Archive for January, 2010

There is evidence that I may be starting to care about sports. I know, terrifying. I was a by-default Dodgers/Lakers fan in my childhood, which really meant I was a fan of my dad, but my allegiance to any team was muted by my short attention span and general failure to understand the rules. Basketball– okay, kinda fun to watch, not too hard to follow. But there was that year (6th grade? Perhaps.) in which I decided to try playing the sport. Didn’t go well, and I still hold a slight grudge against it. Baseball– slow. Games are cool, but it was rare that I’d see one from the bleachers… if they’re even called bleachers… point proven. Football– terrifically boring. Don’t try to argue with me.

I still insist that ice skating is a viable sport to watch, but that’s a quarrel to pick another day.

On to the main concern: I care a little. Franklin took me to the St. John’s/Villanova game at Madison Square Garden this weekend, and after fifteen minutes, I started getting really irritated when the Johnnies messed up and even more irritated when Villanova picked up their pace and started winning. Maybe it was my understanding of Catholic school rivalries that opened the door, but by the time my adopted team was really fruggling (fail + struggle = fruggle), I was emotionally invested enough to feel dejected as F and I sulkily excited the premises.

And football, the sport I truly care nothing about, has roped me in via my affection for New Orleans. That, and their chants are really catchy. WHO DAT?! So, if they win the game which they are playing right this second, I will watch the Super Bowl for the first time in my almost 23 years on this planet. And if they don’t, I’ll watch something else instead. Why? Because I care.


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Dan Wallace is at it again… filling the world with joy and sunshine. And by joy and sunshine I mean amazingly punny literary cartoons. Fans of his Salmon Rushdie drawing are bound to enjoy THE EMILY BRONTESAURUS:

Eat your heart out, pun-loving lit geeks. Or wait for the EBrontesaur to nom it out for you, in a non-herbivorous moment. Anything for a novel ending, right?

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