Backbreakingly Brilliant.

I hope Wayne Gretzky's ok.

The Olympics open tomorrow. That should be nice.

Watching figure skating is the most obscene thing I secretly love. Jeepers.

For some reason I watched 'Underworld: Evolution'. Frick. That movie. Is sick. How 'bout this? Instead of you going to see that movie, I will just smash a plethora of watermelons on the ground for you. Does that sound ok? (Although, KB dans pleather = hallebooyah.)

In drama, I had to pretend that I enjoy opera music. I've heard of tough roles, but come fricking on.

This is my favorite way to B L O G. (And that, my friends, is my new favorite way to type important words. With a S P A C E between each letter. Classy.)

Ok, I need a friend, preferrably one I won't have too high an opinion of and who is in possession of a credit card. Unabashedly wealthy wouldn't hurt either.

Can anyone tell me what in the S A M H E L L Steve Martin is thinking? Honestly, what is going through that mans head? Jacques Clouseau? You are taking on Jacques Clouseau? Having just come off of the unbridled success of 'Cheaper by the Dozen: 2', I suppose it's understandable. Oh, right. I made that last bit up, in order to appear humorous to my readers. Good grief. Peter Sellers already blew that role out of the water. Why bother ruining it for all of us? First off, your hair is white and your moustache is black. Does no one else see the lack of continuity there? I mean, sure, some people have facial hair that retain its original color even after the other stuff begins to change, but for real, Steven Martin has brilliantly white hair. The only thing I can think of where you could find more white would be Lisa and I having laptop fun outside in winter circa 2001. Ok, maybe I'm being too harsh. Call me old-fashioned, stuffy, out-of-date, a classicalist, old-timer, grandpa, fart, geezer, William H. 1963, and I'll probably be hurt. But tell me that Peter Sellers didn't already perform the hell out of that part? I will be offended, on his behalf, and highly so.

An embarrasing event unfolded the other day. I, being the narrator, am also the unfortunate subject of embarrassment. I was spending some time in the LRC, when suddenly, I was done what I needed to do. Alarmed, I rose to leave and wander the school. As quickly as I got up, I went down. My first step, while tentative, wasn't anywhere near safe. I stepped right on the cord that connects the keyboard to the computer, as it was hanging sorta under the table. It was pretty taut. It didn't pop out and I fell down. I jumped back up, unscathed physically oh-so-scathed emotionally, and tried again to walk away. This time, I started out with my foot on the ground. However, the section of ground I had chosen for my foot was 4 or 5 heartbreaking inches behind the aforementioned cord. As I took that next step, I sent the keyboard flying off of its perch, causing a loud commotion and several million blood cells to rush to my face. Boy, was my face grenadine. Luckily, I scooped up a few shreds of my dignity by jumping back up, shouting "Up yours, assface!" at the top of my lungs, and sprinting out the doors, spitting on as many people as I could while flying by. What do you say to that, hey? I say, "Looks like it's another dollar in the 'End a Sentence with a Preposition' Jar for you, Daytona."

Oh, Interweb, why can't I quit you?