March 31, 2002 - So Many Creme Eggs
   • Seven weeks from today, I will graduate from Boston University. Yes, I just might do this every Sunday until May 19th.

   The lights are on at Fenway Park on Easter Sunday. I wasn't there to ogle them most of the night, because I was home for the weekend. Home being a three-hour drive in gridlock Sunday night away from Boston. Sitting in the car, nose bleeding as it did on the drive west, naucious, left eye pulsating... I really can't figure out my sudden affinity to motion sickness. Once we started moving at a medium pace, it cleared up, but someone aiming to drive 750 miles about 72 hours from now shouldn't be battling nausea at every mile marker.

   I wouldn't have traded in that nausea though. Not the headache or the snorting up blood either. Nope, I was home this weekend, and there wasn't any other place in the world I would have rather been. Every weekend I spend with my family now holds that much more meaning, even if I do have to battle the constant questions about the job search and whether Jen Z. will graduate.

   I've said it once, and I'll say it again: The last time I saw her, she was passed out in my hallway, where we'd moved her so people could use the bathroom. As Michael Jordan should have let his career finish on a jumper to win the NBA Finals, I should let our relationship end on this note.

   Allow me to crack out my poignant marker for a moment. It's funny how life always seems to come full circle. You got that whole "we come into and leave the world bald and needing to wear diapers" thing, but there's more. My freshman year, I went home about every two or three weekends. Never did a full month go by without me going to the bus station, or getting picked up by my father, for a respite in Agawam. I'd stay home, absolutely love being there, then when it came time to leave, I'd be near tears about having to go back.

   College and I didn't get along well the first couple of years. You try having a roommate who keeps the shades pulled until he got up at 4 p.m., but being too shy to go out and make friends with the entire wrestling team, who lived on your floor and in your building. Someday I'll write a book about this... it's title will be "Book No One Wants To Buy."

   When I would have to go back, my parents would be sad, but there was the realization that it was what had to happen... it'd be real nice if I could stay, but I couldn't. There'd be goodbyes, and that would be that.

   It's come full circle now, with the roles exactly reversed. They can't stand to watch me go, yet I know I have to. It scares me, the future. Any graduating senior who says it doesn't is either a liar or hates their family. I might be the first, but you can all shut your damn mouths.

   There's just something about going home and having Matt repeatedly pound me at Super Smash Brothers Melee that I miss terribly. It's the time away that makes the time together so much better. I never cherished my family this much when I spent every day with them, when they made me eat broccoli and mow the lawn. Now, I'd probably mow the lawn just because I miss doing it. It's like an Amy Grant song, but without the veiled references to religion.

   That's going to come back to haunt me, I know it.

   So as I come back here to the mustard-covered plates, open windows and country-music karaoke of my massive dick roommate, I'm torn. Not like Natalie Imbruglia, like something one can stand. Even if they don't want to.

Vito's Karaoke
The Karaoke King, scaring and scarring for free.

March 30, 2002 - Focus
   • Fifty days from today I will graduate from Boston University. I think that's worth noting.

   I've been a golfer since I was about nine years old. That was the first time I picked up a club, on a course. I remember the day fairly well... Holyoke Country Club, a little nine-hole track, going out with my father's golf league. I had a little junior set of clubs - think I had no more than a five-iron and nine-iron in my hand.

   We're on the ninth hole, and I've been hacking it around. Middle of the fairway, I drop a ball, like I've been doing all day. I swing, and for the first time ever, it's up. It arcs... lands right in the middle of the green. Most amazing thing I've ever done on a golf course, to this day. I've been sold on golf ever since.

   Worth noting that after I did this, I ran the 100-something yards to the green, picked up the ball and ran back. Didn't want to disrupt the match going on.

   What the hell am I talking about this for? I went real golfing today, first time of the season, and it was the most horrific display I can remember putting on for years. Most people would attribute this to bad conditions, being the first time swinging the club in months, all that. I don't work that way. My mentality is one of, "I'm standing here, I used to be a single-digit handicap, and now I can't even make a par."

   I stopped keeping a card after the sixth. One par for nine holes, two greens in regulation, two lost balls. I was embarassed, and I was playing by myself.

   In high school, when I was in my prime, I focused. You can't play golf without focus, because it's not a sport you can half-ass and expect to play well. I will not become a shitty golfer - I'll quit before I become a guy who can't break 90. This is how I am, with my goals and expectations for myself far higher than they should be. It makes for stressful times, because it applies to everything I do, but I need it to be like that. I need pressure, because I can't motivate myself unless there's some graphic disaster lying in the weeds.

   I would never send out a resume unless there was a fear I'd be living in a milk crate after graduation. Ask my family, maybe that's why I've been asked 317 times this weekend why my resumes aren't sent out yet. I'll get to it.

   You know what activity requires no actual practice? Bowling. I haven't picked up a ball in months, and opened a game last night strike, strike, strike, spare, strike. Then I left two open, failed to break 200 again and drowned my sorrows in a Denny's Meat Lover's Skillet.

   Mmm, greeeeeeasy. I could actually hear my heart coughing.

   So what's the point of all this?

   • I need a new dedication to golf.

   • I really missed seeing Lonnie.

   • I need to stop eating the fattiest thing on Denny's menu, lest I look like a professional bowler, bald head and all. Though maybe summertime trips to the nation's heartland should become an annual occurrence for me... It gave me so much ammo to swear about.
March 29, 2002 - Mark Your Calendars
   • Have you ever stopped to analyze the little ways the attacks of last September have changed our lives? Not the travel stuff, or the general feeling of being attacked, of having something come on our shores... but the everyday things. Every part of our lives has been crafted, if just a little bit.

   For example, I saw an Arab man walking around the College of Engineering today. Turban, beard, all the affirming characteristics. His T-shirt, however, seemed out of place: a plain white graphic tee, with a screen-printed flag surrounded by "God Bless America."

   In a post-Sept. 11th world, I looked at him at thought, "Wow. Sad to think he has to wear that shirt to affirm he loves this country." Pre-Sept. 11th, I would have just stuck to the traditional, "Holy crap, dude. Take a freakin bath, you smell like a septic system."

   I'm coming out and saying it... what's up with South Asians and their body odors? Maybe hygiene isn't easily gained over there, and I understand that. I respect the limited resources... but this is America. People notice these things - that your beard is shaggy, that you don't wash your clothes, that you reek of, as one friend once termed it, "curry and body odor." Ride the bathing train... it comes with free pride!

   Know what else I'm coming out and saying? Get over yourself. Yeah you, little Miss Oversensitive. If you think I'm tlaking about you, I'm not, but pay attention anyway. Nobody likes a loudmouth, I'll admit that. If something that someone says offends you, come out and say it right from the start. Don't joke about it for the whole night, then later on decide it was offensive. It doesn't work that way.

   This is one of those things I don't want to get too in-depth on, but I figure it will mean different things to different people. It's moving, like a Hallmark movie. Political correctness sucks and all, but some things shouldn't be said. Some people also shouldn't overreact to something said in jest. And all people shouldn't blame me for shit I didn't do. I can not stress this enough.

   From the irony files, I got a mass email today from Genius Papers, telling me their research services would be just what I was looking for. I can't decide whether forwarding them my feature story is worth my time...

   But while it's all well and good I've offended Arabs, women and term paper companies today, that's not the point. The point is due to this website's waning success and popularity, it's time to celebrate what we once had.

MAY 11, 2002

   Why, you ask?

   • To celebrate my 22nd birthday, which is the following day, because they say the best gift is the one you give yourself.

   • To celebrate Mario's 21st birthday, which is the previous day, because the only thing better than the gift you give yourself is the gift you give your friend with mob ties.

   • Because once and for all, I want to know who reads this site, and see if I can Matt Bruce to at least debate openly attending.

   Seriously though, I want to have a big bash before I graduate, and I see no better time. Some parties, you see, aren't meant to be confined to Mountfort Street.

   Go Hoosiers!
March 28, 2002 - Not So Good
   • I love being a morning person. There's just something going outside at 7 a.m., being awake and alert... it's like everyone else still in bed is getting cheated. Especially on a nice day... you go outside, the joggers are everywhere, you can just walk quietly down the street taking it in... I remember how much fun it used to be to golf at that hour. if I'd gotten the right amount of sleep the night before. Dew on the grass, little chill in the air... wonderful. Was out and away round then this morning, realized how much I missed it.

   That is something I like. This, however, is something I don't like.

Droll - 10, Libelous Row - 0
Co-Rec Softball
Libelous Row

   • BOSTON (JC) - A mix of timely hitting and solid defense will win many a softball game. Last night, the Daily Free Press softball team found out just how true that is.

   Able to muster just three singles over five innings, Libelous Row lost 10-0 to Droll, a team that was beaten 15-1 in their opener last week. Whether it be because of a lack of hustle, or Captain and Editor-in-Chief Dave D'Onofrio's attempts to let everyone play equal time, Libelous Row was clearly outclassed.

   "We just didn't come ready to play," D'Onofrio said. "We may want to just ride our ace next week, but it's too early to make that decision."

   The Row's only real scoring opportunity came in the second, when singles by D'Onofrio and Online Services Director Jon Couture put a runner on third with two out. However, a groundout quickly ended the scoring threat, and the team's only other hit came on an infield single impressive legged-out by Sports Editor Nick Cardamone, who missed last week's game due to drinking two 40s before pregame warmups.

   Following a 1-2-3 first, D'Onofrio revealed his strategy to give all players equal playing time, benching Couture in favor of former-Free Press photographer Sarah Zenewicz. Zenewicz pitched adequately, but Droll (1-1) used two walks and three hits to build a 5-0 lead.

   "I really hate to question Dave's call, but I was shocked to be pulled so soon. It really broke my rhythm," Couture said. "He said it was a 'Manager's Decision' though, so nothing I can do about it."

   The game was already out of reach when Couture resumed pitching in the third. He would allow a two-run homer that inning, tucked just inside the right-field line, before being lifted again for the fourth.

   As Libelous struggled to get baserunners, Droll continued their onslaught, making it 8-0 on a bases-loaded single in the fourth and finishing the scoring an inning later when a two-out walk by Couture gave them new life.

   "There were some positives out there," Couture said. "[Associate News Editor] Bill [Yelenak] shut them down in the fourth... it could have been a lot worse than one run. A lot of the guys showed some hustle, others just gave it what they had. Still, it'd be nice to be in one until the end."


   • Jon Couture's second-inning single in his only plate appearance meant he is the only player yet to be retired this season (3-for-3, two singles and a triple).

   • You'd have to be pretty spacey to buy into this meaning something, but since Nick Cardamone first appeared as a spectator in the third inning of last week's game, Libelous Row has been outscored 12-0.

   You know what though? We're all trying, and we're having fun. I'm loving getting to compete again, even if we are 0-2. Any way I can manipulate the stats to make myself appear the best player... really, this is my website after all. There's a reason only one youth sports team ever one a title when I was on the roster.

   Because I had no supporting cast. Can't do it myself people!
March 27, 2002 - Moving On
   • Dudley Moore died today. Pneumonia got the little drunk, pneumonia and supranuclear palsy. That's a disease for you: supranuclear palsy. Sounds like a pretty strange thing to die of; it's one of those diseases you will never hear anyone ever contract again. But should you for some reason, you know Dudley will get mentioned.

   I never saw any of his movies, which isn't a surprise since I've never seen most people's movies. No, my everlasting memory of Dudley Moore will be from Jon Lovitz's The Critic, a show that definatly had the World Trade Center towers in its opening since way before it was cool to.

"I don't mean to alarm you, miss, but someone's eaten all your popsicles!"
-- Dudley in the doctor's office, looking at a jar of tongue depressors. Martini was in hand, of course.

   Milton Berle also died today. Tough day to be a star, though no supranuclear palsy for "Mr. Television." Good old "lengthy illness" got him... sometimes the old standards get the job done just fine.

   I obviously never saw "The Milton Berle Show" or his whole "Jackpot Bowling" thing, though I suspect I would have loved it. He made TV, and made the put-down what it is today. No, I'll remember Milton as someone I saw on the old Hollywood Squares, the Shadoe Stevens-John Davidson version. I am a child of the '80s, after all.

   I remember once all the power went out in the studio, so they herded the stars out of the big board, put them on risers on the floor and they held up placards with X's and O's on them. The fact that they had this show ready for a power outage amazed me, but knowing what we know now about California...

   I also remember an episode where one contestant threw the other off the platform they play on. It was all a set-up with stuntmen, but I imagine I crapped myself real good seeing that.

   Mo Vaughn did not die today. He died after the 1998 season, when he threw it all away, chasing the money to Anaheim. When, within his first April as an Angel, he fell in the dugout and essentially ended the All-Star portion of his career.

   I'd read this story the other day, but hadn't thought enough to it to say anything. Typical "fat guy who thinks he's more valuable than he really is" story - this is so common for both athletes and in real life, who's suprised? The only race Mo Vaughn's in now is which 400 he'll reach first: home runs or pounds. Am I bitter? You bet.

   The astute Vaughn is quoted as saying, "They ain't got no flags hanging at friggin' Edison Field, so the hell with them." and "I got hardware, I got playoff appearances, I got an MVP. I've been to the playoffs twice." Yes Mo, let's talk about your trips to the playoffs in 1995 and 1998.

   In 1995 against Cleveland, Vaughn was 0 for 14 with a walk and seven strikeouts. Boston got swept by the Indians, meaning his MVP trophy that season amounted to no more than an individual award. Thanks for leading us to the shredder, Mo. He was better in 1998, batting .412 with two HR's. But again, we lost.

   One of the most memorable sights of the mid-late '90s Red Sox fan is Vaughn's home runs. But just as much, we remember that towering uppercut swing, and that slow walk to the dugout after another strikeout with men on base. Like Manny in the second half of 2001. When Mo came back to Fenway for the first time, I was there. I watched him go 0-for the series. I cheered.

   Shut your mouth, you fat ass. You'll catch less pies in it that way.
March 26, 2002 - Smart Cards
   • Uh-oh, Bill's on the warpath again...

"Salacious dress, obscene lyrics, violent bullying, and sexual promiscuity -- our children are exposed to these things EVERY DAY. In this thought-provoking special, Bill O'Reilly examines the effects of the entertainment industry on "generation next." Are television, the Internet, music, movies and other outlets corrupting our kids? Bill goes head-to-head with key entertainment figures, including rocker Marilyn Manson, shock jocks Opie and Anthony, WWF Chief Executive Linda McMahon, Insane Clown Posse, president of the Motion Picture Association of America Jack Valenti, and others."

Don't miss 'The Corruption of the American Child': An O'Reilly Factor Special Thursday, March 28th at 9pm ET/PT on your local FOX station."
-- I guarantee the other Bill in my readership thought I was talking about him early on.

   Let me just say that as a member of Agawam's self-termed Conservative Majority with Mario, Charlie and Erik Sunny, I'm programmed to love Bill O'Reilly. I remember him back when he was the anchor for Inside Edition, which coincidentally is around the last time it covered an actual news story. But still, when you start going after Opie and Anthony and the WWF, my ears perk up.

   Say what you will - the two abovementioned are some of the highest of high comedy in society today. They're both absolute trash, they've both completely demeaning, but they're hilarious. Why do you watch Springer? Because it's hilarious in the same way. Celebrity Boxing? Same thing. It will not be the downfall of Western civilization if these things stay on the air, and since most of them will inevitably end up on FOX, you can just smell the irony from here.

   It's the same reason I watched The Colin Quinn Show last week... and liked it. The skits, well, they blew pretty hard, but the crux of the show? A bunch of comics, sitting around, ripping on stuff.

"You talk about diversity at the Oscars now. You know what I want? I want to see Judi Dench get a Source award."
-- 'I'd like to thank my homies back in L-Town...'

   As soon as people start moaning about the downfall of American civilization because of what's popular culture nowadays, I get edgy. It reeks of what I call, "Whiny Mother Syndrome," epitomized nicely by Mrs. Broslofski on South Park.

"Kyle's mom. She a bitch, plain and simple. She has something to say about everything. She ruined the towns Christmas by demanding everything related to Jesus or Santa be taken down. She also had Terrance and Phillip taken off the air."
-- Enough said.

   Thus ends your political discussion for today. For a nice cooldown, I recommend some Richard Simmons, some herbal tea and a little Chex Mix.

   Mr. O'Reilly, fuck them gently.
March 25, 2002 - Gritty, Gutty, Stuckey
   • Just when you were thought you were screaming at the wall...

Subject: Correction

   You had a page on your site (Aug 23, 2001) that was a diatribe against Kansas. I must take you to task on your faux pas:

   ".....The state was the first home of Stuckey's, a kitschy-style gift shop / roadside eatery,...."

   Nay. Stuckey's originated in Georgia. See my website for details:

Prof. P. Khan

   The change has been made as requested, though I am baffled as to how the Professor found this place. I ran a Google search on Stuckey's, and wasn't on any of the first ten pages. However, throw Cooch in there with it, and I'm the Internet's most popular site.

   Despite my urges to say a Stuckey porn search was interrupted by Coast to Coast, I will thank Prof. Khan for writing, pointing out the error and encourage him (her?) to read on.

   I think the funniest part of all this is my first reaction was to think it was a BU professor who stumbled across the site in the people listings at BU. Then I read the site over, which is very good for what it is, and thought about the e-mail address a little more. P. Khan... pecan, like pecan log roll. I'm dealing with a made-up professor obsessed with Stuckey's.

   Meaningless Self-Deluded Diatribe: The Stuckey's site led me to Lost Indiana (with abandoned Stuckey's pictures), which led me to the Market Square Arena page, which led me to AOL to try and find the profile for Rcara93054.

   This, officer, is why my resume isn't out yet.

   The whole Coast to Coast thing got me thinking about the whole Canary journal... I've decided it's pretty much done. The 16th and final page will be a mash of the flying home, the losing of luggage and the peace I made with, well, nothing. Probably not tonight, possibly tomorrow.

   There's also about eight pages I want to add to the Bio section, but have to get a job instead. Stupid life.

   This Cooch's World update has been brought to you by Foxwoods Resort Casino... "Let's live for the wonder of it all at Foxwoods", and by Guinness. Guinness refreshes your spirit.

March 24, 2002 - What's Left
   • I could give a crap about the Oscars. You were all thinking it! Honestly, why even bother? Why? Why televise the Oscars? Is it because you can't get enough of Joan Rivers' overstretched face? Jesus, it's like the skin on a tom-tom. You just get the feeling if she cut herself shaving, her entire face would recoil to the back three inches of her skull.

   At this point, you really have to wonder what's going through her mind as she gets another facetuck. Does she really think nobody notices?

   Is it because of the jokes? Do you really need to hear Whoopi go on about Viagra, cosmetic surgery and how long the show is taking? Do you really want to watch Cirque du Soleil? Do you enjoy it? Do you understand it? Am I making you question why you watched it yet?

   Why not just read a winner's list and catch the highlights Monday morning? It's the fashion isn't it. You want to see half-naked women wearing Ghana's GNP around their necks. Guys in... um, tuxedos. Lots of tuxedos. Joan Rivers questioning them all. What are you wearing? How are you feeling? Are you sick of me yet? Did you see my new face? I like to eat marbles! It all comes back to Joan Rivers, doesn't it? You're in love with her, aren't you?

   Of course you are. It's the Oscars, and if you're home and have no work to do or anything, why not watch it. After all, it'll undoubtably win an Emmy this year. Am I the only one bothered by the phenomenon of giving an award show an award? It's like insider trading.

   I wasn't around, so it saved me the trouble. Had I been, I probably would have been giving it the "flip-back" with something like The Simpsons, Telemundo or an infomercial for the Bacon Wave.

"In another red-carpet highlight, Laura Elena Harring wore a 77-carat Archduke Joseph Diamond valued at $27 million and designed by Alfredo Molina, and $1 million stiletto sandals by Stuart Weitzman to complement her black-and-red, strapless, beaded, floral gown by Armani."
-- How does this happen? How does one make sandals that cost ONE MILLION DOLLARS?? I'm legitimately baffled.

   I have to wonder about the awarding of the two big Oscars to black actors is legitimate. Not from any racist sense, well, not from my own racist sense. I haven't seen either movie, but I think there's a distinct possibility it was contrived. Like, Halle Berry seemed worthy for her work, and Denzel Washington was nominated... all of a sudden, Hollywood can seem like they're truly opening a door. However, having not seen either movie, my wonderment is less than full-bore.

   We are talking about an industry and a town that has built itself on being fake - there's nothing I wouldn't put past Hollywood. They're actors, for crying out loud. But this is getting way to informed and serious for something I didn't even watch.

"We're boys with meat in our hands."
-- There. That's more like it.

   Vito's birthday celebration has been going on for about a week now. After having not seen him for months, and not yet having made my mandatory guest appearance on his radio show, I've seen him seventeen times in the past six days. Which is good and all, I like Vito a lot, but it's getting like Queen Elizabeth's Golden Jubilee.

   I now have this image of Vito as the King of England, trying to convince the Windsors that it would be cool for Kylie Minogue. You want to get interest back in the monarchy, kids? Black king, underdressed queen. Checkmate.

   Can I just say I like Redbones? I like their buffalo shrimp, and I like eating meat off bones. Meg, however, does not.

"I don't know if I can eat from a bone. My mother would be so..."
-- To know my girlfriend is to know she would say this, and to know she would mean it.

"There needs to be more crotch-grabbing."
-- To know Jon Rea is to know he likes his manhood.

"He's got a lifetime supply of 13-year-old girl."
-- Robin? Apparently don't know her much at all anymore...

   In honor of the Oscars, I've produced a crappy update that's gone too long. Big finish!

"I was emasculated in a wonderful ceremony. There was music, there was dancing... and it was catered!"
-- You know you've hit rock bottom when you start quoting yourself.

Boston University vs. Maine
NCAA Hockey Quarterfinals

Boston U.
   • Sean Fields has redeemed himself for his lackluster play in the Hockey East semifinals, stopping three Maine breakaways (plus several other solid shots) with spectacular saves. His play helped avert what could have been a disaster - Justin Maiser being given a game misconduct for spearing, a call so obvious Jack Parker didn't make a peep.

   Maiser has made some stupid plays in the past, but to spear someone away from the play might take the cake. BU's killing of the five-minute major, then stopping another solid scoring chance, swung the momentum back to us.

   Pandolfo's goal 7:30 in was exactly what he's best at - making the best of confusion in front of the net. Scrappy first - as the announcers said, "like the first round of a Hagler-Leonard fight."

- - - - -

Boston U.
   • At the period's start, I would have taken no scoring, because I think we're better in the 3rd when we haven't exerted ourselves in the second. I got my wish, as the shots continued to pile, but none went in.

   No real Maiser-like plays jump out from the period, as all the odd-man breaks of the first never materialized. We played a solid period defensively, with Fields staying strong and guys like Whitney having solid shifts breaking up scoing chances. The ice in Worcester is horrible. Absolutely horrible. Pucks are hopping over sticks, flying to center off the boards... sadly, I fear this will play a role in the final outcome. You hate to see a game between two equal teams decided by something other than play.

   We keep killing off their power plays - but I fear that can't last. Our only second-period power play? Maine outshot us before we took a penalty a minute in.

   1-1 to the third is what I asked for. Let's hope it's not something I'll regret.

- - - - -

Boston U.
   • I started to believe. I made the cardinal mistake of the Boston sports fan. I believed.

   Showering during the intermission, I started to think about a road trip to Minnesota. I started to think of how I'd write the last period's recap. What I'd open with. What I'd bold. It's gone. It's over. It's all over.

   I missed Steve Greeley's penalty, and I missed Lawson's second goal. I don't fault Fields. I saw 16:12 left, and I thought back to the semifinal, where the third ticked away harmlessly as we couldn't tie the score. A power play with twelve to go amounted to nothing. The pit of my stomach hurt.

   Then, for 52 seconds, I believed again.

   David Klema. A Minnesotan, a guy who never scores... the leads were being written. The mantle was being taken off the bust. We were sparked, we were hot, we score in bunches.

   And then it was gone. I don't blame Fields. It was a scrum, it happens, a guy in the right place at the write time. The belief never returned.

   At 4:23 to go, I turned the game off. I don't blame Fields. If I blame anyone, it's Dyment. Hockey East's best defensive defenseman. Hope he enjoys the trophy. Bet he saw the plaque, bet he read it, as Colin Shields shot past him.

   The game's not over as I write this, but I'm not watching it. I'll check the score to fill in the box later. As far as I'm concerned it's over.

   It's all over.
March 23, 2002 - Take A Chance, Make It Happen...
   • Stupid Harvard. When I left the house it was 1-1, and believed the game would be closer than the retarded picks of 7-1 and 8-2 made by the guys from WTBU.

   Is it possible for a broadcast team to be any further out of touch with what they cover than WTBU is with the hockey team? Drunken (but reliable) sources have told me they consistently refer to players by the wrong name, and hell, take a look at those picks. I figured one-goal game, though I didn't really announce it anywhere so I can't brag. Those fuckers should have called me back sophomore year... I'd be their king by now, and be going into sports radio, my true calling.

   Fuckers, fuckers, fuckers. But I digress...

   I did not get to see the game, and thus swear at it, for I was somewhere else. Somewhere with lights, with marble, and green-coated security guards.

   Mustn't forget the Wampum Cards.

"Pop the cork, finger snappin'..."
-- In the dictionary, look up "best casino jingle" and this will be there.

   Foxwoods is everything the Tenerife casinos weren't: huge, accessible and exciting. The atmosphere is that of a shopping mall, with casinos just interspersed between the stores and the food court. As Taoro was just a casino, Foxwoods is a legitimate resort where one could check in the hotel and not step outside again for a week. There's that much to do inside, and that little to do in the surrounding Norwich suburbs.

   From what I gathered, there were at least three large casinos, plus a giant bingo hall.

"In 1986 the Mashantucket Pequot Tribal Nation opened the original high-stakes bingo hall. Today Foxwoods comprises six casinos that collectively offer more than 6,400 slot machines and an incredible 350 tables for 17 different types of table games, and a luxurious, high-tech Race Book, as well as the world's largest Bingo Hall."
-- Thank you, Foxwoods site. I stand corrected.

   For me, the world's largest resort casino (F--- you, Vegas!) boiled down to just three things: slots, roulette and a third game that would save the day. But we'll get to that.

   Slots: I made back my $5 loss in Tenerife, after much haranguing about betting. 6,500 slot machines, and it took me a half-hour to find a draw poker game I'd put money in. There's just something romantic about putting you Wampum Card in a machine, feeding in a $10 bill, and walking away with $17.50 in quarters.

   Later flirtations with other machines left me jilted, and lighter in the cup. Maybe 'romantic' is the wrong word...

"Spin the wheel, round and round we gooo..."

   Roulette: I made $10, but walked away with $5 profit after tipping the dealer. Yes, I'm fully ingratiated to gambling now, because I'm tipping dealers. Took no free drinks though, I guess there's still that left.

   Found a $10 minimum table, cashed $50, and proceeded to blow ass while Todd and one of his friends watched me teach them the game. Lost my first bet, and it soon became clear this was a "get back to even and get out" table. But I couldn't: three times I got back up to $40, and I'd lose. I was down to my last ten chips when I threw a desperation bet on 19 to 24 at 5:1 odds.

   I'd actually started standing up to walk away pissed when the wheel stopped... on 22. Cash out, there you go, best of luck to you too. I got such a cheap thrill out of giving the dealer a little extra... the woman next to me hit an individual number at 35:1 twice, and gave her nothing. Bitch.
"Life is short, life is sweet, grab yourself a front row seat..."

   Card Sharks got some press here when they came out with a new version of it, even if it did suck. Just imagine if they took the crux of Card Sharks, the guessing of whether a hidden card would be higher or lower than a shown one, hi-lo, and turned that into a table game. It'd be better than the comical creation of Casino War.

   Well kids, they did.

   Catch-A-Wave: After a $75 win, I'm a convert. The game is deceptively more difficult than it seems from out-of-play, because there's eight decks in play and you have to beat the dealer. But it's one of those games that even if you're sucking, it's fun.

   I had maybe one tough streak where I lost three of four straight hands, but much of the night was spent putting chips in my pocket, not to be used again. I had to know things were on my side when on my first hand, I reeled off six in a row before busting - reeling off seven is called "riding a wave," and automatically pays out 6:1. I went the full seven once, in the middle of a run where I did no worse than a push on something like fifteen hands in a row.

   Why was I so successful? Because there was a guy at the table who was having an awful time, and sucking up the bad karma for everyone. In honor of Taoro, I will forever call this guy a 'Bethany.'

   There's plenty more to say, but I must away. For I have a gambling problem, and I need to go bet on something, anything... maybe on my dogs racing round the swimming pool. I NEED MY FIX!

"Let's meet, and have a ball!!! Let's live, (let's live!), for the wonderrrrr, of it all! (Meet me at Fox-woods.) FOX-WOODS."


March 22, 2002 - Just My Luck!











   • This sucks. Where am I going to find the time to fly to Africa?!
March 21, 2002 - Lovable Losers

All Your Base Are Belong To Us - 5, Libelous Row - 3
Co-Rec Softball
Libelous Row

   • BOSTON (JC) - Some rules confusion and a little controversy made the Daily Free Press' long-awaited return to the intramural softball field a losing one.

   All Your Base Are Belong To Us, a team of few stars and even fewer attractive women, beat Libelous Row 5-3 Thursday night, using little power, but several clutch hits and questionable umpiring to upend the gutty journalists.

   Things started well for Libelous Row (0-1), as Online Services Director Jon Couture led off with a triple to deep left-center field. Wire Editor Meg Kociemba followed with a fielder's choice to give the DFP a 1-0 lead. Leading off the second after pitching a 1-2-3 first, Editor-in-Chief Dave D'Onofrio made it 2-0 with the game's only home run. This would be the FreeP's last lead of the game though, as a misplaced belief about pitching cost the tenacious ones dearly in the bottom of the inning.

   Believing guys and girls needed to alternate pitching duties, D'Onofrio sent Kociemba to the mound, though by her own admission following the game, she "can't even reach the plate underhanded." Mixing walks with singles, All Your Base (1-0) made it 3-2 before the rules were explained and Kociemba was replaced by Couture.

   "I made the switch, about eight batters too late," team captain D'Onofrio said with a laugh.

   Though Couture got Libelous out of the jam in the second, then retired the side by himself in the third (via strikeout, putout at first and fly out), his softball debut was tarnished after a lack of offense combined with questionable umpire behavior.

   Building off Muse Photo Editor Kate Szrom's single, The Row closed the gap to 4-3 with one on, two out and D'Onofrio coming to the plate. But seeking to match his earlier feat proved his undoing, as he overswung and weakly tapped out to the pitcher, ending the threat.

   Still hoping to tie the score in the hour's sixth and final inning, third baseman and News Associate Editor Bill Yelenak gunned down a would-be insurance run on a double to left. With one out and the batter advancing to third on the throw, a grounder to the mound saw Couture look the runner back before going to first for the second out. With the runner breaking for home anyway, first baseman Jason Halpin's throw to catcher D'Onofrio was errant, mainly because the umpire had walked in front of the plate to move the discarded bat.

   "I saw a flash of gray in front of the plate, and I assumed it was Dave," Associate Editor Halpin said. "At the last second though, I saw it was the umpire, and it was too late to hold back."

   Despite the loss, D'Onofrio said he was proud of his team's performance.

   "That was a great college softball game. We gave it all, I'm proud of my kids, and we'll be OK. We might have rope-a-doped ourselves there in the first couple innings, but the season's only a quarter over, and there's still a long way to go, but I don't think its too early to say we're now facing a must-win and we're going to have to bring our A game to the table if we want to compete in this league."

   "On any given night, any team can beat anybody," he added.

   Libelous Row next takes to Nickerson Field on Thursday at 7:45 p.m.

   Hey, I went two-for-two and pitched my heart out. We're playing for the alumni, who go on to do magical things across the country.

"You think you got problems? We're trying to potty-train Michael and Saturday he crapped ALL OVER HIMSELF AND THE BABY BLUE FREAKIN' CARPET IN THE LIVING ROOM!!! At that moment, the wife decided it was time to go for her massage appointment, so Mr. Mom here had to clean the shell-shocked child and then tackle the mess on the floor."
-- Nashua (NH) Telegraph News Editor Matt McSorley, BU COM Class of 1991.

   And big mouth, you try writing a game story when you have no notes, no opposing player names and you played in the game. Then you make no effort to edit, for fear you'll forget what actually happened. Yeah, that's what I thought, Ponch.
March 20, 2002 - Bring On The Hockey
   • The only thing scarier than one sorority girl singing 'Lucky' in a crowded bar is four sorority girls singing 'Lucky' in a crowded bar.

   Flipping through the channels last night, I came across an In Depth! story on the Britney-Justin relationship, seriously. One of the Access Hollywood, Entertainment Tonight-level crapfests that basically only stays on the air because there are fat housewives in every state in the country. Turns out all these European press conferences she's doing for Crossroads are being, gasp, horribly marred, by questions about her relationship with that 'N Sync hottie. The press are true rogues! Please, let Britney enjoyher two-week run in theaters everywhere, and stop badgering her with such wild rumors!

   Perhaps the highest comedy of this whole 'Crossroads' thing is that it features perhaps America's most annoying person in his film debut: Jesse Camp. First winner of MTV's 'Wanna Be A VJ' contest. Trust me, you'll see the picture, and you'll remember.

"Maybe I'm not the best VJ and maybe I talk f---ed up sometimes, but at least I'm there for real kids. Because I think the majority of us real kids ain't like Dawson something, up a creek. And we're not wearing khaki pants and being all golf-playing and church-going."
-- That's right, Jesse. You tell them.

   Can I just say Jesse once went to Loomis Chaffee, the Connecticut private school everyone roundly fears on As Schools Match Wits? I wonder if they have a display honoring him on the grounds, or if he got a big feature done on him when he won the VJ contest. But I digress.

   So today was a landmark day, as I finally made my way down to the most exclusive of bars on campus: the Boston University Club. It's so exclusive, it has no web links! It has no sign, no directions... everyone just kind of finds out where it is after some time on campus. Let me just say, best sandwiches EVER. Period. There's is no arguing about this. It is exactly the kind of place you would expect BU to run, because we're nothing if not an elitist school for rich, white people. Rich white people and me.

   Sadly though, you can not buy beer with Convenience Points. But any place that allows me to watch The Kids In The Hall before they went all stage show on everyone, that's an American classic.

"There've been riots since then. After the Rodney King verdict I think... I'm forgetting the details."
-- Geography professor Graham Walker. This was after he cancelled our test because he 'couldn't print the exam' and admitted to forgetting most of the material in our textbook. We're approaching 'Class I May Leave Dumber Than When I Started' status... stay tuned for details.

March 19, 2002 - Off-Key Like An Ashtray
"As long as Queen Dumbass is in the corner office, you can expect more things like this to happen. Mitt Romney can't come fast enough."
-- Cooch's World, 3/18/2002

   • It's at moments like this when I start to believe my own hype. It scares me to think that someone, somewhere, after looking at my call for Mitt Romney just hours before he declares his candidacy for Governor, thinks I'm a political pundit.

   As such, here's some inane political banter designed to confuse and take your vote out of your hands.

   "Swift's major problem as a gubenatorial candidate was her inability, both as Lieutenant Governor and from the corner office, to extrapolate her views onto a negatively-based legislature. The man from Belmont will have to succeed in these areas, as well as convince a voting populace that, again, he is a panacea for the Commonwealth's ills."

   Word up, fool.

   I ended up in the bars last night, not because I had as horrible a day as Andi thinks I did, but because I was celebrating another entry into the ranks of old age. Vito turned 21 some time before today, so we went on a pub crawl to tire him quickly of the "walk up to bar, have them look at your ID, have them give you booze" phenomenon. Course, it was a very weak pub crawl, as there was a pizza stop in the middle, as ine one bar before and one bar after.

   It was my first time to the Dugout, so called because it sits directly between the sites of (long-gone) Braves Field and (forever-upright) Fenway Park. I will save all of you from having to go there, with this one flippant sentence: Imagine what it would be like to drink beer in your closet, if your closet has DirecTV. That's the Dugout. It was lovely, in a "hey, I'm here and I want to drink" kind of way.

   Our only other beer stop was at a place with bar karaoke on Tuesday nights. Some things are just too easy to mock, but I can't not. If you're going to choose a song to "sing" in a "bar," I would suggest you pick one you know the "chorus" to, at least. I can not stress this enough.

   More may come later, but for now, that's it. Dear, I do thank you for the note, by the way. It was like Guiness, in the "refreshes one's spirit" kind of way. Not the "it's thick, black and makes my stomach turn in large doses" kind of way.
March 18, 2002 - Real Issues, Real Anger
   • It's rare I actually talk about anything of actual significance here, because this is my life, and things of actual significance happen quite rarely. But I'm in a mood, and it has little to do with the six-alarm fire that broke out about 1,000 feet from my apartment yesterday morning. Nothing like walking out your door and seeing flames gush out a building up Park Drive.

   I never really gave much thought to the budget crisis going on at UMass until I read what Jen had to say on it. That, combined with my mother mentioning it, made it occur to me that, "Oh yeah. I know a bunch of people who go to UMass-Amherst, don't I?"

   The short of the story is the state suddenly realized a few months ago they were out of money, and has thus had to penalize the state colleges because of their own stupidity. The details are sketchy to me, but off the top of my head I know seven varsity teams have been discontinued, the library is cutting back on resources it subscribes to, jobs have been cuts, programs have been dropped from Commonweath College (basically UMA's honors program)... and onward from there. Making up $15 million is a hard task, an unenviable task, but it has to be done due to complete and utter incompetence on Beacon Hill.

   I have a simplistic mind when it comes to these things. UMass has fought for years to come across as a legitimate college, and something beyond a party school. By starting Commonwealth College, they were doing it. Now, it's all in the shitter again.

   You get what you pay for. I hate to say it, because there are some people who weren't lucky like I was, and truly can't afford to go anywhere else. Were it not for scholarship money, I'd be one of those people. Nevertheless, when you rely on a state proven utterly incompetent in fiscal matters for your funding, this is always a possibility. Even a bad private university knows who butters it bread, and what store the butter's coming from. As much as everyone likes to bitch about BU being run like a business, we're not going to be having a revenue crisis anytime in the near future.

   So what is there to do now? Honestly, get out if you can. As long as Queen Dumbass is in the corner office, you can expect more things like this to happen. Mitt Romney can't come fast enough.

   Which brings me to my next rant... College Bowl. My term of office is over; it ended on election night those few weeks ago. But for lack of a better description, I'm being blackmailed into continuing to run things.

   I'll have a direct quote later, but essentially I've been told I have to help out with planning for our two big trips, or the new president (and thus other officers), will resign. The stress, the pressure... they talk about it like I've never experienced it myself.

   Running a student club is not about writing pretty on a chalkboard, or making announcements that you can't have practice because you have "other activities" going on. That's why running an organization gets so much prestige - it's about making sacrifices. The best thing that could happen for the future of BU College Bowl is I die, or move, or get a job far away effective immediately - it would end this dream sequence the new officers are having that I'm still in charge. I'm not, and it's time for them to grow up and step up.

   I'm writing this angry, which probably isn't the best state to be publishing my thoughts in. But so it goes - I'm seeing the same behavior I've seen all year. People don't want to sacrifice, don't want to do the hard thing to reap the reward. People are counting on us, and I shouldn't be the one people are relying on. I suppose it's better I get this out here, because if I unleashed the things I want to say at my friend's faces, it would not be pretty.

   Maybe being in charge really is a skill... I always thought everyone, no matter their status, had the ability to lead somewhere within themselves. Maybe I was wrong.
March 17, 2002 - The Other Tournament
   • For all those who care, a good deal more was added to the Canary recap today. That's what happens when I don't leave my apartment all day.

   Watching a good deal of CBS, I've seen numerous previews for series like Baby Bob... well, really, there've been no other series like this. There've been some movies, and a couple commercials, but that's about it.

   At what point does this seem like a good idea? For anyone? The network first off, but the actors? The producers? The stage people? Do they really think this is going to be the next Frasier? Hell, do they even think it's going to be the next Nanny? Why would anyone make themselves part of a show like this?

   There are just shows you see the previews for, and you know they're not going to last. Like the Hank Azaria show. Or every black comedy on UPN. Is it really this hard to be a network executive? I understand you need to fill airtime, but I remember this one episode of Ren and Stimpy where they put a jar of mayonnaise on TV for 30 minutes. Ratings soared.

   Today was, of course, St. Patrick's Day, meaning that all across the city, people were drunk and stupid. Maybe that's why I didn't go outside.

   Today was also the announcement of the "other" NCAA Tournament - ice hockey. Our boys in the scarlet and white somehow managed the #2 seed in the East, and I say somehow because after going 0-2-1 against Maine in the past month, to be seeded higher than them makes me laugh a hearty laugh.

   Ooh, look at us. We yell loud. Our women are fat, and we like hockey. You want a lobster?

   Long Story Short: If BU beats the winner of Maine-Harvard next Sunday, I'm going to St. Paul, Minnesota, for the Frozen Four, and not to Chapel Hill, N.C., for College Bowl. Hey, I'm the retired President. And I've never been outside the airport in Minnesota. Bite me.

   Do I think it'll happen? Well, it depends. If Harvard can somehow beat Maine, yes, I think it will. But in order for that to happen, says Bill, "Maine's bus would have to crash and all the players die."

   St. Paul, here I come!
March 16, 2002 - Spandex Depends
   • To some, the words "karaoke contest" say horrible train wreck. To others, they say easy website update. You're lucky... to me they say both.

   The long story short is that [Begin "Cheesy DJ"] Vito worked his B-52's, his Britney Spears AND his Michael Jackson to finish 2nd and win a Gamecube at KISS 108's and CambridgeSide Galleria's Krankin Karaoke contest. [End "Cheesy DJ"]

   But really, is that what a karaoke contest is all about? Prizes? Winning? Art? No, friends. A karaoke contest is about lost dignity, forgotten innocence and the ruining of a pop sexpot for so many, via Vito's strategic panting.

   An evnet like a karaoke contest can be dangerous for a jack ass like myself - there's always the potential to write too much (Canary Islands, anyone?) Each things one sees would make an update by itself on a normal day, but here, these things keep coming every five minutes. It's all about balance - much as I want to devote whole paragraphs to the black Harvard girls who did 'Bootylicious,' or the kid who looked vaguely like me landing 'Return of the Mack,' I can't. It's your fault. Your attention span does not allow this.

   Of course, I'm not writing this for you. I'm writing it so someday, my bitter child, after he's shot and killed me to stop the verbal abuse, has something to read until the cops come.

   There are three kinds of people who enter a karaoke contest:

   1) Those who know what they're doing, and have no problem doing it in front of an audience.
   • These people are fine - they have fun with it, they leave their dignity at home in a box marked "Return To Sender" and they aren't so horrific you can't sleep that night. Most of them go to music schools and have actual talent, or they're theater people who are used to not having any dignity, because when they go to family functions, conversations like this happen.

Uncle: "So how's school going? Banging those parties? Doing kegstands? Heh heh heh!
Nephew: "Nope. My friends and I are staging a revival of 'Grease.' I get to be a Pink Lady!"
Uncle: "Honey, get the car."

   Most of the finalists fit into this category, though the one who did Shania Twain could probably cut the ass shaking down about 50% in the future. Other than that she'd be fine.

   Speaking of ass shaking brings up 'Bootylicious.' Yesterday afternoon, a dead John Harvard threw up in his mouth.

   2) Those who thought they wanted to do this, probably could, but have a problem doing it in front of an audience.
   • These people pretty much sort themselves out quickly. They get cut off, because you can't hear them singing over the backup music, they tend to laugh a lot or they crap themselves. Depending on the song, I could fall here or in category one. After all, I did once moon my family at Thanksgiving Dinner... dignity and I have never gotten along well.

   This brings us to #3, the most fearsome karaoke category.

   3) Those who don't know what they're doing, but still have no problem doing it in front of an audience.
   • You know these people. They're your friends, your co-workers. They may have lovely families, lovely children, ugly families or ugly children. When they see a flyer like the one above, they think to themselves, "Hey, I could do that! I could win an iPod, they sell it on eBay!"

   No, reader. They can't do that. You have to stop them. It's up to you to keep me from having to watch black Harvard trust fund babies shake their ass and show their stomachs because they can't sing.

   I will not stop talking about these two. Ever. I'm scarred. It was bad enough that Harvard College Radio was there, even if their mascot was a penguin. It was frightening enough that Elmer won $100 worth of women's swimwear. It was sad enough that the winner needed to compete in the prelims twice and then beg for a point to tie Vito - even if he did deserve to win on the final song. Nothing, and I repeat nothing, will make me ever forget what I saw those two Harvardians do. Every time in the future that I think of Harvard, there will be a little trigger in my mind, that will put them on that stage.

   But hey, I've got a GameCube that's not mine in my apartment for the second time in four months. And I ate another Club Chalupa. Not even rogue ass can keep me down!
March 15, 2002 - Reality Leaders, Day One
   • It was such a heady time.

   After the tournament's first day, I was 14-2. Four of the five upsets were on my bracket. I was in the Top 100 on all the big sites - CNN/SI, CBS Sportsline... well not all the big sites. On ESPN I picked Utah for some reason, so I only had 13 wins, but whatever.

   I knew it would come crashing down, but eight losses out of sixteen games was a little much.

   I blame one man for this: Terrell Taylor. That little shit ruined everything. I'd already won three games, then his dumbass little shooting spree knocked out Florida from my Elite Eight, and opened the floodgates. The next time I looked at a scoreboard... Texas Tech? Gone. All my stupid upsets? Nope. The stupidest upset? At half, Cincy's Steve Logan had 23. We had 16.

   Really, what I saw last night wasn't any better, but at least it was competitive. As competitive as getting outshot 16-7 in a tied third period can be. It was amazing... at no point last night, from before the puck dropped to walking out of the Fleet, did I think we'd beat Maine. Not when we were up 2-0, not when we tied it at 3, never.

   It could also be considered amazing how strong a following UNH and Maine had in the Fleet last night, but given what there is to do in Durham and Orono respectively... yeah.

March 14, 2002 - Improvising
   • Printed in The Daily Free Press - December 3, 1985

Coke Is Not It

To the Editor:
   Using Coca-Cola as a douche can cause death. This important fact was irresponsibly left out of a news brief entitled "New Birth Control: Coke is it."

   If the air bubbles in any carbonated liquid enter a woman's bloodstream through a cut in the vagina, death could result.

   In addition, the news brief should have also included the fact that douching after intercourse, even with a more conventional solution than Coca-Cola, is not an effective form of birth control.

Maureen Hurley - SPC '83
Lauren Simonds - CLA '88
BU Women's Center

   Hey, you know many people who picked UNC-Wilmington, Wyoming, Tulsa and Kent State today? 14-2... allow me to bask.
March 13, 2002 - Paper Cut
"Next to a good education, the best investment in your future is a trip to Europe."
-- Thank you, Alumni World Travel. All this time I thought it was a job...

   • It would be very niceto go on a twenty-five day, eleven country trip across Europe after I graduate, of this I don't deny. But it's not like I can open a drawer and have $2,800 come flying out.

   Maybe I could celebrity box for the money! If last night's "wannabe Glutton Bowl" proved anything, it's that you need no ability to be on television. I'm at least as big a celebrity as Todd Bridges is now.

   I suppose it also proves FOX will air anything. Or that Paula Jones can take a punch much better than she can... let's not go down that road.

Church Kill
If I ever ran a church, every sign would look like this.

   I think the saddest thing of all of this I was actually disappointed after I watched Celebrity Boxing. It was as though I expected better. But hey, after a Backstreet Boy came out to sing the national anthem, I should have known. Suppose I should have known when it was announced...

   Suppose that's all there is to say, other than SCREW JOB.

   And good luck to the following... Duke, Notre Dame, Indiana, UNC-Wilmington, Penn, Pittsburgh, Kent State, Alabama, Maryland, St. John's, Tulsa, Kentucky, Texas Tech, Georgia, N.C. State, UConn, Kansas, Stanford, Florida, San Diego State, Texas, McNeese State, Pepperdine, Oregon, Oklahoma, Hawaii, Arizona, Wyoming, Ohio State, Miami, UCLA... and Boston University.

   Because hey, why go to CNN for world news when you can talk to a guy who's ridden a camel?
March 12, 2002 - Rectification
   • Well, my luggage is back where it should be: the closet where I used to store all those liquor bottles.

   At exactly 5:36 a.m., because when you're up that early you notice exactly what time anything happens, I heard a faint buzz from the hallway. Unsure of what it was, I investigated, to slowly figure out there was someone at the door. United, who'd said they'd be by before midnight with two bags, held six hours and brought the lot.

   It was very strange... in a stupor I think I signed Meg's name, but I really wasn't that tired. Damage to my stuff was minimal - the oil paintings stuffed deep in my luggage actually made out worse than the graham cracker-esque digestive cookies on the outside of my golf bag.

   Course you want to talk damage, we can talk about the the movie. We could talk about the damage one can get tanning, such as the blonde behind me in class today who said a burn caused her eyes to swell shut.

   I would love to be a father taking that call someday.

"Honey, didn't your supervisor tell you to stop laying under the heat lamps? That's where the burgers go."

   Or we can stay on topic and talk about Bethany's plastic sack wrapped in tape, nee luggage. As it turned out, she only lost three things, but what a Canadian sitcom they would have made. I can hear the promos now...

"Tonight! On, A Boot, A Bag and A Mug, Alan Thicke guest stars as a gynecologist gone horribly blind..."

   I'd like to thank the Academy... Anyway, Bethany took her limp sack to Logan, presumably to file a claim. Considering designer boots go for about $13,000, and everybody loves coffee mugs, she probably could have owned stock in American Airlines * if she stood there long enough.

   * - My consultant on this matter says international law states your final air carrier, whether or not they're the one to lose your bags, is responsible for accepting and processing your claim. So American gets the hose, even though our gripe is with Iberia and/or British Midland.

   So naturally, she took the suitcase they offered her under the table and walked away, because she's Bethany. I'll admit, I'm not one to bitch in public, but when there's significant money and air credits to be claimed, you take what they give you then file a claim anyway, then do that thing from 'Slackers' where you bend a bike frame, throw it behind a truck and claim the guy hit you.

   Please enter this new term in your personal lexicons... I want it sweeping the nation by Friday.

"It's Bethany." - To denote someone who, despite having a logical set of actions/responses easily accessible, proceeds to place their face in a cheese grater and bang it downward repeatedly.

   Also sweeping the nation... the brackets. As is the yearly case, I spent more time studying numbers, writeups and predictions than I ever would on something stupid like an exam, and as usual I find myself dissatisfied with what I've done. Imagine the trepidation and second-guessing of betting on one basketball game... then multiply it by 63. No wonder I can't stop sweating.

   Each year, my method of no preconceived championship pick leads to an asanine result somewhere along the line - the worst case of this was 1997, when I put #8 seed Indiana in the Final Four, only to see them lose in the first round. This year, I nearly did something equally asanine and connected - #6 Texas Tech, also coached by Ol' Man Chair Toss, in the Final Four, beating Maryland.

   But alas, I edited the bracket later. Now let's watch these changes blow up in my face, kids:

   • Indiana beating Utah, instead of the opposite.
   • Pittsburgh beating Penn in the 2nd Round, instead of the opposite.

   and oh yes, mustn't forget...
   • #16 Boston University beating Cincinnati, instead of the opposite.

   This is all I'm saying. In my bracket this year, I have a #14 winning, two #13s winning, one #12, two #11s, three #10s... UNC-Wilmington in the Sweet Sixteen, Kansas losing in the third round and UCLA beating the game's winner anyway. If a 16's ever going to beat a 1, why not now? And if it happens somehow, do I really want to say I picked against it? Dream a little dream, Bill. BU 67, Cincy 62.

   I'll probably publish the whole bracket tomorrow, but let's just say there's teams in Tucson and Eugene who better not give me more ammo against the West.
March 11, 2002 - Blade Shaving Sucks
   • Luggage Update: Two of the bags are now confirmed to be in Boston: my golf bag, and one of Bethany's two bags. The other three, my actual suitcase included, are sitting on a shelf at British Midland's baggage services counter at Heathrow Airport. Least I think my suitcase is in London...

   My golf clubs are in pristine condition, this I know. The second bag in Boston, which we think is Bethany's larger duffel bag, is in a bag - i.e. it's been completely destroyed in the crossing. We're told they shrink-wrapped the whole thing, which is very nice, but I'm sure she'd rather she had her bag than it be wrapped in a bag.

   Meg, who was on the phone for about three hours while I was off playing broomball, said the two bags were supposed to be delivered here by midnight. She stayed up and waited, and at 12:20 (so her note tells me), "I went home because I was about to collapse from tiredness."

   The saga continues... I just want my damn digestive cookies!

   So today was the exciting day... the first class day all year I could sleep past 9 a.m. With my geography class cancelled, how would I spend my morning of laziness?

   I skipped the Free Press at night, and got up at 5:30 a.m.

   Someday, they'll figure out what's wrong with me.

   It was an easy day to get back in the swing, with no class and a job that let me do this all day. The pressing need for posting the Tenerife journal really has made everything else seem way too much for me to handle. Call that what you will, though I suspect I know what I'd call it...

   Wonder how I haven't ended up here yet...

   So, what's in the news?

   • Grady Little Named New Sox Manager - The fact that this guy was chosen over Felipe Alou, who's been the Sox manager in waiting since Tom whatshisface was growing tomato plants in the bullpen, shows me something: Grady will either be the second coming of Joe Morgan, or Tom Henry will be bull-whipped and buried in his stupid hat.

   I know nothing about him, but the more I read, the more I like: former bench coach for the Sox, been in the majors forever, managed the 1992 Greenville Braves to the first 100-win minor league season since 1960, will keep Manny from sucking on Mommy's tit... but most importantly, he doesn't have a cell phone.

   I think we're gonna get along just fine...

   And the stuff about Manny?

"The child who was breast-fed until he was almost 4 because milk in his neighborhood was either harmful or nonexistent."
-- Mmm. Nipple.

   The Tribute In Light - Cool. Very cool.

   Zimbabwe's Election - Not cool. Not very cool.

   My Dishes - Not doing themselves.
March 10, 2002 - Shock The World?
   • If there were a place I could go buy Bearcat, I would purchase some and eat it to set up some karma.

   Selection Sunday has always been a hell of a day, because bar none, there is no athletic tournament like the road to the college basketball championship. No matter what kind of season you've had, no matter how dominating you've been (Dear 1991 UNLV Runnin's Rebels...), you have to win six in a row or your season means nothing. Well, unless you're a team like Boston University, where just making the dance is something to be proud of, but that's getting all Hallmark...

   I have not watched one college basketball game this season. Not a single one. I have seen parts of games... I recall Alabama jumping around like idiots, and they showed Western Kentucky winning their conference semi with a buzzer beater in Spain, but that's it. Which should make for a very interesting picking experience for me.

   Last year was the first time I ever correctly picked the national champion at the beginning of the tournament. My father and I have been entering NCAA Tournament pools, honest to God, since before I was born. I don't understand how this works, but it's true. Duke last year was the only time I've gotten it right.

   Each year, on the Monday after picks are announced, I buy a USA Today and start studying the numbers. I make my picks not knowing who I'll take for the title - except for 1996 and the tourney run that never was. Maybe this having no clue will work to my advantage... no, I'll putz it up again. Stay tuned.

   Today, as my trusty Far Side calendar told me, was Mothering Sunday in the United Kingdom. Now, I was technically in the UK on Mothering Sunday Eve, and it explains so much... all the billboards... why all the ticket agents were offering me Mothering Sunday candies... why the bobbies were beating only men... why the duty free shops were both overbearing and everywhere...

   At Heathrow, you actually have to walk through this gigantic duty free shop to get to your gate... it's genius. I'd have bought something, if I wasn't running to get on a plane. Looking back on it though, if I hadn't gotten on my flight to Boston - a possibility that came closer than I'd care to admit - I'd have gotten to go into London, which really isn't the worst thing that could have ever happened.

   And oh yes, Mothering Sunday is Britain's Mother's Day. Because they have to be pauncy and retarded about naming everything. Chancellor of the Exchequer my ass... he's your damned Tresaurer, people.

"In northern England and in Scotland, the preferred refreshments were carlings - pancakes made of steeped pease fried in butter, with pepper and salt. In fact, in some locations this day was called Carling Sunday."
-- Which would explain why all the British at the resort were humongous. Though the Speedo thing I still don't understand.

   Going back to the calendar, March 9 had a cartoon with Satan welcoming new dead to Hell, standing next to a sign that read, "Today is the first day of the rest of your life." Imaging if I'd been killed in a North Atlantic plance crash Saturday... now that's the stuff Pulitzers are made of.

   Emmys, however, are not made of Count puppets who flash people.

So it begins...

   • At 1:52 p.m. today, I touched down at Logan Airport, thus officially ending the trip to Tenerife. Things went swimmingly, which despite the fact I didn't go swimming at all, is a good thing.

   The only major problem is around when I touched down in Boston, my luggage was somewhere between Madrid and London, with that somewhere not being Boston. Thank you, Iberia!

   Thanks to British Midland, I should have the majority of my worldly posessions back by Monday, by which I should also have the trip journal going. They'll be a link to it once I get it built, which is Sunday's project. The remainder of Saturday's project is to sleep, and to celebrate. BOSTON U. IS GOING TO THE BIG DANCE!

   Other highlights of my time away, both here and abroad:

   • In three trips to Tenerife's roulette tables, I won 107.50 Euros ($94). Won. At a casino. Seriously.

   • I rode a camel dressed like an Arab. Yes, there are pictures.

   I can't remember anymore. Time to sleep through a fantasy baseball draft and a playoff game.

March 1-9, 2002 - The Prologue
   • Yes, I'm a Sports Bigamist, and I don't care. The Sports Guy and I are going to have to have a little chat.

   Not much time for writing today, being that as of three-and-a-half hours before my flight, I haven't packed yet, but some things are too funny to ignore.

   Among them would be my Geography professor, arguing with the Audio Visual crew who took his TV away and gave him a projector. There's comedy, there's high comedy, then there's unintentional comedy like an Australian yelling at two kids who just did what they were told. The projector is abour 50 times better for showing a video to a whole class, but he's literally yelling at these kids until they showed him how to operate the projector. At which point he says, "Oh."

   It's a pity there were only eight people in the class.

   Anyway, as this is the start of "Cooch In The Canaries," they'll be no updates until I post the trip recap on the 10th. This is what the archive is for, people. Reading my entries from May is like going back in time... really, it is going back in time.

   Prologue away, and happy holidays! Ha, you're not on holiday, loser...

   I'll be quite honest... this trip is not really exciting me all that much. I should be thrilled, going to an exotic locale for cheap, staying at some incredible resort... but instead, I'm just pissed I can't take my PS2 because of region coding.

   Stupid laws.

   Over a week on the Spanish possession of Tenerife, with possible forays into who knows where. I've made it a point to know as little about the trip as possible, to keep expectations low. Remember, if your hopes are low, you're never disappointed. There's six of us, staying here, hopefully not getting typhoid.

   It will undoubtably be fun, but it's more fun to bitch.

2002: [02] - [01]
2001: [12] - [11] - [10] - [09] - [08] - [07] - [06] - [05]