Goodbye, sweet Prince

i'd never given musicals more than flashing homo-erotic thought, and then i fell in love with one as i concurrently fell in love with someone... im sure most of you have heard of swell season, or once, swell's musical adaptation of a theme all too relevant, all too prevalent. but if youve not had the pleasure of once, it ranks as one of the best ways you could spend an evening with the one you love. i need reminders like this one to drown me in humility and compassion, to remind me of what's important. glen hansard sings from the depths of his soul, or his diaphragm at least, without pretense, revealing more than truth. i was and am still am in awe at the night once hushed internal howling long enough that i would hear purity flow through passion, gracing and soaking my twisted notions in simple prosaic strophe and stanza intended to soften loveless hearts. pain rivaling torture a la internment camp, that of masochists, passes preciously and purposefully away in this portrait of love lost... of love realized. love is real, but it is squandered sharply if suffocated by its' nemeses... tonight i pray for sweet rapture, that which would undo strife, rein in temerity and hush creeping tempest, returning me to a time when i knew no better than to love like a child. swell season's revelations abound... the following reveals how to let go like a man, as little as i am one. rambling...

HEY ADUB, YOUR BLOG IS DEAD! GUESS WHY....



ITS PLAYOFF TIME IN IC FOOTBALL V, AND WE ARE ALL TALKIN SMACK HAVIN A GOOD OLE TIME! IC BLOG WHAT?! FANTASY FOOTBALL POST BOARD IS WHERE IT'S AT! TOO BAD YOU & CLINT ARE TOO COOL FOR SCHOOL!

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Stand Up People

Because sitting IS the new smoking...




Happy Thanksgiving

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We Are the One Per Centby John Kenney
November 28, 2011

Average wealth of the top 1 percent was almost $14 million in 2009, according to a 2011 report from the Economic Policy Institute.

—Washingtonpost.com.

“Shit is fucked up and bullshit.”

—Sign seen at the Occupy Wall Street protest in lower Manhattan.

We, too, have mobilized.

We come from near and far, by any means necessary, some on private jets, others on extremely large private jets.

But you will not find us sleeping in a park and waiting in line at a Burger King to urinate. Have you heard of Mustique? Because that’s where we have mobilized. Don’t bother trying to Google Earth us, though, because we have proprietary military software that prevents you from doing so.

Our numbers may be smaller than those demonstrating in New York and other cities, but we are still a movement, coalesced around a cause, sleeping two and sometimes three people to a villa.

Perhaps you are wondering what our cause is. Perhaps you’re wondering why we, the richest people on the planet, have come together. Perhaps you’re curious whether what we’re undertaking couldn’t technically be called a vacation. These are all good questions.

We’re angry. We’re angry at something we’re calling “imagined frustration.” By this we mean that, except for Congress, the White House, banks, major lobbyists, and the editorial boards of Fox News and the Wall Street Journal, no one is listening to us. And we’re tired of it.

You claim to know something about us. You think we are rich beyond comprehension, that we can do anything we please at any time, go anywhere we want at a moment’s notice, wander the earth in a state of constant bliss, enjoying abundant and fabulous sex. Perhaps you do know us.

There are those in the more liberal press who have questioned whether the wealthiest one per cent truly understand how difficult life is for so many Americans right now, and to that we would say— Oh, look, someone just brought in lobster and a Bollinger Grande Année.

Except for money and the almost unnatural flawlessness of my skin, we are no different, you and I. I don’t know who you are or what you look like or how much money you have in the bank. Nor does it matter. Because we’re just men. Unless you are a woman. Or a child. Or a pony. But ponies don’t read magazines, do they? Unless they’re precocious ponies, like Mister Ed. And he wasn’t real. But I think you get my point. And that is: we are the same, except for the coarseness of the skin on your elbows. Do you know that feeling, upon waking at 4 A.M., heart racing, your mind looking twenty, thirty years down the road, wondering how you are going to make ends meet? Worrying about what would happen if you lost your job, asking yourself how you’re going to pay for your kids’ college or retire? Well, I don’t. But I read a story about it once and remember thinking, I’m so glad that’s not me.


from the issuecartoon banke-mail this.What do we want?

Here is our manifesto, still very much a work in progress, as it’s cocktail hour and several of our protesters are out at the pool:

—All wealth should be shared equally among the wealthy.

—Eradicate poverty. (Note: Maybe a clearer way to say this would be “Eradicate the poor.” Need to discuss.)

—End business as usual. (Note: Several members like the sound of this, but they don’t know what it means. A suggestion has been made to add the word “hours” after “business.”)

—Implement a rule whereby the public cannot look at us and must keep a distance of at least twenty feet at all times.

Yes, I have more things—more homes and cars and planes and art and underground passages and satellites and private militias and a person whose only job is to grow hair that is genetically identical to my own. But when you take off your pants and I take off my pants and we stand facing each other as naked as the day we were born, except for socks, all I would ask is that you feel my skin and tell me it’s not the softest skin you’ve ever felt on a man. And also realize that we are the same, except for the fact that I have four submarines.

Shit is fucked up and bullshit.

We agree.

Except that we would substitute “money” for “shit,” “awesome” for “fucked up,” and “squash courts” for “bullshit,” and add the words “cannot be used for more than ninety minutes. Please respect club rules. Thank you.” ♦



Read more http://www.newyorker.com/humor/2011/11/28/111128sh_shouts_kenney#ixzz1eVJQ8xPt

Reunited

Home a month from today.

Let's throw a Christmas party. Christmas sweaters, eggnog, white elephant, the works.

Friday, Dec. 23rd.

Let's rock.

(please)

(I need this)

For those of you who remember (not me).

http://southwestconference.bigcartel.com/

This is a cool site a friend of a friend of mine started.  Don't worry, Clint, it comes in burnt orange as well.

change the background or i'll post more cum nose pictures of you. you fit in well as the other member of this family.

God Bless Texas - This is an informative video about Texas and how awesome we are (or some of your were). Time to move back, dont miss the boat while we become billionaires.

PLEASE CHANGE THE BACKGROUND

CAUSES HEADACHES

Adventures in Hpnotiq

TGIF

An IC Movember to Remember??I assume you savvy gents know about the growing a mustache for Movember movement, correct? Grow a mustache, look ridiculous, raise funds/awareness for prostate cancer. Here's the link: http://movember.com/.

I shaved yesterday and am beginning mustache cultivation season today. Last week, I shaved a two-week old beard into a 'stache for a trial run and looked like Jon Gruden. It was gross.

I think we should all do this. 29 days of mustaches, including updates, photos, stories, etc. If we really wanted to, we could register a team at the Movember site as well. Faust, group organizer?

For me, this is of personal significance because my stepdad, a man proudly known as Bob Cooter, had prostate cancer this year. He's fine now, but prostate cancer is dangerous animal. There's a likelihood that one of us will get it at some time after 50.

So, mustaches, all month. Who's in?

Texas Tears

I know I'm late on commenting about the WS, but I needed some time to fully digest what happened. The last few nights have been difficult. Thursday through Saturday I didn't sleep very well. Often during conversations over the weekend, my eyes glazed over and I stared off into space thinking about 2-strike, 2-out counts, Nelson Cruz not covering enough ground in right, and ultimately, how if it was difficult for me to sleep, imagine how hard it must be for Neftali Feliz.

Truth is, I didn't watch Game 7. I had a trip to an indigenous community planned for a story during the games 3-4 weekend and bumped it back a week for the WS. The photographer that planned to go with me was pissed, though I said enough soothing things to calm her down. We rescheduled the trip for Friday, a day after the originally scheduled Game 7. Then it rained Wednesday, games pushed back. If the Rangers didn't win Thursday, I wasn't going to see Game 7. The town I went to didn't have electricity (think 2nd and a half world).

Part of me is glad I didn't see it. I came home yesterday to my internet world and watched the final out. I bit my lip and almost cried. I can't remember the last time I cared about a team so much as I did the 2011 TX Rangers. I've never been so excited, crushed, elated, sucker-punched and then depressed as Thursday night. First team to give up runs in the 8th, 9th, 10th and 11th innings in a WS game. I assume they were the first team to ever be one strike away from a WS series win in consecutive innings and go on to lose. Salt in the wounds is 2nd WS loss in a row and I had already poured champagne in the glasses of my neighbors and girlfriend during the 9th inning. I read in the FW Star-Telegram that boxes of "Texas Rangers World Series Champs" shirts were delivered to the press box in the 9th and 10th innings of Game 6.

Had a couple of thoughts. Would I have preferred an 81-81 regular season without the WS agony? Heard some people say that. No. Playoffs were great, WS, even though horrifying in the end, was fantastic.

My other thought was: Now I know how it feels to be a 1990s Buffalo Bills fan, a Holland fan during the 2010 World Cup final, a Russian watching the 1980 Olympics Gold medal hockey game (and then reliving it with a bad movie 20-odd years later), or a 2008 Memphis Tigers fan when Derrick Rose and the boys squandered a 9-point lead during the final two minutes of the NCAA final by missing 4-of-5 free-throws and allowed Mario Chalmers to throw in a prayer 3-pointer with 2 seconds left to go to OT, resulting in an eventual loss.

You never really think about what is it like to be a player or fan on those teams until it happens to you. Then when it does, it makes you want to call Scott Norwood and take him out for ice cream and a drive-in movie.

Shit hurts. I woke up this morning with the Rangers still on my mind but I have a feeling this was the last mourning of my mourning. Lots of consoling comments at work today, but I imagine that by tomorrow or Wednesday, all baseball talk will pass.

I think the "What Ifs?", like when anything goes dreadfully awry, are the most haunting. What if Feliz had blown one by Freese, or Cruz had timed his jump, or Beltre had thrown home in the 10th instead of going to first, or Napoli had called a different pitch for Feldman, or we could have gotten f'ing David Descalso or John slumping Jay out to begin the 10th? What if anything that happened, didn't happen? How much better would I feel today?

I think the only positive I take from the end of baseball season is that I no longer have 3.5 hour commitment blocks in my schedule. Seventeen games in 25 days is a lot of time. I'll see my girlfriend more now, probably do my job better and maybe take up jogging again.

Hopefully during the next six weeks I'll be able to forget about Game 6, and when I read the Year In Sports review in the Dallas Morning News when I go home for Christmas, my urge to cry for what could have been, what should have been, and what wasn't, will be very distant memories. I hope sports never make me feel like this again.

I'm quite certain ninjas live among us.

"This field, this game, is a part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that was once good, and what could be good again."

The Lonsome kicker. Go redbirds!

Similarites?

Maybe I am premature in posting this, and maybe this is a ridiculous claim, but am I wrong to see similarities in the way the Dallas Mavericks won the title and the way the Texas Rangers might do so Wednesday night? Probably. Comparing basketball to baseball is like comparing Ramadan to Kwanza, but it seems like there is a very similar pattern to how the two series played out.

So...

* Mavs lose game 1 in Miami, make unthinkable 15-point 4th quarter comeback to win game 2. Same with Rangers, getting two sac flies in top 9th to steal game 2 in STL.

* Mavs get beat in game 3, comeback to win games 4&5, as unheralded star J. Terry throws in 3-ptrs from everywhere. Same with Rangers, swap Jet for potential series MVP Mike Napoli, who throws out tons of baserunners and gets biggest hits of games 4&5.

* Mavs had never won an NBA title, losing their only previous appearance. Ditto with Rangers.

Is this analogy a stretch? Yes, but I think it is worth mentioning. This has been undoubtedly the best year in DFW sports (which includes TCU's Jan. 1, 2011 Rose Bowl win) and the thought of two long-suffering franchises winning their first titles six months apart is pretty amazing.

That said, TX could easily lose both games 6&7 and most analysts will point to this post as the reason for the collapse.

Other notes:
* Pujols is MLB's Michael Jordan.
* Big win for Rangers, only made better by the fact that staff "Ace" CJ can't-throw-strikes Wilson is done for the season. Worst pitcher in the rotation and the Cards could have blown game 5 wide open on several occasions.
* Yadier Molina is the best defensive catcher in baseball. Neck tattoos make for good catchers.
* I love Josh Hamilton, but why did he wait until the WS to announce to the press that his groin hurt? To me, that is like a sprinter that is losing a race and comes up lame down the home stretch and hobbles across the finish line holding his hamstring to validate his poor performance. Wait until after the series to tell everyone how much pain you were in. He didn't look like he was in pain when he made a running catch against the wall in Game 6 of the ALCS, but four days later after a bad game 1 he told everyone how bad he was hurting. I will forgive him if he hits a Kirk Gibson shot in Game 6 and drags his leg around the bases.

* Please start posting again. I'd like to see if we can get something going for Xmas/NYE. Possible?