Isiah Thomas? Dwyane Wade? How do I keep missing these ridiculous spellings? I probably read "Isiah" 500 times over the past 20 years and never once noticed Mrs. Thomas's blunder. I'm not as sharp as I think I am.

In other news, I successfully tied my own tie this morning. This may not sound like an impressive feat for a 27-year-old who wears a tie at least once a week, but at least once a week, I stand in front of a mirror and try in vain to tie an acceptable knot, only to hand the tie over to my loving and talented wife, who gets the job done in two or three tries. Not wanting to wake her on a day off, I forged on this morning, striking gold on my sixth or seventh effort.

Another impressive streak came to an end on Sunday, when I drank a Dr. Pepper, my first soda in more than a year. After succumbing to one of the intense cravings I've been having for most of the past 60 or so weekends, I feel like I can go another year without one. It was, however, delicious.

Jill and I caught a scintillating Holy Cross football game this week with her dad and brothers. At dinner after the game, three-year-old Lauryn insisted that our back-of-the-placemat drawings of her family be anatomically correct (and all female). I resisted at first, but as the increasingly fervent cries of "I need to draw a vagina!" echoed throughout the restaurant, I gave up, and Noah's crayon likeness may never forgive me.


Look Ma, We're Going to Vegas!

A few stats and facts from Look Ma, No Hands's brilliant kickball season, which came to an end with our 11-0 loss to Balls Deeper in last night's championship game:

-We finished 8-3, including two wins and a loss in last night's playoff marathon.

-There were seven men on the team. When at least six were present, we went 8-0 and outscored opponents 25-7. When fewer than six were present, including last night's final, before which we lost Matt to a hamstring injury, we went 0-3 and were outscored 19-0.

-That's right, we gave up more runs than we scored and went 8-3. We're like the Arizona Diamondbacks with bigger balls.

-We had the option to take the title last night, when one of the four girls on Balls Deeper left in the third inning with an illness. WAKA rules state that they have to forfeit in that situation, but it didn't seem right to take the cheap win when we were down 11-0 after two innings.

-Another reason not to take the forfeit is the rule that sends both finalists to the national championship next Labor Day in Las Vegas. I'm not sure it'll hold up 10 months from now, but at the moment, we're planning on going.

-Our semifinal against Bears was probably the game of the season. Up 4-2 in the bottom of the fifth (and last) inning, Bears loaded the bases with no outs. They cut the lead to one on a sac fly, bringing the tying run to third with one out, but the game ended up a liner to the pitcher (your friend and humble narrator), and a fly out to the thirdbasewoman (the wife). By the skin of our teeth, we earned a mauling in the final.


The Top 50

As determined at Mike and Lisa's wedding by Pat, Mark, Eric, Shayna, Nick, Heather, Jill, and me.

1) Ken Tingley
2) "I was in the seat. I'll take the heat."
3) Moynihan sandwich
4) titties (white)
5) swamp-ass
6) manhole cover
7) trifecta
8) family buns
9) duck hunt
10) salad days

#11-50, in alphabetical order:

Afternoon Delight
Agent Michael Scarn
Angelina Jolie's lips
Avogadro's number
Back to the Future
Beau's threesome
corn chowder
Dr. Thunder
"everybody out of the chunnel"
Farrah Fawcett 1977
front-clasp bra
gallows humor
grande meals
heckuva job
ice cream cake
jerk chicken
Lou Gehrig's disease
Macallan 18-year
more bitter than sweet
phallic guord
puddin' shack
RBI baseball
Schrute Farms beets
the rapist!
The Simpsons seasons 4-9
TPS Reports


Still Tall

All my life, I've enjoyed the advantages that come with being tall. My height added 20 mph to my serve, upgraded my basektball skills from pathetic to useful, forced a few people to take me seriously in the business world, and offered me views of cleavage unavailable to the average person. There's a certain comfort that goes along with almost always being the tallest person in the room, and I wouldn't trade that for anything.

Lately, though, I'm finding more disadvantages to my height. Ever try squeezing 78 inches and 245 pounds into an airplane seat? How about one of those cruel wooden seats at Fenway Park? Worse still is the strain on the knees and back from carrying around all this weight, of which I could probably only lose about 12% before I lost the ability to stand upright.

There are times when I'm sitting on a couch and I know I need to get up, so I look six and a half feet in the air and think how the hell am I getting all the way up there? I feel like I'm aging four years for every year I exist at this altitude. I'm 27 years old, and at this point, I still feel like the pros of my gargantuanity outweigh the cons. I wonder if I'll be saying the same at 47. Or 67.

The Red Sox won. We got a whole bunch of trick-or-treaters. Lots of car time in the near future, starting with Mike and Lisa's wedding this weekend. That is all.