Not your momma's arithmetic.

After convincing SRS to haul my fat ass over to downtown Walnut Creek, I finally got what I had been eagerly awaiting for three long months. At 3:32pm today, I became the proud new father of a five-pound, pudgy, joyfully round, blue-and-gold baby:


He has his mommy's eyes and his daddy's blood type: Twist-Hook Pain Train Beast Mode.

You can't tell, but that's Marshawn's autograph. And yes, it is just as beautiful as every oh-so-sweet glistening drop of sweat that comes from his body.

Here's the unfortunate part: EVERYTHING that he signed that day was signed #23, his current number with the Bills. Why he chose that path instead of signing his famous #10 on the Cal paraphernalia and reserving #23 for the Bills is beyond me. It's easier, I guess, but less satisfying to the fans.


23 is the new 10.

So I guess now whenever I do any sort of arithmetic, if I see the number 23, I have to replace it with the number 10. (Also, if I see any copies of "The Number 23" on store shelves, I have to buy them and melt them slowly with a magnifying glass. That's the kind of respect that movie deserves.)

Life Without Cal Band: A Primer

It's been quite some time since we have been allowed to experience life without Cal Band, and because there are no rehearsals at all this week, many of you may be asking, "What the fuck do I do with myself?"

Here's a short list of suggestions to help you pass the time instead of sitting in the corner crying and pulling your hair out while picking away at your eyeball with a dull knife to keep your sanity:

1. Drink.
2. Like, a lot.