From Chicken Heads to Betting on Chickens (and I have no idea what theat means with the kids on the streets...)

April 23
6:41 a.m. - I'm on the dock in Corozal, waiting for the boat to San Pedro. I was told it was a "ferry." It looks like a converted drug smuggling boat. Hey, whatever gets you true. (sorry Paddy)

Yesterday was "Lazy American Tuesday." I woke up late, walked around, took a nap, and ended up watching bad television before going to bed. Perhaps the entire week's events, perhaps the night before, I dunno, but I was wiped. So myself, Matt, and his Peace Corps buddy Kyle (more about him later) watched two bad movies - the one with Robin Williams running for President, then one with Jim Carrey hunting a serial killer. Robin Williams trying to be funny=funny. Robin Williams trying to do drama=drama. Jim Carrey trying to do drama=horseshit. But overall, I'm excited to head to the cayes - it should be fun. Just saw the first mullet of the trip on board the board. Business in front, party in the back.

9:51 a.m - All settled in the Cayes. Suffice to say, it's a little more my speed. More tropical, less barrio. My hotel is right on the water, but I decided to take a stroll and found some brilliant lounge chairs by the water. Call it "beach hopping," but it's time for me to sit by the water and soak in some rays. And decompress. Or, at the very least, stay until some security guard asks me to leave. It's that nice.

It's a week - today - until I depart for America. I believe the goal of every vacation is to get to the point where you're ready to go home. I was at that point two days ago. I've pressed the pause button now. With that in mind, I've tried to decide how this trip has been.

Cancun was fun, but a tourist trap. Tulum was fun, but it was equal parts breathtaking and heartbreaking. Corozal has been a place to drop the bags, but I have yet to find a comfort zone there other than the apt. I've dropped my bags, but not my guard - that's no fun.

Outside of the resort or tourist areas, this trip has been very Third World. I knew this going in, but until you see it, experience it, and live among it, it's a very difficult transition. It takes just a second to recognize, but quite a bit longer to deal.

So, for the next 4-5 days, it's island living. No cares.

10:43 a.m. - Just under an hour at my stolen beach point. Still not tired of this. Slightly annoyed at the beggars and vendors, but overall - nope - not sick of this at all.

1:19 p.m - Still not growing tired of this. Took a nice walk and then headed back to the hotel for a refreshing shower and nap. It's almost lunchtime.

1:37 p.m. - Lunch. Beef, rice, beans, cheap, delicious.

5:07 p.m - After a second trip to the sun, took a second refreshing shower, and a second refreshing nap. It's about time to grab a happy hour drink and then find dinner. Stopped for the first one at the Crazy Canuck. I'm sorry, but a place with a name like that, its a necessity for the first round. Didn't see any outragious Ontarioians, not kooky Calgary folks, or any goofy people from Guelph. A few ex-Pats and a dude trying to sell me incense.

(seriously, I'm done with the vendors)

Having had a few Belikans on Monday night - and thinking they sucked - I ordered a drink called the Blue Hole. An invention of the Crazy Canuck himself, it consisted of coconut rum, one barrel rum, vodka, tequila, pineapple, lime, and a shot of blue curacao - in a root beer float (mmmm) sized glass. Elva was nice enough to put a little ice in it, for posterity sake. There would not be a second one of those tonight, as that would eliminate a tonight altogether.

I'm getting mocked for my lime green highlighter colored drink by the locals. And perhaps for writing in my notebook. But the fact that two women came up and ordered the same thing didn't help my cause. Hey, it could have been worse - I could have ordered a panty ripper (run, pineapple).

Now, in addition to all the usual sexually-themed drinks at a bar - the blowjob, sex on a beach, slippery nipple, etc. - Crazy Canucks has a few I've never seen before. The Creole Coochie Fire (tequila and habenero sauce). Quite frankly, after my experience with habenero, I think that's a legit BDSM drink.

Kudos to the Cunning Linguist (creme de banana, amaretto, vodka) and the Ramforest Love Rash (irish creme, melon liqueur, vodka). Elva informed me that there is an off-the-menu item - Sex with the Bartender. It requires diamonds, money, sports cars, and an apartment. I thought that was particularly drole.

Kudos also goes to XM Radio for playing INXS' New Sensation on the radio while I was there.

5:30 p.m. - This is, I think, San Pedro's "Cheers." I've made friends with Norm, Cliff et al thanks to some self-depricating humor about my lime green drink. They described Caulker - the place I'm supposed to be headed tomorrow - as "the longest week they've spent in a day." That might not be a bad thing.

5:58 p.m - The consensus from everyone there is that Wednesday night is the best time for Jamaican. In between that and late night is the "Chicken Drop," where bar patrons bet on where a chicken will shit. Welcome to the Third World.

6:52 p.m. - At the Jamaican place. Good food. Good band. BUT... Like every other Caucasian with a liberal arts degree, I own Bob Marley's "Legend." I also own several other reggae CD's, but live...I've noticed that songs last 15 minutes and don't change all that much. To paraphrase Rod Strickland: marijuana is a hell of a drug (I guess).

7 p.m - Delicious. I ate fast. Time to watch the Celtics, watch chickens shit, and drink chicken shit beer.

7:21 p.m. - I'm not sure what's better arena for competition. The folks who are betting on the chicken, or the dudes in the bar hitting on the three lesbians that just walked in. One did well - one not so well, but bought a drink - and the third failed miserably with Slim Shady's illegitimate sister.

The two women in front of me in line for the chicken shit lottery were two of the most annoying I've encountered on the trip. You know the kind - where every 3rd or 4th word(s) have to be "my husband." Look honey, I don't care if you're married. Seriously, I don't. But if you don't want to have guys ogle at you, cover up your chest with a shirt perhaps. Or don't dress like a Sunset Blvd. whore. That way, you won't have to say "my husband" over and over. Mmm'kay? Susan B. Anthony marches and got a misshaped dollar coin so you could vote and be like equal and shit. So lay off defining yourself by your husband. Besides, if you have to keep dropping his name like Bobby Gonzalez drops Pitino, Gillen, and Boeheim at an NABC keynote, he probably ain't worth shit.

7:36 p.m - Sorry Mike Bibby, us Celtics bandwagon guys - and the team - are kicking your ass. Get another tattoo.

8:10 p.m - The C's are unstoppable. I just met a couple from South Dakota. A wee bit unbalanced. The husband: "You should come to S.D. - they all look like this." The wife: "I'm your third, remember." I'll be skipping Bismarck, thanks.

8:30 p.m - The chicken hits the square. It's a Rhode Island Red. I'm confident that he'll look out for one of his homeboys.

8:40 p.m - No such luck. Chicken shat in a different square. Still the best two bucks I've spent.

Now the question is: continue the night, or my latest issue of The Economist???
-----
more later

IIWII,  ¶ 10:54 PM 1 Comments

  Belize Navidad Finally got some time - and an air conditioned internet cafe - to blog a little bit.

Been here there and everywhere - via planes, buses, taxis - and settled into Corozal, Belize last night.

Saw Cancun (whatever), Tulum (quite nice), and will be headed to San Pedro. The same on Madonna dreamt of in "La Isla Bonita."

(and admit it, you know the words and you own a Madonna CD. Get over it.)

As promised, I'm doodling away in my trusty sidekick notebook and while the trip has been outstanding, my prose has not. I believe the industry term is "punched up." The Belize blog will need some punching up.

But, as to provide myself with some escape from the heat, I'll detail today so far:

April 21
6:45 a.m. - Got a fine taste of American television last night, flipping back and forth between Sunday Night Baseball and the Celtics. Yeah, pretty much what I'd be doing as a citizen of the U.S. if I were there, but such is. Actually, Matt has better basic cable than most folks back home. And mercifully for me, it's in English. Unlike Mexican television...or pretty much everywhere in Mexico outside of Cancun.

There's also a bootleg channel, with first-run movies. Last night, it was the Al Pacino (hoo-ahh!) movie "88 Days." Trying to plan the rest of the week, which looks like Corozal for two days then the Cayes.

For as much as this trip has been eye-opening - culturally, linguistically, informational, etc. - it's also a vacation. So emphasis on the beach time whenever possible. Probably hitting the Free Zone - a duty free area between Belize and Mexico - just to, I don't know, shop. Another thing I guess I just don't do in the U.S.

7:15 a.m. - Matt exercises. I have a philosophy on exercise: don't.

So while he went down the street for some ocean swimming, I tagged along. And read. But the former Mitch Buchanan in me kept popping up from "Moneyball" to make sure the Loch Ness Monster or a pirate didn't get my friend.

7:19 a.m. - Yeah, I don't see him. And the long I write in this book, means that...hold on, I need to check on him.

7:20 a.m. - Yeah, he's fine. Now, I';m taking the lay of the land at this little park by the dock. There's a guy sitting on a swing, with a rake in his hand. He's swinging to and fro, and the rake is dragging on the ground. Seems a bit counter-productive.

Good to see Rhode Island state employees in the BZE.

7:29 a.m. - He has to be Union. Now he's sitting under the thatched umbrella having a cup of coffee. He also has a weed wacker at his disposal. Even money it doesn't get turned on today.

9:15 a.m. - Made a quick trip into town to stop at the ATM and a, as the local call them, a "Chi-nee Shop."

Here, as in America, some of the local food and fruit stands are run by Asians. (no dry cleaners yet, but I'm sure that they're Asian-owned, too). We got some eggs for es-scrambling and Matt wanted a tomato for his brekkie.

So we stopped by a little farmer's market and got a tomato. I saw some peppers. Seeing as how I like peppers, I bought three.

Yeah, um, they were habanero peppers.

Suffice to say, after cutting and chopping them up, I touched my face. It is now on fire. I have a feeling this will be a major league "bitter omelette."

9:30 a.m. - Perhaps I'm overreacting. I have no major after effects from the peppers, except for a strong feeling of fire on my entire face, lips, both hands, and for some unknown reason, my forearms and elbows. Imagine diving head-first into a tub of Ben Gay that was boiling. Yeah, welcome to breakfast.

Amazingly, my stomach is fine.

12:30 p.m. - Took a little nap after finally finishing the book. SOlid book and I really enjoyed the afterword from Michael Lewis, from the paperback edition. Essentially, it was a giant "shampoo you" to Tracy Ringolsby and Joe Morgan (and after last night's Mets-Phils Sunday night game, I've had just about enough of that shampooing guy). On the habenero front, my face and arms have stopped burning. But my hands have gotten worse.

No joke - as I write (and even type from the book), I am concerned that stuff I touch will spontaneously combust. So, with that in mind, I have come up with the TLBR Hotness Scale, to better describe:

TLBR Hotness Scale
1. The Sun
2. Epicenter of a nuclear blast
3. Habanero peppers at a Corozal Town farmer's market
4. Molten lava
5. Scarlett Johanssen.
-----
That's it for now. It's 2 p.m. and a few of Matt's co-workers have made it into town.

Off I go. You do you, I'll do me, and we'll meet in the middle.

IIWII  ¶ 3:49 PM 2 Comments

  Bound for Central America Heading down for the two-week jaunt around the Yucatan tomorrow.

Will have more along the way, as the Belize Blog kicks into full gear.

And yes, as promised, the Bowie Scale will be revealed.

Stay tuned. We'll be spending some time together real soon.

IIWII  ¶ 9:31 PM 0 Comments

  Things That Got Away So, things got away from me a bit down in San Antonio...I'll get through the rest of my notes as part of the "Final Four Recap."

Friday, April 4

9:30 a.m. CT - It's amazing what 12 hours of sleep does for you. Amazingly, you wake up not feeling exhausted. It helps the mind, body, spirit and - in my case, most times - the professional reputation. No mumbling, stumbling, and bumbling through the rest of the night. I had some time to kill during the morning - and no concrete plans for the day - so I meandered around.

11 a.m. CT - Rats...I forgot...I did have something concrete today. I had to get the HC to radio row at the Hyatt. Thankfully, I wasn't too far and made it happen. In fact, I got him on five radio shows - from Atlanta to Seattle. Nothing like spreading the good word.

Tonight should be a good night - with some luck, I'll actually make it to "night"
and not to "nap."

1:30 p.m. CT - I'm credentialed at the Alamodome and am sitting on press row at the Final Four. Sometimes, it's better not to ask.

And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited. It's what I do, seemingly, everyday all day during the season. But still. It's the floor of the Final Four. Twenty years ago, it was a pipe dream to even get to a Final Four. I was one of those suckers who'd write the 162 dollar check for the "application," only to have my 160 dollars refunded year after year.

It's important not to forget that...and never take this for granted.

(For the record, I didn't take many notes the rest of the night. Not for any sordid "what happens at the Final Four, stays at the Final Four" affair. Not even close. I think it was just because the night didn't dictate taking notes. Good times, good friends, good parties - except for Nike - so, we skip ahead...)

April 5

12:20 p.m. "Bottle, draft, or aquarium?"

That's the three choices you're presented with from Richard the barkeep at Sirius - "our spot," it seems, every morning in San Antonio.

You could conceivably order an always tasty Miller Lite in a 12 oz. bottle, pint-sized draft, or a 32-ounce small bowl with a handle. It looked like an aquarium. Lots of beer.

But we all stuck with the bloodies and they didn't disappoint (kind of like Manny Ramirez vs. the Yankees). And we all shared various accounts - hazy, alleged, or whatnot - about the parties the night before. The shoe parties, networks, etc.

Apparently I was befallen with the "bitter face" at the CBS fete. I wasn't bitter, though. I just played one on TV. But that morning, I did scarf down a breakfast that would have caused a true bitter face.

It's what I called the "bitter omelette." Ham, onions, and jalapenos. I love them. Every road trip we went on this year, if they had an omelette station, I had a bitter omelette.

Sometimes with egg whites, sometimes with egg beaters...but always with jalapenos.

It's bitter because you're eating and forget they're in the mix...until you bite down...and whoop there it is. Bitter.

Richard the barkeep has regaled us with stories of his girlfriends. And his girlfriends' girlfriends. And one who used to flash him. And another who flashed him...shortly after she gave birth...and...

Yeah, it was time to call for the check after Richard's "milky tit" story.

1:30 p.m. CT- We tried finding a spot to sit, eat, and continue with the liquids somewhere on the Riverwalk. But no shot, it was absolutely packed. So we went off the beaten path once again, to a spot that hasn't let us down.

Denny's. Again.

For some reason, the question "what the shampoo am I doing with my life?" was bounced around for much of the meal.

The boys ventured into different strategies with the Denny's menus - semi-breakfast, semi-lunch, and for me - the grand slam.

For those of you not hip to the Denny's thang, a grand slam is any four of several delicious choices. I went with the english muffins and three orders of hash browns. A rather unorthodox grand slam selection, but hey...you do how you do and I'll do how I do.

2:30 p.m. CT - Nap.

4:15 p.m. CT - Triple S and the walk to the Alamodome for Memphis/UCLA. This Final Four, different than Indianapolis and Atlanta the last two years, has some real college spirit to it. Kansas had a few bands along the way, a bunch of UCLA fans (read: Asian kids) kept doing the 8-clap thing, UNC fans were desperately trying to get Kansas fans to like them. Me? I was walking with Memphis. (for a beautifully written reason why, click here.)

7 p.m. CT - One ass-kicking later, it was time to mosey. I was tired and did not care to see Kansas/UNC. Nothing against Bill Self and the Jayhawks - in fact, they were my second-favorite rooting interest - but I was sleepy and I think the game was on TV. Bee-line to Fuddruckers where I committed a class D felony on a giant, sloppy, messy bleu cheese burger. Yay me. *Burp.*

April 6 and beyond...
I didn't take any notes. But suffice to say, it was much of the same. A great time to spend with some old friends, some new friends, and some friends that I just haven't met yet.

BTW - the text count: 240.
-----
Will have a pre-Belize blog update tomorrow. It will also be the debut of a new social scale, which I'm sure is going to sweep the nation.

It's called the "Bowie Scale," and it is going to be the basis for quite a bit of the Belize happenings.  ¶ 10:10 PM 0 Comments

  Hurricanes and Catnaps Always Get Me Down Way too early CT - My roommate woke up. WTF. It was like quarter-to-seven in the a.m. in Central time.

I asked : "did you lose a shampooing bet?"

My roommate subscribes to the Warren Zevon philosophy of "I'll sleep when I'm dead." His exact words were: "I slept in college."

This may prove costly as the weekend progresses.

8:00 a.m. CT - Intelligence report. I couldn't go back to sleep after the early wake up (I'm bitter...more on that later). I read my 30+ bookmarks. I knew what I already knew. And I was awake.

9:00 a.m. CT - One cup of coffee.

9:23 a.m. CT - One more cup of coffee - thank you much, Bob Marley

9:35 a.m. CT - Three cups of coffee down. Found the one Jewish deli in San Antonio - Schilo's - and did up a little wheat toast and coffee (four cups down). They toast the toast right, and with a wide variety of jelly - not to mention the $1.56 tab - Schilo's is now the Official Breakfast Sponsor of TLBR.

They fill up the coffee, copiously, and have the Jayhawks on the speakers (the alt-country band, not Russell Robinson Jr.). Schilo's - welcome to the TLBR family of networks.

10:00 a.m. CT - There's a CVS on the Riverwalk. Today's Neighborhood Drugstore - actually, that's an old moniker and quite admittedly I should know whatever the new slogan is but I don't so let's all move on OK? This Consumer Value Store sold wine and U.S. Border Patrol hats.

10:35 a.m. CT - I really dig the Riverwalk. It's an amazing place and has beautiful horticulture. And, quite frankly, the sidewalk in spots gets really, really close to the water. Officer Ramirez of the San Antonio Park Police have said "very few people just fall in."

"On average, maybe four people just fall in. Usually, it's people who get dared or drunk people. Even then, it's not many. It's not something I'd recommend."

I would tend to agree. I've never seen water that green.

10:45 a.m. CT - I'm watching ducklings learn to swim, and then hop onto a rock and get cleaned by Mother Duck. Ladies & Gentlemen, your TLBR Zen Moment of the Day,

10:48 a.m. CT - Sign of maturity. I just saw Jim Nantes of CBS eating breakfast. A few years back, I'd have bum rushed his omelette and asked him to record my "A tradition like no other..." voicemail message. I left him to his hash browns. Maturity or sobriety? You decide.

11:15 a.m. CT - TLBR to Pat O'Brien's barkeep: "When can you legally sell me a Hurricane?"
PO'B barkeep: "Now, actually..."
TLBR: "May I please have a Hurricane?"

It is noon Eastern...

12:32 p.m. CT - The second of what will likely prove to be many meals at Denny's - joining good friends David Scott of CSTV/Shots fame, the boys from CSTV's Road Trippin (Jacob & Cyrus), and one of my old Iona running mates TC.

Nelda the waitress was solid - if there were an award for top waitress so far this week, Nelda is the undisputed champ.

12:45 p.m. CT - First stupid phone call received of the day: a sports-radio talk show host looking for Jim Harrick's contact info.

1:25 p.m. CT - In the Alamodome, they have banners for every school that has won the national title, with the year. Kentucky has won so many that not all the years fit on one side of the banner. This particular banner only has up to 1996 listed, forgetting Tubby Smith's title in 1998. TC: "Just another case of them holding back the brothers."

2:05 p.m. CT - Took a photo with Toribio Lasoya. Might need to Google him later and find out who the shampoo he is/was.

2:25 p.m CT - At Crazy Sam's with the crew. Not only to they serve "Texas-sized drafts," but they have an extensive menu of "grub."

That's it. "Grub." And listed under said "grub" are the following: hot dogs, hot wings, fries and corn dogs.

More from TC: "I don't think I've been in a place that serves corn dogs on the menu...ever..."

Jacob uses the word "ostensibly," which is a TLBR fave. A man walks into the bar wearing a hat that says "Jerusalem." (no punchline coming...this is fact...) It even has a menorah stitched into the bill.

(period of time passes where nothing interesting happens, so, moving right along...)

6:05 p.m. CT - Just finished a large Mexican dinner - flautas and chili - and a Mexican trumpeteer approaches the table.

Mexican trumpeteer: Do you want a song?
DScott: Are you shampooing nuts?

End of Mexican trumpeteer.

8:00 p.m. CT - I retreat to the hotel for a quick nap. The early rise and Thursday hijinks, cleverely disguised as shenanigans, has made me sleepy. I just need a quick nap. I called the front desk for a 9:15 wake-up call. Just some quick shut-eye...a quick power nap to recharge...a quick...

12:35 a.m. CT, April 4 - Quick my ass.

Wake-up call my ass.

My ass is tired. I'm rolling back over and going to sleep. You should do the same.

We'll chat tomorrow...

IIWII  ¶ 4:05 PM 2 Comments

  The Stars at Night Are Big and Bright... April 2, 4:00 p.m. ET - Welcome to the TLBR Final Four blog. I can guarantee it's going to be spotty at times - for reasons both controllable and not - but I'm going to take a stab at this. so enjoy the ride.

The crux of the next month of my life is going to involve blogging, whether for semi-work related events or not. And much of the traveling involved in the blog-rich situations will be brought to you by the good folks at Continental Airlines.

Since 1997, I've accumulated roughly a gabillion Conty miles, so this trip to San Antonio for the Final Four and the jaunt to Belize will be on one of their spacious planes. Today's delay for my flight out of Providence into Newark is not a good start. The 4:35 departure time, the nice woman at the gate tells me, will now be 5:55 p.m. Oh well, at least the Sox are playing.

There are some pissed off people trying to plead with the woman - like she really gives a cactus prick you're going to miss your connection to Kalamazoo - but I'm slated to have a 2 hr. layover at Newark Liberty International Airport (EWR for you airport code buffs), so all this delay does is cut into my time over a steaming hot plate boneless buffalo tenders at Chili's Too. (btw, if I ever go to the chair, my last meal will be boneless buffalo tenders from Chili's.)

So with the delay, I headed toward one of the nameless, faceless, soulless airport bars at T.F. Green. Alas and alack, no seats. So I headed toward flight delay refuge #2: Dunkin Donuts. Ordered a Great One. 24 ounces of Colombian blended bliss. Skim milk. Just one sugar (uno sucre, por favor...need to practice that for the trips to North Mexico and Belize...)

Joining me at the Temple of Dunks was the country's top returning three-point shooter - if you don't know who I'm talking about, then I guess I'm just not doing my job. But you will know about him (always working, Seth Davis of SI and CBS got the first pitch of the 2008-09 season in the EWR airport. Very receptive, I'd surmise).

All of a sudden, coffee talk with Paul Baldwin was broken up by an announcement that "all ticketed and confirmed passengers on Continental flight blah-blah-blah, please report to gate blah IMMEDIATELY."

Grabbed my bag, downed the Dunks, fist-bumped with "America's Top Returning Three-Point Shooter," and made an OJ Simpson-Hertz commercial dash to my gate.

In my olden days, my blazing speed and shifty moves would have been vintage OJ (without the homicide and stuff), Now, it's a little bit more like OJ Mayo. Or just too much mayo. Princeton offense. I'm winded. Call a :30.

There are a few other local coaches and colleagues in the biz - I texted them to let them know it was time to down the frosty delights and head to the gate. That's my first assist of the weekend. TLBR is well-known for it's pass-first mentality.

5:30 p.m. ET - I just started Charlie Pierce's book about Tom Brady. Flew through the first 12 pages before the ADHD took over. So I put on the trusty iPod and opened the Continental magazine.

Lo and behold, it opens right to page 69 (tee-hee, tee-hee-hee, tee-hee) and you know it has to be an ad for a new luxury condo development on Ambergris Caye. And that's located in...tell em' Don Pardo...Belize! Waterfront starting at $350k. We all know about iPod karma, could it be the first signs of intelligent life in regard to Continental karma? (for the record, pg. 71 had an ad for prostate exams and p. 73 was about sleep apnea...oh well).

7:55 p.m. ET - The next leg is supposed to leave at 8 p.m. So far, with five minutes to go on the original schedule, we've had three (3) gate changes and three (3) subsequent delays. Further inventory also lists one (1) bargain meal at the food court. Just under 5 smackos for lo mein and white rice and a bottle of water. Meanwhile, the travel buddies have paid 9 and 13 dollars, respectively, for two slices of pizza and a medium and large bottle of water.

Also add one (1) snoring, semi-drunk woman at the gate and two (2) kids playing that game where you try to slap the other person's hands in a test of reaction time. Is that a game that a third-party can enter, uninvited, like an open spot at a high stakes blackjack game with five Chinese dudes playing $500 a hand? No? Can I just start slapping the kids? No? Rats.

I've also made the decision to reset my phone and count the number of text messages I send over the next five days. I've been known to text alot. In fact, I don't really talk to people anymore. I send them texts. So many, in fact, that I went over my limit last month. By 489. That's a lot. So I ponied up and went with unlimited texts. I don't know what the Vegas line is on how many I send - or how many go out after 12 a.m., or even how many go internationally - but it'll be a lot. If you'd like to venture a guess, send it along to tlbradmin@gmail.com. Person closest without going over will win a prize.

8:30 p.m. ET - We're finally on the plane and ready to embark on the 4-hour flight. That's not necessarily a "long" flight in TLBR terms - as we've gone on a 24.5 hour trip to Australia - but it's still a bit of a trip. And despite my triple platinum soul-double elite mocha java-super duper status in OnePass, I couldn't get an upgrade (Seth Davis did). But I did manage to get seat 14F, which on this Boeing 737-300, is the exit row seat with no seat in front of it. Kareem would have more than enough legroom in this seat. I rang the call button and requested a pipe and an ottoman, but it's against FAA regulations on both.

8:50 p.m. ET - Still waiting to pull out (that's what she said...) and got to pg. 25 of the Pierce book. "Brady's is a secular charisma derived from authenticity." Now THOSE are words, courtesy of a fine Jesuit education.

9:00 p.m. ET - In that talking with a four octaves deeper than conversational tone and too close to the microphone voice they teach you in pilot school, here's the latest: "Update from the flight deck folks, we're currently #24 in line for take off..." So my rough math... at a 90 second-2:15 gap between takeoffs with jumbojets, we're looking at 45 minutes on the tarmac. Smoke if you got 'em.

9:35 p.m. ET - Patience? Waning.

10:15 p.m. ET - In the air. 30,000 feet. Beverage cart by the seat. Beaucoup Continental bucks for free drinks. Two Miller Lites. One Fiorinal. Nighty-night. Will have more in the S.A. tomorrow.

11:00 p.m. ET - Things working out just A-O-freaking-K. Just got to thinking with a couple of the songs that just popped up on random play:

(Such Great Heights, Postal Service) - it'd be cool to have a brown marker that just drew shit, akin to the UPS commercials. Or a Mortimer J. Marker, like Picture Pages.
(One Shining Moment, David Sanborn/Teddy Pendergrass) - yeah, OSM just came on the shuffle play. En route to the Final Four. Karma. (btw, TLBR predicts the winner of the National title will be the winner of the UCLA/Memphis game. Roy Williams will not give a shit about North Carolina when Kansas beats his team and Bill Self gets ludicrous money to be the next head coach at Oklahoma State...speaking of Ludacris, I saw him last year at the Atlanta Final Four. Nothing like ice cold beer, rap, and head coaches at Centennial Olympic Park.) On another aside, I'm still waiting for my One Shining Moment.

IIWII  ¶ 8:39 AM 0 Comments