Like a girthquake of 9.0 on the Dickter scale. In the butt.

Sitting in lab waiting for my gel to finish running, I fell into my usual routine of perusing through my GReader subscriptions. Among them is the funniest football blog to nail your crotch to the wall, Every Day Should Be Saturday, winner of multiple CFB blog awards, home to Gators superfans Misters Orson Swindle and Spencer Hall (they have sort of a Jekyll & Hyde/"Wonder Twins powers activate" thing going), home of the Philip Fulmer Cup (registry of infractions and crimes attributed to any college football team in the country), and home of the world's smallest big-screen TV. AND! He updates multiple times a day, ensuring that every day when I wake up, my first thought will be "I wonder what stupid kid on what famous football team got arrested?" followed by "Need to scratch" and "aaaaah."

The countdown picture for today was this searing sight:


November Tenth, Two Thousand and Seven The Year of Our Lord.

That was the day my sax died, after standing in the rain for 4 hours, our brave little band standing shoulder to shoulder, huddled close trying to get as warm as possible. But I can still vividly remember Hawkins' amazing touchdown when he did this amazing horizontal leap. Through all the blur of the rain and the cold, for a second, it looked as if he were literally flying through the air. "The Hawk can fly! The Hawk can FLY!" we exclaimed, as if we were Wendy, John and Michael after snorting that sparkly shit that Tinkerbell gave them and told them to "think of the happiest things." But, by George, what a game. Looking back on the Note I wrote regarding that game, I stated then,

"But every single one of us stood there in the cold rain looking down on our Golden Bears and believing with every last ounce of our bodies and minds that we could pull it off. We stayed until the end. We always will.

We may have lost tonight, but tonight, I have never felt more proud to be a Cal Bandsman or a child of this fair mistress by the sea.

GO BEARS."

And then I spent a week with Lewis Black's drug of choice, NyQuil. I bought the bottle and threw the cap away because who the fuck needs measured volumes? The more the merrier, I say, when NyQuil is ever involved.