My support group is lousy with nymphos

I am not a nice person. I make a good show of it, smiling and not tripping small children and whatnot, but deep down I am a cruel bastard. I can't help laughing at Holocaust jokes. My preferred style of driving could generously be described as "predatory," especially here in the non-Midwest. My Child's temper tantrums? Hilarious.

Which is why I didn't provide my 64 NCAA tournament predictions. Not because I'm lazy, or too busy. In the past two weeks I've had this page open not less than a dozen times, ready and willing to fulfill my end of the blogger-bloggee bargain. You know what I said to myself? "They're not worth it. They don't appreciate your acumen in putting UCLA in the Final Four, or choosing Villanova to get upset by Portland State." That's not the kind of valuable insight you deserved. So you didn't get it. Suck on that, reader.

As I watched 30Rock last week, I was reminded again of my not-so-secret evil-ocity. Glory be to my fantastically large HD compatible TV, 55" of Japanese magnificence: it allows me to watch Planet Earth on a 1:1 scale, and to actually see the puck while watching hockey (see? Someone in America DOES watch it). It also allows me to pay inordinate attention to things like Tina Fey's scar. And while I watched it morph and wiggle around smirks and grimaces and other attractive Tina Fey expressions, I wondered whether I was a little too fixated by it. And I was concerned.

Later that evening, though, I was watching Demetri Martin's show, and my mind started wandering, and then my eyes started wandering, and I noticed the mole on his neck. And I was disappointed that it was blurry, because then I couldn't get the full impact of the mole-ness. All of which led me to two conclusions: 1) Demetri Martin's show, while humorous, is not actually funny; and 2) it's not so much that I fetishized Tina Fey's scar, it's that I have an inordinate curiosity about random celebrity blemishes. Which then leads back to my being less than a saintly individual. which leads me to my next post...

A question, then 64 answers

What do you do if you find something that's so absurd, so ridiculously hilarious, you feel bad sharing it with others?

Wife was looking for a phone number. Forgetting it was in her phone, she went to the internets and looked up the individual in question. What she found was...epic. A glorious monument to the possibilities of chaos and the World Wide Web. It was in every way more fantastical than she or I or you could have imagined.

I don't mean to suggest that this individual had some sort of Flash-infused ultra-narrow bleeding-edge of the envelope home page. In fact the truth is just about the complete diametric opposite. What we found was this person's soul, writ carefully and purposefully on a web page.

This person - we'll call the individual T-Bone, because it's gender-neutral and silly - was specific in their interests, passions, and character traits and flaws. And this is no Blogger account, nor was there any sort of innovative or even substandard derivative design. If I had to compare it to anything, it would be Creed's blog, but without the serial killer vibe. Wait, scratch that - with all sorts of serial killer vibe emanating from the screen.

On T-Bone's proto-blog there are links to favorite quotes, which in itself is not unusual...but the three or four paragraphs on why T-Bone thinks archiving quotes as a concept are interesting, and why sharing them is helpful for the reader's edification is pretty out there, as a form of entertainment. Or how about the autobiography, which literally begins with a birthday, and a physical description. And goes on for about 5 or 6 pages?

This is how the Genesis conversation happened in my head:

T-Bone: what's a blog?
T-Bone's head: a blog is a place on the internet that's all yours. Do with it as you wish.
T-Bone: Well, like, what should I put on there?
T-Bone's head: Got me. Why not tell the universe a little about yourself, and talk about some of the things you like?
T-Bone: OK. I like my family, and I think the environment is important. Should I put that on there?
T-Bone's head: Sure. There are lots of people who feel the same way you do, they'll be interested to read what you have to say on these pressing and culturally relevant topics.
T-Bone: Great! I also enjoy role playing games and fantasy novels and writing fan fiction about Transformers, which I still collect. Are there other adults with spouses and children who collect Transformers, who might want to read my stories?
T-Bone's head: Well you know I love everything Transformers. Throw 'em on! You'll get zillions of hits in no time! Oh, and the more detail the better!

I wish I could share T-Bone's thoughts with you. I really do. But it would be mean. Meaner even than the previous paragraphs, where I shared just a few little bits with you. Sorry.

Also, you'll be interested to know that I shall share my NCAA tournament picks with you on Wednesday night. The simple act of reading them will fill you with wonder at my prophseying skill, and you shall marvel at my insight into futures untold.

"Oh my Lord, is that Davidson's music?" Proof positive that as of Monday night, I have no idea who's even in the Madness this year. How about Brandeis, are they a 12 or 13 seed? McGill? They a 7 seed?

Today is a glorious, glorious day

The first round of the Tournament begins this afternoon. This is how you know it's the most fantastic sporting event, by the way; it's the only one known as "THE Tournament." Can the World Series make that claim? Well, baseball can't say much, what with all those steroid needles poking out of its gigantic head, and it doesn't really get out much, what with the hip replacement (because it's old, get it? And really boring). The Super Bowl? It's only one game, and it's never as fun as ripping on the $846 million spent on commercials. 

So really this is the best sporting event of the year, and regularly renews my love of basketball and sports betting. Rocco and Luigi love it because they get to come to my house and threaten my family if I don't pay up, and I'm always polite enough to offer them some alone time with Wife in exchange for my fingers. 

Recently Brother S has taken it upon himself to run the family brackets, which we all appreciate, and takes a load off my mind because now I can concentrate on getting the whole brood hooked on Amway (it saves money, and we all make money! There's no reason whatsoever not to get involved! What's a pyramid scheme? Who's Ponzi?). And it means we can talk about George Mason and Kansas' perennially disappointing run at family events, and not get yelled at.

Finally, it's Child's first tournament, and he has his own bracket. And hopefully, like his dad, he'll think enough of the event to lie to his bosses, and tell them there's this new Jewish holiday that happens in the spring, and celebrates amateur athletics, beer, and brings the family closer together through the playing of 65 competitions. And I'm sure, brilliant Child that he is (this morning he discovered a Higgs boson  particle in his diaper), he'll be able to come up with some clever Hebrew name to seal the deal, and get the day off.