Come Along, You Belong

Not long after the season-opener of Smallville ended, I started feeling slightly unwell. At first I thought it may have been my poorly made quesadillas and the accompanying large bowl of salsa I had while watching Superman and his girlfriends, but soon I came to recognize my headache as a caffeine jones.

Odd, considering I'd had lunch at Western Sizzlin' with dear old Dad, and had a few glasses of Diet Pepsi then. It was a bit watery, however, and my caffeine needs are gargantuan. I decided I'd better get to Arby's and tend to my headache with soft drink. It was a few minutes after 10 pm. If I hurried I could sit there for most of an hour, imbibing the ambrosia and reading Arthur Waley's translation of Monkey, which is, of course, accurate but completely unreadable. Break paragraphs when the speaker changes, man. But I digress.

There were a lot of cars in Arby's (Arby's's?) parking lot. A lot. When I got in I saw why: there were 20-30 people in line, all wearing nice business attire. There were a few more already sitting.

I figured they must either be an after-church crowd (on Thursday?), or hungry late-working business travellers from the hotel next door (but why would they drive to the restaurant right beside the hotel?). I didn't think about it too hard. I only wanted my Diet Coke. I thought of Dave Barry's insightful Starbucks harrangue that "those of us with a genuine medical need for caffeine" shouldn't have to wait in line behind people wanting iced lattes, or in this case roast beef and jamocha milkshakes.

They were gregarious, talking amongst themselves jovially as we waited. There was an air of salesmanship. One of them noticed my Willie Nelson shirt (thank you Betsy, Jason and Karen) and before I long I was exchanging pleasantries, too.

But not many. Eventually I got my drink and sat down in a quiet corner, satiating my ouchy and reading about Sun Wugong's spat with Siddhartha and Guanyin. As I got refills I noticed that over half the place was filled with the well-dressed Arbirati.

I mean they were well-dressed. Normal suits and stuff, but well-pressed and clean. If they had been in a meeting, or even church, you would expect a few ties to be loosened by now, a few top buttons undone. And at least one or two people in a group this size should be dressed inappropriately. None of it. Spic and span to the last.

It was getting very close to 11 pm, the usual closing time, so I thought I'd better find a good place to stop in Monkey and get my last refill when a booming voice called out that "We better get started." He welcomed everyone to the meeting of the "Night Owls," where they eat and, he punctuated, "share knowledge."

W? T. F!

As they debated the strength of the AC and whether or not to move the plastic tree that makes every Arby's feel like a saccharine mockery of Tolkien's Valinor, I was moved by the numinous feeling that I was about to either face religious conversion or be introduced to the unique opportunites afforded by multi-level marketing. Or perhaps some misbegotten hybrid that should not be. "Iä, Amway! Iä, timeshare condos are a lasting investment!"

Anyway, I got the hell out of there.

No Joy in Mudville

Seventy-First 35
Douglas Byrd 20

[If I could find a picture of Chief Wigwam it would go here]
Sigh.

The game started well on both sides. My Douglas Byrd Eagles made some mistakes, but they also came up with some great plays. Big props to quarterback/punter/place kicker Terry McKinnon (that's a lot of roles for a sophomore) and receiver Alton Keation, who said he couldn't sleep at all Thursday night thinking of facing his former coach. Coach Pelham impressed me with the changes he's made at Byrd. It's funny to see my alma mater pass the ball. It's even funnier when they succeed at it. On the other side, Paroli's Falcons were solid as always. After a great first half that I wish I could tell you about in more lucid detail, Byrd went to the locker room up 20-14.

It all went to hell for Byrd in the second half. The young team seemed to lack the basics, or their heads just weren't in the game. I'm confident that experience will mold them into a better team, and unfortunately tonight was that experience. The Eagles made many cringe-inducing mistakes, including 3 interceptions and a defensive offsides on a crucial 4th and 6 for First.

The Falcons played solid ball through-out, like you would expect the Parolis' squad to do. They adjusted their pass coverage to stop Byrd's big gains on short passes. They produced many crunching Paroli runs, and surprisingly more than a few good pass plays. The combination gave them devastating clock control against the increasingly panicked Eagles.

Maybe next year.

What's that, Sam?

The Travel Channel has been running Living TV's Most Haunted for the last few months, and it's become one of the highlights of my week. The show follows a team of paranormal investigators (note: so many of the words in this post should appear in quotes that it would be unreadable, so I'll drop them -- also note: don't take me as too much of a skeptic, I ain't messing with no ghosts) as they poke and prod alledged otherwordly visitors in the UK's most, well, haunted places. The revolving teams are led by a very jumpy woman named Yvette, and psychic Derek, who communicates with local shades via his spirit friend Sam.

Each show usually starts with a walk-through in which Derek gleams all he can from Sam, with results ranging from mildly impressive to suspicious to random and unproveable. Sometimes I think either Derek or his invisible friend have ADHD. Later, the team will split into small groups and go into extremely dark places with night-vision cameras to spend the wee hours. A lot of talking into the empty air follows. Sometimes there's a seance.

But you can count unequivocally on someone, probably Yvette, scaring themselves shitless at least once per episode. Some sight, some sound or even some smell in a foreboding cellar or study will set them off and they'll run screaming. Savings throws vs. spooking are at -5 if Yvette is in the party.

In fact, I'd like to thank Yvette for giving me a new expression of beguiled disgust: "It smells like Billingsgate fish market!"

Be haunted Fridays at 9 and 10 pm on the Travel Channel.

Viewer Neville's assessment of any given episode of Most Haunted.

Can he walk and talk?

A big, atemporal well-wishing to Jesse Wilbur, who is running the Ironman Triathlon -- that's 2.4 miles of swimming, 112 miles of bike riding and 26.2 miles of running, in less than 17 hours -- either Sunday (yesterday) or Monday (today). I think it was Sunday.

Yes, I have lost the ability to tell time in any meaningful way. My meditations on Mt. Wudan tell me it is an illusion, in any case.

But, in all seriousness, I can't imagine the grueling preparation needed to make it through the Ironman. Big props, JW. Can't wait to hear how it went.

If I had to perform such a task, my only hope would be to create some sort of homonculus to do it for me.

Hey, Joe

Joe Horn: He borrowed my Walkman once
Source: FayettevilleNC.com

Told you he's a really nice guy.

You can be, too: redcross.org

Unless you're a girl. Then you can be a really nice girl. Same difference.