Shout Out!: 24 Season Finale

Just wanted to show much love for that stalward Fox thriller, 24. I had real doubts about this season during the first couple episodes, but I'll be damned if this show didn't kick it up about fourteen notches during the last 2/3 of the season.

My personal favorite moments:
1. Chloe hookin' up with a fellow lackey from work, thus proving that, yes, there are men that desperate in the world.

2. Jack using the "hoodie" at key moments. Whether it was traveling from room to room in a toxic gas-filled CTU building, or hiding his face while sneaking onto a jet carrying numerous high-level security diplomats, the zipped-up sweatshirt and hood combo was crucial to saving the United States from President Logan's sinister designs.

3. Jack's ever-present "man purse." Or was it a European hand-bag? I swear, that thing had everything in there. Cell phone/PDA/GPS devise? Done. Mini-satellite dish? Done. Tracking device? Done. It is the stitched canvas equivalent of the Swiss-army knife. For the secret government agent who has to save the world, but who wants to look good doing it, you need to get yourself the CTU-issued Louis Vitton man purse.

4. Jack shooting Chris Henderson's wife in the leg, in order to coerce his cooperation. Man, that was hardcore.

5. Finally, Jack taking slow boat to China in the closing minutes, leading up to what is sure to be a wiz-bang opening for the start of next season. But what will he do without his trusty man purse?

"Not without my man-purse!!!"

Separated At Birth: Spider Edition

Rosie the Riveter, American Icon, circa. World War II

and

The Riveting Danny "Spider" Feighery, American Conman, circa. May, 2006

Derby 132: Part I

The delay in this post can be explained by my sudden call to represent the side of justice in the "Big Sky" country of Montana. It was absolutely beautiful, but I digress.

Derby 132 was a unique beast--the first Derby without Bo Plummer. His presence was missed, especially his brand of level-headedness that always seems to win the day with our rambunctious group. Whether it be taking one for the team as the sober driver, or making the beer run when the last cup is flipped and rest of the group is too canned to find the grocery store, Bo was ever reliable as the rock upon which Derby weekends usually were built.

But he was watching from the sidelines in Seattle for this one. So Tony, Joey and Kate were called off the bench to start in his place as "Responsible Leaders" this weekend. And believe you me, it took all three of us to pull this off.

Friday night started great for most of the group out at Tony's farmhouse. Everyone arrived on time except (ironically) the two people who had to travel the least distance. Joey and Kate were delayed by a jacknifed semi-truck hauling pond scum, of all things, and thus got a very late jump getting out of Nashville.

By the time we arrived in L'ville, the group was well on their way to self-saucing themselves out of safe-driver status, mostly through the introduction of a bottle of Jack Daniels brought by Kevin, I came to understand later. Tony had grand plans for heading to 4th Street Live, the urban social experiement launched by the city a few years back, which strived to answer the question: "What happens when you encase 1500 people and 6 bars inside of a geodesic dome over a 4 square-block radius?" The answer: chaos. Especially on Derby weekend. A call from a friend notified Tony that due to the overwhelming surge of sweaty humanity, 4th Street was a no-go. Undeterred, we struck out for Bardstown Road on the other end of L'ville.

Because we were the late-comers (and because we weren't nine sheets to the wind), Kate and I sucked it up and designated ourselves as the DD's that evening. Most of the spill-off from 4th Street had already arrived at Bardstown Road by the time we parked. Ended up at some Irish bar, which by definition was absolutely not and Irish pub, owing mostly to the presence of a dance floor and the fact that they served pizza, not fish and chips. Not to mention that they sold Bud Light and Miller Light in strange metal containers that Kate astutely observed resembled Vidal Sassoon hairspray canisters. Mortal sin.

To our disappointment, the night was only mildly amusing. It would have been more so, except the group spent alot of time protecting Kevin from the rest of the crowd (or was it the otherway around?). By the time Kate and I got to the farmhouse, Kevin had already consumed and unfortunate combination of 2/3 a bottle of Jack and copious amounts of pain-killers, which were meant to treat his thrown-out back. This whiskey/percacet cocktail rendered Kevin somewhat reckless and uncontrollable. The "Heads-Up" technique Kevin employed to much amusement at St. Patrick's Day in Atlanta made an encore appearance in the Irish Bar. Only this time it was amplified and indiscriminate. I think Kevin actually "heads-upped" a female bartender who was carrying nine full beer mugs.

She didn't threaten to kick his a$$, but the rest of the frat-boy population who were receipients of the chest-thump from Mr. Shannon appeared ready to throw down. So after only about an hour and a half, Kate and I announced we were taking the first load of partygoers back to the farmhouse. We ended the night playing 3-handed A$$hole with Tony's brother, Andy, whilst chowing down on a bevy of salted snacks. This would be the first Derby that I didn't wake-up for in a complete haze.

Next time: Derby Day and pictures (w/commentary)

2:05:12 and 2:18:57

Not too shabby for 13.2 miles of hilly Nash-Vegas running.

Dose of Perspective

I am back from Cajun Country after a four-day jaunt with the creole-lovin' folk of New Orleans. My trip started with a humbling tour of the post-Katrina devastation that was inflicted upon the people of the Ninth Ward and St. Bernard Parish. Talk about your dose of perspective.

Remember seeing pictures of Nagasaki and Hiroshima after the bomb was dropped, like the ones in the D-Day Museum in downtown N.O.? Yeah, like that. Miles upon miles of ruination. Cars upended in muddy ditches. Houses knocked off their foundations. Trash piles as big as the houses themselves sitting along the sidewalks, waiting for the City, private contractors, or even another deluge to be taken away. In most cases, nothing remains of these residences but brittle wooden frames without roofs or walls. I saw the place where the levee broke. I saw the look on the residents' faces when we asked them whether these problems have been solved, whether this will ever happen again. All they could confirm was that many people would never again call this city home. Humanity emptied from this place as quickly as it could, and it has not come back.

The sheer lack of anything living in these areas was plain eerie, but it spoke volumes about what kind of progress the City of New Orleans still has to make. I for one was extremely pleased that our conference did not change locations. These people need help from the rest of the union, whether by donations collected in plates at Church, or by travelling down there and dropping some money into the local economy. If nothing else, if you happen to come in contact with a Katrina survivor or their family, take the time to speak with them or offer them kindness of any kind. These people are literally having to start their lives anew, and will likely never return home again. It is up to the rest of us to make sure they can call someplace "home" once more in the future.