I just read the below post from the other quarter of this blog and can’t figure out how we spent the weekend together yet still had completely different stories.
1. Paintball! Yeah! You know what most folks and all girls don’t like hearing stories about? Paintball! You know what I’m really good at for some reason? Paintball! So you know what I did hours before Fakesgiving and no one cared about?
1. My pathetic flag football season finally came to an end on Sunday with a crushing defeat by a much younger and faster team. (I say “finally” because it should have been over three weeks ago, as the only way my team of old knees and swollen joints could make the playoffs was if the two teams ranked above us tied. And sure enough their game ended 0-0.) We limped into the playoffs and limped off the field like the bloody old gits we are.
Is any one going to catch that? Oh, your Achilles ruptured again? I guess I'll get it.
None of our linemen were in town so I had to block. (Today, my arms are so sore that I can’t actually lift them onto the key board to type. I have to stand up, let them dangle above the desk and then sit down when they come to a rest on the keys. I ate my Potbelly sub in the same fashion I imagine a snake would eat a Potbelly sub.) But my only good block resulted in a fight with one guy on my team pinning one guy on their team to the ground with a knee to the neck. As a result, I consider the game and season a 2-8-2 stunning success.
3. The G and I both had a problem with the Cash movie because it seemed to imply that after 1968 everything went perfectly well in the Cash/Carter household. June agrees to marry Johnny, the end, happily ever after.? No drugs, no bad times, no ostrich attacks? In reality, Cash fell back into drugs, had some bad times and was attacked by an ostrich. Where the hell was that in the movie? Instead we get the ham-fisted origin of the song Great Balls of Fire. In fact any of these would be better than Jerry Lee Lewis talking 'bout all of us going to hell and forced references to Dylan.
4. Harry Potter – Good. I don’t have much to say other than I feel like I should be forced to walk in one of those Iraqi flagellation marches for this. Elle Child: The Extra Pervy Edition.