Nothing to see here

I just have some clerical things today, mostly because I don't know if I have the energy to wax on about the Cardinals' stunning, $4.25 million deal with right-handed pitcher Kyle Lohse. Does the Phillies' shunning of Lohse and his reportedly high contract demands mean that the team is ready to go with Adam Eaton and/or Kris Benson at the back of the rotation?

How does one get a red stain out of a white shirt?

Perhaps we will never know...

Anyway, we will (and by "we" I mean I) be working on a number of projects over the next few weeks. Namely, there will likely be a semi-regular podcast produced, hosted, edited, coded and posted by moi ready to go in the coming week or two. The hope is for it to be a weekly thing complete with somewhat topical interviews, musical interludes and probably guests, but I suppose that was assumed when I mentioned the part about interviews.

Then again, I'm sure no one would put it past me to talk to myself.

Also, the weekly Phillies column-y type thing will return from a four or five (or six) year hiatus next Friday. The plan is for it to be a multi-media extravaganza instead of just a bunch of words... however, I like words. Sometimes they say just what I mean.

Since this is an Olympic year and sports of that ilk will be in the forefront of the American consciousness when the Beijing Games open in August, there will be a few stories about that kind of stuff on local folks hoping to go to Eugene for the Olympic Trials and China for the really, really, really big dance.

The final appeal in the Floyd Landis case will be heard next week in New York City, too. Surely some news or a few stories will come out of that... meanwhile, I'm still trying to wrap my head around the ridiculous story by Martin Dugard on Floyd in something called "Orange Coast Magazine." Surely Dugard's fanboy and jock-sniffing ethics have been unabashed if not questionable, and in this one he buries the ultimate lede... 15 grafs and perhaps three years too late.

Look, I think writing about writers is terribly tacky and hacky, but I'm sure I'll wade in over the next few days. In the meantime, Joe Lindsey of "The Boulder Report" pretty much nails it.

Also: his book Chasing Lance sucked.

Finally, Opening Day is approaching, which is always really, really mind numbing. I'd say Game 77 of the 162-game season is more important and exciting as Game 1, but whatever. No sense of me ruining people's fun just because they like all that Field of Dreams crap and Opening Day.

*** Tonight's pick for the SXSW Festival in Austin, Texas is the great and heroic Billy Bragg. I think we all remember where we were and what we were doing the first time we ever heard Billy.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J7d6ZwAp28Y&hl=en]

Meanwhile, word is The Pogues showed up for a gig in Philly last night. I haven't heard from anyone whether or not McGowan made it through the show upright and under his own power.

*** Finally, since I have a bit of bitch-fest going here, check out my entry into my daily running log:

Friday morning - 1st run: 13 miles in 1:22:59 Ran reasonably uptempo and was going to hit the last 5 in 29 until some idiot took her dog off a leash and allowed it to run me over. The damn thing slammed into my right knee, took out my legs and send my sprawling onto the Baker Field grass landing on my left hip.

Needless to say, I wasn't too cool when I got up, especially since I was moving a little bit and there were at least THREE signs posted that dog owners had to keep their animals on a leash (as well as clean up the shit off the grass, but they don't do that too well either). Look, I owned dogs all of my life and I'm certain that the animals never ran over anyone. I never thought it was too difficult to be responsible about respecting certain rules as well as other people who may or may not want to be run over by dogs.

Here's a question and answer based on what I gleaned from most dog owners in my neighborhood:

Question: What is the only creature more stupid than a dog?

Answer: A dog owner.

When the signs read, "Keep your dog on a leash," it really means, "Yes, even YOU have to keep YOUR dog on a leash."

See, most dog owners can't even read.

Idiots.

splits: 1st 5: 32:58 2nd 5: 30:34 - slowed by dog attack last 3: 19:27

Sleeping with the dog

Another late start today. Again, I needed to sleep a little later than I usually like. Maybe it's time I finally accept my chronic insomnia and the fact that the day will start at noon and the concept of 8 a.m. is just a rumor or something other people do. Maybe this will allow me to get knee-deep back in to caffeine again. Who needs real drugs when there is caffeine to make me feel narcissistic? Drugs are, as I learned and as William Burroughs once said, an inevitable part of life.

So too is sleep. Not that I would know much about the subject. I truly believe I could sleep all day. If no one came to wake or it was socially accepted, I really believe I could log more than 12 hours at a time in my bed. You know, like a hibernating bear or Pete Sampras. Turn up the AC, black out the windows, pull up the covers and doze.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

So why don't I? Society, of course. And the fact that I think there is a chance that all of the saccharine sweet dreams I have, and all of the chest-thumping and career-advancing ideas I get while in the arms of the fickle mistress that is sleep, will somehow come true. When I sleep I am happy. Nothing bad ever happens. For once, I am in charge.

That wasn't the case this afternoon, though. Since the sun was shining and I didn't have anything planned, I took a book out to my backyard to read and possibly fall asleep in a chair. And just so I wouldn't be lonely, I brought my dog to keep me company. A developmental-challenged five-year-old, Katie, a chocolate Labrador retriever, is not the best companion if one is looking for quiet time. Sure, she's a very pleasant dog and quite a delight to have around because of her always-sunny disposition; however, she is as fidgety as a wolverine on speed. The poor girl just can't seem to ever sit still. It's as if she is Sisyphus, but enjoys the constant work out of rolling a rock up a hill and chasing it to the bottom so she can roll it back up again.

She really is very annoying.

Anyway, I took the cushion of a plastic lounge chair and placed it flat on the ground so that I could fully stretch out. In this position, I could transform from reading to sleeping mode instantaneously. After all, efficiency is the goal of any reader/sleeper.

I also brought a rawhide bone for Katie so she could release all of that nervous energy into something constructive instead of crying and whining when I didn't pay attention to her. The rawhide also acted as a crime deterrent if Katie decided to walk away and get into trouble at the other end of the yard or on the neighbor's side of the fence. She has been known to squeeze through an opening in the fence and barge in next door like an expected guest. And since dogs have no conscience, Katie's tail and decorum become much more obnoxious when she enters into other environs. She's kind of like a five-year-old boy in F.A.O. Schwartz -- in order to get her back under control, a person would have to tackle her and then drag her out by the collar.

Annoying and nuts.

Regardless, Katie and the rawhide are having a wonderful time together on the sunny Saturday, and my book and I are a dynamic duo as well. In fact, the book was strong enough to knock me into a state where I was semi-coherent, like a boxer that took a bunch of punches in a row to the head. I wasn't quite awake, but I wasn't out for the count either. Occasionally, I would shake my head to clear the cobwebs so my eyes could focus on the next word as my brain continued to referee the fight between slumber and literature.

But just when sleep was about to land one last, devastating haymaker, Katie started digging in the dirt an arm's length away from my head. It seems as if she had enough of the rawhide and rather than continue to chew it, she decided to store it some place safe for later. Her problem, though, was that she couldn't find a suitable storage area. Just as soon as she would make progress with one hole, she gave up and began work on another like fickle developer who can't decide if he wants to bulldoze and old farm to build a Wal-Mart or a Target.