Hec1979’s Neighborhood

Some time after Scotch and I got engaged, we were chillin' together somewhere and discussing the many improbable triumphs our relationship has seen. We marvelled at just how much fucking FUN we have together, and how happy and comfortable we are together. We boasted to ourselves about how, even during tough times, our enjoyment of and love for each other comes so easily. We began to feel like maybe we were cheating or something. Relationships aren't supposed to be this much fun, right? All you ever hear about is how much work they are. Now, don't get me wrong... we have to work at ours too. We've worked a tremendous amount on it. But, it's that kind of work that you love, partially because it's fun work, and partially because you know the payoff is huge. Anyway, as we got further in to our engagement and closer to our wedding day, we started to wonder if some authority figure was going to intervene and come up with some reason we wouldn't be allowed to be together.

"I'm sorry, folks, but the Department of Health has determined that you two simply don't detest each other enough to be a married couple. You're going to have to find more suitable mates."

We frequently joked about how there was no way we were going to get away with locking in eternal happiness. Why should we be so lucky? We imagined guys in black suits with dark glasses and earpieces suddenly grabbing one of us and throwing them in a van, never to be seen or heard from again.

The prophecy almost came true when, on their way to the ceremony, Nadia (the Maid of Honor) and Scotch were pulled over by the most unforgiving police officer in Hawaii and detained for a long time, while being berated for a variety of offenses, including crying over being late for one's own wedding. Meanwhile, my Best Man and I raced across the island to make up time lost to a faulty alarm clock. Storm clouds literally opened up a deluge of rain as we picked up the Most Awesome Flower Girl Ever on our way.

We all made it, of course. The weather cleared up and it was, honestly and without exaggeration, the most beautiful and amazing day I've ever seen. We said our vows (in Hawaiian and English), exchanged leis, exchanged rings, kissed, and sealed the deal. We made it, and nobody can fuck with that now.

Shortly after the ceremony, Scotch reminded me to check out the inside of my ring. I excitedly removed it, squinted, and read the most perfect and clever inscription:

• 23:49 new blog post...Alicia Sacramone knocking some guy out: tinyurl.com/6bah64 #

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I've been pretty drunk in my day, but even drunk I don't think I'd let Alicia Sacramone, who can do two finger handstands and squat three times her body weight, get a free shot at my jaw.

Walmart gets exclusive rights to sell albums. So far, it doesn't seem like they've got exclusivity to any record that might be any good.

Personally, I love seeing stuff like this. I LOVE watching the recording industry continually shoot itself in the foot, head, balls, etc... The more stupid shit like this they do, the less records they will sell, and the less they will produce, which will encourage actual artists (not manufactured "bands" who have no talent or motivation) to just produce and distribute their own work. Sweet.

...by the most amazing site on the web! The "guest book" slideshow at the bottom is my favorite part. Who says they didn't have the internet in 1975?

I think it might be a dangerous or perhaps rabid baby... Hence, all the warnings.

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Don't know about you, but I've been a fan of the Olympics, summer and winter, ever since I can remember.
When this year's Games came around, I even managed to get the Missus interested in watching, something she's avoided over the past 40 years or so.
We were simply awed by the pageantry and flash of the opening ceremonies and looked forward to settling in for the two-week sports fest.
Then, it began to hit the fan. There was the violent stabbing death of the American visitor and the stabbing of his wife by a local nutjob. I thought, well, these things are part of today's society, so hopefully that's the end of it.
Then we learned that some of the fireworks that helped make the opening ceremonies so stupendous were nothing more than enhanced computer effects. Gads, what's next, I thought.
I got my answer soon enough, when it was revealed that the beautiful child's voice we heard at the ceremony did not belong to the little girl we all saw. Rather, it belonged to another little girl who the organizers thought just wasn't pretty enough to show the world. That was simply awful, I thought, though I'll acknowledge some of our top pop stars have been known to lip-sync through some of their own performances. But at the Games?
The controversy over the ages of the Chinese gymnastics competitor erupted about that time, when a Chinese newspaper revealed that one or more of the girls were younger than stated on their passports. You have to be sixteen or older to compete, and some of the girls were said to be as young as 12 and 13. So the Missus and I watched the gymnastics meet with some interest. I think the newspaper was right. There's no way some of the girls were 16, or even close.
And so it has gone on and on.
I personally found the NBC commentary on the gymnastics to be downright fawning over the Chinese girls, and as a layman who's been watching the games for decades, I thought the judges were way too generous with scoring the hometown girls and guys. But hey, that's just me.
I felt the same way about the networks' commentary on the diving competition. Again, Chinese mistakes were reported as minor errors while everyone else's mistakes were seen as egregious and not deserving of even a passable score.
Why do you suppose that was?
I thought the commentary on Michael Phelps, admittedly the superhero of the Games, was way over the top. I felt sorry for the kid after a while. He couldn't pick his nose or scratch his but without a worshipping comment from the network bigmouths.
And, hey, did anybody notice how Costas' hair color seemed to change toward the end of the first week. I swear, it looked like a bad dye job, or worse, a bad toupee. Again, that's just me.
And when all is said and done, the Games are a refreshing respite from the lousy week-after-week programming.
I can't wait for the London Games.

I miss my wife. I get home tomorrow, though!