Saturday, November 03, 2007

When The Phone Rang

I have known Country The Brother-In-Law for-- oh, it's going on fifteen years now. That's half the time I have been alive. Of those fifteen years, he has never, not once, picked up a phone and dialed my number.

Until, of course, 6:20 PM today. I didn't even recognize his number on the caller ID, and when he identified himself on the other end, my initial impression was either that somebody was dead or that my nephews had somehow flushed their mother down the toilet. But no. This is what he called to tell me:

"As a former officer in the United States Navy, I felt it was my duty to inform you what, right this second, is happening on every single American-deployed ship at sea across the face of the Earth. What's happening is that priority traffic--and, so that you fully understand the import of this, that's reserved only for something on the level of 'Somebody pushed the button'--anyway, that is right now turned over to broadcasting the score from today's game, and every single person hearing this news is pointing in the direction of South Bend and laughing very, very hard. I mean, just so you know."

very thoughtful of him at:

Thursday, November 01, 2007

Happy Halloween UPDATE

I am pleased to report that Skittles were happily had, most everyone remained upright...

...and Will The Small Child Nephew seems to be on the Irony Accelerated Track.

so very, very proud at:

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Happy Halloween

May you not end the evening as Jim The Small Child Nephew did last year:

it's just worth seeing again at:

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

When A Season Accomplishes Full Free Fall

I've never written about Notre Dame football as much as this season. It's not a matter of piling on a WE SUCK! bandwagon; the epic badness of it all just fascinates me-- and wraps me like a well-known, beat-up blanket. You are reading the words of a person who grew up in Cincinnati. Losing records go for seasons and seasons. They are as a brithright; we develop sports fortitude in the womb. This is hunker time, people. Behold me, hunkering. I know. It isn't pretty. But then, let us consider our average yardage per rush. I could throw the offensive line further.

Today I went so far as to bust out the Weepy Pianoy Alum Music, and I think it's because in times of hunker, we return to our roots. We need to fetalize for a while at home base. It's when we need one another the most. You don't run and you don't lie to yourselves or others. You can drink, but you can't hide.

Oh, and someone please tell Phil Simms to stop holding his microphone like a great big woman. That would make it all easier to bear.

hunker, boys, hunker at:

Monday, October 29, 2007

Welcome Lightsabre Readers

If you've ever wondered what I'd sound like as a British person, complete with extra u's, here's your chance. This interview was conducted last week in the wake of this article which demanded to know where George Lucas went. (One Lightsabre reader's reaction: "That MSNBC lady is a freak. The whole article scared me.") BOO! Scary MB, with her terrifying adjectives and frightening semicolons!

Scroll down to find me; I am directly underneath Wicket. (And with that, we now award this year's prize for Phrases I Never, Ever Thought I Would Type.)

The webmaster assures me that he pushed off an interview with Irving Kershner--as in, The Kersh, as in, the man who directed The Empire Strikes Back--to post this, which I was thrilled about until it immediately became clear that the terms of the interview included searching out every unflattering picture of me ever posted on the Internet and gathering them under one cyber-roof. Somebody was paying attention to this week's Gospel reading.

One of the questions involves asking me how I can distrust Lucas if I am, in fact, a Star Wars fan, so in that vein we hereby present photographic evidence of Josh The Pilot and me entering our wedding reception to the strains of "Throne Room March" from the medal ceremony of A New Hope. Sing it in your head for full effect, because bringing John Williams into your wedding day is serious, people. Seriously sad. (You will notice that I entered the room closest to the bar.)

When word that we were going to do this starting filtering through our friends, it removed itself maybe four degrees before I got a phone call from somebody asking, "Are you really walking down the aisle to "The Imperial March"? Which is the music used to introduce Darth Vader, the evil Emperor, and the Florida Gators defense, and which would have also been highly suitable, at least from Josh's perspective.

rotated 90 degrees at:

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