As I sit here at my keyboard, it is 12:30 A.M.  I'm bored and I can't sleep.  I guess I'll regale you with my thoughts on this and that going on in the world.

Paul Newman's death sucks but I can't bring myself to get too broken up over it.  I mean no disrespect to the man and wish the best to his family, but by anyone's count he had a good run.  Everyone dies.  We all have an expiration date, and few of us are fortunate enough to have enjoyed the success that he had or be able to spend their life doing what they truly love.  I read one person's comment that they were sad that there would be no more new Paul Newman movies.  No offense, but really...get the fuck over yourself.  I think the issue that gets priority here is that there are kids that have just lost their grandpa.  Screw new movies...you could spend two nights a week watching a different Newman classic and not repeat yourself until next summer.  I never met the man, but I have to believe that he didn't go to meet his maker with many regrets.  I think I'll enjoy a salad tomorrow with Newman's Own Sesame & Ginger Dressing as a tribute.  Good night Cool Hand Luke, and thanks for the good flicks.

My "Obama as Superman" t-shirt continues to garner comments everywhere I go.  Most of them are positive (many even asking where they can buy one...Ultimate Comics with four convenient locations in Durham and Chapel Hill to serve YOU) with a couple of people looking to pick fights.  One such incident was this morning at my daughter's ballet lesson.  Some guy talking to his wife about the debate (which my boy, Obama, OWNED) looked over at me and raised his voice to make sure I could hear, saying, "...but, you know, I don't wear my politics on my shirt."  His wife responded in a loud whisper, "Shhhh!  He heard you!"  This is where being a former pro wrestler comes in really handy and is pretty fun.  I subtly adjusted my posture, swelled up a little bit, put on my "heel" face and waited for him to speak again.  As he started to say "I don't care", I turned and gave him THE GLARE.  If you don't know what THE GLARE is, it is the heel's (a "bad guy" in wrestling) bread and butter.  It's the thing that sells to the audience that you are a legitimate psycho and not just a guy putting on an act.  It is subtle...not over the top.  It is hard to master, and many pros never accomplish this.  It says, "Turn around and walk away.  You're about to have a bad day."  I gave him THE GLARE and calmly said, "Do you mind?  I'm watching my daughter."  His wife responded, "Sorry.  It's a cool shirt."  Funny stuff.

I love AC/DC.  I've loved them since I was 10 years old, listening to them through a pair of shared headphones with my best friend, Fred Long.  We had to listen through the headphones so that his dad, a Methodist minister, wouldn't know that we were listening to "devil music".  They are, in my opinion, the greatest rock band to ever pick up guitars.  Having said that, where the fuck do they get off charging $97.50 a ticket at their age?  Seriously.

Looking back over what I've just written, I've dropped two f-bombs, and haven't bothered to go back and edit them out.  I get cranky when I'm tired.

I'll be the first one to admit that I don't know shit about finance.  One look at my checkbook will tell you that.  I'm not even going to try to give intelligent commentary on our latest apocalypse (being the collapse of Wall Street and subsequent bail-out talks) except to say you know all of us that work paycheck to paycheck and worry about how we're going to pay next month's rent and pray that the kids don't get sick causing us to miss work and have extra doctor's bills and prescriptions?  Welcome to OUR world, bitches.

So, come Thanksgiving I'll either be homeless or solely responsible for an $840 a month apartment.  Knowing my roommate, I won't likely know which until I'm sitting at the table carving the turkey.  Fun.

Soccer season is going well, with our boys off to a 2-0 start.  The other day I worked with the team on speed drills while Coach Kivette worked on skills.  I really appreciate his generosity in giving me time to try my own things during practice, but my aching back and knees are wishing he had said "No."

Well, if you've made it this far, I feel like I should apologize that there's no big finish.  I'm just sort of done and now I'm going to bed.  No, that's not a metaphor for anything else.  Perverts.