Bachelor Party

Watched The Bachelor with the girls last night. It was actually a bit more unbearable than I remembered it - I think I last watched the show with any regularity around the third season. The "Bachelor" was a blond doofus from Memphis or somewhere and he picked a hot brunette who was a teacher but they broke up soon after he became a B-List celeb for 15 seconds and realized he had a shot at Tara Reid (but then again, so did you and I there for awhile). Or maybe it was the first season of The Bachelorette, which starred the chick who came in second on the first The Bachelor - I believe she ended up with Sensitive Volunteer Fireman Emo-Dude, who pretty much ruined it for all regular guys forever. Or maybe it was The Bachelor with the dude who was stupid and kinda gay-looking who owned those wineries and breweries and tire stores in Santa Barbara. Dammit, I've watched a lot more of this crap than I realized, but thankfully I am smart enough never to admit as much in a public forum.

As I was watching this show, it occurred to me that the only way for a real man to watch The Bachelor (besides being tied to a chair with his eyelids pinned back, Clockwork Orange-style) would be to make it into a drinking game. I suspect there are already a bunch of versions of a The Bachelor drinking game out there, but I haven't run any Google searches for it so I'll just be making this one up as we go. I doubt it will compare favorably to the Brent Musberger Drinking Game, but who are we kidding? That game is a piece of intellectual genius and literary art without equal - it's the Sistine Chapel of drinking games. If this thing rises to the level of Real Men of Genius or Saddam of Death I'll be tickled pink.

So here we go off the top of my head with the beta version of the IT'S OKTO BLOG BACHELOR DRINKING GAME:

Take One (1) Drink Whenever Any of the Following Occur:

* The Bachelor or any of the girls says something is amazing:

"I never expected to come on a TV show and meet so many amazing women."

* The Bachelor or any of the girls says something is cool:

"You like bears and you were in the newspaper once because you left your teddy bear in a store and got upset? That's cool."

* The Bachelor or any of the girls mentions a connection:

"I feel like we have a really strong connection, and that you should pick me and not one of those other insane fame-hungry bitches."

* One of the girls says she feels like a princess:

"When we were up in the ABC corporate jet and I saw the reflection in the window of those diamonds ABC borrowed for the show, I felt like a princess. Fuck those peons who are suffering in this shitty economy."

* The Bachelor or any of the girls takes a drink of alcohol:
* The tray of roses is shown on screen:

Take Two (2) Drinks Whenever Any of the Following Occur:

* One of the girls says she is falling for the Bachelor:
* The Bachelor makes out with one of the girls:
* One of the girls tears up:
* Host Chris Harrison empathetically touches the Bachelor (hand on the shoulder, etc.):
"Well, you've got a tough decision ahead of you. I wish you luck."

* The Bachelor picks up a picture of a girl in the "deliberation room" and looks at it thoughtfully when deciding whether or not he should give her a rose or cut her alcoholic stalker ass.

* Host Chris Harrison helpfully tells everyone how many roses are left for the Bachelor to give out. Because the American public can't count:

"There are four of you ladies left, and the Bachelor only has three more roses to give out. One of you... (dramatic pause) is going home tonight."

Finish Your Drink Whenever Any of the Following Occur:

* One of the girls actually starts to cry:
* The Bachelor takes off his shirt:
* The Bachelor talks about how this is the hardest rose ceremony yet:
"This is the most difficult rose ceremony yet. I've made amazing connections with all of these cool women. I don't know what I'm going to do."

Do a Shot When the Following Occurs:

* Host Chris Harrison points out that this is the final rose:
"Ladies, this... (dramatic pause) is the final rose. There are two of you left, so that means one of you... (even more dramatic pause) is going home tonight. Good luck."

Personally, princess, I think this game is amazing, and that it will make a connection with the readers of this cool blog. I must say that it was the hardest blog entry I've written yet, despite the fact that I wrote it with my shirt off, but thankfully there are only thirty-four words left. In any event, this game should get you dudes good and plastered if you're ever forced to watch this show, and Lord help you if you get stuck with a two-hour episode.

The Legion of Doom - Part 2

[Continued from "The Legion of Doom - Part 1"]

I walked into Red’s Recovery Room on a whim. A co-worker of mine had read that it was the “Best Dive Bar” in Northern California, so we had to check it out. We were not disappointed.

The beauty that is Red’s Recovery Room is, well, everything. The choice to go with no windows in the layout is 2-fold genius. You can’t see what’s going on inside, and it keeps that annoying sunlight out. It's dark and messy, but you love it as soon as you walk in.

They had stuffed as many pool tables as you could imagine in Red's, 6 maybe, and the Coors light was cheap. The place just reeked of the Legion, and I knew instantly that this was their new hideout. The guys there could really shoot pool too. Now all I needed was for one of the legion to walk over, and BAM!, it would be on.

But I was with a co-worker. Was this smart? I didn’t have any of my old crime fighting buddies with me. Where was Apache Chieflivenotdie when you needed him? Wonder Y-man? Red Lantern? I knew Donnie was probably taking care of the Wonder Twins right then, so he was out.

Hell, I’d even take Faux-Hawkman right now.


Right when I was about to turn and run away screaming, like say Aquman would have after noticing that the "dive bar" wasn't actually located in a body of water, when one of the legion walked over. It wasn’t one of the old guys I knew from the CC, but he was one of them all right. His mullet, tattoos and earring gave him away as a member. I crapped myself figuratively. And then I crapped myself literally. I had to do this.

Co-worker and I were having a beer and playing pool at the kids table over next to the pile of old trophies, broken pinball machine, and the fake fly trap, completely separated from the grown up tables on the far side of the bar. Mullet man came over and challenged us, said he hadn’t played for about 9 months, and said he knew our type, and we were “a dime a dozen.” Other than that he was really pretty friendly.

TUNE IN NEXT BLOG, FOR ANOTHER EXCITING EPISODE OF...
THE LEGION OF DOOM, Now in Rohnert Park!

New Digs

So, I am pretty much all moved into my new place, located in San Francisco's "Cow Hollow" district. Although I may have a touch of Merrittitis, which is medically defined as a desire to have sex with one's roommate, it looks like things are working out just fine. As I was entering the hallway to my apartment from the stairwell, however, I noticed the following sign:
It is just as the great philosopher Sun-Tzu always said: "Keep your fire doors close, and your enemies closer."

Some things in the City are better than they used to be. For instance, I've learned that with handheld internet and the SF NextBus website it is entirely possible to travel efficiently by bus in this city - gone are the days of waiting for an hour and not knowing if a bus is ever going to show up. For instance, last night I went to see Frost/Nixon at the AMC Theater on Van Ness and I don't think I waited more than about 4 minutes total in taking 3 separate buses to get there and back home. I also learned that movies that get a lot of Oscar hype aren't necessarily great movies (see, e.g. Frost/Nixon). Also, I approve of the drastic rise in the number of wine bars here since I've been away. Wine bars = drunk chicks = I like my chances as a single dude in this city.

It's also nice to know that some things haven't changed. The dude with the terrible combover is still a cashier at the Chestnut Street Walgreen's, and the grossly overweight woman with the goatee is still working at the pharmacy inside the same Walgreen's. The goatee may not look so splendid in the picture, but that's because I have a shitty camera on my phone. In real life this is a site to behold, and I most assuredly have goatee envy. If you have the means, I highly recommend you stop by and check it out.

However, all is not a bed of roses - there are some things are taking some getting used to in my return to the City:

* Having to move my car or get a parking ticket on street sweeping days (thankfully these were reduced to twice a month while I was away).
* Not being able to go to places like Target when I feel like it. Seriously, Target's like 75 miles away and it requires a specially-planned weekend trip to go. Good news for the overpriced neighborhood shops, bad news when I need a pack of 750 Q-Tips. And where's the Wal-Mart? Without one of those, where am I supposed to cruise for chicks? At least there's a Costco here (and it even has a parking garage and the best meal deal on the planet: $1.50 for a Polish sausage and a 20oz refillable soda).

* Not being able to easily park in front of my place whenever I feel like it. Really? Why did we go through all the trouble of stealing all that land from the Native Americans, the French and the Mexicans if we're not going to only build sprawling cities with wide streets and plentiful parking spots? I've heard some people actually rent garage spots that are two or more blocks away from their homes. Ludicrous. Hell, my vehicle is currently 3 or 4 blocks away and I am actually thankful to be parked that close. No way am I moving before the first Friday of next month, or until I need to go to Target.
* The smell of the homeless dude who is sitting fifteen feet away from me in the Marina public library. I am as far as I can be from him and still have a power outlet for my computer, and I've been sitting here for almost two hours and I'm still not used to the smell. Dude has a table all to himself, and he's sort of looking at newspapers and intermittently tearing them in half while making a sort of exhaling/snorting noise. It's been funny watching as people can't believe their luck in getting a spot at a table, then lasting from 0-4 minutes before they move to another, more olfactorily-friendly spot. This dude isn't as creepy as the shirtless homeless dude who stood outside in the rain yesterday, pressing his face against the glass and staring at people, but he's certainly more annoying. Note to self: bring clothespin for nose on next foray to the library. [And a hot chick just sat down within the smell radius... let's see how long she lasts. Though if she leaves soon, we'll never know if it was the smell, or the fact that she was sitting across from me.]

As you may have heard, I moved in with a couple of chicks. So, an ambiguously gay dude living with two chicks? All I need to do is fall over the back of the couch a few times and I'm a modern day Jack Tripper, so start sending in your applications to be my Larry (one received already). I'm looking forward to spending some quality time down at Hottie-mista, which is the new Regal Beagle as far as I'm concerned. I even bought a couple of bottles of a wine called "Menage a Trois" ("A playful mixture of three grapes!") for the apartment 'cause I'm just that clever. I'm replacing a chick in my new place, and of course as chicks they had the cable wired up so that it worked in a path-of-least-resistance kind of way but wasn't wired up to take advantage of things like HDTV and surround sound. In fact, that's why they chose me, I am expert. So yes, I spent the other day in an apartment with two chicks fixing the cable. You can imagine where it goes from there.

Ricardo Montalban (1920-2009)

Montalban as Khan, showing everyone that you can still wear a shirtless leather sweater vest, even at age 62.


Montalban shows off his latin grammy award

This past week, the great Khan died. I have not read the details of his passing, but I only hope that he went down in the glory of battle. Thank you Ricardo, for giving us all our fantasies, and for Kahn, the most noteworthy and smooth Latin American Klingon of all time:



There is not much to say, other than that the world has lost a great one, and to send a final shout out to the magnificant KHAAAAAAAAAAAAN!

The Legion of Doom – Part 1

I thought the Legion was gone forever, and that my crime fighting days were over... I was wrong.

About a decade ago I fought the SF chapter of the Legion of Doom in their hidden lair, a small hideout called The Columbus Café, or the “CC”, in the Northbeach district of San Francisco. I can only assume that they were drawn there by the cheap beer, and the pool table in back. The legion would shoot pool, and get loaded off the 2 for 1 beers every Friday. I would counter their moves by playing pool, and getting loaded off the 2 for 1 beers, also every Friday.

A member or two of The Legion were always there at the CC. There was “Homeless Looking Guy” who wore a black trench coat, and didn’t seem to shower, there was “Australian Man” who had an accent, spiked hair, and ordered “pints” not “beers”; and there was “The Mexican” who just seemed like a Mexican guy. There were other minor villians, but these were the main guys; the Luthor, Solomon Grundy, and Bizarro of the team you might say. Bizarro for sure.

I would try to match them drink for drink, and challenge them at the pool table. They became my nemesis. Even if I could win a game or two, they would always use their superior powers to defeat me. I felt like that worthless superhero Aquaman, trying to stop a bank robbery on dry land:

Aquaman: STOP ROBBING THIS BANK OR I WILL SUMMON A GIANT SEA SQUID AND CRUSH YOU!

Robber: Umm, shut up or I’ll shoot you.

Aquaman: OK THEN, I’ll just be over here (eyeing the water fountain) minding my own business…

Robber: Oh jesus… [shoots Aquaman]

After fighting the Legion at the CC for five or six hours, I would usually retreat with my friends to the Bocce Cafe up the hill and regroup over $8 gnocchi and the second cheapest bottles of Chianti they had. Years passed and the Legion eventually stopped showing up, apparently looking for easier pickings than the fight I put up at the Columbus Café. Just to make sure though, I kept frequenting the CC, to ensure the evil was vanquished there forever.

Years passed, and I thought the threat posed by the Legion of Doom was over. I moved away, had kids, and stopped my crime fighting all together. That is until I visited Red’s Recovery Room in Rohnert Park, CA this past week. It was pure evil genius, I mean who would think to look for The Legion of Doom up in the Wine Country of Northern California?

TUNE IN NEXT POST FOR THE EXCITING CONCLUSION OF The Legion of Doom in the second and final episode creatively named: The Legion of Doom - Part 2...

Parting Shots

I watched a sporting contest last weekend. The contest was between the New York Giants and the Philadelphia Eagles. Naturally, I favored the Giants for betting purposes, and felt the four-point spread was entirely too low. So imagine my chagrin when I turned on the TV and saw that the so-called "Giants" were merely larger-than-average humans! And their opponents, the "Eagles", looked suspiciously like humans instead of birds! I mean, they didn't even have wings like Prince Voltan or anything. To top things off, the Giants weren't any bigger than the Eaglehumans, who were also slightly larger-than-average humans. Why aren't I notified about these things?

Attention, women of Match.com - the terms "slender" and "athletic and toned" do not mean what you think they mean. I'm not saying you need to compare yourself to the women in TV or film when describing your body type, but please compare yourself to the average woman on the street and not to the average woman in a cruise ship buffet line.

It seems I am no longer getting away with cutting my own hair when it strikes my fancy. Specifically, I tried to trim my mullet a bit just before going on a trip with Miss Sunshine. Little did I know that I had basically shaved an asymmetrical hole on the back-right side of my head. So I meet Miss Sunshine, and we proceed to drive for about 3 hours to our destination. Unbeknownst to me, she was staring at the mockery I had made of my hair the whole time, as it was conveniently located in direct view of the front-seat passenger when looking at the driver. Note that we hadn't met in person yet, but in none of my online pictures is there any indication of a clipper accident so I imagine she was quite surprised. Points to her for being too polite to say anything, as I would have brought it up in the first five minutes. However, points taken away from Miss Sunshine for not actually being "athletic and toned" as claimed. I didn't notice anything was amiss until after we'd spent the day together in public and I was showering to go out for the evening - the hotel bathroom had a bunch of mirrors where you could see yourself from every angle, and I noticed it in the middle of my flexing routine. At that point I did my best to gel and comb-over the problem but there really was no fixing things short of extremely fast-acting Rogaine, or shaving the back of my head. Amazing I'm still on the market, eh ladies?

Tales of the City: When I was walking back from my date with The Connector (who got pretty wasted, but that seems to be a common occurrence on these dates - I'm thinking girls might want to think twice about going drink-for-drink with me, regardless of how "athetic and toned" they aren't), I witnessed a fight between a Muni driver and his tweaking passenger. At first I thought they were both tweaking, but when I realized the bus driver was just trying to get dude off his bus so he could continue his route, I went ahead and called the cops as requested by the Muni driver. About five minutes go by, then the pigs start arriving. And we're not talking one patrol car, but four or five. I was pretty much expecting a SWAT team and a helicopter to arrive at some point, all to slap some plastic zip ties on a skinny tweaker and drive him back south of Market where they'd probably just kick him out of the car. Must have been a slow Sunday night in the Marina.

Speaking of tweakers, I've been heading to various libraries around San Francisco to do some work during the day. Hastings Law Library is a good facility, but it is lacking something that the public libraries have. Two things, actually - free internet WiFi, and tweaking homeless people. And it doesn't seem to matter which library: the Main library downtown, the Presidio branch and the Marina branch all have an astounding array of sleeveless t-shirts, Zubaz pants worn chest-high and trash bag ponchos. I may work up the courage to photograph some of these folks to share here, but at the moment I'm not terribly excited about getting stabbed in the knee with a rusty syringe if I get too close.

It was revealed during the first round of the NFL playoffs in an inane in-game mini-feature that Atlanta Falcons rookie quarterback Matt Ryan's nickname is "Matty Ice". He acquired this nickname in college, and now his pro teammates apparently use it all the time. The reporter intimated that Ryan earned this nickname because of an ability to remain calm when under duress. Do they think we're stupid or something? Clearly the nickname refers instead to Ryan's ability to drink beer and is a play on Natural Ice, or "Natty Ice", a cheap beer with a higher-than-normal alcohol content that is commonly consumed on college campuses. I mean, dude did attend Boston College, a "drink till she's cute" school if there ever was one.

When signing a lease in the Marina/Cow Hollow area, you are required to cover 85% of your hardwood floors with rugs. When signing a lease in Haight-Ashbury area of San Francisco, you are apparently required to cover 85% of your hardwood floor with drugs. Which is probably a wash, cost-wise.

Here's my Five Word Review of Gran Torino: Overrated pile of monkey poop.

Apparently the Presidio Bowl isn't shut down yet, despite the best efforts of the city and the Fisher family. However, last night was a league night, so I was forced to go all the way down to the Yerba Buena Center to go bowling with the Life-Giver. It was awfully inconvenient, and if the Presidio Bowl closes I might be inconvenienced on a regular basis (unless ya'll chip in and buy me a Wii and that bowling game for it) and that is just unacceptable. So get involved - the last thing this city needs is another billion-dollar art museum.

Save Oscar!

I have had it with this chicken shit operation. How could they fire Oscar de La Jolla? Have they even read his recent posts? They are COMEDY GOLD! Just look at the comments section where I claim that they are COMEDY GOLD, and you'll see.

And have they seen the crap that I post? And by crap I mean I mostly just post about actual "crap" like baby crap, text messaging from the toilet while crapping, and the phrase "print and poop". And really, just look at that picture from Ferris Bueller that I hacked with MS Paint right now, it's cheap, rushed, and tacky. And you haven't even gotten to my non-sequitur starting in the next paragraph. It makes no sense whatsoever.

I mean speaking of the history of Cal Basketball head coaches, I could see firing Lou Campanelli back in 1993. Hell, we held that "Fire Lou" sign up at that Cal baseball game for long enough, they had to do something.

I could also see firing Todd Bozeman, and Ben Braun too. One coach paid the price for mediocrity, and the other paid Jelani Gardner for mediocrity. There is no excuse for either.

Yes, even coach Bozeman who made the classic inspirational timeout speech to his players (in it's entirety: "SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, WASSAP? COME ON!") deserved to be canned for not learning the most important lesson in high-major college hoops: if you pay a player, at least make it a good player. Todd deserved to go, but actually got a job 8 years later coaching at Morgan State, so there is hope for Oscar De La Jolla I guess. I hear they are hiring down at the WoodDogBlog.

My point is this, some people DESERVE to be fired, and then there's Oscar. Come on. Just because nobody actaully reads this damn blog, doesn't mean that it shouldn't be good.

Hire back Oscar, and do it now. Or get ready for a lot of terrible posts like this one.

Blog Layoffs

"Well, what would you say... you do here?"

-- Bob Slydell, consultant, Office Space

"Layoffs? Don't talk about layoffs! Are you kidding me? Layoffs?"

-- Jim Mora Sr., former coach of the Indianapolis Colts

SAN FRANCISCO (Reuters) - Considering the current state of the economy, it should come as no surprise that the blogosphere is not immune to the wave of layoffs currently sweeping the United States. What may be surprising to some, however, is the identity of that wave's latest victim.

It's OKTO Blog (ticker: CRAPBLOG.OB), an infrequently updated West Coast-based blog noted for its repeated violations of photo copyright law and its sporadically amusing writing from the male perspective on topics such as parenting, pop culture, and the single bachelor life, announced today at 8pm EST (5pm PST) that it has let Oscar de La Jolla go. De La Jolla, 36, was a 50% owner of the blog and was arguably its primary contributor.

A source within It's OKTO Blog management said that "with our non-existent advertising revenue and feeble merchandising efforts, we were losing money with every post. Oscar seemed to think he could make it up on post volume, but he was wrong. We're not the American auto industry."

"I'd like to thank Oscar for all the meaningful contributions he made to the blog, but the fact is he didn't make any meaningful contributions," the source continued. "The Wood Dog made a resolution to post more in 2009 and that was good enough for us. Getting the Wood Dog back allowed us to get rid of the dead wood that was Oscar de La Jolla. That guy's a total fraud now - he didn't dunk in 2008 and he doesn't even live in La Jolla anymore. With the Wood Dog steering the ship we expect to reach profitability by the end of January '09."

While exiting the It's OKTO Blog compound, a visibly shaken de La Jolla told our reporter "I don't know what else I could have done. I streaked, I had sex on a beach with a 22-year old girl, I offended multiple racial and religious groups, and I filed my own teeth, all in the name of the blog. I left it all out there, and I make no apologies. Say, I don't suppose you have a vacant spare room or teenage daughter, do you?"

(Additional reporting by Dan Williams and Adam Entous in Jerusalem, Aziz el-Kaissouni in Sharm el-Sheikh and Claudia Parsons and Louis Charbonneau at the United Nations; Writing by Alastair Macdonald and Jeffrey Heller; Editing by Samia Nakhoul)

Text Adventures

Remember Zork, Infidel, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, or any of those other Infocom text adventure games you might have played on your Commodore computer? You know, back before the days of dedicated 3-D cards and internal hard drives, when you'd boot up your games on a floppy disk or a cassette, or even plug in a cartridge to play them? Me, I don't remember them, not really. I had an Atari computer, and I don't think Infocom made a lot of games for it. In any event, I was too busy playing Karateka to be bothered with text adventures.
The types of text adventures I am talking about are of course those that have occurred with members of the fairer sex. These particular members of that sex are again of course women I met on a certain infamous dating website. I'm a bit happier with the selection of those women in SF, as I'm interested in a larger percentage of them and they seem more likely to get my shtick. And my stick.

What follows are a couple of text exchanges I found amusing. You might find them amusing as well. But judging from the number of clicks on that counter on the right side of the screen, you won't find them amusing because you'll never read them, or visit or even know about this blog. You'd think the person who stole the blog shirt from our cabana at the Hard Rock Hotel in Vegas would at least do us the courtesy of reading the blog from time to time. Whore. In any event, the girls in these exchanges shall hereafter be known as the Connector and Miss Sunshine.

ADVENTURE #1: A SPORTING CHANCE

Editor's Note: This exchange occured on the first Saturday of the NFL playoffs.

Me: Man, this new no-texting-while-driving law must be killing you on your long drive.

The Connector: Some laws were made 2b broken. But luckily i m in the passenger seat. Do u no what the fine is?

Me: No, but I saw about 7 different people pulled over on the way up yesterday. I don't think they all got pinched for texting though.

The Connector: Who r u rooting for today?

Me: Well, I'm a sucker for the underdog, so I guess I'm rooting for the Palestinians.**

You see, not only did the NFL playoffs start, but Israel had also just rolled tanks into Gaza that day so the timing was appropriate even if the joke wasn't. I heard nothing further from the Connector that day. I'm starting to think I need to start including smilies and winkies in my messages, regardless of how gay it is to do so.

** This joke does not necessarily reflect the views of It's OKTO Blog or its management. In fact, it doesn't even necessarily reflect the views of Oscar de La Jolla, he was just going for the cheap laugh.

ADVENTURE #2: DOG DAZE

Editor's Note: I am planning a trip with Miss Sunshine, who owns two chihuahuas.
Miss Sunshine: My friend is going to watch the pups

Me: I better not hear any barking coming from your overnight bag.

Miss Sunshine: I would never subject my boys to that kind of treatment :)

Me: I don't know, you are forcing them to live in that crappy town of yours.

Miss Sunshine: Point taken but they have 1200 sq ft to roam, they would have much less in SF

Me: I think they're pretty bored, I saw them cruising for golden retrievers on dogmatch.com earlier.

Miss Sunshine: They prefer Pomeranians, much more classy

Me: I didn't think they were into foreign chicks.

Miss Sunshine: Well they are Mexican :)

Me: I figured they'd pick an American dog so they can get green cards.

(10 minutes pass.)

Me: OK, that last one was BS. Please disregard.

Miss Sunshine: Too late, you already lost a point

It seems I won't be changing my name to Text Message Casanova just yet.

New Year's Resolutions

This is a post from the Wood Dog, who has been on vacation for a long, long time.  Note that he had Internet access on vacation, so this has nothing to do with his lack of blogging.

So HAPPY NEW YEAR!  As we do each year in Seattle, this past New Year's Eve at midnight we unsuccessfully tried to blow up the Space Needle.  There's always next time I guess.

Here are some of my 2009 Resolutions, because that is what one does to start a year.  A note on "New Year's Resolutions": January first is a HORRIBLE time to start making headway on any real resolution.  Oh yeah, like I am going to go hit the gym with a raging hangover, or learn to cook when all the stores are closed.  No way.  Just so we are ALL on the same page here, resolutions are to begin on the first MONDAY of the year.  Good.  That gives you 3 more days to finalize your list anyway.

Resolutions:

1. Blog more ("nailing it" right now and it's not even the first Monday)

2. Lose weight.  Not sure how much, but any viewer of the shirtless Wood Dog Family Mexico Videos from December 2008 will support me in this effort.

3. Stay employed at the startup.  I hear it's a really good time to (A) raise money for startups, and (B) find a new job if your startup doesn't accomplish (A).  So, Resolution #3 is key.

4. Build a shed.  Yeah that's right, a shed.  I need a new man cave, and the new pad is void of any man caviness.  If I can accomplish resolution #3, then this is where I will work from. Think "small office in the back yard with heat, Internet access, poker table, sofa, no kids and a phone."  This could work.

5. Pick better than 44% in my NFL pickem league.  If I had only made a pick in the Thursday December 11, 2008 game, I would have qualified and won the last place award for the 100+ participant pick'em league, as I did in 2007.

6. Win Slim's NBA Fantasy League. 

7. Attend a Gateway Gators game.

8. The rest are lame "be a good father" type things, so we'll just leave it at that.  Happy 2009.