Bringing The NFL To Its Knees

The NFL and Major League Baseball have had a gentlemen's agreement over the years that, during World Series Week, the NFL would not schedule a Sunday Night Game.  This year, the NFL not only scheduled one, but it was a pretty enticing matchup -- New Orleans and Pittsburgh, the past two Super Bowl champions.

Personally, I don't have a problem with it; I've always been a football first, baseball second, followed by basketball and hockey type of guy.  It is interesting though.  I'm sure Bud Selig isn't thrilled about it, especially since Texas-San Francisco isn't exactly a marquee matchup for the World Series (not that the NFL could predict that in April when they put the schedule together).

Of course, this is Bud Selig we're talking about, the commissioner who does everything wrong.  He'll get hgis revenge.  Next year he'll probably schedule exhibition baseball games the night of the Super Bowl.  That'll bring the NFL to its knees!

Birthday, The Sequel

I survived another birthday.  I went out for dinner/shopping with friends, and then to a bar/restaurant in Shirley to see my friend Rebecca's boyfriend jam with a band.  All in all it was a good time.

Of course, I'm pretty beat now.  The beauty of my birthday is that, being the day before Halloween, it has a way of blending in with Halloween festivities and becomes a two-day extravaganza.  So I'm gonna call it a night and prepared myself for Birthday, The Sequel.  See ya tomorrow.

Happy Birthday To Me

It's been my birthday for 20 minutes now, and I finally finished my two workshop samples for this winter's upcoming residency.  Apologies in advance for those in my first workshop, in which my submission was 21 pages -- three pages longer than the 18-page maximum.  I'm workshopping two 11-page chapters, and I hate stopping mid-chapter.  So, those of you in the MFA program, help me warm people in advance.  The good news: my second workshop submission is only 16 pages.

Anyway, I got an early birthday present.  About six hours ago I got an e-mail from an online lit journal, which has graciously accepted a 5-page short story I wrote a while back.  I've gotten several rejections for this story, so it was doubly fulfilling.  It was a bit of a distraction trying to finish up my workshop submissions while jumping up and down with excitement about a short story.  I'm not gonna say it's the best present I've ever gotten, or even the 10th-best present.  But it's always a good feeling that someone wants to publish something you've written.  (Besides yourself, publishing your own blog.)

 

When Thursday is Really Friday

Not a long blog tonight (and after last night's blog, your eyes probably need a rest anyway).  My stories for winter residency workshop are due.  According to the most recent e-mail from Mother Hastings, the stories were due Friday, Oct. 28, which is impossible, because Thursday is Oct. 28.  However, I've taken the liberty to interpret the e-mail to mean that our stories are due Friday.

Ah, liberty.  This is what made America great.

I Can See Colors!

So last night while I was writing my blog, I accidentally found out I can change the color of the text on my blog.  Now I'm going all in, fooling around with both text colors and text background colors.  It was like I spent the day with Bill Walton, trying to reach the omega point at a Grateful Dead concert.

Anyway, this is going to be a short blog, as I have to get 36 pages of my novel out for my grad school program by 11:59 p.m.  But let me know what you think of my sudden burst of color -- love it, hate it, or if you have any suggestions for future colors.  Rock on.

Paul The Octopus -- 2008-2010

I was saddened to learn today that Paul the Octopus, a soothsayer who went 8-for-8 in correctly predicting World Cup soccer matches earlier this year, died in his sleep yesterday morning.  He was 2.

(Seriously?  2?  And apparently that's about the average lifespan of an octopus.  Man, talk about drawing the short straw as a species.)

It's always sad when an octopus dies.  But to me, what made Paul special was his love of liberty.  Iranian president Mahmous Ahmadinejad criticized Paul several times as a pawn used to spread  "western propaganda and superstition."  Any cephalopod who gets under Ahmadinejad's skin is an ally of freedom.

Then, I learned that Paul's agent, Chris Davies, said "It's a sad day, Paul was rather special, but we managed to film Paul before he left this mortal earth."

Huh?  Paul had an agent?  Either he was much more of a rock star than we all knew, or Chris Davies is an agent who's really hurting for clients.  Still, you have to give major props to Paul for marketing himself.  I wonder how many agents Paul interviewed before settling on Chris Davies.   

Postmodern Phil

The other day someone called my writing style "postmodernist."  I wasn't sure what to make of this.  I hear the term "postmodern" tossed around every once in awhile, but I've never really understood what postmodern meant.

My research offered no real answers.  According to Wikipedia, "Postmodern literature, like postmodernism as a whole, is hard to define and there is little agreement on the exact characteristics, scope, and importance of postmodern literature."

So I'm not sure whether being postmodernist, if I am indeed postmodern, is good or bad.  This may have been intended as a scathing insult.  Oh, well.  I guess I've been called worse.