The Winchester

This evening, we had Nichole's (wife) little sister Haley over to hang out and make some cookies with myself and Kelsey (stepdaughter). At Nichole's recent baby shower, we received a pack of 4 cookie cutters - but not just ANY cookie cutters.... Star Wars cookie cutters. Thanks Aunt Kim!! For those that are not aware, I have a borderline unhealthy adoration for the original Star Wars movies. I mean, my god, we're naming our son Lucas. AnyForceBeWithYou, we decided to make some cookies tonight, using the new cookie cutters. Something fun for both the girls and myself and mainly myself. I selected pre-made Nestle Tollhouse cookie dough, which I will not use anymore because the cookies went from relatively soft to cement hard in the time it took me to get home from my Superfresh trip, the ultimate subject of this blog. I'll get there, I just have to do it in a round-about way. We worked the dough, made the shapes (Darth Vader, Yoda, Stormtrooper, and Boba Fett - pron

For those that are u naware , many people in our country play sports. They play at many different levels, including professional, collegiate, and recreational. On top of that surprising newsflash, even more people in our country are sports fans. This can include the casual fan; "Yeah, I follow the O's when they're winning," which at this point in the franchise's history means the fan is aware of the team's existence. This can also include the rabid fan; "I roundhouse kicked my dog in the face for a pair of Steelers tickets." I use that example because I feel it is something a Pittsburgh fan would be capable of doing. Some of us watch games at home, and some of us will attend the game itself, live in the flesh. When we do choose the latter, it typically involves a higher level of participation than one would give the sporting event from the comfort of the couch. You yell louder, you become more of an expert on what the coach should have done, an

Before I begin to amaze you with the Irrelevant To Real Life thought stream I usually dole out, a warning of sorts. This blog contains spoilers in regards to the excellent television series The Wire. If you have not watched the series, but intend to, you should stop reading the entry right about now. If you would like to continue for a few sentences, that's fine, but things are going to heat up quick and I wanted you to be prepared. If you have already watched the entire series, then feel free to continue on and live a life of religious fulfillment. Points if you know from whence the end to that sentence came. Now, onward. _____________________ There comes a time in everyone's life when one must come to grips (or terms, if we want to keep the title of this blog in the loop) with the idea and reality of death. Death comes in many forms. There are violent deaths, death from disease, natural causes, and my favorite - auto-erotic asphyxiation. People die every day, and we

It's safe to say I was never really a fan of school. There are two slight exceptions to that statement, one of which being the first week or so of every year.  For some reason, one that I attribute to brief psychotic episodes, I was up and raring to go bright and early for the first week.  Every day I would wake up with plenty of time to spare, and typically get to either school itself or the bus stop very early.  I would stuff my backpack with excitement and adventure, then head off to an institute of learning, all bright eyed and bushy tailed and ready to ace every test those cool new teachers threw at me. The second week, it took my Mom 30 minutes at least to get my lazy ass out of bed.  I would stall, then trudge to the bus stop, scowling the whole way, indignant at being awoken before lunchtime.  My backpack was heavier, my old uncool teachers were ants to be squashed beneath my shoe, and every other person besides me and my friends sucked.  This was the type of malign that ev

   I don't get to see my friend Joe nearly as much as I should.  This is a guy I met when I was roughly 3 to 4 years old and have been friends with all my life.  This is a guy I intend to stay friends with for the rest of my life.  We grew up, for the first part of our childhood, in the same neighborhood of townhouses.  In fact, we both had end units, and we could walk to each others houses via a creek running through the neighborhood.  It was pretty sweet.    Our childhood consisted of making up rules for the game we invented, "Supercars" (a game consisting of matchbox cars and hours of the phrase 'Let's pretend...' that kept us from actually playing at all), trading Star Wars toys, and mucking around in the creek looking for things that we did not want to touch and yet felt compelled to touch.    He lives in White Marsh these days, while I reside in Elkridge.  This is a 30 minute drive or so, and with his normal schedule and my television crappy schedule, so

Alright, the title may be misleading.  It's really about Inanimate Rage and Me, but it sounded more professional and official using the word You.  At least, in my mind, which is really all that matters. I have an anger problem.  I do not start fights with humans.  I am not that confrontational, and refrain from physical scuffles whenever possible.  I tend to attempt a verbal diffusion  in fight situations, and if that doesn't work I (a) curl up into a ball and whimper, or (b) allow one of my more physically inclined and close to insane friends to take on an aggressor in my stead.  It has worked so far, as I have not been in a fight, nor do I intend to get into one. When it comes to inanimate objects, I do not have such reserve.  Inanimate objects produce obscene rage that I end up punching walls, breaking things, hitting counter tops , kicking couches, and cursing at items bereft of ears. My phone's external screen does not work anymore, after my phone did not act as it was