Giddy!

Giddy. It's the only apropos adjective. Never before have I enjoyed unpacking. The last hour would hang a shirt and think about turning a fucking cartwheel. I ain't making it up.

Deja Vu

On our way back home. This is the halfway point. About 3.5 more hours to go, but I already have car ass.

You've Got To Be Kidding

Last night we stopped at a brewery for a bite to eat and a growler of beer. After we finished, I grabbed the beer and we heade to the car. The car wouln't start, don't ya know. As it turns out one of the connections to the battery terminal was close to being completely corroded. No connection, no starty the engine. So we're leaving a day late. You just can't make this shit up.

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Room With A View I Guess...

Yawwwnnn. Well it's shower time I suppose. The view from this room isn't all bad.

Sandy's

The old watering hole. I have more beer in that joint than is legal or conducive to good health, but damn those were some good times.

The Big Chill

Coming up on the last couple of hours. Good thing, too. Had about all I can handle of this car.

Gotta Love It

Or you'll hate it.

Come Home With Me

On some straight lame bullshit I have to drive home today. So fucking lame!

Driving Home For The Weekend

Just playing E40 & driving home for the weekend. It should be a good time.

Mindless Monday

I slapped the hell out of my alarm clock this morning. Not because it went off at 4AM, I expected that part. I didn’t expect Ill Bill to be screaming the lyrics to “War Is My Destiny” over hard driving bass and drum lines, though. The cacophony yanked me from sleep, and as I tossed off the covers my sole thought was, “Kill whatever that is; kill it before it kills you.” With that, I almost broke my Sony Dream Machine. This amusing, near-coronary-inducing moment was brought you by lack of mindfulness.

Mindfulness involves freeing the mind from thoughts of the past, future, or some other disconnected irrelevant thought and focusing solely on the present moment, thoughts, and actions. I wasn’t mindful when setting my iPod. So instead of waking to either classical or jazz music, which is the norm, it was a song from one of my workout playlists. A song designed to get me through that last mile on a run, or help me churn out that last rep. Frightening, comical, and educational. I ain’t making it up.

Hanging on Easter Sunday

Turns out, Easter Sunday is as good a day as any other to work off a hangover. It’s just as easy to get lost in the sofa, grab the remote, and pray for death on Easter Sunday as it is on any other day. It’s just as easy for the Swedish women’s volleyball team to hold spiking drills in my cerebellum on Easter Sunday as it is on any other day. It’s just as easy to consume enough liquid to fill the Indian Ocean and not pee on Easter Sunday as it is on any other day. Yep, Easter Sunday is as good as any other day to work off a hangover.

Turns out, that’s not exactly true. Most Sundays, Easter or otherwise, are spent grocery shopping, cooking, and prepping for the week. All of this entails a skosh of planning and running around, which assumes the ability to concentrate and at least a facsimile of energy. I got bupkis.

Concentrate? Maybe if it involves Cote de Pablo’s ass and alluring, albeit feigned, accent—I’m watching the NCIS marathon. Beyond that, I’m having trouble following and grasping commercials. Energy? I can’t change channels without slumping into a coma. No doubt, it took me hours to hammer out this post. So this week’s getting off to a rocky start. But I wouldn’t change a thing. Last night was sublime; perfectly sublime. I ain’t making it up.

Randomness

What if once a year we sent out “FUCK YOU” cards? Once a year, we compose a “FUCK YOU” card list and send each person on that list a “FUCK YOU” card; replete with big, bold King Kong font. Just sit down, compose a list, fill out cards, go to the mailbox and drop them in. Fuck you, fuck you, and fuck you; oh and definitely fuck you.

Puerility aside, I’m staring at a collection of Christmas cards. Christmas cards I received last year. Presumably from people who know me. People who know I’m an atheist. People who sat down, filled out a card, went to the mailbox and dropped it in. Fuck you. Merry Christmas. The thing is, I think it's hilarious. I ain't making it up.

Crying And Sobbing In Denver

My entire world was inside my mouth. Chicken, tomato, and feta cheese omelets draw my full attention. It’s a level of attention a Buddhist monk never reaches. Enlightenment is a chicken, tomato, and feta cheese omelet. But it never fails. Something or someone always ruins something perfect. Sara turned on ESPN Sportscenter. There was some self-impressed McDude prating on about something, nothing of any particular interest to me. That is, until he mentioned Jay Cutler.

He’s a little bent out of shape. Josh McDaniels, the Denver Broncos’ new head coach, tried engineering a trade for Matt Cassel. That didn’t set well with Cutler, and it didn’t set well with some Broncos’ fans. Cutler finds McDaniels mendacious, while some fans scaled Mt. Elbert just to wax apoplectic about trading a franchise quarterback. Self-interest, body paint, and Matt Cassel aside; it should come as no surprise Coach McDaniels might want to trade Jay Cutler.

Coach McDaniels is an acolyte of the Bill Belichick philosophy of winning football. That philosophy requires players with maturity, sound judgment, and football intelligence. All are attributes lacking in Jay Cutler and so a trade, or a trade attempt, isn’t surprising. But what is surprising is the silly manner in which Cutler has handled the situation.

Cutler’s behavior indicates a lack of maturity. Prior to Tradegate, Cutler got in a verbal confrontation with the AFC West’s other petulant 20something child, Phillip Rivers. It happened towards the end of a Broncos/Chargers game and there’s nothing unexpected about players from rival teams talking a little trash. Trash talk is not unexpected, but pulling the derogatory crotch grab on national television was a bit unexpected, and immature. And it’s congruous with his behavior during Tradegate. He has refused to speak with Coach McDaniels, refused to take phone calls from the Broncos’ owner, Pat Bowlen, put his house up for sale, and openly pouted in the media. It’s becoming an open secret that he’s the one leaking the details of meetings with McDaniels to the media; an act that not only speaks to his lack of maturity, but also calls into question his judgment.

Questionable judgment is a common theme with Cutler. Last season during an interview he claimed to have a stronger arm than John Elway, who, ex-wife excepted, is universally loved in Colorado. Not only that, but he’s one of the best quarterbacks to ever play in the NFL. He earned that distinction not through arm strength, which is neither a necessary nor sufficient condition for successful quarterback play, but through proficiently reading a defense before the snap and solid decision making with the football. In other words, John Elway possessed sound judgment. Cutler, on the other hand, throws inexcusable, dunderhead interceptions; puts a $2M home on the market during a recession, blabs to the media, and demands a trade while still under contract for three more years; not one a demonstration of sound judgment. There are those, however, that will disagree with me.

The Cutler supporters say elite players don’t get traded, and Cutler is an elite player because he’s a franchise, Pro-Bowl quarterback. A franchise quarterback is one that perennially leads his team to winning seasons, division titles, conference championships, and Super Bowls. Jay Cutler may one day become a franchise quarterback, but he’s not one yet. He’s a young, good quarterback with potential. Potential only means you haven’t developed into a franchise quarterback yet, and you may never do it. Some will say he’s a lock to become a franchise quarterback because he made the Pro Bowl this year. The Pro Bowl is meaningless as an indicator of anything more than popularity among your peers and fan sentiment. For example, let’s compare our two petulant children, Cutler and Rivers. Cutler threw for 4,526 yards, including 25 TD’s and 18 interceptions on 616 attempts; a completion percentage of 62.3, and a QB rating of 85.5. Rivers threw for 4,009 yards, including 34 TD’s and 11 interceptions, on 478 attempts; a completion percentage of 65.3 and a QB rating of 105.5. The numbers show Phillip Rivers outperformed Jay Cutler, yet Cutler makes the Pro Bowl while Rivers was snubbed. If someone clearly more deserving than another is left off the Pro Bowl roster, while the less deserving player goes to the Pro Bowl, then it’s an award devoid of meaning or capacity as an indicator of anything, except popularity. Further, Phillip Rivers was named to the All-Pro team, which is held in higher regard than the Pro Bowl and voted exclusively upon by members of the national media, while Jay Cutler failed to make the team. So Jay Cutler is not presently an elite quarterback and trade talks shouldn’t launch fans into a collective paroxysm of incredulity.

What should give fans fits is Cutler’s low football intelligence. Eighteen interceptions is not an extraordinary amount, especially considering his 616 attempts. But what was maddening is half those occurred while forcing the ball to Brandon Marshall, who was often double and tripled covered. Defensive coordinators realized Cutler compulsively threw Marshall the ball. Cutler appeared unable to adjust and threw the ball to Marshall as if he were single covered, which often resulted in some heinously stupid interceptions. Those types of interceptions are inexcusable because he spent the past four years in the same system, so you have to assume he’s familiar with the offense. So he’s probably going to struggle with this new, unfamiliar offense. In fact, he may struggle more than most would anticipate. I bet McDaniels and the new coaching staff have some idea, though.

So the way I see it, the controversy surrounding the attempted trade is pseudo-news. Jay Cutler is an immature quarterback with a big arm, and lacking in football intelligence and judgment. You don’t need a big arm to have a successful career as a quarterback, but you need an age appropriate level of maturity, sound judgment, and football intelligence. So the trade discussions involving Jay Cutler aren’t really surprising, and the only news is how poorly he’s behaving. I ain’t making it up.

NBA or NFL?

36
Have been accused of spousal abuse


7
Have been arrested for fraud


19
Have been accused of writing bad checks



117
Have directly or indirectly
Bankrupted at least 2 businesses



3
Have done time for assault



71,
Repeat...
71,
Cannot
Get a credit card due to bad credit


14
Have been arrested on drug-related charges


8
Have been arrested for shoplifting


21
Currently
Are defendants in lawsuits, and

84
Have been arrested for drunk driving
In
The last year


Can
You guess which organization this is?







Neither,
it's the 535 members of the
United States Congress


The
Same group of Idiots that crank out
Hundreds of new laws each year
Designed to keep the rest of us in line.

I got your Congressional hearing right here, pal.

Blue Moon As A Hangover Cure?

There's a t-shirt that reads, "A hangover is a sign of a job well done." Seriously, I'd rather a firm handshake and maybe a gold star. I'm going to knock back this industrial sized barrel of Blue Moon and a platter of nachos and hope for recovery. It won't work, nothing besides abstinence or moderation ever has, but I can hope.

Ska Ta Boulder

My car key needed to be replaced, again, so we drove to Boulder to grab it. A little ska en route never hurt anyone.

Who Knew?!

Late January and snowing in Colorado. Imagine that. Notify...someone. Not that it snows nearly the amount the media would like you to believe, it does snow an appreciable amount. No need for kvetching and feigned surprise.

A Plush Day

It was 68 degrees yesterday. I knew it would be freezing & snowing today so I took advantage of the day. I stopped on the way home from the gym & grabbed a 6-pack of Left Hand Brewery's Milk Stout. Good stuff. I paired it with a sun drenched balcony.