About ten years ago I bought a thing of syrup from Costco. If you haven't heard of that store, it's the one that sells everything in gigantic amounts; like, they're not content to offer containers of peanut butter that are twice as big as anything you'd ever buy in a regular grocery store, they have to sell them two at a time, holding them together with plastic. So the syrup I bought was pretty big, and it lasted us a while. It was nice to have what seemed like an endless supply of pure maple goodness; the only problem was it was a little hard to control the pouring flow. That, however, was a price we were prepared to pay!
Only now the bottle stands empty, the precious resource exhausted. And so long did we have it, that now I can't think to buy a new supply at the store! Twice I've been shopping, and twice have I returned without syrup. So Leah (braver than I) has been forced to dip into the supply of artificial maple-flavored syrup we have left over from when folks who eat alot visited us over the summer. "Can I have some delicious waffles with some disgusting syrup?" she asked this morning.
"Is it disgusting?"
"It tastes like college."
The manager of the inn comes into the gallery this morning. "I need you to take down your going-out-of-business sign. I've been getting calls from people wondering if the inn is going out of business."
I look at him in disbelief.
"...Or maybe you could black out the first part, so it only says sale."
I continue my blank stare.
"I mean, I'm getting calls with people thinking the INN is going out of business!!!"
"No," i finally say, "You're right. I'll have to alter the sign. I mean, we didn't make any fucking money all year, why should we expect to recoop some of those losses now, right? I'm losing my job and we've lost hundreds of thousands of dollars on this shitty location, but got forbid your receptionist be inconveniences with a few phone calls. I'll get up there right now with a black sharpie and manually color in the white letters for several hours to ease the nerves of your retarted clientelle."
In summation, there are not words to describe how much i have been fucked up the ass by this business venture. ("Fucked up the ass" comes pretty close, though.) My job is to take shit from the customers, take shit from the bosses, take shit from the inn ass-holes, and work un-paid overtime. Anything else? Oh, and YOU CAN NEVER GO TO THE BATHROOM DURING THE DAY BECAUSE THERE'S NO ONE ELSE TO COVER THE STORE. If i could take a business course in not-being-everybody's-fucking-doormat i would. Only the description of that course would be you-deserve-what-you-get-you-loser-pussy-who-never-sticks-up-for-herself.
By the way, i folded over the going-out-of-business part of the sign. In two weeks, i am so fucking out of here.
After a full day of selling the customers my blood directly from my veins, i needed to pay a visit to my Dad's house, for some jewelry repairs and WHAT I NEED MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE IN THE UNIVERSE!!! MORE COLD COMFORT!
Dad: "Have you given any thought to what you're going to do for work after the store closes?"
Leah: "Yes, i've given it A LOT OF thought, but i want to take a bit of a break, since school is so hard now and since i've been so burned out by the store."
Dad: "Yeah, you could take a few days off before you start working again. Even take a week off..."
Leah: "Gee Daddy, i don't know, a whole week off? Do you think i really deserve it."
If you are a horrible puritanical asshole who cannot read the sarcasm in my remarks, well you and my father might enjoy eachothers company, talking about how i'm going to be a horrible loser failure for the rest of my life. Have fun!
As you can probobly tell from these few past postings, this week has been really hard on the Squibix family. I started school, and while i suddenly realized that getting a higher higher education would be really really hard, Dan realized that leah never being around nomore to do helpful things like keep the dog from tearing up the downstairs would also be really hard. I have also been exhaused with the going-out-of-business sale, which can be superlatived as nothing but a complete fucking nightmare, and Dan has been exhausted working on his design contracts, doing whatever the heck vestry does, and taking care of the wild animal in our house, the one who eats bras not wears them.
Throughout this hectic process, there has been few supportive friends (HI OONA!) and many unsupportive knife-drives (you know, the ones who think it's wicked helpful to drive the knife in deeper). Knife-drivers include everybody who asks me on a daily basis if i've given any though to what i'm going to do with my life after the store closes. "You know, it's funny guys, but i haven't really given it any thought at all! What do i do every night when i can't sleep due to utter panic and stay up all night staring at the ceiling wondering how on earth i am going to make it though the next six months? i dunno, hum pop songs, mostly." I am baffled by the rudeness, not just of people i know, but every single Goddamn customer who comes into the store and asks, "But what are you going to do???" That's like asking a prisoner getting Chinese water torture "Have you given any thought to what you're going to do when i stop dripping this maddening water onto your head?"
Excuse me if i start telling people to go fuck themselves.
The truth is, i have worked at 110% since the day i started first grade. I graduated Magnu Cum Laude with a 3.94 GPA, drove directly into a full-time over-time job where i worked my ass off to get two promotions, only to move again and open this store.... Never have i felt like i got a break, never have i felt like i had a time to take a step back and say, "Is this the way in which i want to be miserable for the rest of my life?" Now that the store will close and i'll finally have an opportunity to sleep eight hours a few nights in a row, I feel like it is my God-given RIGHT to take a moment for reflection about just what it is i WANT to do with my time and brilliance. Not what my mother wants me to do. Not what my father wants me to do. I've done that for twenty odd years, Goddamnit, and they'll never be satisfied with me. I fucking give up on trying to please them.
This means, kind people who feign giving a fuck about my career in a sick ploy to make them feel more secure about their own, that i may take a month off from working, maybe two, maybe go to school full time, or maybe get a new job full time. I don't know yet, and I don't feel it is appropriate to know yet. This is my story, and i'm sticking to it. I'm sorry if that bothers you because YOU'RE whole life is already planned out to make you miserable all the time but I HAVE BEEN MISERABLE IN MY JOB EVERY DAY SINCE I WAS IN SCHOOL WHERE I WAS MISERABLE. I realize now that trying to please the entire world will never give the world a hardon, so i'm just going to give up right now.
We went to our last puppy class last night, and I'm pleased to report that Rascal graduated. He got a certificate and eveything, along with--and this was of more interest to him--a squeaky toy. (It's a good thing not destroying toys wasn't part of the class, since the poor thing didn't even make it out of the classroom intact.) The teacher called the last class a review, but we know what it really was: a test! Now, I've been working hard with the puppy, so I was pretty confident on most of his tricks; and sure enough, he did fine on attention, sitting, down, stay, all those things. What I was worried about was the last skill: come. Not only is it something Rascal isn't particularly good at, generally, but--shh--we didn't do the homework for that lesson.
We played it right, though: Leah held the puppy and I went to the other side of the room to call him, and I made sure he saw that I was holding the bag of treats. So as soon as I got his attention, he was over in a shot. The only worry was saying come quick enough, before he started running. And since he sits down whenever he thinks he might get food, he did that part of the trick great too. In fact, he was the best in the class!
We enrolled him in the next level of dog school. We start next week.
So I wasn't the first one into the church building this morning--there's a whole 8:00 service that I don't have anything to do with--but I was there before everyone else involved in the two main services, I think. And I sure was the last one out, after everything was over. See, they've got me doing everything around the place now. My kids choir sung at the 9:00 service, and then I sang in the choir at the 11:00. And then, I had to serve my first duty as a vestry member by staying until everyone else had gone to lock the place up. On top of all that, I made muffins for the church breakfast! I can see why my mom decided to move to a bigger church.
I haven't written much about the weather in some time; Leah tells me folks don't like it. But it's just crazy. I did some spring cleaning yesterday, which tells you something. I'm actually quite worried about the real spring: my crocuses are already sprouting, and at least in one place in Lexington the forsythias are starting to bloom! I don't know what it all means! But it seems to be cooling down some this evening, so maybe normalacy is returning. I only hope the poor plants will survive the upheaval!
I was rooting for the Seahawks all the way (even if I did switch over to reruns of Iron Chef America during the fourth quarter). As we say in New England, there's always next year!
Leah: "Do you know what a contract of adhesion is?"
Dan: "Where someone promises to stick to the other person like glue?"
Leah: "Yes, like when we got married."
Dan: "No seriously, what is it?"
Leah: [reading] "A contract in which a stronger party is able to determine the terms of a contract, leaving the weaker party no practical choice but to adhere to those terms."
Dan: "It IS LIKE WHEN WE GOT MARRIED!"
I made cookies the other day, and unlike the last few such occasions I managed to get the cookie sheets washed before we finished all the cookies. That is a sign of civilized behavior, I think.
...now that i found a Starbucks on the way to school.
As for the schooling itself, it's actually A LOT OF work. Last night i dreamed about market segmentation and value chains, AND I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT THEY ARE!!! Can one dream in powerpoint? ("This is me in my highschool hallway" *click* "Now i realize i've forgotten to wear pants." *click* "As you can see, this slide is all bold text in times-new-roman saying 'Where are my pants?'")
The good points of Babson are Starbucks on the way and my law professor who is waaaaaay nerdy-dreamy. I'm kind of enamored with my Law professor, mostly because he "drops the f-bomb" to make his poing when he's talking about civil suits. The first class i was afraid i had made a really big boo-boo; when we were talking about the millions of motions lawyers file before each trial, i asked, "Can't the judge say to the lawyers, like 'Cut the Bullshit you guys?'" Then suddenly i blushed, fearing i had broken the cardinal rule of no profanity in Business school. Turns out however, his answer was, "YES! WHY DON'T THEY FUCKING SAY THAT?!" So i guess there is profanity in B-School, or at least in the law department. Still, the professor prefers to say, "Fish or cut bait" rather than "shit or get off the pot," but that could be a hold-over from Law school, i'll have to ask Joanna.
I've been a bit sick this week, with a nasty cold in my chest which makes me start hacking whenever i laugh, which contrary to Dan's oppinion is NOT FUNNY!!! WHEN WILL YOU COME PRECIOUS VACATION??? I NEED YOU SO!
Come on Sale Shoppers, it's time to fish or cut bait, cuz i wanna go home.
"So you just type in, 'Hey Movie Bot, what time is Brokeback Mountain?'
And the movie bot is like, '...Fag.'"
"I was trying to think of a way to make that joke too, but, you know, less offensive."
Rascal is growing up and becoming a real dog. He already graduated puppy class, and we are taking him to real dog class on Sunday. Before Sunday, we must teach him COME. We have procrastinated because it's been cold outside, and teaching a puppy COME inside the house is like teaching a female child to keep her legs crossed when she's wearing pants: who cares? Last week at puppy class we were tested on COME, and even though we hadn't taught Rascal anything at all regarding the word, Dan stood at the other end of the room and yelled, "Rascal, COME," and Rascal came running. Rascal loves Dan more than anything else in the universe, and he would have come running if Dan had yelled, "Rascal, NEUTERING" because Rascal loves Dan the mostest and also does not understand English. This is our secret of how we cheated our way to puppy graduation. Now that we're moving on, however, someone's gotta get trained up.
In non-doggy news, there are only about two weeks left until i am officially unemployed. Part of me cannot wait. That is the part of me that needs sleep. The part of me that appreciates having enough money for meals, however, is terrified.
"It's too bad you're going out of business!"
"Oh yeah? Is it?"
"Have you ever been in our gallery before?"
"No, this is my first time."
"Then it's not too bad that we're going out of business."
"Because nobody comes in to buy anything until we cover our window in a sale sign."
There i finally said it. Y'all are cheap SOBs. Call my career in retail officially over.
And my new favorite word is "Nope."
"Do you have any more Pandora clips?" Nope!
"Do you have this in any other colors?" Nope!
"Can you do any better on the price?" Nope!
"Are you going to be open tomorrow?" Nope!
When delivered with a smile and a cheary tone, Nope is delightful definitiveness personified. It says everything: We don't have exactly what you want, but you put us out of business, so if you don't like what we've got at 50% off, the door is over there and don't let it hit you in the fat ass on the way out.
"Are you reopening somewhere else?" Nope!
"Do you have anouther gallery?" Nope!
"Are you going to work in jewelry still?" And although this question still gets a Nope! it really deserves my next favorite phrase, the one i wish i could say:
"It's none of your fucking business."
Today was the last day for the store. We had a big sign in the window that said ONE DAY LEFT!!!!! If you want people to come into your store and buy cheap things, you should put a big sign on the window that says GOING OUT OF BUSINESS SALE, ONE DAY LEFT!!!!! Then you should duck and cover. Seriously.
Unfortunately, Cyndi my helper d'extrordinaire had class today, which meant that i had to man the madness alone. At 2pm there were 15 people in the store all fighting for my attention, and when Dan called to ask what i wanted for dinner i picked up the phone by saying, "I'll give you 50 bucks to come down here right now and help me." Thank God for Dan, the most wonderful man in the universe, because he dropped everything he was doing and came running right away. (What he was doing was cleaning the house. I MARRIED HIM, SO YOU CAN'T HAVE HIM, SUCKER!)
Dan was very helpful; as soon as he came all the people cleared out, and i got a rest for an hour. Then he left and the place got busy again. That's-a showbiz!
Our poor jewelry was wheeled and dealed and tried and plied, and all told we took quite a pretty penny. All in all, during this three-week sale we've done over 22-grand, which is about 14% of our sales for the year, and 61% of sales for this fiscal year. We should have marked everything down earlier! Then i might still have a job!
Buy Buy store. It was a sad story of profit-loss and bank-break. I will miss the pretty jewelry. Not too much, though.
Is fever the proper terminology for the Winter Olympics, or should it rather be Olympics Cold? Olympics Chilblains? In any case, I've caught it. The opening ceremonies were pretty weak, surpassed only in weakness by the adjectival assault of the NBC introduction, but now that the sports have started I'm glued to the television. That's part of the reason this post is so late; also, the squibix web was down inexplicably for a few hours so we couldn't post. We were freed to stay up late by the fact that church has already been cancelled for tomorrow, before a single snowflake has fallen. Where's your faith, church-running people?! I bet it won't even snow, just wait.
Some parts of the Olympics--and more specifically the NBC coverage--are pretty disappointing. Tape delays in sports are never a good thing, especially when you accidentaly see the results online hours before the event is going to air; even worse is when broadcasters tape an event, cut out the runs of most of the participants or three-quarters of the race, and then present the commentary like things are running live and seamlessly. Dishonest, I call it! Also, it's hard to get excited about a race when you don't see the whole development and get a feel for how things are going. Hey NBC, your scheme for the whole Olympics is flawed: sports aren't supposed to have plot.
Less interesting sports so far: snowboard half-pipe, blowout hockey games (12-0? 16-0?!), figure skating (Leah likes that last one, though)
More interesting: speed-skating (short and long), downhill skiing, cross-country skiing (when they actually show it to us).
Finally, I'm oblidged to report that I was wrong about the snow: it snowed plenty. Feet and feet came down, mostly during the day today, though much of it also blew away in the high winds. We went out once for a good walk with the puppy, but other than that we stayed snug at home. It's clear out now, finally, and with the full moon and the new snow it's so bright out it looks like you could read by the moonlight. This is what we look for in a winter.
Danny, the bestest husband in the universe "surprised" me by bringing me lunch at the store, and as if slaving over a hot stove and cold candy aisle wasn't enough, Dan cleaned the entire house while i was gone, AND mopped, AND made me a card. I think he might just be the best.
To repay this kindness, i threw a fit about having the HARDEST FUCKING CLASS OF SCHOOL I HAVE EVER HAD TO SIT THROUGH EVER. Seriously, after straining to understand three hours of economics math that was NOT AT ALL EXPLAINED TO ME in the fashion that one might have called TEACHING, rather by plunging deep into the middle of a subject for which we should have been briefed by homework chapters if they weren't in FUCKING HYROGLYPHICS, i drove home to the realization that NO ONE GIVES A RATS ASS IF YOU TRY YOUR HARDEST, because sometimes your hardest equals complete FAILURE, YOU PATHETIC LOSER, and no matter how much you feel it is your right to FUCKING WHINE about how hard you're WORKING, if you don't understand the actual work, well, it's your actual work to understand it, you moron, that's your fucking job in school. (Wah, it's not fair! I try so hard! Leah, i don't know when you will understand this, but the world did not, does not, and will not owe you any favors for gracing it with your presence, so you'd better get with the fucking program because i'm tired of living with this fucking baby blubbering all the time and I'M YOU!)
In other news that makes me want to shoot myself in the face, we got our wedding album proofs back, big this time, and the big proofs reveal in a shot that is a full page of my ugly mug, the biggest roll of under-arm fat i have ever seen in a photo ever, you could call it under-arm camel-toe, i swear it looks like a female private-parts squishing out over my dress, because that's what i get for wearing a strapless dress and simultaniously being a fucking fatass. Seriously, when i saw this picture, the undulating roll of skin so perfectly framed in the EXACT MIDDLE of the page, i wanted to throw up so bad i almost started dry-heaving in my perfectly clean kitchen (where i guess dry-heaving would be most appropriate.) This is exactly what i wanted in the front of my wedding album: the proof that i will fail at everything i ever attempt (economics) because i have failed at everything i have attempled so far (not being a fatass in my wedding pictures by a) demonstrating disgusting underarm fat, b) not lifting my arm up to take this picture, and c) not seeing the disgusting barf-worthy fatness in the two previous rounds of proofs, where it wasn't such a pain-in-the-ass to change, you incredible retard).
After the triple failure of losing my job this week, school proving that YES PARENTS, YOU ARE RIGHT, I AM INCREDIBLY STUPID, and realizing that i will always be a fat disgusting eyesore above a hundred and fifteen pounds, i guess you could say that i'm having a bad day. Valentines day, with my incredible adoring husband who is the most wonderful person to live with in the whole entire world, only proves that it is ME, LEAH who is one-hundred percent in control of fucking up my own life, and i'm doing it, hard.
What with my horrible evening yesterday, with the whining and the bitching, i completely forgot that February 14th marked the one-year anniversary of my lasik laser eye surgury! Can you imagine? Just over one year ago i was still walking around with the incredible blight of having to put contacs in my eyes every morning and take them out every evening! Now, a year later, as the memory of the lasik torture chamber fades, i forget there was even such a thing as near-sightedness. I am only reminded of my once-invalid condition by the moisturizing drops i put in my eyes semi-frequently, and the fact that sometimes in street-light conditions my right eye has trouble focusing on mid-range objects. The doctors say my eyesight is 20/20 in that eye, and slightly better in the other, but i secretly believe that my brain never caught up with the right-eye part of the realignment. It was too busy being creative and hugging fairies or some crap. Stupid left brain.
It was that fatefull valentines day one year ago, that Dan took me home from the hospital to our Arlington appartment, lovingly taping the plastic bug-eyes onto my face before i went to bed, nurishing me with pampering and popsicles. Actually, i don't remember popsicles. I might be confusing lasik with when i got my wisdom teeth out in 10th grade. Were there popsicles then? Brain why do you fail me??? Stupid brain, what are you even doing up there?
Brain says E=dP/dQ=MP/Q
Fuck you, brain.
Dan: "Okay, this guy looks like he's going to be fast."
Leah: "You're only saying that because he's Black."
Dan: "Hush you."
Leah: "What makes you think that someone with African heritage is going to be particularly gifted at speed skating? It's not like we're watching sprinting or anything."
Dan: "That's awful."
Leah: "Ice is not in their blood."
Dan: "He's gotta win! He'll be the first Africa American to take home the gold at a winter olympics, ever."
Leah: "Snows too cold for them."
Dan: "You better stop before we get in trouble."
On Monday i had a facial with Meredith, the greatest esthetician in the world, who did my makeup on my wedding-day FOR FREE because she's the bomb like that. Meredith is preparing for her own wedding in April, for which she will not do her own makeup, even though SHE'S THE BEST AT IT!!! She wants to be sippin Sangrias, not f-ing with eyeshadow, she told me, and i don't blame her. I asked here how her diet was going, since we're both fans of the South Beach diet, and she said, "This weekend i had two slices of pizza, baked maccaroni and cheese, and some meatballs... It was more like the Revere Beach diet."
Meredith also told me about her brother's new baby who was baptized in the Catholic church two weeks ago. Meredith's brother has young bride by necessity, meaning that she got knocked up and needed health insurance. Meredith does not have a very high opinion of her sister-in-law ("You didn't just need health insurance, you needed money and furnature too!") And last time i had a facial we laughed at the story about how she rushed everyone to the hospital because she thought her water broke, when she'd really only peed her pants. Anyway, the lucky child was recently baptized in the Church, and when the priest gets to the formal part of the service where he asks: "Who is it that presents this child to be baptized?" Meredith's brother gets up and yells, "Me! Remember me? You just married me four months ago!"
Heather lost her dog, and then got him back. Just reading the story of how she MIGHT HAVE lost her dog, made me cry! I love Rascal so much, i would donate an organ if he needed one. Sometimes i call Dan from work and he says he's playing with the puppy, and then he says, "I love that little guy," and i know that i have the best family ever. He's stolen our hearts, that little pound puppy, along with our shoes and our bed-covers. Yesterday while i was putting on my shoes, he casually waltzed in front of me, in mid-stide dropping his tug-of-war rope at my feet. Then he slowly walked over to the no-no area where the shoes are, glanced around for a moment, and then mimed chewing my purse. That smart little devil! Yesterday markes his first coy manuver in getting me to play with him, and i'm so proud.
Well, actually it was, once. But now it isn't any more. Never in my life have I seen so much snow fall and melt in such a short span of time. Obviously, there are reasons to be sad the snow is going so quickly: the Junior Choir likes to play in it, for example. But there are good points, too, like it helps with the dog training. I paid big bucks to get a long leash--75 cents a foot seems a little steep, does it not?--and the warm weather made it very pleasant to be outside practicing the come skill. I could get to like the new leash: Rascal doesn't really know he's wearing it, so when he gets bored and decides to head next door, I can yank him back; for all he knows it's like one of those invisible electric fences! Then again, it was only the first trial. He's a smart cookie, it may well be that he figures it out before too long. Only 11 more months of puppy teenager-hood to go!
i call Dan from work:
Leah: "Can we have a treat tonight after dinner? like cookies or some cake?"
Dan: "Sure. I'll make something tonight while i'm cooking dinner."
Hear that? It's THAT easy! Cake or cookies at my dialing fingertips! If anyone else thinks they have a better husband, they are sorely mistaken.
Actually, on the matter of good husbands, my friend Becky is getting married this June. She has a lovely husband who also bakes, is smart and witty, and happens to be in school for rocket science. He's also Black, which trumps Dan, but Dan has the advantage of being great with puppies and children, so it might be a draw. I can't wait to go to Becky's wedding, not only because it gives me something to look forward to now that i'm poor and unemployed, but also because i loooove weddings that i don't have to diet for!
And speaking of weddings.....
FELICITATIONS A TOM ET NELLY!!!!!
On Valentines Day, Dan's brother Tom asked the lovely Gabonaise Nelly to be his wife. Not only does this mean she gets to stay in the country (huray!), but hopefully we'll get to throw a big party too. Maybe i'll get to be a matron of honor!!! Tom, congratulations. Since your blushing bride is also Black, i consider myself trumped.
Dan: "I love you."
Leah: "Really? Because i ate most of the cake."
Dan: "Next time we'll cut the cake in half."
Leah: "And we'll write a D on one side and an L on the other side. Ha ha. It'll be a DEALER cake. Get it? Like Dealer plates have DL??"
Dan: "I get it. The cake dealer got you hooked. The first hit was free."
No, I'm not refering to the jeans, but to the fact that this is the 501st entry to have been posted in this blog. I have it on the best authority that 50 of them were funny, too. That's 10%: Leah is downstairs doing math and the fumes are wafting up here, I guess. Actually, I now discover from the accompanying comments that the math has been laid aside and replaced by blog-writing and, inevitably, -browsing. Which brings up an interesting point: did she start writing her post before or after I saw the 500 number? Has this whole post been reduced to a sham?!
In any case, I think it's clear that, even if I haven't had any other lasting effect on my darling wife, I've transformed her into a true blog afficianado. All in the space of a couple years, too! Although I can't claim all the credit: the true breakthrough came when she took up a job which involved long periods of sitting alone in premises she shared with a computer and internet connection. That's pretty much my life, which explains why I got into the blogging first. She's got me beat now, though, I think all will agree.
In all this Olympic coverage, one thing is clear: live sports are better than dead sports--I mean, better than ones taped and rebroadcast. I've been taking the most joy from the hockey and the curling, not only because they're both good games in their own right, but because they've resisted compression by the programming folks at NBC. All the other sports have been smushed to some extant one way or another, and I have to say, it just isn't the same.
Even when they give you an event in almost its entirety (cue the figure skating), the mere fact that it would be possible to look online and find out who won takes away much of the joy. And too often that's not the only problem: in addition to that, you have the exclusion of non-American athletes, the addition of inane human-interest puff-pieces, and the overbearing NBC plot lines. And on top of that, no replays! I was trying to watch the skeletoning, and the way they were presenting it you worried for the poor guy just finishing his run, cause they started the next sledder mere moments after the last was over the line. Some people might enjoy that compressed performance, but for me the waiting and all is an integral portion of the sporting experience. It's not only the action that's important, it's the anticipation and building tension and eveything.
I think the problem is that the weekend and evening coverage is designed for people who don't like sports. Good thing I'm a lazy loafer who can watch the early-morning live sports designed for the lazy loafers!
As you can see, the blog is broken. Some entries didn't get published, some got published, um, more than once, and things are just generally falling apart. I don't know how to go about fixing matters: something got corrupted somewhere in the database (or something like that) but I don't know where or what to do about it. It may be a a little while before I can get things back together again... we might get to see the debut of the squibix blogging system. If I have time to make it, that is.