I attended the Law & Order wrap party and all they gave me was this lousy headache.

It's 9AM on Thursday... 9 hours ago, I may or may not have still been drinking. I'm not sure. See, it all kinda went blank after the third gin & tonic. Here's what I vaguely remember:

- I may or may not have been weirded out by the guy in the Good Humor suit who greeted me at the front door with a glass of champaigne.
- One of the intern's moms may or may not have flirted with me.
- I may or may not have spilled on myself, thinking my drink was in a beer bottle (it wasn't).
- I may or may not have had one of the writers (who lives and works in LA) recognize me.
- I may or may not have brushed off the same girl for offering me 8 different hors d'ouevres in a 10 minute span.
- Erin may or may not have punched a guy out at a concert last night.
- I may or may not have agreed to attend some sort of movie on Saturday with I don't know who (can't go - have a date with a model on Saturday).
- I may or may not have acquired at least two phone numbers last night, one of which was someone I may or may not have attended Syracuse with and the other having something to do with the New York Mets because I have a number in my phone with the label "METS" and I don't know where it came from (and no, I don't have the Mets ticket office on my phone).
- I may or may not have seen the medical examiner attempting to go home with the doorman.
- I may or may not have agreed to meet a friend for breakfast at Pipes, which is a restaurant in San Diego. I won't be in San Diego until June 1st.

Alcohol, you whore... see you Saturday?

T-minus 8 business days...

...until unemployment.

I am unafraid. I'll be traveling until early June, so I'll be occupied. And I can collect unemployment, so I'm financed. I may try to make the world's largest ball of Silly Putty, then try to replace Los Angeles with it. Merely to appreciate the irony.

No word from the Pope yet. I imagine he's busy doing Pope stuff. I'll keep hitting him on the Pope phone.

Just remember, when you control the mail, you control... information.

You can e-mail the pope.

benedictxvi@vatican.va

I e-mailed him three questions:
1) When will God give me a puppy?
2) Now I'm not saying God is partial to a particular sports team, but if He were, who would they be?
3) Why koalas?

I figure with all the irrelevant, petty things people are going to e-mail the Pope with, the least I could do is get in on the fun.

See, kids, blasphemy can be fun!

Tom Delay: "I hate books."

Tom DeLay had comments to make on a Fox News Radio interview about "judicial activism" (you might know it as "Checks and balances"), and singled out Supreme Court Justice Anthony Kennedy, a Reagan appointee.

On Kennedy, DeLay had to say:

"We've got Justice Kennedy writing decisions based upon international law, not the Constitution of the United States. That's just outrageous.

"And not only that, but he said in session that he does his own research on the Internet? That is just incredibly outrageous."

Stupid educated Justices, wanting to know more. Mark Twain had you pegged years ago:

"We have a criminal jury system which is superior to any in the world; and its efficiency is only marred by the difficulty of finding twelve men every day who don't know anything and can't read."

Senator Dick Durbin, D-Illinois, rebuts:

"Has the Internet become the devil's workshop? Is it some infernal machine now that needs to be avoided by all right-thinking Americans? What is Mr. DeLay trying to say, as he is stretching to lash out at judges who happen to disagree with his political point of view."

He's saying the Internet is the devil, silly.

We want a Maciej Maciej man!

Detroit phenom Darko Milicic had a career high 16 points yesterday as a starter.

So can we go ahead and adjust the 2003 NBA Draft order one more time?

1) CLE - Darko
*and it's not even close!
2) DET - LeBron
*still this high because his name sounds French but isn't
3) DEN - Carmelo
*he's like a Caramello, but he doesn't suck
*Oh right, and there's the 2003 NCAA Championship for Syracuse
4) TOR - Dwyane Wade
*probably deserves to be higher - but his first name looks funny, and for that, he should be banished to Canada
5) MIA - Michael Sweetney
*yes, there are much better candidates, but as a Knicks fan, I'm still pissed off we got stuck with him...
6) LAC - Kirk Hinrich
*...instead of Frodo
7) CHI - Josh Howard
*Yeah, nobody cared then. We do now.
8) MIL - Luke Ridnour
*And to think, nobody knew Oregon was still a state until he came around and reminded us the Ducks aren't a casual reference to Emilio Estevez's finest hour
9) NYK - Damn.
*See, the Knicks still get nobody. Nick Collison? Just what we need. Another undersized forward. Dahntay Jones? Not as exciting without Marv Albert calling the games. "Dahn-tay Jones... YES!" Lampe? Heh heh....

You have exactly ten seconds to change that look of disgusting pity into one of enormous respect.

I spent Saturday as a tourist in New York City.

I hate that. I hate being a tourist. I don't mind showing out-of-town friends a good time and such, but I can't stand Times Square.

I saw the Producers, featuring that prominent actor featured in such films as Ferris Bueller's Day Off and Walking to the Waterline, which was good. I became taken aback yet again at Times Square.

I don't particularly like Times Square, mostly because everybody who comes to New York City wants to go there. There's absolutely nothing to do in Times Square, save the periodic shouting at windows or unclad buckeroos. Still, it's something to see, essentially a 10-block assortment of Warhol Gone Wild. And I can't stand it cause I've seen it. And now I wish to move on.

I followed that with dinner in Chinatown and dessert in Little Italy. Which was good.

And no, I did not check into my hotel that I booked on Priceline.com shortly thereafter.

I couldn't afford Priceline.com. I stayed home.

Asshole.

For the screaming 17-year old female contingent of my blog readers

Free Good Charlotte Concert*

*Attendance at this concert may significantly decrease the amount that I currently like you

There's got to be a morning after

This has easily been one of the stranger weeks in recent memory.

I've been working till 3AM every night. Which is good, in that I get a cab ride home every night. And good, cause I get home quick. Bad, cause I'm the only one awake at that point.

Tomorrow, Pedro's debuting at Shea against Al Leiter, which is good. It's sold out, which is bad (cause I don't have tickets). Meaning Pedro will throw a no-hitter, which will be bittersweet.

I haven't bought dinner yet (referred to as "lunch" by Accounting), which is bad. But I'm only now starting to get hungry, which is good. I've never hunted and gathered, which I imagine is bad. I did eat a Reese's Piece off the floor once, which was not so good, except it was within 5 seconds, so that's better.

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Two former Cornell University entomologists ... recently had the job of naming 65 newly discovered species of slime-mold beetles, which is good. George W. Bush, Dick Cheney, and Donald Rumsfeld each got a slime-mold beetle named after them, which is funny. I didn't get a slime-mold beetle, which is bad, but not so bad cause I didn't want one really.

Sheep go to Heaven, which is good. Goats go to Hell, which is bad.

The Glory of 2nd Meal

2nd Meal. Tonight's from BBQ. I'm eating a BBQ brisket sandwich from BBQ. At midnight. And I can have more. And I pay for none of it.

And this is the second time they've fed me today.

Glory be to TV.

Too bad Hallmark doesn't make a "Sorry your dodgeball coach got killed by two tons of irony" card.

Dodgeball is a sport of violence, exclusion, and degradation.
-Young Patches O'Houlihan, "Dodgeball"

On my way to work today, I began to realize how much I missed dodgeball. Not the game itself, but gym class dodgeball. Usually consisting of 40 minutes of co-ed humiliation that doesn't involve bodily functions (in most circumstances), dodgeball didn't really involve many skills save falling to the ground or not throwing like a girl.

In elementary school, I earned my stripes in gym class playing dodgeball. It was five-on-one (I was the one), and I whittled the other side down to a 1-on-1 showdown. I couldn't go on, so I waived somebody on while I went to the bathroom to throw up. On my way back to class, I joined the line as they exited for a fire drill. While I stood outside holding my stomach, the first grade teacher, Sister Mary Ann, came up and asked, "Is he OK? Are you OK?" My gym teacher, Mr. DeSimone, came over, put his arm around me, and said, "He just gave me 110%." True story. I had a free pass for the next 2 years, and he would ask my brother about me after I graduated.

That's not why I miss dodgeball, though.

I miss hitting the fat kid.

That's all. Short. Succinct. There was no sweeter sound in elementary school than hearing the fat kid get hit with a dodgeball.

THUD.

You can hear it, can't you?

Sure, it was fun throwing at the wallflowers, or the shy ones who had no idea the ball was coming, or those using the fat kids as shields. But hitting the fat kids...

THUD.

There was no wrong angle to hit the fat kid to make that glorious sound. In the face, in the stomach, in the ass, off the leg, on the back, anywhere.

THUD.

They're slowly eliminating dodgeball from elementary school gym classes because they say it discriminates. Against the fat kid. It couldn't be against girls (I'd been eliminated by a few in my day), nor against the soft tossers (dodgeball wasn't about who threw the hardest). It's because the fat kid can't get out of the way. (Wanna bet? You've never play dodgeball against the patented Matt Fristachi tumble roll.)

Obesity is not a disability folks. Hey fatty, wanna stop getting hit with the dodgeball? Try curbing that cheese doodle habit. Put down the video game controller and go take a walk. That might help cut down the physical abuse you endure when dodgeball week rolls around. But please, leave me with...

THUD.

And the Patriot was an awful movie, too.

Patriot Act hearings began today. They're reviewing certain provisions in the Patriot Act that will expire soon without any revisions to the existing law. The AP reports:

"Among the controversial provisions is a section permitting secret warrants for "books, records, papers, documents and other items" from businesses, hospitals and other organizations.

That section is known as the "library provision" by its critics. While it does not specifically mention bookstores or libraries, critics say the government could use it to subpoena library and bookstore records and snoop into the reading habits of innocent Americans.

...

He will support giving someone who receives a secret warrant under the provision the right to consult a lawyer and challenge the warrant in court, and will back slightly tightening the standard for issuing subpoenas, the official said."

These phantom warrant challenges will be reviewed by a magic genie who may or may not review your inquiry depending on how many wishes you have left.

They've also discussed the possibility of offering "outs" from prison by either rolling doubles on dice or offering a Federal "Get Out of Jail Free" card, which will probably get you deported anyway.

Peanut Butter-Jelly time indeed.

...

I had the esteemed honor of hanging out in an airport bar for 2 hours last Friday. I went straight from work to JFK, and from the metal detectors to the Labatt Blue.

I sat at a bar watching old Law & Order: Special Victims Unit and football bloopers. I was joined first by a gentleman from Grand Island who could talk sports quite uncomfortably, and sought to crack jokes about beers to all passerby. He, an elderly gentleman rocking a suit he'd probably owned for a while, didn't have a whole lot to say, just that he'd been out in Long Island on business and was now going back home. I didn't have a whole lot to offer, as talking impeded my eating and drinking.

We were then joined by an early-40s divorcee with a penchant for Heineken and college basketball. She converted travel distance from miles to pints and was the VP of a corporate broadcasting company in midtown. After hearing I was a Syracuse alum, she offered me a job on the spot, but considering her alcohol-induced state, I wasn't sure what kind of job she referred to as I politely nodded and ordered another beer.

Upon hearing she had bought a house on the Niagara River (she had pictures on demand), our friend from Grand Island revealed he'd been a Buffalo Oil man who's semi-retired with two sons in West Palm Beach, Florida and he passes his time now as a consultant and as the Councilman of Grand Island (with business card on demand). I laughed. Those two spoke to themselves as I spoke quietly to Sam Adams.

They got into a conversation about sailing and went on their way as I mocked the bartender for not having enough libations to satisfy my palate. I threw down my tip, threw up middle fingers, and left for the night sky.