It's Friday, you sunsabitches!

It's Friday, you sunsabitches!

One of my neighbors just said that. I was out checking my mail. He was saying that to his fellow porch-dwellers. I think it was intended to rile them up, to get them excited about the fact that it is, indeed, Friday. But I think it fell a little flat, not much unlike Bluto's big speech (Germans bombed Pearl Harbor) near the end of Animal House.

In my mind, and at risk of repeating a Randall Graves-like series of catastrophic (yet hilarious) events, I call my neighbors the Porch Monkeys. Mostly because morning, noon and night, you'll find them sitting out on their porch, watching the street that runs between mine and their house.

I close the store from time to time. I'll get home after midnight. One of the small things I enjoy in life is how the grass in the front yard feels on my feet. That might be the most sissified thing I've ever written, but it helps center me. It's a nice feeling, and I recommend it.

Anyway, I'll be wandering around the yard in my bare feet at 1 or 2 in the morning, and suddenly I'll hear voices from across the way. Or I'll see the glowing tip of a cigarette, and I'll know that the porch monkeys are standing their post, sentry and witness to all that goes by on our road, even at the darkest part of the night.

Actually, I was outside cleaning my truck out one day, and I figured out there was some manner of game going on, where all would say "Whoo" whenever an eighteen wheeler would roll by. I never found out the scoring, but it seemed like they were enjoying themselves.

But that's what one of the porch monkeys said. "It's Friday, you sunsabitches!" It's been ringing in my head since then.

That's how easily nicknames get made. Because all morning, I've been calling them "those sunsabitches on the porch."

Not a whole lot else going on in this neck of the woods. Heading down this weekend to catch the Braves and Cubs. Good to get out of the house, catch a ballgame or two.

This is just a thought, and it's probably not really a good one. I often fear that my favorite game is pricing itself out of future business. I mean, if people are paying $40 for a ticket, fine. But can a family of four afford to go anymore? It's probably with no warrant, and baseball will continue to make money. But it's something I think about, whenever I pay $8 for a beer.

I had a missed opportunity last week. I had the day off, and I'd put a little thought into going to see the Braves and Lookouts. Didn't go. Missed the little spat that has been all over creation since then.



Ah well.

Speaking of ball games...or games, since this particular one's played with a puck, the Stanley Cup's coming to southern California. Emily's got a nice piece on it...

I made the comment over there that I've never had my team win a national championship, in any sport. I'm a Cubs fan, so there aren't many around who did see them win it. Living in Nashville made me a Titans fan, and dammit they got close. The Predators have been decent the last couple of years, but can't do dick in the playoffs--and it's looking like they're running north to Canada. My short NBA fandom revolved mostly around rooting against Michael Jordan and the Bulls, much like my college football attention was devoted mostly toward rooting against the University of Tennessee, so I never really had favorite teams there.

I should note that, oddly, when I watch college basketball, I end up rooting for the Tennessee men's basketball team.

There's the women's basketball team at Tennessee. But there's one last admission to make: I don't care about women's basketball.

I've tried. But I don't.

Changing the subject.

Want to catch a couple of flicks sooner or later. I really want to catch Knocked Up, at some point. Seth Rogen's been my favorite part of 40-Year-Old Virgin and Undeclared. (Can't say that about Freaks and Geeks--he's great there, too, but you gotta give some credit to both the kid who played Bill and Linda Cardellini for those).

And the first Soderbergh Ocean movie carried enough gravitas that I'll overlook Ocean's Twelve, and go see Ocean's 13 at some point.

As an aside: you've seen Election, right? I just pulled a Tracy Flick thing with my own post, as the word "flick" looked like "fuck" to my horrible, horrible eyes.

Lastly: Can I just say that eating healthy fucking sucks?

It's expensive, for one. Seriously--if I'm buying crap, I can get out of the grocery store for under $40 for the week. I spent $70+ on fruits, veggies, fish and chicken breast. I've said it before: it's no wonder we're so fucking fat in this country: the unhealthy shit is the cheapest. Why should I spend $4 on a bag of apples when I can spend $1.25 on a box of Little Debbie cakes, or $2 on a bag of Oreos?

And for two, when you take away eating like shit, I have no real vices. That is unless you count huffing paint, and that's not really a vice so much as it is something I depend on to communicate with my muse.

I do alright with the eating until a stressful day. Which is not to say I do badly--I do rather well. But it's on those days that I could sit down and eat a loaf of French Bread like a candy bar--just peel back the wrapper and go to town.

Yep. I have no real way to end this post, except this way:

Neighbors whooing trucks.
Beers cost Eight Bucks.
Congratulations Ducks.
Flicks that look like Fucks.
Healthy Eating Sucks.
It's Friday, you sunsabitches!