Express Yourself

I am almost embarrassed to admit that I am having a hard time focusing on the Madonna post show glow due to the pending presidential election. I think this is a sign of old age or delirium or latent patriotism. Whatever it is, I am distracted by election-related emails, commercials, discussions, photo-shopped images, bumper stickers and lively banter. I want to talk about Madonna's wardrobe and the band-aid on her right thigh but I can't help but find myself laughing, fretting, hoping, contemplating the pending vote. Madonna herself was part of the presidential frenzy, with Obama (along with Nelson Mandela and the Dali Lama) receiving much support and Ol' Bush and McCain being in the same league as Hitler. One of the concert t-shirts featured a rainbow colored portrait of Obama with "Express Yourself" under the image. The crowd loved it. Of course, I'm guessing most of the rich Republicans were at some fancy pants fundraiser and not hanging out with the gay boys at a Madonna Concert.

So little time, so much political email fodder to share. Some are funny, some are serious, some are from YouTube, some are not real, some are scary because they ARE real. As we are approaching the finish line, I thought Id add a few of the email blurbs after the Madonna talk. How can I focus on Madonna, my Beloved Lady Chiropractor (who, by the way, was busy cracking my vertabrae this morning), the dogs, the wife, my job when there are political pundits busy 24 hours a day? (Um, I am wondering about why John Travolta is singing a song with Mylee Cyrus but that's only a moment of distraction from the campaigning.) How can I ever thank people like China Grrrrl and Grand Canyon Black Toes and EPA Guy for the photos, jokes, emails, links, videos?

I'll be honest. I'm worried. People lie. I'm concerned those polls are not even close to representing what will happen. People like to "look" progressive and as if they are against racial discrimination. Problem is, those people get in the voting booth and can't vote for the "black guy." Sigh. Madonna may have come far but the American public has not.

If you are Joe the Plumber, be brave. You can do it. You can get beyond race. You can go beyond the fear. You can vote the way you said you were going to vote......

Back to Madonna. I have GOT to talk about Madonna. I am still about Madonna. Let's see: the wardrobe choices. I did not like the dancers' costumes as much as I have liked them in previous performances. Maybe it's impossible to "top" the rollerskating outfits of the "Confession" tour. Maybe the costumes pale in comparison to the outfits being worn by "She Who Must Not be Named" during campaigning. Now, don't get me wrong, I was all a-titter with what was going on during Sticky and Sweet. I just wasn't as blown away with the wardrobe choices. Below: an example of costume choices that I DID like:
For those in attendance that needed an "old" madonna fix, there was quite the display of "old" madonnas via the dancers: one virgin bride, one Material Girl Marilyn, one from "Express Yourself," and one from "Open Your heart." A little something for everyone, just like the music!

Ah, the music. I already said it was loud. May I add that the arrangements were creatively awesome. Very creative, cutting edge. Love the way Madonna, the live band and live singers blended seamlessly with the recorded music and pre-programmed everything. You would think it a bad thing that Madonna is not singing all the words all the time, when in reality, it is a great thing. Gives great, consistent sound while maintaining the best parts of live performances and it's not like she's lip-syncing. She's singing 'with' herself, layered on top of herself. For $350, I don't want to watch someone stand on a stage and sing to me. I want a SHOW. I want to be ENTERTAINED. I want to see Madonna HOPPING up and down and challenging the crowd to do the same. So, pre-programming and pre-recording is all good with me.

Yes, Mrs. Soon-to-be-Ex-Richie was political, mostly via videos. She didn't say anything overtly political but a picture is worth 1000 words, so she really didn't need to say anything except "IT'S TIME" and that it's "YOUR WORLD." Her lyrics reminded the crowd that it's now or never and sitting around is NOT the way to get to a better place for all. No hanging on crosses, no calling the president naughty names, no fun-making of She Who Must Not be Named, no comments about emotionally retarded husbands....surprising. I guess she decided the video images would do the talking for this night in Chicago.

At the end of the concert, lots of the crowd remained, dancing in the stands to the Madonna music that was playing after the lights went on. It was fun to look up from the floor and see people dancing on all the various levels of the United Center. Madonna does not have an opening act and she does not have encores....so, dancing to her music is a good encore option for ending the evening.

For the record, I did not see Joe the Plumber on stage or in the crowd.

What's next for Madonna? I don't know....but, I do know I'll be waiting......charge card in hand.

Here's my encore....some email fodder.....

Dear Red States:

We've decided we're leaving. We intend to form our own country, and we're taking the other Blue States with us. In case you aren't aware, that includes California , Hawaii , Oregon , Washington , Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan , Illinois and all the Northeast. We believe this split will be beneficial to the nation, and especially to the people of the new country of New California.

To sum up briefly: You get Texas, Oklahoma and all the slave states. We get stem cell research and the best beaches. We get the Statue of Liberty. We get Intel and Microsoft. You get WorldCom. We get Harvard. You get Ole' Miss. We get 85 percent of America's venture capital and entrepreneurs. You get Alabama. We get two-thirds of the tax revenue, you get to make the red states pay their fair share.

Since our aggregate divorce rate is 22 percent lower than the Christian Coalition's, we get a bunch of happy families. Please be aware that Nuevo California will be pro-choice and anti-war, and we're going to want all our citizens back from Iraq at once. If you need people to fight, ask your evangelicals.

With the Blue States in hand, we will have firm control of 80 percent of the country's fresh water, more than 90 percent of the pineapple and lettuce, 92 percent of the nation's fresh fruit, 95 percent of America's quality wines (you can serve French wines at state dinners) 90 percent of all cheese, 90 percent of the high tech industry, most of the U.S. low-sulfur coal, all living redwoods, sequoias and condors, all the Ivy and Seven Sister schools plus Stanford, Cal Tech and MIT.

With the Red States, on the other hand, you will have to cope with 88 percent of all obese Americans (and their projected health care costs), 92 percent of all U.S. mosquitoes, nearly 100 percent of the tornadoes, 90 percent of the hurricanes, 99 percent of all Southern Baptists, virtually 100 percent of all televangelists, Rush Limbaugh, Bob Jones University, Clemson and the University of Georgia. We get Hollywood and Yosemite!

Additionally, 38 percent of those in the Red states believe Jonah was actually swallowed by a whale, 62 percent believe life is sacred unless we're discussing the death penalty or gun laws, 44 percent say that evolution is only a theory, 53 percent believe Saddam was involved in 9/11 and 61 percent believe you are people with higher morals then we lefties.

Peace out,

Blue States

Please take a moment to ponder the following:

· What if the Obamas had paraded five children across the stage, including a three month old infant and an unwed, pregnant teenage daughter?

· What if John McCain was a former president of the Harvard Law Review?

· What if Barack Obama finished fifth from the bottom of his graduating class?

· What if McCain had only married once, and Obama was a divorcee?

· What if Obama was the candidate who left his first wife after a severe disfiguring car accident?

· What if Obama had met his second wife in a bar and had a long affair while he was still married?

· What if Michelle Obama was the wife who not only became addicted to pain killers but also acquired them illegally through her charitable organization?

· What if Cindy McCain graduated from Harvard?

· What if McCain was a charismatic, eloquent speaker?

· What if Obama was the one who was known to display publicly, on many occasions, a serious anger management problem?

You could easily add to this list. If these questions reflected reality, do you really believe Obama would be in front? Or even a candidate????? This is what racism does. It covers up, rationalizes and minimizes positive qualities in one candidate and emphasizes negative qualities in another when there is a color difference.

Educational Background:

BARACK OBAMA:

Columbia University - B.A. Political Science with a

Specialization in International Relations.

Harvard - Juris Doctor (J.D.) Magna Cum Laude, first African American President of the Harvard Law Review

JOSEPH BIDEN:

University of Delaware - B.A. i n History and B.A. in Political Science.

Syracuse University College of Law - Juris Doctor (J.D.)

vs.

JOHM MCCAIN:

United States Naval Academy - Class rank: 894 of 899

SARAH PALIN:

Hawaii Pacific University - 1 semester

North Idaho College - 2 semesters - general study

University of Idaho - 2 semesters - journalism

Matanuska-Susitna College - 1 semester

University of Idaho - 3 semesters - B.A. in Journalism

Education isn't everything, but this is about the two highest offices in the land as well as our standing in the world. You make the call.

Candy Overload

I can't tell you how I got these "illustrations" from last night's Chicago Sticky & Sweet Madonna concert and I'll deny everything if asked about it....but trust me when I tell you that these really ARE photos from the 10/27/08 concert. I did NOT take the photos but wish I had. I profess my love and gratitude to the photographer for sharing his/her photos.

Disclaimer to Madonna and Live Nation: Please allow this humble blogger of no real consequence to post these photos. I only have like 12 readers, so it's not like you're losing any income because of me. You make more money farting one time than I make in an entire DECADE. Besides, I really, really like you and promise to not post these photos anywhere but here, on my wallpaper, on my cell phone, on the network server and in mass emailings. Ha ha.

Now, on to painfully long rantings about the concert. Just go along with it. Admit it....you want to know how it went....

In the wardrobe department, I decided to wear my "Re-invention Tour" t-shirt, along with khaki pants and my Harley boots. Not very original or exciting or innovative, but it worked for me, allowed me to be warm without being hot, gave me the room to move. It also worked for all those naughty grrrls walking by, giving me the knowing eye.

There is nothing more fun than a Madonna concert, if not only because of the gay guys' shoes. Those boys know how to work a pair of shoes. I found myself jealous on more than one occasion about a shoe or two. And pairs of shoes there were, as there are always four zillion gay boys at Madonna concerts. It makes for a very festive environment, indeed.

By the way, a beer is almost $9.00 at the United Center. NINE DOLLARS. Not that I purchased one. First of all, I don't drink. Second of all, I am WAY too cheap to spend nine bucks on a Budweiser.

I was very happy with my seat, so that was good--no, GREAT--news after all that ridiculous ticket trauma of the past five months. I did end up sitting by myself, which was fine with me because it meant I had more room to dance.......

...............and, dance I did! Even fell over backwards one time when hopping up and down. Scared the poo out of the people behind me. I just got up and started hopping again.

Madonna likes when people hop up and down. What's not to like?

Here is Madge as she opens the show. Candy overload! Before we got to this point, the crowd was BLASTED from their seats by the excruciatingly loud volume of music blaring/pumping/screaming/pulsing/POUNDING out of the speakers. The bass probably left me sterile from being so loud. Usually, I would have been thinking, "where are my earplugs?" But, the sound was so crisp and delicious that I could only enjoy the ensuing pain.

How loud was it?

It was so loud that my pants were vibrating. I'm not exaggerating. I looked down and could literally see my pant legs moving to the beat. Now, THAT'S loud. In addition to being loud, it was a visual overload of candy, candy, candy---pinks and purples, swirling and flying, suckers and hard candy.....I cannot do the imagery any justice in some stupid blog entry. The visuals in the show were absolutely, positively amazing...in fact, I think I like the various visual aspects of the concert best of all.
If you look behind Ms. M, you can see some of the candy flying by...but, by this point, who the hell is looking at the candy?
WE
ARE
LOOKING
AT
MADONNA!

The Mighty Madge marched right down the runway and right to where I was sitting. She was ready to party, dance, sing, tease, demand. Yes, she came to the end of the runway, danced a little dance....and, that's when I was like,

"What is UP with THOSE cheekbones?"

I'm all about the rock hard, sculptured thighs and I can get past the uber-defined arms, but the cheekbones! Madge, you look like a skeleton! (Albeit a beautiful, well preserved skeleton.)

The concert, in case you are seeking details, opened with "Candyshop," followed by "Beat Goes On," "Human Nature," Vogue" and "Into the Groove." Now, those are some of my favorite Ms. Ciccone songs, so I was naturally quite delighted. (Um, like I wouldn't have been delighted no matter what. Of course I was friggin' delighted. But, I really do gave an affinity for Human Nature, Vogue has such history of the dance bar era and Into the Groove is an 80's mantra for me. You go, material grrrl!)

In many respects, it is impossible to report what songs were actually included or performed as she "sampled" many songs in parts of other songs....so, when I report on the set list, I'm not really doing that justice, either. For instance, "Rain" is not included in the set list but parts of the song were sampled, as well as was Annie Lennox "Here Comes the Rain Again" but neither song was complete in itself or even remotely a song in itself.Always arriving in style, Madonna rolled right along through the night. Tasty!

If you really want to take a gander at those arms, look at the next two photos. If you need a closer look, click on the photos and they will become "bigger" for your viewing pleasure. I think I could draw blood from those veins from where I am sitting right now. I'm not messing with her. And yes, she is jump-roping. I guess dancing and singing for two plus hours isn't enough of a work-out...might as well skip some rope.For Madonna nerds, here's the rest of the set list: Heartbeat; Borderline; She's Not Me; Music; Devil Wouldn't Recognize You; Spanish Lessons; Miles Away; La Isla Bonita (AGAIN! What is up with that?!!!); You Must Love Me; 4 Minutes; Like a Prayer; Ray of Light; Hung Up; and, Give it to Me.

Right now, I'm too pooped to write clearly about the concert experience; after all, I only got five hours of sleep and I'm a grrrrl that needs eight hours or I'm a crabby patty. So, I'll pace myself and write about the concert over the next few blog entries.....

I'll end this entry by saying I thought the Best song of the night was...... "Borderline." I can't even I'm saying this. I wasn't a big "Borderline" fan back when Madonna was coming onto the music scene and I never was one much for the video and I usually skip over it when listening to the Immaculate Collection....but this rendition--the rock and roll, up-tempo, ragged rendition--ROCKED the house and rocked my vote. MADONNA--PLEASE RE-RELEASE THIS SONG! Of course, I loved almost all the songs and I have to admit even the "gypsy/flamenco" rendition of La Isle Bonita was quite palatable....

...and that, in itself, says a lot.

TICK TOCK TICK TOCK TICK TOCK

I am a nervous wreck.....because 12 hours or so, I'll be hopping up and down like a giddy moron. The time has come for Madonna.

I am a mess. This morning, I stood and stared at my closet because I couldn't figure out what to wear to work today because I kept getting distracted about what to wear tonight.

Yesterday was "better" because I was so distracted by those damned football pools I'm in. It's changed the way I watch football. No more loyalty to one team--it's all about individuals shining for YOU.

Watching football now borders on painful. If you belong to a football pool, you understand this angst. Since I belong to two different pools, I have angst squared. I make my picks early in the week, second guess myself for the next few days, know I should leave well enough alone, go back and make a last minute change or two (like on Sunday morning) and then fret and moan about that change because the original pick I made was the "right" one and my last minute change was a bust.

The wife says you should always go with your first answer on a test. I suppose the same should apply to football pools. Stay with your original picks.

So, I was distracted from Madonna for a few Sunday moments. I kept thinking about my quarterbacks. In the back of my head, a little voice kept nagging me: "Trade him, pick up the other guy!" I knew this might work out for various reasons but I didn't make the trade....until I woke up Sunday morning and turned on the TV (so I could watch the Weather Channel instead of looking out the window)....and, there was the other guy right on the screen. I took this as a sign from the ubiquitous Baby Jesus that I should go through with the trade. So, I went to the computer and made the trade.

Stay with your first answer on the test and not with TV messages from the Baby Jesus. My trade idea TANKED. Ah well, more distraction from Madonna.

And now, it's Madonna Monday. Just like her song "Four Minutes," today will be tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. I go see MBLC and she'll make sure I'm ready to dance. I then just have to get through the work hours and figure out what to wear. I can make it. I can do it.

....tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.....

Crack goes the Hip, Bring on the Whip
Okay, how can I NOT post all the "She Who Must Not Be Named" fodder that's going around the Internet right now? It's like she was BORN to be the politician of my dreams. Thanks to Harmony China Grrrl for the continued email forwards. I am loving every minute of it. (If you are S-W-M-N-B-N fan/supporter/fellow hunter, I am sorry....not for posting this stuff, but for you. I know that most politicians are pretty much the same, but this lady takes it to a whole 'nother level. At least she's cute. Maybe she'd be my friend despite my chosen sexuality....although, I don't S-W-M-N-B-N is exactly looking for a bleeding-liberal- vegetarian- lesbian-tree-hugger-who's never shot a child out of her womb and who can certainly NOT see Russia from the Addiverse on her friendship list. ) 

One: Monday is Madonna. Woo Woo! Let's see: If today is Thursday evening, that means I only have to wait through Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Whatever will I wear? Will my knee hold out through all that dancing? Will I be able to sneak up closer to the stage? Will I get my period? (TMI) I AM READY, MATERIAL GRRRL! 

Two: Dos Marias are getting married!!! I am very excited to alert Addiverse readers that our Californian friends Dos Marias will be getting married right before election day. Why then, you ask? Because on November 4th the great State of California may vote to get rid of that nasty gay marriage thing, so they "have" to get married before November 4, 2008. That doesn't give them much time to do anything but slap on a few nice close, jog to the courthouse and say "I do" but it's a huge, wonderful, amazing thing that they can actually legally get married. I hope there is time to clink some glasses and smooch along the way. Good luck and congrats, grrrls! Three: I had a delicious appointment with My Beloved Lady Chiropractor (MBLC) this morning. When I woke up today, I was indeed a wee, wee, wee bit sad because I had no knee pain but happy I had no knee pain. (No pain equals less visits equals less face-to-face time with MBLC but it does equate to more money in my checking & savings account). I did notice an incredibly ridiculous tightness in my hamstrings, so I figured that had to be good for something. I waddled my tight leg muscles to the office, Dr. Jesus nowhere in sight. (I have since learned he comes in later during the day, so if I play my cards right, I won't have many Dr. Jesus sightings over the next few weeks, although I do owe him because his business partner is fabulous. Praise the baby Jesus for that. I am all about the Baby Jesus.) 

MBLC is all a-glow that I am still pain free. I feel like I've won an award or something-- maybe an Olympic gold medal--as she seems so pleased by my progress. I mutter about my hamstrings and so, after shooting my knees with the activator thingy, she takes a look (or, a feel I guess) at the hammies and agrees quite strongly that they are indeed very tight. She assures me she can fix this. I am sure she can. 

  I am proud to say that she stretched those puppies just about over my head and into the next county. She is leaning into it and proclaims, "this is incredible!" It is incredible, I decide. I am the new poster child for Chiropractic treatment. I am ready to testify. She assures me not many people are this flexible, adding that she is very flexible but many people aren't. 

I am smitten with my flexibility. Now, for the best part. You know, I like that little electrode thing that makes my knees buzz and I don't mind the whole activator part and I'm good with the stretching thing but there is nothing.......NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING.... nothing better than a chiropractor CRACKING your parts. (Well, besides ice cream and chocolate. I mean nothing better in the medical world.) Orgasmic! I can't exactly recall the position MBLC had me strike for the move of the century but I do know it involved my hips being in one place and suddenly being SLAMMED into another place. As I don't have my glasses on during any of this (and as I am so damned blind I can't even see the table without them), it is difficult to comprehend what is totally going on. One minute, I'm in this weird contorted position, the next, every vertebrae in the nation CRACKS-SCREAMS-FIRES with gluttonous delight. CRACK CRACK CRACK! It sounds like a damn machine gun is being fired in the room. I'm not kidding--I'd bet ten things cracked during that one delightful maneuver. Heaven. Heaven. Heaven. (If this is what the Baby Jesus had in mind when he brought me to this office, I am all good with it. Put your hand on the TV screen and be SAVED!) I am impressed with the move not only because it worked and because it feels so good but because it requires the chiropractor to basically THROW themselves on top of you while adjusting the targeted area. Talk about coordination and brute strength and a strong knowledge of bio-mechanics. One wrong move and I'm peeing in a catheter. 

How does one follow up with such a fabulous move? Why, you do the OTHER side. Ready... set.....SLAM! CRACK CRACK CRACK. I want to weep! Why have I waited so long to do this??? This is followed by more stretching/cracking/activating of my legs/hips/knees/lower back. By the time I left that office, I could have won a triathlon. I could have raced She-Who-Must-Not-be-Named up the Washington Monument and back. I could have wrapped my leg around my head twice. I could have danced circles around Jillian Michael's abs. I could have danced all night at a Madonna concert..... .....hey, now THERE'S an idea! 

  Get ready, Madonna & Baby Jesus--I'm ready to get into the groove!

Dancing with my Chiropractor

First of all, if this "Dancing with the Stars" photo doesn't make you laugh, you need to get out more often. I laughed out loud to the point I snorted when I saw it. I LOVE this photo. I want to put it on my desktop at work (not that I would ever talk about my work in this blog). Thanks to Einsteina Vagina for forwarding it to me. And no, I'm not REALLY dancing with my chiropractor-- though I bet she'd be one fun dancing machine at a wedding reception--I just thought it'd be a fun way to tie in the photo to the left with my writing about the chiropractor. Segue, people!

Less than one week to Madonna. My popliteus muscle is ready to go! And, only a few measly days until we vote. I'm terrified.

FYI, Master Reiki continues to progress in her healing but would benefit from any healing thoughts. Please keep her and her hand in your prayers/meditations/chantings.

I am happy to say that MBLC (My Beloved Lady Chiropractor) has led me to a pain free existence... well, for the next few minutes, anyways. I got out of bed Monday morning, walked a few steps and stopped. Something was wrong....

....then, it hit me.

I wasn't in any pain whatsoever. None. Nada. It didn't hurt to get out of the bed. It didn't hurt at all. Praise the Baby Jesus!

I went to my scheduled MBLC appointment later in the morning (after going to the dentist--now THERE'S an expensive day) and proclaimed my excitement regarding the lack of pain.

In turn, she told me she liked my pants.

MBLC gave me homework to start doing some simple stretches, asking the assistant to demonstrate the stretches at the end of the appointment. And yes, she did the "guano bat thing" on my knee, but only a little bit. After all, not much was crunching around while she was manipulating my knee.

So, MBLC assistant takes me into this little exercise area and shows me how to stand on one leg and stretch my quad. She stands very near the wall, hand on this metal bar thingy to keep her balance. I knew I didn't need the wall or the bar but I humored her and stood in front of it. MBLC assistant said, "I like people to hold on, just in case." This meant, of course, that I did NOT hold on. MBLC assistant kind of looked out the corner of her eye at me but said nothing. I did the stretches, perfect balance flaunted proudly.

For those of you who are rule-followers: I did the second exercise exactly as directed.

The third and final stretch involved the floor and a mat. She shows me how to do it and I'm not thinking this might hurt or I might not be able to do it. No, I'm thinking, "Jesus, I hope my pants don't split." I bend over and do what I have been instructed to do. She gave me this incredulous look. I thought maybe I did indeed split my pants or something was wrong. I held the stretch while awaiting some comment or direction.

She's still looking at me. Finally, she says, "Wow. You're really flexible."

Huh.

Flexible isn''t a word I'd use for myself, but I guess when you work at a doctor's office or with a chiropractor, you are used to seeing people who can't do anything, or at least can't immediately do what they are told and thus I looked really flexible.

I was just glad my pants were in tact.

The She Who Must Not Be Named Rap (SNL)

This and That

 It's Saturday and that means I have a little of this and a little of that left over from the week. 

  The Cedar Wax Wings have returned today (an entire flock flitting to and fro in the crab apple trees, so I thought I'd post a photo of one in honor of their return. Who doesn't love seeing a cedar wax wing first thing in the day?

A friendly word of advice from a professional counselor to Madonna who this week referred to her soon-to-be ex-husband as an "emotional retard" during a recent concert on her current "Sticky and Sweet Tour: SHUT UP! Are you stupid? You have a bazillion dollars and NO pre-nuptual contract. There's this stuff--it's call ammo and you are so giving it to him. Don't say I didn't warn you. You can mean or sassy or whatever things about someone else, just step away from the hubby, emotionally retarded or not. 

  Wondering out loud about "She Who Must Not Be Named:" I hear she is going to be on Saturday Night Live tonight. Think they'll have her play Tina Fey and have her do the SNL news??? We know she can read a script and I bet she'd be funny even though I don't want to put one ounce of positive energy toward that campaign. You know, Madonna HAS made fun of SWMNBN during the current concert tour...I hope she sticks with that instead of her hubby. Making fun of politicians is always politically correct in my book. (Well, unless you are the Dixie Chicks. That didn't work out too good for them.) 

  Bat Guano on my knee? I went and saw my belove lady chiropractor the other day. I'm sitting on this table (a normal examination table, not one of those weird contraption tables) and she's looking at my knee (of which may I just say I need to shave better before presenting it to the world--there were some mighty scary strays sticking up here and there) and says, "have I ever talked to you about using guano on your knee?" 

  I must have had a mighty weird look on my face...but, that would be understandable because I thought she had just asked if she could rub bat poop on my knee. (An internet search of "guano chirorprator" brought up nothing. I didn't think it would but it never hurts to take a peek.) I never did ask her to repeat what she just said because I was too busy looking at the small little brown squarish thing in her hand. It looked kind of like what you use to scrape off the crusties from a Pampered Chef cookie sheet. I'm not sure if was plastic or stone but it was round and smooth and brown. So, she squeezes a blob of goop onto my leg and starts using this "bat guana" thing on my hairy knee. It was rather amazing and not exactly what I was expecting anyone to do. Further internet searches on line suggest that she was using the Graston Technique, maybe using a GuaSha tool, which sure sounds like Guano....but the photos on line didn't look exactly like what was transpiring on my knee, so I remain confused but very intrigued. 

  What this "bat guano knee treatment" does is break up the scarred tissue in and the knee, of which I know there is much all around that poor joint. I've got scar tissue in there from 1976. Really. Things are crackling and popping and smooshing as she's rubbing this gooey stuff all around, turning the skin on the knee red. She assured me this is what her goal is: to bring blood to the area. I'm all for it because it feels really good in an "indian sunburn" kind of way. (Remember giving each other "Indian Sunburns" to each other as kids? Who the hell thinks up those kind of things?) Unfortunately, the technique does nothing for the stray knee hairs. 

  I have to say, my knee felt good for the rest of the day. I cannot say that this morning, but the ache is quite bearable and I am beginning to believe this chiropractor thing might actually work. (On a side note, I have yet to figure out how MBLC (my beloved Lady Chiropractor) ended up with Dr. Jesus, as she seems to have nothing in common with him. She came from a major metropolitan area, from a really fun, very progressive neighborhood. How the hell did she end up here? I can't imagine she'll be staying long. Sigh. The good ones never do.)

(Side side note: think I should be working on both knees at the same time? I don't have any problems with my other knee but whose to say that won't be a problem after my "bad" knee is better??? I think I might want to have bat guano on both knees at the same time...) 

And, finally: Feel my envy about the 2009 Xena Convention in Los Angeles: I am so envious about those who are going to be in attendance at the Xena Convention in LA late January 2009 as ALL of the stars I love will be there. Lucy Lawless, Renee O'Connor, Jaqueline Kim, Victoria Pratt....the list goes on and on. (I know you probably don't know who the hell I am babbling about but real Xena fans do and they, too understand my angst.) Now, I do not see attendance at this convention in my future but one can daydream about it. This time, I'd get my photo with Renee O'Connor, although she's much shorter than Lucy and thus there would be no Renee boob on my chest. I'd also stand in line to get Renee's autograph, as it is a very rare occurance for Lucy or Renee to sign photos while the guest is standing there. Who can blame them? All us weird Xena stalkers would want to talk for days and say weird things about how much the show changed their lives blah blah blah. I'd think therapy for Renee would be mandatory after all that fan love. 

  BTW, see that photo of Renee, aka Gabrielle Bard of Poteidaia, from "afterellen.com?" That's how I am going to look after finishing my bat guano knee treatments. Well, I'm hoping not to be running away from exploding fire bombs, but otherwise, I'm gonna be good to go, ready to run to Xena conventions everywhere. 

Who needs Jillian when you have bat guano knee and visions of Renee O'Connor?

A Heavenly Surprise After an uneventful popliteus weekend, I packed up my knee and headed to see Dr. Jesus for my next chiropractic event. I decided to give him a try while working out the Universe's message to me. After all, having the baby Jesus on your side when getting chiropractic intervention can't be bad at all. I pulled into the parking lot and notice the building right next door. I don't know why I hadn't noticed it the first two times I was there, but I didn't. I burst out laughing when I read the sign: it is the area's anti-abortion agency, the most conservative place in town. Me, bleeding liberal, champion of choice, is standing in front of the anti-abortion clinic. Shame on you, Universe! I keep laughing as I enter the building. This just keeps getting more and more entertaining. It's quiet in the office but I didn't really think about it til minutes later. My name was called, I sat in a chair, the chiropractic assistant slapped some electrode things on my knee, set the timer, walked away, leaving me to enjoy ten minutes of silence and electricity. "Hmmm," I think. It's really quiet here. I mean really quiet.... It's then I realize I don't hear Dr. Jesus. I shrug my shoulders and think maybe he's not here yet. Maybe he's praying. Maybe he is having a consultation with someone off site. The timer goes off and the assistant rips the contraption off my leg. Pant leg still rolled up, I am led to another exam room, one I was not in during my first two visits. I sit down in the chair and wait, looking around the room at the various Jesus posters and pictures of the human body's trigger points. I am contemplating what trigger points I should push on for this or that when.... ....I hear the rustling of papers..... ....I hear someone standing outside the door.... .....I hear the knock on the door..... ....and in walks some woman. Wait a minute--THAT'S not Dr. Jesus! That's a woman! She's a young, very attractive woman, wearing a white coat, looking like a doctor, nose ring perfectly placed, fashionable & approachable but all business. She sticks her hand out and introduces herself. "Hi, I'm Dr. Crackyerbones." I am stunned into silence but manage to shake her hand. A good, strong handshake. I am impressed. Ol' Dr. Jesus had a handshake like a limp fish. Thank you. Thank you, baby Jesus. 

 Thank you, Universe. Thank you for this blessed surprise. I knew that Dr. Jesus had a business partner but I really didn't think I'd ever seen the partner as I thought I had been "assigned" to Dr. Jesus. Apparently not, cuz there she was, just like a gift from above. No wonder I didn't hear Dr. Jesus...he's not in the building yet. Dr. Crackyerbones is all mine. Heaven! I am greatly relieved and greatly surprised. I am one happy piploteus-impaired camper. I can't say whether Dr. Crackyerbones did a good, adequate or poor job on my knee. I can't say if she is a good or bad or indifferent chiropractor. I can't say much at all, as I was so stunned by this turns of events I was left with jello for a brain. I suddenly liked the idea of tithing my income to Dr. Jesus. This is going to be a very expensive endeavor, but I must be ready to dance at the Madonna concert. I believe this is the woman who can do it. I will put my faith--and my knee--in her hands. I'll still have to see Dr. Jesus on days Dr. Crackyerbones isn't in the office, but I'm all good with that. I figure I can't lose (well, nothing but money and that's not so bad in the big picture, especially in comparison to Dr. Jesus' eternity). I am one with my knee pain. Praise the baby Jesus, the eight pound, six ounce baby Jesus! (In the meantime, I am running for President. Here's a newsclip regarding my efforts. Don't forget to write me in on the ballot!! Click here to learn more.) http://www.tsgnet.com/pres.php?id=4682&altf=Beej&altl=Xbssjps1Qsjodftt

Baby Jesus, I knee-d you!

Why DOES the Universe keep toying with me? Baby Jesus, why do you keep hovering around me? I'm used to the wife's family but it's getting to be a bit much, a bunch louder. Am I supposed to be going to church? Confession? Joel Osteen lectures? Salt Lake City? Israel? The Republican Convention?

Let me explain the meaning of my existential questioning by writing a letter to Jillian...

....because I am going to be sending my chiropractor bill to her.

Dear Jillian, Goddess of my New Butt, destroyer of my old knee,

I've been gimping around with a bum knee for the past month or so. I've muttered under my breath about it here and there, but saved most of my whining for when walking with MJagger. (Humblest apologies to MJagger for having to provide free therapy and for having to survive my "walk-whining." You friendship and ability to not slap me are indubitably appreciated.) Instead of doing something about the initial pain, I decided to ignore it. I wanted to keep my quest for physical specimen superiority in action. I didn't cut down on my walking, I didn't cut down on your videos, I didn't cut back on anything. I just kept plugging along, worrying more about how my pants don't fit due to my newly-developed butt. Who has time to worry about anything as trivial as a knee?

Jillian, you hottie wench you, you knew it wasn't acute pain--it was more of a dull ache--so, you said not to worry. I heard you. What's a little soreness at my age? I focused on the upcoming Madonna concert and on how the people at the place I work (but I do not speak of my place of work but if I DID talk about it I would say this) are very religious and are always blessing me and praising god and expressing their fundamentalist beliefs and touching me while praising the baby Jesus. Big Jill, this religious work thing is part of the Universe's toying with me. It's no mistake the Universe brought me to this place of Baby-Jesus-overload-while-in-mortal-pain thing. I focused on ignoring "She Who Must Not be Named" as much as I ignored the slight messages from my leg.

Well Jillian, this week I noticed the pain was getting a bit more chronic. I noticed my gimpiness was growing. I whined louder, I limped along a bit slower, I cardio-kickboxed a bit weaker, I stopped wearing those dress shoes (which seemed to make things worse). I loved those new dress shoes. I paid a lot of money for those dress shoes. I wanted to wear those dress shoes.

MJagger told me over and over about her chiropractor. I tucked the info in the back of my head but took no action. I didn't think there was reason to take such action but knew I could take that route if needed. I didn't write down the guy's name but I knew if I saw it in the phone book, I'd recognize it. I didn't think I would need to access this information. It was nice to know and nice to have....

Jillian, I waited too long. I was miserable last night. I couldn't get comfortable in bed. I couldn't walk without looking like there was a potato chip in my butt. I couldn't wear anything but gym shoes. I couldn't sit at my desk without shifting and griping. So, I decided to call that chiropractor. I couldn't wait anymore. I didn't want to go to my medical doctor because I figured he'd either say (a) Don't do any exercise for the next seven years of your life; or (b) you need surgery--let's rip that puppy open; or (c) here's some pills--take three, they're small. Don't do anything for three weeks but take these pills. It was 7 am and I was at my desk and I could NOT for the life of me recall that guy's name. I sooooo wanted to remember it. I went on line. I dug around. I couldn't find it. My knee ached. My head hurt. I. Wanted. To. Hurt. Someone.

I had to take action, Michaels. I went to my insurance web site and started scrolling though the "approved" list of local chiropractors. (Not on company time, of course. I hadn't started work yet. Really.) I read the little doctor blurbs, I considered their specialties, I looked at their office addresses. I decided on some guy on the street down the block, picking him for his location (so I could scoot to/from the office as needed), for insurance coverage, for his expertise in sports injury and because his website didn't look too weird. I called and set up the intake appointment, giddy with delight he could get me in this very morning.


The Universe was giggling in the background but I didn't listen.In the meantime, MJagger emailed me the name of her chiropractor and I'm like, "Duh! I knew that!" but I didn't change my appointment with my insurance-covered guy. I figured why change it now. That did not amuse her but it's me and she's used to me so she wasn't surprised.

Jillian, you should make sure she loses 10 pounds via your program just for putting up with me.

Well, I went to my new doctor, whom I shall call Dr. Jesus. Why? Because as I'm pulling into the parking lot, I'm looking at one of those fish symbols on the sign and I'm thinking, "uh oh--fish sign. Praise the Baby Jesus.") Sure enough, I am swallowed up by the Baby Jesus. His first words are about God bless, God Bless you, God bless this, God bless that. Oh God. I'm sitting there thinking,

"I'm tithing my deductible to the church."

"God love you" signs on the walls.
God this-and-that posters.
"Guideposts" magazines in the racks.
I am surrounded by the God of the Christian Right.
Not Buddah god.
 Not Mother Earth Goddesss.
Not Higher Power 12 step God.

God God. You know, kneel and genuflect God.
 Brimstone and Fire God.
She Who Must Not be Name's God.
You're going to hell God.

It absolutely figures that I mistakenly, blindly, unknowingly picked the most religious chiropractor on the planet from a list of like 100 names.

Jillian, do you hear the Universe belly laughing? The Universe is trying to tell me something. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to go to the convent or if I'm support to convert to something or if I'm suppose to call the Pope or if I'm supposed to try to be the first lesbian priest in the Church, but I know there is some message here. My employees (well, if I had employees but since I don't talk about my job I don't have employees but if I had them) are always thanking Jesus for bringing me to them, my place of employment (if I did indeed work there) is faith based and now I am seeing Dr. Jesus.

Jillian, why? Why does the religious-right theme continue daily through my life? Sweet baby jesus, eight pound six ounce baby jesus, please tell me! Is the ghost of Billy Graham living in my house?
Am I destined to be on the 700 Club with my newfound lust for the Christian Right? Why? I am all good with God. I like God. I like you, baby Jesus.
But, this!
This is too much.

By the way, the problem has been diagnosed as a popliteus this or that. I don't know what it is but I do know it hurt like a bitch when he pressed on my leg a certain way. Too much Cardio kickboxing, wrong shoes, wrong gait, wrong blah blah blah, need rest, need treatment, you know the song and dance.

Although I'm glad it is something not so serious sounding, I'm sending you the bill. First the butt, now the knee. AND I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME!

I should have stayed broken up with you. I'm sending you the bill for all those new shoes, too.

Tomorrow, I go back to Dr. Jesus and get to see my x-rays and learn all about my mode of treatment. If it involves going to church, I am so calling you so I can scream at you and call you naughty names. LOUDLY. I can't whine to MJagger. She deserves a break from me. If she's smart, she'll be too busy telling me, "I told you so" if I say anything about not going to her doctor and I'll deserve every minute of it. No, you pay my bill and explain the Universe to me.

Jill.EEEE.Ennnnnn. I don't love you anymore.

DO YOU HEAR ME, MICHAELS: I DON'T LOVE YOU ANY MORE!

You best get praying this knee is better by the time the Madonna concert rolls around.

Sincerely,

Addi Warrior Princess

AMY ROLOFF ROCKS!

I don't want to talk about crashing stock markets and decimated retirement funds. I want to talk about the "Little People."

Today, one of the wife's biggest dreams came true-- she got to see Amy Roloff in person. We purchased tickets to attend a luncheon for a local not-for-profit fund-raiser and Amy was the featured speaker. We purchased these tickets the day they went on sale. Actually, the wife called the agency BEFORE the tickets even went on sale--that's how excited she was about Amy Roloff coming to town.

If you are asking who Amy Roloff is, don't ask the wife. She'll weep.

I am here to enlighten you. Amy is a star. She is an entertainer, a mother, a coach, a teacher, a speaker, a wife. She also happens to be a "little person." If you watch TLC (The Learning Channel), you've seen her and her family. If you haven't been watching TLC, shame on you. Get watching.

The wife LOVES "Little People, Big World." I've blogged about it before--both the show and the wife's love of the show. "LPBW" really is hilarious and it's not because they are little people; it's because they are normal people who happen to live funny lives in a messy house who happen to be little people. I know there are some out there who are only watching because they find it to be a freak show. Shame on them, too. The Little People are quite the family, stature of no consequence. (Well, they probably wouldn't have a TV show if they weren't little people and thus I wouldn't know about they funny family had they not been little people, so I suppose I stand corrected.) She is all excited because Season Four is just about to begin.

The wife and I make arrangements to meet at the luncheon site, as we are both coming from our places of employment and it's easier to just meet there than to try and coordinate our transportation efforts. So, I pull into the parking lot of the banquet hall and it's a zoo. I mean it is a FRIGGIN' ZOO! This little people thing is big business. Cars are shooting out all over, the media is swarming all over the place, people are zig zagging between parked cars. I text message the wife to warn her of the zoo-ish-ness of the parking lot. I enter the building and am stunned by the number of people trying to squeeze into the banquet room. We're talking volumes of people. I don't know what I was expecting but it wasn't this. I guess I figured a couple hundred people would be there. No, there were between SIX hundred and SEVEN hundred people in attendance.

The wife wanders in and we find our table.....RIGHT SMACK DAB IN THE MIDDLE, something like FIFTEEN FEET FROM THE STAGE! We are going to be sitting right there when Amy is talking. We are going to be able to see her nose hairs (not that I really want to see that but I could see them if I wanted to). I am incredulous. There are like 700 people here and we are in the front. We are seated at the table with a HUGE "Little People, Big World" fan. In fact, this lady is talking about all the different episodes, recalling this episode or that episode. It was like listening to me talk about all the Xena Episodes I have watched (and now own). This lady is cracking me up. I thought the wife was excited about this lunch--this lady is uber-super-excited. She's got her camera and she's giddy with her table placement and she's yippin' and a yappin' about the Roloff family. I am feeling the love all around me.

The wife is eating lunch, looking around for Amy. We mistakenly think she's probably back stage, eating with a few select persons. We're talking and eating (well, everyone else is eating--I am waiting for my vegetarian meal which is ALWAYS late at this particular place and I ALWAYS end up getting my food AFTER everyone else has finished their food...and today's lunch was no exception--I had to go find the damn manager to get my lunch and in true fashion, everyone was indeed done eating by the time I started) and Duh! If we had really taken a gander around, we would have noticed she was at the table kitty-corner from us. Amy Roloff was RIGHT THERE and we didn't see her.

Don't you dare make any wise cracks that we didn't see her because she is so small. That would be naughty. We didn't see her because we didn't look. Besides, she was sitting on something and was at the same height as everyone. She blended in, not surprisingly.

Now, I was happy to be going to the lunch but I can't say I was pee-in-your-pants excited...but, I'd like to say that I truly enjoyed Amy's presentation. Candid, funny, informative--she was a really good speaker and she held my interest the entire time (and THAT is quite a feat with my short ADD attention span). I'd venture to say I was enamored. I also think she is better looking in person than on TV--funny how that always happens. People always look better in person, or at least I think so. (I KNOW Lucy Lawless looked blindingly wonderful when I met her, not that she looked too shabby on TV.......) Amy held the audience's attention for the entire presentation, not an easy feat after everyone has just shoveled a large lunch down their traps. And, talk she did. This was not fifteen minute shin-dig. The lady talked for 45 minutes, maybe more. I dunno. I didn't care. I didn't look at my watch until she was done and we were giving her a standing ovation.

Yes, we gave her a standing ovation. She deserved it.

I could recall all the topics, the stories, the dialogue, but I'm not gonna. Suffice it to say it was good, it was fun, it deserved a standing ovation.

The wife had a tear. Not surprising, knowing her, but she did indeed have a tear. I'll give her that. I wouldn't have a tear about this but I understand why the wife might and I didn't even tease her about it. I gave her her moment and left it at that.

After all, she loves the Little People and I would never poop on that parade.

Countdown to Madonna

Big-ass disclaimer: This photo is from madonna.com, from the "icon " fan club department. I do not want to go to jail for posting it, so I make no claim to the picture except that it is from the madonna site. I really like the photo and it's only a few measly days til MJagger and I will be with Madge at her concert, so why not share this beautiful photo with you, my beloved readers?

Who needs to worry about the global economy or the crashing stock market or the presidential race or even the pain in my left knee when there is Madonna to be had?

Those of you who have followed the 2008 Madonna Saga know that this is one big event in the Addiverse. In fact, Madonna concerts are right up there with Xena conventions, and you KNOW that is big. (Side note: it is literally my one year anniversary of having my photo taken with Lucy Lawless at the Chicago Xena convention. I am all a-glow just thinking about that. I live a charmed life!) Some of you are way over the whole addiverse-madonna thing, but I am going to ignore you (just as I am ignoring the pain in my knee) and I am going to enjoy this gluttonous ride.

Interestingly (or not), the October 27th concert is NOT sold out. Most of her Madge-esty's other concerts are sold out, so I'm not quite sure what's up with this particular date. Are Chicagoans adverse to going to concerts on a Monday night? Is there a Monday night Chicago Bears football game? (We KNOW there aren't any CUBS games.) To me, it's good that it's not sold out, as it will give me and MJagger increased odds of getting closer to the stage. Of course, it may sell out by show time and then all my plotting will be for naught. No matter. I feel a sneak to the front in my future!

MJagger and I have yet to decide on our wardrobe for the evening. My Jillian-enhanced glute-o-rama makes me not want to wear jeans but I don't exactly want to wear sweat pants or dress pants, so I'm leaning toward shorts, no matter what the weather. With all that dancing, I'll be a sweaty mess and shorts will come in handy. MJagger may also opt for this, although she might go with some capri-length Victory Secret sweat pants (and those don't really qualify as sweat pants in my department). No matter what, I'll be wearing gym shoes. If I've learned nothing else over the past 98 days, I've learned that dress shoes are really, really hard on my "bad" knee; thus, no fancy shoes will be strutted by me at the concert. I love Madonna but I don't love her enough to cause physical pain to myself. (Um, let me really think about that. Maybe I do love her enough to struggle through a bit of physical pain.....no. No pain for Madonna. Lucy Lawless, yes. Madonna, not so much.)

I was going to design us some t-shirts but missed the deadline for the contest (I looked at the rules on October 6th and learned the contest ended October 6th) and besides, MJagger said I couldn't use any glitter in the process and I love glitter. I thought about ordering us some t-shirts from the fan club (yes, we are members--stop laughing) as this would be much cheaper than buying shirts at the contest, but I'm not sure they'd get here in time and that would be a real bummer if they didn't. Besides, I don't know what color MJagger's sweats are so how can I order her a shirt? You can't clash your t-shirt with your sweats.

Now that I know Madonna is finally in the United States, I have been listening to Madonna non-stop. This week is the "Confessions" CD. After that, it's "Hard Candy" until the cows come home. I've also been wearing my "Drowned World Tour" T-shirt and my "Iconers do it better" t-shirt to bed and/or around the house. (I'd wear these items to work but it wouldn't be appropriate and wouldn't match my dress shoes but I can't say any more about that as I've told you: I do not speak of my work.)

MJagger and I haven't really had time to share excitement about the concert, as she is dealing with stressful things (seriously--I'm not being a smart ass here) and Madonna is not on the top of her priority list just quite yet. Oh, it'll move up the list but for right now, Esther is going to have to wait a bit. I can wait. Besides, it'll give me more time to figure out what I am going to wear. If Madonna can live through eight costume changes a night, I can figure out one appropriate outfit for concert going.

I've read a couple of reviews--most say that Madge is not the best singer but she is by far the best entertainer--and I'm all good with that. She is a goddess and I don't care about perfect pitch. You don't go to a Madonna concert for the singing. You go to be transported/transformed by the event. It's performance art. The lady is 50 years old and has been performing for 25 years and she blows me right out of the water. I could weep at her concerts! The only thing I haven't figured out is why Madonna included that spanish island song AGAIN. We KNEW she would do it. That damn song is in every concert and neither MJagger or I are even remotely fond of it. There must be some huge significance to her since it is literally in every show she's designed. No lo se!

So, get ready for lots of shallow babbling from this Madonna whore. It's not quite a Xena convention but it's something. I'm ready to get into the groove....and, (how can I resist?) to get sticky and sweet.



(Hey! I didn't name the tour! She did!)

Tying things up from the Week

 Just some odds and ends lying around the Addiverse.... 

A hilarious email from UConn Grrrl and Pat Summit Grrrl: "This sums up her repetitive words of wisdom.............. McCain is a Maverick I am tolerant of gays McCain is a Maverick I am tolerant of gays McCain is a Maverick I am tolerant of gays OK, I will stop ..... but if we were to drink a shot for every time she stated those 2 phrases, we would be drunk enough to vote Republican !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

A most appropriate illustration emailed from Joe-be-juan-ca-no-bee: And, a forwarded email photo from Merry Marketing of which looks incredibly like Cheeseball neighbor's dog (the same dog, by the way, who had worked her way into the treat cabinet last night and dragged out the doggie treat boxes and bags and ate all the treats and thus had really bad gas when we went and let her outside last night): (This is probably how Cheeseball Neighbor's dog felt after eating all those treats.) 

 Happy Saturday from the Addiverse. Kiss kiss.

House of Blues, House of Pain

I hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate I hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate the Cubs. 

(You Cub fans know why that goat is there.) 

Hear that sound? It's my heart breaking. BREAKING! 

I knew, knew, knew better. 

I knew better to let them in just a wee little bit. 

I knew better to peek through one eye and think that this might be the year. 

It's like an alcoholic thinking, "it's only one beer. What can it hurt?" Stinkin' thinkin, that's what that is. Next thing you know, you're drunk on the floor wondering what just happened. 

Cubs are that way. "Maybe I'll watch this game and get a little excited about the playoffs. What can it hurt?" And now? They can't even win a game at home in the first round. See? They are right on schedule. And, I was foolish enough to think ever so slightly that maybe....I could have that can of beer. Hello? Cubs? There's this thing called hitting. You are supposed to HIT the little white ball. The wife and I live in the House of Blues right now, as "her" Brewers have also dropped two games. The pain, oh the pain! Now, I know it's best three of five, but I can't go on. I'm breaking up with you, Cubbies. I am going to give up Baseball for Lent. I am putting you on the shelf with Jillian, that gain-weight rat bastard. I'm giving you up and I'm going to focus on how crazy Al Davis is. I'm more likely to sleep with Sarah Palin than I am to watch another Cubs game. I'm going to go find some hot pokers and poke my eyes out. But, I won't start cheering for the White Sox. That would be over the line. I may hate you, but I won't become traitorous because of you. No, I'm going to work and I'm going to pretend you don't exist. I am taking my "W" sign down off my door. I'm going to hope the Brewers win one game so the wife can have a moment of glory. Folding like a lawn chair in the House of Blues, House of Pain. I gotta go find She Who Must Not be Named and see if she wants to go out for dinner.....