I like to jinx myself. It’s kinda my thing.
So naturally, after I cracked wise about the minor injuries suffered during my alumni basketball tournament (while boldly declaring that I would return to Weekend Warriordom), my body slowly crumbled into a mess during the ensuing days. The primary culprit: the multiple elbows to the ribs. Turns out those bad boys are cracked or bruised.
Either way, it’s not a whole lot of fun. I sneezed and it felt like I took a baseball bat to the side. Then, like a damned FOOL, I started favoring one side while I walked and slept, which strained my back. This of course happened right as I got back home to spend a few days with my wife, so she was treated to a romantic weekend of me doing a dramatic impersonation of “Sir-Smoke-A-Lot” from the classic film Half Baked.
This is no good on several levels (aside from the obvious: being a baby in front of my little lady). Firstly, what in the shit am I supposed to do to stay active over the coming weeks? Secondly, just how in the shit am I supposed to attend to the content of Chunk’s Revenge during that same timeframe? After all, this is a blog dedicated to activities/writing/shenanigans. That’s a fine balance right there, amigos. You mess with the balance and the whole thing breaks down and turns to shit like a Nicolas Cage dramatic acting moment.
I’ll still do things, but there’s not a chance in hell I’ll blog about doing the elliptical machine or riding a stationary bike. That would make me some kind of bozo. And a bozo, assuredly I am not.
Which got me to thinking. When I first started in the blogging game, I had an absurd idea which centered around:
1. Me getting drunk,
2. Tracking my blood alcohol level,
3. Live blogging my thoughts about an episode of 24 (it was once a show on Fox, and was a whole lot of fun for about 12 episodes a season), and
4. Watching my wife be thoroughly impressed with the man she chose to marry.
I actually did this, but to so little success that I trashed the draft the next morning because I stopped focusing on the plot and more on how unrealistically hot the women were, and wondering how in the hell they would be able to keep up the drama for the rest of the season (note: later in the season it was announced that the series would not be renewed…the power of my jinx, you see).
So my point is this: in between my duties at work and my dates with the elliptical machines and stationary bikes, I’m going to be selecting one day this week to watch a full docket of NBA Playoff games, progressively getting more crunked as the column progresses. This time, the end product will be published – no ifs, ands, or buts.
I guess the point of this whole column is this: consider this a fair warning of things to come later in the week. Actual activities will resume once the wrath of O’Doyle has subsided from my precious ribcage.