What I was going to do today:
1. Get a haircut
2. Take a shower
3. Go to Staten Island with Pete to pick up his mail from his parent's house
4. Muster some kind of interest in the SuperBowl
5. Go to Disco's for a Jew Safari

Things I've actually accomplished thus far:
1. None of the above

I had a headache, so I laid in bed and read Wonder Boys and napped it off.

Pete had the SuperBowl turned on yesterday evening, but it's muted and both of us are wearing head phones and are sitting with our backs to the TV and weren't paying attention to anything other than what was happening on our respective computer screens. We eventually got up and went over to Justin's house for Jambalaya and friend chicken that he and TheGreatDeceiver had prepared on this moost footballish of nights.

Personally, I am not a huge fan of football unless (as I've previously stated) there is nudity. I don't dislike football because I'm gay and have unnatural aversion to all sport-type things. Sometimes I get little twinges of guilt, telling me that I should really be caring as to what's going on, for no better reason that the Patriots are playing and, being a born & raised MassHole, they are my "Home team". But then again, sports teams from New Engand have this bad habit of getting all the way to the big game....and then losing. It's not that people get excited when 'our boys' get to the big game because they want to know if they'll win or lose...people just want to see HOW they'll lose. I will say that I was quietly amused that the Pats won last night...more surprise than seeing Janet Jackson's wild titty poppin' out to say hello during the od awful half-time show (yes, it was god awful, if you liked it, you suck)

But getting back to what I was talking about before, my distain for the game of football runs a whole lot deeper. One of my first memories is standing outside my parent's church when I was probably around 4 or 5 years old, and some little old ladies are standing around me saying things like "Oh he's so big...he's gonna be a football player when he grows up" and my father would beam with pleasure. All through my formative years when people would meet me they would ask my parents if I played football, and my parents would laugh the laugh that parents often do and say "Not yet" or something like that. So As I got older and more and more tired of hearing people ask me that question, I focused all my annoyance upon the game itself and decided that I wanted nothing to do with it.

I guess I can't really blame them. In this picture I'm only a year or two older than the two boys sitting on either side of me...and yet I'm a whole hell of a lot bigger than both of them. This is some of the only photographic evidence that I was ever thin at some point in my life, so take a good look...I look so smug sitting in my empty "Dukes of Hazzard" plastic swimming pool that my mom probably bought for $4 at Caldor. I actually look hispanic in this picture, no doubt due to my totally rockin' hair cut.

God, I look exactly the same. I guess not a whole lot changes over a decade or two. I remember, after I made it pretty clear that I would not be playing football at any point in my life, people would ask my father if he was sad that I decided not to play, and my faher would say "No, I support my son in his decision to not play football. I wouldn't even care if he decided to play the violin!" Like this would be a far worse fate than me running off to Georgia to become a flaming homosexual art student. My question has always been "What the fuck is wrong with playing the violin??" But then again...this all boils down to the fact that my father is a tool, and the knowledge of that pretty much explains all of my unanswered questions.