Tony's hot blonde machine linked me the other day, and my traffic for the past 3 days has at least quintupled...lets say sextupled just for the schoolboy giggles of the titillating word.
Anyways, plans for tonight hope to include:

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Well, this post was meant to be written to coincide with the 1 year anniversary of my first post on the 17th, but computer issues on Sunday, and still ongoing have kept me otherwise occupied. Apparently Window$ had issues with the, what I thought to be, trivial 'copy' and 'paste' commands, and did not copy my documents folder over to my storage hard drive before I formatted on Sunday night. Now obviously hindsight is 20/20 and I could have backed up to DVD, or copied everything to my laptop just to be sure, but no, instead I formatted my harddrive and wiped at least 4 years of documents and over a year of pics from my digital camera (nevermind the years worth of pics I had scanned before I got the digital). A couple file recovery programs managed to recover a couple of files intact, but bank records, timesheets for work, old essays, reports, presentations and course notes, all gone. So once again, I am late in bringing my anniversary post to the masses.The colonels will operate under rules laid down by President George W. Bush for what he called a war on terror after the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks on New York and Washington.
Every year in the second week of July the true legends of baseball come out, and the current star players, that aren't misfortunate enough to be injured at the time, come together and put on an exhibition of what makes baseball a great game. While the intensity of regular season, and moreso post season rivalries aren't desirable, its great to see the guys get together all smiles, with their kids around them, enjoying the game. Obviously, no-one enjoys all the advertisement and marketing involved now, but deep at the core of it, it brings a smile to my face to listen to Reggie Jackson, Joe Morgan and Chris Berman talk baseball, while Bobby Abreu puts on a derby clinic. And I'm sure tonight's game will be no worse.
I was privileged enough to go to the '91 All Star Game in Toronto. I was too young to fully appreciate that I was seeing some greats like Carlton Fisk, Dennis Eckersley, Kirby Puckett, and Eddie Murray towards the end of their careers, and recognize the up and coming, and already in their prime athletes like Cal Ripken, Rafael Palmeiro, Roger Clemens and Tom Glavine, but I still remember how different the atmosphere seemed from my nosebleed seat behind the right field foul pole. Baseball was a joyful thing for me as a kid. I had, and still have all the cards I could afford as I made money at birthdays and the like. I was too young and naive to understand the money aspect of the game, the big contracts, the trades to save money, perhaps because my Blue Jays circa 1991 were on their way up to back to back World Series'. I just thought these guys went out to play baseball because they were talented enough , and envied them for that, and because they seemed to enjoy it.
Instead I'm trying to get a game of soccer or something going, but of course everyone will pussy out, and say 'oh yea, I'd love to play, but I'm too tired tonight...blah blah woof woof'. I need to get some exercise after sitting around most of last week being too tired to do anything to strenuous after work. But really though, I just want an excuse to drive around with my new deck in my pimpmobile. Yes, that's right, a 1994 Caravan with body rust starting to take over is the definition of pimp. But it just needs some TLC, and I'll whip it into shape.
I haven't been drinking as much lately as I had been, and it caught up to me Thursday night/yesterday morning. I had myself a mickey of Bombay, just enough to be in a happy daze, and didn't think anything of it, falling asleep watchin some infomercial. When it comes to harder liquor I'm usually in the clear for any kind of after effects, its beer that kills me, but apparently my body felt it should punish me for not drinking so much lately, and gave me one hell of a headache yesterday morn. Granted, I didn't have myself a glass of water or two before I crashed to rehydrate, but like I said, hard mixing usually is good to me. I have narrowed my situation down to two options, drink more, or drink more and accept that I'm getting old. Perhaps a third: drink less and accept that I'm getting old. But that should only be given consideration under the most dire of circumstances.
The second of them was this sweet piece of merchandise. How could something like this not have existed until now? How come I didn't think of this myself? Move over Bill Gates, there's a new kid in town, and they're selling the most flashy, gaudy, and yet stylish belt buckles you will ever see. Those big ass Harley Davidson and State of Texas belt buckles have officially been put to shame and are cowering in the deepest darkest corners of display cases across North America.