Sinope rocks my world

No more hurricanes! It's November 30! What's up with Canada, seriously?

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That Was A Weekend

Machnacki opened his apartment for me again, and by my count, this is his 7th since graduation, assuming you count the peapod-sized room in the Law Quad. I'm proud to have slept in 5 of them, including his latest residence just off State Street that gets Victoria's Secret catalogs.

Friday was OffTheHook, complete with an excursion to Babs and Oz, the former of which has a photo booth. The latter has belly dancing on Friday nights, which actually didn't seem all that interesting. But Jen was in good form, and I'm pretty sure Oleszkowicz was funny.

Saturday was beyond entertaining, all starting with the Turn A Question Around On Jen game that will probably last a while. We then moved onto that thing about robots before serving as 5 of the 111,591 warm bodies in Michigan Stadium. Stupid Ohio State, what with their good defense. 25-21. Heartbreaking. OSU fans are obnoxious.

Saturday night was mostly Jen being Jen, which is never a bad thing. Machnakci bought Oreos, which was HUGE, although we never got around to the BetterMade.

I'd like to thank Michigan for being cold. But it smelled nice. Yay fall. It's 70 in St. Petersburg. Bragging rights are in full effect.

hELLO

A lot of people I don't regularly communicate with have called or IMed to say hi lately. I appreciate them:

Kelly in Minnesota, Zuziak in Idaho, Eric in the White Heights, Cory in Maryland, Curt in Chicago, FoxyRoxy in the Hills, and even a congrats shout from Ashley in the depths of the Bronx.

She's Back

Ashley has a new blog:

http://181steps.blogspot.com/

The lovely people in my life

"Thanks for getting me sick." - dude at work, on his health

"It doesn't affect me, so I don't pay that much attention." - la madre, on the city of Detroit's mayoral choice (weird how I feel like it affects me, and I live 1,200 miles away from that sinkhole)

"If she is, that'd be absolutely, totally hot." - close friend on a girl

The Sky Is Falling

A lovely Sunday in lovely Florida. Mmmm, Sunday. But it's like Calvin says: You can never enjoy Sundays because you know you have to go school the next day. Indeed. Our lovely postseason media guide is pretty much done and ready for the First Big Edit tomorrow, so it's a Big Day for an Exciting Organization.

Just felt the need (being a journalism major, as if that counts for anything) to comment on the "dark days for newspapers." I wasn't alive, but I've read there were dark days for radio when television started to come of age, and the apocalyptic cries proclaiming the death of the medium rang from all corners of, well, the television. I'd care to disconcur; the evolution of communication mediums shows that they don't kill off each other...they just morph. News pamphlets turn into newspapers. Radio becomes more useful in a car than in a home. Internet turns television into a watch-when-you-want-to-watch experience.

Rarely does any medium completely disappear. I'd suggest most newspapers (except the four biggies) leave the national and international news reporting to CNN and The New York Times and MSNBC.com and morph back into the pamphlets of the past...become carriers of local information people use to make their lives: movie guides, TV grids, high school sports scores and schedules, play times, concert times, festivals, library hours, profiles of those small new corner restaurants, real estate listings, coupons for local spots, water parks, amusement centers, etc. Get local. Stay that way. I'll read about George elsewhere. I know, all of this is very original.

Sweet Florida

The week has been Pure Excitement.

After returning from a Disney weekend spent with my parents and brother (tearfully billed as the Last Time We'll Vacation Together, Just The 4 Of Us), I proceeded to obtain my once-a-year sickness, most likely thanks to my boss, who we stupidly had blow out candles on his 40th Birthday Cake on Tuesday. Thus, my days involved going to work, working late, and then going to sleep. It's been forever since 10+ hours.

Last night I was reminded that I am lame. The Chuck Lamar Fishermen's Ball was happening at Tropicana Field, which meant that people from Tampa High Society came to the dome wearing hawaiian shirts to say drink wine and say hi to their acquaintances in case they ever need a favor. The end of the event was a live auction, featuring, among other things, a boat, cars, and various vacations. Bidding for these items was well over $1500, oftentimes going to $6500, and these were considered low numbers.

All I'm saying is that I don't ever really see a day when I can shell out $3000 on a whim for a signed John Havlicek basketball, even if the proceeds go toward pediatriac cancer research. I can read all the Theodore Roosevelt biographies I want and call myself smart, but I'd enjoy if the flow was also flowing in alongside the nuggets of wisdom that might be useful for a couch session of Jeopardy.

I'm up this early because my bro went to South Carolina to see Topenga, and Timmreck Taxi Services were needed.

Go Blue.

(Also, I discovered my Wedding Girl Maggie has a blog, so that's exciting: http://www.xanga.com/ringostarrsgirl)

And if anyone finds Ron Wade's cellphone, that'd be splendid. It ran away.

DEEEEEEEEEEEEEETROIT BASKETBALL

Watching the Pistons DEMOLISH the Lakers right now...20pt lead with 2 minutes left in the game. My second-favorite memory at the Palace was Shout on the videoboard...the mixing between Animal House and the fans was perfect. The favorite is worth a conversation.

The 76ers are not good. At all.

Darko with the points!

Vinny Lecavalier

The bro and I journeyed to the forbidden land across the bridge to watch the Tampa Bay Lightning make lots of loud lightning strikes on faceoffs and play a decent game of hockey against the all-powerful Atlanta Thrashers, to whom they lost, 5-4. Everyone blamed the refs, which is exactly what they did at the first Lightning game I attended some weeks ago. I blame the Lightning's goalie for letting one go right through the 5-hole. His name is Johnny. So the good men upstairs play Johnny B. Goode. All of us sports people think we're so freaking clever.

Today is Ryan Cannon's birthday. And it's Cory Dunn's birthday. Props to them both. I once heard something about how, in a room with 30 people, it's very likely one of them will share your birthdate. I don't know how this works at all. It defies all logic.

So does Theo Epstein. He must feel so lost at this point; 31 years old, the golden boy who brought all kinds of joy to New England, toting a World Series ring. Where do you go from there? A consulting firm? Maybe Epstein's Epitaph's; the first person he can score some business from is Manny Ramirez. You know things are hazy in Boston when one of the game's scariest hitters is asking to be traded. Who bets the Mets make a bid and unoffcially end his career? Mo Vaughn; ruined. Tom Glavine; ruined. Al Leiter; ruined. Pedro Martinez; runied. Kris Benson, Carlos Beltran, Victor Zambrano. Miguel Cairo, thankfully, plays well for me in MLB 2004.

Things are swimming right along; the Devil Rays, with really nowhere to go but up, have their feet on the first step of the Stairwell To Greatness. Florida is lovely this time of year; the days are crisp and bright and sunny, while the nights are not hot but not cold; you could wear shorts or pants and be comfortable. But you'd still be hott. Yes, you.

Thanks to Eve 6, R.E.M., and David Holmes for providing the soundtrack for this exciting post. Long live notations about weather.