For those of you...

... who remember the "Random Notes" in Rolling Stone magazine:

The Canes played the most complete game of the season to date last night dumping Washington 5-0. Erik Cole got the hat trick, The Caminator got his first career regular season shutout and Mike Commodore was everywhere on defense. Scott Walker continued to be the best off-season move in history dishing out two assists on beautiful transition plays -- one to Cole and one to Eric Staal. It was a complete 60-minute-from-the-goal-out effort. Hope they have the same kind of game tomorrow night against Pittsburgh. See you there! (I'll be one of the rowdies in Section 328 -- come by and say hi.)

'Tis the season to exfoliate. Every year the "brown snow" falls from the trees and buries the yard. I look forward to it with mixed emotions. On the one hand, my long weekend is going to be largely taken up with leaf removal. On the other, is there any activity more conducive to burning off excess testosterone than strapping a 2-cycle engine to your back and vanquishing the deciduous invaders from above? Okay, is there an activity you can do by yourself that's more conducive to ... you get the idea.

Why is it that I wait until I'm nearly crazed by my hair to get it cut? I don't understand it. I know how fast it grows. I pretty much know when I'm gonna need another one. And yet, seems like I have to get to a stage where my hats dont' fit anymore to do something about it. It's not like it takes a whole lot of time or money and I know I'll feel better about life afterwards. why do I put it off until I can't stand it anymore? Maybe that's how I'll cap off (no pun intended) my exfoliation adventure.

I dig smart chicks. I dig smartass chicks. Some guys as boob men, some are ass men, some are leg men. I'm a cranium man. Don't get me wrong, I love a great ass and long legs as much as the next guy. More than most actually. But what good are they if the space north of the neck is empty? I can think of no more pefect hell than being mired in a relationship with some vacuuous bimbo whose only attributes are destined to fade into nothingness a few years hence. There's no real inspiration for this post other than some of the profiles I've read recently written (and I use the term loosely) by women whose looks could stop a clock, but who seem incapable of stringing together a coherent sentence that doesn't involve the words "cuddling", "down-to-earth", "fun-loving", and/or "independent". Or more accurately "independant". Honestly, have you heard of spell check? Use it for fuck's sake. And apparently many of these women have Multiple Personality Disorder as well. If I had a nickel for every time I've read "I am an {independant|down-to-earth|fun-loving} women...". No. You are not an "independant women". You are a moron. Get a clue Barbie. "Women" is plural. As in more than one of you. One woman is quite enough to try to keep up with, thank you, why would I want more than one of you? Especially more than one of you that can't spell?

The sea change in both houses of Congress after the recent elections warms the cockles of my heart. Which is good, because little else in this world is worse than cold cockles. It would seem that the dominoes have begun to topple for Dubya and his posse. It's just a shame that it took six years of corruption, disastrous domestic policy, and even more disastrous foreign policy to wake the voting public up. My greatest fear is that this victory for mainstream America will blunt the point of the effort to take back the country. It doesn't take much to divert the attention of a population with a notoriously short attention span. Keeping my fingers crossed for 2008 and beyond.

I leave you with this question: How can these two surveys be simultaneously accurate?

How Quirky Are You?

Your Quirk Factor: 68%

You're so quirky, it's hard for you to tell the difference between quirky and normal.

No doubt about it, there's little about you that's "normal" or "average."

How Normal Are You?

You Are 60% Normal

Otherwise known as the normal amount of normal

You're like most people most of the time

But you've got those quirks that make you endearing

You're unique, yes... but not frighteningly so!

Stumble This!