I joined MySpace (myspace? mySpace? Myspace?).

Effective immediately, I’m resigning as prime minister of the anit-myspace coalition.

See you all on the dark side.


Until the arrival of the big day.

Only an hour until we leave for my grandma’s house. As usual, Irving won’t know what hit it. This is because my nine-year-old cousin, Caleb, is the only person I know under the age of 60 who walks around all the time juggling bowling pins.

Actually, he’s the only person I know who juggles (bowling pins or otherwise).

Happy holidays. 

Bird Streets Dispatch:

Sitting at home, watching The Office. Russ attempts to call me. My favorite show is on, so I don’t pick up. Russ shows some persistence and uses the underappreciated and little-used landline. I pick up on his urgency and decide to answer.

Our conversation goes as follows:

R: Are you watching this game?

P: Dude, no, The Office is on.

R: Switch over.

P: I can’t. I have Time Warner Cable. The NFL and Time Warner are currently locked in a battle to the death over the availability of the NFL Network. I can’t flip over.

R: Fair enough. You’re never going to believe what just happened.

P: Tell me, then. But hurry the fuck up, Michael Scott is wearing a bandana on his head and talking like the guitarist from the E Street Band.

R: Ok, Chad Johnson (or “Ocho Cinco” to those of you south of the border) just scored a touchdown. After dropping the ball, he went over to the goalpost, pulled out an artillery shell, set it down in the end zone, lit it, and the goddamn thing shot up and exploded. Or in other words: Chad Johnson just set off fireworks in the stadium as a part of a touchdown celebration.

P: Holy shit. Did he get ejected?

R: Yes, all the refs threw their flags at once and he got tossed.

I curse Time Warner for not giving me NFL access and then spend the next 15 minutes trying to find a video online. ESPN comes up empty. CNN comes up empty. And when YouTube proves fruitless, I realize that I’ve been had. The wool was pulled over my eyes. I was duped.

I decide to seek revenge two hours later.

P: Are you watching Sportscenter?

R: No, why?

P: Jeremy Roenick just scored a goal, went behind the bench, pulled out a Russian-made rocket with a monkey sitting inside, and shot it to the moon.

I don’t think he believed me.

Courtesy of Bruce Reed in Slate:

In fact, the best news of the 2006 elections is the opportunity it gives Democrats to earn the lasting support of the independents and disgruntled Republicans whose votes just dropped in our laps. Tuesday was the death knell for Rovism—the quaint and now fully discredited theory that majorities are built not by expanding support with ideas that work but by mobilizing extreme minorities with ideas that aren’t meant to be enacted and wouldn’t work if they did.

Bravo. Republicans can attempt to argue that their successes over the past twelve years have been unifying and not dividing. They can say that until they’re blue in the face.

They will be wrong.

For the first time since I was twelve years old, an election outcome wasn’t affected by culturally divisive issues. Interest groups were held at bay and the voters, for once, seemed to be able to focus on the ‘big tent’ issues of the war in Iraq and corruption among elected officials. Both of those issues affect us all.

It’s nice to see a mandate for change.

Also, I’m not entirely sure what to think of us, because several capable elected officials lost their jobs last night, but the Dallas County Democratic Party put up 47 candidates for county-wide office yesterday. All 47 of them won. Chris Bell won Dallas County by 4+ points.

I think it’s safe to say that if Dallas County has been trending blue for the last two election cycles then this was the cycle where blue moved firmly into power.

So I skipped work this morning and drove an hour to Sherman in order to do my civic duty and buy gas for $1.96/gallon. And to vote. I also drove to Sherman to vote.

Several comments:

1. Electronic voting is like playing a boring video game that only has one level that lasts 5 minutes.

2. I didn’t vote a straight party ticket because that would have shortened the video game by 4 minutes and 15 Fun Units.

3. As long as the system works, electronic voting is not complicated. Senior citizens, while old and dangerous behind the wheel, should still be able to figure it out.

4. It’s always embarassing when your old Stats professor is manning the polling place. Primarily because whenever she says hi to you, the other lady working the table will ask your Stats professor if you were a good student. Your Stats professor will then clearly hesitate before saying yes.

5. The Gentleman’s C+, apparently, is dead.

6. The Boys and Girls Club of Sherman smells of basketballs and urine.

See you next time.

Here’s the question of the day:

I don’t know what I want to do with the rest of my life.

Option A: Take the LSAT. Go to law school. Become a lawyer. Bump Ben’s ratio up from 67% to 78%.

Option B: Take the GRE. Study Political Science in graduate school. Get a Master’s. Work in government.

Option C: Take the GRE. Study Political Science in graduate school. Get a Master’s. Then a PhD. Teach Political Science at the university level.

Option D: Forgo more education for now. Try and get internship at newspaper or magazine. Pursue journalism.

Too many good choices. Oh well. I’ll just drink a Sam Adams and go take a nap.

For a couple years during high school I worked as a lifeguard at the local YMCA. Basically, I viewed my job as a glorified nap time. My gift (or is it a curse?) of falling asleep anytime I sit stationary for more than 20 minutes was on display regularly.

Joe worked there, too. One Saturday afternoon Joe and I were the only people there. No one had been in the pool for a couple hours when a man and his son came in. They were regulars. The kid was probably five years old and would do crazy shit off the diving board with reckless abandon, while his dad paddled water and watched from the deep end.

On this particular day Joe and I must have looked especially bored. Maybe I was sleeping. After the kid finished on the diving board, they both got out of the water and the dad walked over to us and asked us what kind of pizza we liked. Joe and I thought the question was kind of strange, but answered.

Twenty minutes later the guy walked back in to the pool area with a pizza, gave it to us, and thanked us for the hard work. Joe and I conveniently ignored the “After Eating Wait 30 Minutes Before Swimming Or Drown Immediately” rule and ate the pizza. It was an unexpected and nice gesture and I haven’t forgotten it.

Fast forward six or seven years later to today. I see this guy every single morning at my local Starbucks. I want to thank him for the pizza, see if he remembers, and buy him a coffee, but I haven’t gotten around to doing it yet.

Maybe tomorrow.