast to all those who hear me all too well.

O, Bewilderment! (OR: Pondering the Perplexing Maze of Love)

"He'll change, I know it."

The words of yet another soon-to-be disappointed woman.

Why in bloody hell do people get back with the source of their misery? If it doesn't work for the third, or the fourth, or the tenth time, it's not meant to be. I'm one who doesn't like change, and I know to move on in those situations.

Alas, things are never, ever so simple.

O, Despair (OR: Girls is confusing)

CSCC girl is confusing. Ex-girlfriends are both confusing. Other girls confusing themselves are confusing me.

But most of all my mother. And that is what worries me more than any other.

If I can't even understand almost anything my mother does, what chance do I have with the female population in general?

El Kitchen Krew (OR: Life at this exact moment)

It's 2:30 on a Saturday night...Sunday morning...you get the point. I should probably be asleep; considering my sleep schedule takes a major shift starting Wednesday, it'd be for the best. Alas, I am...not wide awake, but certainly not wilting. I'm rather content here; on the end of my bed, in a hoodie (damn, hoodie weather has come rather abruptly, no?) and...boxer briefs..pounding away on the keyboard once more, whilst watching new wallet teeter on the edge of the mattress...this moves me to look through it again, admiring the fact that I had a little bit of balls filling out the form, and listed myself at six feet tall. It's bullshit, but I give myself the little things like that sometimes.

Anyway, this is not supposed to be blogging in real time, this is supposed to be me talking about what the hell is going on with me. And the moment, really...like my wallet in a way, I am teetering. (Yeah...so it was a stretch. Give me credit for an attempted segue?)

Columbus State starts class on Wednesday (also International Talk Like A Pirate Day, as Matt and I have dutifully noted). I suppose I'm probably putting more stock into this as a major change than I ought to. It's not gonna be college, not the way I've been used to it; really, it's just a new routine to adapt to. Three days a week, drive to CSCC, go to class, eat, class, drive home. Work on weekends - I've become a regular kitchen closer. I also realized I could probably actually run that kitchen now, unlike the previously described evening where I pretty much ran around like a lineman on a busted pass play (for the non-sporting types out there, like a person who has no fucking clue what's going on). I've also gained a) the ability to bark out orders to other staff and be heard, and 2) a nasty cut from the FREAKING PAPER PROTECTOR ON A JAR OF HONEY MUSTARD, which, if you've never had the pleasure, stings like a son of a bitch.

And yeah, my ADHD is definitely kicking in. But it's readable, is it not?

(refreshing restroom break, cue Thom Yorke)

Now, where was I? Ah, Columbus State. I'm basically taking all the Freshman courses I didn't take as a Freshman...that's gonna be a fun explanation to everyone I meet. From experience, when describing your status, if it's not a specific year, then you have 25 words or less to explain it. Something like "taking my freshman gen. ed. stuff" should do the trick.

I've truly become happier with who I am since I took this new job. It's more complicated than BW3's and yet...it's hard to describe why it works so well. It pays scant more than Bee Dubs did, there's usually a lot more chaos, and the rush is killer...yet I feel far more content. I think there's a shared respect among all of us, that mutual "we have no idea what we're doing, but we're trying" vibe. That, and the fact I actually have some relative seniority.

I just happened to look at my guitar and think what a pity it is that I can't quite get down how to play it. Seriously.

The Joys of Working (OR: My Rough Equivalent of Slavery)

I think I need to check with someone at Movie Tavern's corporate HQ. Here's a rundown of my first paycheck (coming a month after I was hired, nonetheless):

Total hours worked: 31.38
Rate of Pay: $0.00

Total:

I don't believe that meets current Federal minimum wage laws. I could be wrong, though.

Somehow, both my high school and my college are the center of quite a bit of attention. This is weird.

Hilliard Darby High was the school victimized by the now-infamous "We Suck" prank. My friend, Matt, held up one of those pieces of cardboard that was supposed to spell out "Go Darby", but instead landed us across headlines around the country.

The video:
.
Right at the :20 left mark, that's the money shot. That is probably going to be Hilliard Darby's legacy, I'm afraid. Not that we're not laughing our asses off, too.

Meanwhile, Western Kentucky is starting it's slow trudge toward mediocrity...er...ascent into I-A football, gloriously being pummeled by Florida for a cool $750,000 on Saturday. The awkward spot put them on the front page of ESPN.com, in a column by Pat Forde.

Weird times, my friend. Weird.