just your average sports-filled weekend...

not really, though. holy shit.
the pedro says, "you going to the game on friday?"
"sure i am."
"well, you might want to go with me instead."
"ok."








the game was unbelievable, beating the hornets to stay undefeated at home.
some thoughts on those once in a lifetime seats.
it was really tough to follow the game. we had no idea what the score was watching everything else going. the assistants cursing the refs, martell webster coaching everybody, smelling rebecca haarlow as she walked back and forth, lots of beer, and screaming at that punk bitch james posey. it was awesome.
rudy in broken english saying, "go defense, go defense!" at every timeout. watching nate draw up plays on the board and knowing what's gonna happen. brandon roy is clutch. and just seeing how big and fast all those guys are.
thanks again, pedro. you are the man.
go blazers!
i drank just enough beer to be not too hungover to wake up early for the drive to corvallis for the civil war...more on that debacle later.

humpin' music.

i once dead-lifted a honda civic while listening to this song.
it's that strong.

spaceman.

the video has it all...'my name is earl' bangin' the skins, brandon flowers wearing the same jacket he always wears, and pandas.
i sort of have a bit of a little boner about this song and the killers' impending domination of planet earth.
yeah, tonight's a cruising youtube night...guilty.

NZ.

the language barrier.

don't get me wrong...i'm medically fluent in 87 different languages. ok, maybe two. but hilarity always ensues during the night shift when i don't feel like waking up a cantonese interpreter. like tonight when the word "ok" was said approximately 63 times between myself, a dad, and a mom. i was in the room for four minutes.

break room funk.

i was going to post the video of sarah palin's lips flapping while turkeys get decapitated behind her and make clever quips like "if you look past the bloody turkey, you can see russia" and probably call the post "meat is murder". but you will probably see the clip two hundred times today, so screw it.

instead, i kept myself barely awake at work tonight plastering hundreds of biohazard stickers all over the break room. like always, it smelled like a bag of wet dog shit mixed with rotting halloween pumpkins.
seriously, what is it about work break rooms? do they all reek like old tv dinners that have been thawed and refrozen every month since WWII? what do people/nurses/cat lovers keep in their lockers? purses full of used kleenex? open cans of slimfast?
it's gross.

anyway, not to drift too far away from the topic of blood and gore...this "accident" happened yesterday in portland. pretty amazing that this little girl didn't get her head crunched. 4 grown men, one with a baseball bat, versus one pit bull. i know that no dog should be trusted completely, but i guarantee that it wouldn't take 4 grown men to put down the lou. so, damn you, michael vick. guns don't kill people. bullets do.

on a lighter note, i saw quantum of solace the other day. pretty decent. but nothing memorable, really. no signature moment. just bond getting his ass kicked in only to live to see another tomorrow...que the awesome blood dripping bond girl silouette holding a pistol intro.

ladies and gentlemen...nicole richie.

frustration.

because apparently you have to have a degree in mechanical engineering and physics and basic geometry to assemble and construct a simple 30 foot section of front yard fence with an attaching gate across the driveway AND because it seems as if all the tape measures i own (2) are incapable of providing me with an accurate measurement causing me to mostly swear and throw tools at neighborly passers-by...i have to watch this video over and over again to make myself feel better all weekend.

ha. ha. ha. i just peed myself. again.

YouTube Contest Challenges Users To Make A 'Good' Video

he's faster than sharks...

some video of stevie 'dimes' p'nash reminding me why he's my favorite player in the association. being able to dunk is for pussies anyway. the other videos at the end are nice, too.


steve nash “the spokesman” – photo shoot from Bill Connely on Vimeo.

my sentiments exactly.

mostly stolen from the blazersedge.com

OK, let’s see…pant, pant. L*kers, Spurs, Suns…pant, pant…Jazz, and Rockets. Anything else to throw at us, NBA? Let me guess, LeBron James has been traded to the Celtics for one night only and they’re coming to Portland. No, no, no…wait. You’ve assembled a team of robotic Michael Jordans and are sending them up against the Blazers, right? You evil so-and-so’s! I oughtta…what? The Timberwolves? You mean space-age, futuristic Timberwolves with laser eyes and anti-matter torpedoes shooting out of their butts, right? No? Just the plain, old Timberwolves, huh? Wait. This is some kind of trick, isn’t it?
OK…assuming that it’s actually the real Timberwolves coming to town and not some kind of 7-foot tall undead vampire army with a preference for Spanish flesh, this will be the first game of the season that the Blazers could be reasonably expected to win going in.



so the serg is upset about PT. i get it, dude. you've been here 3 years. you're playing 8-10 minutes. it sucks. but keep your chin up, champ. keeping playing well and things will work out. i got a feeling that steve blake isn't going to be around much longer. but if you pull any more bullshit like demanding a trade through your agent and disrupt what this team might get going here...i will come down on you like this:



b-roy, listen to me. great shot last night. you are the go-to-guy for this team. your all-star status is safe. but...they're 4 other guys out there, man. LA can bring it...and did all night last game. and no one can guard rudy, artest tried and looked stupid. you don't have to do everything. but, like i said, great shot last night.

MCOTW.

still alive.

the question has been brought up to me, "at what point does the human body say 'fuck it'?" and really i think this crazy whore is a testament to how amazing the human body is. as hideous and fabulous as amy winehouse is, i seriously hope that when she does finally die her body is donated to science. we need to better understand how in the hell she was able to survive the last few years. i'm pretty sure the cure to many, many unbearable diseases is hidden in this rotting flesh pile. i understand the human body is a wonder. i've seen cold, blue bodies brought back to life. i've seen more than my share of blood where it isn't suppose to be, only to see people pull through. BUT there is something about this woman that has to be a mutant-like step in evolution. it is truly amazing to me that someone can inject gasoline into her veins and breathe straight ricin like it's aromatherapy.
cure cancer, amy.
contribute something besides your shitty music, dear.
for the latest nonsense clicky.

obama.

last night i had a dream. i was having trouble with a level in little big planet when all of a sudden a holographic image of oprah winfrey beamed out of my PS3. she was crying and laughing at the same time. it was very awkward. i could only make out a few words including "proud", "hope", and "chicago". i could only assume she was upset that rex grossman would be under center this sunday for the bears. i told her, yes, the bears were probably screwed, and then the reverend jesse jackson, dressed in a wolf blizter halloween costume, came out of nowhere and slapped me in the face. then i woke up drenched in sweat. or tears. not sure.
now i gotta go, that chain-smokin' potty mouth, rachael ray, is on and making something with a carbonara sauce. predictably, i'm mesmerized by her giant mouth.