There Ain't Nothing in This World For Free

Even though my soon-to-be cable and internet provider probably has a security apparatus that rivals anything George Orwell could dream up, I wrote the following words a few days ago:

"I would call Comcast the Khmer Rouge of cable companies, but I don't want to be unfair to the Khmer Rouge."

Yes, that's right, after going without television for the past two years, I'll be re-joining the rest of you in the 21st century on Tuesday night. Well, that's when my appointment is scheduled. If my previous interactions with Pol Pot's favorite cable company are any indication, I might actually receive service in time to watch the 2012 election returns.

With TV on the brain, I submit the following idea to you, my dear readers: television channels a la carte. I know that some of you (coughTimKirkseycough) killed my idea last year about having barbers charge per minute for haircuts instead of a flat rate, but what about charging for TV channels a la carte?

If you're like me, you only watch a few channels (the major networks, Comedy Central, the ESPN family of networks, Fox Soccer Channel, GolTV, and a smattering of cable news networks) the vast majority of the time. What if you had to pay more per channel than you pay now (taking your total cable bill and dividing it by the number of channels in your plan), but you paid less overall because you only purchased (just for the sake of example) 15 channels?

There's surely some large impediment to this that I am missing, but it just seems like the trend in television delivery is towards a greater specificity of service tailored to the whims of each individual consumer.

What do you think, folks? A brilliant idea whose time has come or a potential disaster on par with New Coke?

Never the Wrong Time, Time We Stay

Despite my well-intentioned efforts on Tuesday, the folks over at Some "E" Cards said it much, much better than I ever could:

How do you feel now, Charlie Sheen?

Now They Make New Movies in Old Black and White

Among the many shortcomings of modern sports broadcasting, some of the most egregious offenders are the painfully awkward promotional spots that are wedged into breaks in the action.

Even though I cannot see Joe Buck's face when he is forced to extol the virtues of the next episode of "Hole in the Wall", I have no doubt that Joe's attorney tells his client to smile as he silently reviews the announcer's contract with Fox before each and every descent into that world of advertising purgatory.

All of this came to a head last Saturday afternoon when I heard the venerable Verne Lundquist say the following words during the CBS broadcast of the Kentucky-Alabama game:
"Tune in on Monday at 9/8 central for the latest hijinks of Charlie, Alan, and Jake on America's #1 Comedy, Two and a Half Men."

For a second the words washed over me without recognition, but as my mind changed gears from the Rules of Evidence to the Southeastern Conference on a Saturday afternoon, I came to a horrible realization:
What if Verne's right? What if Two and a Half Men really is America's #1 comedy? Is that the kind of world in which I want to live? Isn't that infinitely worse than an economy in turmoil or the fact that Shakespeare in Love beat Saving Private Ryan for the 1998 Best Picture Oscar?

My momentary fears subsided because I've only spoken to one other human being since Saturday who actually knows someone who has watched the show, but let me tell you, I was thrown for a loop there, folks.

I mean, that's almost absurd as telling me that Beverly Hills Chihuahua is currently sitting atop the box-office sales tally.

What's that?

You're serious?

If you'll excuse me, I need to head down to the fall-out shelter.

Like a Rock In Our Country; Or, How Chevrolet Ruined My Appreciation of Classic Rock

Congratulations to Mr. Peter Pope for correctly naming "Hook" by Blues Traveler as the Tuesday Song of the Day.

I generally shy away from blanket statements*. With that said, I'm pretty sure that if you played a sample of the chorus from Bob Seger's "Like a Rock" to someone from my generation, they would, be it a man or a woman, almost undoubtedly think of one thing: a Chevrolet truck carrying heavy things, tough-looking people, and appearing as though it might win a battle with a Bradley fighting vehicle.

I suppose that's the point of marketing, generating a connection between the message and product in the mind of the recipient, but whenever I hear that song, I cannot, for the life of me, get the image of a Chevy truck out of my mind. I'm a big fan of Pandora radio, and today, as I was listening to the "Bruce Springsteen" station, "Like a Rock" came across the playlist, and even before the first lyrics, I was already humming along "I was as strong as I could beeeeeeeeee."

In that moment, I was not experiencing feelings of anger at Chevrolet or Bob Seger, but a feeling of connection with my childhood, probably not unlike people experience when they put on a vintage slap-bracelet or some M.C. Hammer-esque parachute pants. I felt like I was 10 years old again, at least for a few minutes.

On the other hand, a song I did not hear today has the capacity to make my ears bleed. I respect John (Cougar) Mellencamp, and I suppose I must since he, along with my father, is a native Hoosier, but "Our Country" is the audio edition of the ebola virus.

It has been written about ad nauseam on the interwebs that Chevy has managed to drive the most dedicated television viewers from their HD-infused perches by playing that fateful tune ad infinitum, but it bears asking: Will kids today look back at "Our Country" as wistfully as my generation (likely) does with "Like a Rock", or instead, will a future-school shooting be attributed to that deranged kid who heard "Our Country" one too many times the night before as he watched the World Series on Fox?

If so, maybe we can name Joe Buck and Tim McCarver as co-conspirators for agreeing with the kid to overplay the song, simply to send him over the edge, and that, my friends, would be good for "Our Country."

*Did you see that? I used "generally" instead of "always". Again, shying away from all-encompassing blanket statements. I'm a master.

Make a Desperate Move Or Else You'll Win

I had a conversation this past weekend with a couple of friends on the merits of 24 versus Lost. I had to admit to both of them that I was not the best advocate on behalf of 24 due to my admitted Lost-homerism, but as I began thinking about truly engrossing seasons of television, a specter loomed in my past.

We've all had those times where we've been sucked in by a guilty pleasure television show whether it is American Idol, MXC, Project Runway, or The News Hour with Jim Lehrer. Okay, maybe that last one is just for the geriatric readers of Running Down a Dream, but you get the idea.

I'm sure this will all be dredged at some point in the distant future when I'm up for a job promotion/election/audition for world dictator for life, but I have to come clean. During my sophomore and junior years at ACU, I was a diehard, I mean diehard, fan of The O.C.

There, I said it. Does that mean I watched the entire series until its bitter end?

No.

Honestly, I have no idea how the series ended, but I can assure you of this: those first two seasons (particularly the first) were riveting television. I'm sure that part of the appeal is the legend that I have constructed in my mind, which may or may not bear an accurate resemblance with reality, but I've almost consciously avoided re-watching the show simply so I can remember it the way it was and not necessarily the way it is.

Perhaps it was the fact that we treated the weekly airings of the show as events where we would go to someone's house off-campus (obviously a big deal if you've lived in the life of an ACU underclassman) to watch the show. I can still remember the echoes of Jeff Buckley's cover of "Hallelujah" drifting away as the image of Seth Cohen's sailing voyage to Tahiti flickered across the screen at the end of Season 1. No one moved for about a minute as we all wished Seth well, and then shamefully remembered that he was no more real than the Texas Rangers' World Series hopes.
You can laugh at all of this and dismiss it as the quasi-sappy ramblings of someone who enjoyed a ridiculous primetime soap opera about the life of the beautiful people in Southern California, but I bet if you took some time, you could remember a television show, or season, that meant something special to you, even if you cannot place your finger on the exact reason why.
Plus, it allowed Alan Dale to continue honing his chops as the "evil father figure" Caleb Nichol, which he has now reprised as Charles Widmore on Lost.

That's almost worth the price of admission itself.

Everybody's Out to Get You, Don't You Let It Drag You Down

Congratulations to Mr. Lance Agan for correctly naming "Gangsta's Paradise" by Coolio as the Tuesday Song of the Day.

I'm not sure if Sports Illustrated still has the running feature detailing "This Week's Sign of the Apocalypse", but here's your Running Down a Dream version of "This Week's Sign of the Apocalypse".

This morning as I was sitting in the lockerroom changing, I was struck by the conversation of two Houston businessmen/lawyers/professionals (I'm not sure which, honestly). Usually, in the mornings the lockerroom is quiet as everyone is getting ready for the day, but this morning, these two gentlemen had important things to discuss.

What were these important things?

• The sky-rocketing price of a gallon of gas?
• Nuclear (or nuc-u-lar) proliferation?
• Global Warming: Hoax or the Pressing Issue of our Time?
• The current political landscape?
• The win last night by the hometown Astros over the Cubbies?

Nope.

Instead, they were discussing that love-child of the pop culture zeitgeist, that hegemon of the television landscape, that barometer of cool for pre-pubescent females, American Idol.

If you need me, I'll be purchasing large amounts of canned goods, searching for a quality fall-out shelter, and waiting for the end to come.

Good night, and good luck.

Laughing Out Loud Makes It All Subside

Perhaps I'm far behind on this, but those catchy Apple commercials have this maddening, yet enjoyable, way of working into your head so that you find yourself humming the tune even though you have no idea who sings the song or if you wish that Steve Jobs would die of leprosy. Not that I wish that Steve Jobs would die of leprosy or anything.

Let's just move on.

After repeated viewings of the commercial for the new Mac Airbook, I did a little investigating and found out that the song accompanying the commercial is called "New Soul" by Yael Naim.

The P.C. v. Mac debate rages on like Celtics-Lakers in the 80's, automatic vs. stick-shift, pepperoni vs. sausage, and Seinfeld vs. Friends, but in the land of marketing, it seems that Apple reigns supreme.

P.S. Don't tell Cody Girod about that last sentence.

P.P.S. My Dad's impromptu mocking of "New Soul" last night after the commercial aired will not be short-listed for inclusion in Apple's next marketing campaign. I realize that Apple promotes itself as a self-aware brand willing to mock itself, but no one wants to see this kind of destruction.

There's a Page Back in History

I'm not sure which blessed soul took the time to construct this multi-viewpoint perspective on the crash of Oceanic Flight 815, but the editorial board of Running Down a Dream salutes that person without reservation.

Bells are Chiming for Victory

At this point, we've all read the stories about the U.S.-launched missile that destroyed a National Reconnaissance Office satellite late Wednesday night, but in the words of George Oscar Bluth II (G.O.B. to his friends), "COME ON, U.S. military."

Aren't there other uses for the munitions of the United States, such as...

• Yankee Stadium
• The studios filming any one of the thousand "CSI: (Insert American City here)"
• Old Trafford
• The headquarters of the Blahg
• Jose Canseco's house, Roger Clemens's house, Barry Bonds's house, etc.
• The source of the immortal "Don't tase me, bro" catchphrase
• People still voting for Mitt Romney weeks after he dropped (excuse me, suspended) his Presidential campaign.
• Any supporters of the Philadelphia Eagles, New York Giants, or New England Patriots.
• The person that invented speed limits
• Charlie Finley and John Hedyler (the brain trust behind the designated hitter rule)

That's all the punishment I can dole out at this time, but feel free to add your own suggestions.

Remind Me That We'll Always Have Each Other When Everything Else is Gone

Along with Tailspin, watching the Cubs on WGN, and drinking unhealthy amounts of Kool-Aid, one of the hallmarks of my childhood summers was watching constant re-runs of American Gladiators.

This practice culminated one day in a fit of creation by assorted children from our street. Utilizing every cell in our pre-pubescent minds, we fashioned a scale replica of the game "Assault" where the "gladiator" (read: 95-lb. child) used a Nerf gun to shoot arrows at the competitor while the competitor tried to knock a cereal box off the mantle with a tennis ball. If you can't picture what we were attempting to replicate, just follow the link provided above.

As you can easily imagine, this led to the rampant destruction of property in the Scott household, and my being forced outside to wreak havoc on the rest of 75791 zip code.

With that said, I have mixed feelings about the return of American Gladiators. I loved the Larry Csonka/Mike Adamle announcing duo (especially the classy American Gladiators navy blazers), but the chance to read the insightful commentary of Hulk Hogan in closed-captions might just be the comedic gift that keeps on giving.

Feel free to share your fond American Gladiators-related memories in the comment section.

I Know You'll Count On the Me From Yesterday

It really was a treat to see so many good friends last night in Arlington at the Hardie-Allen wedding. In one of the country's longest unknown streaks, I was yet again somehow denied the honor of catching the garter by that rascal Jordan Paul Gay, but as a wise man once said, "Tough times don't last but tough people do."

Also, as the editor-in-chief of the Blahg was quick to point out, a special recognition is in order for my good friend Jeff McCain, who has been a faithful reader of Running Down a Dream from Day 1 (a.k.a. October 25, 2004). If any of the rest of you have been reading from the beginning, and somehow feel that I have slighted you by failing to mention your name, by all means, please use the comments section to berate me for this error.

I'll have more later, but right now I need to take some personal time to get in the right frame of mind for the return of American Gladiators to the airwaves. Let's be honest, if you can't get excited about "The Eliminator", you probably have a hard time getting excited about anything.

You also might not have a soul.

It hurts, but it's the truth.

There is Not a River Wide, Not a Mountain High, and Neither Sin nor Evil Could Change What I Feel Inside

If Matthew Fox in a shaggy beard doesn't get you fired up for January 31 and the 4th Season of Lost, well, honestly, I don't know what will.

Perhaps this video might do the trick.

Current Reading

Winning with Integrity: Getting What You're Worth Without Selling Your Soul by Leigh Steinberg

It Seems Farther Than Ever Before

Is this what it feels like to be old, out of touch, and in the dark? A few weeks ago my sister mentioned that I should watch a YouTube video portraying my alma mater's President doing the "Soulja Boy" dance.

Shockingly enough, my first thought was not "Dr. Money dancing?!?" but was instead "What in the name of all that is good and holy is Soulja Boy?" Apparently due to the fact that I currently live in the midst of the sensory blackout that is Baylor Law School I have missed out on what will eventually be remembered as the hip-hop answer to the "Macarena".

Thanks to the recent breakthrough on this thing called "The Internet" (thanks Al Gore!), I began to do some research on this phenomenon that is passing into irrelevancy faster than the "Cavemen" series on ABC.

Here's what I have determined at this point: The man behind the Soulja Boy furor, is appropriately named "Soulja Boy Tell 'Em" and has been derided by critics as the "Nickelback" of hip-hop music. With lyrics like "Soulja Boy up in this hoe,Watch Me Crank It,Watch Me Roll, Watch Me Crank Dat Soulja Boy", no one is going to be comparing him to Thomas Pynchon anytime in the near future.

In Mr. Tell 'Em's defense I should say that he is only 17. Six long years ago at 17, I was trying to learn how to drive a standard transmission car, navigating my way through high school economics, and hitting on cheerleaders, so perhaps I'm not in the best position to be calling people out for not reaching the highest levels of achievement.

Despite the fact that more college students can probably do the "Soulja Boy" dance at this point than can tell you who Pervez Musharraf and Benazir Bhutto are, the United States seems to be headed in a good direction. Well, if by good direction I mean the path that the Exxon Valdez took through Prince William Sound. Pop culture, it's fannnnnnnnntastic!

Back Before I Was a Movie Star

Congratulations to Mr. Andrew Tuegel for correctly naming "The Scientist" by Coldplay as the Tuesday Song of the Day.


As Jonathan Smith can tell you, my hometown (well, semi-hometown) of Tyler, Texas has a curious way of finding its way into the national spotlight. Whether that comes from the kidnapping of a baby at a local Wal-Mart or a Tyler area mother murdering her three sons because of an order from the Lord Almighty, it seems that the Rose Capitol of America is located somewhere near the nexus of the universe.


Now, I'm afraid that Tyler will not necessarily be known as the home of the Tyler Rose, NFL Hall of Famer Earl Campbell, but as the shooting location for "Anchorwoman". I was not sure whether I should laugh or cry when I heard the premise for the new Fox series, but I can tell you this, I will almost certainly not be tuning in to view the bumbling adventures of Ms. Lauren Jones in the 903.

Anyone could tell you that the series is simply a rating ploy, but then again, isn't that the aim behind almost everything that you see on the tube? What I, as a Tyler insider, can tell you is why this specific CBS affiliate would film a show that would eventually be used on a rival network, in this case Fox.


For the longest time, the only networks that had evening newscasts in the Tyler area were NBC and ABC. With that said, the NBC local newscast is the equivalent of your local minor league baseball affiliate with new names constantly arriving and then departing. On the other hand, the ABC affiliate is a model of continuity. My dad has a running commentary on the personality flaws of the local weatherman, but I'm pretty sure our TV is not equipped with a two-way feature that allows the weatherman to feel the sting of my father's verbal barbs, but I digress.


In a move to gain a larger share of the growing East Texas television market, CBS recently opened a Tyler affiliate, known to you and I as KYTX. Here's the problem: As I mentioned earlier, KLTV, the local ABC affiliate, holds the lion's share of the local viewing audience and KYTX has found hard sledding in its first few years in the Rose Capitol and surrounding areas.


Knowing that it needed some kind of gimmick or spark to grab the attention of the East Texas public, KYTX decided to go the buxom blonde route and allowed Ms. Jones and Fox to film the series at the station in hopes that East Texans might tune in, even if it is to scoff at Ms. Jones's antics. I'm not sure if the show is going to make it past the initial episodes, but I do know this, Tyler has once again found its way into the national spotlight, even if it is for another not-so-stellar reason.

I Don't Have to Speak, She Defends Me

There are some moments that have shaken the United States to its very core, among them the Civil War, JFK's assassination, and Watergate. Now, our nation is faced with another traumatic crisis that threatens to bring us to our collective knees.

Am I talking about the fact that Tim Donaghy just plead guilty to being a pawn in the hands of the mob? Or, am I referring to Michael Vick's cruel and inhumane treatment of canines across America? No, ladies and gentlemen, I'm referring to the fact that the one and only Bear Grylles if the Discovery Channel show "Man vs. Wild" has apparently been exposed as a wilderness sham. In a growing grassroots campaign across YouTube and other internet media outlets, the former member of the British special forces is portrayed as a svengali of the savannah.

In the first video, the jaded viewer takes issue with Grylles' claim that he will safely run a frigid mountain river with the assistance of his backpack, rainjacket, and the hair on his chinny-chin-chin.


In the second video, a disgruntled viewer named "VolcanoChaser" attempts to expose Grylles' apparently treacherous journey across a Hawaiian lava-field.


I'm not going to say that I think Grylles' is a complete and utter fraud, although that claim has been made by some, but it seems that if your reputation is built on purportedly living far, far off the beaten path, you probably need to be a bit more careful in the filming of the show. As someone who obviously enjoys the myriad benefits and occasional dangers of the outdoors, I can certainly understand that there is a certain cachet in a show that purports to place a very capable individual in a seemingly life-threatening situation and follows that person as they work out of the situation through accumulated experience and their personal determination.

Here's the problem: If the show's central appeal lies in the sense of danger that is created through Grylles' encounters with the wilderness, Grylles' and the show's producers have to be more careful in cultivating that sense of danger. When the viewing public is as cynical and eagle-eyed as the current edition is, it would seem that the show's producers would have been much more diligent in the editing and shooting of Grylles' travels than they were. The current backlash against Grylles' perceived hypocrisy may not be enough to sink the show, but it's probably going to less pleasant to deal with than the urine-soaked shorts that Bear once wrapped around his head to stave off the desert heat.

I Thought the Losing Dice Were Tossed

Congratulations to Mrs. Lola Scott, my mother, for correctly naming "Sweet Caroline" by Neil Diamond as the Sunday Song of the Day. I probably shouldn't tell you this, but I actually had to play the song for her so that she could get past the point of saying "It's that one Neil Diamond song." Angry with my leniency? Guess what? She's my Mom. I'll extend her mercy where all you get is an admonition to "try harder". Deal with it.

Now that I've cleared up that potential brouhaha, I'll move on to other topics. For someone who has never seen an episode of the series, I was very interested in last night's Sopranos finale for some reason. It's something that's difficult to articulate, but you just know when certain shows have reached that elevated status where their phraseology becomes part of the cultural lexicon. I think the Sopranos was one of those shows.

In yet another reference to the cavalcade that was the Freede/Agan wedding reception, I should mention that the final song played on Saturday night was "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey. In an eerie coincidence, the world's cheesiest power ballad also happened to be playing in the final scene in Sopranos history. Now I'm beginning to wonder if Lance and Kayla are clairvoyant or they just have David Chase on speed dial.


Either way, Steve Perry and his voice are taking over the world.

The People Bowed and Prayed to the Neon God They Made

Congratulations to Mr. Joey Halbert for correctly naming "Don't Go Away" by Oasis as the Monday Song of the Day.
Along with Tuegel as the resident U2 expert and ALV as the resident Beatles expert, I'm anointing Joey as the resident Oasis expert. Joey also told me about one of my favorite stories regarding the Gallagher brothers. At last year's Austin City Limits Festival, apparently Liam was enthralled with the Frost Bank Building across Town Lake and declared that "this next song goes out to the building that looks like an owl." It's always fun with the Gallagher brothers.



In other news of the day, ABC announced the lifespan of Lost. The series will air for three more seasons, and each of those seasons will be composed of 16 episodes, which is a shorter season length than the first three offerings. As a fan of the show, I'm glad that we have a definite date for when the show will end so that the writers will be able to adequately plot and pace the byzantine storylines that tie Jack, Kate, Hurley, Jin, and Desmond together on the island. I'll admit that at times I've wondered if the writers will be able to keep all of the plates spinning, but the knowledge of your show's mortality should provide a good framework for pulling together all of the loose ends.


On the way back from the lake this weekend, we played an enjoyable game in the truck that I thought I would pass along. All you need is an iPod and a group of friends who are not afraid to embarrass themselves. The game operates by placing the headphones in someone's ears (although full-ear headphones would be ideal) and then turning up the volume so that they cannot hear themselves sing. Then the person belts the song at the top of their voice while everyone else in the car either cringes or sings along.


Highlights included Shane Spencer belting out "Cowboy Take Me Away" by the Dixie Chicks and "Higher" by Creed, Jacob Wardell crooning "A Whole New World" from the Aladdin soundtrack, Brandon Maenius bringing us "All My Life" by K-Ci and JoJo, and Nate Low's soulful rendition of "All or Nothing" by O-Town. I should tell you that this game is the brainchild of Nate Low and he deserves the credit for bringing it to a grateful world.

The Piano Took Up the Living Room

I'm not sure if you remember my post on April 7th regarding the Tyler area news media's overreaction to the "crippling" April snowfall, but tonight might take the cake. It's probably because my family enjoys the show Lost a little too much, but I'm pretty sure that we reserved an extra measure of vitriol for a Tyler weatherman who decided to cut out large portions of the program describing the "life-threatening" thunderstorms that rolled through East Texas this evening. It wasn't enough to simply place the icon in the corner of the screen telling viewers the direction of the storm. No, the wonderful Mark Scirto had to continually zoom in and out with the radar like a stoned high-school student using Google Earth. Thanks Mark, thanks for nothing.

Today, I attended the sentencing hearings of three members of a multi-state methamphetamine ring that was busted last year by members of the FBI, ATF, and Tyler Police Department. What lesson did I learn? Well, let's just say that if you're going to sell drugs, make sure that you're not carrying a gun when you do so. If you do, you might end up with a sentence somewhere near 150 years. Yes, 150 years. Two of the defendants were sentenced to 152 years and the third was sentenced to 148 years. It's hard to feel sorry for someone who made the decision to engage in that kind of activity, but when you see someone react as they hear that they are going to spend the rest of their life in jail, a small part of you does ache for them. A small part.

Lastly, AC Milan trounced Manchester United 3-0 today at the San Siro to advance to the UEFA Champions League Final on May 23rd in Athens against Liverpool. You'll remember that this is a rematch of the legendary 2005 Champions League Final which saw Milan go up 3-0 in the first half, Liverpool claw back with 3 goals in 7 minutes in the second half, and a 3-2 victory in penalty kicks by Liverpool after a scoreless 30 minutes of extra time. I'm not sure if this year's match can live up to its predecessor but it should be great theater.

I know that I post a great number of YouTube videos, but today's is honestly one of the best that I've ever seen. It's probably the combination of Liverpool's victory, Gabriel Faure's "Pavane", and Des Lynam reciting Rudyard Kipling's "If". Give it a shot.

The Nursery Rhymes That Helped Us Out and Make a Sense of Our Lives

Congratulations to Mr. Joey Halbert for correctly naming "Cochise" by Audioslave as the Sunday Song of the Day. Apparently Joey had just seen Chris Cornell, Tom Morello & Co. earlier last evening and was therefore empowered to triumph in the daily duel for lyrics supremacy. Cheers Joseph.

Well, it was a fruitful first day at the internship. I got to attend 3 pleas during the course of the day and see the members of the office participate in a Kangaroo Court skit for 8th graders from two local middle schools. Let me just say this: it doesn't who you are in the Eastern District of Texas, if you do the crime, you will do the time. Some people say that justice is blind, but today justice heard guilty pleas from a 23 year old, a 33 year old, and a woman who looked like she was better suited to cooking apple pie and knitting a quilt than committing federal crimes, but if a viewing of Family Matters taught me anything, it was this: Sometimes the grandma is the most feisty member of the family.

In my rant for the evening, I'm focusing on one of the sacred cows of the TV industry: Mr. Jack Bauer. Jack, why do you always have to talk in a forced whisper that sounds as if you speed-smoked a case of Marlboro Reds in the last 37 minutes. I'm not a regular viewer of 24, but I think what may prevent me from becoming one is Kiefer Sutherland's insistence on always talking like he's just been the victim of surprise shanking. I'm completely ready for the barrage of "I can't believe you just called out Jack Bauer" comments, and I have one thing to say: Bring it on.

Down Sleepless Roads the Sleepless Go

Congratulations to "Katie" for correctly naming "No Rain" by Blind Melon as the Friday Song of the Day. I'm not sure if this Katie is my sister or another Katie, but congratulations nonetheless. Please feel free to share your last name to clear up any confusion that I currently have regarding my sister's possible Blind Melon fandom.

Because a Saturday night in early December seems like a reasonable time to confess a few secrets, here you go:

10 Things That I'm Not Afraid to Admit

1.You know, "Stairway to Heaven" is really not all that bad, and if you're telling me that you don't sing along to Jimmy Page's guitar solo, well my friend, you are probably just fooling yourself.

2. The last movie that I saw in theaters was Pirates of the Carribean 2: The Curse of the Black Pearl. I need to rectify this quickly. Also, it was a 2-screen movie theater in Salida, Colorado. Let's just say this was not like going to your friendly neighborhood multiplex.

3. Yes, I once supported the maroon and white of Texas A&M in high school and now I don the burnt orange in support of the 'Horns. Blame this one on Lance Agan.

4. I listen to "The Final Game" from the Rudy Soundtrack in order to get excited about running in the morning when I should probably just roll over and hit snooze.

5. When I called one of my buddies last week after Martin Gramatica hit the game-winning field goal, the conversation went something like this, "Yeahhhhhh.....woooooooooo....yeahhhhhhhhhhhhh." We thought this was normal.

6. I'm listening to the Rudy Soundtrack right now, and I'm not about to go run.

7. I will vehemently argue with anyone that Monday Night Football ratings would have never dipped if ABC had simply kept re-signing Richard Dean Anderson to new contracts for MacGyver.

8. If playing football on trampolines was a professional sport, I would be a first ballot Hall of Famer.

9. I probably should have died at least 15 different times in my prepubescent years from playing the sport described in #8.

10. At one point, I owned multiple Creed albums. Don't worry, I've been clean for a few years now.