From the episode where Hank and Peggy catch Bobby using one of Luanne's plastic heads from beauty school to practice kissing:

Peggy: "I know it is not my fault. If anything, this is your fault. You made him go to that camp with no toilet doors."
Hank: "Don't point your finger at me, woman. You're the one who parks him in front of the TV and makes him watch all them muppets. They got frogs kissing pigs, what the hell did they think was going to happen?"

Hank: "Just so you know, most states won't let you marry a plastic head."
Bobby: "I don't want to marry it! I just needed to practice my first kiss so I don't look like an idiot."
Hank: "You're kissing a plastic head, and you're afraid of looking like an idiot?"

Hank: "So Bobby, we got to think of a hero for you."
Bobby: "Do you have a hero, Dad?"
Hank: "I sure do, and it's Willie Nelson."
Bobby: "How come?"
Hank: "Well, you might say he's been my inspiration. See, Willie grew up in Texas, and I grew up in Texas. He loves golfing and playing guitar, I love golfing and playing guitar, he's had trouble with the IRS, and I must have spent six hours last April on that 1040 form -- EZ my ass."

I'm stuck at the office for several more hours. In lieu of actually doing my work, I've decided to fill the time by providing a round up of the good stuff to get you through the weekend:

1. A hilarious episode of SMP? and The City featuring a random dude (Jake Busey in a cameo) skipping out on the bar tab.

2. A double shot of THL: Her weird fantasy involving Snap, Crackle and Pop and a after-action report on her first session of Belly Dancing Class at the gym. Heh, maybe Matt Damon was THAT guy in the class.

3. Scott presents some pretty strong evidence that Bush is the anti-Christ. I guess I was wrong, Rufus.

4. TP on killing someone with a newspaper, Nazi hunters, and a dude who looked like Abe Lincoln.

5. Energy Spatula's first kiss.

6. Steve has by far the funniest post on the whole SpongeBob sexuality thing (for some reason, I get the impression that "the lucky Pierre" is not, in fact, lucky at all).

7. Old School vs. Animal House. Discuss.

8. Teri Polo posed for Playboy?!? What? Why? Seriously. (it's work-safe, but the links in that post are not). Note to Ms. Polo: EAT SOMETHING!

Also, word from BTQ's correspondent in NYC is that Kinja finally added an image to BTQ's profile. It's only been 8 months since I submitted it. I guess they've been busy.

Seen a bit ago, in The Corner:

DEMS-ARE-NOT-SELF-AWARE FILES [KJL]
Robert Byrd delays the confirmation of the first black secretary of State. Didn't think that one through, did you?

Um, what about Colin Powell, K-Lo? Were you not aware of him?

Note that about two hours after this was posted, they changed it to read "black [female] secretary of State [from the South]." (Brackets theirs) Still, like so many posts by Kathryn Lopez, she didn't think that one through.

Fifty Book Challenge book number five is The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin. I picked this up after Sherry put it on her most enjoyed books of 2004 list, and finally read it this week.

Sherry's mention of it reminded me that I had read this book when I was a kid. (It was published in 1978.) It's listed as a "young adult" book, so I didn't spend too much time browsing in the bookstore in that section, and almost bought an overly expensive newer edition instead of the cheap paperback. It's a Newberry Award-winner, and I guess there was a time when I tried to read all of those.

The only thing I remembered about the book was what I could have gleaned from the back cover. (Well, that, and a rave of a quote from Gene Shalit, of all people -- they ought to rethink that for the next printing, because I bet more people read BTQ each day than buy books based on Gene Shalit's say-so. And we get a fraction of Sherry's traffic, so I say, "Scheherazade for book blurber!") I digress. Anyway, the book is about a rich industrialist who dies and leaves a cryptic will. The heirs have to figure out who killed him based on the clues in the will, and the winner gets the bulk of the fortune.

It's very cleverly done. Raskin lets us know what each heir knows (they are given different clues), but manages to stay a step ahead of the reader's deductions (at least this casual reader; I wasn't keeping close track of all the clues). And like all the best books for young adults, it doesn't condescend. I would certainly recommend it for anyone who likes breezy, readable puzzle-mysteries, especially adolescent girls, and especially adolescent girls with prettier older sisters.

I watched The Knockaround Guys the other night (Why did I watch it? Because it was on TV.). I'll save you the review and just say it's a subpar story about the son of a gangster (Barry Pepper) and his buddies who toy with the idea of following in Daddy's footsteps until the very end when the son chooses to be a "citizen" rather than a criminal. There is plenty of beefcake for the ladies in the form of Vin Diesel and Seth Green. There's also an appearance by John Malkovich as the double-crossing Uncle Teddy.

There is a scene in this movie in which Vin Diesel is egging on a local Montana tough guy. Diesel says, "Five hundred." The shitkicker looks confused. Diesel elaborates that 500 is the number of fights he reckoned one had to have under his belt before he could be considered a legitimate tough guy. He then pummels the man from Big Sky Country, leaving him a bloody mess on the floor of the bar.

According to Diesel's calculations, I am about 497 1/2 fights away from being a legitimate street tough.

The first fight I was in was over sleeping arrangements in a hotel room. I've blogged before about being a high school cheerleader. Well, when I was a sophomore, our cheerleading squad traveled to Dallas to participate in the National Cheerleading Association's National Competition (you've seen it before on ESPN-8 "the Ocho"). There were 10 guys on the squad and we had to share 2 rooms. Each room had 2 queen size beds and a loveseat. But the fight was not about who had to sleep on the loveseat. No, the fight was about who had to share the bed with the gay guy. Not the noblest reason to engage in fisticuffs, but there it is. The whole thing was started because the seniors claimed one room and left the younger guys to sort out what was left. I claimed the couch, but that claim was challenged. Some name calling may have occurred, perhaps peppered with polite suggestions as to whom exactly was best suited to sharing the bed with Martin (who was not in the room at the time because he was out shopping or something). Push came to shove and then someone hit me. It knocked me to the floor where I fallen upon and pummeled (though not as badly as ol' Sea Bass in Knockaround Guys). Once I could get my arms free I began punching the guy on top of me in the kidneys. It did not really have any effect because I couldn't get any power behind my punches (I blame the constricted space, not my puny arms). I was desperate to get this guy off of me, so I did the only thing that came to mind - I grabbed the band of his underwear and proceeded to give him the world's most painful wedgie. I pulled so hard that I ripped the waistband out of his drawers and was able to start choking him with the elastic band. That had the desired effect. It got the bastard off of me and gave me the chance to punch him in the stomach while he was trying to extricate the remnants of his underwear from his, uh, well, his crack. I can't really say I won that fight, but I was standing when it was over and I kept my spot on the couch.

Incidentally, the Florida State football team was in town for the Cotton Bowl and they were staying in the same hotel (you talk about some big dudes). They were hauling in beer on hand trucks stacked 10 cases high and the elevators were packed with smoking hot chicks headed for their floor.

I did not find myself in a confrontation again for another 4 or 5 years. One summer during college, I was staying at my mom's house and so was my younger brother (the Army guy). For some reason, one afternoon he was berating one of my sisters. I think it was because she had taken one of "his" Cokes from the fridge without permission. He was all up in her face and screaming. He just about had her in tears. Well, I stuck my nose in it and asked him if he cared to talk that way to someone his own size. He said he did, not that he expected my response would be any different from my sister's. Interesting. I responded by punching him square in the mouth. I wouldn't call it a cheap shot, exactly, but he clearly wasn't prepared for it. He stumbled down to a knee, threw off his glasses and lunged at me. I caught him with a punch to the ear an instant before he tackled me to the ground. Once on the ground we both stopped. His mouth and nose were bleeding and my head was cut from hitting the floor. We just kinda looked at each other for a second, then he got up and gave me a hand. That was it. It was the weirdest thing, because from that moment on we've been very close. We weren't really close before that fight. I don't understand why that moment changed our relationship, but it did.

The last time I hit someone I was in Canada. I was up there with a group of Model U.N. kids from my college. One of the guys in the group was dating one of the girls. This guy, let's call him TJ, was a pig and he treated his girlfriend, let's call her Jenny, like crap. But she was one of those girls who always rationalized and apologized for his behavior. Anyway, on this trip I shared a hotel room with TJ (in my own bed this time) and the girls stayed in a room down the hall. Naturally, the "loving" couple hoped to share some intimate moments while abroad. To accommodate them I spent most of my evenings bar hopping. Well, late on our third night in Toronto, I headed back to the room after a fine evening of drinking and cavorting and heard yelling from my room. I unlocked the door and walked in on the cool guy and Jenny in the midst of a huge yelling match. They were both in their PJs. As I entered the room they turned to look at me. It was then I noticed that Jenny had a puffy lip, tears streaming down her cheeks and blood streaming from her nose. TJ glared at me and said, "We're in the middle of something, dude. Come back later!"

"Did he do that to you?" I asked, looking at Jenny. Before she could say anything, TJ piped up, "Yeah, I did! She's being a f***ing bitch and she deserved it!"

Wrong answer.

In two steps I was to him and an instant after that I landed a punch to the side of his jaw. He went down. I thought that was the end of it, so I grabbed Jenny and led her to the bathroom to clean up her face. But before we reached the bathroom TJ had recovered, gotten back on his feet, and punched me from behind. He hit me behind the right ear. It hurt like hell. I pushed Jenny into the bathroom and closed the door while he hit me again in the back of the neck. He hit me again in the shoulder as I turned around, and I caught him with a punch below the ribs. He doubled over and I got a couple more shots to his head before he went down. Meanwhile, Jenny was screaming her head off in the bathroom. TJ tried to get up again and I hit him in the face just about as hard as I could. After that he stayed down. After a couple of minutes of him mouthing off, I threw him out of the room. He stood right outside the door smarting off while I got Jenny calmed down and got her face cleaned up. Then TJ started crying, trying to tell Jenny how sorry he was, how much he loved her, and how he didn't mean to hurt her. That went on for about an hour. He finally stopped the yelling, but I could hear him sobbing for a long time. He spent the night in the hallway and she spent the night in the room. We left Toronto a day later. Jenny came to her senses and they broke up once we returned to the States and I think she married a seminary student. The jackass went to law school, of course. So did TJ.


*The title is a quote from Randall "Tex" Cobb, whom I had the pleasure to meet once. He and my dad were running buddies in high school. You might know him from such films as Raising Arizona, Collision Course, and Fletch Lives. You might not know it, but he went 15 rounds with Larry Holmes in 1982. He was the only man ever to go the distance against Holmes, thanks in large part to the strategy quoted in the post title.

In honor of the inauguration, a couple of quotes from the episode with the Texas primary, when Luanne flirted with Communism and Hank flirted with not voting for George W. Bush because his handshake was limp:

Luanne: "He's even more handsome than his dad."
Hank: "Well, Barbara's a handsome woman."

Hank: "This man could be the next leader of the free world. We're gonna have nutjob Third World dictators walking all over us when they find out the man in charge doesn't have a strong enough finger to push the button."

Hank, watching videotape of Bush shaking hands like Jim Garrison in JFK: "See that guy's reaction when Bush shakes his hand? Surprise, then disappointment. Surprise, then disappointment."
Peggy: "Sure, but when I want to watch Scent of a Woman, you don't even know how to work the VCR."

Luanne: "Why aren't you voting?"
Hank: "Because my candidate's handshake had no character."
Luanne: "What takes character is to vote anyway, even if it's rainy, or your face is blotchy, or your uncle made you cry, or your candidate's a dud. It doesn't take any character to give up!"

So take it from Luanne, folks: Don't give up, no matter how much of a dud your candidate is/was. America, f*** yeah!

What I am doing at work: Some bench memos, mostly. Also, I'm drafting a dissent in a case I don't want to reveal too much about, but let's just say the outcome is deathly important for one party. I like writing dissents -- and I've written more dissents than some of my colleagues have written opinions. For one thing, you don't have to waste a bunch of effort on the set-up, things like the facts and the basic legal structure you're dealing with. You can assume some knowledge on the reader's part by the time one reaches the dissent. Sure, I have to put some of that stuff in, but it doesn't have to be as extensive or detailed. For another thing, a dissent can be a little bit snarky and sometimes more casual, so it's more enjoyable to write and you don't have to worry about pretentious language. It's not like my judge writes that way in majority opinions, but I think it's natural for the language to be a little more stilted when you know you're writing "the law," if only because you're so careful about the implications of every word. Another thing I like about dissents is that they don't have to cover all the bases if the judge dissents on only one issue -- I can dive right into the meaty part without having to address the meritless claims. It's not all wonderful, though. The judge cut my favorite line from a dissent, I think because he thought my turn of phrase a little too cute. But it was in response to the majority's criticism of the dissent, and I wanted to say "shove off." Note that I didn't use those words; it was a metaphorical "shove off." But I have learned to tone down my rhetorical flourishes. I save those for here.

What I am doing at home: Cleaning up and buying some furniture in anticipation of some company coming soon. Oh, and the houseplant I got seems to be surviving. I had lunch with a friend the other day, and got a chance to see how the other half lives -- the half that doesn't get every federal holiday off. I'm trying to get said friend's help in setting me up with an attractive friend of hers (much more attractive than I deserve). The young woman in question is bright and funny and very pleasant. Unfortunately, that hasn't escaped the notice of other men, and she's currently with one. But, he treats her badly! He's long-distance, and doesn't keep in touch, and basically takes her for granted. I have done that before (years ago, before I figured some things out), and I know how it ends: she dumps him and starts dating the nice guy close to home. Now, finally, I'm that guy! So, I'm making sure that my friend points her friend in my direction when it all blows up.

What I am reading: Why do I still have so many December magazines to read? Maybe it's because I've been reading a lot of books for the fifty book challenge. I'm at work on book #6 (review of #5 coming soon). After I saw that the new season of "The Apprentice" was going to be a match between "book smart" and "street smart" teams (does this mean no more team-mixing later in the season, Prof. Yin?), I pulled my copy of Richard Hofstadter's Anti-Intellectualism in American Life to look for a good quote, but didn't find one before it started boring me. (Two thoughts: How in the world did that book survive my moving purge? And yes, trying to apply something from that book to a reality tv show is pretty pretentious, although in my defense, I didn't stick with it long enough to find one.) And, I sat for a while with Once a Runner, a cult classic among runners. I got it in high school, when my girlfriend Angie (the one mentioned above, whom I took for granted) and a lot of my friends were runners and I went to a lot of the meets -- even the indoor meets, an hour away by bus in the winter. Anyway, I was trying to get a little inspiration to pick up my exercise routine. I think runners are masochistic, and I'm not, so it's hard for me to grasp the mentality behind it, but Once a Runner does a pretty good job. I'll recommend it to Soupie if he needs a little juice. My favorite story about this book (it's about runners at a college) is that a publisher rejected it because the dialogue was "sophomoric," to which the author replied that many of the characters were in fact sophomores. Nice. Also, when I opened the book I realized that my bookmark was still in it from the last time I'd read it, and it was a picture of Angie from her junior year in high school. That was probably the worst year of our relationship (other than the long-distance one, and that one had its moments), but it's still a pretty picture and a nice memory. *sigh* If I only knew then what I know now...I would have broken up with her before she could dump me. I think it would have been better for both of us.

What I am watching: Let's see. Meet the Fockers, which was better than I expected, which is to say, not nauseatingly awful. Intacto, which was odd, but I liked it. And Spartan, which I think had flaws, but I also liked. Otherwise, lots of college basketball, and the usual assortment of syndicated re-runs of animated sitcoms.

What I am listening to: I started at one end of the cd-holder on my car's visor, and have been working my way along it. As it happens, that means I've been listening to a little Elvis Costello ("She said she was working for the ABC News/ It was as much of the alphabet as she knew how to use..."), a little Old Crow Medicine Show ("...when you cry I taste the salt in your tears...") (and see my review here), and a little Weezer ("The knee-stocking flavor is a favorite treat/ Of men that don't bother with the taste of the teat..."). So, a little bit of whatever rolls around.

What I'm thinking about: I wish I had something profound to say about one of the blogosphere topics du jour (topic du jours?), the issue of average guys and above-average women. I agree with Andrew Sullivan's basic take that women are to blame if they accept slobby guys. Demand change, and change will happen. See also E. Volokh. I also think we have to be careful with the terminology. A guy should be able to decide what is attractive to him, even if it's unrealistic to the point of being delusional to think he can get a gal who meets those criteria. That's not a double-standard; it's just a standard. He can have it, as long as he accepts that he might be lonely if he holds too tightly to it. It only becomes a double-standard if he thinks that women shouldn't be allowed to have standards, or that their standard has to include him. There is a certain physical type that I find most eye-pleasing, but I have dated several women who don't fit that type because I value other things along with mere appearance. (Primarily, intelligence. I think the sexiest part of a woman's body is her brain, and my ideal woman is smarter than me -- yet also stupid enough to fall for me, which means she doesn't exist. I will also note that I've never dated a woman I found unattractive, for what that's worth.) I also recognize that I don't meet the standard of male physical beauty that some women desire. I don't resent them for it, because as I said, they're allowed to have their standards. (I would humbly suggest, however, that I have other winning qualities which, when taken together with the fact that I'm not a complete ogre, would allow most women to stand being with me despite the knowledge that I'm never going to leave the law for a modeling career.) As I've stated before, I'm more of a standards-over-rules guy, so I think strict adherance to a beauty standard is unwise. And I would encourage women to allow the occasional exception (read: me), as I do the same with my "standard." Anyway, my bottom line is that I don't think I'm "God's gift to women," but I'm not going to apologize if an out-of-my-league woman somehow finds me worth dating.

What I am not thinking about: Why Brad & Jen broke up. It's just the classic proof of that old line that, "No matter how pretty she is, somewhere somebody is tired of sleeping with her."

Shout-outs: Scott's had some good stuff this week at L^3. Really, though, I think many of the blogs I read have been light on content lately, including this one. Am I alone in thinking that? Who's been doing good stuff that I've failed to note? I will mention two blogs I like. First, E. McPan's Neutral Zone Trap is, like the hockey season, on a bit of a hiatus. But we should all encourage her to post when the muse strikes again, because she runs a good blog. And, Centinel. I have to say that I like Centinel more as a blogger than I did as a classmate. He's a very good blogger, and a great commenter. I will note that, even in school, I felt like I could take Centinel in small doses. Which is what his blog is, so I guess that's why I like it. I'm kidding, really, although I'm sure we got on each other's nerves some back then. But it's funny how your feelings about someone can change when you deal with them in a new context. Or maybe it's just not having to look at him!

According to the Washington Post, the text for the sermon at the church service President Bush attended today was Isaiah 42, which begins, "Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen one in whom I delight; I will put my spirit on him and he will bring justice to the nations."

No comment from me. Draw your own conclusions.

Bobby: "Why are you always trying to turn me into you? Why can't you accept me for who I am?"
Hank: "Yeah, yeah, we both saw that after-school special, but I'm not an alcoholic and you're not an ice skater."

For my latest entry in the Fifty Book Challenge, and the latest entry in our occasional BTQ Review, I present Blue Blood by Edward Conlon. Yes, I listened to it on cd, but (a) it was the unabridged version (28 hours on 23 discs), and (b) it's not the kind of book that depends on holding it in one's hands, so I'm counting it.

In any event, the whole point of this review is simple: Read this book. It is really excellent. Conlon is a NYPD Detective, and a fourth-generation cop, and the book is essentially him telling the story of the NYPD and New York City through the lens of his family. I like cop stories and true crime; as I've said here before, it's like an extended "facts" section in a judicial opinion. (Because we all know the cops always get it right, don't we?)

Conlon started out as an unlikely cop (a little older than the average rookie, a history of minor juvenile delinquency, veteran of an alternative-justice program for criminal defendants, graduate of Harvard) and began his career walking patrol in the public housing developments of the South Bronx. In that capacity, he ran into everything from menacing cats to domestic assaults to dead bodies -- anything people would call the police about.

Conlon eventually moved to the Street Narcotics Enforcement Unit, a crew that stakes out drug sales and picks off buyers before taking down the sellers, and doing things like executing search warrants. There, Conlon experienced ups and downs, from days when he loved being a cop to days when, because of bureaucratic nightmares, he looked forward to missing work for a root canal.

Through all of this, and then into later stint with Narcotics and Robbery, on his way to getting his detective's gold shield, Conlon repeats his mantra, "Ya gotta have a story." And he does. Some are quite humorous, like his dealings with a confidential informant that blew up in his face so bad he named it Operation Hindenburg, and some reflect the bravery and dedication of the vast majority of police officers.

But we also get stories of the dark side of the thin blue line, from the days when Conlon's great-grandfather "carried the bag" for the Tammany Hall machine, to the endemic corruption of the 1970s, chronicled in "Serpico." Even the greatest achievement in NYPD detective history, cracking the "French Connection," was tinged with scandal when it turned out that most of the seized heroin had been replaced with baking soda. (Or maybe it was pancake batter -- one of the problems with listening to the audio version!) Showing that this story never really ends, Conlon discusses the racial tension in New York in light of the Abner Louima and Amadou Diallo scandals. Characters like Rudy Guliani and Bernard Kerik show up, and we are quickly absolved of the notion that the rank-and-file cops adore these figures.

Looming over the book are the twin towers. Friends of the Conlon family had a restaurant in the World Trade Center, and Conlon had an open tab there -- and he took advantage of it. But late in the book, when the towers fall, it still affects the reader. Blue Blood is worth the price for this section alone. Conlon describes the scene on the ground from a cop's perspective, the loss and frustration and confusion and heroism. After the attack, Conlon is assigned to the Fresh Kills landfill, to sort through the rubble for body parts. It's moving and powerful.

In sum, Blue Blood is story after story from a superb storyteller. Conlon has a keen eye for detail and an insight into the cop mentality, and doesn't shy away from self-awareness, even when it's unflattering to him or "The Job." It's engaging and readable; a true gem. I can't find anything wrong with it, so I give it our highest rating, a full six-pack.

The best thing going on in the blogosphere these days has been Prof. Berman's Sentencing Law & Policy blog, for its coverage of the Booker decision. If you're interested in criminal law, to call it a "must-read" is a comically immense understatement.

Scrolling through it, though, I have noticed something. There are a lot of comments at that site from people seeking legal advice. Usually the commenter has a loved one who has been sentenced to, or is facing, federal prison time, and the writer is curious for information about how Booker might impact that sentence.

The comments are interesting to look at, if only for a snapshot of some of the situations federal defendants find themselves in. Of course, we're only hearing from one party. But it's not like a prosecutor could really deny that certain defendants pled guilty and then saw their sentences doubled or trebled because of hearsay and judicial fact-findings not proven beyond a reasonable doubt.

It's also distressing that the system is so complex (especially once one gets to the habeas stage) that even esteemed law professors and judges can't figure it all out, let alone indigent defendants and their families. I know Ken Lammers doesn't do a lot of federal work, but he's shared a few stories that make it clear that it's no fun trying to explain the federal or state guidelines to lay people.

So on the one hand, it's nice that these folks have a place to seek out (and find!) some valuable information, and in fact they often receive helpful comments from lawyers as follow-ups. Then again, "helpful" in this context often means telling the person that the chances are very slim that someone will get out of prison because of Booker, especially if the prisoner has already filed one habeas motion. I'm not aware of other spots where the families of federal defendants are congregating online to discuss this, but I'd love to know if there are.

But it's also interesting to note that I haven't seen Prof. Berman answer any of these comments, although he does respond to other comments from time to time. I'm not at all implying that he should -- if for no other reason than that he's terribly busy just getting the information out there so these people will have something to ask about. And it's not like he ever intended that blog to be a client-recruitment site, if he even practices any more.

I just find it intriguing that he doesn't answer them yet doesn't discourage them. Not that I'm encouraging them to come here; I don't have answers for them and am not licensed to provide them if I did. But it's yet another fascinating aspect of an amazing blog. I try to avoid gushing about other blogs, but I also like to point out the blogs I think are worthy of reading. I'm not the only blogger who hasn't been exactly ripping off posts by the dozen lately, so I'm quite appreciative of quality blogs to kill time with. To quote Paul Simon, "so I'll repeat myself, at the risk of being crude," but SL&P is the best law-blog out there right now.

Dale: "You know, you used to be on my list of trustables, and it was a very short list. I wasn't even on it. But now, I just don't know. I guess you're not my friend."
Hank: "Dale, if I could do it again, I'd... hey, what the heck is that? I am too your friend. I'm as good a friend as a weirdo like you is ever going to have."

1. I've barely looked at a blog (including this one) in the last three days, in part because of my computer issues, and in part because I wanted to do some other things this weekend. So I'm a bit behind in my posting. Sorry about that. But at least I'm not taking a month off to take exams or something. Anyway, I'll be back at it this week, although I don't have any ideas for posts besides more book reviews. So help me out if you've got some ideas.

2. I decided to give up my sweet tea experiment (see #8). I decided that it could be done, so I didn't see much point in actually doing it. I came to this conclusion after talking with a friend who is a big runner. She was talking about how much she enjoys torturing herself that way (she was trying to talk me into running with this logic, too), and one of the pluses to her is that after a race she can celebrate by eating whatever she wants. I told her, "I do that anyway, and I don't have to wait to celebrate anything. When I go to Chick-fil-A and top it off with a Cinnabon, that's not race day, that's Tuesday!" So, I decided that since one of my deepest, most treasured principles is that I don't willingly make myself suffer, I said, screw it, and made myself a pitcher of tea. But still, I could give it up. I went about a week and had about three glasses of tea, which is far below my usual daily input. But it was annoying. And, I found myself drinking more Cokes, which are even worse for me. So, the great sweet tea experiment of 2005 is over.

3. I didn't watch the Golden Globes, but I saw that Will Ferrell made a joke about being in a "boating accident." Some killjoys were criticizing Ferrell because the show was a tsunami-victim fundraiser. So...are all jokes involving water off-limits now? It's not like the show was a fundraiser for victims of the Titanic. Maybe it was a bad joke, but I don't think it was tasteless because of the tsunami.

4. I saw a bumper sticker today that might have been the best I've ever seen, especially because the car was driven by a woman: "My other ride is your mother."

[Post in progress if I have any more thoughts tonight...but don't count on it.]

I've been a little off the grid this weekend, so I'm sorry for the delay in getting these posted. Anyway, to make up for it, here are three from last night's episode where Cotton buys a timeshare in Mexico:

Bill: "So then Cotton says, 'I bet Fatty here can eat fifty potatoes.' And the bartender says, 'No way,' which of course was a terrible insult to the Colonel's honor. Long story short, I was pronounced legally dead!"

Cotton: "Only thing that makes sense is to head for the place where a man with American dollars can live like a king, suckling on God's great teat: Mexico."
Bill: "Margereetees and senoreetees!"
Cotton: "Amen, Fatty!"

Hank: "I've got to make sure Bill doesn't do anything stupid. His wages are still being garnished by Columbia House -- a timeshare is the last thing he needs."
Peggy: "You be careful too, Hank. You're going down there with a liver, two kidneys and no timeshare. I expect you to come back the same way."
Hank: "If an at-risk kid can't get me to order Sports Illustrated, no one's going to sell me a timeshare."