I know it’s been a long while since I updated my blog; too long. The interminable length of the day just sucks my soul straight through my ass without so much as a generous helping of K-Y. Waking up at 4:00am, leaving the house at 4:55am, getting to work at 7:30am, leaving work at 5:00pm, and getting home at 7:30pm turns me into a quivering blob of fat (more so than I already am) by the end of the day. All I want to do when I get home is eat dinner and sleep. While I may think “my blog needs updating,” I’m too fucking tired to break out the laptop and bang out an update. However, since I received the drunken, weed-influenced email above, I feel somewhat… pressured… to come up with an update. I hope all you bastards are happy. Hell, actually have a lot to blog about… so there may be another update soon after this one. Keyword: “may.”

The picture for this update is one of our new commuters. She’s The Company’s new receptionist, which is part of the accounting department. On the way to work Friday, we were somehow making fun of cops and their overwhelming fondness of deep-fried dough. She mentioned she had never been to, or even had, Krispy Kreme doughnuts. What? That meant we had to stop on the way home. Timing was perfect, too. We got Krispy Kreme at 6:55pm, 5 minutes before the neon Hot Lamp was lit. There’s something very comforting about hot Krispy Kreme doughnuts right off the line. It’s almost sexual, goddammit. I mean, to a fat guy, these hot, sugary rings of goodness are like cosmetics to women, leather cheerios to fags, or little boys to priests. They’re that fucking good! The picture came about because I asked the girl behind the counter for a paper campaign cap, which is what you see our receptionist wearing in the picture. I left with two dozen, which I gave to Tina as a belated birthday present.

Last weekend, I lost my wallet. I say lost, but I mean someone stole it, but I can’t prove it. It’s a lengthy story, so I’ll try to keep it pithy. Two Saturdays ago, I went to the local pet store for parrot seed and pellets. After that, I went to Jack in the Box for dinner. I went through the drive-thru at Jack’s, so I never left my truck. I paid with my Visa debit card, which was in my wallet. The teenage food monkey gave me my card and the receipt. I put the card back in my wallet, and the receipt on the passenger seat. I put my wallet on the passenger seat, too. I would have put it back in my pocket, but because I’m forced to wear a fucking seat belt, it’s simply easier to put my wallet on the passenger seat. The point here is, my wallet was still in my truck after Jack in the Box.

I drove straight home without making another stop. I took the parrot food in the house first, then went back for the human food. I locked the truck, entered the house, and locked the front door… not even thinking about my wallet. I’ve thrown my wallet on the passenger seat so many times, I can’t count. But when I needed to go into town for milk on Monday morning, I couldn’t find my wallet. Fuck! I had a reimbursement check from The Company, a bank debit card, a credit card, driver’s license, a spare key to my truck, and the RFID proximity card for access to the building in which I work.

I checked my truck several times, checking under the seats, between the seats, under the back seat, under the subwoofer, in the pockets on the seat backs, the map pockets on the doors… everywhere in the truck. I even checked the truck with a Maglight just in case I couldn’t see clearly under the seats. No luck. My wallet was still missing. Tina even checked the truck. She even checked the insides of the aluminum wheels under the truck. We also checked every room in the house, and turned the living room and bedroom upside down several times looking for the goddamn thing before I broke down and called the bank and credit card company to cancel cards. Since the wallet had to be in the truck (which it wasn’t), in the house (which it wasn’t), or on the ground somewhere in the 12 feet from my truck to the front door (which it wasn’t), I can only believe that one of my cock-sucking, noise-making, inconsiderate fucking retard neighbors picked it up. Assholes!

Tuesday, I worked from home so I could go to the Department of Licensing for a replacement driver's license. Ya gotta love the Catch-22 I faced. To replace my license, I needed $15. However, I had no way to get money from the bank without my bank card. I could go to the bank and withdraw money, but I need identification to do that… of course, as I just said, I had no identification. To solve this conundrum, I wrote a check on one of the starter checks I got when I opened the bank account in 2001. Wotta cluster! I’ve already got my new bank card, my new license, and my new proximity card… which cost me fifty fucking dollars. Goddamn building management is raping people when they’re down.

Anyway, that’s all I got in me for an update today. I have more to write about… including an upcoming move, hysterical cock waving, a sack of dead kittens, a family member in the hospital, and a somewhat uneventful Company picnic. You’ll just have to wait a few days, bitches.

Before leaving the office this evening, I took a trip to the head. It has become a daily ritual to take one last piss before heading home on our 150-plus-minute commute home. I hate doing the pee-pee dance, especially in the seat of a car. And I definitely don’t need all the burning love of a fiery urinary tract infection, or the excruciating pain of kidney stones.

When I walked to the stall, there was a post-it note on the door with the words “NAGIOS CHECK” at the top. Nagios is an open source network monitor program that we use to ensure network services on our many servers and routers remain working at all times. I took this pitiful out-of-focus picture of the post-it note on the shitter stall door with my cell phone. The lighting in our bathroom is not the best. Not like we need stadium lights to pinch a loaf or anything. I had to get really close for the writing to show up, and that’s why the photo is so shitty (if you’ll pardon the unintended pun). Besides, I don’t need to spend huge amounts of time composing pictures in the little boys room. I’m pretty sure the president of our company — who was taking a leak when I snapped this photo — thinks I’m obsessed with mookie stinks. Pass the Charmin, m’kay?

Scatological references aside, I tried my best to clean it up and make it readable by adjusting and sharpening the image with GIMP. Just in case you can’t read it, I’ll try to snag the Post-it note if it’s still there in the morning. In the meantime, I’ll type it out below so you can at least “read” the text. This little post-it note was a clever little notice (probably left by one of our admins) that notified the next occupant that there was no more toilet paper in that stall. I couldn’t help but wonder if some of the less-than-technical (for lack of a better description) men in Sales and Accounting figured out what the notice meant. Too fucking funny!

NAGIOS CHECK
  CRITICAL
/dev/rolla
     0 blocks free
/dev/rollb
     0 blocks free
[ ] Acknowledge
[ ] Silence
[ ] Schedule Next Check

In a couple of weeks, we’ll be picking up a former co-worker who has a seminar to attend in Seattle. He needs a ride into the city, and since we’re nice people — and just happen to have an empty seat that day — he’ll hitch that ride. We gave him conditions, though. He had to pay $10 for gas, which is a bargain if you consider the cost of fuel these days and the price of parking in the garage. He also had to agree to the constant barrage of ridicule that we’ve been building up since he left the company in September of 2005. He agreed, and it is so on! It’s gonna be a fun day with the “Di-tech Soy Boy!”

And here we go again. I had a couple more topics to cover, but it’s getting late and I can’t remember what they are. Besides, I’ve completely lost the desire to continue typing. I spent far too much time trying to get the CSS just right for that faux post-it note. Ho-ly-fuckin’-Christ, wotta a pain in the ass. What I have already is probably not XHTML strict, and it’ll eat at me like necrotizing fasciitis. I’ll remember what those forgotten topics were as soon as I click “publish,” I just know it. Pass the ginkgo biloba.

Since it snowed, we didn’t head into the office. Although we made a valiant effort trying. It was 35°F when I woke up at 4:00am. The first thing I did was check the traffic cameras on the state’s transportation site from Mount Vernon to Everett. No snow. Doppler radar showed precipitation over head, but there was nothing falling. I got ready to go and met up with the car pool… Aw, fuck the long story. I’m too tired and too old to type it all out. Let’s fast-forward to crossing Deception Pass Bridge. It was just starting to flurry, and the highway was only damp. The further east we drove, the heavier the snow was falling. We didn’t even make it past the Swinomish reservation before the highway was so slippery, the car’s traction control was kicking in trying to save our fat asses. We turned around and headed home to .

Oh Jebus H. McChrist! Tina’s watching the premier of American Idol 6 as I type this. What in the southern fried fuck makes these people believe they can sing? Goddamn! Some of these people sound like a pygmy goat trying to queef out a Whitney Houston song. I think I’m getting a headache.

Well, crap. I’ve completely lost the desire to write more. I have to pee, and I’m tired of looking at a computer. I have a few more topics to cover… including one that might even get me into some trouble. I’ll Wikipediafy this update and call it a done deal. Sorry for the shortness. I’ll try to do better next time.

I used to type this annual letter on paper and mail a copy to my family members with their Christmas card. But, more and more of my family has (sadly) passed away and I was sending less and less cards and letters. And, let’s face it… we are in the 21st century. Who am I, Ben Franklin? (Remember, he was the first Postmaster General, and a publisher… and I knew that without looking it up on Wikipedia. I grew up in Philadelphia, where Franklin was shoved up our ass sideways… bifocals and all.) My career is based on the Internet. It only made sense to go digital and put my Christmas letter on the Internet for anyone to read.

The picture for this update has nothing to do with my year in review. It’s Christmas time. I thought I’d give the guys that read my nonsense a nice little present. If South Park has taught us anything, it’s that the true meaning of Christmas is presents.

I don’t want to see any bitching about sexist images in the comments. How can anyone complain about titties? Titties are not only “sex objects,” they are, quite literally, a food source for newborn babies. In fact, I’ll bet two Jacksons (daddy needs a new bag of weed) that Baby Jesus was suckin’ on a tittie or two after he was born!

Well, there ya go. I’ve successfully tied Jesus to tittes, and firmly secured my rightful place in Hell. Pass the eggnog.

Two thousand six started out like any other year, and there wasn’t anything going on in my life. Same shit, different day. Seahawk fans, though, were glued to their televisions. The Seahawks were playing great football — winning the division, the conference, first-round bye, and home field advantage — on their way to Super Bowl XL. Of course, as we all know, the ‘Hawks lost in Detroit because the NFL referees fucked us. Some of us believe the lunar landings were faked, I believe the NFL wanted Pittsburgh to win at any cost… Jesus, next I’ll be seeing black helicopters and government men in black suits with sunglasses.

By spring, the entire country, including me, was complaining about $3 gas. I was driving my 1968 Mustang, cursing the gas pumps. It typically took about $45 to fill the tank. Even with a recent pay raise at work, $3 gas was making it tough to drive a classic car. I got a 1994 Chevy Lumina from a friend, but that turned into a complete cluster.

So in June, I finally decided to just go buy a used vehicle. I always wanted a truck. I could use a truck to get my ass to work reliably, as well as hauling shit from point A to point B. I did some Internet homework by locating trucks on local lots. I also learned that dealers do not update their web listings nearly as often as they should… lazy bastards. We hit three or four lots without any luck before finding a nice 1994 Ford F-150 on a lot in Sedro Woolley. I signed 173 pages of shit, and drove the truck home.

It wasn’t long before the stereo in my new truck was bugging me, so I put in a new stereo, and a little later I spent the money for a new subwoofer.

July 22nd wasn’t a fun day. Nothing happened. The earth didn’t stand still. Planets didn’t line up. I did turn forty, however, and it sucked a fat one. It’s hard to believe that I’ve been alive for 4 decades, and can remember shit that happened in 1981 without the aid of Wikipedia. And the old joke about your memory being the first thing to go? Never. More. True. Sometimes, I’m as forgetful as Ronald Reagan appearing before the Tower Commission. Godammit, why do I remember that shit, but can’t remember to take out the garbage. I’m so freakin’ old.

Sometime during the summer, the company I work for decided to consolidate offices in Redmond and Oak Harbor into one big cock-waving office in a skyscraper in downtown Seattle. This started me and Tina looking for a place to live. It only took us a couple of weeks before we realized it would be better to buy a house than rent… which quickly turned into putting a new modular home on some land. I must have missed the biology class that covered the colon being lined with currency.

At the end of October, most of the employees of the Oak Harbor office celebrated their final day in the Log Cabin with a pizza lunch. After the weekend, our new place of employment would be the new office in the Westin Building in Seattle. Not much was different between Oak Harbor and Seattle, but the commute surely sucks.

Last month we had cataclysmic weather. We set a new rainfall record in November that makes the rain forest look like southern Arizona. Wind storms knocked power out for a few hours at least once, and we had our first snowfall. Mother Nature lulled us into a false sense of security in December, then unleashed a really big storm that blew over many trees and knocked out the electricity to more than a million power customers. Our power was restored after 26 hours, but others didn’t get power back for days.

So, there’s my boring-ass life in a nutshell. Three hundred and sixty five days distilled down to less than 1000 words. But 2007 is just around the corner and promises to be a little more exciting. I hope everyone’s Christmas (or whatever December holiday you celebrate) is a happy and safe one. Happy New Year!

We knew there was a big wind storm coming; all the TV weather weenies were besides themselves about it for several days before, carrying on like a hyperactive retard about the storm bearing down on us. On Thursday night, the front of the storm hit Seattle around 4pm, and dumped — just dumped — an assload of rain. It had been raining most of the day, but it really started pouring around 4. We left the office around 5pm, and the rain was still coming down in biblical proportions. Rain was running downhill, turning Seattle’s streets into grade III whitewater rivers, and collecting into huge standing puddles of traffic-slowing goodness. Rich Eisen of the NFL Network even joked that we had started collecting pairs of animals here in the Pacific Northwest. Interstate 5 was pretty much wide open, making the commute easy… until we hit the usual snag in the colon of traffic known as Everett. South of Everett, a torrent of rainwater had pushed mud and gravel into the freeway. Some rocks were as large as baseballs, which started the slowdown, and it was slow all the way to the Highway 2 offramp. We listened to the Seahawks game for the rest of the trip home.

The wind had already started before we left Seattle. It was pretty strong when we got back to Whidbey Island, but we still had power. I was text messaging one of my carpool members about the game. The ‘Hawks were playing so poorly, I gave up on watching the game and started watching a recorded episode of Jeopardy! on my TiVo. Without watching the end of the game, another text message told me the final score of 24-14.

But we’re not talking about the Seahawks… we’re talking about the weather. I know, both were terrible… But this blog entry is about the blowing of wind, not the Seahawks blowing. The wind was whipping outside, but it wasn’t too bad. The power flickered a couple times, but stayed on. I watched the weather at 10pm and went to bed. Four in the morning comes way too early.

At 1:51am, a tree branch hit the roof and woke me up as it tumbled down the roof to the lawn. While my sleepy brain processed the noise, the power went out. Crap. Then as quickly as it went out, it came back on. I remember thinking I was glad I asked Tina to shut down the computers. Ten seconds later, the power went out again, and stayed out. I went back to sleep.

Tina’s travel alarm went off at 4:00am. Responsible adults plan ahead and prepare for possible power outages. We set alarm clocks that don’t require electricity so we can make it to work on time, thus avoiding the need to come up with lame-ass excuses for being four hours late…

Anyway, at 4:00am, the power was still out. I grabbed my 4D Maglite and dragged my groggy ass to the bathroom. I used a dirty towel and propped up the flashlight so its bright beam was aimed over the shower head. Perfect. The water in the tank was still hot, so I was able to take a shower and get ready for work like it was any other normal day.

By 4:30am, I was dressed and ready to go. I text messaged our carpool driver the following: “Power out here, how about there? I still had hot water. Im ready to go if youre going.” The reply was, “I good.” “I good?” What in the oven-baked fuck? While I twisted my drunken manager decoder ring in the pre-dawn darkness, another message came in. “B here ¿ 5:15” was still a little cryptic, but I knew what he meant.

I left at 5:05am, and headed towards his house. The wind had blown a shitload of pine braches everywhere. The highway had pine branches on the shoulders, but Swantown Road was carpeted in pine. It reminded me of my parents’ house where I grew up, which had the gaudiest wall-to-wall green shag carpet. The late seventies and earlier eighties lacked any style, didn’t they?

I turned onto Heller Road, but before I reached Whidbey Avenue, the road was barricaded. I couldn’t see the reason why, but followed the “Detour” sign. I use the sigular form, because in typical Oak Harbor fashion, there were no further detour signs, so I was somewhat lost in some neighborhood in the darkness. No street lights, no house lights… just my headlights to guide me to familiar territory.

I made it back to Heller — still before the barricade — and said “fuck it!” I headed towards town and would take a round-about path to my destination. I reached for my cell phone to call about running late due to detours, but I left my phone at home for Tina. Since there was no power, there was no Internet, and without Internet there was no VoIP phone.

After driving faster than 60 mph on back roads, I got to my manager’s house at 5:23am; 8 minutes late. I parked my truck, hopped into his car, and we started heading north to Deception Pass. The highway was cluttered with pine branches, and there were remnants of trees that had fallen into the highway about every 50 yards or so. By the time we reached Cornet Bay Road, the Washington State Patrol had barricaded the highway and turned us around. They told us Deception Pass was closed until daybreak at the earliest due to hundreds of trees that had blown down across the higway. With no bridge access, and no ferries running in the rough seas, we weren’t leaving the Island. We called the Seattle office, and were told to go to the old Oak Harbor office (which we still have open for repair, retail, and drop payments) at 8:00am and work from there. I went back home and crawled back into bed. It was still dark and cold — inside and out.

When I got to the Oak Harbor office, it was warm and lit up nicely. The office has a natural gas-powered standby electrical generator, and while the rest of the Island was dark, we had lights, heat, and Internet access. Rumor had it, Puget Sound Energy wasn’t going to have power restored to the Island for seven to ten day. Excellent. That wasn’t good news for Tina who was at home in the cold, trying to keep a small flock of birds alive.

I checked the local news web sites, and they had a lot of photos of the damage. There was an estimated one million homes and businesses without power! What are we, Amish? Goddamn! PSE alone had over 700,000 customers in the dark. Wind speeds were still quite high outside, but nowhere near what they were at the peak of the storm. Speeds at the Hood Canal Bridge reached 74 miles per hour. That’s hurricane speed, boys and girls! Yeah, okay, a category 1 hurricane has 74 mph sustained winds, and these speed were gusts, but damn! Ocean Shores on the coast reached 73 mph, and Tacoma, Sea-Tac Airport, and home sweet Oak Harbor each hit 69 mph. The strongest gusts were clocked at 113 mph at Chinook Pass in the Cascade Mountains. I like me a good blowjob, but this shit’s ridiculous.

At lunch, I went out and took some photos around town. I couldn’t find a lot of wide-spread damage, but I did find some. Hell, the fence in my backyard even took a hit. Here’s a link to the entire gallery of wind storm pictures I shot with a borrowed camera.

About 3:00pm, I went to Home Depot. They had generated power and were open for purchasing emergency supplies only. I was looking for some batteries (for the radio and flashlights), and possibly a safe heat source I could use indoors that wouldn’t give off fumes. The respitory systems of parrots are sensitive as hell when it comes to odors and fumes. A kerosene heater would smell slightly to humans, but kill a bird in minutes, just like over-heated Teflon. There were no safe heaters at Home Depot, so I headed to Marketplace (a grocery store) which was also on generated power. I picked up some milk, cereal, lunchmeat, bread, peanut butter, jelly, chips, and Pepsi; all things we could eat without the need to cook it. The great outdoors (namely the front porch) acted as our refrigerator, since the outside temperature was close to freezing.

I got back to work by 4, finished up a ticket I was handed earlier, and was sent home by 4:45pm. I drove home, being careful at the traffic lights that were obviously not working. I was shocked by the number of cars that simply blew through dark traffic lights as if they didn’t exist. When the traffic light isn’t working, the intersection should be treated as a four-way stop, you fucking artards.

I got home safely, and unloaded the truck. I installed batteries in a couple of flashlights, and Tina and I “enjoyed” a dinner of bologna sandwiches with Lay's potato chips and Pepsi.

I was playing wth my cell phone when it rang. I answered, but no one was there. Caller ID said it was my manager. I tried to call back, but since we were 15 hours into this power outage, Cingular‘s local towers must have quit working. My phone was reading “Emergency Only” or “No Service”, and only occasionally reading one bar of signal. Raising the bar, my freezing ass.

I hopped into my truck again, and drove around trying to find a signal to call back. I ended up at one of the highest points in town — under the radio tower at the police station, where I was getting 3 bars. When I called my manager back, he told me he dialed the wrong number. Excellent. I told him I was listening to KOMO-AM 1000, and they interviewed a PSE employee who said that “crews were currently working on restoring Bellevue, Olympia, and Whidbey Island by the end of the day.”

After that call, I received a call from Tina’s sister-in-law, Amy. She was calling to see how we were doing, since she saw on the central Oregon news that the Puget Sound region was pimp smacked by a wind storm. I assured her we had enough food for several days, and were doing okay, with the exception of Felix, a lovebird, who died because he couldn’t handle the drop in temperature. Poor little feller, he was just a bird.

When I got home, we listened to the radio while staying warm under blankets. I was dozing in and out of sleep. Midnight came and went, and I half-ass-bitched about that lying snatch at PSE who said they were working hard to get Bellevue, Olympia, and Whidbey Island restored by the end of the day.

Around 12:30am, I had to pee. I grabbed the Maglite again and headed to the toilet. In the beam of light, I could see my breath! Brrrr! The temperature in the bedroom was 57°F according to my alarm clock thermometer, and the living room and bathroom were probably five to seven degrees colder. Under the blankets, I was nice and warm… standing over the bowl while relieving myself, I was shivering like a scared chihuahua with the DTs. I had to clean up the seat before heading back to bed, or face the wrath of Tina.

It was 3:51am when I was awaken again. I heard the heater kick on, and the AV receiver do it’s normal clicking when power was restored — exactly 26 hours to the minute after it went out. First thing I did was turn the television on. But all that I could find on was Billy Mays pushing some stupid picture hanging hook and some limey motherfucker trying to sell me a buttplug-shaped mini food processor that could make dips and spreads in six seconds. Jerry Springer‘s How to be a Hillbilly self-help show and similar middle-of-the-night television bullshit was in full swing. I clicked the TV off and went back to sleep, never more thankful to have heat once again.

It was not a pretty win, but the Seahawks beat the St. Louis Rams with a 54-yard Josh Brown field goal to win the game 30-28. As they racked up penalty after penalty and let the Rams take a 14 point lead early, I couldn’t help but think about curses.

The Sports Illustrated cover jinx is a famous and fairly well-known curse, but there’s also an alleged Madden curse, where the NFL player featured on the cover of EA Sports‘ Madden NFL video game has a crap year following the release of the game. It happened to Mashall Faulk in 2002, and Michael Vick was injured in 2003. Donovan McNabb was injured with a sports hernia in 2005, and Shaun Alexander broke a non-weight-bearing bone in his foot in 2006.

While watching the ‘Hawks game, a Campbell's Chunky Soup commercial was run, and noticed that they used some old imagery in the Matt Hasselbeck version of the ad. Early in the commercial, it looks like Hasselbeck is tackled by current “Stealers” players; #98 Casey Hampton and #51 James Farrior.

After some cheesy, emasculating scene with his Mommy feeding him lunch in the locker room and giving him a Mommy hug, Hasselbeck is confronted in a stadium tunnel by a Stealers defensive line, that “hits really, really hard,” (poor baby). The Steelers players’ numbers are 63, 75, 78, 68, 47, and 59, and the image of these players is more faded and “shittier” than the rest of the soup commercial. The angle changes, and the names of some of these players are seen on the backs of their jerseys; Greene, White, and Greenwood. Matching the seen numbers and names, they match up to some big Steel Curtain names of the 1970s: #63 Ernie Holmes, #75 Mean Joe Greene, #78 Dwight White, #68 L. C. Greenwood, #47 Mel Blount, and #59 Jack Ham. Way to jump on a bandwagon, Campbell’s. Maybe they used the 1970′s Steel Curtain because the current Stealers’ defensive line sucks without the help of referees. (Nothing like beating a dead horse, eh?) Nevertheless, Hasselbeck should be ashamed.

I got to thinking, though… maybe a Campbell’s Soup endorsement is also an curse. The aforementioned Donovan McNabb and his parents starred in soup commercials, and the Eagles lost Super Bowl XXXIX, McNabb was injured in 2005, and the Terrell Owens circus pitched a tent in Philly in 2005. Now the Stealers and Matt Hasselbeck are starring in soup commercials. Ben Roethlisberger suffered a motocycle accident in the spring. And, while the Stealers are beating the Kansas City Chiefs as I type this, they’re off to a rocky 1-3 start. Hasselbeck’s QB rating is currently 83.4 (his second lowest since 2001), and the Seahawks are struggling to barely win games. Of course, when I googled “campbell's chunky soup curse,” I found it's not an original thought. I suck. Always a day late and a dollar short.

There was something else I was going to talk about, but as usual, I forgot the topic. Sumbitch! I should lay off the crack pipe. If I think of it, I’ll write it down and post another update soon.

And to add insult to injury, the oil companies announce record profits for the quarter. Fuckin’ DUH! If you gouge us at the pumps, of course you’re going to turn a profit! And this fat bastard gets a $400 million retirement salary! So, while the common people are digging in their couch cushions, looking for nickels and dimes amongst the lost remote controls and crumb-covered Milk Duds to fund our addiction to fuel, Lee Raymond is lounging around on his yacht counting his four hundred million dollars.

If that cocksucker in the White House (who’s playing “President” like 8 year old boys play “Cowboys and Indians”) wasn’t a former oil executive, he’d do something about it. Maybe if the oil corporations weren’t allowed to lobby and get their way, engine manufactures could produce an engine that could get 200 miles to the gallon. But we don’t live in Fantasy Land, and the oil companies must produce gas for inefficient internal combustion engines that haven’t changed much since the 19th century!

I could bitch more about expensive gas, but what’s the point? Things aren’t going to change until it’s a crisis (remember Y2K?). We all just have to face facts. We’re dependent on oil. Our economy is based on oil, and we don’t have enough. They could charge $19.99⁹ a gallon, and us poor fuckers would buy just enough to ride our lawn mowers to work.

Coach Vermeil will always have a special place in my memories. When I was a kid, the only coach of the Philadelphia Eagles I ever knew was Dick Vermeil. I remember being a kid and “imitating” Eagles players in the back yard or the local playground. I remember how excited my Dad and his golf buddies were watching the Eagles go to the playoffs in the late 1970s and Super Bowl XV. I remember actually going to Veterans Stadium on January 3, 1981 and witnessing the Eagles beat the Vikings in a divisional playoff game. I remember the Super Bowl party my folks held, where we had 5 televisions in 5 different rooms (living room, dining room, kitchen, family room, and yes, the bathroom) so no one would miss a second of the game. I have all these memories thanks to Dick Vermeil’s work as head coach of the Eagles.

My favorite memory, though, has to be visiting the Eagles training camp at West Chester State College. I was lucky enough to live in the same town where the Eagles trained, and could ride my bike to the campus! I spent many hours with friends watching the team practice. Many times, after practice and before hitting the locker rooms, the team would shake hands and sign autographs. Coach Dick Vermeil and players like Wilbert Montgomery, Ron Jaworski, Harold Carmichael, and Bill Bergey would always stop for us kids.

After Vermeil retired from coaching in 1982, coaches like Marion Campbell, Buddy Ryan, Rich Kotite, Ray Rhodes, and Andy Reid would have success in Philly. But to me, Dick Vermeil was the coach of the Eagles. So, when Dick Vermeil returned to coaching in St. Louis, I followed the Rams right up to their win over the Tennessee Titans in Super Bowl XXXIV. Dick Vermeil made another return to coaching in 2001 when he was named head coach of the Kansas City Chiefs, and I would cheer on his team (unless that cheering conflicted with my cheering of the Seattle Seahawks).

I can’t help but feel a little somber watching the footage of Dick Vermeil retire from coaching again. To me, Coach Vermeil deserves all the respect he gets. He led two teams to the Super Bowl, and won one of them. In my opinion, he’s a better coach than Bill Belichick, Bill Parcells, Dan Reeves, Marty Schottenheimer, Chuck Noll, Don Shula, George Allen, Bill Walsh, Tom Landry, and dare I say Vince Lombardi? No one cares more for his players and his team then Vermeil. He formed relationships with players and coaching staff in the 70s that exist to this day. Dick Vermeil will be missed. He’s a great coach, and a great man. I’m glad I had the chance to shake his hand, eventhough I was only a kid and didn’t realize at the time how big of an honor it was.

One of the guys I work with adopted the grey kitten. He went to the store and picked up some new cat stuff, including a wind-up clock so the kitten can hear the ticking and hopefully feel a little less lost without her mother.

Tina put the kitten in the pet carrier, and the kitten started to meow. It was the saddest little meow. It just broke my heart to hear her calling for her sisters and mother. But, I know she’s going to a good home, and she’s much better off being taken care of in a home then living in my backyard, fending off tomcats and visiting german sheppards.

It will seem odd not seeing her at the backdoor, waiting for food, warm milk, or just wrestling with her siblings in the grass…

Maybe it’s just me, but I just get tired of the same thing year after year. Now, New England has three Super Bowl championships in four years. How exciting. *yawn* What a forward-thinking idea it must be to want to see different teams play in the Super Bowl.

It’s no secret I was cheering for the Eagles in Super Bowl XXXIX. I was born and raised in Philadelphia. I was never a die-hard, green-wearing, fanatic, but I always watched the games… even after moving to Washington. I remember being a kid and riding my bike to West Chester State College (later the State College became a University) to watch the Eagles in training camp. I’ll never forget watching Coach Dick Vermeil and players like Ron Jaworski, Wilbert Montgomery, Bill Bergey, and Harold Carmichael at training camp. I thought I was such a lucky kid to live in the town the Eagles train in.

In fact, I remember going to a Divisional playoff game in Veterans Stadium on January 3, 1981 to watch the Eagles take on the Vikings. I remember the Eagles winning, but I remember the cold more! We were in the upper 600s section, and it was just plain freezing! I had butane-powered hand warmers in my pockets, and drank lots of hot chocolate.

The Eagles went on to play in Super Bowl XV in 1981 (the last time the team went to the big game before Super Bowl XXXIX) but lost it to the Radiers. So, let’s hope that it doesn’t take another 24 years for the Eagles to get back to the Super Bowl. I don’t want an Eagles Dynasty, but at least ONE Super Bowl win would be nice. If the Red Sox can win a World Series, the Eagles should be able to win a Super Bowl.

By the way, it’s Sunday night, and that stomach flu is still kicking my ass. Nausea, sour stomach, and diarrhea top the hit parade with this lovely bug…