The Riot Squad They're Restless, They Need Somewhere to Go

Congratulations to Mr. Joseph R. Halbert for correctly naming "Josephine" by The Wallflowers as the Thursday Song of the Day.

I strongly urge all Running Down a Dream readers to visit Joey's new blog, The Young Oak, which is probably the only blog that will feature erudite discussions of the WWE, theology, and Texas state politics.

Is Rick Perry truly the Texas gubernatorial equivalent of Triple H or Rowdy Roddy Piper? Is the McMahon family a prime example of the Trinitarian Nature of God? Read The Young Oak for the answers, my friends.

Closing on a different note, after finishing Jeffrey Toobin's The Nine just a few days ago, I found his May 25, 2009 New Yorker piece on Chief Justice John G. Roberts an interesting (quasi)-epilogue* to the book. It's not a quick read, but if you're interested in the current direction of the Supreme Court, I think it's worth your time.

*Sorry for channeling Peter King for a moment there. I realize only about 3 people who read this will catch that reference, but it's worth making.

When You Wake I Will Drive You Into Town

Congratulations to Mrs. Ashley Ham for correctly naming "Louisiana Bayou" by the Dave Matthews Band as the Tuesday Song of the Day...

...and congratulations to Ms. Amanda Pierce, yes,the lady friend for those of you scoring at home, for correctly naming "The Underdog" by Spoon as the Wednesday Song of the Day.

Current Reading

Benjamin Franklin: An American Life by Walter Isaacson

Completely Illogical Super Bowl XLIV Prediction: Colts 31-17, if only because Peyton Manning and Walter Isaacson attended the same school in New Orleans, the Isidore Newman School, and I'm reading Isaacson's book right now. Don't scoff, THE LOGIC SURROUNDING THAT PREDICTION IS AIRTIGHT.

Picture Yourself in the Living Room

I couldn't help but notice tonight during the Annual Group Squat-Thrust Session that is the State of the Union Address that the Supreme Court justices are all seated in a very prominent position on the floor of the House of Representatives.

They are approximately at the President's 2 o'clock reference point as he looks out upon the audience, but strangely, despite all of the hubbub going on around them, they never stand up, they never applaud, and they remain as dispassionate as Dick Cheney at a Jay-Z concert.
If I were a speechwriter for the President, a Toby Ziegler, if you will, I would do whatever I could to get the justices out of their chairs and on their feet, even if that meant severely pushing the bounds of ethics and reality.

Some examples:

• "Beginning in the 2010-2011 fiscal year, Supreme Court justice salaries will no longer be paid in U.S. Dollars. From that date forward, salaries will paid in gold dubloons. Yes, gold dubloons."
• "Effective immediately, we're doing away with all of that 'Oyez, Oyez, Oyez' mumbo-jumbo when the justices enter the court for oral argument, and each justice will be able to choose his or her own entrance music. A stipend for pyrotechnics and/or a smoke machine will be provided to each justice."
• "I know that some of you on the court are jealous of Chief Justice Roberts because of the notoriety that he receives for being 'the Chief.' Fear not, associate justices. After viewing the Sly Stallone film Over the Top, I'm instituting arm-wrestling matches as a method for allowing associate justices to challenge the chief's place of supremacy on the court."
  

The Coins In Their Eyes Represent the Money They Owe

A Humble Request for Accountability--Ladies and gentlemen, blog readers young and old, I come to you seeking the company of those who would hold me accountable in the following endeavor: In my life-long quest to oppose James Cameron at every turn, I have to this point in my life (currently 26 years, 10 days, 18 hours and 35 minutes) avoided seeing a single movie by the aforementioned Canadian director.

Yes, that means no Terminator, no Abyss, no True Lies, no Terminator 2, no Titanic, and now, no Avatar.

I wish for all of you to hold me accountable in this heroic endeavor. People of the Internet and People of the Future, if you one day come across this blog on your journey across the interwebs, ask me, question me, even interrogate me as to whether I have seen a flick by "The King of the World" and deal with me ever so harshly if I have.

I'm Going Back to the Water, Been Landlocked Too Long

Question of the Day: I'm not sure if this is just a church announcement decision, but why in the world do we announce how much a baby weighed when it was born?

Also, how much fun would it be if you could bet the over/under on what a given baby weighed when it was born? I'm pretty sure this is the type of thing that hacked off Jesus when he ran the money changers out of the temple...but...wouldn't it be one of the most memorable Sundays-ever if the preacher walked to the podium and said, "Before I announce the weight of the Walkers' new son, be mindful that the over/under on his weight is 7 lbs, 9 oz. Please place your bets accordingly."

Believing in Yourself Almost as Much as You Doubt

Congratulations to both Ms. Stacey Villescas and my Dad for correctly naming "Back in the U.S.S.R." by The Beatles as the Monday Song of the Day.

What's that you say? You wonder why I mention my Dad when Stacey, a.k.a. ALV, was the only person who left a comment identifying "Back in the U.S.S.R."? Well, my Dad chose to give his answer via the telephone, which until this point was within the accepted method of communicating answers, along with carrier pigeons, smoke signals, and tin cans on a string.

But, upon further consideration, I've decided that in order to avoid any Bush v. Gore-type knockdown, dragout fights, I'm proposing the following rule, and since this is my blog, I rule by fiat and my word is law.

Henceforth, all answers, in order to be considered for the Song of the Day contest, must be submitted via the comment section of "Running Down a Dream."I will not accept answers in any other form, even if they are submitted by the people that brought me into this world. This is a blog of laws, not men or women.

Govern yourself accordingly.

Come and Keep Your Comrade Warm

As noted in yesterday's post, I've recently begun reading Jeffrey Toobin's "The Nine." As I was reading the book, I flipped to the picture section in the middle (don't act like you don't do the same thing), and noticed the following picture.

We all recognize the event as President Bush's introduction of now Chief Justice John Roberts as his choice to succeed the departing Sandra Day O'Connor, but what I found interesting was the caption below the picture, which states:

"President Bush introduces Roberts as his nominee to replace O'Connor on July 19, 2005. To the side are Roberts' wfie, Jane, and daughter, Josephine. His son, Jack, is imitating Spider-Man."

To which I say, "Jack Roberts, that's the worst Spider-Man impression I HAVE EVER SEEN."

If the caption had said that Jack Roberts was imitating the Damon Wayans-version of "The Robot" in Major Payne, I could have accepted that. If it would have said that he was doing the world's worst sleight of hand trick by hiding something in his pocket, I could have accepted that. Do you think David Blaine is going to give you the call-up to the magic big leagues with those kind of bush-league tactics? Not happening.

But an imitation of Spider-Man? No way, young Jack Roberts. Does Spider-Man patrol the mean streets in a seersucker short suit and saddle shoes? No way in Hades, unless he wants to end up on the business end of a swirly.

With that said, I hope you're reading this, Jack. I hope that as we approach the 5-year anniversary of this event this summer, perhaps you've learned your lesson in imitating Peter Parker. There's nothing more embarrassing than kids who can't properly imitate superheroes.

You'd Know What a Drag It is to See You

Current Reading
The Nine: Inside the Secret World of the Supreme Court by Jeffrey Toobin

I Spoke Your Name for Many Days, Pronouncing It in Several Ways

Big day tomorrow, ladies and gentlemen.

The Houston half-marathon is calling my name. Look for me to be the guy way,way,way behind the Kenyan dudes.

If anything, I'll be better off than the Austin marathon in 2005, when at mile 2, I almost mistook a tongue-presser coated with vaseline for a popsicle. WORST. POPSICLE. FLAVOR.EVER.

Lesson learned.

See you on the other side.

They're Flying Too High to See My Point of View

In celebration of my return from the blogging crypt, I'm beginning a new Friday series (and possibly more days if I run out of material, which is highly likely) entitled, "Thanks a lot, (Insert name of person or group of people)!" It may not seem catchy at first, but like "Co-stan-za", it will grow on you.

The first group to go under the proverbial microscope? Women (and possibly men, though I haven't seen them) who wear large belts on the outside of their shirts/blouses/pants, even though those belts are not going through any sort of fabric loops or fasteners. You know the belts I'm talking about. Belts made out of enough plastic to choke an entire ocean of dolphins. Belts that have crazy colors that have only been seen in Dr. Seuss books. Belts that look like they were purchased from an Eastern European power-lifting team and painted in one of the colors that you can buy a Volkswagen Beetle in.

Oh, I get it, ladies. You're trying to give yourself a waist, you're trying to "accessorize" (whatever that even means), or you're simply trying to keep up with the fashion Joneses. These are all seemingly (emphasis on "seemingly") valid excuses to wear belts that would shame even Hulk Hogan after he won Wrestlemania III.

Quick Tangent: I do love how the Wrestlemania events are the only other sporting events besides the Super Bowl to utilize Roman Numerals. Roman Numerals are like the Clint Eastwood of numbers. It's hard to believe that a movie with Eastwood won't have some serious sense of gravitas, and it's hard to dismiss out-of-hand any event that is measured with Roman Numerals. If they were good enough for Augustus, they must certainly be good enough for Vince McMahon and Andre the Giant, but I digress.

Back to the topic at hand...ladies, in the New Year of 2010, let's all agree to treat belts as functional objects instead of an excuse to look like a reject from a ship commanded by Captain Jack Sparrow. Use a belt to hold up your pants and not to look like you're headed for a shift loading a pallet-jack at Lowe's.

The Titanic Sails at Dawn

Current Reading

Founding Brothers: The Revolutionary Generation by Joseph J. Ellis

They're Selling Postcards of the Hanging

I'm not going to ask for your forgiveness, folks. I'm just going to say this...I'm back.

WITH.

A.

VENGEANCE.

Look for the posting to begin with a fury not seen since bloggers tried to expose the conspiracies surrounding the Kennedy Assassination. (Quick insight: It was Roger McDowell. Kramer taught everyone that.)

Past Reading

Manning: A Father, His Sons, and a Football Legacy by Archie Manning, Peyton Manning and John Underwood