So, before I get to the real reason of this quick post, let me drop the knowledge on Video Bo. If you were like me, back when you had your regular Nintendo and that was about it, Tecmo Super Bowl was one of the best games EVER. And who was the best player, unquestionably? Bo Jackson on the Raiders. The creators at Tecmo juiced up Bo to levels unimaginable in the real world. Anyway, I don't want to give too much of Bill Simmons' story away, but I'll say that as I was reading it, I couldn't believe how well he described the game and how fanatics played it. He mentions the Madden Cover Jinx, too. What, you didn't know about that? The last five players to be featured on that year's Madden NFL game box have had terrible seasons, culminatng in this year's Michael Vick cover resulting in... well, you saw what happpened to HIM already. Anyway, click here for the story.

"Richard!... Fat guy in a little coat, Richard!"

I mention that quote because I will be unable to stop myself from saying it while I'm trying on sport coats tomorrow night.

What? I'm buying a new sport coat? "Why?", you ask? Well, I've got THREE dogs in the Quarter-Mile Chalenge finals on Friday night. Walk through some math with me here: There were 18 dogs originally entered, of which I had 4. There are 6 dogs in the finals, of which I have 3.

Not that I'm patting myself on the back or anything, but... well, yeah, okay, I'm patting myself on the back. The ¼-mile distance is kind of screwy, what with its start right there at the finish line. It takes just the right dog (or three... *cough*), because the box literally opens right into the first turn. It's less about a dog who has a lot of early speed than it is about one who is used to exploding out of the box. Many trainers mistakenly simply enter dogs who can get to an early lead consistently, but this can fail them because you have to be able to tell the difference between a box-breaker and a dog who just has average box-popping ability but uses the 110 yards' worth of track before the first turn to power to an early lead.

Anyway, I know I'm boring my audience whenever I launch into a greyhound theory discussion... So, what with our better-than-average odds of winning this thing, Da Boss called me from Kansas (more on that later) and told me to go out and buy myself a new sport coat, on the business. (Hey, I'm all for free clothes...) I've only got the one coat, the gray one I'm wearing in the two photos on my main page, but my dad told me he didn't want it to look like I only owned one sport coat, since I keep getting dressed up for these stake finals. (Even though, you know, I do only own one sport coat, but, well... y'know.) Also, I need a new pair of dress slacks; ask Kristy and Jenn, who were with me the night of the Swift Six match races back in May, and they can tell you all about how I split oppen the seat of my pants getting into the truck leaving my apartment for the track. I've worn my nice black jeans to the last two stakes I dressed up for, including that night. From a distance, you can't tell (sooner or later I'll scan in the pic from that night), but up close it's fairly obvious. So I'll be stopping by Wal-Mart tomorrow, too, to pick up a pair of pants.

Like I mentioned briefly above, my dad's at Wichita right now. Our trainer up there supposedly "up and quit" on us, calling on Saturday morning and informing my dad he had X-number of hours to get up there before she left, because she "couldn't take it anymore." Funny thing is, see, Mark, my uncle who's our co-trainer here in Phoenix, has a brother, Greg, who works for another kennel up there in Wichita. Greg told Mark they'd been planning this for at least a week, maybe longer, and that they had already cleaned all their personal effects out of the kennel by Friday -- before our trainer's alleged breakdown. *shrug* Oh well. Uneasy is the business owner who doesn't have a contingency plan. This didn't come as a total shock, since we knew she was unhapppy. We had a guy here in Phoenix who was looking to get back into the business, and when the boom came down, we let him know, and he's already on the road to Kansas.

So I'm the de facto had of affairs while he's out of town. I had thought (and those who were at the birthday bash Saturday night can attest to this) that it was going to be a big stress-fest, but in reality, it's not a lot different than it usually is around here. I just have to do a little more office work, is all.

Editor's note: Sunzabitches. I thought I saved this before midnight. Oh well. This was technically written Sunday night.

Howdy. Before I get into tonight's entry, let me plug my next entry, which I'll do when I get around to it: Were you as much of a nut about Tecmo Super Bowl as I was? Tune in to my next post. Bill Simmons (The Sports Guy) goes in-depth into the dominance of Video Bo.

Anyway... now on to your regularly scheduled sporadical blogging...

I should really do more entries more often, rather than waiting until I've got six or seven things to write about. I know by the time I get to the end of this post, I'll have forgotten at least two of them. Regardless of that, happy birthday to Jenn, Jung, and Brian. They all turned 21 yesterday, or at least it seemed that way, since there was a giant party at Club 1030 for all three of them last night. In actuality, Jenn and Jung entered official adulthood on Tuesday, while Brian's birthday is really today. But it made more sense to have the party on a Saturday, I suppose. It was fun. The spirits flowed freely, but I left the party with a pleasant realization: My friends up here are a pretty solid group of people. At Kyle & Jimmy's last night, most everyone had a drink or two, while a couple people, well, had more than a few too many. I, of course, as I believe I've mentioned before, don't drink. And the only reason is, I don't like the taste of it. "But trust me," you say, "there's lots of drinks out there where you can't even TASTE the alcohol!" And I say, well, if I can't taste it, why bother with the unpleasant aftereffects? I'm not against drinking, by any stretch of the imagination. I just don't see the point in drinking if I'm just as happy with Diet Dew.

Anyway, I'm off on a tangent. My point I was getting at is, nobody really cares if I'm drinking or not whenever I hang out with my friends. And that's SO COOL. When I went out in Tucson, people seemed to have this really big problem with the fact that I wasn't drunk like they were. Jeff made it a priority to get me to try beer, to the point where I didn't go to any more of his "parties" for the last six months I was down there, after he left the track. You know, Jeff's a good guy and all, and we still keep in touch by phone every so often, but that got REALLY old, having to constantly defend myself for not wanting to slam a few back. Look, I tried beer. I thought it was the worst thing I'd ever taste, until I tried wine. And you know, Mike's Hard Iced Tea doesn't taste ANYthing like iced tea, nor does hard apple cider taste ANYthing like apples. And that's pretty much the extent of my alcoholic experience. When I say "tried," I mean I had a sip or two, and that was enough for my taste buds to let me know they were displeased with me.

Ba-zing! There I go, tangential again. So anyway, I was offered a Mud Slide when I got there, and I said "no thanks," and that was the extent of it. Nobody cared! It was so REFRESHING not having to explain myself or try and make up other reasons when the explanation wasn't good enough. It's nice to know I've got friends like that. It makes me feel like I'm not an outcast... whereas in Tucson, I might as well have been naked and painted with purple polka dots when I was at a party.

Another thing I noticed is that once people were actually getting drunk, Kyle came out and confiscated keys. I noted that I'd never seen that at any of the parties I'd been at in Tucson. Again... makes me glad I'm back in Phoenix, back amongst my friends, because my friends are good people. In fact, while I was leaving the party, I tripped over a rock, and John, who was sitting outside, was quick to ask if I was okay to drive. I had to laugh. "No, no, I don't drink... I'm just naturally that clumsy. But thanks for asking."

You know, speaking of Tucson... like I mentioned, I really never felt like I fit in down there. Now, to a certain extent, I was working six full days a week, and spending three out of every four Mondays up here in Phoenix anyway, so I probably didn't give it a fair shake. It's a nice enough town, as I'm sure Becky wwill tell you. But I noticed something interesting today. I had to stop by my parents' house to pick up some paperwork for the kennel. Usually I wind up lounging around for a few minutes, but it was after weigh-in and I wanted to get back home and eat dinner, which I'd already prepared earlier. So I grabbed the clipboard and the mail I needed to drop off, and headed right back out the door. My mom asked where I was going in such a hurry, and I told her, "I just want to get home, is all. I'm sweaty and I've got dinner waiting."

As I drove west on McDowell up through the draw in the Buttes, I thought about what I'd said... that I was heading home from my parents' house. Oddly enough, when I was living in Tucson, "home" was my parents' house. I would always say I was heading home from "my apartment," or "my place," or whatever. I never really felt like Tucson was my home. But up here, I've got a real concrete sense that my apartment is my home. Rarely a day goes by that I don't have to stop in at my parents' place for something or another, whether it's to drop off the meat invoice on Monday, or to leave a copy of the morning workouts on Monday and Friday, or to make the deposit on Wednesday, or... so on, and so on. It's nice not being far away from it; I'm at 44th and Oak, and my parents are at 64th and Oak. For those of you not here in town, Oak doesn't go through, though. It dead-ends at 48th Street (among several other places, like just down the street from my parents' house at the canal, and at Eldorado Park, to mention a few), so I have to take either Thomas or McDowell. McDowell is usually my route of choice, because there's far fewer stoplights to worry about; it's a smooth trip from 52nd Street to 64th Street up through the draw in the Buttes, while there's three more lights on Thomas, at 56th, 60th, and 61st streets. (There's a light at the 202/143 on-ramp on McDowell, but that cancels out the light at 46th Street on Thomas.)

Hey, look at that... off on a tangent again. Oh well. What I'm getting at is, my home is here in Phoenix. I doubt I could move anywhere elose and really feel like I was at home.

GAS "SHORTAGE" 2003 UPDATE: The worst seems to be behind us. On Tuesday, a report came down that the pipeline pressure test had failed, which seemed to doom us to another weekend of panicky gas buying. However, cooler heads managed to prevail. People finally started listening to the reports that we had enough gas to replenish the stations if they'd stop converging like flies on a carcass every time another station got gas in. Now, I haven't seen a station in two days that's out of gas. There's still almost no mid-grade or premium, but there's plenty of 87 unleaded to be found, as long as you don't mind paying anywhere from $1.99 to $2.17 , depending on where you go. More good news came today in that Kinder Morgan (the pipeline company) bypassed the failed section of line with a smaller-diameter "detour", allowing at least SOME gas to make its way to Phoenix. That bypass opened up today around 10:00 AM, from what I heard, and has started to supply some gas to the Valley, albeit not a whole lot as compared to what we usually get through that line. But every little bit helps. Now, if they'd just get rid of that stupid MTBE requirement, the prices wouldn't be so friggin' high... Yeah, since our clean-air requirements mean we have to buy special gas (you've seen the stickers: "This gas contains 15% MTBE from April to September and 10% ether from October to March" or whatever the specific dates are), and that special gas is specially expensive! Now, by the same token, California's gas is additive-free, but then again, it's more expensive than ours is (usually). Those wacky Californians...

Congratulations to Nichole for passing her EMT Basic Skills exam last week. She doesn't read my blog -- as far as I know, she doesn't even have a computer -- but I figured I'd give her a shout-out anyway.

I didn't attend Coronado on Thursday morning, as I was pretty wiped out from karaoke Wednesday night. No, not drunk... just smoke inhalation, is all. Cigarette smoke. CJ's, the place in Mesa where we've been going for the past few months, has discontinued karaoke because they don't make enough money off of it. Can't blame 'em for not showing up -- the place is a dump. There was no more than seven people in there Wednesday night, and only two of them were smoking, yet the whole place was choked with smoke the whole 2 hours we were there. Eventually, I got too lightheaded to stay inside, just like every time I've gone there, and I had to go outside. Oh well. I'm not going to miss it. I may even take a pass on karaoke for a while; the new has worn off pretty badly. And besides, our winter schedule kicks in September 1st, so I'll be working Wednesdays and having all day Thursday off instead, so I would've only been able to go to CJ's once more anyway. I dunno. The place, aside from being constantly polluted with cigarette smoke, also always reeked of frying grease, like they didn't have a ventilation system over their deep fryer and all those little particles of grease just floated out into the main room. Like I said... a dump. But it was all ages, so other under-21 friends could go.

We're into the semifinals of our August stake at the track, the Quarter-Mile Challenge. It's a 6-dog-race event, over the 440-yard (¼-mile) course, which they accomplish by rolling a starting box out to the finish line, then after the race starts, quickly jacking it up and rolling it off to the apron of the track before the dogs come back around again. Takes a quick breaker, a dog who really gets out of the box quick, because there's inevitably a jam in the turn in these races; you have to be good enough to be in front of it, or talented enough to navigate through it. Guess you could say I did my homework; I've got 4 dogs in the semis out of 12 competitors left, and those were the original 4 I entered. You had to finish 4th or better in the first round to advance, and there were three races. I ran 1st and 2nd in one, 3rd in the next one, and 4th in the last one. Now there's two races on Monday, and you have to finish in the top 3 to advance to the final on Friday. I've got 2 dogs in both races. I'll go into a little more detail if we do well tomorrow night.

Whew. I've said so much, and yet so little in this post, I feel. I could go through and edit out most of the non-topic blather and cut the word count in half. Yet still, I feel like I've forgotten a couple of things I was going to talk about... pretty much like I figured I would. I don't know. Like I've said before, it feels good to put what I'm thinking into text, because it gets it out of my head.

He's BACK!!

Well, it's only been two weeks, I guess, but still... it feels like I haven't blogged in a month. Seems like the summer weather has finally gotten to everyone around here, as most of the blogs I frequent have suddenly become much more sporadic -- mine included. Of course, if my Net connection weren't through Cox, perhaps I could actually be blogging online right now. As it stands, I'm WordPadding this to be pasted in later, whenever my connection decides to come back around.

I, of course, never planned to go two weeks without blogging, buuuuuut... I've been under a fair amount of stress lately, as I'm sure most anyone who lives in the metro Phoenix area and drives a car has been as well. You can take that stress and copy it in triplicate for me, since I have my own pickup as well as our two work trucks to worry about as well. "So," you must be asking if you're an out-of-state reader, "just what exactly are you talking about?" Well, it's the... drumroll please...

PANICKY FEAR-OF-A-GAS-SHORTAGE GAS SHORTAGE!!

Yes... that's worded correctly... the Panicky Fear-of-a-Gas-Shortage Gas Shortage. For the actual Arizona Republic news articles, you can click here. But, here it is, in as small a nutshell as I can manage: The Valley receives 30% of its gasoline via a pipeline that runs from El Paso to Phoenix. On July 30, this pipeline ruptured just north of Tucson. About a week later, it was closed, to prevent an obviously impending disaster (i.e., the pipeline blowing completely apart). Now that the Valley was receiving only about 70% of its usual gasoline supplies, retailers citywide began to raise prices by the nickel and dime, since THEY were getting the squeeze from the transport companies, since THEY were getting the squeeze from the dealers since THEY had to augment their supply with more expensive "spot market" gasoline. However, mid-grade and premium supplies, which came in largely through the pipeline, were pretty much S.O.L. until the pipeline was repaired.

Nobody figured that, even at 70% capacity, there would be any problem with regular 87-octane unleaded. Unfortunately, as stations began to run dry of 89 and 91-92 gas around last Wednesday and Thursday, our beloved, beloved, beloved newsmedia (okay, not ALL of the outlets; CBS-5 and FOX-10, though, you're as guilty as snot) began to open their newscasts with headlines like, "PREMIUM GAS RUNS DRY; SHORTAGE IMMINENT?" Then the perma-smiling newscasters put on their serious faces and warned people, "It might be a good idea to top off that tank this weekend, as stations are experiencing a SHORTAGE of GASOLINE."

Gak! They said SHORTAGE! The general public HATES words like SHORTAGE! So, EVERYONE ran out on Saturday night and on throughout Sunday and filled up every possible receptacle for gasoline they had!

It was like a scene out of a horror movie. As I was driving around town Sunday, stations were closing up left and right. And if one station closed, the next station down the road saw its volume of cars double. And when that one closed, the next station had quadruple the number of customers, and... it grew exponentially. And since no one really saw it coming, the tanker-truck companies were caught with their pants down. Since almost the entire city (it seemed) bought gas in a 24-hour period, the trucking companies couldn't possibly keep up with the demand. And then -- yes, it gets better! -- as people began to panic, they would drive around "FOR HOURS" (yes, people allowed themselves to be interviewed saying, "Hell, I almost ran out of gas trying to find gas!") trying to find open gas stations. Whenever a truck could make it to a station, cars would FLOCK to the location and back up for half a mile (literally!) from the station waiting to gas up, and they'd run the tank dry in six or seven hours.

From what I understand, the problem is beginning to ease somewhat at this hour (1:30 pm Tuesday). See, it's not that we don't have the gas; it's here in town, just it's out at the gigantic storage facility. They've got trucks running 'round the clock and overtime trying to get it from there to the stations. See, now their major problem isn't the doofuses who ran out and filled up their car, their jet skis and eight gas cans all at once. Now, the people who waited it out like we were told to are running out of gas, and now WE have to follow tankers around in we want to have a shot at getting any. See below for more on that...

Now, back to me having to mind three trucks... sine I take care of the expenses for our kennel, that includes gassing up the main truck (the black truck) and the backup truck (the white truck). I fueled up both my pickup and the black truck on Wednesday, but since I was listening to the media outlets who said there wouldn't BE a friggin' GAS OUTAGE, I didn't worry about the white truck. We only use it once a day at best, anyways, and it's just around the corner and back, from the track to the kennel.

Unfortunately, the white truck was damn near empty already. Oops. So, that was my own screwup. That, and I made two roundtrips from my apartment to Central and Bell on Sunday, even as I watched our gas supply go from bountiful to mediocre to depleted to GONE. My screwup #2. I should have gassed again Friday, but... well... I'm hard-headed.
Anyhow, so Monday morning, I got a severe verbal lashing from Da Boss (my dad) since I hadn't gassed up the white. Lucky enough for me, though, it was 6:45 in the morning, so I hit the road, and the second station I came to (the Exxon at 44th and Van Buren) had been supplied recently. I had to wait three deep in line before I got to a pump, and I ran out of gas pretty much just as I got there. I managed to start it up the two times I needed to and nursed it forward without getting pushed, and I filled 'er up. $1.97 a gallon. Mission accomplished.

However, as I watched the progression go from panic to "uh-oh, we've actually got a problem in distribution here", I began to get pensive about my pickup and the black truck. They both dipped below 1/4 yesterday, with my truck dropping another line this morning. By now, it was too late to drive out of town far enough south to gas up, as I didn't know if I'd have enough gas to get there in either truck. At about 7:45, as rain started to fall, I gave the guys at work a list of things to do, and I said, "I'm going to go find gas. I'll call you when I find it."
No, I don't know what I was thinking, either. It wasn't the most brilliant of plans, but I was starting to get worried, and I don't like to worry. It makes my stomach hurt.
However, my brazen journey paid off. I looped up past 44th and Washington (Circle K: empty) and 44th and Van Buren (Circle K: empty), then up to 44th and McDowell (Arco: empty), hanging a left and passing 40th and Van Buren (7-11 and Diamond Shamrock: both empty). I cruised down to 32nd and Van Buren (some corner store, I think it's called Speedway Convenience: empty) and hung a left. Before I crossed the canal, I noted that the ABC-15 news van was broadcasting from the empty Texaco right there. Over the canal on 32nd, under the freeway, and at the Mobil on the left-hand side—

Was that a tanker pulling in to the parking lot?

Wait! Stay calm... There's no one there yet. Why wouldn't there be anyone there if he's not filling the tanks?

Then, just as I passed by the station, four cars swung into the station and screeched (literally) to a halt at the pumps. Yowza! I flipped the quickest illegal U-turn I could and zipped back to the station. I got in line right behind a guy in a Sentra who had gotten to a pump first. The tanker driver must have felt like Keanu Reeves in Matrix 2 as we drivers all swarmed around his truck as he began to uncoil hose. Yes, he was filling the tanks. No, he wasn't sure how long it would be, but no more than half an hour. "All right," I figured. "I'm game." I had a bag of sunflower seeds, an almost-full liter of Diet Dew and The Tony Kornheiser Show on the radio. I could wait. But the first thing I did was call back to the kennel and told Olivia to tell everyone that, if they hurried (by my roundtrip route, I was barely a mile from the kennel at this point), they could make it to this Mobil at 32nd and Roosevelt without too much of a wait. Yeah, so I was contributing to the very problem I mentioned earlier. But at some point, the cliché "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" comes into play. When EVERYONE is running out of gas, a certain level of community-mindedness is in order.

Olivia, community-minded person that she is (I might use a stronger, less-sarcastic term, but she IS my sister), jumped in her car and lit out like a bat out of accounting, and called back to the kennel and told whomever it was she got a hold of to tell everyone else. (chuckle... Gotta love 'er.) She was at the station within two minutes, and she was barely off the driveway in line, probably fifth or sixth from getting to a pump. (Each pump had two people in line for it, and there was 5 double-sided pumps, so that was 20 people in the initial lines, of which I was in the second 10... so she was 25th or so in line.) By the time word got to the rest of the crew, the line had backed up clear to Celebrity Theatre, according to Greg who had brought one of my aunt's trucks. Danny, on a hunch, zipped right past the station (I saw him fly by on 32nd; I think my exact words were, Where the f*** is HE going?) and went to the Arco at 32nd and Oak. I don't know how he knew they'd just opened; he doesn't have a cell phone or anything. But he was gassed up and back at the kennel before I was. Spooky.

As the trucker filled the reservoir, I chitchatted with the guy in front of me during commercial breaks on the radio. We both commented on how civil it seemed. No one was shouting, no one was pushing in line (although Olivia told me she wouldn't be afraid to use her pepper spray on anyone who cut her off, and she's just crazy enough to do it), and tempers seemed to be holding steady. I think it was the pleasant weather. (It was gray and overcast all morning, with intermittent showers. That's "pleasant" around here.) And no one seemed to mind when the attendant came out and changed the price from $1.95 to $2.09. Whatever. Funny thing is, I'm hearing less in the news about the shortage than I am about price-gouging. Was I being gouged? I don't know. After the guy in front of me put $30 into his Sentra and one gas can he tried to be real clandestine about in his trunk (I don't know why, it's not like they said we couldn't fill them... perhaps he didn't want to look greedy, although if I'd had the foresight to grab any of the three gas cans we have sitting in our shed, I'd've filled 'em, too), I wheeled up and slipped in the ol' debit card. I got ready to punch the digits, and...

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!! "SALE CANCELLED"

GAAAAAAAGGHHH!!

No, wait... breathe... breathe... everyone else is still fueling... then the speaker crackled to life. "Sir, your card wasn't read. Would you like to try it again?"

Well, dammit... could we possibly program our pumps to say, for example, "Card Not Read"? *shrug* Ah well... beggars can't be choosers, after all. I zipped in the card again, and this time it went off without a hitch. Within seconds, that sweet refined nectar was flowing into my truck. $43.27 later, I had a full tank again.

Now, as to the black truck? It should be all right. It was right on 1/4 last night, and we only need to make one roundtrip with it tonight, and, theoretically, it doesn't need to go anywhere Wednesday. Mark's planning to drive down to Casa Grande with five or six gas cans, and Da Boss is going to pay him to fill up a few for the business, so we can use those on the black if need be.

* * * * *

Okay, so I guess that's all I have to say about that. My life's been pretty much average of late. Haven't gotten out much; karaoke was called off last Wednesday, and that's usually my one night to get out and enjoy life. However, I paid Danny and Jose to do my work Sunday night so I could have the night off, and I went and saw Seabiscuit (that was the purpose of one of those round-trips to Central and Bell). Decent enough flick. I'm not much on reviewing movies, but I'd say go and see it, especially if you don't know the story. Unfortunately, nothing came as much of a shock to me; having grown up in the racing world, I'm familiar with the Seabiscuit saga, even though that's, well, horse racing, and I'm not a horseman. But I liked the characters, and how they talked about how The Biscuit acted really struck a chord with me. I know most people will think it's movie BS, and they'll write off the trainer as an eccentric nut, but most of what he says in the movie, about how the horse reacts to outside influences and people and other horses and such, is all true. It's true with my dogs, anyway, so I'd have to figure it's true with horses, too.

Oh, and there's the Coronado Band. You all better watch out for this program. Rebuilding year, you say? Ms. Rich says Screw That. She is, of course, the new director, and her directive is to reverse the direction the band's been directed in the past couple of years. I spent three days up there in Prescott at band camp with them as a volunteer staff member two weeks ago... well, I left for Prescott right after I finished the last post in the blog. The odd phenomenon is, the program may be really, really small this year, but the people who didn't want to be there quit, so the ones left are the ones who REALLY wanted to stick with it. So they're all gung ho about getting everything they can out of THIS season instead of just writing it off and gearing up for next year. The band is blessed in that it's comprised mainly of juniors and below, with only 5 or 6 seniors. So there'll be a solid nucleus of people coming back next year, and if everything keeps going like it is, they'll hit the ground running with an infusion of freshman talent, my little bro included.

Since they had no staff all summer (Ms. Rich was finally able to hire a guard instructor last week, but she has no paid assistants and no perc instructor as far as I know, unless that's changed since last Thursday), the section leaders really stepped up and took the reins. Hell, I've seen so much of Matt Masters in staff meetings that it's easy to forget he's a senior this year. Two of the seniors on the guard line were writing the work until the instructor arrived. But no one's complaining about it, and a big part of that is Ms. Rich's highly positive attitude. Near as I can tell, she's viewing this as a gleeful challenge, and I can certainly appreciate the fun in that... when pretty much everyone's written the band off for this season, she's getting ready to shock 'em all.

I had more coherent thoughts on this last topic, but I'm getting foggy. Nap time. My connection's STILL down, so I'm going to save this and post it later on. It feels good to be back blogging again, though.

Well, I never got the itch to come back and redo the lost blog from Saturday night. Oh well. I was just mainly going to discuss football, really. Can you taste it? IT'S FOOTBALL SEASON!! The great Mel Kiper once said, "I've always viewed summer as that droll time between draft day and the opening of camp." How right you are. Now that the preseason is underway, I can finally see the cool light at the end of the long, hot summer tunnel.

Buccaneers came out and represented, winning the preseason opener over the J-E-T-S-Jets-Jets-Jets in a laugher, 30-14. It wasn't even THAT close, as the Jets picked up a junk TD late in the game; it had been 30-7 much of the way throughout the fourth quarter. I was pleased, but you always have to take preseason games with a grain of salt, as most of the starters played one series and that was IT. I think Brad Johnson threw maybe 2 passes. However, Marv Levy's philosophy on preseason was firstly to ensure that no regular starters got injured; assessing 2nd- and 3rd-string talent came second, while actually winning the game was 3rd or 4th on his list. The man took teams to 4 straight SBs, so he was doing something right.

So I'm about to head to Prescott and join up with Coronado's band for a few days. Since the staff pretty much consists of Ms. Rich by herself (last I heard, which would have been Thursday, there was still no pit instructor, no drumline instructor, and no guard instructor, so section leaders have a lot of responsibility this year), I moved my time off from Friday/Saturday and combined it with my regular Wednesday afternoon-thru-Thursday-morning break to give myself 2½ days off all at once, so I could spend these next two days up in Prescott. 'Course, I have to work straight through until next Thursday when I get back, but them's the breaks.

I'll give my thoughts of this year's program when I get back. They certainly are an eager group, though. With all the turmoil of the past year, the ones that have stuck it out REALLY want to be there, and they're willing to work. But there's no escaping the fact that this is the quintessential "rebuilding year." It's a fairly young group, lots of sophs and juniors, so we're working towards building a cohesive nucleus as a core for next year's program. But "rebuilding year" doesn't mean "throwaway year," either; we're still going to make the best of what we've got.

Look at me, saying we, we, we. I guess I feel like I'm part of the staff, kinda. I'm just volunteering, though. Once camp's over, I'll only be able to help out Thursday mornings during the week, since I decided to keep my day off on Saturday so I can go and help out at band days and stuff.

Anywhey, I'm going to take a brief snoozer, then head for the hills.

Okay, so I think I'm losing it.

I logged in to blog and discovered that the Blogger interface had changed again. Okay, so I'm used to it varying without warning by now, so I started typing away. A little way in (okay, it was more like half an hour later), I clicked on the "Manage Posts" tab to look up a link for reference, and when I went back to the "Posts" tab... it was gone. All of it.

Sorry... I don't feel like re-typing it all now. I don't even remember all of it. When I blog, it's totally stream-of-consciousness.

Anyway, so I signed out in frustration, but I logged back in to post this post, and.... the interface is back to the old one, where I can go to the other posts without deleting what I'm working on. Go figure.

I'll blog tomorrow, sometime, and try to recapture what I was working on tonight.