It's Badgerrific! Nar nar nar nar.

Neutral Man, the Flying Dutchman, and I have been talking about moving out of ol' 1213. It's coming soon, you know, the end of April. Wow, I've lived in this house for three full years. Where did the time go? I can barely remember moving in, it almost seems as if I've always lived here. I remember living in West Quad and 606 (Mary Court, with Saturday Night, Boof Daddy, and Justin [I will NOT call him J-Dawg] as housemates: Best. House. Ever.), but in my mind's eye those memories look like a movie. It's all seen through a camera, not my own eyes. But I remember making spagetti for From Russia With Love, and hearing SNL and Boof getting ready for football games (they were both in the Michigan Marching Band) on Saturday mornings, and Friday nights watching anime while everyone else went out. Those were such great days.... But 1213 just feels so much more real. Living here with people I didn't like, but merely tolerated, like Captain Obvious, the Mouse, and the rest of the Idiot Brigade. Befriending and then learning to hate Alber. Blowing my chance with a girl named Hell-ya. Meeting Lindsay. The living room, where we met; playing "You Don't Know Jack" in Alber's room and I would have sworn I saw something in her eyes; the hug on the stairs; the parking lot, site of so many football parking antics, and also where she broke me heart; listening to El Grande Braino and his girlfriend have sex upstairs, the two of us talking, me in the bed and Linz on the couch. Three years, a hell of a lot out of twenty-three. Three damn years in this shithole, but it wasn't so bad. No, it really wasn't so bad. Eddie the Bat, the kegerator, the band, my toilet which always, always backs up; I love this fucking place. Maybe familiarity and love really are the same thing, I don't know, but I'm going to really miss this shithole.

I've been thinking about compiling some kind of list of all the girls I've liked. Just some minor biographical details, mostly concerning at what point in my life I liked each of them. I haven't made up my mind about how much to say, however, so for now all you get is a list of pseudonyms. A.H., Skeeter, Mrs. Blinky, the Coxswain, Psycho Hose Beast, From Russia With Love, Hell-ya, Q-Girl, and Lindsay, omnipresent in my thoughts. (Oddly enough, the two with whom I got farthest were the two whom I liked least, Psycho Hose beast and Q-Girl.) I see Hell-ya every so often at work, and she is still an absolutely gorgeous creature. In the right cultural context, she'd be a dame to kill for, a face for which to launch a thousand ships. My correspondence with From Russia With Love is now and always has been sporadic, but I should remedy that.

Hmmm, now to (maybe) engage in a little of the old internet commerce, maybe pick up a few old issues of Sandman Mystery Theatre.

True power is being able to force a man to fight a badger. "You have displeased me! Guards! Make this man fight a badger!" I don't know if his life hangs in the balance, but how do you ever live down having to fight a badger? Nar nar nar nar. (<--The noise badgers make!)

Coincidence or Not? The last two girls I've gone out with share two similarities: both had French last names (Psycho Hose Beast = LaVoie, Q-Girl = Chappell) and both were exceedingly fat. I must make a note to red flag both of those things as dire warning signs. Note to self: at all costs, avoid obese girls with French-sounding family names.

On the other hand, the last two girls I really liked (I liked each of them far more than either girl I actually went out with) both had very British last names (Hell-ya = Hale, Lindsay = Shaw). Excellent. Mere coincidence, perhaps? Perhaps. But in the words of plain, simple Garak, "I believe in coincidence. Coincidences happen every day. But I don't trust coincidence."

I must ask a favor of Queen Skeeter. Your Majesty, please grant me leave to make war upon the demon who plagues you. Sign a letter of marque and I will rain fury upon his miserable head such as he has never known. I will not suffer these games to be played at the expense of a dear friend. Let me destroy him.

Fun With Formality!
America - the United States of America
Great Britain - the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland
Canada - the Dominion of Canada*
Japan - Japan**
China - the People's Republic of China
Germany - the Federal Republic of Germany
(West Germany - the Federal Republic of Germany)
(East Germany - the German Democratic Republic)
France - the French Republic
Israel - the State of Israel
Russia - the Russian Federation
(the Soviet Union - the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics)
South Korea - the Republic of Korea
North Korea - the Democratic People's Republic of Korea
Taiwan - the Republic of China
Australia - the Commonwealth of Australia

*The Canadians insist that they are no longer a Dominion (a self-governing part of the British Empire), but as long as Her Majesty Elizabeth II is also the Queen of Canada, which she is, they remain the Dominion of Canada, est. 1867.
**There is no formal name for Japan. I mean, the dynasty of the Emperor has been unbroken for 2500 years, but the Empire of Japan died in the ashes of Fat Man and Little Boy and the country has never been formally renamed.

Exhibit A The Zodiac Killer, who terrorized the Bay Area during the late 1960s and early 1970s, was never caught. He used to write to the police at length about his crimes. (Among the many things wrong with Zodiac, he gave himself that nickname. Dude, you can't give yourself a nickname.) Now, how did he choose his victims? Apparently, at random. The first few were all couples in isolated areas, couples going to some or another kind of "Makeout Point." One could suppose that those particular couples were bothering him, and that's why he chose them. They were in a place where he didn't want them to be, doing things he didn't want them to do. He killed them in response to something they'd done.

Exhibit B Japan is an island nation. After the United States forced Japan to open up to international trade (a gold star for whomever can tell me the year without looking it up), the Japanese embarked upon a rapid and frighteningly efficient process of modernization. (For more information, look up the Meiji Restoration.) The Japanese did this to resist the imperialist domination that had befallen so many other parts of Asia. However, as I said before, Japan is an island nation, and poor in natural resources. So, in order to stand on their own two feet, the Japanese needed more resources. In the Sino-Japanese War of 1895, Japan seized Korea and Taiwan from Imperial China. In 1931, Japan seized Manchuria, declaring it the puppet state of Manchukuo. In 1937, they invaded China proper, setting off a series of events that culminated in Pearl Harbor, Iwo Jima, and Hiroshima/Nagasaki. The Chinese had resources the Japanese wanted. So, the Japanese took what they wanted, killing any Chinese they had to in order to do it.

Thus My well-meaning but terribly misguided friend SNL asks, "But don't you think terrorists often act, at least in some part, because of American policies?" By that logic, the Zodiac Killer acted, at least in some part, because he didn't like his victims. By your logic, Scott, the Japanese acted, at least in some part, because the Chinese wouldn't give them what they wanted. Yes, terrorists do act, at least in some part, because of American policies. That does not mean we are not blameless. To give you another example, Timothy McVeigh murdered 168 people in Oklahoma City because he opposed the federal government. To say that al Qaeda is just reacting to American policy is to say that McVeigh's victims were responsible for their own murders; after all, most of them worked for the federal government that he so hated.

And now, because it is never a bad time to shine the light of knowledge into the darkness of ignorance, I give you the most famous words of George Santayana: "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it."

This morning, I saw both Prime Minister Blair and his opposite number Iain Duncan Smith offer their reasons for supporting the war in Iraq. It is a wondrous world in which we live, that in the same minute one can see a live debate inside Whitehall and the battlefield of the very war they are debating. What a time to be alive.

Nation-Building
I would submit that the United States, with assistance from the United Nations, will do a fine job of rebuilding Iraq into a functioning member of the world community. I offer as my examples of successful nation-building Germany, Japan, and South Korea. Earlier today, a friend cited Iraq's non-industrialization as a nullifying difference between it and my examples. This is a valid point of discussion. However, I offer another explanation as to why we successfully rebuilt the three states cited above and why we will successfully rebuild Iraq: it was and is in our strategic interest to do so. A liberalized and remilitarized West Germany was the lynchpin of Anglo-American (later manifest as NATO) resistance to Soviet hegemony. By the 1970s, the West German Bundeswehr (army) was the second-largest in NATO, and would have been crucial to the defeat of any Societ aggression. A liberalized and economically powerful Japan was the key to resisting Sino-Soviet encirclement, and provided a secure base of operations for the stablizing Amercan military presence (ironic, I know, given Vietnam, but the Seventh Fleet really has generally kept the peace, especially in containing Chinese adventurism). The first of the Asian "tiger economies," a rich, militarized, and eventually democratic South Korea was the key to defending Japan. American strategic interests, sustained American attention.

The Middle East is one long, rolling disaster. The only democratic states in the entire region are Israel, which is hated by every other state in the area, and Turkey. Turkey is, unfortunately, neither Arab nor terribly rich. Iraq, however, Iraq is a goldmine. Iraq has potentially the world's second-largest reserves of petroleum. An oil-rich, pro-Western, and someday democratic Iraq would serve as a moderating influence on the entire region. It could exert considerable pressure on the Palestinians, help Iran through the difficult process of transition once its young populous finally turns on their masters and tears down the Islamic Republic, and remove American dependence on the corrupt House of Saud as our chief ally in the region. A strong and liberal Iraq, like Germany, Japan, and South Korea before it, would be a great asset to American security and foreign policy. That is why I believe we will be necessarily committed to the successful rebuilding of Iraq.

I caught a glimpse of The Ataris on MTV last night. Aw, crap. Okay, it's too late to keep MTV from getting their claws into them; so, now all I can do is hope against hope that The Ataris emerge from this unscathed. Possibly the best line ever written about love by any band ever, The Ataris, "The Last Song I Will Ever Write About a Girl" from Blue Skies, Broken Hearts... Next 12 Exits: "Girls are fucking evil!"

The second season of DS9 arrived this morning. I'm going to be cloistered in my room from "The Homecoming" through "The Jem'Hadar."

Last night, I saw a play entitled June 3-4, 1989. Though it needs a new title, it was very powerful, moreso since almost all the players were Mandarin speakers, visiting students and the children of immigrants. I was nine years-old at the time of the Tiananmen Square Massacre, the summer I turned ten. No matter what I learn about the PRC or how many times I visit the mainland (I've decided that I have to at least visit China before the decade's end), China will never escape the shadow of Tiananmen. Everything I know passes, to one degree or another, through that blood-soaked filter.

Put a lot of thought today into Mike Nordstrom, the champion of Ironsburgh and protege of The Spade in Empire City. Refined his "powers," and cleared up a lot of my own confusion about how such an average Joe came to possess and command a (possibly extradimensional) Martian Deimos-type Planetary Annihilator. His "codename" was Challenger, but now I'm considering a number of alternatives, none of them quite satisfactory. Yet.

Tiananmen Square and my own comic book ideas in the same post. The beautiful intersection of the sacred and the absurd, or am I simply hopelessly random?

"You're spending the night with me... Fred Garvin: Male Prostitute." I need a girl, but a better girl than my last one.

I apologize.

I think my examples are too obscure. For instance, how many of my readers have heard of Arbenz? How many could point out Guatamala on a map with no names? On the other hand, I refuse to lower the level of the discourse. I just won't. Here's a hint: 1954.

Dad gave me leave to preorder the rest of Deep Space Nine with his credit card; so, a few moments ago I did. Too cool. I think I'll ask for the fourth season (August 12) as a birthday present and the seventh season (December 8) as a Christmas gift. (The idea is not mine, I stole it from the Mountain.) Since I won't have a stable address between now and the end of the year, I'm having them all shipped home. Dad will have to ship them from home to wherever I am, but that is a reasonable price for being able to buy them all now and paying Dad back in installments. When he's being nice, my dad is a really generous individual. But then Mr. Hyde comes out to play and it is all too easy to forget the kindnesses of Dr. Jekyll. Such a horribly conflicted man... and in ever so many ways I am frighteningly like him.

I hate hippies; so, I'm actually glad they're rioting in San Francisco, showing their true colors. I do feel a great sympathy for the normal citizens of that beautiful city, held hostage by the very vagabonds they thought made their town so special. Those whom gods destroy they first make proud.

I've got Reel Big Fish in my headphones, my Bosstones softball shirt on, and, downstairs, the Donald Rumsfeld War Machine live on TV; what a time to be alive.

Good news, everyone, according to Saturday Night Latham, terrorists are going to receive a huge surge in "recuritment" due to the war in Iraq. By implication, then, he is saying that all terrorist attacks are caused by us; the terrorists are not responsible, they are just responding to American policies. Huh, that's quite a theory. Truly amazing, just eighteen months after 9/11, and we've already gone back to the idiotic mentalities that allowed that attack to happen in the first place. God bless the American people, fools that they are.

Also, SNL, you'll be pleased to know that just yesterday, good ol' Ari said that France was a long time ally of the United States and had been a great help in the war on terror. But that doesn't mean they dictate American foreign policy. You may want to cede our national sovereignty to the United Nations, but unfortunately there is a little thing called the Constitution that prohibits that.

Linz sez I need to start watching Six Feet Under because I like Peter Krause. True, I do feel a great affection for the man's work as Casey McCall on Sports Night, but on the other hand I hate HBO. Hmmm, quite the conundrum.

The problem ("the" problem, as if it's the only one) with people is that they are morons. They say this and that and make all manner of outrageous claims, yet they do not understand the necessity of supporting any of those claims with evidence. It is not, I'm afraid, enough to state your case; just because you say it does not make it so. To wit, the United States and nation-building. In the 2000 presidential race, I was horrified when then-Governor Bush said he did not believe it was the duty of the U.S. to engage in global nation-building. Happily, it appears that the president has learned the folly of his former belief (to paraphrase both Howard Cosell and Mitch Albom, "Keep your eyes open long enough and you might change your mind").

That which has raised my ire: the assertion that after we have toppled Saddam Hussein's dictatorship, the United States will not engage in the kind of nation-building necessary to make Iraq a strong, self-sustaining country. The United States, the United Kingdom, and the "Coalition of the Willing" are, as I type, dismantling the regime of the Ba'th Party through a massive coordinated attack by land, sea, and air forces. Regime change through invasion, not CIA machinations; thus, I would submit, this action more closely resembles the destructions of the Nazi regime in Germany and the Bushido cult in Japan, and the repulsion of the North Korean invasion of the South, than it does the secret overthrow of Arbenz in Guatamala or the installation of Pinochet in Chile. If you disagree, bring forth your evidence.

Also, life in post-Taliban Afghanistan is far from perfect, but it is a damned sight better than it was under the Taliban. For those who believe we should be reforming Afghan life overnight, I would submit to you that a) in doing so we would be engaging in the sort of imperialism generally deemed immoral since the end of the Second World War and b) we should first consult the Soviet Union to see how well its attempt to do just that worked in the 1980s. The Afghans are a proud, stubborn people. Try to force anything down their throats and they will very likely slit yours.

Knowledge is not, in itself, power. Knowledge is a weapon. For me, it is a weapon I use to cut down those who would dare disagree with me.

I would remind my friend Saturday Night Latham that although Ted Williams was a Marine, serving in both the Second World War and Korea, we still had the World Series during both those conflicts. Not to be overly melodramatic, but one of the things our legions are fighting for is the right of every American to sit back on his fat can, in safety and security, and watch the road to the Final Four.

When is the next Starman trade paperback going to come out? I have issues nos. 0-53 as the trade paperbacks Sins of the Father, Night and Day, A Wicked Inclination..., Times Past, Infernal Devices, To Reach the Stars, and A Starry Knight and nos. 61-80, the glorious finale, as individual issues. All I need is that one last collection to fill in the gap between the end of Jack's* trek through the stars and the epic battle of the "Grand Guignol" storyline. Starman, my friends, was not just another superhero comic book. It was a true novel in pictures complete with, since it was still a comic book, the occasional cameo by Batman and Superman. I would recommend it to everyone, especially those who enjoy books but don't read comics.

*The most recent Starman was Jack Knight, son of Ted Knight, the original Starman. Jack never wanted to be Starman, but through a series of adventures, meeting with both triumph and defeat, he came to embrace the legacy and finally understand his father. But, in the end, being Starman didn't define him as a person, and Jack laid down the cosmic rod in order to be with the woman he loved and raise his son, Teddy. He passed on the rod to Courtney Whitmore (a.k.a. The Star-Spangled Kid) whose destiny has yet to be written, and drove off into the sunset.

The post that was supposed to be here was lost. I hope Google can improve things around here, since Ev and his cronies are flaming morons.

As a little boy I was raised on war. G.I. Joe's (a real American hero) struggle against Cobra (a ruthless terrorist organization determined to rule the world), Autobots versus Decepticons, Voltron's endless battle, He-Man's defense of Eternia and the Thundercats' of Thundara. My father never served in the military and, as he was of military age during Vietnam, was very glad for that fact. Both my grandfathers, may they rest in peace, did, but neither ever talked about it. Grandpa Little was an infantryman in the Pacific. He was an ordinary man who witnessed and carried out unspeakable deeds; I cannot blame him for not desiring to walk down that particular sidestreet of Memory Lane. I have never had a serious desire to serve in the military. I have always said this is because I do not believe I would respond well to the discipline (which is true), but secretly I suspect it is because I am a coward. I wish to neither kill nor die for my country, love it dearly though I do. Yet despite my own cowardice, and in a nation with an all volunteer military all of us who do not serve are cowards, I have always favored and argued for an adventurous and interventionalist foreign policy. On Wednesday night, the policy I have always desired will be put into effect in the skies over Iraq. Right and proper though it may be, it is a terrible thing to send men into battle against each other. To temper my boyish enthusiasm for war, I find it invaluable to turn to the timeless wisdom of Wilfred Owen. I highly suggest that each and every one of you read his masterpiece, "Dulce Et Decorum Est." Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.

Another piece of wisdom to contemplate (from, I believe, Cicero): Inter arma enim silent legis.

I Fucking Hate St. Paddy's Day.
My name is Michael Patrick Wilson. I may be only a quarter Irish, but I'm Catholic and that comes entirely from my 100% Mick Grandma Little (maiden name: Phalan). Plus, my name is Michael Patrick; so, I've always been more Irish than either my brother or sister. I fucking hate "Plastic Hat Irish Day" (thanks to Skeeter's roommate for the name). If you like St. Paddy's Day, you can go fuck yourself.

The ultimate American expression of St. Paddy's Day came from that vapid whore SSG, who as she sipped a Coors which had been dyed green said, "I wish I was Irish." You fucking cunt, what does drinking dyed-green American piss-water have to do with being Irish! There is more to being Irish than drinking beer, and even if there wasn't it wouldn't mean drinking that weak shite! Drink a Guinness or a Harp or a Caffrey's for Pete's sake!

Also, the symbol for Ireland isn't a fucking shamrock, you bastards, it's a harp.

Last but not least, St. Patrick is the patron saint of Ireland. A Catholic saint. What the hell are all you Orange Protestant wankers doing celebrating the feast day of a Roman Catholic saint? It's Saint Patrick's Day, so piss off if you aren't Catholic.

That's all for me. In the words of Clover Connelly, "Fek aff, I'm Irish!" Erin Go Bragh!

Crocadylus pontifex "Is the Space Pope reptilian?" Bwa ha ha ha!

Animania politics! Neither El Presidente nor Snarky, two of my closest allies in the club, are at all fond of Q-Girl. Therefore, I was pleasantly surprised that neither of them gave me a hard time about our brief "relationship." Sweet! And, as always, Snarky was ready and willing to expound upon the greatness of all things Alan Moore. I'm going to miss those guys.

Oh, for fuck's sake! I was going to use today's Animania screening to "break up" with Q-Girl, but she's sick as a dog so she isn't even here. And I can't break up with her until she feels better. Damn it! She called me last night to tell me she was sick and, since she's the club treasurer, fill me in on a few things I have to do because she's not here (I'm the club vice president). Of course, when she called she was also checking her email. Gah, have you no manners? I can hear you typing! Geez Louise, I thought that was tremendously tacky. And on top of all that, she interrupted me while I was watching Generations, which is a far better film than I had remembered.

On that note, the Star Trek films, in descending order of quality: Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country, Star Trek: First Contact, Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, Star Trek Generations, Star Trek III: The Search For Spock, (here is the dividing line between good and bad) Star Trek: Nemesis, Star Trek: Insurrection, Star Trek: The Motion Picture, and Star Trek V: The Final Frontier.

To those of you who favor deferring to our allies regarding Iraq: Remember 1992, 1993, 1994, and 1995? During those years, the former Yugoslavia (specfically the republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina) was racked by turmoil, civil war, and genocide. The solution put forward by our European allies was to allow diplomatic pressure to stop the violence. The European nations would put pressure on Serbia, which in turn would rein in the Bosnian Serbs who were terrorizing and slaughtering their Bosnian Muslim neighbors. The European diplomatic effort worked really well, so well in fact that tens of thousands died in campaigns of ethnic cleansing while hundreds of thousands more were forced to flee their homes. The killing didn't stop until NATO - without any "authorization" from the United Nations - used military power and the threat of U.S. ground forces to impose a peace. NATO peacekeepers have been on the ground ever since, but at least the bloodshed has stopped. Sometimes, war is a necessary evil, and the only way to do the right thing.

Hey, kids, get hip to what you're missing: Blue Monday rules! Make no mistake, most of the comic books I read are of the superhero variety. I'm a DC Comics kid and love their pantheon of icons: Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, The Flash, Green Lantern, Aquaman; superteams like the JLA and JSA; and weird niche ideas like the Suicide Squad, the Doom Patrol, and Dial H for Hero (currently resurrected with a smashing debut as H-E-R-O). At the same time, there is absolutely nothing better than the innocent teenaged hijinks of the Blue Monday gang. Bleu's crush on Mr. Bishop, Clover's tough girl vulnerability, Alan and Victor's irrepressable pervertion, Bleu's stalking of Adam Ant. Good times, good times.

"C-
You look really pretty today.
-V"

No offense to Skeeter's boytoy e, but gymnasts are jerks. Their practice area is in the same facility in which we conduct intramural mini-soccer. Yesterday, a ball accidentally sailed over the partition. I went over there and was exquisitely polite in my efforts to retrive it. Those snobby bastards eventually let me come in and look around for the ball (they knew where it was the whole time), but not before giving me the cold shoulder and a ton of attitude. Listen, you cocks, it isn't my fault that you guys feel inferior for being short! You're incredible athletes, get the fuck over this Napoloen shit! Pansies.

Based purely upon frequency of blogging, I think the Squirrel King is dead. (No, I haven't been online the whole time since my last post. I took a break to watch Inuyasha. And then I wrote a long email to The Watergirl. I've only been online most of the time since my last post. I love how much TV I watch; I'm such a happy slug.)

Ethan "Bubblegum" Tate, Sweet Clyde, Curly Joe... the Globetrotter episode of Futurama is just about the best episode ever. Hee hee.

I keep listening to Elvis's (Costello, not Presley) "No Action," as I think it has significance relevent to my decision regarding Q-Girl. Were I to ever use a psuedonym, it would definitely be Declan MacManus. Lindsay was annoyed that I didn't call her last night to tell her Elvis was hosting The Late Show, but then I reminded her that she was at the opera and couldn't have seen it anyway. That's all the Elvis-related news for today.

I think I need to be more malevolent. Or at least use the word malevolent more often. It's a fantastic word.

Neville, dreadful recession is what happens when a bubble bursts. Silicon Valley is a victim of its own hubris. It's unfortunate that so many people are out of work, but that's what happens when overvalued businesses run headlong into the immovable wall of reality. Consider the example of Flint, Michigan. Flint was a one horse town; that horse was the auto industry, specifically General Motors. With GM largely gone, Flint is now largely dead. There's a lesson in there, I'm sure, a lesson about not putting all of your economic eggs in one basket.

Rereading some old issues of Green Lantern, I'm reminded of how much I miss the real Kyle Rayner. Yeah, I know he's a fictional person, but I still miss the fictional person he used to be. Under his current writer's reign of terror, he has become unrecognizable. I miss his old up-and-coming archenemy Effigy, too; way better than the poor man's Sinestro he tangles with these days. Sigh. Even if the future isn't very bright (I'm unfamiliar with the incoming writer's work), at least the current hack will be gone soon. And bring back Kyle's original costume, dammit!

The Evil Princess will be back in Michigan sometime in the next couple of days! Huzzah!

Elvis Costello guest hosted The Late Show tonight. That was odd. So, of course now I'm listening to This Year's Model.

Linz called tonight while I was at work. We've been playing phone tag for so long that I haven't spoken to her in nearly a month. I miss her. Not the way I normally miss her, I miss the way we used to talk at least every week, often twice. This past Summer, she was new to Berkeley and had few friends. I told her she'd forget me as soon as she got a life. She called me silly. I hate it when I'm right. (Note the irony: she called me tonight; so, clearly she hasn't forgotten about me. By Lucifer's beard, I'm retarded sometimes.)

"Red dragon tattoo
Is just about on me
I got it for you
So now do you want me?
With nothing to prove
Will you be my honey? Oh yeah
In you I confide
Red dragon tattoo
I'm fit to be dyed
Am I fit to have you?"
(I wore my Fountains of Wayne T-shirt today; so, I was thinking about that before Lindsay called.)

Today's grand prize (you don't actually win anything) goes to Hello Sarah for getting in on the ground floor vis-a-vis ending my fledgling relationship with Q-Girl. I'm looking for a reason not to say, "I don't think we should see each other anymore," but I seriously doubt I'll find it. I worked it all out in my journal Tuesday night. Does being with her make me happier? No, not really. And that, I suppose, is that. The only reason I can see to be with her is that she lets me touch her, but I'm not that guy. It's not that I refuse to be him, it's that I'm really not that guy. I wouldn't know how to be him even if that's what I wanted. (I don't know if this has any significance, but I feel it is at least worth mentioning. At no point has Lindsay entered into the calculus of this experiment. This is about me not being terribly fond of Q-Girl.)

Way back when I first found out that Lindsay had a boyfriend (three months into the realtionship...), I looked around to see what my dating options were. I selected three candidates and designated them Bachelorettes Nos. 1, 2, and 3. Bachelorette No. 3 was revealed as a racist, and then as a crazy girl: NO. Bachelorette No. 1 became Q-Girl, and you've just read how that went: NO. Bachelorette No. 2, the most physically attractive of the three, is a Trekkie. However, her favorite show is Star Trek: Voyager: a thousand times NO. Back to square one, folks, and all the while Jake's been merrily fucking Lindsay.

And with that, "Radio, Radio."

Two thoughts: first, I need to own more Johnny Cash. I've taped a few songs, using as my source Che's tapes from when I worked at Red Hot Lovers (man, I loved that place), but I need a lot more material to be able to decide if he's a fucking genius or just really good. Second, lately I've been thinking a lot about the Flaming Lips and possibly dropping some bread on their CD Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots. Yes, mostly because of the title.

Naomi Watts is on the cover of Esquire. I need a girl like that.

Right now, I'm IMing with Q-Girl. We're "arguing" about whether or not dogs suck. I cannot even begin to put into words how much this is not the conversation I want to be having right now.

Everybody sez that it's okay to go out with Q-Girl; it's fine to see a girl without really being emotionaly invested in her. Something about that just doesn't sit right with me. This is just a small-scale, kill-some-time relationship, but I think what's bothering me is that I'm disappointed in myself. I feel like I'm settling, even though I know with absolute certainty that this relationship will come to a definite end, at the very latest, when I move. I think she likes me a lot more than I like her, but that's not what's bothering me; I'm not exactly sure why, I'm just vaguely disappointed with myself.

From Chuck Palahniuk's Invisible Monsters: "When did the future go from being a promise to a threat?" Also, from Choke, I'm in love with Paige Marshall. (If you've read Choke, you know how wrong that is.)

Right now I'm reading three books: A Clockwork Orange, which Zach Nie! loaned to me unrequested; Warriors Don't Cry, on requested loan from the Flying Dutchman; and The Oxford Illustrated History of Modern War, which I brought from home. That is my book, not one of Dad's. Zach kept my Green Arrows for a really long time; consequently, I feel no pressure to get the book back to him anytime soon. Plus, I truly hated the movie; so, it's been hard for me to get into the book. After these three, I have to read Joseph Heller's Something Happened and the anthology The China Reader: The Reform Era. Dry, but informative. And Chuck Palahniuk's Lullaby as soon as it comes out in paperback. So, a novel, a recounting of the civil rights movement, an anthology about modern war, a novel, the workings of the modern Middle Kingdom, and a novel. Maybe I read too many novels? Nah. The China Reader is interesting, but I need novels to break up the monotony.

I bought two GCAS shirts; so, basically, I can wear one all the time. Sweet!

The current Guster crew: the Bald Mountain, The Watergirl, Neutral Man, and me.

A Few Notes on the War
Saturday Night Latham's statement that the U.S. is currently experiencing "record levels of unemployment" (March 6) is false. It's completely false. The current recession isn't as severe as the recession of 1981-82 nor the stagflationary era of the late 1970s. I feel Saturday Night's being influenced by his own unemployment; I have to believe this, as he is not an idiot and yet the above statement isn't even a little true.

Saturday Night also wants to know why the U.S. is going ahead in Iraq without our allies France, Russia, and Germany. Because, Scottie, is we listened to them, there wouldn't be any weapons inspectors in Iraq at all. Also, Russia isn't really a U.S. ally; while we are strategic partners and cooperate on many issues, one must remember that they have vehemently opposed the expansion of NATO into Eastern Europe. France is not even a full member of NATO; in 1966, France militarily withdrew from NATO. So, please don't buy into France's argument that they have always believed in collective security. And Germany? Well, the Germans know all about not stopping a genocidal dictator until it is too late.

The upcoming "The Last Angry Man" column in The Newsletter will no longer we titled "Marching on Baghdad," but rather "Peace In Our Time."

On that note, Saturday Night Latham will hereafter be known as Neville Chamberlain (also: Neville C-Dawg, Saturday Neville Latham, et alii).

If the United Nations is unwilling to stop threats to international security, how exactly is it different from the failed League of Nations?

When President Theodore Roosevelt engineered the Panamanian revolt against Colombia, which allowed the United States to build the Panama Canal (see "A Man, A Plan, A Canal, Panama" from RCY's Good or Suck!), he did so despite being roundly condemned by international opinion, including France and the United Kingdom. He broke off part of a sovereign nation because that sovereign nation refused to allow us to build the Canal. And he wound up on Mount Rushmore; God bless the Old Lion!

Remember, the populations of most countries, the weight of international opinion, supported the 1938 Munich Accord, which sold sovereign Czechoslovakia to Nazi Germany. Just because something is popular, that doesn't mean it is right.

"Britain had the choice between war and dishonor. She chose dishonor; she will have war." Sir Winston Churchill, 1938, after Chamberlain engineered Munich.

It was once said, not by me, that the problem with arguing with me is that I know so very much. Yes, it is difficult to argue with me when I have a superior grasp of the facts, a superior knowledge of history, and the truth as my ally.

"Radio Free Wilson '02" and then "Marching on Baghdad" (tentative title) followed by "Death to Puerto Rico!" and the two-part "Proud Europa." After that, perhaps something on the two Koreas. We're back in business, baby.

Yes, Watergirl, the mascots have codpieces.

Happy birthday, Dad.

It's amazing to look back and remember how sad the first season was for Star Trek: The Next Generation. Just, just awful. And yet people watched, though these same bastards never gave Deep Space Nine the benefit of the doubt. That's okay, DS9 doesn't need your love. DS9's sense of superiority will keep it warm at night, just like Ed Begley Jr.'s car that runs on his own sense of self-satisfaction. And now I think I'm going to watch "Improbable Cause" and "The Die Is Cast." I love lazy Saturdays at home.

Genesee County All-Stars 1, Bandito's 0
I just got home from the GCAS banquet at Bandito's; if you're Catholic and go to a Mexican restaurant on a Lenten Friday, be prepared to eat a lot of beans. Man oh man, it was absolutely incredible being in the company of those guys. Barkey, I must say, is one of the best storytellers I have ever heard; the man holds his audience in the palm of his hand, yet makes them feel as if they're a part of the story. Barkey, Purman, Sal, Palmer, Lubes, Dave, G, Keanu, Tad, and I; Martel and the Mountain couldn't make it, unfortunately. We finally got the shirts, designed by Mr. Luke Emeott (Grand Blanc, class of '98), and they are fabulous. The Bobcat and the Horse (the Powers Chargers) united, astride two innertubes, gigantic codpieces swaying in the breeze. The All-Stars team is an extention of the Grand Blanc Swimming and Diving family, my family. If you want to understand me, begin by understanding how much this all means to me.

When President Bush moves "unilaterally" (apparently, Britain and Australia aren't separate countries) against Iraq, people give him shit. When he tries to defer to our allies (South Korea and Russia) on North Korea, people give him shit. For fuck's sake, people, you can have it one way or the other, but not both! I would suggest that more people acquaint themselves with Alan Foster Dulles and the idea of cognitive dissonance. Meanwhile at the Hall of Justice, I thank Senator Daschle for his comments yesterday, as they will be used as a club against whomever wins the Democrat nomination in 2004; President Bush's reelection is now all but assured.

Also, I'm sobered by the knowledge of how many of my friends are complete idiots. I swear, these people just shouldn't be allowed to vote.

Things I've Decided
I haven't really decided anything, but I like that as a subject heading.

If your blog is more quizzes than anything else, you are a sad, pathetic human being. As a side note, a few nights ago while IMing with Q-Girl she sent me the link to her blog. I realized this was my opportunity to tell her I had a blog, but politely request of her that she never ever visit it. But I didn't. At the time, it seemed rude and inappropriate. Of course, I missed my chance; so, now I can't ever make that request of her. I just have to lie low and hope against hope that in her online journeys she never happens upon the Secret Base. By the way, I don't know what she hopes to get out of her blog. The updates are sporadic and, to be honest, worthless. A blog does not have to be of any great significance, I suppose, but if you never say anything important to you I don't understand why you would maintain such a site. And yes, her site is dominated by the pictoral results of online quizzes. "Which Buffy character are you?" ("You're Willow") "What mythological creature are you?" ("You are... Faerie") Gag me.

I just found out the Evil Princess is in a sorority. To be honest, yes, this bothers me. She said, "Sometimes you have to get off your soapbox and realize that people you care for will do things you don't approve of, but that doesn't change who we are." No, my dear, but it does mean you are not quite who I thought you were. Two of my best friends in high school were Danny* and Nicky the Greek. In college, at State and Eastern, respectively, both were frat boys. Through college, though I cherished them both, we rarely talked, except those first two summers when we were all home living with our parents. Nick was a huge pothead all through undergrad; we're cool again now that he's off weed, in dental school, and no longer hanging out with his frat "bros." I haven't spoken to or heard from Dan in over a year; I don't even know if he's living in East Lansing or Grand Blanc. (* I met Danny when my family moved to Grand Blanc; it was shortly before the Mountain was born - having a third kid was why we needed a bigger house - and I was two. When we were little, he was called Danny. In middle school, he announced one day that he wanted to be called by the more mature name Dan; so, he was Dan the Man, said with equal parts affection and derision. Now that we're men - "men" - I feel it is once again appropos to call my friend by his true name, Danny. Why? Because Danny was my best friend, the only person I've ever loved enough to call my other brother. I'll find you one day, Danny, and I'll save you if you need it.)

I hate the Greek system. I hate how those people behave and I hate the inherent nature of their organizations. My fake campaign for the U of M student council, which actually ended up getting me elected, was run under the banner of the F.R.A.T. Party. Do you know why? Because I hate frat boys and sorostitutes! (F.R.A.T., Friends Rebelling Against Tyranny. Man oh man, those were great days.) I cherish the Evil Princess, but she has to understand that it bothers me to know she was proudly a part of something I truly loathe, and not without reason. If her being a sorostitute didn't bother me, I wouldn't be who I am.

I got about three hours of sleep, but only after Mass. Of course, while I was sleeping all the ashes rubbed off my forehead. Damn it, the ashes are my favorite part of Ash Wednesday! (Then again, every Mass is a chance to see an actual, honest to God - forgive the pun - miracle. Transsubstantiation: just anther great reason to be Catholic.) Also, fast days suck, especially fast days when you're on only three hours sleep. I'm going to go to bed now, primarily so that breakfast will get here all the sooner.

News From the Middle of the Night
Well, actually it's past five; so, now it's no longer night but very very early morning. I knew I shouldn't have slept in 'til noon yesterday. Anyway, I don't know if it's good news, but I've found a site even more vapid and annoying than mikewilson.com: check out michaelwilson.com to come face to face with the startling realization of just how many people need to be lined up against a wall and shot. As Lindsay once said, "You really love the world, yet hate everything in it."

In the immortal words of Khan Noonien Singh, who until his overthrow in 1996 held dominion over a quarter of the world, "I'll chase him 'round the moons of Nibia and 'round the Antares maelstrom and 'round Perdition's flames before I give him up!"

She will be mine.

It is very inconvenient, from an egotistical point of view, to date someone who is significantly more busy than you. In trying to arrange Friday's plans with Q-Bert (thanks, Jon!), it is quite clear that my calendar is fairly open and relatively able to accomodate her hectic life as a grad student. But, then, my ego is not actually bruised by this. I love my lazybones lifestyle. I cherish the freedom which many suburban salarymen (to borrow a description from our Japanese friends) would kill to attain. I am poor, but I am beholden to no man (except my parents, who are always good for a weekend of meals and a warm bed). I am the captain of my own destiny. It just so happens that for now I am happy to work intramurals and bum around the city of my alma mater, and dream about the coming journey to Beantown and the unknown. On second thought, my ego and I love that I have the time to work around her schedule. So much more often than not, being me just kicks ass.

The Heroes of Empire City
Empire City
The Cloak - Aero Girl - The Gargoyle* - Dreadnaught - The Nightowl* - Achilles - Shadow Woman - Mr. Noir

Aero City
Aeroman - Aerowing - Retrograde - Atomic Woman - The Blur - Mr. Impossible - Aeronaut

Centropolis
The Echo* - Hyperman - The Pyre* - Morningstar - Black Rod

Astropolis
The Lion - Lioness - Leo Rex / Lightning Rod - Titan - Man of Science - The Boxer - The Inspector

Patriot City
The Frost* - Captain Astounding - Strongman - Tornado

Ironsburgh
Challenger - Arc Light - The Spade (II)

The Hyperion Guard
The Futurist - Helios - Celera - Lady Parnassus - Pax - The Brick & Agent M - Abstract Man - Cold Fusion - Darkwoman

Founding Members of the Secret Society of Mystery Men, A.D. 1949
The Cloak - Captain Lightning (deceased) - The Spade (I, deceased) - Aero Boy (now Aeronaut) - The Spark*

Other Cities: Neopolis, Puritan Bay, Ultrapolis, Imperium, Lydonham; Other Teams: the Spymen, the Protectors, the Interdictors; Villainous Teams: the Doom Squadron, the Fourth Reich.
*soldier of The Cloak

All characters, names, and distinctive likenesses copyright (c) 2003 Michael Patrick Wilson. All rights reserved.

I'm thinking that maybe I should just give up on Lindsay. Let's be honest, she's never going to love me the way I want her to. And I'm never going to be happy about that. Being her best friend is in many ways aggrivating the pain over my inadequacy. And it's not good to always be mad at someone who cares so much about you; it's only a matter of time before I'd feel like crap for not just striking out maliciously. Or worse, I would strike out maliciously and purposely hurt her. No, better to tell her I'm in love with her, and that I can't be her friend anymore. Just be done with it and never speak to her ever again.

And then, the dark bastard reminds me, because he wins no matter how you slice it, I'll always be plagued by the worst question in the world, "What if...?" That, and I'll hate me and my weakness for giving up. Quite the pickle in which I find myself.

My dad's giving me his current computer as soon as he buys a new one and the weekend before last he was talking about buying a new used car (an old-school Monte Carlo) for us to use. Does that mean he'd let me take it to Boston? Because he's already said he won't sell me the Mousemobile. The single most frustrating thing about Dad is his extreme kindness and decency... when he's in the right mood. Then he turns around and he's a complete bastard. I hope to speak at his funeral, may it please be years off. The main thrust is this: "Today we lay to rest my father, the most conflicted and contradictory man I have ever known. In death may he find the peace that so long eluded him in life." And because he raised me to be a man of my word, then I will do a little jig on his grave.

What will I call my next car? Could there be another Mousemobile? Is "Mousemobile" the name I give to my car or is it solely the name of the one and only Mousemobile? Could there be a Mousemobile II? Or better yet, Son of the Mousemobile? Will I one day drive a hydrogen-powered minihovervan called the Mousemobile IV? If he buys us that Monte Carlo, I already know it'll be called the Count of Monte Carlo. But perhaps there can only be one Mousemobile, to one day be laid to rest in an automotive Avalon. The once and future Mousemobile.

Great Caesar's ghost, I can watch Star Trek: Deep Space Nine in my own home! This is a dream come true. I love Star Trek. I has been a profound influence on my life, and one of the single most important things in my life. Given the choice of never watching Star Trek ever again or never seeing a given individual ever again, the person loses nearly every time. Of all the various incarnations of Star Trek, the single greatest is DS9. And now I have the first season DVD boxset. Angels and saints be praised.

Commander Benjamin Sisko! Major Kira Nerys! Lieutenant Jadzia Dax! Doctor Julian Bashir! Chief Miles O'Brien! Constable Odo! Quark! Jake Sisko! And already we're seen Rom, Nog, Morn (as yet unnamed), and Gul Dukat! By the time it's over, the shape of the universe will have changed. Amazing.

WIN FOR MICHIGAN

That's the slogan that adorned the T-shirts worn by this year's Michigan Men's Swimming and Diving Team, the 2003 Big Ten Men's Swimming and Diving Champions! 1) Michigan 727, 2) Minnesota 689.... Hell, yeah!

Now to go drinking with the Big Ten officials and meet organizers, really a swell bunch of folks.

"Lousy Smarch weather."

Something just occured to me about U of M's pools. Inside Canham Natatorium are both the Matt Mann Pool, for competative swimming, and the Dick Kimball Diving Pool, the purpose-built diving well. Dick Kimball. Richard Kimball. Our diving well is named after The Fugitive.

A small note to Saturday Night Latham (by and by, his blog is infrequently updated, but it's a good read nonetheless): the proper spelling of my beloved car's name is the Mousemobile.

I worked all day at the Big Ten Men's Swimming and Diving Championships, held this year in U of M's Canham Natatorium. Now, we all know that the Big Ten Conference is actually comprised of eleven teams, yet today (continuing tomorrow and Saturday) only ten were in competition. Why? Because Illinois dropped its men's team in order to comply with Title IX requirements. How in God's name did this happen? I am all in favor of encouraging women's athletics, but NOT AT THE COST OF MEN'S SPORTS! How are we helping female athletes by denying deserving male athletes athletic scholarships? As currently enforced, Title IX is a disgrace, an iron boot under which men are punished rather than women supported. Where is the justice in this? Today, I'm embarrassed to be an American.

On a lighter note, a big (no) thanks goes out to the Smartest Man Alive. Due to a brilliant observation on his part, now every time I think about Q-Girl, I start to call her Q-Bert. Thanks, Jon, now I'm dating a pink Big '80s video game character.

Year One
In this forum, I don't write about all kinds of things because I'm saving up my fury to write about them for The Newsletter. That strategy (strategerie) would make a lot more sense if I got off my arse and started up The Newsletter again. It's coming, my friends, honest, it's coming.

"Last one out of Liberty City burn it to the ground."

I shaved on Monday, not because my neckbeard was bothering me, but because I figured I should. Today, I shaved because my neckbeard was killing me. Only two days growth (as oppsed to the previous five) and yet it was driving me absolutely crazy. I just felt dirty. Ick. Childbirth may be a bitch, ladies, but thank your lucky stars you don't have to shave your face every day for the next fifty years. My heart goes out to the Bald Mountain for what he must be going through.

I haven't been looking forward to this...
Year One - The Fight
Skeeter's best friend in all the world is Laura. Laura is getting married in a few months. In order to keep everyone up to speed on the wedding plans, Laura and her intended, Nick, created a website. Follwing a link from Skeeter's blog, I decided to check out the wedding page. Sweet fancy Moses, it was the most simultaneously amusing and horrifying thing I had ever seen! I mean, this was the most over-the-top crazy thing you could possibly imagine. Wanting to share my good time, I several times referred to Laura and Nick's site as "the funniest thing on the Internet" and provided a link. Unbeknownst to me, Laura was a regular reader of the Secret Base; though she never said a word to me, apparently I really hurt her feelings by mocking the site. This is when Skeeter decided to step in. She told me I was hurting Laura's feelings and asked me to stop. I did not react well to the idea of censoring myself. A fight ensued. Because Skeeter is my friend, I complied with her request and have not since linked to the wedding site; except for the purposes of this retrospective, I have scarcely mentioned it. Here's my problem: the over-the-top nature of the site bothered me; so, I chose to mock it. This mockery hurt Laura. Such was not my intention, but in any case the solution, it seems to me, would be for Laura to stop visiting this blog. Her site bothers me; so, I won't visit it. My site bothers her; so, she won't visit it. Everybody's happy. Instead of asking Laura to simply stop visiting my site, however, Skeeter decided that the only equitable solution was to ask me to change my site. When I challenged this, she told me that she was framing the issue as me asking her to choose between her loyalty to Laura and her loyalty to me. I wasn't asking her to make that choice, but in any event she told me that she was choosing Laura, and that Laura would always win. A couple days later, Skeeter asked if we could just stop fighting; she said she hated to have bad blood between us. I agreed and the feud ended. In the months since, we've talked more often than we have in years and I've been lucky enough to hang out with her the last few times she's been home. Yet despite all this, always lurking in the back of my mind is the knowledge that she cut me loose, over a situation that did not require nearly so apocalyptic a remedy. Our long friendship, and I, mean that little to her. My friendship with Skeeter, I fear, will never be as it once was. I feel unsettled, as if at any moment, without warning, the bottom could drop out. I feel like I'm living in a house built on sand. Needless to say, I hate this feeling. The best part about fighting with your friends is that nobody really wins, and nobody walks away unharmed. And by "the best part," I mean the truly sad part.

Year One
Sooner of later, everyone posts snippets of IM conversations. (AIM names have been hidden because I don't want you freaks bugging me while I'm online.)
Me: Okay. He's been attacked by a personality-vampire and is incapable of interesting conversation?
The Watergirl: which was fine with me, because i actually agreed
The Watergirl: maybe.
Me: (Oddly enough, most people end up dating their personality-vampire.)
The Watergirl: or maybe, like my blog, he's had a pretty boring few weeks. i don't know
The Watergirl: LOL!!!!
The Watergirl: THAT IS CLASSIC!!!

I quite like the idea of the significant other as personality-vampire. It explains a great many things.

Fuck! I just found out that Doom Patrol is being cancelled. First Suicide Squad, now Doom Patrol; I fear for how long a quirky book like H-E-R-O will be around. Meanwhile, Nightwing gets worse with every issue, and Judd Winick, after ruining Green Lantern, is being rewarded with the reins of both Green Arrow and the new Outsiders. I do not blame DC for cancelling the Squad and DP, they're running a business and cannot afford to sustain unprofitable products, but I do blame the stupid, fickle fanboys for not supporting these great series. These bottomfeeders can't get enough of any piece of shit with an X on the cover, it's no wonder they can't recognize greatness when they see it.

Neutral Man, it should be noted, is part of the problem. He reads all the X-books, even though he doesn't like most of them, because he has several score of continuous backissues and wouldn't want to break continuity. And because he's buying them, he doesn't want to shell out the bucks for any new ongoing series. Then again, his taste is pretty poor; so, even if he'd picked them up, he probably wouldn't appreciate them. After all, he reads Wolverine but won't even pick up an issue of The Flash.

I don't know if Zach Nie!'s recommendations can still be considered reliable. Why? Because he said Daredevil (the movie) was every bit as good as Sam Raimi's Spider-Man. Yes, he loves Sports Night and Cowboy Bebop, but, well, I just don't know. He's all over the map. Hmmm.

Last night, I spent two hours figuring out what I'd take with me if aliens (friendly, Federation-type aliens, not evil, invader-type aliens) came to me, offered me the chance to travel the galaxy with them for thirty years, and gave me two hours to prepare. They are familiar with human physiology; so, things like food and toiletries are all taken care of. What would I take with me? Who would I contact? I wouldn't want to waste any time running to the store; so, I'd just grab all the notebooks in my room and whatever film I had on hand. (Note to self: start keeping more film on hand.) What T-shirts I'd want, which CDs I'd need (crap, would they be able to synthesize batteries for my Discman or should I just ask them for a stereo?), how I'd say goodbye to my brother, my parents, Lindsay, my friends. All I can say is thank my lucky stars I already have a Pith helmet on hand.

Also, I watched the finale of The Bachelorette. It was my first experience with reality TV. Hurray, the sensitive guy "won"! Yippy! Yes, it was trashy and voyeuristic, but I won't lie: for those two hours I was completely engrossed.

Year One
Anonymity. Everything online is fucking anonymous. People feel free to say things anonymously that they wouldn't were their name to be attached. This bothers me. An anonymous statement is a worthless statement. (The only exception I will allow would be the Federalist Papers, all written by "Publius." This exception is allowed because Publius was known to be James Madison, Alexander Hamilton, and John Jay.) I use a lot of nicknames, not to protect the identities of those I am describing, but because I find them amusing. In the early days of the Secret Base, I used ordinary names. In reading The Watergirl's blog, where she uses pseudonyms to protect the names of the innocent and guilty (a la Jack Webb's Dragnet), I discovered the great fun that silly nicknames provide. Thus, my boring friend Brad became the more "exciting" Neutral Man. And so on. I have no interest in protecting anyone's identity. If you don't want your identity revealed, send me an email; otherwise, you're fair game. This is my little stand against the "liberating" anonymity of the Internet. So that I'm not a hypocrite, Q-Girl's real name is Leanna ***perhaps discretion is the better part of valor***.

Sigh, no break for me. This week is the University of Michigan's "Winter Break." At most schools, this mid-semester break is called Spring Break, but since Michigan's is in February, it is more accurately called Winter Break. I am no longer a student, but all of my housemates are. One would imagine they would like to take this opportunity to get away from the cold and snow of Ann Arbor and engage in the sort of merrimaking that so typifies the college break experience. They go away and spend a solid week drunk, I get the house all to myself. Everybody wins. Unfortunately, dumbass Simms has decided to stay in town; so he and his moron girlfriend are here every day. Adding to the joy, now that fucking weasel Wyman is back, too. It's essentially no different than normal, except now I don't have Neutral Man and the Flying Dutchman with whom I can bitch about the Idiot Brigade. Fuck! Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why can't you idiots be in Daytona Beach or something? Ah, well, the best laid plans of mice and men oft go awry. I need to buy a gun.

I know that it shouldn't bother me, but today, for no discernable reason, it does: can someone please explain to me what frat boys and sorostitutues have to do with music?

The fucknuts at Amazon have just informed me that the first season DVD boxset of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine is now enroute to me. This news has made me ever so happy. WOO HOO! The greatest of all Treks shall soon be mine! As is fitting and proper, the first season is the weakest of all seven, they were still finding their footing, but even so it contains nuggets of absolute gold: "Duet." "In the Hands of the Prophets." I'm a happy Trekkie.

Year One
It is a prerequitsite for every blogger that he read and have opinions on other blogs. I am no exception. I hate to be so common, but it if hadn't been for other blogs, the august Secret Base, to which you pay such rapt attention, would not exist. My primary inspiration has always been Skeeter's Letters From the Pedestal, the first blog I ever knew about. In fact, it introduced me to the very concept of weblogs. (That one was thrown in for the Pikachu Tamer, since he hates the word "blog.") I have dabbled from time to time in the blogs of strangers, but I cannot become interested in them. Even if I find the writing style interesting, I do not have the emotional context to give a rip what happens to Blogger X when Friend Y finds out about Friend Z's secret. The only exception to this rule would be The Watergirl's Rant & Roar; of course, in the beginning she was the friend of a friend, so it is not as if her exploits were completely contextless. (No THX-1138 are her adventures!) I would say that through mutual blogging, a musical exchange, and emailing, The Watergirl can now be counted amond my friends. Aside from Letters From the Pedestal and Rant & Roar, the only other blogs I read on a daily basis are Dylweed's Transmissions From the Obscure, the Evil Princess's titleless blog, Saturday Night Latham's new blog (to which I am uncertain if I am allowed to link), and the Squirrel King's Unscripted. Not a terribly diverse group, but I'm quite fond of them all, both as bloggers and moreso as people. There are several others which I visit on a more sporatic basis.

"Grand Blanc Swimming and Diving:
A Family With Pride for the Past,
Spirit for the Present,
Dedication for the Future,
And Excellence Always."

Last night, the Grand Blanc Boys' Swimming and Diving Team won all twelve events at Big 9 and set a record with 507 points! The Mountain blew everyone away with the power of his rendition of "The Star Spangled Banner;" I saw Coach* for the first time in forever; and the Mountain, Zach Nie!, and I all wore our old varsity jackets**. The whole thing, from start to finish, was just so much fun. The GBHS Pool, which, by Jove, will one day be renamed the Craig Oldham Natatorium, is magical. It feels like home.

*Mr. Craig William Oldham. To me, he will always be Coach. (Like Mom or Dad, that's just his name.) Sure, Larry Day was head coach my senior year (which he successfully managed to ruin, by the way) and I mean no disrespect for current head coach Matt Pearse (assistant coach to Coach my freshman, sophomore, and junior years; I love Pearse; "Shut up, Pearse!"), but Mr. Oldham will always be Coach.

**I was not a jock in high school, but I loved my varsity jacket. To this day, it is the finest coat I have ever owned. But more than that, I deserved to wear it. I was a three year letterman on a damned good swim team; I earned each and every one of those letters not because I had one iota of talent, but by being the SKP Machine. (If you ever want to see a wistful look in my eye, get me started about the swim team.)

Year One
Over the course of the last year, I have often mentioned a girl named Lindsay. For those of you who may be new to the Secret Base, Lindsay Shaw is one of my best friends in the world. A graduate student in psychology at the University of California at Berkeley, we first met in January 2001. I am in love with her. She knows this, but does not share my feelings. This has been a source of great pain to me. Lindsay is selfish, arrogant, hypocritical, and oversensitive, yet these traits are more than made up for by her humor, intelligence, beauty, and general coolness. She is amazing. At present, Lindsay has a boyfriend, Jake, usually referred to simply as "Lindsay's boyfriend" in the style of Curly's Wife (from Of Mice and Men; come on, people, read a book once in a while), though she is careful not to mention him or their activities together since she knows this causes me pain. The worst part of the whole thing is that she really cares for me - she loves me - just not the way I want her to. I often think I might be happier were we bitter enemies. Nevertheless, I love her. I would burn the world for her. It is my aim to one day win her heart. "He was one hundred and seventy days dying and not yet dead."

I woke up this morning to the sound of Zach Nie! on the phone. I love Zach Nie! because he is the master of the one minute phone call. He calls, asks you the question he has for you, and then says "I'm going to let you go." Like he's doing you a favor. In. Out. No otherwise designated time used for pointless chit chat. We could all learn from Zach Nie!'s phone etiquette.

The Secret Base: Year One
Today, The Secret Base of the Rebel Black Dot Society celebrates the first anniversary of my very first post. Following Skeeter's example, I decided to post my thoughts and ideas for all the online world to see. Given my general distain for most people, this seems a very odd course of action, but it is a contradiction within myself with which I have grown comfortable that while I loathe people, I do so love the adoration of an anonymous crowd. But none of that matters since this page is now Squirrel King endorsed! Over the course of the next week, essentially throughout the remainder of February, I will be taking a look back over the past year under the heading "Year One," in tribute to the DC miniseries Batman: Year One, Robin: Year One, JLA: Year One, the currently running Batgirl: Year One, and my own column looking back on The Newsletter's first year, "Year One." There have been trials and tribulations (but, sadly, no "Trials and Tribble-ations"), victories and defeats, epiphanies and blunders, and the ever present thought of Lindsay, without whom the world is a grayer place. So, I'll have fun because it will give me an excuse to plow through my archives and you'll have fun because, for no easily explicable reason, you seem to keep reading this brainfart of a page. It's win-win.

Things went well, I thought, with Q-Girl last night. We had dinner at Cottage Inn and then drinks at Ashley's, where I discovered she is very sensitive to cigarette smoke. It turns out she's just as weird as I suspected, with an unfortunate disposition to the Goth end of weirdness. Hmmm, this will have to be closely monitored. She announced to me that she's bi, but in such a way that I'm not certain if she is or if she thinks she is because it is cool and chic amongst a certain sector of the populous. Anyway, these are things to keep an eye on. (It should be noted that I have no problem with homosexuals or bisexuals. My problem is straight people who see homosexuals as some manner of extremely amusing novelty, like it's cool to be gay or bi. People are just people, don't use their orientation for your own amusement, just let them live their lives.) She's overly enamoured with her two cats and likes fan-fiction, which I have always regarded with considerable suspicion. I like spending time with her, but we shall see if I enjoy spending large amounts of time with her. So, we're seeing each other, but until a discussion takes place, it would be inaccurate to describe her as my girlfriend.

The Happiest Place on Earth
Going back to GB tonight for Big 9. For the first time in years, the meet is returning to GBHS. Listen, it's not just that we win Big 9 every year, we also have the best pool. Get over yourselves people (I'm looking at you, Powers), we just have the best place to hold a meet of that size. If we get out early enough, the Ponies at the Local. Sweet.

Starman
One reason why James Robinson's late, great Starman was better than ninety-five percent of the other comics out there: the third trade paperback collection of the series is entitled A Wicked Inclination....

I have a headache. This sucks, as I almost never get headaches. I'm not coughing, but my nose is stuffed and I think my headache is related to the fact that every inch of my sinus cavities seems to be full. Ugh.

My date with Q-Girl is tonight, but I still don't know what we're doing. I'm thinking Palio's. It's nice enough to make a good impression, but it's no Gandy Dancer. Opinions? I really don't know what to do after dinner. I've got several ideas, but I've shot them all down one by one. Hmmm. Maybe we'll just walk around for a while... but I don't know if she likes walks. Fuck it. I'll improvise. (And by improvise, I mean I'll IM Skeeter and make her tell me what to do.)

The Bald Mountain is going to sing "The Star-Spangled Banner" before tomorrow's Big Nine Boys' Swimming and Diving Championship. So, we'll be in GB for the evening. If fortune favors us, we might be able to catch The Tourettes Ponies at The Local. Then, the Mountain's off to spend his spring break with K. Steeze in Savannah.

Dylweed is fucking pregnant!
Okay, okay, Dylweed isn't so much pregnant, but his lovely wife Kristy has a little bun in the oven. I've almost gotten used to my friends getting married, but this is a whole new level of weird. I'd be freaking out more, but I actually heard the news a while ago. (Ha ha, I'm an insider and you aren't!) Hmmm, I'd have thought I'd have more to say. Maybe later.

Another development of Saturday: I am done with Bachelorette No. 3. I'm just done. During the dinner break, she was breaking down about the same old bullshit as always. So, we went off together to talk. I was doing my damnedest to comfort her, listening to the same crap I've heard a thousand times before (some people just don't believe in progress), when she seemed to get mad at me. She stood up and walked off, and was closed off the rest of the day. Seriously, what the fuck just happened? I didn't even do anything! So, you know what, I'm just done. All I've ever tried to do is help her through her insanely overblown, perpetual personal crisis. How can she get mad at me for that? I don't need this bullshit. I'm just done with her. You know, maybe all of your friends leave you because you're an A-1 nutjob.

The last issue of Batgirl written and drawn by the founding team of Kelley Puckett, Damien Scott, and Robert Campanella comes out tomorrow. I know you guys don't care, but I've decided I don't talk about comics enough. The current team gets the way Cassandra (the second and current Batgirl) thinks better than any of the fill-in teams who've done an issue here and there. Yes, it's because they've defined the way she thinks and reacts, but still. In my experience, when a new team takes over a book, it either markedly improves or markedly declines. The book that changes but retains the same level of quality is non-existent. Of course, maybe it's too much to ask. My fear, though, is that as often as not, the change is for the worse, and Batgirl is such a good book now that I'd hate to see it ruined. I've been reading comics for two and a half years now; it is only now that I'm really seeing how books change when a new team comes on board. Before, everything was new; instead of thinking whether or not I liked a certain team's interpretation of a character and heritage, I just liked or disliked that particular book. Now, it's becoming even more complicated. I mean, I love both Batgirl and Batgirl - she's an incredibly compelling character - but what am I to do if the book starts to suck? I've stuck it out with Green Lantern for over a year with a crappy writer, but now that he's leaving, I'm left wondering if it was worth it. The same chode is now taking over Green Arrow. I haven't been following Green Arrow as long as Green Lantern; consequently, if the book starts to tank, I'm out of there faster than The Flash. I'm just concerned for my darling Batgirl; will she ever learn to forgive herself?

I've been the asexual best friend-type for a long time now. I've got to say, at many points in my life I've been really fucking sick of it. Once, just once, I'd like there to be enough sexual tension to make a truly meaningful friendship all but impossible. On the other hand, maybe I should just accept my lot in life and shut the fuck up. Thank you, Dr. Denis Leary. "That's the title of my new book, Shut the Fuck Up! by Dr. Denis Leary. These guys come in, 'Doctor, I'm not happy.' 'Shut the fuck up! Next!' 'I'm not happy.' 'Shut the fuck up! Next!' 'He just told me to shut the fuck up and nobody had ever told me that before; I feel so much better about myself.'"

My apologies to Skeeter, but I cut my hair. My pink tresses are no more. I will admit that my contrary streak played a part in the decision - many people complimented the pink tips look, clearly it had to go - but it was not the primary reason. I just wanted to look like me again. I have very short hair. It's what I do.

For reasons unknown, AIM wasn't working earlier. Now it is, but nobody's online. Fokkers. (Well, accept the Flying Dutchman. Right now we're sharing the odd experience of IMing with somebody in the next room. Hee hee.)

After this Saturday's Animania screening, Bachelorette No. 1 shall henceforth be referred to as Q-Girl (short form of Quasi-Girlfriend... not too presumptuous). I'm not trying to get ahead of myself, but it's a rare thing for me to kiss a girl; consequently, I think there's something here. I hope to know more after Thursday's date. Don't get excited; I debated even saying anything. I'll alert you when there's anything big happening. (The following is a paraphrase, as I'm too lazy to look up the proper lines.) "What am I looking out for?" "There'll be flashing lights and a loud bell." "Really?" "Yeah."

On V-Day, I taped a sappy TV movie called The One. Why? Because it stars Richard Ruccollo, one of the two guys from the late, sometimes great Two Guys and A Girl. (Originally, Two Guys, A Girl, and A Pizza Place.) I watched the movie this afternoon. I've been thinking a lot about Lindsay today. Specifically, about her kissing me at Conor's the night of her going away party. Good thoughts, though, not depressing in the least. She's just... she's just amazing.

Listening to The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, "The Day He Didn't Die." "I really miss him/He would have loved this/I hope he can hear me."

At work yesterday, I read the entire ("entire" since it was only twelve issues) run of Suicide Squad. Cursed fanboys! Like Sports Night, it was great yet underappreciated, and came to a premature end. How could people not realize how good it was? Penciller Paco Medina's and inker Joe Sanchez's art was bombastic and energetic, while write Keith Giffen, an old master of the craft, was mining the Squad's dark history and laying down plot threads that would have sustained the series well past fifty or even a hundred issues. In the end, which came all too soon, he cleaned up his own mess; he killed off several characters who still had great potential, but better to do so than run the risk of another writer corrupting them later. Suicide Squad was a great series that deserved to be popular, yet it died while countless less worthy series continue. Alas. In the immortal words of Deadshot, "We'll burn that bridge when we come to it."

"It's so nice, I want to hear the same song twice.
It's so nice, I want to hear the same song twice."

A most excellent weekend, even though the Bald Mountain took the Mousemobile the one time I NEEDED it! More later, perhaps. For now, I go in search of blessed blessed caffeine.

I talked to Lifeguard Ray today up at the NCRB. I'm just about Ray's favorite person on the fucking planet. He's president and founder of the ad hoc Mike Wilson Admiration Society. It's always an ego-booster to see Ray. He talks too much, but he says only good things about me; so, who am I to tell him to stop?

Also, the Secret Base has been named one of The Watergirl's five favorite blogs. Between that honor, Ray singing my praises, and yesterday's championship, somebody up there likes me. If I'm going to press my luck, now's the time to do it.

House of Delicious Candies 8, U of M Sailing 9 (forfeit)
Well, we won the co-rec championship (CRA A, the best of the best co-rec teams) and the coveted T-shirts, but not the way we would have liked. Things started off badly, as for some unfathomable reason Tad, one of our star forwards, was not on the roster. What the hell, he played in all three regular season games?! Without Tad, Kevin (power forward), and Whitney (defense) we were short subs, but we were still playing them evenly until the half, at which point point we trailed 9-8. At halftime, the supervisor (the job I usually work) called over Barkey, our other captain. It turns out one of the Sailing players was not on their roster. Hang on a second, Tad is standing over their on the deck and their off-roster guy is harassing Keanu in front of the net?! Bullshit! We had no say in the matter (like say, to eject that one guy and continue), and for playing with an illegal guy they forfeited the game. It was over just like that; the T-shirts were ours. Son of a bitch! If we'd only had Tad or Kevin, it wouldn't have been a contest, even with their illegal player. Nothing against Keanu, but he doesn't have the size to battle in front of the goal the way Tad and Kevin can. Well, all I know is that we did nothing wrong, and the championship T-shirts are ours! Woo hoo!

As a side note, not to lend creedence to Lindsay's theories, but it is never a bad thing to see Lifeguard Girl in a suit.

Weekend Fun
Tomorrow, anti-Valentine's Day with The Watergirl and her bud "ft20." We're going to drink ourselves into a stupor (well, they are; I'm immune) and lament our tragic and chronic singleness. Boo hoo hoo, woe is us. I predict a smashing good time will be had by all.

On Saturday, I've once again got Animania in the late afternoon/evening, though I may depart early for a hastily arranged GCAS banquet. Will anything happen with Bachelorette No. 1? Yeah, I don't know. It shouldn't, since I have no feelings for her, but I can't say that it won't. Better, I say, to be a bastard than a liar.

Sunday, Skeeter the Hapa Girl! Yaaaaaaaaay! It should be a grand (and frightfully expensive) three days.

Once, I stayed awake for forty-two hours. It was rad. Towards the middle of the second day, I got a little loopy, but nothing like I'm experiencing now. I'm on two hours sleep and I barely know where I am. I can type just fine (except a few minutes ago, I spelled difficulty "iddiculty"), but I have to squint and really concentrate to remember it's Thursday or that I'm still wearing shoes. I'm in no shape for tonight's co-rec water polo championship game...

House of Delicious Candies vs. U of M Sailing
They whipped us in the regular season's opening game, but we're an entirely different animal now.

last night's semifinal game...
House of Delicious Candies 14, Triceratops 13
We just barely edged them out, but like true champions when the chips were down we found a way to win.

The great thing about the world is that it is a far stranger and more odd place than you could ever imagine.

Damn it, I got traded from Pittsburgh to the Rangers. I don't want to play for the Rangers. I mean, NYC is great, but I fucking hate the Rangers. Oh, wait, wait, I didn't get traded. I'm thinking of the professional hockey player with my name. I don't even know how to play hockey. Hey, I hope Mike Wilson likes playing for the Rangers. Stupid unoriginal parents....

I chewed out my shiteater of a boss, both in an email last night and today when he stopped by the pool to talk to me about the email. Yes, it did indeed make me feel better. I'm still fucking pissed about last night, but at least I was able to make someone else's day a little more unpleasant. Schadenfreude!

Roy Flan 16, Genesee County All-Stars 14
We were beaten tonight by a team that cheated better than we did and shot better than we did. I give them a lot of credit for their offensive prowess; we played solid defense, but they scored whenever they had to. I also give them credit for their creative use of cheating. The officiating was all manner of awful; I swear before God that we would have beaten them except for the officials. But, you pays your money and you takes your choice. We agreed to play intramural sports and by doing so we agreed to all the rules of the Intramural Sports Program. If you offer me any sympathy, I will not speak to you for a year. Do not mention this to me.

Genesee County All-Stars vs. Roy Flan
Tonight we face the formidable team Roy Flan. They are all big guys, fast and agile in the water, with the sure aim and ruthless play of long-time water polo players. They are an opponent to certainly respect, if not outright fear. Unfortunately, they don't have a prayer. For Roy Flan has never faced the likes of the Genesee County All-Stars. We are disciplined. We are methodical. We are relentless. ("This is me, in your face all day.") We are not a team of destiny; this will not be an easy win. But we will prevail, because we want it more.

For all my bravado, I would be lying if I said I wasn't concerned about tonight's game. We're playing better ball than we ever have before, in any year of the All-Stars. Yet I'm still not sure it will be enough. I don't know if anyone can beat them. However, I find courage in the words of Erasmus: "In great things, it is enough to have tried." A part of me hopes they just don't come tonight, that we don't have to face them. However, the greater part hopes they do come. It does not matter if we win or lose, what matters is that we step into the arena, that we fight the good fight. This is of course the Teddy Roosevelt perspective. And in the back of my head, behind my anxiety as a coach, is a small voice asking me to have faith in the boys. They have risen to every challenge, they have passed every test. "Have faith in them, they won't let you down." They have amazed me at every turn, why doubt them now? I do not. We shall meet Roy Flan on the field of battle and we shall overcome. When it is over, we will say, "We have run the course. We have kept the faith." And we will be victorious.

A stern look of disapproval goes out to K, Saturday Night's girlfriend. Rude reluctance to meet his friends is not cool.

A truly excellent time was had by all last night. Culture, food, spirits, and good friends. Plus, we were amusing as hell to our waitress at the Jug. This morning, I was awoken by the phone; it was Bachelorette No. 3 calling to tell me she'd gotten the part she'd wanted in a play. Gah, I was so tired standing there. I don't even know why, but I was so deeply asleep that I barely knew what was going on. My first conscious thought, though, was "Kill." Still, good for her. It's nice to see something in her life she's excited about. As for me, I've got to remember to unplug the phone before falling asleep. (The Mountain woke me up yesterday, admittedly at 12:44pm. The phone is not a good way to wake up, especially two days in a row, it requires more coherent thought than I'm good for that close to having been asleep.)

I spent the whole day at work, mostly feeling sorry for myself, the dark bastard trying to convince me that I'm going to die alone. "Listen, Mike, Lindsay, Skeeter, Olga, every girl you've liked would rather die a thousand deaths than go out with you. Senior year, Aisha lied to get out of having agreed to go to the prom with you. There's no way anyone will ever like you. Accept it. Also, Jake's going to shag Lindsay rotten on Friday in celebration of Valentine's Day. Face it, you suck. You're a loser." Yeah, I'm mostly done with that now, but I have to give darkie credit for sticking to the facts. From a standpoint of evidence, there is absolutely no reason to believe that I will ever have a meaningful relationship. The many reassurances to the contrary from my family and friends are really just well-intentioned lies. They don't know that I'll find someone. They can't know that. They're saying whatever they think will make me feel better. I hate days like this.

Two "quickies" with the Evil Princess in the last two days, one via Mr. Bell's talking box and the other over IM. Also, catching Skeeter online fairly often. Glad Neutral Man finally got this computer's firewall to be less crazy (i.e., it no longer interprets AIM as a tool of the Devil).

Going to see an opera with Zach and Sarah this evening. Aren't I Mr. Fancy Pants? On a related note, I caught This American Life for the first time this year. Ira Glass's voice is a wonderful way to wake up; if only that didn't mean I woke up at 1pm. I wonder what would happen if I dialed (734) H-E-A-T-H-E-R?

I'm trying not to be so moody, not to be so crazy (specifically, not to be so erratic about Linz), but it's hard to change something that has been so fundamental to your being. I just try to remember Bester. I try to remember The Stars My Destination. "He was one hundred and seventy days dying and not yet dead." And not yet dead.

Reality bites: If you were born in 1987, this year you will turn sixteen. People born in 1987 are having sex and here I am, Vestal McNosex. (If you don't know who the Vestals were, I suggest you brush up on ancient Roman culture, you ignorant puke.) You know, fuck being in love with Lindsay. Fuck wanting to get to know a girl before sleeping with her. I'm going to do all the shit I should have done in college. I'm going to randomly hook up with people I never want to see again, I'm going to prey upon the drunkest girls I can find, I'm going to tell my sense of morality to go fuck himself. And smack. I'm going to get addicted to smack.

House of Delicious Candies 26, Futsunami 10
Suddenly, the co-rec team has become absolutely badass. Lifeguard Girl and Barkey were everywhere at once at mid and Palmer was a beast and a half. He's little, but scrappy as all hell; the size of the fight in the dog, made manifest. Though still tentative before the game, both Katie and Whitney provided truly monster D. The Martels, Kevin and Kristina, buried shot after shot at forward. We were organized, we were disciplined, we were ferocious. I don't know if we're good enough to make it past the next round, but all of a sudden the fate of the House has become much more important to me. We're not yet as crisp as the All-Stars, but damned if we're not getting there. All the better, at the end of the game one of the Futsunami girls refused to shake my hand (I didn't even guard her most of the game). They got smoked and they knew it. Man, I love sore losers.Stay tuned for the further exploits of the Genesee County All-Stars and the House of Delicous Candies.

It's playoff time, baby!

I was never in High Potential and, yes, I am bitter about it. I was going to be in HP in fifth grade, but then Jared DeLine moved to town and took my spot. Of course, the last time I was at Mongolian I recognized him working as a busboy. Perfect. (Almost every time I go home, I go to Oliver T's. usually, Chris Harris is working the register. I've talked to him more buying Jones Soda at Oliver T's than I did in all our years of mutual public education.)

I dropped my discman today. I'm glad I got the first drop out of the way so relatively early. It's still working fine. As I type I'm greatly enjoying MxPx's Ten Years and Running. Truly one of America's best bands.

IMing with Skeeter, trying to explain Iran-Contra to her. Iran-Contra cannot be explained, it's too wacky. I am her geopolitical/historical whore: be it Iran-Contra or the Fourth Crusade, I've got what you need, baby.

Reality bites: Lindsay and her boyfriend have been dating for at least six months. I have to give up on her. I don't want to, but this waiting in killing me. Somebody, please, give me a reason to move on. Sorry, sorry, I don't mean to whine. Well, I do, I just don't want to seem whiny while doing it. I need a reason to move on. I will always care for Lindsay, maybe I will always love her, but I can't keep my whole life on hold until she "comes to her senses" as I have been. (Thanks, Skeet.) I need a reason to move on. Anybody? Anybody? Bueller?

Reading National Geographic at work, I realized Lisa's right. Some issues are mind-numbingly boring. But then I read the article about Sudan; if we remain involved as we have been since 9/11, we can save those poor people. The war on terror may be the salvation of the world. It would be bad for the U.N. to go the way of the League of Nations, but maybe necessary.

Note to self: sleeping for only four hours between 6:30 and 10:30am will leave you feeling sort of disoriented all day, unless it is the weekend and you're sleeping that little because you have five or six friends crashing at your house for two days of revelry and merriment. Also, shave once in a while, you dirty bastard! (Oh, come on, that was unnecessary, it's only been two days.)

We are the U.S. of A. Bow before our mighty PowerPoint presentation! Big fun at the U.N. today. Woo hoo.

Oddly enough, the scent of Neutral Man's coffee at 6:30am zonked me right out. I slept for four hours before I had to go guard. There's a new episode of Enterprise tonight and tomorrow night the House of Delicious Candies team begins our co-rec playoff campaign. AIM isn't working again. Curses! The Hank Scorpio episode of The Simpsons was on today, one of my all-time favorites. And now to cheer up the Evil Princess through the magic of email!

Maybe I shouldn't judge people as harshly as I do. But if I didn't, I wouldn't be me. I like being me. (You would, too, given the chance.)

I've elected to stay up all night. I watched an episode of Nova between 2am and 4am and then decided it just wouldn't be worthwhile to sleep. It was a behind-the-scenes look at the Joint Strike Fighter flyoff between the Boeing X-32 and the Lockheed Martin X-35. Neat stuff.

The Blue Tree Whacking Forums are going downhill at a fantastic rate. Every time I read a post by Little Coliadis, I can feel brain cells dying by the truckload. Ugh, how horrid. I fear withdrawl may become a viable option in the none too distant future.

Today on Cheers, Sam called Norm "the last angry man." So now I have two namesakes, Norm and Homer Simpson.

Real Can of Yams CODENAME: Koala
(all songs are tentative and in no particular order)
"Carpe Diem"
"Late Night Swim"
"Awful Awfulness"
"The Lando System"
"It's Your Turn, Part II"
"A Girl Named Hell-ya"
"The Cowboy, the Indian, and the Cyborg"
"Why Must Things Change?"
"My Best Friend"
"Carpe Noctum"
"Wrong Number Song"
"Our Best Song Ever!"

Truly, I hope RCY has the opportunity to record a second album. I mean, girls with musical tastes as diverse as Lindsay (Matchbox Twenty... gag me), The Watergirl (David Gray... I'm feeling ill), and the Evil Princess (MxPx... now that's my kind of girl!) all think we're a great live act. And if there's one good reason to be in a rock band, it's to meet chicks. To quote Kiel Phegley, "I joined a band for the music, the money, and the girls. The music's great, but I'm still broke and not getting any. What went wrong?" And aside from the ladies, the Superfans are itching for another album. More importantly, though, I'm itching for another album.

Genesee County All-Stars 31, Militia 1
The best part of the game was when I got a guy thrown out for unsportsmanlike conduct. Okay, these chumps were playing down two men anyway; so, they never had a chance. But, that doesn't mean we're not going to play defense. This guy, henceforth referred to by his helmet number, No. 7, was a whiny bitch. One of these dicks who thinks it's fine and good when he pushes your tube underwater and bats at your legs, yet bitches and moans when you retaliate in kind. This is the honest truth: as dirty a player as I am, and I freely admit that my first and last concern is winning, I don't start it. However, I always finish it. No. 7 started off by grabbing my wrist while I was going for the ball and kicking my legs whenever he turned to face me. That's fine by me, that's the nature of the game. He wanted to park himself in our defensive zone; so, I stuck to him like glue. When he moved, I shadowed him, and as soon as he turned around to take a shot on goal, I was all over his tube trying to flip him. He, for whatever reason, thought it was perfectly acceptable to play physical with me, yet, when I returned the favor, he acted as if a great injustice had befallen him. Typical whiny bitch. Near the end of the first half, we were playing six men to their four and actively increasing a 10-1 lead. When the ball goes into our offensive zone, a good fifteen yeards from No. 7 and I, he turns to me and says, "You wanna go?" Go? Go where? Outside to the flagpole to fight like fifth graders? Jackass. Nevertheless, you can't back down from that kind of challenge. I said, "Anytime, bitch," and kicked his tube out from under him. This was a blatant and obvious foul; I guessed there would be about a fity-firty chance of getting called on it. No. 7, though, was too good to be true; he popped up and started coming at me. He wasn't trying to get back in his tube, he swam towards me and tried to land a punch. It was amazing; the whole time I was looking at his eyes and trying to supress a smile. The referee blew his whistle and ejected No. 7 for fighting. He didn't even call my foul. It was beautiful! I passed the ball off to Tad, who promptly chalked up another goal for the All-Stars.

Did I commit a foul? Yes. Was I out of line? Debatable. Water polo is a violent, ruthless game. Innertube water polo is a far tamer, more domesticated sport. But, if you're going to dish it out, you've got to learn how to take it. I would not have kicked No. 7's tube out from under him that far away from the ball if had he not threatened me. But he showed that he was succeptable to agitation and so I agitated. I didn't take anything he did personally, not even the attempted punch. Had I known he would react that way, I might not have kicked his tube. It never crossed my mind that he would take things that far beyond the boundaries of the game. I just thought I'd put him in his place and, as a bonus, probably get away with it. At worst, he'd get a direct shot which our goalie would have a fair chance of stopping. At best, well, it's easy to win when you're playing six-to-two.

I wish that Militia had posed a toughter test, though. After the cake walk of the regular season, I was hoping to acquire a little seasoning during the opening rounds. Next week is the real test, though, the team of ringers, Roy Flan. Make no mistake, though, we can take them. They've never seen anything like the All-Stars. They have no idea what's about to happen to them. Victory shall be ours.

Tonight is the first Genesee County All-Stars playoff game. It's time to break out the sports cliches, give 110%, and kick some ass.

No Lindsay for me, I'm afraid. For whatever reason, she is a wuss and has the hardest time adjusting from Pacific to Eastern time. Consequently, her sleep cycle is way off, which combined with the stress and activity of a funeral, means that she woke up about noon today and called me, still obviously groggy, to tell me she has to leave for Metro at two (right about now); so, we couldn't get together this trip. In a way I feel relieved, since, deprived on the chance to see Lindsay, I have in no way profited from her grandmother's death. At the same time, it would have been nice to see her. Woe is me.

Trivia night at Conor's was about as I expected. There's nothing wrong with Neutral Man's School of Ed friends, they just pale in comparison to mine. It is a point worth making again: my friends are extraordinary people. They are really, truly grand. (I'm not naming codenames for fear of forgetting someone and inadvertantly hurting their feelings.) Lindsay discovered this over Christmas, both at the Blinkies' wedding and the RCY show, my friends are a superior group of individuals. Neutral Man's friends were fine, but I can't say I feel any particular desire to see them again. Two of them are engaged and mentioned wanting to host a Trivial Pursuit party at their house. Before leaving, they made a point of telling me I should come too, or they'd hunt me down and dye my hair back to its original color. As threats go, I found that one rather charming; however, that was the high point of the night's wit. Needless to say, I shan't be joining them for Trivial Pursuit, much though I do love that game.