
In the five years of running the death pool, Michael Jackson is the first celebrity to die in which I’ve actually felt bad.
In general don’t like faking reverence for someone I’ve never met, when thousands of people I never met die every day and death is a natural part of life (plus the whole humor as a defense mechanism thing, I guess).
But MJ was THE MAN in the 1980s. I had the Michael trading cards. I played Thriller non-stop. I pretended he and Kurt Cobain died the same day because the Michael of the last 15 years is NOT the Michael I grew up listening to. He was THE STAR in the world. We watched MTV 24/7 hoping Thriller would come on. And like every kid my age, I danced in my socks on the kitchen floor trying to moonwalk wearing one of my mom’s white winter gloves.
Funny story, as I was talking to my mom, and she was reminiscing on the sensation of Michael in the 80s (which coincided with many happy memories of her kids at the time), she mentioned how my neighbor Lisa, who is my age and was 5-7 at the time of Michael’s immense popularity, wanted to marry Michael Jackson.
We laughed at how Lisa probably had a better shot back then at age six than she did at age 18-24.
And that kind of made us both sad. Michael Jackson was a ridiculously gifted and talented dance, a musical genius and world-wide superstar. The 1995-2009 MJ was a tabloid freak who obviously didn’t even physically resemble 80s MJ.
I wish everyone in the world could remember him as just that musical genius and not as the plastic surgery warning poster, probable child molester, and psychologically messed up freak he was later in life.
The Roommate and I were watching Texas and LSU in the College World Series last night. LSU, with a win, would be national champions.
So naturally, we were rooting for LSU to fail and have their hopes and dreams crushed. Not out of a love for Texas (I wish they both could lose), but because they are up river by an hour and everyone in Louisiana is an LSU fan despite the fact that 90% of them went to another college, or no college at all.
Spite, really. We rooted against them for spite. We were joined by another friend, who was also rooting hard against LSU and we went out in public, to a local dive.
The roommate expressed that he hates being “the anti-fan” but I pointed out that the joy he felt when Texas beat LSU, 5-1, was genuine, and he couldn’t turn it off. You can’t lie to yourself about it. And it’s probably a normal thing for people.
You prefer indifference to your enemies, because it means their success doesn’t affect you. But, you just can’t help rooting against them.
Besides, they’ll probably never find out. And if they win… well, as Sidney Crosby shows here, the winners have no problem sleeping at night:

Winners sleep with the Stanley Cup
I know it does, because it keeps trying to get me to stay. Atlanta refuses to relinquish my bag, and keeps cancelling flights out of Atlanta that I’m booked on.
I couldn’t help but think that maybe I’m supposed to be in Atlanta for a reason. Like Tom Hanks in The Terminal. At this point, I noticed a cute girl staring at me from across the gate. So I kinda stared back. Then I realized I was sitting undeneath the TV.
Wedding = running diary. Sorry no Denali this time.
I was hoping to avoid some kind of issue like my last wedding flight. Flying into Rochester for Pritchard’s wedding, Delta forgets to put my bag on the plane during an Atlanta layover. Luckily it arrived before I needed the suit.
Think I learn my lesson? No. This time, I fly Delta, through Atlanta and instantly fear the worst. I’m headed to BMI airport. The ticket person grabs the bag sticker, reads BMI and says “Who’s going to Baltimore-Washington?”
So did the bag make it? Don’t know. The flight was canceled and now I’m sitting in Atlanta.
Lucky for me, I know Julie. Who lives two blocks from the MARTA train station. And was home. And had no plans for the night. And is my new bestest friend/hero.
She’s making me earn my keep by decorating her apartment. This would be kind of emasculating, except I’ve already accepted that I’ll be wearing her clothes later, since my bag is still at the Atlanta airport, probably sitting on the tarmac.
So, after channeling my inner Isaac Mizrahi and offering some decorating tips, it was time for hard labor. Here’s me nailing Julie’s mirror hangers in the hallway:

The Hammer says "Do it Herself" on it. It's still manly.

They'd been sitting around for months

The finished product

The Dance of Joy
Ok, time to see some of the… whatever city. What’s Atlanta? Oh The Peach City. Yeah.
Reason #47 I could handle a relationship with Danica Patrick
This does not bother me in the least (from her twitter):
DanicaPatrick I got in my car to get groceries tonight and found a doggie bag of food from 2 months ago (last time I was home). Welcome home DP!
Is everyone from Roscoe, Illinois ridiculously attractive? I’ve seen three women, and all of them are pretty darn good looking.
Oh, and in the event she somehow sees a trackback and reads this… don’t go to NASCAR, you’d be viewed as a publicity stunt and everyone would harp on you unfairly if you don’t dominate the sport. Plus, NASCAR is bumper cars, winning in Indy is a much better display of your skills.
Speaking of DP’s, Rick DiPietro’s contract suddenly doesn’t look so bad. Everyone mocked a 15-year, $4.5 million contract, but now you’ve got one guy making almost twice that for 11 more years (Vinnie Lecavalier) and another on a six-year deal for $7.5 million per year. Both on the trading block, both of their teams locked into salary cap hell. Even with missing a year due to injury, if he can’t come back 100%, insurance can cover a $4.5 mil contract easily and the team can survive. If Vinnie blows out a knee, 15% of their cap is locked into a player not playing.
I’d hope the Islanders wait to surround DP with veteran talent to make a playoff charge. Last time they were in this position (lots of young talent in the system), they grew impatient and traded some pretty good players (all-stars Roberto Luongo, Olli Jokinen, Zdeno Chara, and Jason Spezza as a draft pick, plus Tim Connolly and Taylor Pyatt) for two high priced veterans. Had they just waited, they’d have a great young core. Hopefully they learned from that mistake, keep drafting kids, bring them along slow and become a legit contender in 2011.
Finally, does Dan Patrick exist anymore? He’s on SI.com as a pod-caster? Is that right? How that working out for him?
Last night, I was watching late night TV, looking for something decent that would suck me in and make me stay up late so I’d be really tired at work. I saw Oliver Stone’s The Doors were on, and that kept me up.
So, does the Jim Morrisson family get residuals from the Geico Caveman commercials? Because that guy’s look: dead ringer for Val Kilmer’s Jim Morrisson right before he moves to Paris.