Tuesday, September 26, 2006

The last straw

Alright, the title of that last post isn't going to make any sense, simply because blogger.com and my asinine PC are apprently in cahoots, attemping to sabotage my entirely pathetic attempt at a blog.

The end of that post should say:

Yes, as a teacher, I do get those "Mr. Holland's Opus"-like moments, but upon returning from three months of summer break to a class who seems to have forgotten everything, I'm more tempted to liken my experience to Mr. Holland in the delivery room after hearing from the physician that his son was born a deaf retard.

I'm sorry Mr. Opus, but your son is a deaf retard.

I will admit, the sound of blogging, much like the sound of one hand clapping, given that you're not clapping like a sissy, has started to grow on me. Having been an avid fan of forum-browsing for a long time and attempting to make wittier posts than the last poster, blogging is a natural segueway for the author.

./throws computer out the window

So I just realized that on my desktop I am unable to post pictures to my blog due to my pop-up blocker.
"Oh, but Nick, just go to the "Tools" option at the menu bar." Shut up, I already did that, nothing. After turning off my pop-up blocker, the very next thing that popped up was some weird shoe-fetish site pop-up. I wasn't even visiting the site. That means my computer possessed by some latex-obsessed demon with a penchant for DKNY.


*deep breath*

Seeing as how my writing is subpar, my humor makes people want to drink turpentine, and my computer is winning the battle of wills against me at this current point in time, I will be posting from my laptop, which, at this point, I am too lazy to turn on. More soon. With pictures, I promise.

Bengals in Super Bowl XLI

Saturday, September 09, 2006


This post should technically be dated 8/22/06. I had been meaning to write about this unique, Baltimorean experience, but real life and work once again began whomping me in the jimmies and subsequently keeping me from my newly beloved blog.

So, those who ask themselves, "What is rollerderby?" SHAME ON YOU. If you haven't seen or heard of roller derby, you are missing out on one of life's most shameful, and at the same time delicious, activities. I remember watching roller derby for the first time back in Cincinnati, on UPN 25, the most ghetto of all ghetto television stations. It would later receive competition for this award by channels such as WB64 and channel 45 (whose programming just plain sucked). Anyway, back to topic. I was up late watching UPN's weekend Japanimation movie, only to have it be interrupted by a nationally-televised (albeit at 3:27am in the morning) roller derby match. It was fascinating how the fat woman could absolutely obliterate the smaller ones by checking them with their Grand Canyonesque hips. I didn't understand the rules, nor did I care, because I was captivated by the female on female violence. I'm not well, I know.

Well, back to Baltimore roller derby. I was invited by a friend who has intimate connections to the Bmore derby world and I will admit, visiting the rather anti-Ticketmasteresque ticket services website www.brownpapertickets.com, any such grand assumptions I may have had, were raped and pillaged. The Charm City Roller Girls, as the four Baltimore teams are collectively known, represent roller derby in a truly grass roots form. The perform in a skating rink, which at first thought, might seem logical, until you realize that their are no barriers protecting the "athletes" from the audience. This is not to say that the audience would ever attack one of the ladies during a "jam", but when one of the smaller, defter ladies gets a solid cross check from a Betsy Battleaxe, that woman, quite frankly, is gonna get that ass tossed. Sans barriers, that woman is bound to land in the audience, more on that later, however.

I must end this post prematurely, my fellow "friends", are back and I want to whoop their ass at Warcraft 3. I will continue soon with pictures and a better description of both the sport in and of itself, and the culture surrounding it.