I'm not even supposed to be here today.

Ok, so I got enough "Your Friend sent you this CNN.com article" e-mails yesterday, that I figure that this needs to be the topic du jour. No, no, not the one about the bear with discriminating taste. (Although, it's good to see that all of God's creatures have little care for the awful. Ever seen a bear watching a movie with the Olsen twins? I thought not.) No, the news from the balcony is that Kevin Smith has announced the January production of a sequel to his first (and arguably his best) feature film, Clerks.

Huh?

That was my first reaction. Kevin Smith seemed to be doing what he can to prolong his career in Hollywood in a very savvy fashion. Jersey Girl, although I never saw it, seemed to be a good flick to get into his portfolio in order to make him seem like a formidable choice for future projects. He was slated to direct and write "The Green Hornet", although has recently scaled back to just the writing title. (well played, clerk.) Even an update to Fletch was in the works. But first, he's gotta give us more Clerks. Don't get me wrong, I thought Clerks was an outstanding movie. But where does the sequel come in? Part of its charm was that it was the day in the life of a couple guys, nothing more. Knowing more about their live, I think, takes away from the original's charm. Unless it's a VH1 Behind the Register look at Dante and Randal, I don't know how much story can develop out of this. (I need more cowbell.)

The news has reported that he's fallen in love with the movie while working on the 10th anniversary edition of the DVD. This reason, above all others, I can understand. When Spudicarius and I did the parody concert in 'ought ought, there's nothing like revisiting that project to make yourself want to write some more tunes for a concert redux. (Avril Lavigne parody? What was I thinking?) The movie will take place about 10 years later. They can't still be in the quik-stop and the video store at this points in their lives. SO, I'm assuming he's got a sweet vision in mind, otherwise he'd know better. It's like trying to put the same actors in the same roles for one last unneccessary hurrah. Hold a sec, phone call.

"Finance, this is Chris. What's that? That was the premise of Major League 2? Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that. Ok, thanks for the call. Bye."

Like I said, a screenplay worth filming is essential to do the first movie justice. It's a fortunate thing that this is Kevin Smith - I feel he can pull it off, despite having NO idea what he was doing in Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back. Looking back, it was just a lot of cameos with no real premise. This one will be smaller, more focused, and better. Of course, if this becomes a Clerks franchise, how many sequels can we expect when it takes a small budget to produce???

37?

Talking over Jack and Coke

Before we get underway this morning, I have no idea about what Friday's post was about. None. We'll call it "a by-product of resuming formal education, and the associated late-night work session." Or maybe "silly." That's right, I'm getting edumacated once again. I spent this last weekend in Queenstown, MD, for the George Washington AMBA Program Residency. This will be my learning fix for the next two years of my life, save memorizing the entire dialogue to some Sorkin screenplay. **Tangent Alert** I think it's essential as a movie fan to know all the lines to at least one whole movie, reel to reel, production logo to fade out. And since there's few who can match him in straight dialogue, it's gonna have to be a Sorkin flick. Or maybe all of Sports Night. Hrmm... **End Transmission.**

Anyways, 8 hours a week trying to outdo, outlearn, outquip my cohort of 36 aspiring business professionals. And it all started this weekend, where I got my fill of seminars and classes on personality type (INTP), office dynamics (Don't steal staplers), and management technique (Don't hit employees with said staplers). But the most important reason for this weekend away was to meet everyone else, since we're all going through this together.

The key to starting up a conversation with a new colleague is simple. Find something you have in common with the person, and go from there. As a result, I met a guy who was in the Speakeasys at W&M, a guy who played for Bronx Science against us in PADA all those years ago, and a girl who spent a summer in Prague. But for this other guy I met, named Roi, I have a much weirder connection:

Roi: "Oh, you're from S.Jersey? I have some property in Burlington Twp that I'm trying to sell. Do you know anyone there?"
Me: "Well, yeah, one guy..."

Officially? No, I do not know anyone from Burlington Township. Yet I have more conversations with this person than anyone else save Katie, Spud, and the fam. Who is this masked acquaintence? I like to call him "Jack."

Actually, he likes to call me. About 12 times every month for the past year and a half. You see, "Jack" is a guy who I believe is in his 80s, and every month or so, he calls his son, whose name is Jack, to check in. The problem here? His son has never, ever picked up MY cell phone. Mainly because I'm not him. And no matter what I say to this guy (who I call by his son's name), he keeps calling. Quite often 8 times in 10 minutes. I've calmly explained to him at least 80 times that he has the wrong number...and less calmly another 10 or so. He tells me what he's trying to dial. And it's not me. More on that in a sec.

What's weird is it's not just this guy with no short term memory. Other people call me looking for Jack from the same phone number, and when they do, it's even more entertaining. I know waaaaaay too much about this family because of lengthy messages left on my voice mail (Jack couldn't come up with 'Brevity is the soul of voice mail. That's brilliance, of which Jack just isn't capable of. If he were he'd get Dad a cell phone.) But it'll continue until they realize to take me off of their speed dial, add a 1 before my number, therefore calling outside of the 609 area code, and speak to their long lost son instead.

I bet Roi was expecting a simple "No."

Technical Difficulties

Anyone who has gotten a chance to read Thursday's blog is well aware that it didn't show up on the blogwaves until at least 7 last night. (If you haven't, scroll down and get your read on!) Most of the delay has been previosuly documented, but what about those missing three hours between the time that Condon wrote his cyberhallucination and when it actually appears for all to see?

The real answer is pretty boring and unimpressive. So, I'm going to make something up instead. And mock Christina Toms at the SAME TIME.

There I was, on top of old Tahoe, all covered with cheese, when I realized that the children's song that contained this lyric must have been written by the kid who eschewed the cookies and milk for paste and glue in pre-school. Toms' three friends were with me, but because they're not Sherpas, they were trying desperately to keep pace with me. (No, this poor sentence construction is not meant to imply that I am a Sherpa, either. Too tall.) Looking out over the Nevada desert, I realize that this is not where I am meant to be. Especially with Toms' 3 non-sherpas, who were named...umm...Luke, Thunder, and Emperor Tang. Where was I supposed to be? I asked my fellow hikers, but the first two proved little help. Luke's mouth was parched from the long hike in the desert, and Thunder only speaks through interpretive dance, so it was up to the Emperor for worldly advice. Like most emperors I know, Tang's attire is far from standard outdoor issue. Same old cowboy hat, same old...toga?? Emperors normally wear cloaks and robes, not togas. What's with the Greek attire, Tang?

GREEK.

While most would assume that the Emperor is just a Summer Games enthusiast, I know better. The Emperor didn't want to be at Tahoe just as much as I didn't. (Thunder seems happy, though. Looks like he's "becoming a swan" over by that boulder.) The Greek costume - a subtle hint that I missed since I got back from Columbia (Maryland, not South America). Guster was at the Greek Theatre today, and I'm stuck on a stupid rock. Life is so unfair.

Yeah, maybe "technical difficulties" would have been less weird.

Four. Three. Two. One.

"Right out the Barrel of a Gun." - Guster

That's pretty much how this day went. And before you grab your lanterns and pitchforks and go hunting for your morning post, let's just pretend that the business trip I was whisked away to was in...um...Kamchatka. That way, it's still before 10am, and if I can conquer Irkutsk and Yakutsk, and fortify Mongolia, then I will win this game of Risk. (If this doesn't make any sense whatsoever, please disregard. It's been a long day.)

My job is pretty easy-going. There is always plenty to do, with a list of tasks as lengthy as Clinton's epic. But the deadlines are established well in advance, the scenery always changes, and they let me use explosives. (name that one, Harford.) I've been preparing a feasibility study to rent $16 million dollars of office real estate in the Columbia area. (Maryland, not South America.) (SAIC is in homeland security, not crack.) A feasibility study answers one question: "Can we do this and not kill ourselves?" An example, if I will:

Premise: Standing on a rock high above the water at Buttermilk Falls in NY. Thinking about jumping into the water. Can we do this and not kill ourselves?"
Fact: Good leg strength to jump away from current standing place. CHECK
Fact: Water is not too cold to jump into. CHECK
Fact: Waterbed filled with "sharp pointy rocks" CHECK MINUS.
Feasibility: That's ah-no good.

See, easy stuff, right? (By the way, that one was for you, Emerys..) Well add complex Excel formulas, 19 sheets of back-up, a boss out on vacation and an ever-changing deadline, and it gets a little more difficult. Like beating the Chinese in ping pong difficult. (I fought the Wong, and the Wong won.)

This is why I don't post in the afternoon. Blog dementia sets in.

Ok, focus. The study was to see if this one business unit could take on 356,000 square feet of space for expansion and not force their employees to work for snack cakes (That's pro hoho, in Latin) I thought doing the spreadsheet and its dizzying calculations was my end of the job. That all changed at 9am, when I was about to sit down and mock the Redskins on the blog.

Turns out I was going to Columbia (Maryland, not South America) with the head of facilities to brief this manager on his options. Oh, snap. I hadn't exactly dressed the part today, kicking it in the polo shirt / khaki kind of life, rather than the business suit / power tie way that I would have felt more comfortable in. Kind of like Affleck in Sum of All Fears when Freeman pulls him into the NSA meeting.

Needless to see, all that I had planned to get done today before being off tomorrow for G-Dub is still undone. But the meeting went well, I had McDonald's for lunch, and I found out that Columbia (Maryland, not....nevermind) is only going to get more complex. So I've got that going for me.

"Keep my head way down, Stay out, I'll stay in."

NBC = No Bus Conspiracy

After going to the shore a few weeks ago, I've finally gotten back into the swing of things at work, and this includes making a semidaily pilgramage to the SAIC gym in my building here in McLean. It's more than serviceable, as it is high on machinery, low on attendees, and all the Gatorade you can't drink. ??? Yeah, there's a bright yellow vending machine in there advertising the "Nectar of the Gods" (a stretch, I know), but I have yet to partake of its electrolytic offering. You see, there aren't too many days that I am on the treadmill with $1.10 in spare change tucked in my A) shoe B) mp3 player C) pocketless shorts D) none of the above. Anyways, what are the odds that by the end of the day I'll have 11 dimes, anyways?

The reason I like to run on treadmills as opposed to outside are really threefold. (for a frame of reference, a good paper airplane is actually sevenfold). In the first place, running outside in this traffic ridden city will ensure years would be taken off of my life. In the second place, I'm much less likely to, say, stop running and walk for a half mile, therefore negating the phrase "cardiovascular workout." And in the third place, carrying a television outside to keep my mind off of thinking how boring running is would do a number on my back. At the gym, they actually bolt them to the wall. Much better.

While running after work yesterday, the TV was set to NBC's 5 o'clock news, while with every step I became more fidgety that I had to deal with this local broadcast instead of ANYTHING from Athens. (Heck, I would have settled for rhythmic gymnastics...) But someone else was watching that channel first, therefore under the clause of prima visum I couldn't flip over to PTI.
The top story, and I kid you not, dealt with a little girl in Beltsville who had her first day of school yesterday. (Seems simple enough. Slow news day?) This little girl got on the wrong bus. Period. That was the whole story. Little girl. From Beltsville. Wrong bus.

I can make up better stories than that. Heck, I can even pull from my own first day of school cursed experience:

• First day of middle school: Only kid on the bus stop. Got on the bus. 5 minutes in, realized bus is headed for Shawnee High School. Drat.
• First day of high school: Again, only kid on the bus stop. Got on the bus. 3 minutes in, realize everyone but me is in a school uniform. Bus is headed for Holy Cross High School. Double drat.
• First day of college: First class is in Jones, on the other side of campus. Pouring rain. My sandal breaks a buckle rendering my left foot pretty useless. Soaking wet, ten minutes late. One seat left, front and center. And the professor's a dumb man from Arkansas.

If this girl gets the lead story in a major metropolitan news outlet, I must deserve a feature segment on World News Tonight.

Sidebar: They actually had camera footage of this little girl getting off the bus in tears? Why in the name of Lenny Krazyelberg did NBC have a camera crew at the little girl's bus stop??? If I find out that the peacock slipped some other bus driver a fresh new dollar bill to stop at the wrong stop...

Fleeced Lightning

I lose my stuff all the time. Probably much more so that the average individual. The remote gets buried in the couch/chair/fridge at least every other day. My keys end up anywhere but the keyrack. Hell, I'm lucky to remember where I park my car at night without freaking out that it may have been unneccessarily towed. I've lost class rings in the woods, hats on airplanes, sandals on the Der Wirblewind. (sp?) But hey at least I haven't lost a Munch painting, right? Fortunately for me, the space that I occupy is never too big of an area to call in a search party. I live in an apartment. I have a car. My office is a cubicle. No matter what seems misplaced, it's more than likely not very far away. At least it's not the size of, oh I don't know, CANADA?

The most storied of professional sports trophies spent last night in a baggage claim in Vancouver. CANADA. Lord Stanley's Cup, the 35 pound silver symbol of victory for the NHL, made its most recent visit on the Tour of Champions to umm...Terminal A? For all you non - hockephiles, the winning team of the prior year's playoffs each gets a few days with the Cup, to do with it as they please. Most take it to their hometowns, which quite often, are in CANADA. Well, August 23 had the Tampa Bay Lightning's Head Scout's hometown of St. John on the Cup's boarding pass, but the voyage was ill-fated.

The Cup was taken off of the Air CANADA flight because of weight restrictions. I carried a 65 pound pack through Europe, and they let IT on the plane. (Granted, Jasen's bag was held over for hours in London, so my Irish luck isn't flawless.) I torn on who to blame for this bad stroke: CANADian luck, or Tampa Bay luck. Let's compare, shall we?

Worst thing that has ever happened to them:
TAMPA - The old orange uniforms of the Buccaneers
CANADA - Celine Dion

Hardest Thing to Pronounce:
CANADA - Nunavit
TAMPA - Vincent Lecavalier

Great Place to Retire:
CANADA - Prince Edward Island
TAMPA - The Devil Rays' dugout

Unneccessary Pop Culture Introduction:
TAMPA - Thunder in Paradise (was filmed there)
CANADA - Did I mention Celine Dion?


Personally, I think this one's to close to call. The vote is up to you.

6 Dimes

That's what I've got in my pocket right now. Not by choice, mind you. By cashier edict.

You really don't get much say in the change you receive when paying for something with non-exact funding. You are more concerned that the change is 1) actually correct and 2) not sticky. Sure, third on you list would be preference of currencies, but after worrying about the first two, this is asking a lot. Go on, take the money and run. Sitting there examining your bills and coins will only be a detriment to society. Not only does it look like you are questioning the cashier's intelligence, you are also holding up the morning line of people who are holding their cups of hot coffee but can't legally take a sip just yet, since the coffee still belongs to the cafeteria until a transfer of funds takes place. Additionally, it's only change, which you'll most likely trade back in for that lunchtime salad and chips, or even more likely, let it slide out of your pocket sitting shotgun in somebody else's car, therefore making your friend richer and you in need of better pockets.

I'm sure these people are the ones who hand their quarter pounder back through the Drive-thru window because it has a pickle on it. Take it off yourself, man. It's only a pickle.*

Well, I'm not one of those people. Not me. Ever. And this is why I've got 6 lousy dimes in my pocket. Just moments ago, I got my morning bagel and cream cheese for a buck-forty. (Highway robbery, I know.) Picked up the bagel of the counter, held my hand out to the cashier, and WHAM!, You got Dimed. A whole half-dozen of them. Now ruling out on the principle the aforementioned course of action, that leaves me with no other choice but to explain to you fine people why having 6 dimes in your pocket is excruciatingly painful.

First off, six dimes weigh roughly the amount of, let's say, an emu feather. Regardless of the source bird, it's still a feather. So having six dimes in your pocket doesn't even feel like you've got a sizeable amount of change in your pocket. And if I'm going to have change in my pocket, that I want it to carry enough weight that I know I've got it should I need to flip a coin or leave a penny or help the homeless. Secondly, change is the orchestral element of your pocket belongings (since we all know to set the cell phone to silent mode, right? (That goes double for all you reading this in a movie theatre.)) And if jingling quarters represent the forceful crashes of the cymbals (crucial to any good Sousa march), then my stupid 10 pieces are the triangles being played in the back by the kid with no rhythm. Yes, the rest of the stuff in your pocket will laugh at you (even the key on your keyring that you have no idea what is goes to. Trumped by contents without a purpose, so very sad.) And finally, what are the odds all 6 dimes will even make it as a cohesive unit to the next mission...err...meal? With all this sitting I do all day, not very likely. I wonder what's for lunch that costs 30 cents. Milk? From 1987? Not good.

* My deepest apologies if any of you actually produce pickles for a living. Seriously, do something with your life.

I'm feeling very Olympic today!

name the movie with the quote above, win a prize.

Okay, time for some Olympic ramblings....from guest journalist...Yoda.

• Ready to blog, I am. What know I of ready? For 19 days, trained young Condowan blogger have I. Promise, he has. Yes, mmm...but thoughts of my own on great Games does the master have. Taking over for my apprentice, I must. He is reckless.
• The Americans seek more than widsom, they seek gold. Dominance lies in wisdom, and in the pool. A sanctuary it is. The swamp it is not, but it home for Michael Phelps. 8 golds? Forecast was too high, the media, overly critical and pressuring, they are. The boy tries not. He does. And win eight medals, he will. HE WILL.
• Media on the empty seats, stopped, they must be. Sunday was a day of void and emptiness. Not because the Greeks fill not the seats for lacking interest. A holy day in Greece it was. Feast of the Assumption, it was. The media is held by the dark side. Much evil lies in the trials of cameras and microphones. Crowds will return to the venues, they will...mmm...yes. Proved wrong as seats were full on Monday. To the media, a thought. Mind what you have learned. Save it if you can.
• Always in motion is the future. Much like the rebound, American basketball is coming back. Shots selection comes without wisdom. Allen Iverson short as an Ewok. But problem is complicated. very. Foreign opponents, shoot about 75% from land of three points, makes task harder. Team is young, foolish. Must unlearn what is already learned. Fundamentals are the key to saving themselves. Gold they will win, against Argentina. mmm...yes.
• Gymnastics - judge them by their size, do you? Carly Patterson has won gold. And gold she deserves. Condowan's roommate has much hate for Svetlana Khorkina. Ice Queen, she is. Must come from Hoth she does. Dead to the world she is. Even more impressive was Paul Hamm in the men's all-around. Control, he has learned. The rings are even too challenging for Jedi master like myself. That, and Yoda's arms, too short they are. Run right into side of vault, I would. Stick to weight (read:X-wing) lifting, I must.

Hope you enjoyed the guest blogger. He meant you no harm.

Memories on the Orient-ation Express

This is not the greatest blog in the world. This is just a tribute.

Office small talk is a way of life. It's been referred to as "water cooler" talk in the past, but that label is a misnomer. Why? Because I am the last person remaining in the DC Metro area that has such a reliance on the loyal water cooler. Always there, always has what I seek. Its rival, the coffee maker on the counter, should be the prouder, younger sibling of the WC. However, it just sits there, dejected and in need of a filter change. But, if no one else is saying hello to the cooler, and the coffee maker is lonelier than Cusack in Say Anything, then something is driving away the clientele...Oh, that's right. I forgot.

But I digest. err... disect ... no ... digress. Much better.

I was talking with Mary, an ally in finance, about her experience yesterday of moving her daughter into JMU. First kid, first time, first everything. It was one of those conversations when you realize that no matter how well established you are in an office, there's a good chance that you will relate more to you colleague's kids than your colleagues themselves. (I just spelled colleague correctly twice. If I was Mattias, I'd deserve a prize.) After all, freshmen year was only 6 years ago...

WHAT?!?!?

So I've been thinking about how crucial a good few first days at college are to a an enjoyable college career. At W&M, we were blessed with a fantastic program that was just the right balance of down time and direction, of socializing and structure. The first day, which Mary just experienced, is just a rush of fear and excitement about everything that's going to happen in the next four years, or more short-sightedly, four days. (Do I sound like Owen Wilson in Armageddon or what?) Everything from getting 8 pieces of furniture to fit in a dorm room (without it looking like Ikea's warehouse) to meeting your 53 immediate neighbors (especially the ones with your birthday...silly mixer games), is part of the first moments. But the program is tested, and it works. First semester is all about reliance on these new strangers. And trust games aside, it's the way you approach orientation that establishes a level of comfort. So comfortable, in fact, you may be able to rollerblade up and down the hall, knowing that they'll cover for you when the RA rears his annoyed head. (umm...I'm just saying...in theory...heh)

Never have I packed in so many activities and conversations in a short time frame. Never have I found "slamming a Dew" at 5 am so funny. Never have I lived with a roommate who had nothing to hang on his wall and a little brother he kept in the closet. Never have I introduced frisbee to a group with such success, and tested it with a rainy game in the Gardens. Never have I built friendships so close in no time at all. Freshmen year moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in awhile, you could miss it.

Couldn't remember the greatest blog in the world. This is a Tribute...

...to W&M.

E.T. Phone...Wachovia?

It was reported this morning that Stephen Spielberg's upcoming remake of The War of the Worlds looks to nail down more than $198 million dollars for its budget, the most lucrative dollar figure ever attached to one single project. $198 was the previous record holder, held by Titanic and Spider-man 2, but with this flick rapidly ramping up and having tremendous potential, crossing into Mach 2 (mil) comes almost as no surprise. Those who have signed on to this behemoth seem to be crossing paths at a time where their collective talent could create, as Spielberg intends, "the movie of the decade." (Good thing, with Superbabies due out this month.)

Director - Writer - Actor. All three attached to the project are on a roll right now. It's a good thing, because they're going to have to be, or the American media will call this one a flop if it doesn't put up at least $70 million in its opening weekend. Stephen Spielberg is coming off three straight good movies, yet none of them were designed to be blockbusters. Ever since A.I., he's been able to show the intracacies of directing. From the keen camera work in Minority Report, to the stylistic feel of Catch Me if You Can to the reliance on heartfelt acting in The Terminal, Spielberg has honed his skills and is ready to make his next labor of love, his last being Band of Brothers. Writer David Koech is capable of penning a blockbuster script (Spider-man, Jurassic Park), and Tom Cruise is on a hot streak, no matter what Stephen Hunter of the Washington Post says (I hate that man.) He has broken free of being Jerry Maguire in every movie. Last Samurai was unfairly panned, Collateral is his heavy role he needed, and Minority Report was reliant on his acting ability. Director - Writer - Actor. Unlike Ghostbusters, crossing the streams here would be...very, very good.

Just because I don't know where to stop, here's a list of big budgets that would have been better off by studios donating the money to charity. How many did YOU see in the theater?

1. Cuthroat Island (1995) - Budget: $98 million. Domestic Gross: $10 million.
- In its release weekend, Sudden Death debuted with twice as much. Unacceptable.

2. Catwoman (2004) - Budget: $100 million. Domestic Gross: $38 mil.
- Just wanted to point this one out to Halle Berry, who thinks she deserves more money to come back in X3.

3. Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within (2001) - Budget: $137 million. Domestic Gross: $32 mil.
- The video game costs 30 bucks. MGM should have bought that instead.

4. Town and Country (2001) - Budget: $105 million. Domestic Gross: $7 mil.
- If a studio spends 1/10 of a billion dollars, and doesn't advertise, is there anyone there to see it?

5. Windtalkers (2002) - Budget: $145 million. Domestic Gross: $75 million.
- John Woo slows down everything he films. There are some actors (like Nick Cage) who are painful at regular speed. Who would've seen this one coming?

If I ever resurrect Mafia: The Movie, I promise to keep the production budget...umm...reasonable.

What are we to skew?

This morning, Princeton Review came out with their annual "Rank 'em, rate 'em, and make a cool mil off our fat book" report on the 357 Best Colleges in America. (They did include McGill U. in Montreal. Hosers, eh?) Now while my card says finance and my career says finance, let's not forget that my degree says marketing, and with marketing comes research courses in how to create an unbiased survey. A proper survey should contain no obvious external influences to the respondent pool, and well frankly, with the number 1's in a lot of this book, I just don't see how this could be valid. Let's cut PR some slack though, it's not like they're the Harvard Review. (Oh, no he didn't!!)

Here are some flaws, thanks to my keen error detection skills (KEDS) (Wait a minute, that acronym sucks. I am not wearing non-descript white sneaker-loafer hybrids now, nor have I EVER worn non-descript white sneaker-loafer hybrids.)

"School Runs Like Butter #1" - Middlebury College - See, this one is in the phrasing. Like butter? Any student whose college is in a state with more cows than people is surely going answer a big yes here. Welcome to Vermont: Where our schools run on butter. (Alternative energy source problem solved!)

"Lots of Hard Liquor #1 - Washington and Lee - Brings "beer run" to a whole new level. Why go to the local Kroger to pick up a case of Bud Light when they are 40 miles from the Jack Daniels Distillery? Of COURSE they're going to be number 1. Stupid pollsters.

"Stone-Cold Sober Schools #1" - Brigham Young - Ok, let's see. School in Utah...founded by the successor to Joseph Smith...Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints...could this be a Mormon college? So many coincidences...so little beer.

"Dodgeball Targets #1" - Eugene Lang College - This category was meant to show the antithesis of a jock school. The founder's name was EUGENE. Enough said. We call this the My-school-sounds-wimpy-so-why-try" complex. Other targets on this list: Franklin Olin, Sarah Lawrence.

"Most Politically Active #1" - U.S. Naval Academy - Seems unfair. If you go to, let's say, George Washington U. (like me!), you hand out some fliers on foreign policy and POOF!, you're politically active. And what does Navy fight back with? Oh, I don't know, flying off an aircraft carrier in the Red Sea to carry out foreign policy. Oh, yes, GW? Maverick called. He just buzzed your freshman with the fliers in HIS JET.

"Happy Students #1" - Pomona College - The address listed is for Claremont, CA. Sophomore #1 - "Hey is that the swimming pool outside your dorm window?"
Sophomore #2 - "No. It's the Pacific Ocean."

Oh, and I lied before. I don't have a business card that says finance.
I don't actually have a business card.

Psychology 1-0-Fun!

Listen up, freshmen. This week you're going to college. Hopefully, you're lucky enough to go to William and Mary, and not UVa. And let's face it, you spent the last 2 (read: 9) months of high school, well, phoning it in (Nordberg, 2004). So, you have to admit, those note-taking (read: drawing fractals in the margins) skills have got to be rustier than USA Basketball, so I would like to impart to you what I learned at college.

Last minute is the best minute. (No, wait. Wrong advice.)

Now I never took Psych 101, but from intense discussions with friends, Monrovians, countrymen, I like to think I know how the human psyche works. Man, Freud would have been so proud. It has been long postulated that there are three elements of the human subconscious. The Id takes care of your wants and desires, regardless of external consequence. Your Ego takes into account how your wants and desires affect others and rammifications of your actions. And the Superego evaluates these actions with a moral and ethical yardstick (sometimes for measuring, sometimes for a good whacking.) Oh, but good Siggy, you left out the Ig.

The Ig wants pudding.

This is the part of the mind that caters to the left-field, oddball, comical, who-writes-this-stuff, why-they-don't-let-Condon-talk-in-front-of-strangers interests of the brain. Rarely rational, and never logical. Makes life interesting. Very interesting. Rather than extending the definition further, I'll use some current event examples.

#1 - Situation: Tom Cruise has tied Jamie Foxx's hands to the steering wheel while he goes to kill a man in Collateral. Jamie Foxx does not want to be involved in this killing spree any longer.
The Id thinks: Get out of there. Honk the horn with your head for help.
The Ego thinks: Honk only when friendly people walk by. You could be robbed while tied to the wheel if the wrong person hears you.
The Superego thinks: Honking could bring someone close to the car. If Tom Cruise comes out, he could kill them, and nw you're responsible.
The Ig thinks ducks sound funny when they honk.

#2 - Situation: The Olympics are on television in the gym. On 6 channels.
The Id thinks: Watch the Games to quench the thirst for competition, diplomacy, and sportsmanship.
The Ego thinks: Switching the channel to the Olympics from Walker, Texas Ranger while the old guy on the stairmaster is watching it could make him very mad (he got all pissy when you turn on the fan.)
The Superego thinks: Sharing is a part of life, so change the channel to the Olympics when that guy gets off the treadmill.
The Ig would like a fuzzy yellow tennis ball.

#3 - Situation: Getting out of the supermarket, you find that it is pouring rain outside. You are still in your work clothes.
The Id thinks: Rain is cold and wet. Drive the car up onto the curve to avoid the dripping of the storefront overhang.
The Ego thinks: Other shoppers have the same stupid problem. Be a man and walk the food to your car.
The Superego thinks: Driving up on the curve endangers the lives of others, and also prevents others from simply driving up next to the curb.
The Ig could go for some funnel cake and a nap.

And so could I. Oh man, so could I.

Who Stole the DJ?

Welcome to the world of wedding planning. (J-Lo, you're not welcome here.)

Last night, Katie and I met the guy who will most likely be the DJ at our wedding next August. He just seems a cut above the rest, he knows his music (C: "Yes, do you know who sings "Somebody's Getting Married?" DJ: "Sure, the Muppets." C: "You sir, are a musical god."), and it seems to be a perfect fit. Very elegant, very professional. So fresh, and so clean. No inflatable guitars. (Besides, if they were to be a guitar at the wedding, I want it to be Dave's Fretmonster.) Anyways, before we sign the contract, he encouraged us to look around, which will prove that he's the perfect fit. So, in no particular order, are the best "DJ"s money can buy:

1. Don Johnson - Putting his days as Nash Bridges behind him, Don was the first DJ that came to mind. We could do it all retro style. I would wear a tux with the sleeves rolled up, with a baby blue t-shirt, and there would be random explosions during the cake cutting. He does insist the first dance be to "Heartbeat". That could be a problem.

2. Davey Jones - So this is what he's been up to since the Monkees disbanded - he's doing weddings! Plenty of fan favorites here, including I'm a Believer and Last Train to Clarksville. Katie turned this one down when Davey said that the wedding party has to enter the reception doing the Monkees side by side walk.

3. Derek Jeter - Hey, if A-Rod ever takes over at shortstop, it looks like #2 has a side job to tide him over. (Not a bad life, mind you. Phone it in all year, and work hard in October. Nordberg?) Once a Yankee, always a Yankee, so the only music he'll play is Big Apple classics - New York, New York (Sinatra); New York State of Mind (Joel), New York Minute (Eagles). Anyway, Jeter can get a little crazy on the dance floor, as per the Visa commercial he and the boss are in. Seems risky.

4. Dan Jenkins - Ah, One Accord's skitmaster extraordinaire. Has always been on top of his musical game, introducing me to such bands as Skillet, Relient K, Smalltown Poets, and Third Day. Could do a set of One Accord, if he wanted to. Of course, he's a bass through and through, so he'd probably screw with the EQ so that there's no treble whatsoever. That's problematic.

5. Djibouti - Shake shake shake. Shake shake shake. Shake Djibouti.

6. D.J. Tanner - would play a lot of techno - you know, progessive, electronica, full house. Maybe a set from Jesse and the Rippers, too.

I'm glad we've gotten this decision out of the way. Ok, back to being casual. After all, it's Friday.

The Ultimate Wrecking Machine

Driving in the DC area: never a dull moment.

I drive 5 miles to work every day. Indeed, I have a coveted commute for this region of the country: no public transportation, avoidance of the Beltway, and gas stations that have crept back under 2 dollars a gallon. Despite the distance, it still takes me 20 minutes to get there. So I have my morning distractions:

1. Junkies on HFS
2. The Counting Crows best of... CD
3. My morning Gatorade
4. Trying to remember if I packed a dress shirt to change into after the gym. God, I hate going through the day shirtless. Makes my tie look real stupid.

Anyways, I've done some calculations, and the Tyson's Corner commercial area is about 6 square miles, and it contains eleventy billion cars. (Some of them are mini-coopers, so we're not THAT cramped.) This staggering proportion explains today's experiment, boys and girls.

Driving north on Gallows Road (what freak show named roads in this area? So morbid, so clean) I slowed to a crawl in front of the firehouse, as in the turn lane in the middle of the road sat a number of cars, the closest being one of Fairfax County's finest. It looks like a nice 2000+ black BMW slammed into the rear end of...another shiny silver BMW!? Oh, man. This is incredible! Two fancypants cars hit each other?!? And the two women exchanging information are what I like to call the "Essence of Prep." One had the teal sweater tied over the shoulders of her white polo, and the other woman was kickin' it visor style and a tennis skirt (no doubt on her way to McLean Racquet Club.) And the man in the suit talking with them looked ticked as well...

Wait a minute - why does he look so ticked? Why is there a third man at all?

I keep rolling forward, and I see that there was a third vehicle involved in this melee. It appears that Teal Sweater didn't hit the brakes when she was plowed into, and that Mr. Suit got the business end of her silver grill and hood ornament. Right into the back of his car, the one at the front of this mess...

A midnight blue BMW. Convertible.

That little GEICO insurance lizard just died of a heart attack.

Call me Loki...

Because I've heard this rant before.

Now I've been workin' in a blogmine for almost three weeks now, and I have really yet to do what most blogs set out to do, and that is rant until my fingers turn blue. Yes, potshots here and there about the likes of Craig Kilborn, Nordberg, and pending vacation-ruining-meteorlogical-disasters-waiting-to-happen, but nothing that I would really qualify as a rant. You need something in a maiden rant that really draws your ire and disdain, and it appears I have found my Hope Diamond.

I should have seen this one coming.

I'm not a fan of sequels, despite the recent run of good movies this summer: Shrek 2, Spider-man 2, and the Bourne Supremacy. This is no secret. And short of You Got Served 2, which is sadly in the works, I happened across a sequel that even David Arquette would be a afraid to touch with a 10 foot pole. Now I read all the time about upcoming films, castings, scripts, etc, so normally I have a pretty good idea to what will be coming out in the future, say two, three months away. I am in trouble. This startling discovery comes out August 27.

Just like when Brodie didn't realize Stan Lee was in his own mall. I must be slipping in my old age.

That's right, loyal readers, coming soon to a theatre near you, even though nobody in the United States asked them to (the original made $97k in Singapore, and I have no idea why.), is the follow up to the smash hit Baby Geniuses, Superbabies: Baby Geniuses 2!!!

I should sell my eyeballs to science.

Okay, first off, Hollywood is a business. You make movies to make money, and hopefully, four our sake, you make something good to watch in the process. A sequel is normally paydirt for the big companies out there. "Let's just make the same movie, switch some stuff around, and make another $80 mil. (Rush Hour, I'm looking in your general direction...) Baby Geniuses made $27 million. That's it. Jersey Girl made that, and it's considered a flop by the industry. So where does Sony Pictures get off? They don't need the money. It's not like they're, well, Disney.

But it's gotta have a good story right???

In Baby Geniuses 2: Superbabies, the adventure continues with a new generation of talking toddlers. This time, the baby geniuses find themselves at the center of a nefarious scheme led by powerful media mogul Bill Biscane (Jon Voight). Joining the babies in their battle against evil is a legendary baby named Kahuna. Part ultra-cool spy, part superhero, Kahuna joins babies Archie, Finkleman, Alex and Rosita in a race against time to stop the villainous Biscane from using his state-of-the-art satellite system to control the minds of the world’s population.

Because there are 5 main actors,er... babies, and since kids can't be under production lights for more than the rigid quota under Child Labor Laws (this is why we have the Olsen Twins, people), Sony has now subjected 11 babies to this monstrosity. 11 children who have to grow up and acknowledge that they were in the worst movie ever created (save Wing Commander).

I have failed the American public. I should have had a letter writing campaign in gear waaaay earlier than two weeks before release. Hey, it worked for Strangers with Candy...

The Parable of the Prodigal Roommate

"There was an apartment that had two roommates. The younger one said to his landlord, Landlord, give me my share of the bedrooms.' So they divided the living quarters between them. "Not long after that, the younger roommate got together all he had, set off for New York City and there squandered his bed, cooking implements, and playstation2. After he had spent everything, there was a severe layoff in his place of employment, and he began to be extremely bored. So he went and hired himself to a movie producer working on a stupid movie about motorcycles, who then sent him to him to play Soul Caliber ad nauseum. He longed to fill his time with other games of the EA Sports persuasion, but no one gave him anything.
"When he came to his senses, he said, 'How many EA games are waiting for me in my Landlord’s place, and I am here with Soul Caliber! I will set out and go back to my apartment and say to him: Roommate, I have sinned against the EA Sports empire and all of its created teams and dynasties. I am no longer worthy to be called an EA Sports Gamer Level 47; I am no longer the best tight end in football.' So he got up and went to his apartment.
"But while he was still a long way off, his elder roommate called him on the holy cell phone and was filled with longing to stop playing 1 player games; he turned on PS2, threw his controller down and picked up the other.
"The younger roommate said to him, 'Roommate, I have sinned against the EA Sports empire and all of its created teams and dynasties. I am no longer worthy to be called an EA Sports Gamer Level 47.
"But the elder roommate said to his trusty houseguest, Nordberg. 'Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a Hot Pocket in the microwave and a beer in the fridge. Bring the fattened calf and kill it. (???) Let's have a feast and celebrate. For this roommate of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.' So they began to celebrate. And they made house elf Nordberg do the dishes.

Welcome home, Spud.

Keep on rockin' in the real world

Like Nat'l Lampoon should have been after 'Christmas', vacation is finished. My morning thus far...

6:04 am: Alarm goes off. 6:05 am: Alarm is turned off.

6:11 am: Alarm goes off. 6:12 am: Alarm is thrown off nightstand.

6:18 am: Alarm goes off, now on floor. 6:19 am: I roll out of bed. Now on floor.

6:25 am: Alarm goes off, time to make the donuts.

6:32 am: Shower still works, thank God. Part of the fun at the Random of Run is that every now and then the ceiling in the bathroom caves dues to water from the apartment above us. Hasn't happened for a while (~9 mo.) But it's started all over again. This comes with bad news and good news. Bad: it leaves plaster all over the floor. Good: When the maintenance people come to fix it, they have twice left one of their tools in our apartment. We now have a drywall saw and a wrench. We're hoping for a jackhammer, or maybe Craig Kilborn (both are reliable tools.)

6:38 am: Drying off with a beach towel. I put up my "Out of Shower" email response.

6:42 am: Turn on the TV to find Sports Center: Old School (hey, SBTB isn't on for 18 more minutes) Craig Kilborn is at the helm, alongside Dan Patrick, and he's annoying as ever. He just doesn't take it seriously. Too many jokes about being there to collect a paycheck. At least when he's on at night, I can switch to Conan. Right now, it's either Body by Jake or Mama's Family (Eyeush! I'll take the crab juice!)

6:53 am: Alright!!! I have a shirt that I don't have to iron!!!
6:54 am: Crap. It's my Flyers jersey.

6:59 am: Getting my shave on. Unconventional? Sure. Shaving in front of the television in order to get my sports news and highlights (I can't believe he just pulled out 'Jumanji' as a catchphrase. What's next? "Ohhh, Fall in line, Clinton Portis, or feel the wrath of 3 Ninjas!!!) is just part of the daily routine.

7:01 am: Saved by the Bell is actaully a Good Morning, Miss Bliss ep. I have better things to do than watch Nicki. Like testing to see if the toaster still works. With my hand.

7:12 am: Going to work, out the door, and back to the real world. Except the Junkies are talking about cicadas on HFS. And the billboard by the metro is still advertising Troy. Am I in a time warp? If that's the case, I think I have a vacation coming up in a few weeks...

The Blog who must not be named

New news on the HP casting front:

Oscar-nominated Ralph Fiennes has won the highly sought-after role as Harry Potter's nemesis Lord Voldemort in the fourth film in the blockbuster series. The Schindler's List actor will play the evil wizard - who has never been seen before, but whose spirit is visible in the first three movies - in Harry Potter And The Goblet Of Fire. The film, directed by Four Weddings And A Funeral's Mike Newell, sees the return of Daniel Radcliffe as Potter, alongside mainstays Rupert Grint and Emma Watson. Harry Potter and the Goblet Of Fire is set to be released in November 2005.

Ralph Fiennes? Wow! I just hope he doesn't meld this role with Red Dragon. He'd scare the butterbeer out of me.

Many of you never knew that I auditioned for the first movie. But they decided to make the sorting hat an animatronic. I could've been a star.

Just wait until I start putting castings on this blog. You'll see what I mean.

(news item stolen from imdb.com)

Thursday Morning Recommendations

I'm on vacation, and unfortunately, you probably are not. So if you do get some free time after a grueling day at work (grad school), check out the first round of Recommendations (wait, that's waaaaay too unoriginal and long. How about Recs? No, not orginial enough. Wrecs? Get closer....)

Wrekx. That's much better.

Pages - The Zero Game, by Brad Meltzer. I haven't read a book since, well, last summer vacation, but I made a good choice with this one. Especially if you live in DC. Lots of references to the area, including the Ballston Metro, Elliot in the Morning, and um, the Capitol. (Last one is a stretch, I know) Good political thriller, I'm starting one of his earlier books today.

Tracks - Indian Summer, Carbon Leaf. First major studio release from the Virginia band. One of the best live shows you can see in a small setting. Had a radio hit with The Boxer last year or so. New album is a little more mellow, but simply beautiful. Favorite tracks - Changeless, Grey Sky Eyes, What About Everything?, and Paloma. Support the guys, or they'll come after you like a raging...um...leaf?

Flicks - Yes, yes, the new Manchurian Candidate is out in the theatres, and I expect it to be very very good (with Jonathan Demme at the helm, I expect nothing less.) I'll probably see it later today. (It's raining.) People, it's a remake (and a trend Hollywood needs to get away from. Originial thought? That's unpossible!) Anyways, rent the original before seeing the new one. An excellently crafted thriller from 1962 with Sinatra et al. Ow. Joe is sitting next to me and he punched me (he's not a fan.) Muhahaha. I just hit Joe in the face with a bagel. AND CREAM CHEESE. Revenge is so sweet. (And um, creamy?)

TV - I Love the 90's? Hardly. Michael Ian Black seems to have misplaced his funny.

Ok. it's Thursday, and I have my Wrekx in Effect. Peace out.

Leaving on a Jetplane

We don't know when she'll be back again.

Our Shawnee Group friend Kristin Jann is off to Hawaii - to the land of Mai Tais, sharks, and a Saved by the Bell made for TV movie. So, Kristin, I wish you the best, and if someone mistakes you for the ancient ancestor of a local tribe, pretend that you are in fact Samuel 'Screech' Powers and continue as all of this is going really well.

By the way, what a coincidence that the principal convention just happened to be in Hawaii, at the same time, at the rival hotel of Kelly's grandfather?!? Something just doesn't seem right. Sounds like some crafty screenwriting on this one. I bet Tony Danza has something to do with this one. He's the most powerful man in Hollywood, after all.

Daytime Television

Hurricane Alex? What is this??

I'm in Ocean City, New Jersey right now, and Hurricane Alex is in North Carolina. Ukee Washington (we give our Philly newspeople fun names like Ukee, Vai, and Boba Fett) just informed that Hurricane Alex will be making his way up to visit shortly. And I though Joe Brescia would be the only potential visitor of the day. Anyone have any suggestions as to what to do once Alex gets here? I hear he's not a real fan of Cranium.

Okay, short post today. Katie and I are going shopping. Hopefully shopping for lunch. I love being in Wawa country.

Final thought: if Hurricane Alex played for the Carolina Hurricanes, I should be more afraid of the new Tony Danza talk show. (must have been green-lit by those who produced all of Shaq's movies) Since Tony was a former St. Louis Cardinal on Who's the Boss. I am hoping Ozzie Smith will be his bandleader. Ah, the Wizard of Jazz.

An Open Letter

Dear Ed Snider, Jeffrey Lurie, and Ed Wade,

I have been a lifelong fan of your highly respected sports franchises, and continue to support your endevours despite my recent relocation to the Washington DC area. And despite being two metropolises away, a ride up the interstate would not deter me to seeing the Flyers, Eagles, and/or Fightins' in action in their home arenas. However because of my distance as well as my income restraints, I would only to be able to afford the cheapest of seats, the longest of views, and highest of altitudes. Is there any way, in your infinite power, can you grant me a financial reprieve and perhaps, while you're at it, box seats? Otherwise, I shall see no sports forever.

Regards,
Chris Condon


So, you think this kind of letter might be a shot in the dark, do you? Well, sure, maybe in Philly, where getting even a free cheesesteak from one of those owners will result in the Eagles cutting a QB. (Sorry, Koy. Send my best to the fam.) (Stupid name.) But perhaps if this query was sent to an owner with a heart of gold (or at least diamonds on the soles of his shoes.)

My cousin, Danielle, wrote such a letter to Mr. George Steinbrenner, after her father suggested it would be the only way she's going to see a game in Yankee Stadium. Her wish was granted. This Thursday, they'll be sitting down low with the likes of Rudy Giuliani, Jeremy Shockey, and Billy Joel.

Of course, if I wanted tickets to Yankee Stadium, I have a contact on the inside.